by Max Irons
A hinge creaked behind him.
"Got one," Iven whispered.
Part of the earth moved a short distance away from Galeron. A large square lifted clear of the field, and a man's head in a leather cap emerged from the ground. His eyes narrowed as he saw Galeron.
"Enemies up top," he called below.
"I've got one, too," Galeron said.
"I gathered that much," Iven said. His bow sang, and a man screamed. "It was hard not to hear."
Four men streamed out of the hole in front of Galeron, each dressed in leather armor covering vital areas and carrying short stabbing swords. Speed. The weapon choice and light armor all pointed to these men favoring quickness in battle. He had the longer reach, but it might not matter if he couldn't close his defenses in time.
"Four in front," Galeron said as the rebels advanced.
"Three on this end."
Galeron exhaled. "Take them out quickly. I'm going to need some help."
Iven laughed. "This is where the fun begins."
Galeron stepped forward to meet his attackers. He blocked the first thrust and swatted away another with his shield. The third and fourth men circled behind him. He spun around the counter their strikes, only to duck and roll away from more strikes on his flank. Galeron crashed into one of the men, taking out his knees and sending him crashing to the ground. He scrambled to his feet and cracked the man on the head with his shield's edge.
One down. Three more left.
He pressed the attack, using both sword and shield as battering weapons. His blade dragged across a disoriented man's hamstring, severing it. The attacker went down, hands clutching the wound. Galeron stepped over him and brought his sword down in an overhead strike.
The rebel raised his own weapon to block, but Galeron's black blade shattered the thin metal and bit into his leather helmet. He jerked it out of the man's skull and turned to face the last rebel. This one kept his distance, blade extended and feet set apart in a defensive stance. One hand held his sword, and the other hung behind his back, carrying a long knife.
Galeron glared at him. This man had been trained, and trained well. His opponent's eyes swept over him, searching for an opening to exploit. The weakness shouldn't have been too hard to figure out. Galeron's older arming sword was thicker and heavier than the man's thinner and lighter blade. Its poor quality wouldn't survive a long match of blow and counterblow.
His side ached. Hopefully this man was not as skilled as Elrik. The rebel lunged and jabbed his point at Galeron's throat. He batted it aside with his shield and struck out with his own sword. The rebel stepped back, keeping his form and guard intact. He lunged again, Galeron parried and counterattacked, and again, the man stepped back, avoiding the blows.
A third time the rebel did this--lunge and parry--but then he ducked under Galeron's counterstrike and thrust again. Galeron dipped his sword to deflect, twisting his wrist at an awkward angle. The thrust drove along Galeron's sword and cut into his thigh. A thin line of fire erupted on his leg, and he shouted in pain. The limb shook, but he held himself upright. To fall was to die.
The rebel jerked his sword straight up, knocking Galeron's blade from his grasp. He lunged, pushing the tip at his throat. Galeron drew in his shield and jumped at the rebel. They hit the ground, shield keeping the man's sword pinned flat against his chest. Galeron struck out with his free hand, pounding him in the side of the head with his fist. The rebel grunted and kicked out, throwing him off.
Galeron landed flat on his back, arms splayed and gasping for breath. The man scrambled to his feet and raised his sword.
Thock!
An arrow sprouted in the man's armpit. He inhaled sharply and turned to look at the missile protruding from his torso.
Thock!
Another arrow punched through the man's hip. He buckled and hit the ground, wheezing and coughing. Iven approached and rolled him onto his back with his boot, face hard as stone.
"How many are you?" he asked.
Galeron sat up. The rebel coughed again, spitting blood into the air. "Hundreds." He inhaled sharply, lungs giving off a wet, echoing rattle. "You can't find Atreus down there. Hundreds of us will die for him. Hundreds in..." He choked for a moment. "...hundreds of caves." He closed his eyes and fell silent.
Iven jerked his arrows out of the man's corpse. "Lovely. Think he was lying?"
Galeron retrieved his sword and shield. "Who knows?" He walked over to the hatch in the ground and peered into the depths. Nothing but the inky darkness stared back at him. "Only one way to find out."
