Badgerblood: Awakening

by S. C. Monson

  “You’ll split it with me,” the other mercenary said, fairly growling.

  Another mercenary staggered toward them, holding his nearly empty bottle upside down by the squat neck. Wine trickled from the mouth down his jacket sleeve as he shook the bottle at Roe threateningly.

  “Each o’ we be swigs,” he said drunkenly, then tried again. “A-wigs be gettin’.”

  Roe raised the bottle to his lips—“I said, it’s mine”—and took a drink.

  The mercenaries attacked.

  Roe dropped the keys. Peter dove for them and was lost in the melee as more men joined the drunken fray. The mercenary who’d been patrolling the separator tables stood at the edge of the fighting group, dealing blows to anyone within reach. Kor could see Peter trying to break through in that direction and launched himself at the mercenary.

  The cavern exploded in chaos.

  Prisoners converged on their drunken taskmasters. Some swung pickaxes, shovels, and mallets; others hurled chunks of rock. They seized the mercenaries’ swords and whips and shoved them over terraces.

  Kor swung his mallet at the mercenary’s head from behind, but the man lurched sideways at the last moment and the blow struck him in the shoulder. Snarling, he spun and knocked the mallet from Kor’s grip. He snatched at Kor’s manacle chain, but Kor jerked away just in time.

  A gentle, wispy pulse seemed to come from the gem, clearing Kor’s mind and prompting his actions. Quickly winding the chain around the man’s wrist, he slipped around the mercenary, twisting the chained hand behind the man’s back. In the same instant, he caught the man’s feet with his own, tripping him. The guard crashed to the ground face first with Kor on his back.

  The mercenary wriggled under him, clawing at Kor’s left side with his free hand. Kor planted his right foot between the man’s shoulder blades and leaned back on the chain. The guard’s arm creaked in its socket, but that was all. Kor was just wondering how much it would take to completely subdue the mercenary when Cadogan stepped up. There was a wide gash on his upper arm, but it didn’t seem to bother him. He stood casually, eyeing Kor, five prisoners backing him: one woman, four men. In one hand, he held a mallet at his side, with the other he rested the blade of a sword over his shoulder.

  “Need a hand?” There was wry humor in his raspy voice.

  “Might be nice,” Kor said through clenched teeth, struggling to keep the mercenary down.

  Cadogan grinned and conked the man on the head with the mallet. The soldier groaned and went limp. Kor sagged with relief and untangled his chain from the man’s wrist. Panting, he got to his feet.

  Anarchy surrounded him. Peter and Roe’s brawl had nearly doubled in size. Those mercenaries on the terraces not in a drunken stupor either fought each other or the prisoners. Bodies of mercenaries and prisoners alike littered the terraces and the cavern floor.

  Distant cannonfire shook the cavern. The pirates!

  The escape had begun.

  A whistle from Peter pierced the tumult and Spart shot from a hole in the cavern wall with a snarl. At the same time, Peter’s keys flew from Roe’s fight group and arched through the air toward Kor. Kor caught them easily and Cadogan unlocked his shackles. Together, they manacled the mercenary lying unconscious before them.

  Kor took the man’s sword just as Peter extracted himself from the brawling group of men. He gestured toward Kor and made for the cavern mouth at a limping run. Kor and Cadogan’s group of friends followed. They were joined by two more women, but that was all.

  “This wasn’t quite part of the plan, was it?” Kor asked nonchalantly, glancing around at the riot as he came up alongside his mentor. Originally, they'd intended the guards to be too drunk to fight.

  A mercenary yelped as Spart took a bite from his trousers and bounded after Peter, a strip of cloth in his teeth.

  “Not quite,” Peter admitted with a grumble.

  Kor chuckled, returning the set of keys, and the woodsman hooked them on his belt. The little group climbed over the barrier of empty wine crates blocking the cavern mouth. Then Peter stopped and drew a flat metal flask from his jacket.

  Kor raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t think you drank.”

  “I don’t,” Peter said, pulling out the cork and sprinkling the contents over the crates, their lids, and straw padding inside them. “Fetch some lanterns.”

  Three of Cadogan’s friends moved to obey. Lanterns lit the tunnel directly in front of the cavern entrance. They each returned with one.

