by Philip Smith
“That may be a better option then,” Dinendale said. “Hamish, could you get this man and this woman out that way?”
“It would be my honor sir,” the cooper saluted smartly.
“Are you sure it will be a better way?” Woodcarver asked, skeptical. “We have no reconnaissance that way.”
“I assure you, it’s there, sir. My little Eufrasia collects the ash to make soap to sell at the market. There’s a small servant’s door leading into the Barracks that comes out right by the stables.”
“How many guards?”
“One, two at the most. They guard on the outside so they can monitor the horses as well.”
“Can you handle two guards?” Dinendale asked.
Woodcarver’s indignant expression was all Dinendale needed.
“Right. Cooper? Get those you can out and head that way. Best of luck to you. Woodcarver, I’ll go grab the others and we’ll meet you at the rendezvous point.”
“Thank you, sir,” the human blubbered, tears of joy overtaking him. “I’ll never forget this debt.”
“Be safe,” the elf admonished.
The magician slung the unconscious princess over his shoulder as gently as he could and nodded.
Dinendale dashed through the door of the prison, jogging back to the fork in the hallways. He took a glance in the kitchen to be sure there weren't any glowing stones left behind. Then he took the center of the three hallways intent on catching up with Jesnake. This one took a flight of stairs even deeper into the palace spiralling downward into the bowels of the mountain.
When the staircase ended, Dinendale came to another long, curved, hallway. He could hear sounds of metallic clanking and low booms from around the corner. He cautiously entered the void, sword drawn and ready when a body hurled past him and shoved him into the wall.
“Shhhh!” Jesnake hissed, putting a finger to his lips. “Did you find her?”
“Aye!” Dinendale said. Jesnake grabbed his arm and hauled the dark elf back to the stairs.
“What’s around the corner?”
“Hell,” Jesnake snapped. “We have to get out!”
“Agreed!”
“No, I mean we need to get out now!” Jesnake said in short gasps. “They know we’re here!”
“What?” Dinendale ran to keep up as they dashed up the stairway. “Jey, what’s happened?”
“That’s the foundry and the torture chamber,” Jesnake spat, jabbing his finger down the hallway. “I watched them for about two minutes, when a man burst through a door on the opposite side from where I was. He yelled for the men to wake the palace garrison. They know we’re here.”
Dinendale ran up the flight of stairs, a feeling of sinking dread overtaking his stomach.
“Paige and Robert!” he pumped his legs up the stairs.
“Where were they?” Jesnake huffed up the flight of steps behind Dinendale.
“Third hallway,” Dinendale heaved. “I haven't seen them yet and they aren't back outside!”
They dashed out to the main hall, and flew up the third flight of stairs. Emerging into the hallway, they abruptly halted.
Three bodies lay in the dimly lit passage. Two were dressed in mail and wore disheveled turbans, so Dinendale knew they were guards. But when he saw the third, Dinendale felt his heart stop.
“Robert?” he shouted, running to his comrade. Blood covered his friend’s body as he lay on the ground. Dinendale immediately felt for a pulse. A faint heartbeat was still there.
“Eöl,” Dinendale demanded. His voice shook with worry and rage. “Can you hear me? What happened?”
“You should see the other guy,” Robert sputtered, blood splattering his robes as he spoke.
“Creator have mercy,” Dinendale spat out the prayer. “Where are you hit?”
“Side,” Robert grimaced. “A knife. I can feel it. Missed my stomach but it’s… not exactly… ideally located.”
Dinendale looked at his friend’s brown robe soaked with blood. He found the Shauden knife just above Robert’s kidney. Jesnake quickly notched an arrow, aiming it at the door emblazoned with a golden serpent, standing guard.
“Hold still,” Dinendale grabbed the hilt.
Robert grabbed his wrist before he could remove the blade. “NO!” he bellowed. “Leave it. I’ll bleed out faster if you pull it out, moron. Go!”
“I’m not going to-”
“Dinendale,” Robert gasped for air. “He… took… her.”
Dinendale felt his veins turn to ice. Blood drained from his head. The room around him spun.
“He took her through those doors,” Robert heaved. “You have to stop him.”
“Jesnake, get Robert out of here.”
Dinendale flew through the hallway to the golden serpent door.
“Din!” Robert called out. Dinendale halted for moment.
Robert gulped, then coughed. A sliver of blood came out the corner of his mouth. “You kill that son of a pixie,” he spat. “For me. For her. She’s… she...” Robert didn’t have the energy to finish his thought. He slumped back, gasping again for breath.
Dinendale nodded furiously. Hot, angry, tears glazed over his view as he realized this could be the last time he ever saw his friend.
“Din,” Jesnake called out, tossing something from a body of a Shaud. It was a small hand cannon, much like the ones they’d encountered in the forest just days ago.
“One shot. Make it count.” Jesnake grabbed hold of Robert and dragged him back to the stairs.
“There’s an ash shuttle on the south side of the palace,” Dinendale said as he tucked the hand cannon into the back of his belt. “You might have better luck that way.”
