Desmeres breathed shallowly and hurried along. Three times along the way, he stopped to disable traps he’d set. After more smoky, crouched running than he would have liked, he came to the wooden exterior wall of the storehouse. A standard weapon or tool would have taken ages to hack through the thick, frozen wood of the wall, but his self-made blade was through in four swipes.
Once he was through, he found himself in a veritable armory. Polished blades etched with arcane markings covered each wall. Every weapon imaginable seemed to be represented, from throwing daggers to massive broad-axes. A limited work bench in the corner still held an unfinished piece among its assortment of tools. The far side of the room had been reduced to a pile of splintered wood and shattered rock by the collapse of the entryway, which unfortunately left him without a doorway to the other two rooms.
He ran his fingers along the surface of one of the axes, his face stricken with anxiety.
“I wish I could take all of you…”
Above him, a dull hammering and grinding became sharper, and a dusting of ice and soil trickled down from above.
“… but time is limited. I’ll have to take the most potentially troublesome of you and worry about retrieving the rest later."
He snatched a large bundle of canvas and set it on the floor. Into the canvas went a staff, three swords, an ax, and a lance. They were clearly some of the finest examples of his work, etched over their entire surfaces and set with precious stones. He bundled them and toted them into the tunnel, then returned to load himself down with heavy satchels filled with bottles and vials to deliver to the tunnel as well.
The storehouse was getting oppressively smoky now, but he continued as best he could. His sword slashed three more times, carving through the wall to the next room. For anyone else, the contents of this room would have been reason enough for the massive security measures taken so far. It was piled with gold and silver. Bags hung from each wall, each bulging with deeds to assorted tracts of land all over the Northern Alliance. This may as well have been the strongroom of a powerful lord, or even a member of the nobility. Desmeres walked past the riches without a second look.
A line of bookshelves stood along the rear wall of the storeroom. These were the real treasures, utterly irreplaceable. He allowed himself a moment to run his fingers across the spines. The final shelf had books with much fresher bindings. They represented the most recent examples of Lain’s somewhat misguided purpose in life. If he was to have any chance at all of finding these people and wiping their slate clean, the fresher the trail, the better. He threw down another canvas and loaded it with as much care as he could afford, then pulled up the corners to form a hasty satchel and hauled them into the tunnel.
For a few minutes, he made as many trips as he could between the store rooms and the tunnel. By the time it he’d run out of canvases to fill he’d cleared one full bookshelf.
He hefted the first of too many bundles. Almost immediately he wished he’d taken the care to make them a bit lighter, but once he got moving it was easy enough to stay moving. In little time, he reached the slope at the mouth of the tunnel and hauled the first bundle of books outside.
“What took you so long?” Genara snapped.
She was clutching Dowser and standing at the center of a short stretch of packed snow and gravel.
“Been pacing, have we?” Desmeres said.
“You’ve been in there for ages. And, might I add, if you are going to leave someone with a dog it would be considerate to include a leash. He had to tend to the call of nature and keeping my distance without letting him wander off was a bit of a dance.”
“Noted,” he said.
He hurried to the back of the cart and untied the canvas.
“These books are irreplaceable. Be sure to take proper care when you are loading them.”
“You want me to load cargo?”
“You insisted on coming along; this is what you can do to help. And be quick about it. There is plenty more where this came from.”
“And just what am I supposed to do with Dowser while I’m busy with that.”
Desmeres looked to her, then to the puppy. He snatched the pup from her hands and stepped to a drift of snow. Holding him upside down, he dropped the awkward dog into the moderately softer snow. Dowser’s plump, shaggy body flopped gently onto the snow and sunk down a bit, leaving him with his stubby legs dangling. No amount of wriggling did any good in dislodging him.
Genara furrowed her brow. “I can’t decide if that is cruel or ingenious.”
“The two aren’t mutually exclusive. In fact, they are frequently a matched set. Now hurry. Books in the back—”
“Just go! I know how to load a damn cart.”
He smiled. “Welcome to your destiny, Genara. Is it all you hoped it would be?”
#
Anrack’s men, to their credit, had been quick to follow his orders and thus had averted the bulk of the disaster. Three men and one horse had received a few nips, but for the most part all were whole and fit. This was extremely fortunate, as the task at hand required all of the resources available.
They had come prepared for the eventuality of having to dig their way into the storehouse. A pick and shovel for each man were among their equipment. But no amount of planning could prepare a man for the task of hacking through five feet of frozen tundra. It was harder than stone, effortlessly blunting the sharpened spades in minutes. Even the picks bounced off the hardened turf unless brought to bear with savage intensity. Perhaps if all of the men were to combine their effort to dig a pit large enough for a single man, they might have made significant progress. But twelve bodies in so small a space required a coordination one that would have taxed the abilities of the most seasoned miners. Thus, the best they could manage was a group of four men at a time putting pick to earth, rotating out to keep fresh men on the task. They had been at it for quite some time, but little real progress had been made.
Only Anrack and two fully armored lookouts were spared the task entirely. As the commander scanned the horizon, which was just beginning to take on the rosy glow of morning in earnest, he took on a look of deep contemplation.
