by Jackson Lear
The bear finally unlocked the door to Alysia’s room.
“Get him!” shouted Zara.
I ran forward.
“Arras!” shrieked Alysia, shredding the bear’s ax hand down to the bone.
I reached the doorway. The bear made a grab for her, either as a human shield or to be used as a hostage.
“Arras!” Her next spell broke the bear’s hand apart, bursting his out-stretched palm. She ducked. He swung down with the back of his ax, thumping her to the ground as she tried to dive under him.
The room was too narrow to get any decent kind of movement. I jabbed forward, connected with the bear’s back and skewered his thick hide armor and mountain of furs. He turned, swung his ax across as I yelped out of the way. It slammed into the wall, pulverizing the brick and mortar into dust before he swung again in a berserker rage as he crashed his ax from side to side until the blade snapped and shattered, leaving him with a club which he had no problem wielding.
I spluttered a spell – one of the cruelest I had ever used on a human, but he left me with no choice. One of his enraged eyeballs burst like a phlegmy sneeze. His club slammed from one side of the wall into the next, a delayed reaction as the pain had yet to register. Then the realization began to trickle in; it wasn’t just some shrapnel that he had to wipe away. Nor could he open his eye again.
Zara ran in, grabbed onto Alysia. Pulled her to safety.
I targeted the bear’s other eye, damaging it sufficiently to break the iris. He continued advancing, swinging his club and roaring with venomous rage.
“Pull back!” Zara shouted.
A wise idea, considering there was no way I was getting within stabbing range of the berserker and his club. I pulled the door closed as I ran; Zara in the lead, Alysia behind her, me in the rear. Two of us drenched in blood, all of us leaping over a pile of bodies.
“What happened?” huffed Alysia.
“Someone’s killed half the nobles and are framing us,” I said.
We reached the stairwell. Isparian shouts and bellows ran through the corridors. Clinks of metal and boots and shields and bows.
Loken spun, his sword drawn, a look of unbridled focus on his face as the rest of the vanguard behind him were quickly arming themselves from Jarmella’s dungeon crawl. “My lady!”
Alysia hurried towards him. “Get us out of here!”
An bone-shattering roar broke through the mayhem. Human. Male. Someone in a blind rage. Draegor. It was enough to freeze the entire vanguard.
I held one hand out to Jarmella. “Who has my blade?”
She passed it over. I wiped the last of the fire-ant paste from the handle and unsheathed it. Oh, it felt good to be properly armed once again.
“We have to go,” whispered Alysia.
I held one hand out to keep Alysia at bay. “When you met with Draegor did he give you any kind of indication that someone was using him as a puppet? That he might become an ally?”
“No. Why?”
I locked in on the roar. Downstairs, no question. Nudged Alysia into Loken’s grasp. “If I don’t get back to you in time, leave without me.”
Alysia reeled around. “Where the hell are you going?”
“To break the alliance.”
“What? No!”
I gave Alysia and Zara one last fleeting look. Turned. Ran.
Alysia shrieked after me. “Raike! No! Not like this!”
Chapter Fifteen
Draegor’s roar wasn’t far away. I flew down the stairs, stopping at every corridor and doorway to make sure I wasn’t about to run straight into a spear. Then a dull thum shuddered me to a stop. The whole castle seemed to thump, cough, and wheeze, showering one wall with clouds of dust and debris.
An explosion. If not from a physical blast then certainly from something magical. Whatever it was it came from deep within the ground, a dungeon or secret passage buried below the castle.
Northern bellows ricocheted through the corridor, forward and back, spinning me around. I needed a clue, a lucky break, anything that would guide me towards my moving target.
