by Tony Roberts
She examined the man on the table. He was unconscious, and by the look of him beyond help. Grimacing, she left him and examined the room. Four walls, all of stone blocks. Two doors. One she opened led to the cells. The second led to a quiet passageway so she slipped into this and softly shut the door behind her.
You’re too soft, came an admonishing voice. “Be silent. You take too much for granted I’ve dark elf blood. You forget I have human blood too.”
A weakness. It should be ignored and suppressed. Faer shook her head. “If you continue like that it will be you I ignore.” She felt a huff rise up inside her but thankfully her inner voice went silent.
This passageway was dry and the air was less moist. It had the feel of a summer’s day to it. She wondered how. Light from torches flickered along the length of it, and she could see at the end either a room or a cross-passageway. She advanced carefully, her ears pricked, her senses heightened. The atmosphere was vaguely threatening and it put her on edge.
At the end was a cross-passageway. She looked left and right. A guard was coming from the right. He spotted her and gripped his spear. She stepped out fully and waited for him. The man slowed and examined her. “Intruder,” he said conversationally. “How you got this far I don’t know, but you’ll be sorry you did.”
Faer sent a slam into him and he was pitched back into a wall, making him stumble off-balance for a few paces. She followed up swiftly, two blows cutting into him, and she left him a bloody heap on the ground. Along the passageway were doors at irregular intervals, and they were nothing more than storerooms or vaults. Plenty of treasure here, and she realised this was where Capel was stockpiling a fortune.
Two doors stood at the end and as she approached she saw two statues stood by these, one to either side. They were of severe looking men holding short swords. As she came close she saw they were very life-like, with individual features. It was almost as if… they had been living men once. She shivered.
The doors in between them were of solid wood with iron banding, and an iron ring shaped into the form of a wreath on each acting as a handle. A glance at both statues, but both were immobile. She wondered who they had been. She listened intently, and there was something beyond but she couldn’t tell what. She put her hand on one of the handles.
There came a grating sound.
One of the statues’ head slowly turned to face her.
Her bowels turned to water. She stepped back, gripping her sword. The statue stepped towards her, the face expressionless. It was not so much that, rather the intent she felt emanating from it. It was going to destroy her without any hesitation. It would not think, it would not consider. It was clearly under an explicit instruction. Anyone who touched that door who was not supposed to was to be attacked.
It moved slowly, which was something she was relieved about, but there was not the space to avoid it; the passageway was only wide enough for three people abreast. The statue was coming at her, relentlessly. She saw it raise its sword to strike. She jumped back and the downward swipe missed. How could she fight a being made of stone, and one animated by magic? Her sword was no good, and the danger was that steel could be blunted or broken by the rigidness of the thing attacking her.
Magic. Fight like with like. She sent an experimental push at it, and the statue seemed to briefly halt, but then came on again. No easy unbalancing of a living, breathing opponent here. Fire was clearly no good. What was stone vulnerable to? There was only so far she could go back. She cloaked herself in darkness but the statue came right on at her. She dissipated it and jumped hastily to one side as the sword crashed into the floor just where she’d been.
She sweated, turning a half circle. Now she was in between it and the door. It turned. This was going to be very hard indeed. There was no mind to affect, no reason to argue with or appeal to. She stared at it, then turned and ran for the door. The statue would follow but she had a huge head start. She got to the door and hoped the other statue didn’t wake. Maybe it was the other door being touched? She turned the iron handle and the door gave inwards. With a huge push she desperately forced it open and slipped into the room beyond, then closed it, using her shoulder. The door closed with a sepulchral clunk. The statue was left outside. What it would do now was anyone’s guess. “Welcome, Dark Blade.”
She turned. The room was a medium-sized space, with no other visible exits. A large rich looking rug covered the middle part of the floor, and all kinds of objects were scattered about, ranging from ornate chairs to stout carved tables, from wall trophies to porcelain urns on stands. A fire crackled in one wall, and incense burners stood in a couple of locations, filling the room with their scent.
