Shadow Fortress

by James Axler

  “Reasonable,” Kinnison said, nibbling an ear of corn. “Lieutenant Kirkton, send the falcons at once. Include one for Glassman, telling him his family has been removed from the dungeon and have their own home in the ville. No harm will come to the kin of the man who found the pirates’ lair.”

  “Of course, my lord.” The sec chief grinned in amusement. “And meanwhile I will…” He left the sentence hanging, waiting for instructions.

  “And meanwhile, you will do as your lord commands!” Langford bellowed, outraged at the implied discourtesy. “Release the woman and child from the dungeon and give them a good house, lots of foods, clean clothes and a couple of slaves.”

  “Yes, Lord Chancellor,” Kirkton hastened to say, knowing the wrath of the young man was only marginally less terrible than the old baron’s.

  Spearing a potato with a fork, Kinnison growled in agreement. He didn’t care for the idea, but if he didn’t keep his oath to Glassman, then nobody would ever believe his offers of rewards again. Ruling was a balancing act between the carrot and the stick. If a ruler lost either one, he was doomed.

  As the sec chief and the messenger departed to their assignments, Langford refilled his mug of springwater and took a sip. “My lord, do you think the outlanders are pirates?” he asked.

  “No,” Kinnison replied, savagely biting off chunks of a suckling baby pig, the rich gravy flowing between his pudgy fingers. “I don’t know what they are, but no pirate carried their kind of blasters. Or built a flying machine.”

  The sec men at the table shivered again at the notion, and tried to force the image from their minds of air wags and falling bombs. The quartermaster of the palace looked as if he would be physically ill, then rushed from the room with a hand covering his mouth.

  Openly, Kinnison scowled in scorn at the public show of weakness, but privately he agreed wholeheartedly. Death from above—the words brought visions of skydark, and that was enough to break the spirit of any sane man.

  Just then a serving girl hurried into the dining hall and whispered something to one of the sec men in charge of the black-powder mills. The man gave her a small pouch of powder in return and noisily cleared his throat, then did it again.

  “Lord Chancellor…” he began.

  Puzzled, Langford stared at the man, then his face brightened in remembrance. Ah, she had arrived at last. Excellent.

  “Since your health is on the mend, milord,” the chancellor said, standing at the table with an unreadable expression, “I have found a special gift for you. Which I am sure you will enjoy.”

  “Really,” Kinnison said noncommittally, a hand creeping under the table to finger the trigger of the shotgun hidden there. After the revolt, the baron trusted nobody and nothing fully. Nor would he ever again. There was an old phrase that his father had once used— “Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice, die screaming, motherfucker.” Wise words, indeed.

  Langford clapped his hands, and the doors were opened by armed men, who stood aside to let a fisherwoman from the ville walk into the room. The woman was old but not aged, thirty, maybe forty years of age, with a scattering of gray in her thick blond hair. She walked with strength, and a full womanly figure moved tantalizingly beneath her loose dress. Her clothing was worn and patched, but very clean, with no loose threads or ragged hems.

  “Who is this?” Kinnison asked the men at the table. “Some new slut for me to bed? A small gift, indeed.”

  The woman stopped approaching at those words and smiled in amusement at the fat baron. “I will be the mother of your heir,” she said simply.

  Kinnison waited, but there was no more coming.

  “You?” the baron scoffed. “I can mount ten women a day if it pleases me. Each more beautiful than you. Why should I mount you instead of throwing you to my dogs?”

  Sipping his water, Langford waited, letting the woman speak for herself. In this matter, she needed no assistance.

  “My name is Deirdra, and my brother stole a blaster,” she replied, hands on her hips. “You lashed him for a day, then gave him your disease as a punishment. Fair enough, I suppose. But I tended to him for months before he finally died.”

  “Yes, I recall the incident,” Kinnison said. “And you do resemble him, somewhat. So what do you wish? A quick death from a firing squad, or a supply of jolt to ease the terrible pain?”

  Deirdra held out an arm. “Examine my skin.”