One of his soldiers was fresh off a shift and leaning heavily on his shovel. Anrack’s expression did not go unnoticed.
“Would it be overstepping my bounds to suggest a new order is forthcoming?” said the man.
“It would. You should be focusing on regaining your strength for your next shift. Or keeping your eyes on these wretched creatures.”
“Yes, sir.”
Anrack glanced at the man, focusing briefly upon the D’Karon wand in the pouch at his belt.
“Regarding that wand… Are there any spells that would speed the excavation of this storehouse or eliminate the oloes?”
He wiped his head. “Yes, Commander. Yes for both, in fact. Provided it was an emergency.”
“I am well aware of the terms of the use of the D’Karon equipment. Are there any other concerns?”
He pulled the wand from the pouch and held it up. Tiny gems, embedded along its length, had a brilliant violet glow. “As I understand it, the power for the spells comes from these gems. When they are drained, the wand will be useless until the magic can be restored.”
“And how might that power be restored.”
“He said it drinks up the mystic power around it. To restore it to full strength would kill the man holding it if he was not a particularly capable magic user.”
“How many spells could one cast before depleting it?”
“I believe that depends upon the spell. The ones I think would help us now would likely drain it after two or three uses.”
Anrack nodded. “To be used sparingly then. Certainly.”
The commander continued to survey field. “Lumineblade… This is not like him.”
“Commander?”
“The man is a rat, in every positive and every negative way. And the one thing a rat would never do is allow itself to be cornered
. I refuse to believe someone who crafted the means by which the Red Shadow was able to elude my predecessor would create a stronghold with only one entrance or exit. Suppose he was inside when we arrived?”
“He is a supremely overconfident individual. Perhaps he presumed it would never be found.”
“If he presumed it would never be found, he would not have trapped the entrance. And given the accuracy of the rest of the information Epidime had regarding this place, I very much doubt the release for those traps was incorrect. That means he altered it, which in turn means he knew that we would find this place and that we knew of the traps. In his mind, the discovery of this stronghold was inevitable. And collapsing the entrance? Why would he choose a means of defense that would render it equally inaccessible to him as to anyone else?”
“You suspect there is another way in?”
“I am certain of it. The only question is where…”
Anrack silently contemplated the situation for a moment.
“You, and you,” he said, pointing to the armored lookouts. “Mount a horse and take a smoking bough each. There are some tall trees to the east. We shall ride to the trees to harvest fresh boughs to keep the smoke well stoked.”
He turned to the wand-wielder.
“What is your name, soldier?”
“Stocklin, sir.”
“You will remain here. If you hear my horn, consider that an order to put your wand to use to do whatever it takes to enter this storeroom. I will have its contents.”
“Yes, Commander.”
Anrack fetched a smoldering branch of his own and stiffly mounted his horse. He didn’t bother waiting for his other men to acknowledge his orders. They would follow them or be removed from the Elite.
With the reins in one hand and a smoldering pine branch dragging low to the ground, he guided his edgy horse onward. At the approach of the smoke, the ring of hungry oloes separated to let him pass, though a small cluster broke off from the others to scamper after him. Shortly afterward, the other soldiers followed, dragging clusters of their own. Unlike Stocklin, these soldiers were not nearly as inquisitive, either honoring their commander’s rank or intimidated into compliance. Anrack didn’t care which was the case. Obedience was the important part.
He guided them to the tallest, sturdiest tree nearby. A few dozen paces before they reached the tree the pursuing oloes peeled away. It would seem they weren’t interested enough in the commander and his men to leave their territory. Anrack stopped his horse at the foot of the tree and directed his men.
“You, gather some of the lower branches. The more needles the better. You, climb the tree.”
The first man snapped to his task, pulling an ax from his saddle and putting it to work. As for the second man, he seemed somewhat more reluctant.
“Climb the tree, Commander?” he said.
“You heard me. I want you to climb to the upper branches and survey the area. I want to know if anything resembling human foot traffic, or some manner of vehicle has come through recently.”
“I’m… err… not the most expert climber.”
“Then you shall have some practice, soldier. Now climb!”
The soldier nodded and attempted to comply. Plate armor was exhausting to wear and difficult to maneuver in for even a seasoned veteran. This fellow, another of the new recruits, was barely able to dismount his horse without flopping to the ground. Three attempts to haul himself to even the lowest branch produced little more than a comical floundering and an eventual collapse.
Anrack gritted his teeth and stepped over to the man. Heavily armored and on his back, the soldier may as well have been an overturned turtle.
“Soldier… Do you anticipate being attacked by enemy soldiers at the top of that tree?” Anrack asked.
“No, sir?” he said, unsure if it was the proper answer.
“Then remove some armor so that you can follow my orders!” Anrack barked. He turned to the other soldier. “You, stop what you are doing and help this man shed his excess armor.”
Even with two men working at it, stripping away the armor was a time-consuming and cumbersome process, allowing the sun to rise still higher into the sky. The wasted time was irritating, but at least it meant that by the time his intended lookout reached the proper vantage he had enough light to see quite clearly. In fact, after scarcely time for a single sweep of the surroundings he called down.
