by A. C. Cobble
“Their original plan was to develop a weapon to stand against the demons, right?” asked Ben. He looked between Milo and Gunther. The former librarian’s apprentice should know the Purple’s intentions better than anyone.
Gunther merely shrugged.
Milo offered, “If they wanted to fight the demons, wouldn’t they have done it already? The rift is destroyed, and the demon threat is rising. If the Purple in this land retained any intention of fulfilling their original purpose, they would have acted. I find it hard to believe a group like them wouldn’t be aware of what is happening in the world. Remember, my master had serious doubts about them. That’s why he wrote to Irrefort, the Sanctuary, even Gunther.”
“We saw a caravan of slaves being brought in here earlier today,” Rhys reminded them. “These are not altruistic people. I don’t think we can bargain with them. There is nothing they will want that we’d be willing to give.”
Ben breathed deep then exhaled slowly. “Do it, Rhys.”
The rogue slipped away into the darkness.
Ben waited nervously until he returned. There had been no sound, no indication a razor-sharp blade was being slid into two living beings.
The rogue pointed to his belt where a set of iron keys hung and then gestured for them to move ahead. They all fell in line behind the rogue, staying low to avoid a tell-tale silhouette.
As they snuck along the wall, Ben expected to see the slumped over bodies of the guards. He never did. He realized Rhys must have pushed them over the edge either into the baily or into the garden. In the darkness, even if a fresh set of guards came out on patrol, they’d have trouble finding where their fellows went. By daybreak, it would be obvious.
When they reached the end of the wall where it met the side of the keep, the party regrouped. A wooden door led into the building. Rhys tried to push it open, but it was locked. He slung the keys off his belt and glanced around the group.
Ben shrugged and gestured to the door. No sense in stealing the keys from the guards if they weren’t going to use them.
Gunther approached the door, staring hard at it and the walls around it. He looked to Rhys and shook his head. Nothing magical to worry about.
The rogue tried a few keys until he found one that worked. With a sharp click, he unlocked it and pushed the door open. Inside, they found a spiral staircase and a sparsely lit hallway. Before they entered the tower, Rhys examined the doorway. He knelt and pointed to two stones set in the floor. He shook his head.
Ben understood. Don’t step on those stones. He couldn’t see what worried the rogue, but he trusted his friend’s instincts when it came to sneaking into dark buildings.
Rhys stepped carefully over the stones then headed down the hallway. One by one, they filed after him. Ears were perked and eyes strained for any sign that they weren’t the only ones moving about. They didn’t know the interior of the place, but they’d made some logical assumptions about what to look for.
The Purple wasn’t going to keep what was potentially the most powerful weapon in existence out in the open. The weapon wasn’t going to be near the front door, and it wasn’t going to be where the slaves or menial staff would stumble into it. They needed to find a locked laboratory or a treasure room. Somewhere that was likely to be guarded and warded with layers of magical barriers.
They were counting on that last bit. Gunther claimed he’d be able to sense even the subtlest wards if he was close enough. Their plan was to let the ancient mage follow his nose, so to speak, and lead them to the greatest concentration of magic in the fortress. There, they hoped to find the staff, and whatever else the Purple had been working on.
They moved deeper into the keep, selecting turns on Gunther’s advice and finding sparsely populated hallways.
Down one dusty hall, Rhys stopped them at another trap.
A thin wire stretched across the hall at mid-calf. Ben followed it with his eyes and saw the wire led into the wall. Above it, the stone was perforated with tiny holes. He swallowed and tried not to imagine what would come out of those holes if they tripped the wire.
Ben breathed a sigh of relief when at the next turn they found the floor was worn from centuries of foot traffic. People used this path, so traps were less likely. Gunther glanced both ways down the hall, then started to the left, deeper into the keep.
