Countless moments passed before the voice stopped and the barefoot steps started dashing again on the stone floor. I decided to return below, descending the stairs with haste and care, taking cover in the moss-covered room. And it was lucky I did so, as when I reached the bottom, the small door and then the main double-panelled one, opened and closed swiftly. A quick succession of steps trailed faintly outside.
I issued a long exhale and, until I was certain there was nobody else upstairs, I lingered where I was.
Appeased and certain of my solitude, I returned to the top and, once through the unlocked iron gate, I pushed gently the door on the left. It opened without any unpleasant noise.
A waft of spoiled air, transporting a feeble trail of boiled potatoes, welcomed me. The place was certainly too neat and tidy to host Gholaks guards – a supposition also confirmed by the presence of scrolls-stuffed ledges.
My eyes came to rest on a stove that was in the left corner; it hadn’t seen a fire in a long time, being devoured by a thick coat of dust and ash. As soon as I shifted my glance back to the right side, a sudden cough startled me, which I had to suppress with my hands on my face and a swift change of my position. My steps carried me across the room into the darkest corner of the space, afraid that I might be heard and by the time the moment was gone, I found myself standing in front of another tiny cell with a hidden door, with bricks nestled within a metal frame to conceal it.
“Quick is that you?” A rough, tired voice lifted through the small brick-sized aperture in the middle of the door.
“Nuuk?” I recognised his weary voice.
“Lorian?” he replied, pushing one hand through the aperture as he leaped at the door through whines of pain.
I took his four-fingered hand with a smile on my face, happy to find him alive and well, even if the dried blood on his fingers made me feel despairing.
“You wouldn’t believe what happened to me!” he started. “I’m just recovering my memory. There was another Iprorim, just like me, only older, and to protect me he used a spell –”
“Nuuk, you can tell me everything once we get you out. Naghnatë is counting on me to release you before she reveals herself to Felduror. We must hurry!”
I was looking around for a way to open the door.
“Sure, sure,” he replied a bit thwarted, “I should’ve asked Quick for the keys. He brought me food and just left. I did not think of asking him to free me, not that I can walk far anyways.”
“Are you hurt?” I asked with increased urgency.
“The worse has passed, master Lorian, though I’ll sit while I wait for the door to open.” His breathing sounded alarmingly weary.
“I promise it will be all fine, just hold on in there until I find a way out!”
A quick search through the many broken and unused things inside the small space made it obvious I wouldn’t find any keys; I had to try and break the door down.
Still reassured that there was no one in close proximity, I rushed downstairs and grabbed the healthiest axe I could find, and two metal spears that were not entirely eaten by rust – the spears fit nicely behind the main entrance, solidly stuck between the two rings that were used to pull the heavy panels open. With a quick push and pull, I tested them to see if they were as effective as they looked and then I grabbed the axe and returned to Nuuk.
“I’m going to try and hack it open. Stay away, Nuuk!” I said. “Do you recall which way the door opens?”
“I’m safely at a distance. I think…” his muffed voice broke briefly, “…I think it opens towards my right-hand side, your left. Yes, your left!”
“Good, keep back!” I was sure the heavy axe would not fail me.
I readied myself with a quick succession of breaths, I knew I had only a couple of attempts before drawing the attention.
No time to think!
The sturdy axe dashed above my head heavily, while descending with a shrill sound, guided by my stiffened hands. The strength I put into my blow, together with the hefty double-edge blade, acquired an unforeseen speed and precision and landed perfectly in the small crack between the wall and door, where the lower hinge was secluded. I closed my eyes instinctively and felt the multitude of tiny shards of broken bricks bounce dynamically around me. The blast reverberated and died in the room quickly, making my body vibrantly tremble, especially my forearms.
I exulted at the slash my blow had made; the axe had landed and remained stuck with quite a big gap. It would only require a secondary and definitive blow before the old, rusty hinge shattered. The warmth that lifted underneath my clothes was unbearable, I could feel sweat drips on my back. I blamed the lack of air and also the cloak Naghnatë had given me, which was starting to itch disturbingly on my damp skin. With a quick gesture I unlaced it and threw it on the squared table.