“S-sir! To the east! The surface of the snow is broken! And I think I see wheel tracks!”
Anrack’s lips curled into a triumphant grin. “After what we’ve found here, I can scarcely imagine a reason for anyone to come to this forsaken, infested corner of the kingdom unless they knew of the storehouse. Come down and return to the storehouse to tell the others. Tell them we’ve gone to investigate and shall require four more soldiers as support as soon as they can be adequately prepared for combat.”
#
Desmeres stumbled inside the storehouse once more, alternately gasping and coughing. He had always had fine stamina, but hauling more than three full shelves of books and assorted other goods over many trips while breathing stinging smoke had taken its toll. His lungs felt like they were on fire, and he couldn’t stop his eyes from tearing. Only a few rows of the oldest books remained, and he’d even managed to haul a bag of gold and two bags of silver in prior trips. If he was lucky, he might actually finish clearing the books and have time for a few more of his weapons. Dust was pouring down from the roof in a continuous stream as picks and shovels hammered at the soil above, but the sounds were subdued enough to suggest a good deal more work to be done.
He set down his canvas and took a moment to catch his breath.
“One more load of books…” he said. “Those were the focus. I’ll have them all with time to spare.”
Desmeres glanced to the one wall in which he’d yet to carve a hole.
“Perhaps a brief moment to restore my strength…” he said.
He slipped his sword from its scabbard. The edge, honed with techniques uniquely his, had carved through two walls already without blunting, and in the darkness, its mystic gems shed some dim light. His strength, however, had long ago lost its edge, and as such it took half a dozen swipes to finally open a path to the next room.
His lantern had burned through most of its oil, adding only a dim flicker to the sword’s light, but what it revealed was a sight for literally sore eyes. This room was perhaps the most crucial at times, stocked as it was with dried meats and pickled vegetables. Crates brimmed with casks of water, liquor, and wine. He flipped the lid off a crate and grasped a bottle of water, then frowned. Though the storeroom was out of the wind and thus not quite as cold as the surface, it was still below freezing. The water was rock solid.
He reached down and plucked a wine bottle from another crate and sloshed it side to side.
“Bless the Ulvard and its potent wines,” he said.
Desmeres pulled the cork free and washed away the horrid taste of smoke clinging to his tongue. He took a second and third grateful swallow, then paused as something unnerving caught his attention. The hammering from above had entirely silenced. He’d once before been present when such a thing happened, and only a few moments had passed before the sounds resumed. He listened closely, waiting for the shoveling to continue.
“Come on…” he muttered.
More time passed in silence. He paced to the main room and began to stack the books, mindful of even the slightest sound. All he heard was the tapping and chattering of the handful of oloes lingering at the edge of the smoke in the tunnel.
“Don’t tell me you’ve given up already. That’s not the Elite I know.”
He packed the books as carefully as possible and cinched the canvas tight. His aching muscles objected to the task of hoisting it to his back. For better or worse, a dull hiss from above convinced him to set it down again. The sound was growing steadily louder. Something told Desmeres it would very shortly become crucial to be unencumbered. He rus
hed to the weapon room and snatched some key items from the walls.
“Elite soldiers. Heavy armor, but nothing my weapons can’t pierce. Sword and dagger should do, but exhausted as I am… something a bit more direct.”
Desmeres selected an oddly shaped weapon. It was a war hammer, end of the head broad and blunt, the other coming to a cruel point. Somehow it managed, at a glance, to be both elegant and savage. As he hefted the cold metal in his grip, the hair on the back of his neck began to rise. He set down the hammer and tugged his cloak open to reveal his cluster of charms. One of them had taken on a bright blue glow.
“D’Karon magic? That certainly explains how they are clearing the soil so quickly, but I don’t like the idea of those soldiers tinkering with things of that sort… More importantly, it changes the equipment indicated.”
He reluctantly drew his sword again to accompany the hammer. It was more thoroughly enchanted, designed specifically to offset his lackluster mystic knowledge when fighting those with better training in that regard. Just in case, he paced into the weapon room again. Ages ago he’d tucked a wooden case in the corner of the weapons room. It contained some of the simpler potions he’d concocted in his earlier days of experimenting with alchemy. Those potions were coarse and clumsy, clearly the work of a beginner and no great loss if he were never able to return to collect them. That was extremely fortunate, as if they were more valuable they would already be in the cart with the other potions he’d already hauled. Of course, he still required one more bit of good fortune if they were to be of any use to him.
“Alchemical formulas concocted by the uninitiated aren’t known for maintaining their potency for months and years at a time,” he said.
The chest was filled to the brim with walnut-sized glass globes arranged neatly in rows and nestled with layers of velvet protecting one layer from the next. He plucked one and held it up in the dim light. Unlike the water, it was still liquid, and when he tipped it side to side it produced a dull amber glow. He collected two more and held them as securely as possible in his right hand, entrusting the sword to his off-hand.
The Redemption of Desmeres Page 18