  “Wine won’t catch easily,” Cadogan remarked to Peter. “You’d be better off just lighting the straw.”

  “This, friend Cadogan, isn’t wine.” The woodsman emptied the flask and tossed it aside. He looked at the other prisoners. “Name’s Peter, by the way.”

  They all nodded in greeting. Kor hadn’t told Cadogan the name of the mercenary behind the escape. He thought it would be safer for Peter to maintain his cover, in case something went wrong and the prisoners were caught conspiring.

  “I—borrowed—Roe’s flask,” Peter explained. “One whiff nearly knocked me senseless. Stuff’s at least half alcohol.” He raised his lantern to smash it in a crate, but Kor stopped him.

  “The fire,” he said, nodding into the cavern. “What about the other prisoners?”

  “There are barrels of water in there where they refill the water pouches. Someone will put it out before it does much damage,” Peter said, smashing the lantern in the crate. The other prisoners followed suit and the fire caught instantly. “Meanwhile,” he said, “it should delay nuisances like that.” He nodded at Roe through the quickly spreading flames. The mercenary had plowed his way free of the fight group and was sprinting toward them.

  “Right, lads—and lasses,” Peter added, politely acknowledging the women prisoners. “Time to go.” With that, he started down the tunnel in front of them.

  No one moved. Cadogan gestured the others forward and went first. They followed him.

  Roe shouted insults through the flames at Peter as he fumbled with a water pouch on his shoulder. The woodsman ignored him, and started on his way.

  Kor brought up the rear, still holding his sword, as the group hurried down the tunnel. It was mired in shadow. The lanterns were too far apart to see clearly. A sickly yellow glow clung to each round, metal-framed lamp, barely venturing past the glass panes. Several paces down the tunnel, Peter stopped near a dark spot on the wall. Kor looked closer and realized it was an opening, hidden in shadow.

  “Spart, lead,” Peter said pointing at the entrance. The badger scampered obediently into the unlit tunnel. Cadogan and the others followed.

  One of the prisoners whispered anxiously as they pressed farther into the darkness. “I can’t see.”

  “Less chance of being seen,” Peter said back.

  “Less chance of getting out, too,” grumbled the prisoner.

  “We’ll follow the sound of the badger,” Peter reassured him. He ordered Spart to speak at regular intervals and the badger gave a brief, quiet chitter in response. “Other tunnels branch off from this one and they are used frequently, so stay close,” he said. “Don’t want to make a wrong turn and lose the group.”

  “What’ll prevent the mercenaries from making a wrong turn and ending up in here?” asked the moody prisoner.

  “The badger and I have been watching this tunnel. No one’s used it. The entrance and exit are so well hidden I don’t think anyone remembers it exists,” Peter said. “It leads under the prison and opens into a grove of trees. The trees are nearly half dead, but they’re packed tight and the branches should shield us from spying eyes. From there, the switchback is just a stone’s throw away.”

  After that the group lapsed into silence and kept up a steady jog. Kor grunted as he stepped on a sharp rock. Rumbling cannonfire masked the sound. He paused, leaning on his sword as he rubbed the tender spot on his bare sole. The mercenaries hadn’t issued him another pair of sandals after he had lost his on the rocks.

  Kor
could hear the group getting farther ahead in the dark. So he picked up the pace and followed. The weak throb from the gem in Kor’s vest seemed to clear his mind as he made his way around twists and turns and up steeply climbing grades to catch up. Several weeks ago, Peter had snuck him a map of the tunnels and Kor had mostly succeeded in memorizing the muddle of dark lines.

  He was passing a small hole that branched off into one of the other, more used tunnels when a mercenary strode by the entrance. A curved hakuma hung at his side. Kor froze as the large man’s shadow flashed past. Just as Kor ventured another step, there was a lull in the pirates’ cannonfire. He kicked a stone and grimaced. The rock clattered over gravel, sounding as loud as the cannonfire itself.

  The shadow of the mercenary reappeared in the entrance, flicking a whip. With a stinging snap, the thong wrapped around Kor’s leg.

  37

  Kor’s feet were yanked out from under him as the whip dragged him into the lit tunnel. His arm caught the brunt of the fall, smashing hard into gravel, and he rolled onto his back. A scarred face sneered down at him, the spiked, glistening dark hair making it more menacing in the shadows.

