Fisher was surprised to find it deserted. Ap Owen headed for the stairs, with
Fisher close behind.
"They don't know where the Talks are really being held, so they're wasting time
searching the house," said ap Owen breathlessly, as he took the steps two at a
time. "But I know where there's an emergency entrance into the pocket dimension.
We can hide out in there till the fighting's over."
"What about your people?" protested Fisher angrily. "You can't just abandon
them!"
"They know where the entrance is, too. If they've got any sense, most of them
are probably already there."
Fisher heard boots hammering on the stairs behind her, and threw herself
forward. The mercenary's sword swept past her head, the wind of its passing
tugging at her hair. Fisher kicked backwards, and the swordsman's breath caught
in his throat as the heel of her boot thudded solidly into his groin. Fisher
turned around to finish him off, and found herself facing a dozen more
mercenaries charging up the stairs towards her. She put a hand on the groaning
swordsman's face and pushed him sharply backwards. He fell back down the stairs
and crashed into his fellows, bringing them all to an abrupt halt. Fisher smiled
angelically at the chaos, and turned her back on them. Ap Owen was nowhere to be
seen.
She swore harshly, and hurried up the stairs to the landing. She paused at the
top of the stairs to get her bearings, and an axe buried itself in the wall
beside her. She ran along the hallway, glaring about her. Ap Owen couldn't have
gone far. If he had, she was in trouble. He'd never got around to telling her
where the doorway to the pocket dimension was. Sounds of hot pursuit grew louder
behind her, and from all around came shouts and curses and war cries as the
invaders spilled through the house, searching for the Peace Talks.
A mercenary burst out of a door just ahead of her, and Fisher ran him through
while he was still gaping at her. She jerked the sword free and then had to back
quickly away as two more men charged out of the room at her.
She put her back against the railing that ran the length of the hall and swung
her sword in wide arcs to keep them at bay. Two-to-one odds didn't normally
bother her, but this time she was facing two hardened professionals in very
cramped surroundings, with nowhere to retreat and no one to guard her blind
sides. It was at times like this that she realized how much she missed Hawk. She
cut viciously at one mercenary's face, and he stepped back instinctively. Fisher
darted for the gap that opened up, but the other swordsman was already there,
forcing her back with a flurry of blows. Fisher fought on, but she could feel
her chances of getting out alive slipping away like sand between her fingers.
And then one of the mercenaries went down in a flurry of blood, and ap Owen was
standing over him, flashing his lunatic grin. Fisher quickly finished off the
other mercenary, and the two Guards sprinted down the hallway, with more
mercenaries in hot pursuit.
"Where the hell have you been?" demanded Fisher. "I turned my back on you for a
moment and you were gone!"
"Sorry," said ap Owen breezily. "I didn't notice you weren't still with me. Now
save your breath for running. We've got a way to go yet, and those bastards
behind us are getting closer."
A mercenary appeared out of nowhere before them and ap Owen cut him down with a
single slash. Fisher hurdled the writhing body without slowing, and followed ap
Owen up a winding stairway. Footsteps hammered on the steps behind her, and she
glanced back over her shoulder to see half a dozen mercenaries charging up the
stairs after her. Fisher looked away and forced herself to run faster. She was
already bone-tired after the long day, and her legs felt like lead, but somehow
she forced out a little extra speed. Ap Owen, of course, was running well and
strongly, buoyed up by his battle drug. Sweat ran down Fisher's face, stinging
her eyes, and her sides ached as her lungs protested. She just hoped she
wouldn't get a stitch. That would make it a perfect bloody day.
Ap Owen led her down a wide corridor at a pace she was hard pressed to match,
but somehow she kept up with him. The growing crowd of mercenaries snapping at
her heels helped. It worried her that she hadn't seen any of ap Owen's men.
Surely some of them should have got this far… A growing suspicion took root in
her that they were all dead. That all the house's defenders were dead, apart
from her and ap Owen. Which made it all the more urgent they reach the pocket
dimension and warn the delegates.
Ap Owen darted suddenly sideways through an open doorway, and Fisher threw
herself in after him. She whirled to slam the door shut, but three mercenaries
forced their way in. Fisher cut down one with a single, economical stroke, and
his blood flew on the air, but another swordsman darted in under her reach and
cut at her leg. Her thick leather boot took most of the impact, but she could
still feel blood trickling down her leg inside the boot. She drove the man back
with a frenzied attack, and for a moment held off both opponents by the sheer
fury of her attack.
And then ap Owen was with her, cutting and hacking like a madman, and between
them they finished off the mercenaries, slammed the door shut, and bolted it. It
rattled angrily in its frame as men on the other side put their shoulders to it.
The two Guards stood exhausted over the bodies for a moment, breathing harshly,
and then ap Owen jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Let's go. The doorway's
here."
