Jack eyed the men from the darkness and felt his heart hammering in his chest. What if they were too frightened to continue down into the lower tunnels? What if he and the chief were forced to hide here all day? Surely they would search the prison when Toma and the others did not return. Two more soldiers exited the guardroom and all five of them ran toward the deeper tunnels. He breathed a sigh of relief.
“Let’s go,” rumbled Rowgar into his ear. Jack felt his friend grab the front of his uniform and pull him forward. Then he was running for the opening and had no more time for contemplations.
They entered the deserted guardroom and Rowgar wasted no time. He hefted a backpack onto the table and filled it with knives and quarrels. He grabbed a sword belt from the wall, buckled it on and then fit two more swords alongside the first blade. On the right side of the belt, he added three throwing knives. Shouldering the pack, he motioned Jack to come and help him. “Get that crossbow and tie it to my pack.” Jack did as he was told as Rowgar carefully fit two more swords under the pack and across his back. “Get yourself a belt and put that sword on it. You remember how to use the crossbow, like I explained?”
“Yes,” agreed Jack, trying to latch a swordbelt across his hips. His fingers felt numb and he glanced to the tunnel behind them.
Rowgar’s hand settled over Jack’s hands and the soldier pulled the belt from him. “Breathe,” he said calmly. He offered Jack a second strap that had both a scabbard and a quiver on it. “For the quarrels,” he said and helped Jack to tie the leather around his waist. “Stay on my heels,” he warned and then he was running again. Jack grabbed a crossbow from the wall and followed.
There was only a short tunnel and three administrative rooms left to navigate before they arrived outside. They encountered no one in the building and Jack somehow felt braver when they came to the row of windows in the last hallway. Sunlight filtered into the building and Jack’s heart was lifted knowing he was minutes away from freedom.
The escapees rounded the last corridor and stopped abruptly in the doorway leading to the main courtyard. Crossing the open ground, two guards were rushing toward them, swords drawn. Jack almost collapsed from fear, but Rowgar stepped in front of him. Peeking over Rowgar’s shoulder, he could see a line of cannons along the far wall of the compound. The two men had been cleaning one of the large guns. It was pulled from it’s mooring on the wall and was aimed into the courtyard. Jack noticed that what he had mistaken for a sword was actually a ramrod carried in one of the men’s hands.
“What was that?” called the first of the men. “It sounded like an explosion.”
Jack was speechless. Then he remembered the uniform Rowgar had made him don. Still hidden behind his partner, he lifted his crossbow and readied its draw.
Rowgar said nothing and stumbled from the doorway. He held one of his knives hidden against the back of his leg. The two men reached him as he fell to one knee. The blood drenched uniform signalled his need for medical attention and both men slowed. Rowgar struck with the speed and ferocity Jack had witnessed in the lower tunnels. His knife flashed up through the first man’s uniform. Under the ribs and straight through the heart; Rowgar’s aim was deadly. Wrenching the blade free, he spun on his knees, forced the second man’s sword out with his left hand, and slammed the blade into the guard’s femoral artery in the thigh. Jumping on the downed man, his hand covered the guard’s mouth as he stabbed him twice more. Rising, Rowgar pointed to the south and the griffon pens. “Go,” he yelled and then sprinted for the eastern compound.
Jack swallowed his fear and dashed across the courtyard. He ran to his right, along the wall of the fortification. The ramparts were interspersed with cannon and ammunition every twenty feet. It was these guns he knew that had brought the king’s balloons down. Stopping at the cannon that had been removed from its moorings, he was surprised to see the fuse had been set. Beside the cannon, a barrel housed a metal pan and a slow burning match cord. The unfortunate man with the ramrod must have been training on the use of the gun.
Continuing along the wall, he raced south and came to a set of twelve steps. At the top of the stairs, a stone statue depicted a saluting soldier. The subject’s back was rigid and he wore the light armour, curved sword, and longbow of a Ponce Griffon Jockey. A plaque was inset at the base of the sculpture, but Jack did not stop to read it. He could see the rooftops of the griffon pens from here, and he could smell the rancid odour of the beasts.
