In grotesque horror, the Jarl drops the man and the figure crumples to the floor, dead before he hits the ground.
“Evidently they don’t want their secrets spilled,” Hralfar growls.
I study the cloaked figure on the ground. Every part of his body is covered with a completely black article of clothing, and his head is wreathed in a long hood. He has collapsed onto his stomach, and I push him with my foot until he rolls over. His face is sallow and tattooed, but I do not care to examine the tattoos. The clasp on his cloak catches my eye.
It depicts a snake, but there is no end to its tail. The body loops around itself, never ending, somehow a circle of three loops though the neck protrudes from the intersection in the middle. A dagger is laced between the bottom two loops. The entire brooch is completely white.
Where have I seen that before? I ask myself.
“How many were there?” I ask the guard. “How many?”
“We don’t know,” he says. “There were few that we know of.”
“Then where are the others?” Genevieve asks, having just shown up with a small group of men.
“Sythian,” I mutter.
Before waiting to see if they have understood, I race through the gathering crowd, pushing aside everyone and everything. I reach the stairs and pound down a flight in two bounds, and then another, and another. Above me I can hear the clack of the soldiers struggling to keep up.
I can’t get down the stairs fast enough. My heart races and my anger rises. How could you be so stupid? Why didn’t you see this?
There is no moon, so the only light comes from the torches hung on the walls. It flickers and dances, the air from my desperate sprint disturbing the flames.
I almost slam a guard into the ground when he pops out around the corner, but fortunately I realize what I am about to do and avert the blow from him. He stares at me in dismay as I push past him and continue down the stairs.
Finally I turn the corner and reach the bottom. I can go no further.
Without stopping I bolt down the dark corridor and around the corner, my shadow flying ominously over the craggy walls. My grip tightens on my hammer and I mentally reassure myself of the throwing knives on my belt.
Then I stop. I stare. My breathing echoes into the empty chamber that had served as Sythian’s cell.
The door hangs slightly ajar. The torches flicker eerily. The hay sits on the far corner. The grime drips from the walls. The cell is empty.
With a frustrated grunt I take off back down the way I had come.
Soldiers part before me like ants before a river. I hear their cries as I pass.
“The guards down there-”
“Stole the keys and-”
“They’re all dead-”
“Men sneaking-”
“May have escaped-”
“No where to run-”
“QUIET, YOU FOOLS!” I roar, turning to face the clueless throng of guards. Silence falls immediately. “FIND THEM!”
Without bothering to see if they will even pretend to follow my orders, I fly up the first flight of stairs. I will find them whether they help me or not.
I pause at the top. I cannot follow them if I do not know which way they have gone.
My mind races to the trapdoor through which I had infiltrated the Bastion. No, I reprimand myself. That would bring him up in the middle of the city and he’d have to pass through the main gate to escape. That’s not it.
What about the dock? Too risky, I decide. That place is still crawling with our men. He got caught once and he wouldn’t chance it again.
Where else is there to escape to? I ask myself. Come on, Kadmus! My mind flies around the city, scoping every possible entry and exit, every hiding place, and every route to get there.
The forest! I realize. Perfect cover at night. But how would he get there?
I recall the search that I had helped conduct right after we had overtaken the Bastion. Which tunnel is it?! I rage. There was one just down the hall in the closet, where I had emerged, there’s another hidden behind a tapestry on the wall a ways down the hallway, another on the ground floor behind the left stairwell, and a fourth underneath the armory on the far side of the Bastion.
I think of the broken window and the banner, but dismiss the possibility immediately. He wouldn’t chance running through the entire castle. For the same reason I dismiss the armory tunnel.
The trapdoor in the closet I had dismissed earlier.
Which is it, Kadmus? The tapestry or the stairwell?
The tapestry faces west. The tunnel would run west, straight underneath the wall. There it could rise and emerge out of the wall into the port. Or it could turn south and dive straight into the forest.
I think for a moment it may be a better bet to run all the way through the main gate and find him in the forest, but once again I dismiss the idea almost instantly. I have no idea where in the forest to look, and we cannot possibly sweep the entire thing in one night. By the time we get there he could be long gone.
Tapestry or stairwell?
The stairwell exit points south. Towards the forest.
My eyes snap open; the carnage of thought had taken me less than a second.
It hardly takes me twice that to bound up the stairs to the ground floor.
Soldiers follow me probably just because I’m the only one who actually looks like I know where I’m going. And I know exactly.
I’m in the stairwell on the left side of the entrance hall. A large rug lies pushed against the wall furthest from the hall. It is askew and the corner is folded.
With a single heave I grasp the edge and throw the rug to the side, revealing a trapdoor underneath. There’s a click.
Trying the trapdoor reveals that it has been locked. No matter.
With an infuriated bellow I bring my hammer down with all of my might, shattering the trapdoor into shards of wood. The iron hinge hangs open, a piece of wood clinging on desperately, and the iron knob clangs against the floor at the bottom. Ignoring the ladder, I jump in and the sound of my landing echoes through the hall.
