Darkfire: A Book of Underrealm

by Garrett Robinson

  There was a shout from the cave mouth, and the soldiers rushed them again, with Trisken coming close behind. No time for thought; Loren ran to Midnight, seized her bow from the saddle, and turned with a shaft already drawn.

  She planted one arrow in a man’s leg, but her next went wide as she tried to fire a nonlethal shot. Albern, without any such compunction, slew one of the bodyguards and felled the other two soldiers.

  Trisken and the final bodyguard reached them. Jordel stepped forward to meet the attack, and beside him came Gem, thin voice raised in a battle cry — but the bodyguard struck with a mighty fist, and Gem was dashed aside into the cave wall where he slumped to the ground.

  Jordel traded blows with them both, backing up a step at a time, as Albern cast his bow aside in favor of a blade. Trisken’s great warhammer nearly caught Jordel in its mighty sweep again and again, while Loren watched helpless.

  A rock flew as if from nowhere, striking the bodyguard in his temple. Loren saw Annis’s empty hand. The moment’s distraction gave Jordel an opening, and his sword found its mark at last, plunging through chain mail and into the guard’s gut.

  Before he could withdraw the blade, Trisken stepped around his henchman and struck with the hilt of his hammer, driving the pommel hard into Jordel’s chest. The Mystic fell to his back with a great whoosh and doubled over, clutching his chest where he had been struck. Albern leapt to his defense, trying to keep Trisken at bay, but the stronghold commander pushed him back as easily as if he were Gem, then turned back to Jordel on the ground.

  “No!” Loren could withhold herself no longer. She seized Gem’s blade and charged Trisken, swinging wildly, and regretting never having learned to properly wield a sword. Even to her, the strikes seemed clumsy. But they gave Trisken just enough pause for Jordel to find his feet, and he pressed forward beside her while Albern circled around from behind.

  They had Trisken surrounded in the center of their cave, his head turning back and forth to keep them all in sight. Loren held the sword awkwardly before her. Albern moved to strike, but Trisken turned the blade aside with his hammer. He used the advantage to step back and around the bowyer, putting his back to the cave wall.

  The air grew quiet in a sudden lull. Only the outside and the fighters’ heavy breathing could be heard. Trisken’s eyes sought their faces one at a time. Then he looked past them, to where Gem lay crumpled on the floor, and where Annis knelt beside him.

  A cruel recognition claimed his face.

  “No,” he chuckled. “No, this cannot be. This is too wonderful.”

  Trisken threw back his head and laughed, loud and long. The deep sound echoed terribly off the cave walls until it became a choir of dark voices joining in his mirth.

  “If you call dying in a cave wonderful, then you are a madman,” said Albern.

  Trisken acted as if he had not heard. His eyes were still only for Annis, his lips split in a wide grin. “The Yerrin girl. I thought finding you for your mother would be difficult. How could I have imagined you would walk right into my arms? The Lord will be most pleased.”

  Annis’s eyes filled with fright, and she clutched Gem’s unconscious form tighter.

  “Yes, I will be bringing you to your mother shortly. After I have dealt with these.” Trisken’s gaze went to Loren. “You must be the other one — the Mystic spy who stole her away. The one some call Nightblade. Your corpse will make the Lord a fine gift.”

  Thinking him distracted, Jordel lunged. But Trisken sidestepped the blow, moving far more swiftly than such a large man should, batting the Mystic’s sword with his hilt. He turned the movement into a swing that sped toward Loren’s head. She barely ducked in time.

  Trisken fell back into a fighting pose, and kept speaking as if nothing had happened. “And you. I can smell the stench of a Mystic upon you. The outcast. Where is your fallen wizard, Jordel? Ah, there he is upon the floor.” The commander laughed again, slowly shaking his great head. “What marvelous fortune for me. And for the Lord, who fortune shall always favor. How sad for you, to come so far only to find death in the Greatrocks.”

  Loren had an idea. If she could distract him, it might give Albern and Jordel a chance to fell down. Certainly she could do no more than that, for Loren was no fighter. As Trisken spoke again, she leapt forward with a cry, bringing her sword down in a heavy overhand swing.

