They continued down the hall, which opened to a common room dimly lit by small, snow-covered windows. A kitchen stood to one side, the cupboards bare of food. Broken plates and dirty dishes lay stacked on the counter and table. The sitting area beside the kitchen appeared very disturbed, as if a fight had occurred. Broken chairs and a torn, blood-stained sofa occupied the space before a dormant fireplace. Across from the common area was a stairwell leading up, and another leading down. Another hallway, darker than the first, waited ahead of them.
Kwai-Lan gazed upon their surroundings with narrowed eyes. After a moment, he pointed toward the stairs.
“Bilchard and Kirk, you go up and see what you can find. Try not to kill anyone who doesn’t need killing. Nalah and I will go downstairs.” The man addressed Rena, “Stay put. If anything happens, we are but a shout away.”
Rena nodded, and he turned toward the dark stairwell. With his glowstick held before him, Kwai-Lan led a very nervous Nalah in a careful descent.
“What are you waiting for, big guy?” Kirk said, giving Bilchard a nudge as he passed him. “Let’s go see if anyone is home.”
The duo crept up the stairs and faded around the corner, leaving Rena alone.
She noticed that the front door remained open. It was growing dark outside. The wind howled, the sound the only thing she heard beyond her own, rasping breath.
Like a corpse clawing its way out of a grave, thoughts of her father arose. His dark specter hovered over her, encouraging her to cower.
To fear Issal is to love him, her father had often said. Fear is the only way he knows we are genuinely repentant.
Accordingly, fear is how Rena’s father controlled her.
Rena recalled the time her father had nailed her in a crate and had left her outside overnight. Although it was autumn at the time, autumn evenings in Cinti Mor could grow quite cold. After her screaming had stopped, after her voice was shredded and the tears would no longer fall, she feared she might die in that dark, cold, lonely crate. The secrets Rena and her father shared, his secrets, had driven him to it. Even though she had sworn to never tell, he insisted that fear was the best way, the only way to be certain. When he had opened the crate the next morning, her father lifted her out, held her, and expressed his love. Our relationship is special, Rena. It must remain a secret. Others wouldn’t understand.
The thick scent of an unwashed body arose, stirring the pit of fear in Rena’s stomach. Arms suddenly appeared from behind and wrapped about her, squeezing. She screamed in horror, the image of her father locked in her mind. She heard his angry snarls in her ear, felt the heat of his breath on her neck. He has returned. He knows about Torney. He know about Cassie…about my dream. He has discovered that they know what he did to me.
The rush of hurried steps came from above, rapidly descending the stairwell. The man holding her dragged her backward as she sobbed and shrieked. Bilchard burst from the stairwell, big and bulky in his winter gear, his longsword held before him, his face in a scowl of fury – a scowl like her father’s.
Something snapped inside Rena. All her strength left her in one ragged gasp. She stumbled, collapsed, and slipped from the man’s grip. The side of her head struck something. All fell dark as her father reached for her.
17
Madness
Darkness. It surrounded Rena. Within the gloom, her father’s face appeared, his hands reaching for her, shaking her.
“Rena!” he shouted. “Rena! Wake up!”
Her eyes opened with a start. She gasped, blinking in confusion. Kwai-Lan was looking down at her with a furrowed brow.
“You hit your head when you fell,” Kwai-Lan said.
Rena sat up. Her head hurt. When she lifted her hand to it, she felt a lump.
“Are you all right?” Nalah asked.
“Yes. I’ll be fine. It’s just a headache.”
Kwai-Lan held his hand out and helped Rena to her feet. “It does not bode well to see our only healer as the first person injured.”
Rena found Bilchard standing with his sword drawn, the weapon pointed at a tall, thin man with a scraggly beard. The man’s eyes were wild and constantly shifting.
“Who’s that?” Rena asked.
“Good question.” Kwai-Lan turned toward the man. “What is your name?”
The man ran a hand through his untamed brown hair. “Name?”
Kwai-Lan moved closer to the man. Despite his short stature, the menacing weight to his glare was impressive.
“Are you Constable Hardy?”
The man nodded with obvious trepidation.
