by J. P. Ashman
‘And you?’ Giles struggled with the words, his age and the shock of all that had happened doing its best to hinder his every breath.
‘I’m to gather my men. I’ll meet you there.’
Giles needed no more than that. With a silent curse and a groan, he fled down a set of stairs as Correia ran on, unsure whether he or she were pursued or not.
Chapter 42 – Droning
The route down to the dungeons had been surprisingly uneventful. No soldiers hampered Gleave and Sav’s way. The only people they’d seen had been servants, all of which were scared by the events unfolding outside the keep; events they would be hearing about, but not seeing. Yet.
‘Which one?’ Sav whispered to Gleave. The two of them looked down the corridor, a row of closed cell doors on either side.
‘Damn but this dungeon’s big.’
‘Gleave? Which one?’ Sav shook Gleave’s maille sleeve.
‘Dunno. Let’s knock on a few, eh?’
Before Sav could react, Gleave did just that.
‘Wakey wakey!’ Gleave hammered the back of his axe blade on every door he past.
‘Lords above,’ Sav said, ‘he’s going to get me killed.
‘Fal!’ Sav shouted, rushing from door to door. ‘Fal, it’s Sav!’
‘Fal!’ Gleave joined in, hammering and shouting.
‘And if this draws the marquis’ men to us?’ Sav shouted down to Gleave, who was nearing the end of the corridor.
‘I’ll ask the limp dicked shites why they’re not at the postern gate, shoving a point through that ostentatious prick’s face!’
Sav laughed, then froze. The shout they heard come back at them was more of a scream.
‘Was that him?’ Gleave rushed towards Sav.
‘Fal!’
Another scream, guttural, painful.
‘That was.’ Gleave pulled on Sav and ran to a door they’d passed near the beginning of the corridor.
Before they could even attempt to open the door, booted feet on stone turned their heads back to the steps they’d descended.
‘I’ll take them,’ Sav said, motioning for Gleave to continue. A nod and Gleave opened the door and rushed inside the dark chamber.
Gleave had to throw himself right, avoiding the jab of a blade. He swung his axe around behind him, hoping to deter any further attack.
Someone grunted something from the other side of the stinking room, but it wasn’t clear what was said, or who said it.
Movement again and Gleave swung wildly before shifting his feet and hitting something soft yet heavy on the floor. He fell, striking stone, thankfully not with his head. He rolled immediately. A spark kicked out from the knife strike that would have bit into him had he not moved.
Another grunt from a deeper shadow amongst the others. Someone huddled in the corner?
‘Fal?’ Gleave managed, swinging with his axe and jabbing with his now drawn sword.
‘Gleave?’
It was barely recognisable, but Gleave knew it to be Fal.
‘You’re dead,’ Gleave said to his opponent, who was circling whatever was lying on the floor.
‘No,’ Fal protested, or rather croaked.
‘Yes!’ Gleave surged forward.
The knife flicked out and across and Gleave did the same with his axe, struggling in the dark. He held his sword back, hoping it was out of sight, there being no lamp or candle light to catch on its blade.
Shouts from the corridor. Sav cursing. Sav yelling in anger.
‘Sav?’ Fal said, voice little more than a whisper.
‘Yes, mate.’ Gleave hopped back, hoping he didn’t trip again. ‘We’re all here for you.’
A shuffling from behind Gleave.
‘But I need to kill this twat first.’
A shout and a lunge from the man Gleave spun to face.
Knife slid across steel.
‘Spaulders to the rescue!’ Gleave stepped into the attack and kicked forward, connecting with something hard. A knee? His attacker shouted and dropped to the floor. Good light wasn’t needed to know he’d gone down hard.
‘Don’t,’ Fal said, coming away from the wall and stumbling into Gleave.
‘What?’ Gleave dropped his sword to stop Fal from falling.
‘Correia’s man,’ Fal said, although his voice sounded different.
‘Him?’ Gleave pointed his axe to a lump on the floor.
Fal nodded: Gleave felt it against his own head.
‘The Queen’s Seneschal makes him do it,’ Fal whispered.