  Trisken’s warhammer swung to meet it, and Loren’s sword rang painfully in her hand. One of his great ironshod boots leapt up, his heel smashing into her ribs. She cried out and fell, but before Loren could reach the ground Trisken brought the hilt around again, sending the pommel crashing down between her shoulder blades.

  Jordel jumped forward with a wordless roar of fury, smashing the warhammer aside and driving forward with another strike, pressing in close where Trisken could not bring his warhammer to bear. That barely gave the commander pause; he seized the front of Jordel’s tunic in one meaty fist, drew him forward, and slammed his forehead into Jordel’s nose.

  That gave Albern a much needed chance. His blade found its home deep in the back of Trisken’s knee, its bloodied tip exploding through the front of the man’s leg. Trisken sank with a grunt, but in a desperate final attempt he raised his hammer to bring it down upon Jordel’s chest.

  Albern’s sword swung around and nearly cleaved his arm in two, hacking through skin and muscle right into bone. Trisken’s hammer fell useless, his arm limp and wasted. Jordel rose, dagger in hand, and plunged it into Trisken’s neck. The giant fell at last, facedown on the cave floor, blood pooling around him to mix with the rainwater.

  Loren rolled onto her back, gasping for air, wincing as she landed on a rock where the pommel of Trisken’s warhammer had struck her. Slowly she regained her hands and knees. Her fingers prodded at her ribs. The bone was certainly bruised, but they did not feel broken. Alas, she may leave the Greatrocks alive.

  Loren could only crawl, so she made her way to Gem on the cave’s other side. Annis was already there, holding his head in her lap, staring down into his face. Silent tears painted her cheeks.

  “He lives. I can feel his breath. He is only hurt.”

  “Good,” said Loren. “But he needs to wake. We must flee, now.”

  “He knew me, Loren,” said Annis, her voice breaking. “He knew who I was. He knew my mother.”

  “She is in his stronghold now,” said Loren. “She wanted his assistance searching for you. I will tell you everything we have learned, but later. For now, rest easily. He is dead, and it no longer matters what he knows.”

  Loren shook Gem by the shoulders. Still his eyes remained closed. She slapped his face, gently at first, then harder. Finally she went to a dip in the cave floor, where water had pooled. She bowled it in both hands, then dropped it into his face.

  Gem came up sputtering. “What happened?” His words were slurred by thick lips, for a large bruise was already covering most of his face on the left side.

  “You were struck down in the fight,” said Loren. “But you fought bravely.”

  “Of course I did,” Gem grunted. “I—”

  He froze, his eyes dilating as he looked beyond Loren and Annis. Loren turned in time to see Trisken, risen from the floor to his knees. His mangled right arm still hung limp by his side, but with his left he seized Jordel’s cloak and dragged the Mystic down. His arm wrapped around Jordel’s throat, squeezing tight as he throttled the life from his body.

  “Stinking Mystic,” Trisken hissed, voice bubbling with blood through his torn throat. “All your kind are doomed — but I am content to start with you.”

  Albern flung himself forward, sinking his knife into the commander’s neck again. Trisken laughed.

  Albern withdrew the knife and plunged it into the beast’s back, then again. Trisken laughed harder, while Jordel’s face grew purple, a weak rattle escaping his throat.

  Loren ran to seize the commander’s wrist and pull his arm from Jordel. She may as well have tried shoving a mountain flat.
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  Albern drew back his knife and drove it into Trisken’s eye, the blade sinking six inches deep into the man’s skull. His body went slack, his arm finally falling away, and he sank to the ground.

  Loren pulled Jordel from the body, where he fell to his face. He took great, wheezing gasps of air, sucking it down like dessert.

  “What manner of witchery was that?” cried Annis. “He was dead. Jordel killed him.”

  Albern shrugged, stooping to clean his dagger on the commander’s cloak. “Do not think much of it. In war, I have seen men fight through worse. But not a dagger in the eye. Tis over now.”

  “We must leave,” Jordel said in a horrible rasp, forcing himself to one knee. “More will come, when their commander fails to return.”