Stood near the fire, dressed in a long red robe, was Capel. He was still gripping his thick staff with the knobbed end. He had a curious half-smile on his face. Faer glanced to left and right. There appeared to be nobody else present. He looked at the door which shook to the first blow of the statue which was still trying to get at Faer. “Irritated my pet guard, did you?”
“If touching that door irritated it, then yes.”
Capel snorted. He raised his staff, chanted a few words, and the assault on the door ceased. “Useful pair. Former guards here who were foolish enough not to surrender and go over to my side in the final attack.” Faer noted his use of ‘my side’. Capel pointed at her. “I wondered if you would return looking for me. What has become of those you were with?”
“Dead,” she said briefly. “Including your friend Theruddas.”
“He was no friend of mine,” Capel said. “An associate, but one whom I would have got rid of sooner or later. No matter, you’ve done my job for me.”
“And King Jerethal? Was he to go too?”
Capel nodded. “Once the populace tired of his misrule, I would publicly execute him and announce my benign rule to replace him.”
“Except that you are the true reason behind the misrule. You’re a greedy, grasping, opportunist.”
“Aren’t all those who take power?” Capel replied cryptically. “Only because I am not related to someone in power am I seen as an outsider. Under me, Gorradan will become a power throughout the lands. With me to lead an army of magically-enhanced creatures, nothing can stop me.”
“You’re deluded,” Faer said, taking two steps forward, her sword in her right hand. “And I see I’ll have to remove your head.”
Capel laughed. “Oh, you’re the one deluded. What chance do you have, a half-breed little girl? Just because you have dark elf blood in you, you think you’re invincible. You’re just as vulnerable to my creations as anyone else. One day I shall wear the crown of Keria.”
“Not if I have anything to do with that,” Faer said through gritted teeth. “That is my heritage, not yours, you underhand scheming nobody.”
“What? How?”
Faer stood a few paces from the glaring bald-headed man. “I am heir to the throne. My father is Jarrodowyn, Prince of the House of Owyn.”
Capel stared at her in disbelief. “You? A half-elf? They would never accept you!”
“Nevertheless, that puts my claim way above yours. Only one of us will leave this room alive – only one can sit on the throne.”
Capel looked at the sword. “That – cannot be…”
Faer’s smile answered him. “Bloodline sword.”
“It cannot be! There are only five!”
“And this is one. My sword. Prepare to die.”
“No – it is you who will die,” Capel said with a hiss of fury. He waved his staff and touched the nearest incense burner. A cloud of smoke billowed up and slowly took the shape of a vaguely humanoid being.
Faer stepped to one side, her eyes narrowed. The cloud advanced and came for her, two rather nebulous eyes boring into hers. Faer swiped at it but her blade passed harmlessly through it. It did not stop and enveloped her. Immediately she could not breathe. Panic gripped her.
Calm yourself! came her inner voice. Feel what it is! Reject it. Faer hel
d her sword against her and dragged her consciousness into herself. The oppressive feeling was growing, but she deliberately remained calm. Now she could see what it was – or, rather, feel. She sent her inner power out, pushing the cloud away, and as it lifted from her she swept her free hand in an arc, dissipating the cloud. She sucked in a deep welcome lungful of air.
Capel snarled. “So the little girl has powers indeed.” He held out his palm and slammed his staff into the floor. A wall of energy blasted at Faer, but she stood firm and felt the spell shoot past her, leaving her unharmed. She smiled, and it wasn’t one to comfort the sweating magician. He eyed her warily. “I don’t know how you’re able to remain unaffected by that. Even with royal dark elf blood, you should be hurt. I’ll enjoy dissecting your body when I kill you; you’ll reveal so many interesting facts about your vile race. It’ll give me such information I’ll be able to combat your people and win.”
