Of Iron and Devils

by B. H. Young

  "I'm sorry Overseer Lisbet," Martha said, the panic clear in her voice. "I know I'm not supposed to be out after curfew but I couldn't sleep." She could not quell the fidgeting of her hands. "I'm terribly sorry--"

  "Calm down dear you're trembling, it's quite all right. You are just out past curfew it's nothing we need to ring the iron bells about." Overseer Lisbet rubbed her fingers against Martha's hair pulling it back alongside her head. "The door to the stairs was partly open, so I thought I would investigate." Lisbet looked onto her with empathy and a memory gleaming in her eye remembering what it was like to be a young female recruit in the Iron. She placed her hand on Martha's shoulder, and turned to overlook the courtyard with her. "I never told anyone this but when I was a recruit I roamed these halls late at night as well. Dreaming away the nights of being out of this old crummy place." She smiled staring off to the faint glow of Iron Town beyond the walls. "Oh this old fort is a scary place full of frightening sounds within its ancient structure, it's a wonder everyone is not roaming the halls like the dead," she said and rub Martha's back.

  Martha was certain Overseer Lisbet could feel her trembling. Overseer Lisbet was always so nice to her, to all the girls. A beacon of high regard for a recruit to aspire to and Martha admired her so, but she was an Overseer and rules must be followed and enforced Martha feared. What would it be? A strapping to a wood pole, center the yard, and flogged for all to see? She'd most certainly pass out from embarrassment before she would of pain. Maybe they'd give her a knuckle dusting? Sitting with her hands splayed onto a table and held by iron rings while they smack her hands with a leather strap. It could be worse she thought, what if they were to give her a standing. She felt dizzy at the mere thought of such cruel punishment. Would her life really be taken for simply breaking curfew?

  "Bet you were never caught, though," Martha said. She'd hoped to quell away the worrying thought of what vile discipline awaited her.

  "My dear we all make mistakes but there is no reason to dwell on them. But we closed this structure off for a reason. We wouldn't want it to come crashing down with you or anyone else in it. Oh being stuffed up in here for so long would drive most mad, so we do what we can to maintain our sanity. I cannot fault anyone for that." Overseer Lisbet studied her with a raised brow momentarily. "Tell me, when was your last chaperoned field assignment dear?"

  "Eleven months ago ma'am," Martha said as quickly as the question was asked. It was partly nerves and partly because she had stewed every day since.

  "Eleven months! It's no wonder you are roaming the halls at night. I'd say it's by the graces of the Gods you're not climbing the walls." She leaned into closer to Martha with a delighted look. "We get flooded daily with request from the common folk that seem to think we handle every small matter of illegality. Such things of minor importance really. Normally I send their request back off to the local guardsmen. But I tell you what my dear, I will keep a sharp eye out for something that can be handled with ease to cross my desk and I will personally chaperone a little adventure for you. I'd say it'd do us both some good to get out of this stuffy place."

  Martha's eyes set ablaze with exhilaration. Here she had broken the rules and expected some form of punishment but instead, it seemed a reward would be given. She'd dare not question it, but nor did she want to explode into exhilaration, like a youngling, making Overseer Lisbet think she did not take the rules seriously.

  "Oh, that would be wonderful Overseer Lisbet," Martha said, fighting to keep her voice to a mere whisper.

  Lisbet stared with sincerity and patted Martha's shoulder. "Thought you might like that. Now, no more sneaking out after hours, do I have your word?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Wonderful, now let us both go get some sleep then shall we."

  Martha was thankful to the Gods it was Overseer Lisbet that had caught her and not Overseer Gelfradus or Hacan. They were more stern with enforcing the rules no matter how minor the infraction. She took one last look at the purple sky before descending the walkway stairs, beautiful she thought.

  Chapter 8.