“Ready for another blow?” I asked as I hurried back in position and forced the axe out of the gap.
“Ready as ever!” Nuuk could not hide the excitement in his voice.
The fear that we’d soon have some company obliged me to make haste and, even if I feared for lack of precision, my second blow resulted twice as devastating. The hole that now took its place was big enough to insert the axe’s tip and twist it outwards repeatedly. Swivelling between the top hinge and the opposite-side’s lock, the door cracked with augmented intensity, bits of shattering brick falling like sand from the metal frame. With more back and forth pushing the door collapsed inside the small cell.
“Are you all right?” I ventured inside.
“I am well,” Nuuk was sitting in the far corner.
He was not looking good at all; his face was swollen and there were cuts, bruises and wet bloodstains all over his upper body. The ragged shirt he wore had more holes in it than I remembered, and definitely one too many dried bloodstains. I would need to find him some clean clothing, sooner rather than later.
“Come!” I grabbed his arm around my shoulder and thrust mine around his back while walking towards the door; I was surprised how light he felt under my arms.
Just as we faced the small room’s entrance, a loud horn exploded behind the main door which surprised us both and forced me to retreat a step. The battle-horn ended with a deep and threatening growl which made my skin prickle and Nuuk’s body instinctively quiver. By the heavy hits that pounded forcefully against the door there was no mistaking what was outside; a Gholak.
I let out a miserable exhale. The small fissure between the double panels allowed us to appreciate the full figure of the mighty creature that stood three or four times taller than a common man, shadowing the mighty door in front of us.
With a glance at the metal spears that bounced perilously between the door’s ring handles, under the beast’s pounding, I looked at Nuuk and started downstairs with haste.
“We have to reach the lower floors!” I said softly.
Behind us, the thick wood panels gave nerve-racking signs of failure, while from outside, rushing steps approached the entrance. Powerful kicks and fists on the door multiplied and, not after long, one of the spears bounced on the stone floor stridently.
I started panting with difficulty, the anxiety and Nuuk’s weight started to add to my weary knee and make my arms’ muscles burn. I feared we’d never make there in time; we still had to descend another set of stairs and pass other rooms before we approached the boulder of the secret passage.
The angry orcs had broken their way in and I could hear their heavy steps moving around the room above, smashing and crashing everything in their path.
Nuuk was contorting in pain, though I could not stop and only quickened my pace, trying my best to distract him with a silly recap of how close I had been to hurting myself on the mossy floor. His leg muscles failed to sustain him and his weight was pushing heavier on my already sore arms. Yet we were too close to give up. We had passed the long corridor, down the stairs and within reach of the last two rooms. My burning lungs implored a break, but the noise the metal door ma
de as it bounced on the stairs, made me reconsider.
“They’re not so dumb after all!” I whispered between deep gasps, while guiding Nuuk’s exhausted body through the narrow space that led to the fake rock.
Once there I let him slide to the floor with his back against the wall.
“What’s this?” he managed to ask with eyes half-closed.
“It’s our escape!”
The small break allowed me draw a long breath and shake the numbness from my limbs, recognising that he looked wearier than me. The sight did not bode well and I cast the thought aside, crouching near him.
The steps of the Gholaks approached. I counted three sets of boots. They reached the first room of the basement, their growls angry, filling the space with a dire predicament.
“Come on! Faster!” I told myself, my hands shaking on the stone with as much tiredness as nervousness.
A loud clattering sound and a deep thud made the group pause briefly, followed by two different mocking snorts, which I gathered were orcs’ laughter. One of them had certainly slipped and broken something made of wood.
I took the fake rock out of its place, ignoring the questioning face of the imp. Eyes fixed on the room’s entrance, I only pointed him with my head at the space I just created, demanding much silence with a finger on my lips.
