BRUTAL: An Epic Grimdark Fantasy

by James Alderdice

  “My Lord,” one of the paladins called back. “Are you sure that is wise? Captain Bearcoat has taken most of the company out to hunt for the rest of the fugitives. There are only a handful of us left in the fortress.”

  Varlak screamed at the paladin, “Do as I command or I’ll feed you to the basilisks!”

  The Sellsword heard the gate being opened, and he kept up his forlorn face, as if expecting the worst.

  A few moments later, one of the other paladins came to report that the woman had still not arrived. “Should I shut the gates, Lord? We can easily open them when she comes.”

  “No, she is coming I can feel the magic summoning working, she is on her way here at great haste. She must be riding a horse to quicken her longing. Away with you,” he bid the paladin. “Soon, Sellsword, soon, you will watch!” He laughed again and threw off his robe, exposing himself, and lay upon the bed.

  The sound of hooves carried from the hallway. Men shouted. Varlak was still not troubled. “So, eager to please me she is riding her horse to my very door! Oh, you will be given a show Sellsword, you will wonder at this!”

  The door burst open, turned to splinters by the battering force behind it. The mad bull, Bijoro, beat its horns against the threshold, tearing apart the wood that tried to bar it entry.

  Varlak’s eyes bulged out of their sockets and his excitement physically diminished. “You tricked me,” he whispered hoarsely.

  Bijoro broke fully into the room. It snorted once, twice, thrice and launched itself at the old man on the bed, crashing atop him while bellowing loud as thunder. It rammed itself repeatedly atop the bed as arms flailed frantically beneath for only a second.

  25. The Assault

  Bijoro the bull, finished rutting with Varlak’s flattened corpse long enough to turn and glare at the Sellsword shackled to the wall.

  The Sellsword strained against his bonds but it was for naught, there was no way any man could snap those rusted links, However, the mortar holding the ring into the wall, gave just a bit.

  The bull stamped a massive hoof and snorted, when an unfortunate trio of paladins pushed through the shattered doorway. They held pikes and swords but these trembled in their hands once the bull looked their way. Bijoro charged them and they could not scramble back fast enough at the top of the stairs.

  Bijoro plowed after them and bowled them over without checking its speed. The four of them careened off the winding stairs, breaking bones all the way down.

  There were some mingled cries for help and mewling of pain, but no other sounds drifted to the Sellsword’s ears for some time. He pulled and pulled against the mooring of his shackles and almost had the ring loose. Even when it was free, it would only give him three feet of chain and a weighted arm, he certainly wouldn’t be free of his bonds with three more rings holding the right arm and both ankles.

  A voice called out, pleading for help and then was suddenly silenced. The Sellsword guessed Uriel or Anaias had come back to inspect the final damage, but he couldn’t be sure of who it was. He yanked and pulled against the ring with weakened mortar and just as it was about to slide free, a tall gaunt shape crept into the chamber. It was the pale emaciated giant, Terance who served the Marquis.

  He looked with some appreciation on the bound Sellsword. “By Thoem, I’m glad to see you this way,” he said, with a cruel smile. “It will make my work all the easier.”

  “Because, you’re a craven dog who kills men that cannot fight back?” That surprised Terance. “I guessed you were the one who slit the Duke’s throat.”

  “What do you think you know?”

  “You tried to warn me off of speaking to the duchess. Telling me she was dangerous, but you admitted you were the one that spied. You were the one that knew about the apothecary. You were all too eager to share the details about her, like you had a prepared story. You’re just not as a good a liar as you’d like to think. Only one thing left.”

  “What’s that?” grated Terance.

  “I don’t know why.”

  Terance retained his composure well enough with a sniff and said, “If you don’t know then I shan’t enlighten you.” He looked warily about, studying the shadows.

  “Too frightened of shadows to tell a chained man before you kill him?”

