From his corner, Flash wrung his little hands as tears streaked his cheeks. He could never have imagined it would be so difficult to watch a scene like that take place. He was about to scream out and pretend to be mad to draw attention to himself, to make the warrior come to his rescue and therefore escape from this beating. But he remembered the warrior’s words, and stayed silent and still. It was something he would never forget. Ucal could have easily shaken off those worms whenever he chose, instead of waiting for them to tire of taking out their anger on him.
The distinguished gentlemen who crossed the noble square of the city applauded at the bodyguards’ bullying tactics. The triumphant and satisfied guards dragged him into the fort. In the meantime, other soldiers had come to the aid of their companion who was still writhing on the ground in pain. His tendons would never be able to hold his leg straight again.
That is my ticket into this place Ucal thought, as he was pushed and insulted by the other soldiers, his face bruised and bloodied. He ran his tongue over his bleeding lips and started looking around paying careful attention. His arrest was raising curiosity. He was led into a sunny internal courtyard, and from there into another. He was familiar with the geometry of its spaces which he had carefully studied from the nearby hills on the day before. Then the guards pushed him into an atrium, and from there along a lengthy corridor. At the end of it, stairs led down to the subterranean floors of the fort. After three ramps they reached a damp, narrow corridor. On the higher part of the wall, just under the stone vaults of the ceiling, the grate of the eastern side opened up. He saw the first piece of black fabric he had tied to the bars. The soldiers took him through long corridors, turning this way and that. He kept his bearings. They finally arrived at a landing which, towards the bottom, another set of rough, narrow stairs departed, leading to the prison level. Cells opened up onto the left and onto the right. They were practically all full. A few fleeting glances checked out the new arrival from the peepholes. The guards stopped in front of a cell and shoved him inside. Ucal looked around for the reference points as described by Var. Eyeing up a square stone placed above the archivolt, he recognized the mysterious geometric signs.
“What the hell are you looking at?” asked the one who was surely a major. “You’ll pay dearly. You broke the knee cap of one of ours,” he leaned over and breathed in his face, “before the Superintendent of the prison comes, you’ll regret this a hundredfold. I’ll beat you until I break every single one of your bones, ugly piece of manure.” Ucal wasn’t even listening to him. He thought he’d play his cards straight away. There were three incompetents he could take out easily. If he were to wait any longer, it would only get more complicated. Once his identity was revealed, they would impose a much greater surveillance on him. They would perhaps transport him to the fort of Giscat to make him await his judgment. He would have to act now. After being subjected to so many blows on the outside of the fort, he thought he should rightfully check his limbs and joints; he rolled his head on his neck and loosened the muscles in his shoulders. He listened to the state of the rest of his body with a couple of deep breaths. His physical state was in an acceptable state. His oddly focused and fixed stare now instilled doubt in the three men. They really had made far too many errors. They would never know it though. The man who had just threatened him was keeping him at bay with a short pike usually given to guards on duty, while the other two soldiers walked on either side of him. Ucal’s hands were bound in front of him by a chain. With lightning quick speed he lowered himself to get out of the reach of the pike, throwing himself to the side of the man who held it. In a single, fluid motion he lifted his arms and brought the chain down around the man’s throat, pulling it so tight that he broke his neck. His legs were free and with a forceful kick he sent the second man crashing to the ground. He leaped on him taking out his sword. Holding on tight to the hilt with his two bound hands, he drove the blade into the heart of the third man who was still on his feet, incredulous and motionless now; then Ucal took it out, turned to the man he had kicked to the ground, and drove it into his chest. He took the keys from the belt of the first man and in a split second he was free. It all lasted just a few seconds. He knew gaining the loyalty of the prisoners would make all the difference. He tried to make eye contact with them, half-hidden behind the peepholes of the cells. He didn’t have much time. He opened the cell that was supposed to be his and pushed the three bodies of the guards inside. Then he went silently past the examining eyes of those who had witnessed the entire scene. He took two swords from the guards and placed them in the warrior weapon casing they had not removed from him, behind his back; one sword was still dripping from blood he had drawn. He coldly passed by the looks of those who were observing. Nothing else was needed. His authority was immediately sanctioned. He said nothing, detached the only torch from the wall, turned and disappeared into the dark corridor where the archivolt began. A place where no one had ever dared venture for a very long time.
As the screams of the man kicked in the knee could still be heard from the infirmary, the superintendent drummed his fingers nervously in his office. “Why haven’t those three guards come back yet?” he thundered furiously. The soldier of whom the question was directed, jumped to attention. “I don’t have any idea, Sir.”
“Well, go and look for them, damn it!” he replied, throwing a paperweight behind him. He was responsible for the prisons of the fort and he couldn’t stand this laxity. The fact that there was little work to do in this period, only worsened things and rendered the guards especially sluggish. The arrival of the new detainee, even if only a drunkard looking for easy trouble, should all be managed with professionalism. That is how he had made a career in the ranks of the kingdom. He was a professional and he demanded respect and wanted his orders executed immediately.
