Assassin's Quest

by Jon Kiln

  Waya turned her head without slowing her stride. Rothar could see an odd half-smile on her huge face. The look in her eyes was one that he had seen many times in battle, but it was all the more imposing on the visage of such a giant. It was the look of a being pressed beyond the point of self regard, a soul so possessed by the prospect of vengeance and sure of righteousness that no force could sway it's will. Rothar knew that Waya was the key to defeating the infernal army of the Duchess, and he also knew that they were in possession of a most powerful weapon.

  No soldiers blocked their way down the winding corridor, but this was no surprise to Rothar. The Sounthlanders were wise in battle and wily in a bind. The would most likely hide behind closed doors until the ogress had passed, and then try to snipe the trio from behind.

  “Waya,” he called out again. “Please bring up the rear.”

  Instantly, Waya stopped in her tracks and let the men run past her.

  “Keep watch behind you,” Rothar told her as he passed. “They will be coming.”

  The group continued down the passageway, unsure of where they were heading, but knowing that with such a ruckus they would be met with a force, and fighting that force would lead them to what the devils were guarding - the children.

  Sure enough, Waya soon stopped in her tracks and wheeled around. The men stopped and turned to see what she was facing. A contingent of a dozen Southland soldiers charged around a bend in the hallway, swords drawn. They balked slightly when they saw the ogress towering over them. They had expected to take the three men by surprise and dispatch of them quietly.

  Waya growled deeply and the walls shuddered. Unaccustomed to fear, the Southlanders charged forward uncertainly. Waya reached up and plucked one of the large chandeliers from the ceiling above her head, casting it down spitefully. The chandelier impacted the floor with a horrible crash, crushing three soldiers in a tangle of twisted metal and flame.

  A pair of mercenaries at the back of the pack fired arrows into Waya’s face. One struck her in the eye and she reared back, screaming terribly. Peregrin drew his bow and fired an arrow, his last, into the neck of one of the archers.

  Waya ceased screaming and reached up to pluck the arrow out of her eye, wincing but making no sound. As the mercenaries at the front slashed futilely at her leather boots, she knelt and handed the arrow to Peregrin with her massive fingertips. Peregrin took the arrow and notched it in his bow, firing instantly at the second archer. The arrow found the devil’s eye socket.

  “Excellent shot, little one,” Waya said, blinking away the tears from her wounded eye. Then she swept away the remaining Southlanders with a wave of her hand, sending them careening off of the walls with a clattering of deadly steel and bronze armor.

  “Ahead!” shouted Rothar, and the unlikely quartet continued down the corridor into the unknown recesses of Miranda’s Manor.

  The men led the way with weapons drawn and Waya brought up the rear. From time to time, the ogress would pause to dispatch an attack from behind. Southlanders would burst from the doors that lined the corridor and Waya would drive them back to whence they came with furious blows. As they proceeded down the way, the attacks became more frequent, with more men making up each wave.

  Rothar, Peregrin and Harwin began aiding Waya in thwarting the attacks, and soon they felt as though they were the one’s defending something.

  “We must be close!” Rothar hollered to his companions in between skirmishes. “They are getting nervous.”

  They came to a set of large double doors at the side of the passageway. The portal was made of dull gray steel and no sound came from within. The door was unlocked and the quartet braced themselves as it was opened.

  Rothar cracked the door a few inches and peered inside. There was only darkness. He began to move through the door but Waya halted him with her giant hand. Silently, she motioned for the men to move back and she knelt down close to the ground and opened the door fully, sticking her head through. After a few moments of glancing around and letting her eyes adjust to the darkness, Waya pulled her head back out of the room and turned to the men.

  “The way is clear, and you may be interested in what is inside,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

  Harwin took a torch from the wall and shined it beyond the door. They were looking into a long and narrow room with a huge array of weapons hanging from every wall. While Waya stood watch, the men entered and armed themselves. Peregrin refilled his quiver from a stock of arrows. Harwin strapped a pair of short swords to his sides and wielded a huge broad axe. Rothar was comfortable with the weapons he already carried, and felt they were sufficient, but he still took a long spear from the wall.