  “It doesn’t involve you. All you did was come here and upset the balance of things before my master was ready. You stole opportunity and sacrifices from us,” he said, with a trace of worry.

  The Sellsword’s mind raced at these implications even if he did not know the full scope. He was grasping at straws to understand, as well as grasping at any possible chance to escape his fate from one killer to the next. “So tell me then.”

  Terance considered the request. He finally took in the whole of the chamber and blanched when he saw what remained of Varlak’s crushed body. “Did the bull do that?”

  “It did. Sorcery has a way of turning on the practitioner. Varlak was ensnared by his own trap.”

  Terance gulped and said, “Well, that won’t happen to us.”

  “Why not?” the Sellsword challenged.

  “We serve the dark goddess. We have been promised everything we desire if we uphold our end of the bargain and we had, until you came,” he finished with a glower.

  The Sellsword laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Terance brandished his stiletto.

  “You changed from saying my master to we.”

  “I said we because I meant we. I am his apprentice. We will rise together in the dark arts serving the goddess.”

  “Look around you fool; what becomes of apprentices?”

  Terance took in the horrific damage to the room again.

  The Sellsword guessed the pale giant must have already stepped over a number of bodies to come in this far and, considering that Varlak’s guards wouldn’t have just let him waltz in, the Sellsword guessed everyone else had fled or was dead.

  Terance turned back to face the Sellsword, holding the knife pointed like he intended to pierce his enemy.

  “What did I do? We had a contract that I have upheld,” said the Sellsword, stalling for time.

  “We didn’t want Varlak dead, at least not yet. And you stole the Duchess from me.”

  “After all the lies you told me?”

  “I was trying to keep you away from her,” snapped Terance.

  The Sellsword scorned. “You have a funny way of doing things.”

  “The Marquis told me I could have her when this was finished, if I would just get his useless son out of the way. He was a meddler too.” Terance paused with a cruel smile, then gave a mirthless chuckle. “Good thing for us that after he requested assistance from the king, all the Usurper did was send you. One lone man, a two-bit Sellsword, to check in and look after this forgotten scrap of a city in the borderlands. When the dark goddess is done, no king in the world will be able to stand before her. All the world will bow at her feet and we, her chief servants, will rule like gods beside her.”

  “That’s quite a dream.”

  “It’s no dream, this will come to pass!” He stepped closer, enjoying the glint of the knife on his captive’s face. “It’s time to end this.”

  “Make it quick. No flinching from your duty. Cut in there good and deep,” intoned the Sellsword.

  Terance stepped closer and leaned to within arm’s reach of the Sellsword. The knife came up.

  The Sellsword heaved against the ring in the wall and the mortar broke loose. He swung the chain about Terance’s neck and squeezed.

  The gaunt man panicked and tried to slash with the blade in his hand, but the crippling strength of the Sellsword’s chain about his neck broke him. The knife fell as the giant’s neck cracked.

  The Sellsword reached for all he was worth and, with bloody fingers scraping, he grasped the fallen stiletto. Jamming it into the lock of his chains, he extricated himself from the irons.

  Retrieving a fallen paladin’s sword, he hunted amid the chaos for his own weapons
. He startled a pair of servants who were hiding in a pantry. “Where are the extra weapons? Something taken from me two days ago? Speak!”

  They couldn’t speak but pointed the way.

  He grabbed a haunch of ham and other food stuffs, quenching his hunger while searching. Finding an armory, he discovered his blue cloak, fitted chain mail, and his short thrusting blade, but the bastard sword was missing. Angered, he decided it was time to go. He had been here long enough.

  Heading to the still open gate he was surprised to see Nicene and the old man timidly approaching. They were each armed to the teeth, Nicene with an oversized breastplate, helm and greaves that were near to falling off. She also held a falchion with a wide flared end. The old man wore armor that fit when he was younger, and sported a bandolier with a number of Dragon Powder charges on it.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked incredulous. Nicene wrapped her arms around him, clanging her breastplate against his mail.