There’s a loud clash as the shaft of my hammer blocks an incoming sword. The steel of his blade rings even after he falls to the ground.
My hammer is already spattered with blood. There are no torches in the corridor, but I need none. I know he is near.
I can hear him fleeing. I don’t know how many there are; probably three or four. Not enough.
My footsteps thump in the tunnel. It is dark, but ahead there is a dim orange light. With all of the strength I have, I run for it.
A black silhouette steps into the light. I do not slow. The shadow pulls up a strange bow-like object. Then I hit the floor.
The bolt whizzes down the length of the tunnel. I lay perfectly still in the dirt as I wait for him to reload.
“You hit him?” I hear.
“No,” the shadow replies softly. “He’s still here.”
I smile darkly.
The crossbow clicks as he loads it. Then there’s the clatter of soldiers behind me.
“Dingflies,” the first voice says.
“Go on,” says the second. “I’ll hold them off.”
Oh will you?
“Which way?”
“Gotta be down here-”
“I thought I saw-”
“Where’d the captain-”
The light moves down the tunnel and around the corner, out of sight. The silhouette does not move, and disappears into the encroaching dark.
The soldiers have brought torches. Good. They‘re not all so dimwitted.
That assassin is invisible in the dark. I cannot allow the light of the torches to come over me, or he will have a blatantly obvious target to shoot at. At the same time, if I move too quickly or loudly, he will detect me despite the shadows we both use as camouflage.
A bolt suddenly penetrates the chest of one of the guards. Dark blood drips from the shaft that sticks straight from his heart. Without emitting a singl
e sound, the soldier drops to the ground.
I move quickly. Crossbows, though powerful, are slow to reload. If I can catch him before he loads-
Another sprouts from the chest of another victim. This soldier groans as he sags to the floor, unable to do anything to resist the powers of death that overtake him.
My footsteps are light and fast. I stay low to the ground. Then to my right I hear a slight click.
A throwing knife leaves my hand before the bolt can leave the crossbow. From the darkness there’s a surprised yell, and then a grunt of pain.
“There!” shouts one of the guards.
Torchlight floods the area, illuminating the man struggling violently to get away with a knife stuck in his leg. His crossbow, loaded and primed, is just out of reach.
“Take him,” says one of the guards. I don’t stick around to see what happens.
I take off at a dead sprint down the tunnel and towards my target. He will get no mercy. I don’t care what Lord Archeantus or Jarl Hralfar says. Sythian will die when I see him.
The tunnel angles downward, and then suddenly inclines. My pace does not slow.
I break out of the trapdoor in much the same way I had broken in. Upon climbing out, I realize that they had placed a large rock or log over the top, but it availed them nothing. The trapdoor is nothing more than shards of wood.
As I expected, a sword swings at me from behind a tree. I block it quickly and jab the butt of the shaft of my weapon into my attacker’s shins. He growls in pain and swings again, but I replicate the move, this time hitting him squarely in the nose. With a short yell he stumbles away, holding his face. I knock him out quickly with a light blow over the head with the shaft.
I’m standing in a small glade. What looks like a small green matt has been pulled back behind what remains of the trapdoor. There is little moonlight.
The wind blows. The leaves rustle. A chill runs up my spine and sweat drips from my hardened brow.
“COME ON, GURBOG!” I bellow, my knuckles turning white on the shaft of my hammer. “COME ON OUT! THERE’S SOME BUSINESS WE HAVEN’T FINISHED YET!”
The breeze picks up and whistles through the trees. Light is beginning to come up over the plains on the horizon to the east.
“YOU OWE ME!” I continue. “NOW COME ON!”
There is no response.
I wait, standing alone in the middle of the forest. Was it a decoy? I wonder.
Then his voice. It’s slight. I must strain to hear the words, but when I block out all else I hear them clear as day. “This is not over, Dragonhammer.”
I turn towards the sound and let loose an inhuman roar that shakes the trees and rocks the dirt beneath my feet as I bound like an animal in his direction. I crash through undergrowth and thickets, destroying anything and everything to bar my way. My hammer swings every which way in seeming chaos.
I don’t know how far I run. I don’t know how much time it takes. I know that he is gone.
The realization captures my mind and holds it captive. I stop running. He is gone. He escaped.
I yell at the sky and drop to my knees. The sun breaks over the horizon and light shines over the world.
Anger overtakes every ounce of my being. Anger at Archeantus. Anger at Hralfar. Anger at the idiot men who call themselves guards. Anger at Sythian. Anger at myself.
Anger that I am powerless.
Powerless to protect my friends and family. Powerless to protect myself from grief, pain, and anger such as this. Powerless to destroy the one man responsible for the death of my brother.
And the one responsible for the doom of my father.
I recall the conversation I had with Lucius Swordbreaker before I knocked him out of a third-story window.
It wasn’t me! That order came from Ollgorath!
The leader of Diagrall? I had questioned.
He commanded it! the frightened man had said. I only carried it out!
Sythian isn’t the prize. Ollgorath is. It’s because of him that I’m fighting. Because of him my home was taken and destroyed. Because of him my mother is now a widow and my brother lies underground. Because of him there is pain. There is war. There is destruction. All for what? What is the purpose?