Fisher looked behind her, and saw an open door hanging unsupported in the air.
Beyond the door there was only darkness. "About time. I just hope the pocket
dimension turns out to be a damn sight more secure than this house."
"It is; I guarantee it. Now let's move it, please."
He grabbed her arm and hauled her through the doorway. The door slammed shut
behind them, and disappeared from the room. There was a brief sensation of
falling, and then Fisher was in the Peace Talks' hidden room. The delegates rose
startled from their seats around a long table, staring at her and ap Owen. She
quickly put up a hand to forestall their questions.
"The house is overrun with mercenaries. We had to cut and run. No choice. How
many more of our people made it here?" She took in their blank faces, and looked
away. "Damn. Then I think it's fair to assume they won't be coming. We're the
only survivors."
She looked quickly round the sparsely furnished, medium-sized room, and then
blinked as she found there was no sign of the doorway. All four walls were
blank. She shrugged, and looked at ap Owen, who was sitting on the floor beside
her with his head hanging down. He was deathly pale, with sweat streaming off
his face, and obviously using all his willpower to keep from vomiting. Fisher
smiled sourly. That was battle drugs for you. Great as long as adrenalin kept
you going, but once you stopped there was hell to pay. She manhandled him onto a
chair, and then turned back to the delegates. They were obviously waiting for a
more detaile
d report, and it was clear from their faces that their patience had
just about run out. Really, the report should come from ap Owen, as the senior
Captain in charge of security, but since he was out of it and likely to stay
that way for some time… Fisher realized she was still holding her sword, and
sheathed it. She drew herself up to parade rest, thought briefly about saluting
the delegates, and then decided the hell with it.
"We're in trouble," she said bluntly. "Someone hired a small army of
mercenaries, backed them up with some heavy-duty sorcery, and sent them here
looking for you. Our security forces didn't stand a chance; the mercenaries
rolled right over us. Unless some more of our people arrive in the next few
minutes, you'd better get used to the idea that your entire security force now
consists of ap Owen and me. And there aren't going to be any reinforcements.
We're trapped in here, and the house is crawling with mercenaries."
"It's not quite as bad as you make it sound, Captain," said Lord Regis calmly.
"Firstly, we are quite safe here. The dimensional doorways won't open to the
mercenaries, and the only other way in is to open a new doorway. Even a
high-level sorcerer couldn't do that without first knowing the exact coordinates
of this dimension, and those are, of course, only known to a select few. All we
have to do is sit tight and wait for the mercenaries to leave. They won't hang
around once they realize we're not in the house; an attack like this is bound to
have been noticed, especially in Low Tory. I think we can be fairly confident
that the Guard is on its way here even as we speak."
"Wait a minute," said Fisher. "How will we know when it's safe to leave?"
Lord Regis shrugged. "We'll just stick our heads out from time to time, and see
what's happening."
Ap Owen chuckled harshly. "He means you and I will stick our heads out, Fisher.
They're not going to take any risks. Right, my lord?"
"Of course," said Lord Regis. "That is what you're here for, isn't it?"
Fisher looked at ap Owen. His face was still pale, but he was sitting up
straight and he looked a lot more composed. "How are you feeling?"
"Great. The side effects don't last long."
"Long enough to get you killed, if they hit you at the wrong moment."
Ap Owen shrugged.
"You're all missing the point," said Major de Tournay.
"How did the mercenaries know to look for us here? Our location was supposed to
be secret."
"He has a point," said Lord Regis, looking heavily at ap Owen.
The senior Captain nodded unhappily. "Somebody must have talked. Someone always
talks, eventually. But since they couldn't know about this dimension, it doesn't
really matter. The mercenaries will just ransack the house, find no trace of the
Talks, and report back to their masters that you weren't here. They'll be called
off, and you can resume the Talks undisturbed, secure in the knowledge they
won't be back again. And if the Guard reacts fast enough, they might even be
able to follow the mercenaries back to their masters, and we can round them all
up in one go."
"Excellent!" said Lord Nightingale. "This might turn out to have been all for
the best, after all."
"Hold it just a minute," said Fisher, and there was a harshness in her voice
that drew all eyes to her. "A lot of good men died out there, trying to protect
you and your precious Talks. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
The two merchants, Rook and Gardener, had the grace to look a little
embarrassed. The two Majors stirred uncomfortably, but said nothing. Lord Regis
looked thoughtfully at the floor. Lord Nightingale sniffed.
"They were just doing their job," he said flatly. "They understood they were
expendable. As are we all."
"I'm sure that'll be a great comfort to their widows," said Fisher. "Those men
never stood a chance, thanks to your insistence on low profile security."
"That's enough, Captain!" said Lord Regis sharply. "It's not your place to
criticize your superiors. We have to consider the bigger picture."