‘What, torture you?’ Gleave frowned and shrugged. ‘Fucked if I know whether that’s right or not, but even so…’ A dull thwack sounded as Gleave swung his axe down and into flesh and bone. Once, twice. ‘He ain’t gonna do it now,’ Gleave said, pulling Fal along. ‘We’re leaving.’
Fal panted, cheek wet against Gleave’s as Gleave tried to pull him along.
‘Don’t cry for that bastard, Fal.’
‘Tried helping me,’ Fal managed, between sobs. ‘Didn’t want to. Has a son.’
‘Gods below, he’s messed you up good and proper.’ They reached the doorway.
Fal squinted against the dim torchlight.
Sav appeared, sword blooded.
The bells at the top of the keep began to toll once again.
‘Shit,’ Gleave said. ‘It’s starting.’
‘Fal!’ Sav took Fal’s free arm. ‘Oh shit, Gleave, look at him!’
Gleave cursed and urged them on, towards the steps. ‘We need move, now.’
‘He helped,’ Fal said through blood crusted lips. ‘Food and talk. Rest and smiles.’
‘Sav,’ Gleave said, ‘ignore it for now. Let’s move. Let’s keep going, we’ve no time to listen.’
The trio stepped over four bodies before the stairs, and as the bells continued tenfold, Gleave and Sav helped their friend ascend. Every step brought another painful word from Fal’s lips, the majority about how his torturer had been Correia’s man.
Again, luckily, the path between the dungeon and the tunnel was uneventful, this time due to the masses of people, not the lack of them. Servants and soldiers alike, rushing past the three pathfinders, none of which had any time to spare on the two men carrying another who looked like a walking corpse.
Once at the tunnel’s entrance, Gleave and Sav made sure it was clear before exposing the hidden doorway and helping Fal inside.
‘Who goes?’ Starks hissed from further into the tunnel.
‘Who’d you think?’ Gleave said back, whilst Sav closed the door behind them.
‘Is that Fal?’ Starks asked.
‘Mostly.’ Gleave shuffled along, Fal behind him, helped by Sav.
The faint light near Starks illuminated the extent of Fal’s wounds. Starks gasped.
‘You said it best, Starks.’ Sav checked Fal over as best he could. ‘He’s bad, really bad.’
‘But he’s back with us,’ Starks said, the relief showing through in his expression.
‘Wait, where’s Correia?’ Gleave looked past Starks.
Starks took a breath. ‘Yeah, well, she headed back into the keep to find her man on the inside.’
‘Shit!’
Sav rounded on Gleave. ‘What?’
‘I think I hacked him up a bit.’
Sav’s eyes widened, as did Starks’.
Iron spaulders rose and fell. ‘He’s the shit who tortured Fal.’
Wide eyes remained as Sav and Starks nodded their understanding.
‘Can you blame me?’
‘No, Gleave,’ Sav said, ‘but it means Correia’s risking her life to find and question a corpse.’
‘Sergeant Rasoir,’ Fal said, through missing teeth.
All eyes turned to him.
‘He didn’t want to…’ Fal started sobbing once more. ‘His son…’ he managed, although it was hard to hear it.
‘Rasoir?’ Gleave’s brow creased. ‘I slotted that bastard?’ He barked a laugh.
‘You know
him?’ Starks said.
‘Oh aye, but he’s not Correia’s man and he’s no fucking sergeant-at-arms, although he’d kill to be. Literally. He’s a sadistic rodent is what he is. A shit who can’t own what he does to people. He’s certainly not an Altolnan spy, I can guarantee that.’
Fal turned his wet, bloodshot eyes to Gleave, his painful breaths coming quickly; shallow, but quickly. ‘Not… her… man,’ he said, each word causing him obvious pain.
‘The seneschal is,’ Starks said matter-of-factly. ‘She told me the Queen’s Seneschal, Croal de Geelan, is her man.’
Fal’s shallow breaths turned to a shudder as he started to thrash, started to snarl and shout and lash out at anyone and everyone.
‘It’s all that was keeping you going, wasn’t it?’ Sav breathed, helping the others restrain their friend. ‘Rasoir following orders was the only way you managed to go on, the only way you could make sense of what he was doing to you.’
Fal stopped struggling. He stopped and he sagged, letting his head fall against Sav’s shoulder.