Bounding down the steps, he came to a fenced off enclosure. He opened the latch on the gate and stepped through, his eyes watchful. At least forty pens had been constructed along the upper cliffs. Six to eight wooden posts had been sunk into the ground for each, and a slanted, shingled, overhang had been secured over these. From within the pens, the giant griffons lounged on their straw beds, their intelligent eyes assessing him as he passed.
Jack was sweating now, and he wasn’t sure he could muster the courage to enter a cage with these creatures. He stopped in front of the nearest beast, his fingers caressing the crossbow. An eagle’s head with its powerful razor sharp beak gazed back at him. Between the creatures folded wings, rested the sleek muscled body of a hunting cat. The griffon’s lengthy tail swished from side to side in agitation. How on Earth was he to saddle one of these without getting killed?
Rowgar had spent two days lecturing him on how the process worked, drawing diagrams on the floor when Jack could not follow the instructions. ‘Around each wing, across the chest, and under the belly. Be firm and assured, and the beasts will not harm you.’
Jack turned from the pen and headed for the central building, a large structure two storeys high that housed the feed and tack for the griffons. He was almost at the door, when a man in overalls walked outside, a bail of hay resting on his shoulder. “Hey, you can’t be down here,” said the worker when he saw Jack striding toward him. He stared at Jack, his eyes taking in the blood stains covering the uniform. He turned for the hangar and Jack’s crossbow clicked. The quarrel punched through the groom’s side under his arm. The man was lifted from his feet, the bale of hay tumbling to the ground.
Jack was still. He didn’t remember aiming the bow, and yet, the man was dead. He cranked the filament back and reset another bolt. They stole two years from him. He wasn’t about to be stopped this close to freedom. He ran into the hangar, his anger building. A gray haired man was working at a bench punching holes in a strip of leather with an awl. He looked up as Jack ran across the floor, his crossbow raised. This time the bolt missed his target and punched into the wall behind the bench. The man leapt from his stool and ran, and Jack threw the crossbow at him. This also missed, but he was close now and drew his sword. He had never used a sword against another man before, but he dared not stop to question his abilities or his resolve now. He rammed the blade into the fleeing man’s back. Yelling incoherently, he brought the weapon down for a second blow. He stood over his victim, his breath rattling in his throat, his eyes wild and searching. He looked everywhere for another target, anyone who would dare to try and stop him, but except for the bodies and the griffons, he was alone.
Dropping the sword, he went into the back room and located the stored saddles. Hefting one above his head, his look was determined as he made his way outside to the pens. Balancing the contraption on his shoulder, he lifted the latch on the first gate and entered. He scowled at the beast as it raised itself up on all fours. Looking the creature in the eye, he surprised himself when his voice remained calm. “If you so much as squawk, I’ll de-feather you myself.”
* * * *
Jack tied off the eight griffons to a hitching post located on the fringe of the stable yard and overlooking the ocean below. He then returned to the storeroom and retrieved his sword and crossbow. The minutes trickled by and he cracked the knuckles on his right hand as he reached another five-hundred count. It had been thirty minutes since he had left Rowgar’s side. He cursed to himself and was about to mount the stairs to survey the courtyard, when
he heard footsteps and light conversation drifting down from above. Drawing his sword, he retreated to the nearest griffon and loosened its reins. He almost mounted the beast in his panic, but he forced himself to remain calm, his head canted to the side and his breathing shallow as he listened to the voices drawing nearer.
Jack knew the instant he saw them that the newcomers were the soldiers captured in the balloon attacks on the chateau. The men were dressed in soiled prison uniforms, and many of them were bandaged and had sustained awful wounds. They helped each other along and were armed with the weapons Rowgar had stolen.
Dropping the reins, Jack rushed to assist them. “Where’s the Chief?” he asked, guiding the men to the line of griffons.
“He chased that pig Etan through the main gate,” said one of the men.
“He was like a devil, the way he cut through those guards,” added a second man. “He killed three of them without blinking, and then tossed Jona the keys to our chains. He barely took the time to give us directions before racing off.”