“What happened here? Where are the town folk?”
Hardy’s eyes shifted toward the open door at the end of the hallway. “Madness. It’s madness out there. Please close the door.”
Kwai-Lan nodded toward Kirk. “Do it.
Rolling his eyes, Kirk turned and walked down the corridor. With the front door closed, he returned and Kwai-Lan addressed the constable.
“You speak of madness. What happened, man?”
Hardy’s gaze remained on the closed door, but Rena had the feeling he was looking past it, recalling something.
“Vallerton…is cursed.”
Kirk guffawed. “Cursed! You are mad.”
The constable’s focus shifted toward Kirk. “You would be, too, if you had seen it.”
“Seen what, Hardy?” Kwai-Lan demanded.
“It began a few weeks back. Just as before, the first incident was at Vernon’s farm, but it wasn’t just a few cows and a broken fence this time.” Hardy’s gaze fell toward the floor. He shook his head. “Vernon and Ingrid, both dead. Their bodies were mangled, parts eaten. Their child, Olive. We never did find her.”
Hardy fell silent again.
“Listen, Hardy.” The hardness was gone from Kwai-Lan’s voice, his tone shifting toward compassion. “We are here to help. Do you recall the hunters who came to Vallerton this past summer? The ones who killed the monstrous badger?”
The constable nodded.
“We are part of the same group.” Kwai-Lan gestured toward his fellow wardens. “We are here to help you, but we must know what it is we face.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. It sounds…ridiculous.”
Kirk crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “More ridiculous than a ten-foot-tall badger?”
“Honestly…yes.”
Rena couldn’t stop thinking about the farmer and his family. The description matched what they had found at the abandoned inn. “What about the rest of the people? Are they all…dead?”
Hardy’s haunted eyes met hers, and she saw madness inside them. “I honestly don’t know if any survived.” He stared down the hallway, toward the front door. “The men came here and took the weapons. They wanted me to come with them, but I refused. This keep is too small to house everyone, so they planned to hole up in the one place that can.” Hardy’s bulging eyes stared at Kwai-Lan. “Dead or alive, you should find them in the mines.”
Kwai-Lan frowned. “The mines.” He took a deep breath and exhaled. “We had best go there now. It’s getting dark.”
Hardy began shaking his head from side to side while kneading his thin hands. “No, no, no, no. Don’t go out there. Not now. Not if it’s growing dark.”
A chill ran down Rena’s spine. “Why not?” She found herself fearing his response.
He leaned toward her with wild eyes and whispered, “They come at night.”
Kirk stalked toward the constable. “Enough of your cryptic tales. Who comes at night? What is it we face here?”
Hardy broke and began blabbering gibberish. Spittle sprayed from his mouth, and his head twitched with each unintelligible syllable. The look in his eyes had grown even worse, and Rena found herself backing from him despite Bilchard’s sword still held ready.
Kwai-Lan watched Hardy for a moment and then spun on his heel. “Everyone outside. Let’s see what we find at the mine.”
The group left the
mad constable behind, emerging outside to falling snow, heavy enough that it had already partially buried their tracks.
Bilchard came out last, closing the door behind him. “What happened to that man?”
Kwai-Lan shook his head as he untied his horse. “Something has broken his mind. Based on what Nalah and I saw in the basement, the constable has been living in a cell down there for some time now. Whatever it is, he’s scared enough to lock himself up in the basement every night rather than sleeping in a bed upstairs.” Kwai-Lan climbed into his saddle. “Perhaps we will learn more if we can find the missing people.”
When the others were mounted and ready, Kwai-Lan led them back down the street, through the ghost of a town, and turned at the first fork in the road. Thiron’s report said that the mine itself was only a mile outside of town. Rena found herself searching the shadowy woods beside the road, fearing what hid in the darkness. Torney. I need you. Why couldn’t you be here with me?
They crested a rise and found open pits surrounded by ten-foot piles of earth, now covered in snow. At the bottom of one pit was a well. A trough of snow-covered tracks ran from the well, toward a cliff face at the far end of the pit.
“There’s a mining tunnel. Those tracks run from the tunnel to the well, so someone has been coming out to fetch drinking water.”