Fisher gave him a hard look, and then turned away. Ap Owen relaxed slightly, and
felt his heart start beating again. He didn't think Fisher would actually punch
out a lord, but you could never tell with Fisher.
"His lordship is right, Fisher," he said carefully. "The safety of the delegates
must come first. That's what they told us when we took on this job, remember?
Now take it easy. We're all perfectly safe in here; nothing can reach us."
He broke off suddenly, as far away in the distance a bell tolled mournfully. The
sound seemed to echo on and on.
faint but distinct, as though it had traveled impossible distances to reach
them. They all stood silently, listening. The bell tolled again and again,
growing slowly louder and more mournful, like the bell from a forgotten church
deep in the gulfs of hell. Fisher's breathing quickened, and her hand fell to
her sword. Something was out there in the dark, she could feel it; something
awful. The pealing of the bell grew louder still, painfully loud, until everyone
in the hidden room had their hands pressed to their ears. And then the air split
open above them, and nightmares spewed out into the waking world.
Creatures with insane shapes that hurt and disturbed the human eye fought and
oozed and squirmed out of nowhere, and fell writhing to the floor. There were
things with splintered bones and snapping mouths, and nauseating shapes that
twisted through strange dimensions as they moved. Creatures with flails and
barbs and elongating limbs. A monstrous slug with grinding teeth in its belly
fell heavily onto the conference table, its weight cracking the thick wood from
end to end. A clump of ropy crimson intestines squeezed out of the split in the
air, and dropped squirming to the floor, where it dripped acid, eating holes in
the carpet. The conference room rang to a cacophony of screams and howls and
roars, drowning out the madly tolling bell.
For a moment everyone froze where they were, and then Fisher threw herself
forward, swinging her sword in wide, vicious arcs. Strangely colored blood flew
steaming on the air as her blade sank deep into unnatural flesh, and howling
shapes rose up in fury all around her. Ap Owen was quickly at her side, and
together they forced the demons back. Major Comber and Major de Tournay drew
their swords and fought back to back, old enmities forgotten in the face of a
common foe. They cut and thrust with professional efficiency, and nothing could
stand against them for long.
The two traders, Rook and Gardener, retreated into a corner and defended
themselves with unfamiliar swords as best they could. Creatures swarmed eagerly
about them, scenting easy prey. Lord Regis fought stubbornly with his back to a
wall, barely keeping the fangs and claws from his throat but determined not to
give in. Lord Nightingale cleared a space around him with inspired
swordsmanship, chanting all the while in a harsh forced rhythm. Human blood
flowed as the creatures pressed closer, forcing their way past flashing steel by
sheer force of numbers. And still more shapes poured through the split in th
e
air, and there seemed no end to them.
"We've got to get out of here!" Fisher yelled to ap Owen.
"We can't," he answered, grunting with the effort of his blows. "Only Regis and
Nightingale can open the door. And they both look a bit busy at the moment. See
if you can work towards them, take some of the pressure off."
Fisher tried, but the growing tide of creatures forced her back foot by foot,
and ap Owen had to struggle to keep his place at her side. A jagged cut on his
forehead leaked blood steadily down one side of his face, and he had to keep
blinking his eye to clear it. A raking claw suddenly opened up a long, curving
gash across Fisher's hip and stomach, and she stumbled and almost fell as the
pain flared through her. Ap Owen darted in to try and cover her, and a long,
serrated tentacle whipped around his shoulders and snatched him up into the air.
Fisher hacked at the tentacle, but it wouldn't let him go. Comber and de Tournay
were soaked with blood from a dozen minor wounds, but were still holding their
ground and grimly defying the creatures to move them. Rook and Gardener had
already fallen and disappeared beneath a heaving throng of frenzied shapes. Lord
Regis was struggling, tears of exhaustion running down his cheeks, but Lord
Nightingale ignored him, concentrating on his rhythmic chanting.
And then Nightingale's voice rose sharply to a shout, and the split in the air
slammed together and was gone. The creatures burst into flames, screaming and
thrashing as a searing golden fire consumed them, leaving nothing but ash. The
faraway bell was quiet, and the only sound in the hidden room was the harsh
breathing and groans of the two Guards and the surviving delegates.
Fisher sat with her back braced against a wall, watching exhaustedly as ap Owen
slowly picked himself up from where the burning tentacle had dropped him. The
two Majors leaned on each other, exchanging quiet compliments. Lord Regis bent
wearily over two bodies lying twisted and still in a corner, then straightened
up and turned away. Rook and Gardener were beyond help. Regis looked across at
Lord Nightingale, calmly cleaning the blood from his sword in the middle of the
room.
"I didn't know you were a sorcerer, Nightingale."
The Outremer lord shrugged easily. "I'm not, really. I just like to dabble."
Guard Against Dishonor h&f-5 Page 13