“I’ll find it,” Jesnake assured, hauling Robert up to his feet. “Alright, Eöl. Let’s get you out of here. Din? Be careful.”
Turning to the giant door, Dinendale drew his scimitar, a dangerous glare glinting in his eye. He took a long deep breath and yanked the door open.
He rushed into what looked like a throne room. The carved furniture and rich tapestries emblazoned every inch of the round chamber. A large oak dining table graced the left wall with a series of immaculately carved chairs with soft, blue cushions. But it was the four heavily armed men who stood in a semicircle in front of him that Dinendale took note of first: the prince’s personal guard. Unlike normal soldiers, these men wore crimson garb to stand apart from white linen of the army. Two men held curved scimitars identical to Dinendale’s while another held a heavy battle axe. The last man held a nasty looking hand-and-a-half sword, also known as a bastard, that very well could have been as tall as the man himself.
They rushed him all at once. Din snapped his gaze around the room and saw an oil lamp on a small writing desk to his right. He switched sword hands and snagged the melon sized object in his right, hurtling it into the oncoming attackers.
The ceramic lamp hit the floor with a crash, and the oil flew, catching fire in multiple directions. The guards avoided the flames as they rushed forward, but it gave Dinendale the split-second distraction he needed. The elf leapt onto the desk, grabbing one of the tapestries and yanking it off its hanging strings. He tossed it over the closest guard like a tablecloth.
Dinendale leapt up, landing on the entangled soldier’s shoulders, driving him to the ground beneath the temporary woven confinement. He thrust his scimitar straight down on the guard as he landed feeling the blade connect with soft tissue.
He whirled around to duck an attack made by the man with the bastard. He caught the back swing on his sword, deflecting it and following up with a kick to further unbalance the attacker. Din caught the arm of the stumbling soldier and used the weight of his own heavy sword to drive the tip into the marble floor.
Using his momentum, Dinendale finished his attack with several vicious blows to the jawbone fueled by unstoppable rage. As he pummeled the man’s face, he grabbed the bastard and wrenched it out of the man’s grasp. Driving the hilt into the soldier’s nose, he dro
pped the Shaud like a sack of lead. Then he prepared to meet the other two.
Before the second human hit the ground, Dinendale hacked furiously at the other swordsman, trying to keep moving so the axe-wielding Shaud couldn’t join his comrade in a double-teamed effort. The skill of this swordsman was excellent, but when Dinendale feigned a limp, the Shaud took the bait. Dinendale spun at just the right time and brought the bastard down as hard as he could into the man’s exposed side. The Shaud heaved as the blade hacked through a chink in his armor and into his ribcage.
The final soldier attacked, swinging the mighty axe with broad sweeps meant for cleaving holes in the ranks of enemy lines. This Shaud was as big as a mountain bear and roared like one, too. He had an ugly, pudgy, pock-marked face, with bellowing jowls. Dinendale knew if he was even slightly nicked by that whirling broad-head, he would find his lower limbs severed from his body.
He backed up a few steps to the throne, which was made of solid granite. He ducked behind it as the human juggernaut attacked. The axe head connected with the back of the stone throne, shattering into a myriad of pieces and scattering them in all directions. Dinendale dodged a large marble chunk, slid on the slippery stone floor and jumped down to the court floor. The roaring giant advanced on him like a bull charging a lamb.
Dinendale saw a door on the other end, and bolted for it. He looked for anything that could give him advantage over his adversary. His battle with the jailer and now three more guards had exhausted him, and he was willing to take any advantage he could get his hands on.
Suddenly, things came to a head rather rapidly; Din tripped on a loose rug and went flying towards the door. He landed with a gasp, his breath sucked out of his body like a blacksmith at his bellows. Dinendale’s borrowed sword ejected from his hand and clattered down on the stone floor. He rolled over onto his back, gasping for air. The Shaud ran at him with his axe raised high, preparing to let it cleave his enemy in twain.
As the Shaud reeled his axe to crush the elf, Dinendale remembered something he had learned by watching Paige fight: the downfall of every man.
He threw the heel of his boot at the man and caught the Shaud right in the fork of his legs.
The man’s eyes seemed to pop out of his face when Dinendale’s kick and his own inertia connected and registered as pain in his brain. He dropped the axe in mid-swing and toppled to the ground with a thud. He made a high pitched squeal that was so unlike the roar that he blasted from his lungs at the beginning of the fight.
Without wasting time, Dinendale jumped up and kicked the axe out of the man’s reach. He knelt at the dropped soldier, drawing his dagger to the man’s throat.
“Where is she?” he said in a menacing tone. The man looked at Dinendale, gave a smug grin, and then winced in pain.
“You’ll never get out of here alive,” he said through gritted teeth. “You and your barbarian princess will fall at the wrath of Prince Feridar.”
“I’ll take my chances. Now tell me. Where did he take her?” Dinendale moved the dagger closer to the man’s throat.