He climbed over the edge and slipped his boots into a ladder's rungs. The light from the outside quickly faded to just a small shaft as he descended deeper. Iven climbed in after him, further reducing the light to just a few specks here and there. The climb down didn't take long. The cave floor was just a few feet away from the roof. Tall enough for a medium sized man to stand and only wide enough to walk single file. Galeron's head brushed the top of the tunnel.
"Cozy," Iven said as he landed behind him.
Galeron stared forward, but he could see nothing ahead. "I'm assuming it's safe. The rebels had to come from somewhere."
Iven gave him a shove in the back. "Let's get moving then."
Galeron nodded. "They're going to get suspicious when the guards don't return."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
They pressed forward. Galeron held his war ax in one hand, as the space wasn't friendly to his larger sword, and kept the other hand against the rough-hewn wall, feeling for any additional passageways or sudden drop-offs. So far, the tunnel didn't deviate from its current course. They continued to walk, but found no further exits from the route. Galeron's muscles tightened the further they went. When would a rebel jump out and attack? Would he even know they were there? His footsteps sounded like explosions in the small confines. Surely, they had alerted the entire cave by now.
"Have you noticed we seem to be going down?" asked Iven.
"No." Had they? It must have been too gradual for him to detect.
"Well, we are. I think it's sending us around in a spiral. I hope we hit something soon." He sighed. "The wait is killing me."
Galeron nodded. He can't see me. "It's not doing good things for me either."
A few more minutes passed in silence. The cut on his leg burned the longer they progressed, but he pushed it out of his mind. It was a flesh wound only. He'd had worse. His boot slipped and he hit the ground, slamming his tailbone into the rocky floor. Galeron gagged at the sudden shock and grunted as Iven kicked him in the small of the back.
"Sorry. What's wrong?" he asked.
"Lost my footing," Galeron said. He hoisted himself back up. "I'll be fine."
"It's that leg, isn't it?"
Galeron inhaled sharply as he shook out the pain. "I'll be fine."
"Right. Boiling bones, man, we have got to get you some real armor." Iven laid a hand on his shoulder. "I get tired of stitching you up."
He grunted. "As opposed to your not getting your hands dirty."
"These hands saved your life not long ago. I need them as they are."
Galeron took a step and ignored the twinge of pain that shot up his thigh. The prince was here somewhere. They'd better not be too late. They kept moving down the passageway, and the outline of Galeron's war ax faded into sight. Light. It was...somewhere. A faint brightness emerged from the route up ahead, barely discernible normally, but in the dark, it was unmistakable.
"Ah, finally," Iven whispered.
That was both good and bad. Light meant they could see and watch for danger, but light also meant people, and down here, everyone wanted to kill them. They rounded a corner, and Galeron stopped. Voices echoed back to them. He hid in the crook of the turn, closing his eyes and opening his ears.
"...has it been?" one man asked.
"Not long enough," answered another. "It's a large area to check up there. I don't expect to hear from them for a while longer."
"Bu
t if it's nothing, they should be back by now," said the first.
"Only if they're as haphazard in their work as you."
The two men talked of rations and a partial infestation of sea worms, but no other voices joined in. Either there were only two in the tunnel ahead, or the others really didn't want to talk. Galeron poked his head around the corner, just enough to see. One man sat next to a lantern in a room filled with ten beds and stacks of weapons in barrels, from polearms to axes and swords. The other was lying on one of the beds, hands folded behind his head.
Galeron turned back to Iven. "Two men. They're too far away for me to rush them. You'll have to take them both."
"Armor?" he asked.
"None," said Galeron. "They aren't expecting trouble."
"Pity." Iven slowly drew two arrows from his quiver, handing one of them to Galeron. "That's when trouble comes calling. Have that ready." He nocked the first. "On my mark. Three...two...one."
Iven stepped around Galeron and pulled the string to full draw, releasing as soon as his wrist reached his earlobe. The arrow pierced the first man's throat. Galeron handed Iven the second, which leapt from the bow and straight through the other man's eye. He breathed a sigh of relief. Two men down without much noise.