Closed doors were the only breaks in the bare stone corridor. A lone torch hung in a sconce at the far end, sparsely illuminating the hallway. Cautiously, they proceeded down the corridor, looking at each door as they passed. None of them were remarkable, and none of them were warded.
At the end of the hall, Gunther stopped them again. He slowly waved his hand in a circle. Elegant blue script appeared on the floor, walls, and ceiling.
Towaal let out a low whistle. Ben saw surprise plastered across her face. Evidently, she hadn’t detected the snare the Purple set.
Gunther motioned them forward, and Ben cautiously stepped across the glowing blue runes. Nothing happened.
The big mage waited until they were all by. Then he stepped through as well and lowered his hand. The runes faded into the stone of the walls and floor. Ben had to blink, not sure if he’d imagined them.
They were at a fork in the hallway. Gunther stood, staring first one way and then the other, apparently trying to sense in both directions. Finally, he pointed to the left, and they set off again, heading ever deeper into the fortress.
Rhys shadowed the big mage, watching in front of him for mundane traps.
Ahead of them, Ben detected a low noise. It was rhythmic, but he couldn’t place it. It didn’t sound like music.
They slowed, stepping carefully, eyes darting wildly.
Ben frowned. The sound was familiar, but its source eluded him. He was certain he’d heard it before.
He looked at Amelie and she shrugged. She couldn’t place it either.
Rhys glanced over his shoulder and caught the exchange. He pumped his hips twice in quick succession. He winked at Ben and Amelie, turned, and led them closer to the noise.
Ben blushed slightly as they continued.
The rhythmic grunting grew louder and louder. Twenty paces down the hall, Ben could see a single open door with light spilling out of it. The sound of flesh slapping flesh was obvious now that he knew what he was listening to. Ben tried to focus on moving silently and keeping his imagination in check.
He caught the rogue’s arm and whispered to Rhys, “Depending on who is in there, they may be able to tell us where the staff is. I think it’s worth risking a little noise to capture them. They obviously aren’t concerned with being found in this hallway. My guess is that all of these rooms are unoccupied.”
Rhys nodded curtly and motioned to Corinne and O’ecca.
The three stealthiest members of the party padded to the door.
Amelie gripped her belt pouch where Ben knew she kept the little mirror she used to far-see, but here, in the heart of the Purple’s fortress, they couldn’t risk any magical activity. Any disruption to stasis might be sensed by the ancient mages.
At the doorway, Rhys paused and silently communicated to Corinne and O’ecca.
The grunts were coming faster and faster. Perfect timing for a surprise.
Rhys slipped out his long knives and dashed into the room.
Ben heard a strangled cry, which was quickly cut off, and then a heavy thump.
A thick-voiced female drowsily rasped, “Who are you?”
The rest of the companions ducked into the room and Towaal pulled the door shut behind them. It was a plain stone room, unadorned except for a single torch on the wall and a filthy wooden bed. The end of the bed was sprayed with bright crimson blood. On the floor lay a naked man. A knife protruded from his throat.
On the bed, poised on her hands and knees, with a simple dress hiked above her hips, was a thin, young girl. She stared at them open-mouthed, too shocked to scream or to attempt to flee. Her big eyes were glazed over.
Ben spied
an empty jug of wine, a small bowl, a cylindrical pipe, and a pile of ashes on the floor.
“Durhang,” muttered Rhys.
“You can cover yourself, girl,” suggested Towaal gently.
The girl blinked at her then finally shifted to a sitting position, though she didn’t bother to pull her dress down.
“Who are you?” asked the girl again, no more urgency or fear in her voice than the first time.
“Friends,” replied O’ecca. “You are from Ooswam?”
The girl nodded.
O’ecca glanced at the rest of the group. It was clear they were all thinking the same thing. They’d found one of the slaves.
“What’s your name?” asked Towaal.
“Innel,” answered the girl. She was looking at the end of the bed in confusion, perhaps wondering where her partner went or why the bed was suddenly covered in blood.