“You have no idea what you’re dealing with,” the man said, wincing as Dinendale glided through outer layer of flesh with the tip of the dagger. A small trickle of blood ran down the man’s neck and onto the floor.
“WHERE IS SHE?” Dinendale barked, sliding the knife just enough to draw another stream of blood. The man’s face contorted in pain.
Dinendale saw fear and defeat flash on the man’s eyes.
“He’s taken her to the roof,” he said, “he’s ending this little game once and for all.”
The soldier shut his eyes tight. It took Dinendale a moment to realize that the man was waiting for him to kill him. It was what he would expect, being a soldier of the Shahir.
“I’m not going to kill you,” he said, withdrawing the knife blade.
The man looked surprised, then disgusted. “Coward,” he spat wearing a confused expression.
Dinendale shook his head. “No. It’s called honor.” A solid punch to the man’s jaw sent him unconscious. Dinendale stood and shook the pain out of his punching hand. His ears tuned to indiscriminate yelling of men in the hallway he had just come from. Reinforcements were on their way. He ran to the door and opened it a crack.
Immediately, a hail of arrows thudded into the wooden door frame. Dinendale slammed the door shut as fast as he could. He drew the bolt across the door, but knew that it wouldn’t hold them off long. He grabbed the battle axe off the floor and sunk it into the wooden barricade, letting the axehead cut into the frame as well. It was by no means permanent, but would seal it for the time being. He flipped the heavy oak table and shoved it in front of the barricaded door.
Dinendale bolted to the other door, grabbing the bastard off the floor and a torch off the wall. He flung open the door to reveal a narrow passageway. The hall ran a hundred paces and turned to a staircase that branched off. He took the stairs two at a time, he felt the burn of his thigh muscles as he burst into the cold night air on the roof.
The elf stood on the roof of the palace with the large onion shaped dome in its center. A short battlement with staggered crenels surrounded the edge of the roof with four staircases continuing up to form minarets on each corner of the keep. Dinendale ran from the back corner tower towards the front of the keep. He frantically searched for any sign of Paige. As he circled the dome, something thrashing in the darkness caught his eye, and Dinendale felt time stand still.
Paige was struggling desperately for breath, clawing for life on the stone. A tall, broad-shouldered man was kicking her in the ribs repeatedly as she lay on her side. She cried out in agony as his boot caught her in the side so hard Dinendale could feel the thud of the blow through the soles of his feet. On each side of the man stood two armed guards holding shields and torches.
The man shoved Paige onto her back and leapt upon her like a jaguar, a long, thin dagger in his hand. Dinendale saw him cut the lacing on Paige’s jerkin and rip the side open. Paige flailed, but the attacker backhanded her hard across the face. Stunned, she couldn’t struggle as the man ripped the jerken off the rest of the way leaving her vunerable. Muffled screams escaped Paige’s lips as her attacker held her down.
Dinendale felt his voice welling up inside him like a gale across the great plains as Paige’s assailant turned and looked at him.
“Feridar!”
Chapter 20
Escape
Dinendale’s heartbeat pounded in his ears. His fingers gripped the bastard so hard his knuckles popped. Like a boulder of obsidian smashing into a mountainside, it felt like his soul shattered into a million pieces. He raised the torch high in his shaking hand and charged towards Paige and Feridar.
Hurling through the darkness, the elf flew towards them like an arrow in the sky. The two guards standing by dropped their torches and drew their scimitars. They held up round, spike-adorned shields in defiance, but Dinendale was having none of it. His lungs roared with a mighty battle cry. He threw his torch to the ground and brought his sword to the ready.
Dinendale leapt into the air with his heavy sword lifted high and brought it down on the shield of the leftmost opponent. The blow knocked the soldier backwards enough to lose his footing. Dinendale swung the sword around but the soldier caught the blade with his shield a second time. The deafening clang reverberated across the rooftop like a gong, knocking Dinendale back a few paces.
The other guard attacked twice in quick succession. Barely recovering, Dinendale blocked the man’s blows in quick succession. The strikes descended heavily upon him, but he met them with attacks of his own. A heavy slash downward was followed by an uppercut that tickled Dinendale’s chin. The dark elf twisted, withdrawing from the third slash. He let out another yell as he attacked the man with a series of ferocious blows: left, right, left, left, under, and thrust home.
Dinendale could feel the blade separate the links of mail and cut through to the man’s beating heart. The Shaud made a sputtering noise as h
e crumpled to the floor like a spider on a candle flame, sliding off Dinendale’s blade.
The first attacker rushed at Dinendale. Moving out of the way, Dinendale let him come, sliding his right foot back a bit for traction. As the man rushed and slashed, Dinendale caught the blow with his vambrace. He felt the sharp pain as the thrust splintered one of the bones in his forearm. In turn, he grabbed the man’s sword arm and wrenched it forward, throwing the Shaud off balance. The man staggered forward, stumbling on top of his own shield with a mighty crash. As he struggled to get to his feet, Dinendale yanked his helmet towards the sky, then repeatedly slammed his fist into the Shaud’s face till his body went limp.