  “Indeed,” said Albern. “Strange that he would risk himself out here, with a garrison at his back. But no matter. Where will we go? The east and west roads will both be watched. Deeper into the caves?”

  “No,” said Jordel. “Once they find his body, they will send their strength to scour this place. We have but one choice. We must enter the fort.”

  His voice shaking, Gem said, “You are mad.”

  “He is not,” said Loren. “There is a place we can hide. But Jordel, what then? It hardly seems a better hiding spot than this, and still it gives us no means of escape.”

  “I do not yet know,” said Jordel. “But we cannot stay here.”

  “The horses,” said Loren. “They will not fit where we must go. What will we do with them?”

  “They must be abandoned,” said Jordel. “Bring everything from the saddles you can, and leave the rest.”

  Loren looked far back into the cave, where Midnight still stood hobbled with the other mounts. The plowhorse and Albern’s bay nickered and danced at the bloodshed, but her own horse stood still, its eyes fixed on Loren’s. The thought of leaving the mare made her want to weep. More than a month they had spent on the road, until Midnight seemed as much a friend as Annis or Gem.

  “Do not despair,” said Jordel. “We may yet have a chance to recover them. Soldiers within the stronghold will no doubt bring the horses in for themselves, and from there they might see our rescue.”

  The odds against that seemed strong, but Loren merely nodded, knowing the Mystic was right. With heavy hearts, they went to their saddlebags and fetched their provisions. Albern stroked his horse’s mane, then removed its hobbles with a pat on the neck. Loren spent a moment holding her forehead to Midnight’s muzzle. The mare turned and nudged her, as though she could sense Loren’s distress.

  Jordel went to Xain, bound hand and foot upon the cave floor. The wizard had watched the fight in silence, for a gag still bound his mouth. Now the Mystic hauled him to standing and looked solemnly into the wizard’s eyes.

  “I am going to unbind your feet, and you will come with us. If you should try to flee, you will die. Even if you escape my grasp, the soldiers within the stronghold will find and kill you. Do you understand?”

  Xain nodded, neither eager nor fearful. Loren remembered their brief exchange, the apology that had seemed so sincere. She found herself wanting to believe the wizard now, to have some assurance that his time of madness had passed. But still, she was not eager to break his bonds, nor remove the gag from his mouth.

  They stood at the cave entrance, ready for the rain. But before Jordel took his first step beyond the opening, Loren heard the scraping of metal on stone.

  She looked back and froze. Trisken’s boot slid slowly on the floor as he tried to raise it beneath him. His arms sought for purchase on the stone — both of them, right and left. Even as she watched, the torn flesh of his right arm stitched together, as if under a seamstress’s capable hands. The hole where his eye had been was sealed over with fresh skin, bubbling and rippling like a boiling kettle.

  “Jordel,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “Run,” he said Jordel. “Now!”

  They fled the cave, and raced into the pouring rain.

  twenty-nine

  JORDEL LED THEM AT A crouching run along the stronghold’s wall, around the corner toward the gate leading in from the east. They kept a wary eye above, watchful for any guard who might poke their head over to see them. But they clung closely to the wall and remained unnoticed.

  Loren took the lead after that, for she knew where the hidden entrance was, while Jordel pushed the wizard ahead. Xain caused no trouble, obediently running along behind her, halting whenever the party did with no complaint.

  They found the eastern gate closed, and crept by without incident. Before long they stood in front of the secret entrance. While Albern kept a hand on Xain’s arm, Jordel pressed his finger into the chink, and the stone gave way before them.

  They crept inside, and Jordel pushed the door closed behind them. They were trapped in silence and darkness, within the bowels of their enemy’s stronghold, from where Loren had not the faintest idea of how they might escape.

  Jordel bound the wizard’s feet again, which Xain suffered without comment or complaint. Then for a while they simply rested, nursing their injuries from the fight. Loren tried to feel on her back where Trisken had struck her, but her arms could not quite reach, and trying to do so made her ribs flare with pain. She could hardly see the others, visible only by a sliver of light bleeding in beneath the secret door.

  Jordel said, “There should be a torch on the wall — here it is. They had a torch burning in the cells beyond, if you will recall, Loren. Fetch it for us, will you?”