The orcs were on the move again approaching the room next to the one we were in.
Nuuk did as I wordlessly told him to, his quick movements and slim body allowing him to reach the other side with ease, though not without pain, I could tell. I followed and just as I crawled backwards, with my legs all the way within the hole, while holding the light stone with both of my hands, I heard the small space of the room shatter with an orc’s heavy breathing.
Flat on my stomach and still partially out of the gap, I froze, while glancing at the infuriated brute. Its angry stare was scrutinising the metal cages. The little I could make out, in the feeble light of the rancid air and behind the metalwork, was more than enough to make my blood chill. It was a frightening and imposing creature that almost brushed the tall ceiling with its head, which was protected by a metal helmet that gave way to a ponytail of the darkest hairs. Sparkling bloodshot eyes moved slowly guided by a solid neck while four thick, sharp tusks garnished his wide mouth. It had muscular, veiny arms, thick as a horse’s hind-legs and his shoulders were as wide as a bull’s. It was a fearful, blood-draining sight. The creature embodied the perfect deadly-opponent on a battlefield, one very few might dare to challenge. Even the pale, dead-green tone of his skin amplified the fear I felt.
Nuuk must’ve felt my astonishment as I could feel his arm grab on my calf and slowly pull me towards him. I slowly and quietly retreated with the help of my legs and elbows. The light stone slid back into its place with almost no noise – luckily covered by the loud stepping of the other two Gholaks that just ran into the room.
If I had lingered a moment longer, we would have been caught; one of two running orcs reached right behind the cage we just left from, his heavy steps and guttural breathing loudly penetrating the thick wall as he patrolled the narrow space.
“I sense human,” he almost barked to the others in common tongue.
“Human use magic to escape! We summon the wizard,” a thicker voice came in reply from the distant right side.
But they did not move.
In complete darkness, and behind the safety of the wall, the small crack of the dark mountain kept us sheltered as we lay flat on our stomachs for many, still moments. The heavy breathing of the orc close to me, pulled at his leathered body-armour, giving away his presence; they were still expecting to pick up on any little noise.
So long for dumb pigs. More like dog-sharp smelling senses and bat-like ears!
Yet we did not flinch, not until their steps had picked up again and faded into the distance. Then, we were safe to move again.
“What is with all this confusion?” Felduror’s harsh response to the persistent knocking on his door came with plenty of justified irritation.
He knew there’d be only one reason that would excuse any of his servants being bold enough to bother him, when he specifically asked not to be disturbed. He now had to abandon unwillingly a trail of thought that promised much resolution, one for which he had sacrificed long hours, bent over a new scroll map. To his surprise the old maps of the southern regions, scrolls he had already scrutinised many years back and considered useless, seemed to reveal so much more than before in light of the most recent events.
With much displeasure and unwillingness, he lifted himself from the stool with a series of tiny cracks that issued from the back of his head and continued to his lower spine.
I am certainly not getting any younger! His thought accompanied a much-needed stretch of limbs and bones as he reached for the door’s handle.
“I beg forgiveness, m’lord, there’s a certain matter that requires your immediate attention!” The wizard’s most trustful Gholak, Barakhuul, appeared troubled as he shadowed the small door of the library.
Responsible for the safety of the five towers, the orc was fairly clever for such a creature of the dark, and quite respectful; he kept his horned head bowed while he imparted his request with a deep, calm voice.
Felduror was comforted by his composure. He knew he had yet to use him for his true purpose and allow the warrior to prove his true calling, and he looked forward for such an opportunity to arise.
Lost in adulation, the wizard did not have time to reply, the orc has left just as swiftly as he has arrived, convinced his master understood the urgency of the situation.
Felduror followed him down the stairs to the ground level and the main entrance in front of which two subordinate Gholaks were waiting before the wide opened doors, daring not to step inside.
They both bowed lower at the sight of the old wizard, their master.