  Rimak drew his hakuma and swung down.

  Instinctively, Kor threw up an arm to protect himself. Metal struck metal and Kor was surprised to find he still held his sword. Not that it mattered. A moment later, Rimak knocked it from his hand and dropped one knee to his chest. Under the crushing weight, Kor gasped for breath. He scrabbled desperately for his sword with one hand but it was out of reach.

  Rimak smiled, but it looked disappointed. “I expected more fight from you, ku’chek.”

  Little warrior. It was a strange term, both gracious and belittling in the same instant.

  His rotten breath enveloped Kor and fear gripped the young forester’s heart as the mercenary turned his sword, point down. Kor tried to push the fear away, but it seeped through him like a poison. Fuzzy, dark lines shuddered in his vision. The torment from his fight dreams racked his body.

  Kor clenched his teeth, resisting, refusing to give in. He wasn’t ready to die. Not like this. Not when freedom was so close.

  Rimak raised his sword for the killing stroke, the tip aimed at Kor’s chest.

  A tingle wiggled through Kor’s fear, clearing his mind and nudging his thoughts to his surroundings. His fingers closed around gravel and he threw.

  The shower of rocks sprayed Rimak’s eyes. The mercenary howled in pain, covering his face with one hand, and Kor shoved him off. He dove for his own sword, kicking free of the whip around his leg. From behind, the mercenary snarled and Kor twisted to block a downward stroke.

  The two fought, circling each other in the wide, lantern-lit tunnel. The clash of steel rang around them. The gem in Kor’s vest sent a dim but constant quiver through his body. With it, he seemed to react more quickly. For each attack, he could almost see the proper defense in his mind’s eye. He ducked as the hakuma swiped at his head and shattered a round lantern hanging from a curved peg on the wall. The flame winked out as the lantern crashed to the ground. Kor cut his feet on the broken pieces, but the gem kept his mind clear and adrenaline kept him going.

  Rimak drove him back down the tunnel, Kor parrying every attack with his sword. The sound of cannon fire and explosions increased behind him. A breeze tugged at Kor’s hair. They were near the tunnel’s exit.

  Rimak lunged with his hakuma. Kor leapt back, knocking aside the curved blade with his straight sword. Then he turned and bolted for the exit. Dark shapes rushed past the opening. Cries of terror filled the air.

  Kor’s bare feet touched smooth cobblestone and damp grass as he burst from the tunnel. He stood in the prison fortress’s open courtyard. Ramparts rose around him. Bright explosions lit the moonless sky.

  He cast about for a way out of the courtyard, for some way to reach the switchback. To his left, steps led up the north ramparts to the wall walk where the mercenaries had dangled him over the parapet. A flickering pulse from the gem nudged his mind and an idea took shape. Seems the only way out is up, he thought, making for the steps. He could untie the long chain used in the rocks punishment and, with it, climb down the eastern landward wall of the prison to rejoin Peter.

  However, before Kor could reach the steps, Rimak overtook him. Sweat stung Kor’s eyes as the mercenary hacked and sliced with his hakuma. Kor blocked and parried every blow, even managing to land a satisfying cut on Rimak’s thigh.

  There was a lull in the cannonfire as they fought and a chorus of blood-curdling screams filled the silence. Pirates poured over the south wall. Some bore torches and round, clay hand grenades. Others wielded thin wooden clubs with a spiked ball cemented in the curved, hooked tip. All had hakumas. They tossed hand grenades into the courtyard, wreaking havoc among the defending mercenaries. Fire and shards of ceramic sprayed the air. An explosion near Kor and Rimak knocked them both off their feet.

  Kor rolled onto his stomach and rose to his hands and knees. He shook his head, but the ringing in his ears persisted. Pain blazed in his side. He glanced down and saw that a section of his vest had burned away, exposing singed and bloodied skin. With the injury, the prickling feeling from his fight dreams grew stronger, more persistent.

  Blinking to clear away the stars in his vision, Kor groped for his sword until his fingers found the pommel. A few meters away, Rimak stirred, his hakuma clutched in one hand. Kor staggered to his feet and tottered in the direction of the north wall. As he started up the steps to the wall walk, Rimak rose, swaying and shaking his head as though trying to get his bearings.