  Rothar turned to leave and noticed that Harwin was staring silently at the far wall of the armory. Tracing his gaze, Rothar saw that the wall contained dozens of white robes hanging off hooks. They were small in size.

  The same types of robes the children were wearing in the manor grounds.

  “What is this she-devil up to?” Harwin said to himself.

  Waya was the first to speak.

  “Blood magic,” she said.

  Rothar looked up at the towering mother. She was backlit by a blazing chandelier that made her white hair glow in a halo around her head. In this light she looked almost angelic.

  “Why children, Waya?” he asked.

  “She is sacrificing them, draining their beauty and youth for the sake of her own vanity. Miranda is not as young as she seems.”

  It was true, the Duchess was known to be much older than Feril when they married. There had always been murmurs that the Duchess Miranda had some secret to eternal youth.

  Waya continued, “But dark magic has a terrible cost. She is slowly, but surely, losing her soul.”

  A low groan escaped from Harwin’s throat. He was still staring at the wall of children’s robes, some of which were speckled with blood.

  Waya looked down upon him with a kindness and compassion in her eyes that Rothar had seen in only very few humans, let alone ogres.

  “Your daughter is still alive,” she spoke to Harwin. “She has not been taken, not yet. We will see her free, and the others, and put a stop to Miranda once and for all.”

  Chapter 33

  After the men had armed themselves, the quartet set off down the corridor once again. After a few minutes, an ominous succession of concussions echoed down the hallway. The booming sounds came in threes and shook the manor to the extent that dust rained silently down from the rafters above.

  “Battering rams?” suggested Peregrin.

  “Nay,” said Rothar. “No need to break into a place that you are guarding. I believe we are hearing explosions.”

  Everyone nodded in agreement.

  “But why?” asked Waya.

  “I suspect we will soon find out,” answered Rothar.

  Further and further down the passage they walked, Waya still bringing up the rear, the thunderous concussions becoming louder and the dust thicker with each step. Finally, a faint and distant flashing told the invaders that they were near the heart of the commotion.

  Rothar silently crept up to a bend in the corridor and peered around the corner. Not too far away, he saw a battalion of Southland soldiers. The devils were setting sparking charges in front of doorways on either side of the corridor and then dashing for cover. The charges would explode in a fiery ball of red and yellow, reducing the portal to a pile of rubble. The walls and ceiling were made of heavy stone, and the explosion caused it all to crumble, blocking any way in or out of the rooms.

  Rothar turned back to the group.

  “They are steering us, blocking all the doorways except the one they want us to take,” he told them.

  “So what do we do?” asked Harwin.

  “We have no choice but to overtake them before they seal all the doors,” Rothar replied. “ I am certain that whatever way they leave open for us will lead to a massacre.”

  “Very well then,” said Waya in between
explosions. “Shall I rush them?”

  Rothar looked up at the ogress. He knew that whoever made a run at the Southlanders would stand a good chance of being killed. He could have Peregrin try to snipe as many as he could from a safe distance, but they were far outnumbered, and it would not take the mercenaries long to realize they were under attack.

  “No, old mother,” he said to Waya. “You have done many a great kindness for us already, and we are strangers still. I will not ask that of you.”

  He turned to Harwin and Peregrin. “I am going out first. I will distract them. Peregrin, slay as many as you can with your bow, then Harwin, you try to get close with that axe. Once either of you are seen, you must kill with haste, there will be no mercy given to you if you are captured-”

  Rothar stopped short, the massive shadow of Waya that had been over them all had disappeared. He turned just in time to see her slip around the corner, so deadly and quiet for such a large and ancient creature.