A sickeningly wet shriek of metal, skull, and blood saved me. The great hall. I peered around the corner. The King of Vasslehün stormed inside, single-handedly fighting three mercenaries; an ax in one hand, a flail in the other. He swung, clobbering one fool in the temple and dropping him in an instant. The other two fell back defensively as Draegor charged forward, swinging with berserker rage. They checked, dodged, tried to get him with a jab here and there but they were too cautious and Draegor didn’t give a shit about getting injured. Silver coins dropped from the purses of both mercenaries, tinkling against the stone floor as Draegor wailed about, throwing his full weight into each attack. He swung his flail low, obliterating one man’s ankle. Swung high as the fool fell and cracked him across the side of his head, his neck folding back like a door flying open in a storm. Draegor threw his ax into the third mercenary’s chest. The young man brought his sword and light shield in towards him, cowering, and blocking his eyes from the attack. He realized his mistake only when it was too late. Draegor snapped his flail around the mercenary’s body, striking his spine and breaking it in half. The mercenary cried out, the rest of his silver coins spilling onto the floor. Draegor lifted his oversized ax and wailed again and again and again on the mercenary’s shield, battering the guy’s arm into submission until the shield broke. The mercenary’s eyes screamed with scorching fear as Draegor slammed his ax blade deep into his chest, breaking every rib and leaving his weapon imbedded in the cavity like he had been chopping firewood and wanted to leave his ax in the stump for safe keeping.
The mercenary shuddered his final breath, a slow death even with half of his organs now a puddled mess. His fingers twitched, reaching for the ax handle, maybe hoping that he still had a chance, until Draegor lifted his flail and slammed the pointed ball into the mercenary’s face. Blood exploded outwards, carpeting everything around him.
Draegor heaved. Sniffed. Wrenched his ax free from the mercenary’s chest. Strode over to the main table. Thumped the ax on top. Kept the flail in one hand. Poured himself a gallon of wine from his skin, and guzzled himself stupid.
If that was vampire blood then not only was the fucker fueling himself up for another frenzied attack, he was healing himself as well.
I glanced over the great hall. Fourteen dead bodies. Three with swords. Two workable shields. Glass bottles. Tankards. Tripping hazards. Slick patches. An exit through the main door to my right. A narrow exit through the side door that Draegor had fought his way through. Possibly more bodies, weapons, and shields down that way, but also equally likely that a usable passageway down below had suffered a cave-in after the thunderous boom. Not sure. Didn’t really want to find out while fighting for my life.
Draegor turned, our eyes catching. He flicked his tankard across the room with such force that it flattened the fine metal trim like it had just been crushed by a vise. The remains of the king’s drink trickled through his beard.
I hurled an ax straight for him. He snapped it out of the air and threw it back. It bounced off the corridor wall behind me. I dove after it. Scooped it up. Threw it back. Draegor knocked it out of the way with an arcing wrist as he stormed after me, a flail dangling by his side in one hand and his four-foot double headed ax now in the other.
His voice cracked with venomous anger. A spell – one that skittered me towards him with surprising speed. I grabbed onto the doorway just as Draegor began his first swing. Kicked my legs out of the way as he slammed his flail into the ground, the tiles shattering beside me and coughing with dust. He slammed with the ax, stepping closer, then with the flail, closer still, as I scrambled to my feet.
I bounced off the corridor wall, somewhat protected from the whirlwind attack until Draegor fired another spell at me. I was wrenched off my feet and thumped in the ribs with the flail. My leather armor wasn’t enough to save me, not from the catastrophic impact or the instant winding as a white-out d
aze took a hold of me.
I crumpled to the ground at Draegor’s feet, shoved my blade towards his thigh and got lucky, but his ax was still slamming towards me. He fired off the last of his spell – I fired off the opposite – and we both flew across the room in the same direction. I face-planted into his ax, catching my cheek, and managed to find an opening in his armpit. I rammed my blade in just as he twisted away, driving my steel two inches deep before he broke the attack. He swung his flail-fist at me, punching me in the face, releasing his grip and snagging the back of my hair. I cried out as he snapped my neck back. I stabbed and stabbed and stabbed at his elbow, slicing a couple of strikes on his armor until a usually-quiet voice screamed at me to swivel and kick his face. I thumped his jaw and nose with my heel, again and again. He brought his ax up, ready to drop it onto me. I caught his wrist and ax-hand, wrestling it into a locked position as I kicked once more. He released my hair to protect his face. I found his flail. Whammed him in the side of the head with it. He shuddered, rolling away from me as I rolled after him, striking him in the shoulder, hip, then knee with haphazard strikes.