“You’re all talk and no delivery,” Faer retorted. She felt the screams of frustration inside her, and finally decided to relent and allow her dark half loose. Capel needed cutting down to size. With a shriek of delight, her other self rose up and covered her. Now her eyes changed, turning into slits, her face became meaner and more threatening.
Capel saw the change and stepped back, warned. “What is this?”
“Stupid human,” Faer hissed. “Now you will know what it is to face a dark elf.”
Capel gritted his teeth and gripped his staff in both hands, pointing it at Faer. A bolt of lightning shot out and engulfed the girl, but she swiped it aside and it smashed into a wall where it died. Capel was growing desperate. This little bitch was taking everything he could throw at her and she was laughing it off. Faer took a couple of paces towards him, sword in her right hand, her left hand tightening into a claw shape.
“Your heart will be torn from your body. You will die here, you feeble creature. I am a princess of Keria and you, usurper, do not have the right to touch me!”
Capel swung round and looked at the shelving behind him. A number of objects rested there, spell components or objects of curiosity. One he set his eyes on was a rat, caught in these dungeons and killed. It was inside a semi-circular glass-topped display case. He whipped the top off and touched the corpse with his staff, uttering a few hasty words.
The rat came to life, animated to serve him.
Faer laughed. “That thing? And what do you think that will do to me?”
Capel smiled mirthlessly, picked the squirming rodent up and placed it on the ground before him. He chanted a spell, pointed the staff at it, and a faint yellow light surrounded it. Even as Faer watched, the rat began growing at a rapid rate. “Magic spells won’t harm you but something like this can! And it’s undead, so you can’t kill it. It’ll keep on coming at you no matter how many wounds you inflict upon it.” He stepped back, a wicked gleam in his eyes.
Faer took up a defensive stance as the rat, now the size of a sheep, came for her, the yellow teeth opening. Faer’s initial shot was a flame spell, bursting from her palm, enveloping the rat’s head. It squealed in pain but kept on coming for her. Faer swiped hard, the blade of the sword severing the head clean from the neck. The head landed with a soggy thud to one side of the torso, then righted itself and carried on snapping, blackened and burned, but still functioning. The headless torso came for her, no blood oozing from the hole she’d made.
A push that stopped it for a moment, then Capel touched a statue of a centaur, a half-horse half-man with a bow. The centaur began moving, stringing the bow with an arrow that hadn’t been there a moment or two before. The arrow smacked into her chest, sending her staggering back a couple of paces, but the arrow dropped harmlessly to the floor.
Capel gasped. “What? Are you immune to weapons too? What is it about you? What can kill you?”
“Your bad breath,” Faer snapped. “Or your boring conversation.”
“Oh, very funny.” Capel sent a glow of light around the rat and the head rose up. Now it came at her, floating, teeth bared.
Faer swiped a hasty blow at it and knocked it aside, but it returned just as quick and went straight for her throat. Faer instinctively sent up a wall before her and the head struck it, rebounding impotently. Not waiting a moment she blasted it with a second fireball, engulfing the grotesque object in fire and it fell to the floor, blackened and charred down to the skull.
The body scrabbled towards her. Faer turned halfway to her right. An arrow hit her in the shoulder and she cried out in pain. Again the arrow had bounced off but the impact had stung. That centaur would have to go.
First, though, the rat. It lunged but Faer cut down, the blade burying itself deep within the body, draining it of the spell Capel had inflicted upon it. The body slumped to the ground, not moving. Another arrow cut through the air and buried itself into her upper thigh. She screamed and fell, clutching the iron shaft. Iron shaft?
Capel roared in glee. “Got her! Go on, finish her off!” he ordered the centaur. Instantly a sword appeared in its hands and the creature walked over to her, the iron weapon raised to plunge down on her.