  It was only a moment before the shouting began. Over the sound of explosions the men could hear the Southlanders screaming curses in Caltanian. They rushed around the bend in time to see Waya coming down on the men with a mighty fist like a blacksmith’s hammer. She slammed down directly on one of the men, and he vanished as though she had driven him into the stone floor like a nail.

  There were apparently no archers in the battalion, and no arrows flew at the ogress. However, the devils drew their short blades and flung them expertly at the face and neck of the incensed giant. Waya bellowed in pain and rage as one of the knives stuck into her cheek.

  The three men were running towards the melee, Peregrin firing arrows as he ran, careful not to accidentally hit Waya. The Southlanders noticed the arrows when one of them fell as he was about to bury his sword into Waya’s leg. Half of the contingent, about ten men, turned their attention towards Rothar and the other two men. The rest continued to do battle with the ogress.

  When the men reached the first of the Southlanders they collided fearlessly and headlong with a tremendous crashing of steel against bronze. Harwin brought down his massive axe, swinging with both hands and splitting a mercenary nearly in two. Now in close combat, Peregrin slung his bow across his back and worked with his long sword, fending off attacks from the Southlanders curved blades.

  Rothar used the long spear that he had taken from the armory, jabbing the tip expertly under the bottom edge of the bronze breastplates. Each time he withdrew the spear tip, crimson streams of blood stained the floor.

  His companions were fighting fiercely and valiantly, but Rothar could see that they were growing weary, and he feared that the inexperienced Harwin would soon find the end of a Southlander’s sword. Suddenly, there was a shout and one of the guards threw a lit explosive into the middle of the fracas. Everyone stopped moving at once, but only for the briefest second.

  The Southlanders were apparently surprised that one of their own had panicked and lit the bomb. They clamored to escape over the fallen bodies of fellow devils.

  Rothar had grabbed Peregrin by the back of his tunic and was reaching for Harwin, trying to haul them back towards the bend in the passage. All of a sudden, a great darkness overtook them, and a crushing weight pushed down on the three men. Waya had thrown herself on top of them, cradling them beneath her breast like a mother bird.

  The bomb exploded. The massive concussion seemed far off to the three men beneath the ogre. The sounds of the screaming Southlanders were barely audible. The world shook in blackness, and then it stopped.

  All was quiet.

  Chapter 34

  Returning to Castle Staghorn after so many years, young Rothar had felt apprehensive and absurd. He was at home in the forest, and he had found a new family there. Just walking through the streets of the King’s City made him feel like a fugitive, as though everyone were looking at him in shock and awe. The boy who had maimed the executioner and run away from his life of duty had returned.

  Of course, deep down, Rothar knew that no one recognized him. It had been many years since he had run off to live in the forest. In fact, his old friend Heldar would probably not even know him when he saw him. He decided to do a little experiment, just to see if the new King would recognize his old playmate.

  He had been instructed to enter the castle through the rear door and wait for the King in his childhood quarters, but instead, he joined the line of peasants and merchants waiting in front of the castle. King Heldar was listening to pleas in the throne room, and Rothar was going to go before him as a peasant, and a stranger.

  The line was long as there were many subjects who wished to go before the new King and ask his blessing, and many more who wished to ask for help. Finally, Rothar made it into the throne room and was close enough to see the King.

  Rothar was pleased and not at all surprised to see that Heldar had married Amelia. He had always said that he would, even when they were very young. The beautiful new queen sat at the left hand of the King and smiled pleasantly at each subject who came before them. The King himself was gregarious and kind to each and every peasant and merchant with whom he spoke. Rothar smiled to himself at the back of the line. It truly was the same old Heldar.

  Pulling up his hood as the line moved forward, Rothar turned his eyes to the floor and adopted a pronounced limp, favoring his right leg.

  Finally, it was his turn to speak to the King. Rothar shuffled forward and bowed an awkward bow. Clearing his throat loudly, he was about to speak when King Heldar interrupted.