Iven collected the arrows again, and they moved through a tunnel on the other side of the room. These had lanterns hanging at regular intervals and were wide enough for two men to walk abreast. They stank of baking seaweed and brine. Several times, they encountered what appeared to be barracks for the rebels, but they managed to slip around them undetected.
Many of the Drakes were sound asleep, with perhaps one, maybe two on occasion, actually awake. Other tunnels branched off from the one they walked, but Galeron ignored them. They had directional signs that indicated their purpose. Some led to an infirmary, others to a smithing shop or tailor. Judging by those, the Drakes had been here for quite a while.
They hit a crossroads. Wooden directionals pointed down each of the passages. One read "sea levels," another "map room," and the third "observation."
Galeron looked at Iven. "What do you think?"
Iven bit his lip. "Not sea levels. If I were storing a prince, I wouldn't keep him on the docks."
"What about the map room?" asked Galeron.
He shrugged. "I have no idea. I just think he's not on the sea levels."
Galeron walked to the left passage, the one leading to the map room. "Let's try here, first."
"Why not?"
The passage sloped upward and emerged into a high-ceilinged chamber well-lit with lanterns hanging on the walls. The floor was a smoothly polished stone with a large map of the known world painted into the floor. Black and white figures of soldiers stood at various positions on the map. Judging by the locations, white figures represented the Drakes, while black figures stood on all the major cities. Several tables, piled high with papers, dotted the map's perimeter, tomes lying open on a few.
Against the back wall, however, stood Prince Lattimer, his arms spread-eagled and held in place by manacles driven into the stone. A cloth gag filled his mouth and muffled his screams as his gaze fell on them. Galeron and Iven rushed to his side. Iven cut the gag with his knife.
"You're looking well for a prisoner," said Iven.
Lattimer coughed, and Galeron examined him. Iven's assessment was right. Despite some cuts and scrapes to his face, as well as his very dirty tunic and breeches, the prince looked to be in decent condition, all things considered.
"They've been expecting you," Lattimer said, licking his lips. "Are you alone?"
Galeron sighed. Of course they were expecting them. Had they really even snuck past the barrack chambers, or were the rebels under orders to ignore them?
"Unfortunately, we're alone, your highness," Galeron said. He looked at the thick manacles and shook his head. There was no way to break those with his war ax. They'd need the key. "Do you know where they keep the key to your shackles?"
"I have that."
Galeron froze. He knew that voice. He turned around, grip tightening on his weapon. Atreus and Hektor walked into the map room. His half-burned face drooped, but he still smiled. Iven nocked an arrow and unleashed it at Atreus's torso. Hektor waved his hand and batted it away.
Atreus shook his head. "Do we really need a repeat of our last meeting? I think we proved well enough that your arrows can do nothing against us."
Galeron scowled, but inside a cold liquid filled his belly. How were they going to get the prince out? They'd already proven there was no way to beat them, as skilled as Atreus and Hektor were with their powers. He swallowed.
"Let him go," said Galeron.
"I tire of our little game, Deathstalker," Atreus said. "If you would actually do something new, we might prolong the fun." He sighed. "Alas, you only seem capable of one thing. You've followed the scraps I leave in my wake. No initiative, no originality. You are persistent, I'll give you that, but what have you to show for it?"
"At least I still have my dignity," Galeron said. "You left your own apprentice to die at Azura. What kind of a man does that make you?"
Atreus's gaze hardened. "I don't care about my personal dignity. In the eyes of the law, I am an animal, a rabid beast to be put down. Whoever I must use, I will use, and whoever I must sacrifice, I will sacrifice. I secure the future for my people. I have no time for petty honor. When the bards speak of the first mage king, will they sing of how he righted so many wrongs, or how one rogue mage sacrificed his apprentice for the greater good?" He spat on the floor. "You speak of honor, a sell-sword. Look at the job you accepted. For what?"
Galeron took a step forward and snarled. "I do what I must to live."