  The sec men in the room were alert as he waved her closer, and began to closely look at her face and arms. At first in contempt, but then in wonder. In growing astonishment, he lifted her skirt to see underneath; the condition of her feet would tell the truth. But she was wearing nothing underneath the loose dress and Kinnison saw every inch of the firm, clean body. Her lean legs showed no stretch marks, her belly flat without wrinkled folds of loose skin.

  “I am a virgin,” she admitted, not ashamed or proud, but merely stating a fact.

  “And immune,” Kinnison whispered, dropping the thin cloth. Then he turned on the other nobles. “Is this some sort of a trick?”

  “Never, my lord!” Langford cried.

  “Try me,” Deirdra said, taking a small knife from the table and cutting her forearm. She passed the baron the blade, handle first. “Do the same and smear your blood on my wound. Nothing will happen.”

  As if moving in a dream, Kinnison started to cut his arm, then dropped the knife.

  “Everybody out,” he commanded harshly. “Including you, Lord Chancellor.”

  Sensing his urgency, the men and serving girls quietly withdrew. Once the baron was alone with the woman, he stood and slid out a chair for her in unaccustomed courtesy. Nodding in thanks, Deirdra sat and turned to face him directly, with no evasion or sideway glances. A person was simply looking at him of her own free will. Kinnison could scarcely believe it was happening. His last reserves against her beauty crumpled at the simple action, and he leaned forward eagerly.

  “What are your terms?” the baron asked, his heart pounding.

  “I become the baroness,” Deirdra stated, her hands folded primly in her lap. “But if the first child is sick or not a boy, then you may chill me.”

  He furrowed his brow. “That’s all?”

  “That is enough.”

  “Done,” Kinnison said, extending a bandaged hand.

  She shook it without flinching and began to remove her dress. “Shall we start?”

  “What, right here?” Kinnison asked amused, and slightly shocked. He wasn’t used to aggressive females. Normally, they wept and screamed, and often had to be raped while tied to chairs or even unconscious.

  “The sooner we begin, the sooner I am with your child,” she responded, dropping the old dress to the floor.

  Deirdra looked magnificent in the candlelight, her smooth skin glowing with health. With a dry mouth, Kinnison shuffled to his feet and began removing his own clothing, wiping the grease from his fingers on the material. Let the navy battle the pirates; which ever side won he didn’t care anymore. This amazing woman was the answer to his prayers. Soon he would have a son, an heir! And his reign would continue. For Lord Baron Kinnison, the war with the outlanders was already over, and he was the absolute winner.

  During the sweaty coupling on the tabletop, the fat man didn’t once notice the flick of a forked tongue between the lush lips of the mutie female, even when she did it again in the most unusual of places.

  Chapter Nine

  Falling through the air, Jak angled the descent to protect his sprained ankle and landed heavily on his shoulders, the blow knocking the breath from his lungs.

  Panting, he frantically rolled toward the wall and just barely avoided the rush from a small boar, its tusks so new the bone extended straight out from its jaw like slim daggers.

  Scrambling over a corpse, Jak threw himself at the wall and drew the blaster, choosing a target, then he quickly shifted aim, and then again. Where was the big bastard?

  Ah, there he was. A huge boar…no, a bi
g sow, twice the size of the other hogs, her shiny black coat streaked with white from old scars, one ear half chewed off. But the monstrous animal radiated an aura of power. She was the baron of her brood, the absolute master.

  Aiming the unfamiliar weapon, Jak fired, and the .44 miniball slammed into her side, knocking the big sow back, but not over. She squealed at the wound, sniffing at it with a twitching nose. Then she swung her head toward the albino and pawed the bloody mud, preparing to charge. With no reloads, Jak dropped the blaster and grabbed the headless corpse from the sticky ground. Holding it as a shield, he backed into the corner of the pit and drew one of his stolen knives.

  The crowd shouted something unintelligible, and gold coins rained into the pit. A reward for being clever?

  Snorting loudly, the big sow rushed at Jak, her tusks slashing open the legs of the corpse. Pulling free, the animal seemed confused at the lack of reaction from the victim and lurched forward again, only to stop halfway, as if trying to lure out the cornered two-leg. Then she did it once too often, and Jak slashed her across the snout, splitting both nostrils wide open.