“Damn it,” swore Jack. Sheathing his sword, he pointed to the griffons. “Mount up. Two to a bird. I’m going after him.” He passed his crossbow to one of the soldiers and handed over the remaining bolts he carried. “I’d prefer it if you waited for us, but if you deem it necessary to flee, you have my permission.”
One of two men supporting his comrade removed himself from under the wounded man’s arm and stepped forward. “I am Jonas, first mate of the Red Tail. We owe you boys our lives.” He took Jack’s hand in both of his and looked him in the eye. “We will hold this ground until you get back.” Jack nodded and sprinted for the stairs.
Arriving on the landing, he slowed to survey the main courtyard. Espying the cannon that had been pulled from the wall, he hid behind it. The two bodies remained in the dirt where they had fallen and there was no sign of anyone. The large double gate was open and he could see the green grasses of the cliff tops beyond.
Suddenly, a screech filled the air, and Jack hunkered down behind the large gun. Spiralling from the sky, a griffon descended into the square. Glancing skyward, Jack swallowed in fear as several more of the giant beasts circled low over the walls of the keep. Counting to himself, he was horrified to identify eighteen more of the beasts and their riders. Descending in order, they touched down behind their leader.
The commander of the unit dismounted from his griffon, and was quick to send two of his men to investigate the bodies. He then dispatched four soldiers into the main complex. Removing his gloves, he turned his gaze upon the gaping main gates. He took a step toward the gate and was in the process of issuing another order, when two figures walked through the barrier.
Jack watched sickened as Rowgar marched Etan through the opening in the wall. Etan’s arm was bent behind him and Rowgar held a knife to the man’s side. Seeing the complement of griffons and men, Rowgar shoved his hostage to the ground.
“What is this?” demanded the griffon commander. “Where are my prisoners?”
“It’s him,” screamed Etan, worming forward on the ground. “He’s killed our men and freed the prisoners!”
Jack knew that even if Rowgar fled through the gates he would be caught in a matter of minutes. He also knew that fleeing was the last thing on Rowgar’s mind as he watched his friend draw a second knife from his belt.
Circling the cannon, Jack had to act fast. He knew the fuse had been set and prayed that the procedure was to load the shot first. Continuing his circle, he came up behind the cannon and grabbed onto one of the iron wheels. Straining against the weight of the artillery piece, he almost panicked when it didn’t move. Throwing his entire weight into it, he managed to heave the gun an inch to the left. Twice more he exerted all of his strength into turning the gun. Latching onto the elevation wheel, he began to lower the barrel.
Across the courtyard, the soldiers had fanned out before Rowgar; some of them had their bows drawn and aimed at him. Fearing Rowgar would react before he could execute his plan, Jack yelled out as loudly as he could “HEY!” He was not surprised when everyone turned to look his way.
“You there,” called the commander. “Get away from that gun.”
Jack finished lowering the trajectory of the artillery. His arm reached out for the length of match cord burning in the metal pan. There was barely anything left of it. Touching the ember to the fuse he covered his ears and walked backwards.
“Shoot him!” screamed Etan pointing at Rowgar.
Rowgar’s arm snapped forward, burying a knife in his enemies’ chest. Etan crumpled to the ground and the remaining soldiers leapt into action. Arrows flashed through the air and Jack watched horrified as a shaft brushed Rowgar’s cheek. The elite warrior jerked away holding a bloody gash but otherwise unharmed. Several of the griffon jockeys were rushing him, and Rowgar braced himself for battle.
A massive roar filled the courtyard and everything in Jack’s line of sight was blanketed in thick smoke. As the haze cleared, he could only marvel at the havoc he had caused. Men lay scattered everywhere, and for a second he thought he might be so lucky as to have killed them all. Then the soldiers began to rise and he knew they had fallen to take cover. Griffons squawked and flapped across the yard, and several of them had taken to the sky. The wall behind the men housed the evidence that the cannon had indeed been loaded. A large section of mortar was dislodged from the barricade and a spider web of fractures covered the area of impact.