“Innel,” said Towaal, moving slowly to kneel in front of the girl. “I’d like to ask for your help.”
Rhys bent to retrieve his long knife. He sorted through the dead man’s possessions while Towaal quizzed the girl.
Ben saw the man was a guard. Dark leather armor, a plain tunic, britches, a utilitarian scimitar, and a short spear were stacked against the wall. There was nothing of value to them, except the spear, which Milo picked up.
He patted the iron sickle-shaped blade that hung off his belt and remarked, “I think I’m more comfortable with the spear. I like to keep some space between me and my opponent.”
Ben nodded. There was no harm in selecting a better weapon when one was available. He turned his attention back to Towaal and Innel. The mage was still questioning her quietly.
“She’s starting to get nervous with so many men in here,” remarked Towaal.
The men streamed into the hallway with Corinne in tow.
The hallway was silent, unchanged from when they’d entered the room. Ben guessed that the guard had taken the slave girl into a little-used section of the keep for their rendezvous. Durhang likely wasn’t an approved substance for the guards.
They waited until Towaal appeared with the rest of the girls.
“I gave her more of the durhang,” said the mage. “She’ll sleep until morning.”
“What did you learn?” asked Rhys.
“She’s a slave, though, she doesn’t know who she belongs to,” answered Towaal. “She works in the laundry. The other slaves and guards are the only people she ever sees. She sleeps with the officers in the guard to get extra favors like alcohol, durhang, and a better bed. She goes along with it because the officers protect her from the other men. If they didn’t, she says the other guards and slaves would rape her. She…”
Towaal trailed off. Her face was tight with anger. She drew a deep breath to steady herself.
Corinne gripped the hafts of her hand axes.
Towaal collected herself and continued, “She didn’t know much, but she told me the slaves are confined to the first and second floors of this place. There’s a third and fourth floor she knows nothing about. Only the officers and special slaves are allowed up there. Occasionally, she sees other men, but she doesn’t know who they are.”
“Do you think she’ll talk when she wakes up?” asked Milo. He toyed with the tip of his newfound spear. “She saw our faces.”
Towaal shook her head. “I can’t imagine she wants to explain this to the other guards. Drunk, on durhang, and she made no move to stop or question us. No, I think she’ll stay silent.”
“So, we need to go up,” remarked Rhys.
“I figured their secret laboratory would be hidden in the tunnels Gunther mentioned below here,” murmured Amelie. “If I was an evil mage, that’s where I’d hide.”
“Even bad guys like sunlight and fresh air,” responded Rhys.
They stalked through the hallways, following directions the slave girl had given to a stairwell that was forbidden for her. The closer they got, the more wards they encountered. Most of them were similar glowing blue runes, but the last was pulsating red. Even without being able to read the archaic script, Ben understood the threat. That ward was not meant to warn of an intruder. It was meant to kill.
“How are we getting by without Gunther draining the power from these?” wondered Ben. He was thinking back to Irrefort when Towaal defaced the wards before they passed. Gunther simply gestured for them to move ahead.
“These are designed to recognize friends,” whispered Towaal. “The guard, the slave girl, they will have had a tattoo somewhere on their bodies. Gunther is mimicking that on our bodies while we pass.”
Even whispering, Ben could hear the awe in her voice.
Before they found the stairs, they had to stop again. They entered a wide-open room that was filled with tables and chairs. There were games scattered throughout and a huge wine barrel in one corner. It looked to be a common room, thought Ben, probably a place where the guards relaxed when they weren’t on shift. That late at night, no one was there.
They started moving across the room and heard a shriek from a far hallway.
They all dove for cover, scrambling under tables, hiding behind couches. Panicked heartbeats passed, but whoever was coming hadn’t heard Ben and his friends over their own noise. Shrieks, laughs, and a sharp slap followed by more screams.
Ben peered out and saw a half-naked girl being dragged across the room by two guards. A third guard followed close behind.