  With his sword doubling as a cane, Kor forced himself to climb faster. Leaning on the weapon took the pressure off his sore, glass-cut feet and burning side. The tearing sensation in his pores vied for attention and Kor felt suddenly weary of resisting. But he clung to the murmuring pulse from his gem and forced himself up the steps. At the top, he saw that the north wall was deserted. Most mercenaries were on the south wall and down in the courtyard, occupied with pirates.

  Kor limped past torches, focusing his sights on the chain used in the rocks’ punishment. It was wrapped around an anchor in the wall. A few meters past it, a grenade exploded on the wall walk and a tiny flame caught hold of the wooden walkway. Kor moved faster, racing to reach the chain before the fire spread.

  The chain draped over the parapet to the ocean boulders below. Kor rested his sword against the wall and took a firm hold, intending to reel it in. The fire to his right crackled and grew on the wall walk. There would be no walking to the east wall through that.

  If I can just pull up the chain, I can reach the east wall by way of the stone parapet.

  The chain didn’t budge. Something prodded weakly at Kor’s thoughts, trying to turn them to the sea, but he was too busy hauling at the metal rope to pay any attention. Sweat pearled on his brow with his efforts and his arms trembled.

  You’d think I was tired, he thought wryly.

  Heavy footsteps sounded to his left and Kor glanced up. Rimak stood at the top of the stairs, shoulders hunched, head low. He held his hakuma out to one side. Orange and red flames from the fire on the walkway reflected in the blade.

  Kor seized his sword with his left hand and leapt on the parapet as the fire crept closer. He squatted, hauling desperately at the chain once more. Far below at the end of the chain, a dark shape amid the white foaming caps caught his eye. Kor released his grip, feeling sick as he realized why the line had been so heavy—another prisoner had been taken by the rocks.

  To his left, Rimak swept his hakuma before him in an experimental X and started forward. The mercenary snatched a torch from its holding with his left hand, then jumped onto the stone wall. Kor turned and ran, leaping crenel gaps in the parapet, trying to reach the eastern wall. He could climb down without the chain. In the past, he had climbed many a massive borwood tree, often with little more than nubs and bumps in the bark for handholds.

  The hakuma grazed his back. He grunted and spun, raising the swo
rd still clutched in his left hand to block Rimak’s as it cut down at him. Peter had taught Kor how to sword fight with both hands, but Kor generally favored his right. Unfortunately, he’d neglected to switch hands before Rimak attacked.

  The mercenary swung the torch at Kor’s head. For an instant, Kor felt a flash of the familiar with the movement. The gem’s quivering pulse pinched at his thoughts, and he remembered. The attacks—the entire fight reflected his recent fight dreams with the Rimak-beast.

  Just in time, Kor caught the man’s wrist, keeping the torch flames at bay. Rimak leaned into their locked blades and shoved.

  Kor stumbled back. His foot slipped into a gap in the parapet and he fell. He squinched up his face as his back scraped stone. His left heel caught on the parapet above as the rest of him lodged in the tight crenel space.

  Rimak jabbed the torch down at him. With a wild swing of his sword, Kor severed the burning torch head from the handle. The ball of fire dropped over the side of the wall and was swallowed in the ocean. Without hesitating, Rimak tossed the mutilated torch after it and hacked at Kor with the hakuma. Kor’s arms trembled as he struggled to block the blows in his cramped position.

  Flames crackled on the walkway to his left. Heat sizzled the sweat on his skin. The gem prodded his thoughts toward the sea at his right again, a death drop away. Kor ignored it. The notion was not something he cared to entertain.

  Fuzzy lines threatened to obstruct his vision as he fought. A shuddering went through his bones, like a beast waking after a lifetime of sleep. The fur-sprouting sensation from his fight dreams stung his flesh.

  Again, the gem’s tingle pushed through it all, clearing his mind and turning it toward the ocean. Kor felt a stab of anxiety. Escaping over the north wall, with those fathomless depths lurking below, could only end in death. And yet he was growing weary under Rimak’s onslaught. Remaining lodged in the crenel with a mad warrior bent on slaughtering him could only end the same way.