  “It took some time, but I finally fished it out of Anaias,” she said. “He claimed that you must have been captured because he never saw you fall dead, and he believed you were too terrible a person to just die.”

  “Where did you get those charges?” he asked the old man.

  “I have my ways.”

  Nicene smacked him in the shoulder. “All right. She held Anaias’s feet to the fire and we took what we wanted from his armory. This is all that was left. We used to use these a long time ago before the veins in the mountain ran dry.”

  His surprised stare at their ingenuity said it all.

  Nicene was pleased with herself. “Anaias retreated back to the tunnels. He stayed there cursing most of the last two days until Bearcoat finally found a way in. Anaias didn’t have too many men left. Maybe five,” she looked to the old man, who gestured for more, “Ten? Either way they died or abandoned him when the paladins came charging in. It was a blood bath. I barely got out.”

  “How? What happened?”

  “Anaias set traps for just such an occasion, but without his men to set them off or keep the kill switches turned, he ran into one himself and got his foot caught in a bear trap. I helped him out on the condition that he stop lying to me about what happened to you. At first he said you were dead, but I just wouldn’t believe him.”

  “Once the paladins looted all they could from his gambling hall and left, we went back and took things from the armory to come and rescue you,” said the old man.

  “And you know what you’re carrying there?”

  “Of course, I do. I worked the mines, didn’t I? I know charges when I see them.”

  A shout interrupted their reunion. “Hold there! You’re all under arrest for breaking the peace!” shouted Bearcoat. He had more than two dozen men with him. “Clap them all in irons,” he commanded the paladins.

  “What do we do?” whispered Nicene.

  “Run!” shouted the Sellsword. One moment they were standing within the gate of Varlak’s keep and the next had them fleeing back inside.

  The paladins responded with a volley from flatbows, but the fugitives were already inside and around the corner.

  “Take their heads!” roared Bearcoat. A dozen of the paladins rushed past him with blades drawn and halberds swinging.

  “Give me one,” said the Sellsword.

  “I’ve got it,” said the old man, as he wheeled and threw a Dragon Powder charge down the hallway. It clacked as it hit the wall then rolled out of sight around the curved entrance. An ear-shattering boom sent debris, including a paladin’s helm, flying back at them. They waited a moment for the dust to clear. No more men charged at them.

  “Now what?” asked the old man.

  “Give me one.” The old man handed him a charge. “I take the fight to them.”

  “Wait, there’s something you don’t know about Varlak’s keep,” cried Nicene.

  “What?” asked the Sellsword wheeling on the balls of his feet to hear her.

  “There is a hidden back entrance. I’d bet anything that Bearcoat has men moving to trap us between two parties.”

  He nodded at the old man. “Move upstairs, it’s clear. If they come through the rear, give them a fistful of hell! I’ll be back.”

  The old man ushered Nicene up the curling stair, keeping a wary eye out for paladins coming from the other direction.

  The Sellsword slunk back toward the front gate and cautiously peeked around the corner. Bearcoat stood far outside the walls with a handful of his men, squinting at the keep as if he expected something might come into view. Seven or eight were somewhat nearer the gate, with flatbows at the ready. The sudden decline in the number of his paladins could only mean that Nicene was right and the bulk of his force had gone around the back side.

  “Ho! Bearcoat, I’d have a word with you.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought you’d have anything to say to me, Sellsword. You’ve brought nothing but misery and ruin to this fair city.”

  “You stole my bastard sword.”

  “Think what you will,” argued Bearcoat. “It’s my sword now and this will all be over soon enough. Justice will be served. My village has its charm. It has treated me very well. It still could be a place for you, if you will let it. Let us discuss your new position in Aldreth once everything is sorted out.”

  The Sellsword guessed Bearcoat was trying to bait him into holding his position so his paladins could flank him.

  “I surrender then,” shouted the Sellsword.