“What is it then?” asked Felduror, irritated that their gesture seemed purposely delayed.
“Our liege,” the orc on the left started with some insecurity in his voice, “prisoner is escaped!”
They both lifted their heads up and stood straight with their hands behind their backs, seemingly readying for a burst of rage from their master.
One that did not arrive. Felduror passed his hand over his long beard, fixing the floor to his left.
None hissed a word nor dared to interrupt him.
“Mhm, just as I suspected. The imp was not alone. The problem is bigger than it first appeared.” He lifted his gaze from the floor. “I want you to track them down, fail and I shall be very disappointed.” His words were directed only to the Gholak that addressed him.
Then he turned towards the stairs that led to his residences, dismissing the two guards with a half-lifted hand. But he had to stop when the other orc had cleared his throat as if still having something to say, much to his annoyance.
“Forgiveness, your excellency! Inside cellars, we found this,” the voice of the younger orc was softer than his comrade’s. “A strong scent of human to it,” he added, keeping a pale-green cloak plainly in sight.
“Human, in those abandoned cells?” Felduror stilled his face with the firmest of expressions, while rushing to grab the robe.
He knew it simply wasn’t possible. Had he still human guards at his service so close to his lodgings? He was sure that, beside the empire’s peasants, who lived far from the main walls and seldom sought a private interview with himself, there were none allowed here. He dared not think that one would be stupid enough to go against his wishes or try to trick the throng of orcs. Truth be told, he couldn’t think of any capable of entering the cells and evading them with the imp right under their noses.
It simply could not be a human! he thought as his hands caressed and examined the soft, warm cloak.
It took him an instant to realise his mistake; it was not of human manufacture. The intricately-woven fibres were too detailed and of a pattern unlike anything he had seen. Even the fibres themse
lves were too thin to be produced by rough human hands. He briefly considered the elves and just as quickly discarded the idea, knowing elves had abandoned these lands many years ago; too many for any piece of cloth to be so perfectly preserved. He then thought of his own acolytes, that peculiar race that was neither human nor elf, but they could not have done it either. Not that there hadn’t been conspirators and turncoats along the way, no, it was mainly because they were of a different breed, and weaving and embroidering was not something they were fond of, or proficient at.
He sighed and shifted his mind back to the humans. It was not possible for any to have aided the imp. He had stopped surrounding himself with the incompetent and avaricious individuals a long time ago; they were neither needed nor allowed in his inner circles. They served and progressed only through their manual and dirty-work. He had also decided to stop recruiting among them. It was simply too easy for them to lose track of their true purpose and concentration. Besides their ordinary, plain and physical incapability, curiosity was their most dangerous attribute when it came to serving him. And so, he had rid himself of them. He found other races were far better suited for his purposes and far more dexterous in wielding the elements. Although, thinking about it, he felt a certain bitterness in his own beliefs, since he almost missed having another special human-being such as himself around.
He cleared his throat noisily, willing to imply that it was a physical compulsion that delayed his reply rather than his brief redolent moment. With subtlety, he returned to the matter at hand, loathing himself for the incapacity of preventing such petty thoughts, which of late had become more common.
“You do as you’ve been told and be quick about it! I shall enquire about this rag.” He watched them go and then turned away to the stairs.
“Actually!” he stopped himself after a couple of steps, “I want you to bring me their heads, my libraries are quite blank,” he whispered without looking to Barakhuul, who stalked him like a mute shadow.
As he reached his little library, the one that latterly seemed to be more hospitable and familiar than his own sleeping quarters, he shut the door firmly behind him. He could now allow himself to relish in a noiseless space, where his mind could reach deeper into long-forgotten memories. A precious lesson, learned many years ago; one can hold much more information and memories than imagined, if one knew how to recall them. And to think that what aided his endeavour were just mere herbs; ones to act as powerful sedatives and bring the mind to the right point between total relaxation and rational function and allow it to delve through past times.
Winterhorn (Tokens Of Benevolence Book 1) Page 37