After ten minutes, a squadron leader came running in breathlessly, followed by the soldier who had been given the order to look for the three who had accompanied the new arrival to his cell.
“They are dead, Sir Superintendent. We found them in the cell, one strangled, two killed with one strike of the sword. The prisoner has disappeared.” The superintendent paled out of anger.
“Idiots!” but no one understood if he was yelling at the dead men, at those standing in front of him, or generally everyone. “Quick, I want a squadron with me to the underground chambers! Block every possible exit. I want all men outside to survey this fort!”
“We’ll find him,” the captain of the squadron replied. “It’s impossible to escape from here.” The superintendent grabbed him by the collar. “It should also have been impossible to kill three of our own and disappear…I don’t want any more stupidity. This will already cost us dearly,” he hissed, red in the face. He clearly recalled what had happened to the superintendent of Giscat when he’d let the Marquis of Atiarav escape a year earlier. He too had jeered at him. How could an evasion of that sort occur, and from a military fort, with very high levels of security? Now the curse had come to visit him too. “Did you check the right arm of the man? To verify his identity?” The captain of the squadron looked at his subordinates who looked back at him. “We thought we’d do it after he’d been locked up,” he stuttered. “Idiots!” the voice thundered again, “now we don’t even know who we are dealing with! I want a full description of this gallows-bird; take a message to the military stronghold of Giscat, have them give you a list of wanted criminals,” he added, his face livid, “I will personally inform the Governor of what has happened…and let’s hope we find that wretch as soon as possible.”
Ucal had gone into an underground level that went under the prisons, going along passages that no one had been through in hundreds of years. Following Var’s instructions, he discovered a passage that no one had ever before noticed. It was almost invisible: a type of stone door that blended in with the stone walls. He turned it on its creaky hinges and then closed it again. He had to strengthen himself to go through that icy and antique void. He f
ollowed the weak traces left along the way; they seemed like nothing more than casual stone squares placed at different heights on the damp walls and covered by an unknown layer of a strange organic matter, a type of off-smelling moss that covered everything and almost made the air impossible to breathe. He knew the torch and the air would not last long. He had to be quick and to do that he couldn’t take even one wrong turn. To find his way back again, he’d brought an old piece of terracotta tile with him, and drawn little arrows on the walls where the soft slimy substance had not invaded. Even if the guards followed him down into that maze of underground tunnels, they would never have noticed his indiscreet signals. There were a couple of passages where he doubted whether he should turn right or left. Examining it carefully, he was relieved to find the geometric inscriptions indicating the right direction. He heard a man who yelled out orders from a long way off. They were preparing to find him. He hoped they wouldn’t find the stone wall he had gone through. After what seemed like an eternity, he made it to another door. Its hinges were marked with a reddish substance. It all coincided with Var’s description. He pushed it delicately in the middle and it turned noiselessly, giving him access to a circular room with an altar in the center. Inside the chamber, the smell of the slimy substance disappeared. He smelt clean air come into his lungs and the impression was confirmed by the flame of the torch which revived notably. He even detected the perfume of summer that came from who knows what tunnels of aeration. It reminded him of the Uicic caverns where they’d hidden after liberating Var from Giscat together with Nora and Selot. That thought revived him. He approached the altar. There it was: the Stele. He looked at it spellbound, almost uncomfortably. It was a very antique artifact, made with a technique he couldn’t comprehend. It was made of stone and perfectly smooth. It was almost transparent, whitish in color, and a series of complicated signs decorated its surface. Would he be able to reproduce them faithfully? He pulled out the scroll. The signs were cut in a very precise manner, elegantly engraved with the finest of chisels. He set to work and reproduced the incomprehensible writing. He sweated a lot as he worked. There was no room for error, and writing was by no means his best skill. He took his time, there was no hurry. There was nothing else that awaited him, except prison and finally…he buried those thoughts of his fate and concentrated on his work.
He finished after an uncertain time. He let the ink dry completely. He closed his eyes and recalled the happy moments in his life. He savored them calmly and profoundly. He sent up a silent thanks to the heavens. He was born to nothing and he would die a citizen of Atiarav. He never had children, not that he’d known of anyway…but he’d given a home to Flash, that alert and intelligent child who’d had a childhood similar to his own. He’d given him a family and people who would take care of him. He’d remained loyal to the values he’d constructed himself, in war and in abandonment, always staying human. Yes, it could end here. A day like any other. He breathed in and opened his eyes. He carefully rolled up the scroll and put it into the sack. He also added a letter to it, addressed to Var. A few words to say goodbye and to inform him Selot was traveling north with another Xàmvetem who might be very dangerous. Then he closed up his heart and went out so he could return to the upper levels. He would face his destiny.