"As do I." Atreus threw his hands in the air. "What do you think this is all about? It is owed to me to live in peace. You are a survivor. You and your friend. Have we not sacrificed enough for this kingdom? I commanded men in battle, on the ground, mortals against mages. When one of those Delktians set fire to me, I could have lain down and died, but I wouldn't abandon my men. I gave up the peace of the grave for them! How am I repaid?"
Galeron said nothing. In a certain sense, Atreus was right. He fought in the wars. He'd sacrificed just as Galeron had. Was he right? Would it be better for all involved just to let this quest go?
"So you've been wronged," Iven said. "Who hasn't? If your only gripe against the king is his policy on mages, move to Raya."
You understand so little," said Atreus. "A man like that doesn't deserve to sit on the throne. A man who murdered and burned my wife. I won't rest until I've cast him from that chair and buried him among the mages he's sent to the chopping block." He looked from Iven to Galeron. "So here we stand. There really is only one way out of this. We're going to kill you, but if you don't struggle, I promise to make it painless."
Behind them, Prince Lattimer whispered, "Don't leave me."
He didn't sound like a prince. His voice was high-pitched and drenched in fear. If Galeron died, he'd condemn Lattimer, whom he'd kidnapped in the first place, to death with him, or life under Atreus's thumb. Galeron slipped his ax into his belt.
Atreus nodded, a thin smile spreading across his face. "I knew you'd see reason."
Galeron unslung his shield and drew his sword. "I made you a promise back at Trinetta. I've come to make good on it."
"Should've guessed," Iven muttered. He nocked another arrow. "I knew there was a reason I keep you around. What fun would my life be otherwise?"
"A pity," Atreus said. "Expected, but still a pity."
"What do we do, Galeron?" asked Iven.
His mind froze. He didn't know. There was no way to beat them that he hadn't already considered. The room was devoid of anything useful. If they ran out to change venues and hope for a better advantage, they'd likely plow into more Drakes and be overrun.
"We can't beat them in a straight fight," Galeron said.
Iven's face soured. "We may have to run, then."
"No, don't leave
me, please," said Lattimer.
A jet of fire rushed from Atreus's fingers. Galeron dove out of the way and raised his shield. Flames licked the thin metal coating, but the wooden interior remained relatively cool to the touch, for the moment. Galeron kept his face hidden and advanced slowly towards Atreus. He stole a look over his shoulder to see Iven and Hektor fighting hand to hand. He must have closed the gap pretty quickly.
Atreus ceased the fire and dove away from Galeron's flashing blade. Galeron rushed. He had to keep the distance close, otherwise Atreus would just keep him at bay. He was nimbler than his scarred form let on, dodging several attacks, and sprang up to Galeron's flank. Only the timely use of his shield kept him from being burned alive. Even so, the constant flames slowly turned his shield's iron grip hot to the touch. The bar burned his palm and fingers, but if he dropped it now, it was all over.
Galeron fought hard to maneuver Atreus into a corner, attacking in certain spots to drive his dodges closer to a confined space, but it did no good.
"We've toyed with them enough," Atreus said. "Hektor, end this."
A vice of air grabbed Galeron around his middle and hurled him across the room. He skidded across the floor and plowed into a table near the entrance to the map room. Iven landed on top of him. His head ached from the collision, and looking at Atreus caused him to see two opponents instead of one.
"Galeron, we have to run," said Iven.
"They're just going to kill us. What good is that going to do?" he asked.
"We split up," Iven said. "Divide their manpower. With luck, one of us might get out and bring back some reinforcements."
Galeron scowled and shoved Iven off of him. "I'm not leaving you behind." He stood and swayed in place as Atreus raised his hand.
Iven shoved him through the doorway. "Don't care. Run!"
Galeron stumbled into the passageway. He sheathed his sword, slung his shield on his back, and hurtled down the tunnel. Iven's footsteps and thrumming bowstring sounded behind him. He was right, as much as Galeron didn't want to admit it. Two mages in close quarters would be overpowering. If they split up, one of them might be able to hide and slip away.