Following a man-made ramp that circled half of the pit, Kwai-Lan led the other mounted riders down. Upon reaching the well, they all dismounted and tied their horses to it. Rena’s stomach rumbled in hunger. The trail rations she had eaten offered little sustenance. She then considered the horses and wondered where they would get food. Finding Vallerton abandoned had not crossed their minds when they set out on this journey.
With Kwai-Lan in the lead, Rena in the middle, and Bilchard bringing up the rear, they tromped through the snow toward the dark tunnel. Kwai-Lan and Kirk entered but Rena stopped outside the tunnel. From the depths of her consciousness, terror clawed up, constricting her throat and causing her breathing to become rapid, shallow gasps.
A hand gripped her shoulder and she jumped. She turned and saw Bilchard looking down with concern in his eyes.
“It’s all right, Rena.” He lifted his sword. “We’ll protect you.”
She nodded and forced herself forward, into the gloom.
The light from Kwai-Lan’s glowstick shined ahead, creating silhouettes of both him and Kirk. Rena hurried forward and found the tunnel larger than she had first imagined. The roof was eight feet tall, the tunnel wide enough for the entire party to walk astride one another. They rounded a bend and came to a recently built block wall. Within the wall, was a door, thick and sturdy.
Kwai-Lan paused briefly before raising his fist to the door. The knock echoed off the rock walls of the tunnel. Moments passed. He raised his fist to knock again, and a sound arose from inside. The door opened.
Two men stood inside, one holding the door, the other aiming a crossbow at Kwai-Lan. The man holding the door had hair the color of straw. His blue eyes were free of wrinkles, his skin smooth, but tanned. In contrast, the other man was balding and what remained on his hair had gone gray. His face was weathered, his shoulders broad. Thick, calloused fingers gripped the crossbow and held it up with ease. The older man leaned forward, craning his neck to see down the tunnel. Lowering the crossbow, he exhaled in relief.
“Thank, Issal. Please tell me that you’ve come to save us,” the man said in a deep voice.
Kwai-Lan nodded. “Yes. My name is Kwai-Lan Chen. We have journeyed here from Fallbrandt, sent here to help the town of Vallerton. I assume you live there?”
Nodding, he replied, “Yes. I’m Grady…Grady Unger. I’m the town blacksmith. Or, I was before…” his voice trailed off.
“May we come in?” Kwai-Lan asked. “I assure you, we mean no harm.”
“Of course.” Grady turned to his tall companion. “Tindle, be sure to close and bar the door behind us.”
The blond man nodded while stepping aside to hold the door open. Grady led them down a tunnel that gradually curved to the left. At the first opening, he turned down another tunnel that opened to a natural cavern lit by lanterns, glowing with a pale blue light.
Pallets with bedding ran along two walls. A fire burned at the far end, the smoke rising up what appeared to be a natural chimney. A half-dozen wooden tables sat in the center, encircled by a mish-mash of chairs and benches, all occupied.
Men, women, and children, perhaps fifty in all, turned toward them. Their faces were dirty, but they appeared in good health…certainly in better shape than the constable.
“We have visitors,” Grady announced in a booming voice. “I suggest that the men join me while we meet with them.”
The sixteen men seated at the tables stood and crossed the room. Grady grabbed the nearest lantern and turned toward Kwai-Lan.
“Let’s meet in another chamber. I’d rather not discuss this around the children.”
Grady led them further down the tunnel and came to another cavern, this one half the size of the previous gallery. A table waited in the center, beside a shallow pool of water with stalactites hanging high above it. Nine chairs surrounded the table. Grady took one and gestured for Kwai-Lan to join him. As Rena sat beside Kwai-Lan, a drop of water fell into the pool, disturbing the tranquil surface and sending a ring of ripples toward the water’s edge. Rena’s companions each took a seat, along with Grady, Tindle, and two others. The remaining men stood behind Grady, their faces unshaven, bags beneath their eyes from lack of sleep.