He moved silently, keeping close to the walls. The guards were everywhere. They knew he wouldn’t be able to escape and that he would be hidden somewhere underground. He could only imagine the anger and rage of the superintendent. He would wait for days if necessary. It was futile to put it off. He went up to the second underground level without being seen. He cautiously turned into a corridor to reach the level where he could get the pouch out to Flash. Just round the corner, soldiers were running everywhere. At the end of the corridor he would find two flights of stairs and immediately to the right a window that faced west. He could do it. He only had to make it alive, and to the get the sack outside the grate. His last mission. The last race. It was daytime. He would see the light of the sun one last time. He inhaled and ran as fast as possible. His legs flew, as if he there was no ground underneath him, and he dashed holding his breath. The nearest soldiers turned at the sound, caught by surprise; Ucal had already gone past them keeping his eyes on the flight of stairs straight ahead. They raised the alarm. All of the guards at that stage shouted, and their cries summoned the men from all over the fort. Ucal eliminated two soldiers, wiping them out with his sword; whoever was behind him wouldn’t have a hope of reaching him because he was faster than the wind. He avoided a few lunges, and did a somersault to avoid being struck with a pick. He reached the stairwell, where it was impossible to count the number of men who were blocking his path. He inhaled and gave a sudden scream of a terrifying attack. Unlike him, those men had never been to the front and they didn’t know what an encounter at the front line was. Every senseless and raw battle Ucal had ever fought and survived swam before his eyes. He felt anger, but also an immense sadness for all the pain and lives struck down. That was when he knew this was well and truly his last mission. Something ignited within him. He moved with unusual speed, and he was able to witness every move the men around him made. He found he had time to choose which moves to make. He was unable to avoid some of the injuries, but he managed to make ground, step by step up the stairs with an unstoppable force. He managed to jump up onto the balustrade and from there, go up the second flight of stairs. He spied the window, the bars, the light of the sun. He pulled out the leather sack from the pocket of his warrior vest and kept on running madly, swinging his swords precisely and coldly. He took a very long jump to the top of the balustrade and ended up halfway up the corridor, landing just short of the window, as his sword kept the adversaries at bay. There were too many of them by now and the effect of surprise had largely ended. From behind the men, he heard the ferocious incitement of a captain. That coward stood behind his guards in relative safety, shouting out his commands. He wouldn’t risk creasing his ironed collar, and his hair was still perfectly coiffed since morning. He’d had to put up with too many captains like that. He’d seen too many just men sent to their deaths to enrich the glory and the strength of the usual potentates. He jumped onto the back of a man he had just pierced and using the edge of a corner of a wall he made it to the bars of the window. He got the sack outside. He was able to gain a few vital seconds to check that he’d put it in an unseen corner. No one had seen his maneuver. Everyone thought it was an attempt to flee. Perhaps he wanted to test the strength of the bars. That is when he heard the excited, satisfied yell of the captain. Having done his duty, Ucal turned and threw himself like a lynx with all possible force, to reach the closest position he could to that man who was now insulting him for being such a cretin to want to escape out of that grate. That man realized Ucal’s intentions and called all guards to him for protection. Ucal was ready to face him. He was surrounded and there was no chance of escaping alive. There were three men who appeared before him, and he could choose whether to kill them or attempt to kill the captain who hid like a rabbit behind them. He had very little time to decide. He decided to give it a try. He renounced defending himself with a sword; he tore a pick out of the hands of one of the soldiers and made a perfect lunge that went through the flanks of the two soldiers, leaving them unharmed, arriving straight into the heart of the captain. Then he raised his unarmed hands above his head. It was certain that in the heat and chaotic clamor of the encounter, nobody would have guessed that this was his sign of surrender, and he would finish up being run through with many blows. He closed his eyes. The momentary amazement for the death of their captain however dampened the guards’ attack. He heard a powerful voice raise itself over the agitated screams of the clash.
“Take him alive! Take him now! Alive!”
XII
Marrhit and Selot rode on without respite. That night they were far too excited to rest. They avoided the open spaces of the Taur plain where whole legions of the Dar army were stationed.
When dawn bro
ke onto a world covered in war, Marrhit was silent and his face dark. Selot approached him. He wasn’t sure of how to behave since the discovery that had, in some way, fused their destinies.
“What do you plan on doing?”
“We must have more information about our past. We will head to Saus.”
“What is there?”
“The only person who can help us. Your mother.”
Selot felt his ribs tighten and his blood accelerate. His hands tightened on the reins, imperceptible, yet forcibly.
“You still can’t control your reactions,” retorted Marrhit; nothing escaped his notice, even though Selot’s face had remained still.
The Creed Page 28