‘Starks,’ Gleave whispered.
‘Yeah?’
‘We need to go for her, now.’
Starks said nothing, but managed to squeeze himself and his crossbow past Fal and Sav, following a wordless Gleave back towards the tunnel entrance.
Distant horns sounded, foreign horns, along with shouts accompanying the sounds of clashing weapons.
‘I’m here, now run!’ Correia shouted as she rounded a corner and saw Gleave and Starks. Both men slid to a halt and turned without hesitation.
‘Is the keep breached?’ Gleave shouted, Correia close behind him.
‘Yes.’ She stopped, so did her men. ‘Croal de Geelan, my man… He’s dead, and some bitch—’
‘What?’
Correia continued despite Gleave’s incredulous interruption. ‘His betrothed was the one to turn folk, to allow the enemy into the outer and inner baileys, or so I reckon. This keep is the only part of the chateau not to have fully fallen yet, and that’s due to Croal’s loyal men. I’ve barred the doors and ordered them to hold it, but I don’t know—’
‘Ordered the men?’ Starks shrank back from the look Correia gave him.
‘On the word of their seneschal, yes. They don’t know he’s dead yet.’ She rocked back. ‘Wait, where’s Sav? Did you get Fal?’
‘Sav has him,’ Gleave said, shaking his head, ‘but he’s in a bad way.’
Correia nodded and looked back the way she’d come. ‘What’s that noise?’
Several people ran around the corner, servants and soldiers both, their faces a collage of disbelief and terror.
‘This doesn’t look good.’ Gleave drew his weapons.
Correia did the same and Starks crouched and spanned his crossbow.
Two of the approaching people shouted for them to run, in Sirretan. Before Correia and her pathfinders could turn, the droning hum they’d heard increased. An enormous, black cloud of wasps swarmed around the corner and into the wide corridor, catching the trailing men and women and driving them to the floor; hands swatted, limbs flailed and screaming mouths were filled with the insects, their rear ends repeatedly driving stings into flesh.
The remaining people fell as they attempted to flee, the swarm faster than any of them could run. Looking back at the doorway they needed to make, Correia, Gleave and Starks launched themselves towards it, the horrific sound of an agonising death closing on them.
‘We won’t make it,’ Gleave shouted, risking a glance behind as his feet pounded the stone slabs.
Correia didn’t speak. She kept her head down and tried to use the pendulum motion her sword carrying hands created. It wasn’t enough.
‘Shit, shit, shit,’ Gleave said, his injured leg flaring up, causing him to lag behind. He locked eyes with Starks, who turned back to look for him. Those eyes looked past Gleave and widened as the droning buzz neared. The screams behind Gleave died, as did those releasing them.
Another surge and Gleave continued, although the realisation he was lost struck him harder than any blow ever had. The only thing to strike him harder, as he saw Correia make and open the door, was seeing Starks turn and run back towards him.
‘No!’ Gleave shouted, reaching for the nearing lad, who shrugged off Gleave’s grasping hand to run towards the swarm.
‘Starks!’ Correia screamed, half way through the doorway, looking back.
Before Gleave could slow enough to turn back fully, Correia’s hand grabbed him by the nearest spaulder and pulled him through the door and off his feet.
The last thing he saw was Starks skidding to his knees and loading a bolt into his crossbow’s groove in one fluid movement. He looked back and gave them a brave smile, whilst pointing and loosing his chosen bolt at the ceiling above his head.
Correia screamed as she heaved the door shut.
The following thump shook dust from the ceiling and set a ringing in Correia and Gleave’s ears, both of whom lay on the floor, eyes on a door they knew wouldn’t be opening any time soon. A door that would not see the passing of Starks.
Gleave’s roaring denial was soundless as the aftermath of the concussive explosion stole their senses.
‘He’s gone,’ Correia mouthed, tears flooding her cheeks. She looked to Gleave, who’d watched her mouth the words, his face white from shock, his head shaking in disbelief; his eyes watering as much as hers. ‘Starks is gone…’
Chapter 43 – Furious grief
The door at the end of the tunnel opened and Correia crawled in, followed by Gleave. They shuffled down the passageway, not a word between them; there hadn’t been a word spoken since they’d left the destroyed corridor behind. They’d have struggled to hear it even if there had been.