Jack watched Rowgar sprint toward him, and without realising it, called for his friend to run faster. An arrow whistled past his ear and a second shaft ricocheted off the wall to his right. Jack turned and sprinted for the stairs as more arrows flew past him. The shafts ceased falling as he descended the stairs, but he did not slow his pace. His heartbeat hammered in his ears as he raced along the outer wall. He reached the prisoners and shouted for them to mount the griffons.
Taking the reins of one of the animals, he waved at the other men. “Get into the sky,” he yelled at them. “There’s a regiment of riders in the upper courtyard!” He pointed to the southwest. “Make for Vellia and the walls at Fort Temang.” Jona nodded at him and kicked his griffon into action. The bird squawked and reared before hammering its wings downward. Leaping over the detaining wall, the beast soared down and away to the west. The others were quick to follow. Jack scrambled into his saddle and turned as Rowgar appeared running along the wall. Jack leaned out and offered his arm as the soldier arrived at the griffon.
“Thank the gods you made it, Chief. I had my doubts.”
Rowgar grunted and pulled himself onto the bird behind Jack. “So did I, until you fired that gun. By the way, you missed.”
Jack smiled but did not respond as Rowgar’s arms encircled him for support. He slapped the griffon’s neck and the animal pawed its way forward. He felt his stomach clench as they dropped from the wall. Glancing behind them, he noted a handful of their pursuers retreating for the upper courtyard. The Griffon’s wings extended and pushed downward, pulling them from their shallow dive. “How long will it take to reach Temang,” he called above the wind.
“Too long, riding double,” yelled Rowgar. “I hadn’t planned on being pursued when we drew up the plan.”
“What do you mean?” asked Jack, fear gnawing at his elation.
“We’ll never reach the fort before they catch us,” informed Rowgar. “We’ll have to land somewhere defensible and make a stand before they shoot us from the sky.”
20
Current Affairs
“I can’t believe this!” Honi sat crossways on Garrett’s bed. His eyes were angry and he stared at the dragon hovering over him. “That pig is willing to deny the ransom for an innocent boy? I’ll kill him myself.”
“Calm yourself,” reiterated Merle, holding out his hands to ward off the policeman.
“I will not,” thundered Honi. “I’m coming with you!”
“Your leg is not healed, Archie.”
“My leg be damned!” snarl
ed the man. He lifted his damaged limb toward the edge of the bunk.
“Would you put B.S. at further risk by being discovered?” asked Merle quietly. This stopped Honi and he cursed as it finally sank in that he would be a hindrance. “I didn’t say Mr. Kline refused to pay the ransom,” continued Merle. “I said that Kline does not have the required amount.”
“I don’t believe that,” shot back Honi.
“He’s adamant. I saw the look in his face when we showed him the ransom communication. He was horrified.”
“Scared for his own life no doubt.”
“No, there is more to it than that. There was genuine concern for B.S. I saw it in his eyes.”
“He’s one of the richest men in Deep Cove, he has the money.”
Merle shook his head. “He told us his money is tied up in properties, stocks, and commodities. I believe him, Archie. More importantly, Garrett believes him.”
“This is ridiculous,” stormed Honi. He leaned back against the pillows and rubbed at his eyes. “They will kill B.S. when Kline doesn’t pay.”
“Mr. Kline has agreed to meet with the captain of the Siren’s Call at midnight. He is putting his own life on the line to stall them.”
“They’ll kill the whole lot of you when you show up empty handed,” growled the policeman.
“They won’t be empty handed,” said Merle. “We’ve fixed several large chests with stones in the bottom and gold on top. It might be enough to buy us some time.”
“And then what?” asked Honi. “When they find out the money is missing, they’ll come back and kill everyone on Kline’s property. At the very least, he’ll be watching the bushes for hired killers for years to come.”
“It is a concern,” agreed Merle. “Kline has been backed into a corner by the Syndicate. He either has to pay them or fight for his life. Since he doesn’t have the funds, that leaves him no choice but to fight.”
Welcome to Deep Cove (The Vellian Books Book 3) Page 20