  In the distance, a murder of crows swirled in the sky cawing in chaos. After holding up a night in Vette Sylo and his men took to the only road out of town at first light. It had been a steady walk along the road all morning. The Vette stables were empty of horses to sell; all stolen by vagabond thieves the stable master told them, so they walked. The old horse handler gave a kind warning of the roaming bandits said to have been seen along the road, but his words fell on unconcerned ears. A group of thugs who may have some horses to be relieved of would be a most welcomed sight. When Marlo asked the man if there was a faster way around the mountains the stable master made mention of the Dwarven mines of Belenos, but said they was best left alone. Foul and terrible things fester there; a notorious shortcut for those who'd brave its desolate halls, but they'd never be heard from again, the stable master said.

  It was the horse handler's talk of a quicker, but dangerous, path that drew Sylo's interest. His warnings of wretched things were of no concern; Sylo had no use for the wild tongues of ghosts and monsters. But at the mentioning of the mines, he knew the Gods were awake early this day with their tricks.

  The road ran for miles trapped in by the Bogendurd Mountain Range. A wall of jagged rock too steep to climb, reaching high into the clouds, its guard stretched far and it would be some time before the road gave into the open bulk of Fleslinburg. The watchtower sat off the road a ways, guarded by the underbrush and deadfall, with its feeble top peeking over the trees. A quarter of its structure stood tall above the crushed stone and splintered wood. The large facade of Belenos could be seen further in the distance as if an out of focus painting. Long abandoned and depleted of its riches the mine bore right through the mountain to the other side.

  A foul mood stirred in Sylo. No horses and forced to walk for hours with the only choice of passage being remnants of a place that should be left alone was punishment by the Gods for ruining their joke in Pyne he thought. They were steering him. He could only guess what hopeful fate they had placed with trick fingers awaited him in the mines. Their torment was endless but he would always prevail, turning their tricks on them as he did in Pyne. They thought he'd fear Belenos, that he'd suffer the long walk setting him further behind on his path and grant them a small victory. No, he would not want to deprive foolish Gods of their ill attempts to best him. Ill attempts that had began the night before.

  They sat squatted around the scrap made grill, surrounded by the debris of the foundation, eating the hog Jelkin had managed to slay. Wild hog needed proper seasoning but they were not granted such luxuries. Sylo stared the small beast, as it grilled and sizzled, battling in thoughts. He pulled another piece of meat from the carcass and tore into it with fevering thoughts of Teyah, the God's joke that he turned on them. So innocent and pure, her sweetness still lingered on his lips. He hoped the Elf would leave Pyne as he told her to. Her safety was of no concern to him. It was the dousing of vinegar into the wound of a lasting affront to the Gods that was the more pleasing reason. The innocent and pure woman they placed there, only for him to ravage and soil. Sylo knew at the cracking of thunder as he indulged on the teary warmth of her that the Gods were storming the heavens in a fit of rage.

  A memory tried to step through the clouded wall as he ate. Teyah reminded him of someone from long ago. Mabillia was her name, tall and slender with a smile that could tame a badger and skin as smooth as glass. Sylo could not find her face with clearness though. Had it been so long he wondered? There was no better trust placed in anyone he had ever known. She was a generous spirit, but that was before time whisked away and the world showed its true face. The Gods taunted him of his naive thinking that day. He glanced at the blue striped kerchief tied around his boot. The day they turned on him and she chose coin over oath. As hard as he tried, he could not remember her face, but the murmurs, the pleas and breaking bones, he could remember those with clarity.

  The crackl
ing of the fire snapped him from reminiscing. It was quiet but would not be for long. The scent of leather and putrid sweat had carried to Sylo earlier in the day. It was faint at first, keeping hidden and at a safe distance behind the tree line, but grew thicker as they sat. He chewed his meat and waited. A sudden fracturing of twigs from behind did not stir or startle him. He watched Marlo and Jelkin raise their eyes past him with pause but without concern.

  Sylo cut his eyes back continuing to savor the meat as any predator does. He had been waiting for them and knew they would come when they thought they had the element of surprise, only because he allowed it. Bounty hunters, he picked out while in Vette. Sylo had seen the proclamation by the king for the apprehension of the murderer of Lord Sinthal nailed to a post. Soon after, his hunting eyes noticed a man and woman watching him and his men with appraising suspicion. He knew they would wait, as any bounty hunters worth their name would, to catch them away from the public. If they tried to take them in town, it could turn on them. They could end up having to fight off all of Vette for their prize. No, they would wait to be sure there were no others who could challenge them or their claim.