“Shut your mouth, bitch,” snarled one of the guards.
The girl responded by screaming again.
“Damnit,” snapped the second guard. He pounded his first into the girl’s face.
She slumped in their arms, unconscious.
The first guard turned on his companion. “What was that for? You broke her nose!”
“If she kept screaming, the others would hear, and they’d come and take their turns. I want her to myself,” he paused. “To ourselves.”
“We make a deal with that ass Raim to steal the prettiest new girl and you break her damn nose,” growled the first man. “What’s the point of keeping her to ourselves if she don’t look any better than the others?”
The third man was shifting around nervously, looking over his shoulder and fingering the sword he had at his side.
“What’s your problem?” demanded the first man.
The third guard’s voice cracked when he answered. He appeared three or four years younger than Ben. “You sure the masters won’t be angry about this?”
The first guard dropped the girl and defensively put his hands on his hips. “Well, they won’t know about it unless you go blabbing to someone. Besides, the masters don’t give a damn what happens to the slaves. They don’t come down here and, except for the really pretty ones, don’t even see the girls. As long as their robes are clean and food is on the table, they couldn’t care less about what happens in this place. You best remember that. Your seniors in the guard is what you need to worry about. Right now, your senior is telling you to pick up this girl and help drag her to the room before she wakes up. Busted nose on the girl or not, I ain’t going to bed without having a little fun.”
The first guard looked on, pleased as the other two gathered up the unconscious girl.
“I’ll take my turn first,” he declared.
“You said I’d go first,” argued the second man. “I took your shift two days ago so you could go get drunk with Jonas. You owe me!”
“That was before you messed up her face,” growled the first guard.
The girl stirred, lifting her head, blinking blearily. Blood dripped steadily from her nose.
“Good,” cackled the first man. “It’s better when they’re awake. They got a little fight in ‘em.”
The second guard grunted and gestured to the third. They started dragging the girl away. Her heels slid limply across the stone floor, her head hung between her shoulders. They took half a dozen steps then stopped, stunned.
Corinne stood in front of them, hand axes he
ld low around her hips, eyes blazing.
“Oh shit,” muttered Ben.
He tried to scramble out from under the table he’d hidden behind, but Corinne was already moving. She flashed forward, axes raised.
The first two guards were too shocked to react. Before they could even drop the unconscious slave girl, an axe was buried in one man’s forehead, and the other staggered back, clutching at his torn open throat.
The third guard had more time and was quicker. He drew his sword and yelled, “Attack! Assemble on me!”
He didn’t have time for anything else.
Corinne caught the edge of his sword with the hook of her axe and yanked it to the side. The man was wide open. Her second axe swung forward and thunked into his face.
“We have to run,” growled Towaal.
The mage charged past Corinne and headed down a hallway toward the stairs they hoped would lead to the Purple’s chambers.
“Good work,” mumbled Gunther appreciatively as he passed the huntress.
The slave girl lay on the floor, staring open-mouthed at Corinne.
“You’re free. If you want to stay that way, you’d better run,” called Ben as he rushed past.
Pick your battles. Fight the necessary fights. Well, now they were in for a fight.
* * *
They pounded down the hallway toward the four startled guards who stood in front of the stairwell. These men had never faced an actual threat to the fortress, guessed Ben. He and his companions were only a dozen steps away when the men thought to draw swords. It was too late.
“What the…” began one of the men. He was cut short when Rhys rushed by, slashing his sword horizontally and severing the man’s head.
Ben raced up and skewered another through his tough leather armor, just as the man was drawing his sword. It clanged down to the stone floor. Ben yanked his sword clear. The Venmoor steel didn’t punch through armor as neatly as his mage-wrought blade, but it felt comfortable in his hands.
Beside him, O’ecca spun her naginata in front of her, catching a guard’s sword with the butt of the weapon and then whipping around the blade to bury it in his neck.