Faer shrieked in pain. She ripped the shaft from her leg, waves of nausea washing over her, then pressed her blade to her wound. The power of the bloodline sword flowed out, healing the hole, repairing the flesh. The hole in her clothing, though, remained. The pain subsided and she swung her blade up to meet the downward thrust of the iron monster. The force of the blow knocked her back. This thing was so strong! She got to her feet.
She kept her balance and avoided the next strike, jumping aside as the weapon smashed down, biting into the stonework. She struck back, the blade cutting into the centaur’s shoulder, leaving a dent the size of her fist, but it had no apparent effect. The centaur swung its free hand and caught her around the jaw, lifting her up off her feet and sending her flying to land with a stunning crash four body lengths away. She lay there, lights whirling around her vision, the room spinning. The centaur came up to her without expression and raised its sword.
“Say goodbye, you dark elf whore,” Capel sniggered.
The blade struck down and hit her clean in the ribs. The pain was intense, but the elfin steel held. The sword would not bite through. Faer reached up, teeth gritted, and grasped the centaur by the throat with her left hand, and poured every last scrap of power into the creature, filling it with heat. The centaur shook and went tense, the arms spread out wide. A metallic screech erupted from its mouth and suddenly the head caved in on itself, melting. Faer fell back, spent, arms spread out wide, panting hard.
The centaur solidified, standing still, ruined. Capel swore violently. He slowly came over to her, his staff before him. He noted Faer’s condition. “So, used up all our power, have we? Shame! It looks like I’ll have to finish you off myself in that case.”
Faer groaned and reached for her sword but Capel sent a heavy foot into her ribs, kicking her aside. Faer cried out and rolled a few feet and came to a halt against a small table, bending one of the legs. The contents fell off as the table collapsed, showering her with candlesticks, paperweights, a knife, papers, a seal and wax.
Capel wrenched the table aside angrily. “You’ve caused me no end of trouble, you little piece of dung. I’ll love defeating your kin; they deserve to be eradicated, the foul pestilence they are!”
Faer was grabbed by the collar and pulled half up, her head lolling. She focussed on Capel’s twisted face. Her mind was screaming. She smiled lop-sidedly. “You really ought to do something about your conversational abilities,” she said hoarsely.
Capel stared at her, his eyes wide in disbelief. “What? Can’t you just shut up for once? It’s going to be such a relief silencing you forever – at least then I won’t have to hear your damned voice anymore.”
“Ah but you don’t have the upper hand here,” she whispered, her hand closing round the hilt of the knife underneath her. “I do.”
“Dark elves, you’re so arrogant! I’ll have you stuffed and made t
o obey me when I feel so inclined.”
Faer looked up as his staff was raised to come down on her skull, the intention to crush it, and she rammed the knife blade into his right eye socket with every ounce of strength she had left.
Capel screamed and dropped Faer, spinning round, both hands to the knife, his staff clattering to the floor. He uttered a long, ululating shriek, blood pouring through his fingers, and he sank to both knees, then forward onto the floor where he shuddered, twitched once, twice, then remained still, his one eye staring out in horror.
Faer slumped, the stone floor a welcome surface. Her strength and powers gone. She’d done her bit, and she hoped the others had done theirs. Smiling, she allowed herself the luxury of unconsciousness.
THIRTEEN
A gentle voice, a hand under her neck, and a cool, soothing drink of water. She slowly sipped the water, and sighed in pleasure. Sometimes it was the littlest and simplest things in life that brought the greatest enjoyment. She opened her eyes.
Heller. He was looking at her, his eyes dark with concern. “You hear me, Blade?”
She smiled tiredly and nodded. “You made it, then,” she said softly. “The city?”
“Secured. We fought off a company – no, a regiment – of enemies. Once Capel’s death was known, they threw down their arms. It seems everyone was too scared to act as long as he was alive.” He looked at the corpse of the magician. “You did a good job on him, and everything else.”
“The statues outside the room?”
“Statues. Seems any power he used died with him. We’ve found a fortune in taxes here. The prince is sending it to the imperial treasury. Come on, can you get up?”