  "On your feet," the ragged man said with a strained voice and then tapped his blade on Sylo's shoulder. "On your feet big fella, no fucking around," he said.

  Sylo tossed a chunk of gnawed meat back into the fire and rose to his feet turning to face the barking man. His men rose with him. The man and woman were dressed in shabby garb adorned with scraps of armor and stood with swords drawn. Their faces were greased with muck and shimmering withdrawals behind frail squints. There was unbridled anguish in their poise.

  "Oh yeah, got us a lively bunch here Mrs. Withercort," the man said to the woman beside him.

  "We certainly do Mr. Withercort," she said.

  "The famous Withercort's," Sylo said low and monotone.

  He knew the names as most did. The renowned husband-and-wife bounty hunters of Terongard, hailed as successful and feared hunters.

  Mr. Withercort eyed him. "Heard of us have you. Funny, never heard of you," he said and grinned with excitement of their notoriety under a coughing chuckle. "Never seen you lot in Vette before, have we Mrs. Withercort?"

  "No Mr. Withercort they are certainly not familiar to our eyes." The woman wobbled her head slow and her eyes struggled to stay open.

  "Say, you lot been up in Helbrode recently?" he asked steadying his sword toward Sylo. His eyes were on edge and he had a tremble to him. "Nasty incident happened up there, Kings put out a reward on the vagrant who murdered old Lord Sinthal. Know anything about that, big fella?" His voice stuttered with thrill.

  The woman batted her eyes over to her husband. "We can't be sure it's any of them though Mr. Withercort."

  "No we can't Mrs. Withercort, but they look like killers, I'm sure someone out there has a bounty on them for something." The man's eyes jumped at Sylo with an appraising glare as he gave a sinister giggle. "We'll take their heads just to be sure. We might even be able to retire with this one Mrs. Withercort."

  Mrs. Withercort frowned and said, "Then we'd be bored Mr. Withercort."

  "Oh right, we would be bored then wouldn't we."

  Sylo stood empty of concern, listening to the ramblings of fried mind fiends. The hunters were not tracking them for Lord Sinthal's murder. The weak odor of nightsolts lingering on their breath smelled old and sour. They just needed coin for their next fix. Desperation is the guiding light to demise, but their addiction alone is not what sent them here, he knew.

  Mrs. Withercort moved her eyes up and down Sylo's massive frame following her sword with motioning head grunting behind clenched lips. "Do we have time for me to have some fun with this one Mr. Withercort? He has pretty eyes!" Her sweat-slicked face brightened with anticipation.

  "No my dear afraid not," Mr. Withercort said.

  "Pity, I'll just have to take them after we remove his head."

  Sylo looked to her and said, "My eyes do not belong to me, they belong to them." His voice was deep and his eyes bloomed darker.

  "Them?" Mr. Withercort squinted confused, tilting his head.

  "The ones who set you on this path," Sylo said.

  "The ones who set us on this path?"

  "Are you hard of hearing?"

  Mr. Withercort glanced around as if searching. "No?"

  "One does such things in life to draw awareness from them. For years, I have failed to find such things that I did to garner their interest... for them to scar me. They have sent you here and I ask you, do you know what you have done to receive their attention?"

  The couple looked at one another with narrow eyes and loosened posture. Mr. Withercort looked back to Sylo, shaking his sword with bewilderment. "I'm asking the questions around here big fella."

  "They play their tricks on the ones who've angered them for self-amusement. They were mistaken to try such things with me yet they persist with stubborn devotion."

  "What... enough of this shit," Mr. Withercort said.

  "They set you on this path and you followed the road, and it led you here. You must have done something for them to give you this fate. This is the end of your path they have made that clear. It is a mere curiosity of mine as to what price you paid for their company. Although I do not care either way."

  Mr. Withercort's face twisted and he clutched both hands on his hilt. "I don't understand... what the fuck are you on about!"

  "Marlo," Sylo said.