That’s what I will ask him, I decide. When I have him strung up by his innards on the end of my hammer. Why? Was it worth it? Was it worth every life you spent, every life you took, every home you destroyed, to end up where you are?
The tyranny must end. There is no good in this world as Ollgorath will make it. I will always fight against him. When all is said and done he will have me to answer to, as will all others who dare try to perpetrate his values.
I rise and gaze over the brightening plains to the east. The sun has risen, oblivious to the death and destruction that is wrought every day and night underneath its reign.
Slowly I turn back towards the city. I will make for the gate rather than the tunnel. I’ve had enough of darkness for one day.
My hammer rests on my shoulder, stabilized by my right hand. It bounces with every step I take. I look at the monstrous weapon and study the metalworking I had done months earlier. I can do better.
I wipe the sweat from my brow and welcome the breeze that cools me. Something inside me is renewed. I know why I am fighting.
I am Dragonhammer.
Bad Tidings of Great Misery
The guards seem deathly afraid of my approach and open the gate to the Bastion before I get within fifty feet. I hardly glance at them, but they try very hard to make themselves disappear into the air, as if my gaze will incinerate them on the spot. My hammer still bounces menacingly on my shoulder. My strides are long.
“Kadmus!” says the Jarl when he sees me in the entrance hall. “Did you catch him?”
Oh good. At least he managed to put it together. “Does it look like I caught him?” I growl, doing my best to refrain from disturbing the gods with a voice of thunder.
The Jarl quickly senses my animosity and inhales slowly, tightening his lips, choosing very carefully what he is about to say. He decides on, “I see.” The words come out quietly, like a child reluctantly confessing to his mother that he ate all of the pastries.
I force my jaw to relax as I push down the hall, but unfortunately as I do so a flurry of words is unleashed.
“Because I seem to be the only one who is capable of doing anything in this gods-forsaken war! Why is it that nobody can simply do what needs done in a timely manner? If we didn’t have the dingfly-brained soldiers downstairs, or at the gate, or the tunnels, or anywhere else that was an even slightly viable exit, we would have gotten him!” My words reverberate through the halls and shake the stone. “I knew we should have killed him when we had him!”
“Captain,” Hralfar says feebly.
I ignore him and my rage continues, “We held him with his neck between our fists and yet we let him waltz away! Better we had killed him and had done, because now, not only will Diagrall have one of their most powerful leaders back in his slimy place, but he knows exactly what information he has given out and that may well have lost us our next strategy!” My hammer swings through the air, breaking a candelabrum hanging on the wall. The clang echoes through the stone of the castle, stamping a fantastic exclamation point onto the end of my statement.
Dead silence.
Soldiers stand rigid on the balconies, scared that making the smallest step would click on the stone and again unleash the fury that is mine. Genevieve holds her breath in the corner. The Jarl looks down at my steel-clad feet. He is speechless.
I glare at him, as if expecting a response, but I do not anticipate or want one. Without another word I turn and storm further into the castle.
As I leave I hear Genevieve clear her throat uncomfortably.
The door into the barracks bunkroom rattles as it hits the wall. I enter and watch James leap a foot in the air, (which was quite impressive as he was lying flat on his back), and for the first time Aela jolts backward. She almost t
rips over a helmet lying on the floor, but flings her arms out wide and catches her balance before she falls over. Nobody dares say anything to me.
“Where’s Percival?” I interrogate sharply when I notice his absence.
“I think he’s still out,” James answers, his wary tone giving away the fact that he feels my fury.
“Know where?”
James shakes his head. “I hardly had time to get suited but Percival was out there searching the castle like the rest of the soldiers. He hasn’t come back yet.”
I nod.
There’s an awkward silence.
“So…” James says slowly. “Can I ask what you’re mad about?”
My head cocks to the side and my tongue presses against my teeth as my jaw clenches. “Sythian escaped,” I blurt, shutting my mouth immediately after. I fear keeping it open too long may result in a recurrence of the incident in the entrance hall.
James opens his mouth, but the only sound that comes out is a slight “Ah.” Then he shuts it.
“Yeah,” I reply sarcastically. “Ah.”
“So why are you looking for Percival?”
I glance at Aela, who is fiddling with something behind the headboard of her bed.
“Wanted to talk,” I reply.
A pair of black eyes flashes from the back of the room. A looming form stands from his bunk and clomps a few long strides forward. Ullrog’s deep voice rumbles, “I will talk.”
I leave without a word and the orc follows me out, though I had not agreed to anything.
He wears no armor and no shirt, but his sword is sheathed on his back. The hilt, I realize, must be almost as long as my forearm.
“Where you going?” the orc asks.
“Don’t know.”
“Me lead,” he says.
I stop and look at him. He waits for my permission. When I nod, he returns the gesture and steps in front of me.
I follow him up a flight of stairs and into a large corridor, where we turn right and head towards the end. There, he opens a large door and holds it open for me, gesturing for me to go through. I do.
Dragonhammer: Volume II Page 25