  The sow keened in shock and dashed madly about, slamming into her brethren and bouncing off the brick wall, the loss of smell affecting her more than blindness to a human. While the sow attacked a smaller boar, Jak rummaged through the filthy pockets of the chilled pirate, tossing aside the gold coins and cigs, but keeping the matches and a third knife.

  Testing the blade on a thumb, Jak found the edge dull, the balance barely acceptable, but it would serve. Choosing a target, he stepped from the wall and threw hard. In the grandstand, a laughing dandy waving a bottle went still as the blade took him in the belly. Gushing blood, the man dropped his bottle and, stumbling about, fell into the pit. He landed only ten yards away, but the boars converged on the body, stomping the flesh under their sharp hooves and goring it with their pointed tusks. Behind his shield, Jak had eyes only for the predark revolver in the gun belt of the aced pirate. The loops were full of ammo, maybe even enough for the teenager to blast his way out of the pit. Across the muddy field was a small wooden gate in the wall, painted to resemble bricks. That had to be how they let the boars into the pit. Which meant that was how he could get out. If only he could reach that blaster! Knife in hand, Jak started warily creeping forward, but the smaller boars drove him back into the corner, the flesh dangling off the legs of the corpse until the bones showed from within.

  Angry noise came from the attendees, and most retreated from the pit, fearful of another attack by the prisoner. Then several voices demanded the immediate use of blasters. Knowing he stood no chance against those, Jak charged the boars, plowing through the smaller beasts until reaching the aced pirate. Ignoring the throbbing pain in his ankle, Jak heaved the headless corpse onto the tusks of the big sow, the obstruction keeping her busy for a moment while he dug in the mud for the blaster.

  A movement to his left made the teen dodge and the small boar just missed goring his stomach. Cocking the hammer of the muddy weapon, Jak aimed and fired. The .357 Magnum blaster roared and the tiny male went motionless, then flopped to the ground, every breath squirting out a crimson arch.

  The noise of the blaster clearly scared the animals, and they moved away from the Cajun warrior as Jak fumbled with the gun belt of the pirate and finally dragged it free. Draping it over a shoulder, he watched with dismay as several rounds fell into the thick mud, but he kept creeping along the wall toward the gate.

  A guard shouted a warning about his plan, and now flintlocks did discharge, the miniballs ricocheting off the brick wall around the teen. Pumping a round at the boars to keep them at bay, Jak fired twice more, and a guard slumped out of sight, his arm gone from the elbow down.

  Jak cracked the cylinder and dumped the spent shells. Keeping on the move, he reloaded a single round and aced another officer in the grandstand, starting a riot in the attendees. Removing the spent cartridge, he fully loaded the blaster and stuffed the two spare shells into his pants pocket. Turning for the gate, the albino teen cursed and flung himself sideways, the big sow only slamming into his sprained ankle, the impact sending lightning bolts of agony along his leg.

  Landing in a heap, the teenager turned over and fired the .357 at point-blank range directly into the face of the wounded sow, the hollowpoint rounds tearing off a cheek and blowing away an eye. Her face dripping with blood, the animal shook her head, trying to remove the fluid, and threw herself at the hated norm. Waiting until the last second, Jak spun out of the way and buried a knife into the back of her neck, snapping the spine. Carried on by sheer momentum, the beast continued to walk several yards, then gently lay down and rolled onto her side as if going to sleep.

  Limping to the gate, Jak aced two more boars, the rest moving away from the pale killer, a few of the smaller animals going to the dead sow and nudging her with their snouts as if trying to awaken her. Seizing the moment of freedom, Jak inspected the gate, trying to figure out which side held the hinges. He pumped two rounds into the left, blowing out huge gouts of wood, then did the same to the opposite side. Nothing happened. Bracing himself, Jak swung his good foot and kicked the portal. The weakened wood cracked, but neither side yielded.

  Muttering curses, the teen thumbed in his last two rounds, then crouched low and used them both at the line of guards forming along the grandstand. Blasters boomed, throwing hot lead at the teen, but two of the pirates were already sagging, blood spreading across their chests from the deadly Magnum weapon.