  “You what? Really?”

  “Have your men point their flatbows away from the gate, so I won’t be shot as I come out. I have no weapons. You have my sword, remember.”

  “What of the others?”

  “Dead.”

  “For truth? That is too bad as many were fond of the Duchess.”

  “Aye.”

  “Do you have any more of those mine charges?”

  “No. I’m coming out. Have those flatbows pointed away from the gate.”

  “Down lads, we can stick him if he tries anything funny. Show us your hands before you come out,” shouted Bearcoat.

  The Sellsword stepped into the fading light with his hands up and palms out.

  Bearcoat grinned. “Stick him,” he ordered.

  Paladins raised their flatbows as the Sellsword reached behind the nape of his neck and produced the charge. He pushed the button and threw it as he dodged back. Bearcoat’s mouth opened in a shout that was lost as the geyser of hellfire and steel enveloped him and his men. The concussive force would have knocked the Sellsword to the ground if he hadn’t already been there.

  Men shouted at the far end of the hall. Another explosion ripped through the far end of the hallway and rattled the very foundations of the keep. Then another went and another.

  The Sellsword kept his head down, wondering when the old man’s volley of explosives would let up.

  The pair of servants that had been hiding in the pantry were suddenly running past the Sellsword shrieking into the night.

  A rumble deep under the keep felt like an earthquake. Dust shot from the doorway leading into the abyss below, where Varlak had shown the Sellsword his basilisks. A servant of Varlak’s suddenly appeared behind the wafting cloud shouting. “The beast is free! It has eaten its kin and it is free!”

  The Sellsword stood, wondering at that revelation, when more of the paladins came into view, loosing bolts from their flatbows. These survivors were a tenacious lot.

  The old man was at the top of the stairwell, holding another charge ready.

  “We must appease the master’s pet, or we are all doomed!” An arrow through the chest silenced the screaming man.

  The Sellsword threw a spear lying in the hallway into the guts of one of the paladins, bringing the man down with a loud cry. The one beside him was loading another bolt into his flatbow when a stone came flying from off the top of the stairwell, crushing his skull to jelly.

  “I got him!” cried Nicene. “The old man told me to lob it at t
hem and I hit him!”

  “I have a name you know.”

  Nicene looked puzzled. “Why didn’t you ever tell me then?”

  “I think that was the last of them,” called the old man, ignoring Nicene’s question.

  “Are you sure?” asked the Sellsword.

  “No, but I know I’ve already blown up a score of them. I think those two were the last.”

  The Sellsword dared a look around the corner of the hall and saw the mangled remains of at least that many men. No more charged into the room.

  Looking back at the fallen screaming servant’s corpse, the Sellsword had to wonder if the man was a panicking fool or if there was some merit to his fear. The basilisks had been as large as crocodiles, but should that worry anyone? He thought not.

  “Old man, toss one of those charges down that stairwell. We are sealing it off.”

  “It’s the last one,” said the old man but he shrugged, set the timer, and tossed the charge through the open doorway. They heard it clank three times down the steps until it went off with a horrific concussive blast and stones fell over the stairwell, crushing the former basement entrance under tons of stone.

  “What was that I blew up down there?”

  “We were just saving ourselves from any further problems. This end of things is taken care of.”

  “And next?” asked Nicene.

  “We go find Anaias and end this.”

  “What about the dark goddess? I warned you,” added Nicene.

  “One thing at a time.”

  As they wandered out of the smoky, ruined gate of Varlak’s keep, the Sellsword stepped ahead of them and crouched near a ruined mass of bodies. Rolling over a corpulent body, he rummaged through some armor and refuse.

  “Is that Bearcoat?” asked the old man.

  “It was. He stole my sword,” answered the Sellsword as he drew the blackened steel from the cobbles.

  “Is it all right?” asked Nicene.

  “It’s like me, nothing a little polish and a whetstone won’t help.”