He launched himself back to his feet – still blindingly fast with the vampire blood dulling the pain. I hurled a bottle of southern wine at him, and another, then a bowl, a cup, a tankard, all to no avail as he collected his ax and thundered towards me. I smashed two more bottles on the ground in front of me and scrambled out of there. He slipped on the wine – barely an inch but enough to throw off his balance.
I ran, straight for the corridor, wanting out of this fight as much as possible. Draegor barreled after me, building up speed despite a cacophony of wounds. I latched onto the corridor doorway as I ran past, yanking myself to a stop.
Draegor stormed forward, expecting me to be at least ten feet from where I actually was.
I spun back, dropped, and scythed my blade across his stomach. He dropped his ax towards me. I knocked my elbow against the strike, feeling a lightning bolt of agony numb my forearm in an instant as I scrambled back.
Draegor was blocking the corridor. But he was also moving slower. Lumbering. Like he had finally drunk one too many gulps of wine and could no longer see straight. He grunted, clutching his gut as he slumped one foot forward. I kept my distance. Checked the crimson mark left behind on my blade. Four inches.
I lingered, waiting for Draegor to lose his strength before making another move, but I couldn’t stay forever.
Draegor swung as I reached him. It tore his wound open more, causing him to hiss and grimace with the pain. I ducked out of his grasp and drove my blade into the side of his knee. Twisted. He crashed against the wall and slipped to the ground, practically flopping on top of me. He grabbed onto my shoulder, a vice-like grip as he tried to pull himself towards me, opening his mouth like a lunatic about to bite my face off.
He jolted to a stop, his eyes frozen wide with rage. Then they faded, losing focus as his fingers flexed, releasing their grip.
I pushed him off me, drew my blade from the back of his neck, skewered him again in the throat just to be sure. Twisted. Flicked up. Draegor’s body slackened on the cold castle floor, the pool of blood finding a path through the cracks and tile edges.
I dragged myself to my feet. Any other human would’ve gone down in no time at all, but this fucker was higher than anyone I had ever seen before. High but still fully functioning. I padded his waist. Found an embroidered skin. Sniffed it. Gagged. Swigged. Gagged a little more but forced it back down. He had nice gloves. Now they were my nice gloves.
I took the purses of silver from the mercenaries. All were fully loaded like they had just been handsomely paid. I wanted to kick the stuffed Vasslehün bear over for good measure but I was out of time. I downed more of the king’s blood wine, took one last look at my foe, and hobbled out of there before our longboat sailed off without me.
Chapter Sixteen
I limped down the stairs outside the main building of the castle, my arm bleeding, my ribs aching, my lungs about to burst. It wasn’t hard to find the choke point or the vanguard in all of this mess. They were pinned into a courtyard, surrounded on three sides by cubs and mercenaries, all hurling spells, bottles of shattering liquid or Galinnean Fire, and pelting the troops with arrows and chunks of rock.
I leapt – needed a spell to soften my landing – and slammed into the back of one mercenary, using his body to shield me from the low stone wall he had been hiding behind. He oofed! with the surprise impact. I took out the guy to his left and right, left him with a stab in his gut and a swipe across the bridge of his nose, and barreled into two more manning the top of the stairs. We crashed together, them not having enough time to anticipate an attack from the rear, me having nothing else but sheer desperation to make it work. One of them fired off a spell at the sky, wasting it completely. My sword clinked against the steps as I took a solid inch of flesh from his neck. The second guy took a wayward swipe at me as he leapt over the edge of the wall, running for his life.
I staggered to the edge of the vanguard’s courtyard and ducked behind a wall. “This courtyard is now clear!”
A pause. Then: “There were four of them!” shouted Loken.