“We call this the planning chamber,” Grady said, his voice echoing off the uneven cave roof. “This is where we meet and make the difficult decisions – the ones we would rather avoid but must face, regardless.” His gaze settled on Kwai-Lan. “How did you find us?”
“When we found the town abandoned, we went to the keep. Constable Hardy is there, but…he is not well. He seems to be maddened by what happened.”
“Maddened?” Tindle asked.
“His mind appears…broken.”
“What we have seen and endured…” Grady shook his head. “It might be enough to break a man, and Hardy has been involved from the onset. Honestly, I think he was still spooked from the badger this past summer. Then, when this all began…”
Kirk rolled his eyes. “Oh, for the love of Issal. You’re as bad as Hardy.” He slapped his palm on the table. “Just tell us what we face.”
Grady scowled so hard at Kirk, Rena thought he might reach across the table and attack him. After a glance toward his companions, his expression softened, and he began his tale.
“It began a few weeks back, the night before our first snowfall. I was out working in the smithy, cleaning up before dinner. As usual, it was hot inside the workshop, so I had the doors open. When I thought I heard a scream, I hurried out and listened. Again, screams arose from the north end of town, distant but sure.
“I ran to the keep and alerted Hardy. I armed myself with an axe. He grabbed a crossbow and sword. The keep stable had two horses, used for emergencies. I took one, he took the other, and off we went. After racing across town, we slowed and listened. Another scream and cries for help came from the direction of Vernon’s farm. When we got there, we saw a sight we weren’t prepared to see.
“The fence was broken, the front door missing, windows shattered. Dead cows littered the area, some partially eaten. We dismounted and entered the house, wary of an attack. None came. Vernon lay face-first on the floor, a bloody scythe lying beside him. Using my boot, I rolled him over and found his face missing, bitten right off. We searched the house and found his wife dead, mutilated, but his young child was nowhere to be seen. It was a long, horrible night. One I will never forget.”
He gazed down at his hands as if blood covered them. “At first, I could only wonder at what might cause such horror. I now wish I didn’t know.” He looked up, his eyes meeting Kwai-Lan’s. “It’s odd how the unknown is often more frightening than the truth. In this case, the truth was mu
ch worse.
“Five nights later – nights where everyone in town had been on high alert – they returned. We were ready, or we thought we were. If there had been only one or two, we would have been fine. However, we had no idea of what we faced, particularly in the dark of night. These monsters move fast, in rapid bursts. Yet, they are deathly quiet. You would never know one was coming if not for their eyes.
“When they attacked, they smashed through doors and windows with ease, ransacking buildings and killing the people who were in them. I fought hard, killing one in my own workshop, but these beasts are mindless in their violence. Another one burst in and smashed into a beam that supported the smithy roof. The beam broke. With the weight of snow atop it, the roof caved in, crushing the monster and pinning me to the ground. With the forge still hot, it only took moments for the fallen wood to catch fire. I was able to work myself free and crawl out as the blaze took hold. In the light of the fire, I saw them.”
“What was it?” Kirk insisted. “What did you see?”
Grady frowned. “This is far worse than it sounds.”
“Just say it, Grady.” Kwai’Lan urged the man.
“Rabbits.”
“What?” Rena asked. “Bunnies?”
Grady shook his head. “Not bunnies. Monsters.” He held his arm out, his hand five feet off the ground. “About this tall. Black as night. Eyes that glow red with the evil that drives them. They are fast and ferocious.”
“Rabbits?” Kwai’Lan’s brow furrowed. “They don’t eat meat. Rabbits are plant eaters. Animals prey on them, not the other way around.”
“These are different. If you stopped by the inn, you would have seen what they do.”
“So, what happened after the smithy caught fire?”
“The blaze was big and bright as you can imagine. The light of the fire also seemed to frighten them away. It was a long night, even worse than the night when Vernon and Ingrid died. When day broke, we went to the keep and demanded that Hardy do something. He gave us access to the weapons, but he would not leave the building. In fact, he vowed to never leave the keep again. I tried to appeal to the man, but…something had changed inside him. I later discovered that he had witnessed the monsters dragging away children as he tried to save their mother.
An Imperial Gambit (Wardens of Issalia Book 3) Page 15