‘Finally.’ Sav craned his neck to try and see past Correia whilst cradling Fal, who stared at the stone wall. Sav frowned as Correia and Gleave drew close.
‘Where’s…’ Sav’s voice trailed off when he saw Correia’s tear-streaked face in the dim light.
Before anyone else spoke, Gleave shoved past Correia, Sav and Fal, shuffling along aggressively, surely wearing holes in his hose and taking skin from his knees, never mind paining his injured leg.
‘Gleave?’ Correia said, voice unreasonably loud, yet somehow, at the same time, weaker than normal.
‘What’s happening?’ Fal managed, although his voice was the weakest of all.
‘Gleave!’ Correia shoved past Sav and Fal, the latter’s recent capture and torture forgotten in the face of what was happening, what had happened.
Sav was shaking his head in disbelief. No one needed to tell him what had happened. ‘Can you follow?’ He looked to Fal, who looked back and after a moment’s pause, nodded. The two of them followed behind Correia, Sav helping his pained friend. It was impossible to match Correia or Gleave’s pace.
Light lit the far end of the tunnel.
‘Shit,’ Sav said, knowing Gleave had reached the outer door.
‘He’s angry,’ Fal said, followed by a pause in his movement and a string of coughs. Sav waited with him, before both continued.
Correia reached the end and saw the mound that blocked the view of the outer bailey’s yard and postern gate. Gleave was cresting that mound, both weapons drawn, both weapons visible. Correia looked back into the darkness of the tunnel.
‘Hurry!’ she shouted, although it was hard to know how loud her shout had been, ears ringing as they were. She heard Gleave roar though. She’d be surprised if the whole of Easson hadn’t heard it. ‘Hurry!’ she shouted again, at the top of her voice. Sav and Fal obliged, the grunts and curses evidence of that.
‘What’s he doing?’ Sav said as he reached Correia, Fal propped against him.
‘He’s getting himself killed is what he’s doing, if we don’t act now.’
Weapons clashed from over the rise.
‘Fal, stay here,’ Correia said. ‘Sav, string up and follow me.’
‘I’ll guard the rear,�
�� Fal said, with a wry and wicked smile.
Sav managed to bark out a laugh at that. ‘Glad to have you back,’ he said, stringing the bow he’d had in the tunnel. He grabbed the linen bag of arrows and followed Correia without strapping on the bag.
Cresting the hill, he saw the chaos beyond. He also saw Correia sprinting into it, both swords drawn.
The linen bag tumbled across the mount as Sav threw it. He also threw the contents to the ground, each arrow sticking into the grassy knoll, holding them upright for his retrieval and dirtying the arrowheads for good measure.
‘Whichever bastard doesn’t die immediately,’ Sav said to himself, nocking the first arrow, a needle-tipped bodkin, ‘will hopefully,’ he aimed and loosed in one, ‘die slowly later on.’
The arrowed whirred through the air, turning two spiralling arcs before easing itself through, at great speed, the small, riveted iron link attached to thousands like it. Before the link split through the force of the impact, the needle tip of the arrowhead pierced flesh. Of course, the victim didn’t feel that, so close was it to the final thudding impact of the rest of the arrow, which compressed on impact before flexing and passing clean through the Orismaran warrior’s maille covered throat, erupting from the other side in a spray of iron links and blood. The man fell to the ground, thrashing and pawing at his agonising wound. At the same time, another arrow was already falling towards the dying man’s nearest countryman, who fell soon after, screaming this time, an arrow jutting from his groin.
Sav pulled, nocked, drew and loosed time and again, not waiting to see his victims fall before moving on to the next. He aimed for those a way away from Gleave and Correia, not wanting to risk hitting his friends in the confusion, although he did keep them in his periphery, needing to know how they fared.
Gleave heard Correia approach as he hacked and slashed, lunged and parried. He stepped in, backed off, but largely stayed still or moved slowly, despite his welling anger. He knew he needed to conserve his energy. He knew he needed to outlast the greater numbers coming at him, all shouting and whooping as Orismarans were wont to do. He also knew he had to be cautious of his shit of a leg.