“Three are dead. One has run away.”
“Right. We’re coming to you.” Loken shifted to a quieter voice. “You four – move. You lot – you’re next. Go!”
They scurried around the corner, dodging a glass bottle before it shattered on the stone wall beside us, flecking our skin with tiny shards.
Zara pushed Alysia forward, ducking down. Alysia was now wrapped in more padded armor and furs than I thought it possible to move in. All that showed of her was a pair of eyes poking out. Even then I could tell she was glaring at me. “Is he dead?”
“Yeah.” My face was covered with cuts and blood, my ribs were broken and keeping me from taking a full breath of air. “Who needs blood wine?”
All except for Mikael grimaced. He reached out. Zara wrenched the skin from my grip, took a swig, and pushed it into Magnus’ hands. “You’re limping. Pass it around.”
“I’m fine.”
Loken snapped. “Magnus, drinking the fucking wine!”
Magnus winced as he took a gulp. An outstretched hand came his way. He passed it along. One by one the vanguard took a gulp. It wasn’t going to heal much but it might dull the pain. Zara blinked lazily, the first wave of the wine haze kicking in sooner than expected.
Loken peered around the corner. “We can’t stay here.”
“We can take the castle,” I said.
“The vampires will find a way in,” said Zara.
“This castle was built to stand against them.”
“Not if everyone on the outside is helping them get in.”
“We need to leave,” said Alysia. “Is there still a ship?”
Gaynun sprung up then down. “I see our ship. Someone’s already on board.”
“A trap?” asked Loken.
“I can’t tell from here.”
We ducked as a volley of arrows bounced off the walls and ground, the sharp heads ricocheting into our packs and armor.
“It’s still the best way out,” said Bren, our second in command.
“How many are onboard?” asked Loken.
“Two that I can see,” said Gaynun. “There might be more by the time we get there.”
“We need the crew,” said Alysia.
“My lady ...”
“We got them into this. We’re getting them out.”
“If we’re doing this, we need to take a straight line to that ship. We can’t search each of these buildings looking for the crew.”
Alysia stamped one heel. “Loken?”
“No. They’re bait for a trap and this is no longer a diplomatic mission.”
“It’s still an aristocratic one, lieutenant. We need as many northerners on our side as possible.”
Loken held his tongue as the order superseded his better judgment. “Adalyn, Menrihk, where are the crew?” Most of the tr
oops clapped their hands over their ears straight away. I wish I had as well.
Menrihk blasted our ear drums with the loudest whistle I had ever heard, a quick burst of notes that still makes me wince. He and Adalyn both uttered a single word and scanned the buildings around them with an intensity beyond anything I had ever seen before. Menrihk brought his hand up into a point. Adalyn turned, did the same. “There they are.”
Loken barked our marching groups. “Cavalry, Zara Alysia Raike, mages, archers, infantry, in that order. Go.” We ran, hustled together, me with Zara and Alysia together with the bulk of the vanguard to our rear, the cavalry in the lead, through one courtyard, down the sharp steps, around the corner.
A war cry ripped through the night behind us. A blood-thirsty frenzy. Another joined it. Both human. Then it shifted. A third voice joined in. Shrill, higher-pitched and louder than Menrihk could ever hope to achieve.
A vampire. Somewhere unknown.
“Stop!” shouted Bren, in the lead.
A volley of arrows landed two feet from the cavalry, another two feet behind the infantry, pinning us in.
“Ah, fuck!” cried Loken. “Cavalry, re-group!”
Ahead of us, the northern crew were banging on the doors to their dungeon, desperate to be released.
Loken rolled his eyes towards Gaynun and Adalyn. “Have a look.”
Gaynun peered over the edge of the wall. Ducked down just as fast. “I saw a bow.”
“Just one?”
“They’re circling around.”
Adalyn breathed in as deeply as she could, her eyes bristling with the magical surge that heightened her senses. “Galinnean Fire. Oak barrels.”
“Shit,” muttered Loken.
“We need the crew,” said Alysia.