  Marlo's dagger pierced the air with a hiss from behind lodging deep into Mr. Withercort's cheek. He dropped his sword as his arms twitched uncontrollably. Horrible moans rose from him as his eyes rolled back as his knees buckled and slammed to the ground. Trembling hands shook with violence before freezing in a plea as if an ill attempt at prayer.

  Mrs. Withercort screamed, turning to her husband. Panicking with tear filled eyes, she dropped her sword and reached for her husband who sat kneeled in death.

  Striking like a coiled snake, Sylo grabbed her head with both hands and lifted her off the ground. She fought like a caged animal, slamming her hands against his arms to break free. They would not give and felt as if she were hitting steel. Those pretty eyes now stared to her, as a vessel of imprisoned souls waiting to usher in another. No longer did she want to admire them. Mrs. Withercort could feel his broad hands pressing tighter onto her skull and she shrieked out, rumbling off the nearby mountains.

  Sylo squeezed harder, embedding his fingers deeper into her head. A hum of crushing and crunching flickered out. It took no more effort than crumbling parchment for him. A final groan pierced the area before falling to a mere grunt as her skull collapsed under the skin. A river of red flowed from flared nostrils under rolling eyes as her body danced in spasms.

  He released the woman's squished head from his hands sending the body folding into the ground. He had lured them, drawn them out, and dispatched them. "We make for Belenos," he said stepping over Mrs. Withercort's curled body.

  Jelkin followed behind while Marlo approached the man frozen to his knees in death, tilted his bowed head to the sky, and jerked the lodged dagger from the look of fear before following.

  Carved right into the mountain Belenos stood a magnificent display of Dwarven craftsmanship. Once a mighty source in Terongard for metals and jewels it now stood a mere empty shell depleted of its, once thought never ending, wealth. Its large narrow hall supported by a colossal order of fat limestone now lay empty of trafficking boots. The main hall went straight through the mountain with rows of broad mining trenches stretching from either side into the darkness.

  They descended the stairs amid the dust-ridden ruins. Litter of all sorts sat scattered and caked in the dust while settling noises whispered of the mines age. Their torches had burned out once already and needed to be relit by the time it took them to near the other side. Sylo could see the bridge through the archway in the distance under larger spots of sunlight beaming down. They trudged through the large workshop decorated with web covered mini
ng equipment and workbenches of the once busy hall towards the bridge. The squeaking choir of rats in the walls mingled in the air as Sylo neared the opening. The bridge stretched over the wide channel of depleted ore that winged from both sides into blackness. He could see various holes in the mountaintop above giving way for the light to creep in. The speckled beams of the sun offered enough sight to see the edges, but falling from the walkway would not be the problem, there was something else.

  Sylo stood just inside the archway and halted his men. The mid-day trickled down the ascending stairs at the other end of the bridge. The spreading glow indicated a huge opening and a rancid smell of rot cautioned him. The odor had begun to pester him when first entering the workshop. Not a musty smell these old structures harbor, but a stench of wildlife of a rare nature. It was more pungent here and more direct. The animal was nearby.

  Jelkin hiked his nostrils catching the scent as well. "A fucking troll," he said.

  "Yes, a troll," Sylo grumbled.

  The meager obstacle would not shake him. The odds of encountering such a rare beast were small, but not too small when pouting Gods meddled. They would fail, again.

  Sylo took notice of the few rats creeping around his feet and trailed his eyes back the way they came. The large wooden cart hanging from the ceiling would make enough noise to identify the whereabouts of the beast before they proceeded. He smothered his torch into the wall and signaled his men to do the same.

  "Bring it down," he said to Jelkin, pointing to the dangling cart.

  Jelkin removed his crossbow from his back sheath, pressing the spring latch on the bottom to release its collapsed limbs to firing position. He then tightened the small knob at the end under the limbs to secure them and then pulled the firing string into position. Removing a steel tipped metal bolt from his quiver and placing it in the firing groove, he took aim at the rope and squeezed the bottom trigger.

  An explosion of twine and dust filled the air as the speeding bolt cut through the rope and sent the cart crashing into the floor. The wave of splintering wood rumbled off the deep cavern walls with thumping demand.