  “What if they notice its absence?”

  “I do not think they would guess that we took it into the walls. But be quick, so that you are not seen.”

  Loren went to the other end of the passageway, where she found the wooden wall that was, in fact, the back of the dungeon room shelves. She pushed it open on silent hinges, and ran to the torch. When she fixed it to the wall in the hidden passage, the light seemed like the sun after they had been sitting in such darkness.

  “Much better.” Albern had unstrung the bow to lay it across his knees, and was now polishing his knife, which still bore bloody stains from the fight.

  With the room lit, Loren could see the children sitting against the opposite wall. Gem was poking with interest at his bruised face. Annis sat huddled, arms wrapping her knees, eyes on nothing.

  Loren sidled over to sit between them and placed an arm around the younger girl’s shoulders. “Do not be so afraid, Annis. You look like a woman awaiting execution.”

  “Am I not?” said Annis. “We sit trapped in our enemy’s fortress, and their leader cannot be killed.”

  Loren too had been badly shaken by the sight of Trisken rising to life again after Albern killed him twice. “It must be some kind of magic.”

  “It is. A dark magic that has not been seen in the nine lands for centuries. Not since a much, much darker time. An evil portent indeed.” Jordel turned to where Xain sat against the wall. The wizard met his eyes with a troubled look, and Jordel gave him the slightest of nods.

  Loren shot them both a dirty glance. The last thing they needed was to rob Annis of what little hope she had. “And yet, we escaped.”

  “That hardly helps,” said Annis. “For still we are trapped.”

  “And we will escape from here, too,” said Loren. “We will get away, just as we fled Cabrus, and Wellmont, and Vivien upon the river. Only after here, there will be no more dangers, no more foes trying to harm us. In no time we shall be in Feldemar, well on our way to … ” She turned to Jordel. “Where are we going, exactly?”

  The Mystic must have finally understood that Loren wished to cheer the girl, for slowly he nodded.

  “To my stronghold of Ammon, in the southwest of Feldemar. It was once a castle of my family’s, set to guard against invasion from Dorsea. But it has been long abandoned, for it was built in a time of war that is many yesteryears past. Feldemar and Dorsea have been at peace for hundreds of years, and all of Dorsea’s aggression is now
spent upon Selvan instead. When I joined the order and learned of Ammon, I took it for my own, and from there I have long planned my efforts throughout the nine lands. It is no place of luxury, or even much comfort, but it is secret, and safe.”

  “But will the other Mystics not know that you have gone there?” said Annis, her voice still worried. “Will they not find us?”

  “I have told few others in my order about Ammon. It has always seemed prudent to keep a place of retreat, where not even my masters could find me.”

  “Do you see?” said Loren. “Once we leave the Greatrocks we will lose ourselves in the Birchwood, my home, where no one will find us. And beyond the Birchwood, it is but a short journey to Feldemar.”

  “A short journey, you say,” grumbled Annis. “I feel as though we move from one short jaunt to another, except they are longer than we think, and always fraught with peril.”

  “You may be right, and yet I promise you this, Annis of the family Yerrin,” said Jordel. “I vow that I will see you safely to Ammon. While life remains in my body, I will not abandon you or turn aside. I will see you — and all of us — to safety.”

  Annis peered at Jordel in the torchlight. She said nothing, but her nod seemed more relaxed.

  “All good words, and I don’t doubt them,” said Albern. “But it seems the lot of us have much to do before they can be turned out.”

  “He is right,” said Gem. “We cannot very well reach Ammon while lurking in the depths of this castle.”

  “No, we cannot.” Jordel sighed. “But we have learned much about the foes who wish to prevent our escape — one known, the other largely a mystery. It is the unknown that worries me, of course — and yet with every encounter, I learn ever more. And at the same time, the family Yerrin becomes more of a question.”

  “How do you mean?” said Loren.

  “Think,” said Jordel. “Why should Yerrin seek the help of this Lord, whoever he may be? If they desire his help, he must be more powerful than they — or at least, capable of things they are not. But if that is true, how could he have hidden himself so well that I have never heard so much as a whisper of his arrival?”