  “I thought I told you to come in through the back door, old friend.”

  Rothar said nothing, just looked up and smiled slyly at the beaming King. He cast a glance toward Amelia and bowed politely. Then he turned and left the throne room without a word. He had his answer. He would wait for the King in their old rooms, as Heldar had asked.

  ***

  Rothar shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs from his mind. The great weight of Waya still pressed down in him, making it difficult to breath. Struggling mightily, he fought to find his way out from under the kind beast. Moving towards the sensation of air moving, Rothar finally pushed his way out from under her weight and hurried to her face.

  Waya’s eyes were closed and she was still. Rothar put his hand on the side of her neck and waited silently. There was no life left in the mother of the towering ones. She had given her life for theirs, and she was far too badly injured to be brought back with the Quietus. Rothar would not put her through that.

  Rothar could hear grunting as Harwin and Peregrin crawled out from under the dead ogress. They joined him by her head, neither man saying anything as they stared into the face of their unlikely ally, a martyr for the cause of men that no man could match.

  After a few moments of silence, Rothar finally spoke. “We must find what the devils were trying to conceal from us,” he said. “Her death must not be for naught.”

  “Aye,” said Peregrin.

  Harwin walked forward and stood very close to Waya’s face, reaching out and placing a hand on the wide space between her massive eyes. It was important that the men get moving, but Rothar could not bear to interrupt Harwin in this moment. He was whispering something, and neither Rothar nor Peregrin could hear what it was, yet, they did not need to. He was thanking the ogress and praying her soul to rest. When he was finished, he leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead.

  Turning back to his companions, Harwin said, “Which door do you figure they were going to blow next?”

  “There’s a bomb over there by that one,” Peregrin said, pointing down the hallway. “They never got around to igniting it.”

  They approached the charge and Rothar carefully took the bomb apart with the end of his dagger, kicking aside the pieces when he was finished. Harwin took hold of the door handle and found it unlocked. As Rothar and Peregrin stood with weapons ready, Harwin carefully opened the door. Beyond the darkness inside, Rothar saw a figure dash through a lighted doorway. The rectangle of light disa
ppeared as the door was slammed shut.

  Harwin thrust a torch inside the room and the men made a short pursuit of the fleeing figure, only to find that the door on the other end of the long, narrow room had been locked, and no sound came from the other side. They decided to investigate the room they were in before moving on.

  Peregrin closed and barred the door they had come in through, and Harwin lit a couple more torches that were mounted on the walls. The room contained little more than some long wooden platforms that stretched the length of the space. There were no windows, and the ceiling was low. Poor Waya would not have been able to follow them into this room unless she had crawled on her belly.

  At the end of each platform was a pair of buckets. Upon inspection it was apparent that one bucket was for washing, the other for waste.

  “It seems to be some sort of prison cell,” said Peregrin.

  “It is a barracks,” replied Rothar. “A contingent of her army must stay in here. They were probably just in here too.”

  Rothar motioned to some plates of stew along the edge of one of the platforms. There was still steam rising from the food.

  Rothar turned and strode towards the far door, picking Harwin’s broad axe from his hands as he passed.

  “The time for stealth has passed, my friends,” he said loudly. “We have knocked at the gates of hell and they remain locked to us, so it is time we break them down.”

  With one tremendous swing of the axe, Rothar cleaved the oaken door in half.

  Chapter 35

  The passageway they next stepped into was low but very wide, and the floor was a mess of muddy footprints from marching soldiers. Far down the corridor, a small party of Southlanders ran out into the courtyard that contained the arena. The men started off after them, when a clicking sound behind them caused them to turn.

  Ethereal in the gauzy black shadows that surrounded him, a dark figure stood hunched and seemingly laughing. The clicking sound coincided with a bouncing of the figure’s shoulders. Rothar recognized that it was the carriage driver that he had seen on the black carriage outside of Sleeth’s shop in Thurston.