  Out of ammo again, Jak raced across the field and threw himself at the damaged gate. He felt the portal give a little, but still he didn’t break through. Through the separating pieces of wood, he could see the heavy locking bar on the inside, keeping the barrier in place. There was no way he could get through without explosives or an ax.

  Suddenly, a bell began to ring, and the pirates above lowered their longblasters, their faces twisted in surprise. The dim noise continued, and the guards turned and ran. In the grandstand, the attendees moved as if their clothes were on fire, dropping bottles and knocking over tables as they dashed from the grandstands shouting at one another.

  Standing amid the carnage, Jak stared as the arena quickly emptied of people. In minutes he was alone with the boars. Dragging his bad leg, Jak grabbed the dead sow by her front legs and hauled the body to the base of the wall. The boars moved out of his way as the teenager gathered the chilled pirates, placing their bodies on the sow. Awkwardly climbing on top of the pile, Jak found the top of the pit was still beyond his reach. Stabbing his knife into the concrete between the bricks, he tried pulling himself higher, his fingertips brushing along the rough rim when a pair of different-colored hands grabbed his wrist and hoisted the young man over the top.

  “You okay?” Mildred asked, crouching alongside the panting teen, checking for wounds. But thankfully, none of the caked blood covering the filthy clothes seemed to be his.

  “Been better,” Jak admitted, stiffly standing and limping to a nearby table full of toasted sweetmeats and sliced fruit and other delicacies. Grabbing a fresh bottle of shine, the teen pulled the cork with his teeth and liberally poured the alcohol over his face and clothes, washing away most of the crud.

  “Know where the others are?” Krysty added, watching the empty grandstands, a flintlock held in each hand.

  Somewhere in the background, the warning bell never stopped ringing, and now the sounds of long-blasters and cannons were added to the shouting of the pirates.

  “Not seen,” he muttered, smoothing back his wet hair. “What’s happening ville?”

  “We’re not sure,” Mildred answered. “But from the amount of cannons firing, I’d say a war just started.”

  “Good,” he grunted. “Need blaster.”

  Krysty handed over one of the handcannons taken from the dead guards in the alleyway. Jak checked the weapon, then grunted in satisfaction as he tucked it into his damp belt.

  “Stink,” he muttered, wrinkling his nose. “
Need bath bad.”

  “So do we all, my friend,” Krysty stated.

  “Can you walk?” Mildred asked, observing how he stood.

  The youth tried a few steps, then frowned deeply. “No,” he answered honestly.

  “Sit,” the physician commanded, gently shoving him into a chair. Untying the laces of his boot, she spread on the last drops of analgesic cream from her med kit, then rewrapped the bandage tight. He winced, but said nothing.

  Mildred knew the ankle had to be agony. The flesh was swollen, with new bruises compounding the sprain, but none of those were life threatening. A tight bandage would hurt a lot but support the weakened ankle, allowing him to walk, and fight. That was enough for now. Later, if there was a later, she’d do more.

  Washing off the reeking boot with more shine, she slid it gently on his foot and he did the laces. Good enough. Mildred knew about the material hidden inside the boots of the men, but there was no present need for the wads of C-4 plastique.

  “Okay, let’s get going,” Krysty said, putting her shoulder under the arm of the teen and helping him to stand.

  “Where first?” Jak said, testing his weight on the foot. The pain was much less, and he nodded at the physician.

  “Slave quarters,” Mildred replied. “Then the baron’s fortress. They’ll be at one or the other.”

  “This way,” Jak said, heading along the rows of seats and finally into the dark tunnel. “Don’t touch walls!”

  “No problem,” Krysty answered, staring at the deadly yellow flowers growing in such abundance. Did the pirates not know, or not care about the fungi thriving in their ville?

  Proceeding to the end of the tunnel, they found an iron gate blocking the exit, the door held in place with a chain and heavy padlock. Waiting for the sounds of battle to peak, Krysty blew off the lock with her muzzle loader and cast away the chain.