The dragon’s massive head turned towards Josselin in a brisk move, its antennae extended straight up from its forehead. The dragon’s ruby eyes glimmered wickedly within the creature’s angular, hard skull. Even at such a distance, he felt the warm air blown through the giant nostrils. Frightened, Josselin’s mount reared and headed down the path, wild. He fell from the saddle and rolled down on the slope, using his arms to protect his neck. The dragon flew and landed on the roof of the temple, crushing it under its weight. The beast gave out a strident, metallic shrill. It pierced his ears and froze his blood. Yet, Josselin did not feel cold. The flames had spread in the wind. The city burned like a torch. Around him rose columns of fire, twisting and swirling like tornadoes. Earthfell had turned into the pit of hell. He heard screams in the distance, covered by the thundering shrieks of collapsing metal and burning beams. The sky, which had been so bright an hour ago, was dark as night as the smoke rose higher and higher.
Josselin got up. The dragon uttered another roar, deeper and more threatening this time. It headed in his direction. Its ponderous limbs smashed the bridge and stone parapets. Josselin drew his sword from its scabbard and raised it in front of him in a pathetic attempt at defense. The dragon ran and snapped in the air. Josselin plunged and rolled on the side. The beast twirled and cracked its long tail like a whip, sweeping the house roofs that stood in the way. Josselin prepared himself for the second attack. As the beast charged, he ran on its side, revolving his sword against the front legs. The metal blade barely scratched the scales. Josselin knew it was hopeless. He stood straight and took the artifact in his hand. It glowed like a beacon in the night. He raised his left arm high above him. The dragon gazed at his hand with covetousness.
“This is what you want,” Josselin muttered. “Then come and get it.”
The knight ran straight forward with a long scream, ready to be eaten alive. The dragon rushed from the opposite side, quaking the earth, but instead of aiming for his body and swallowing him whole, the beast aimed for his hand. The huge jaws clasped violently around his gauntlet, projecting Josselin backwards and carrying him into the air as the beast took its flight. The pain was insufferable. With his last strength, Josselin raised his sword in his right hand and drove it in under the dragon’s eye. The beast clenched its jaws, chopping off his arm and swallowing it. Josselin fell towards the ground, blood gushing in the air from where his left arm had been. He hoped the songs would mention that too.
CHAPTER 49
Ominous clouds hurried overhead, dark and low. The long shadows of the evening fell on the fields. Louis journeyed west with a small party of trustworthy soldiers. Folc rode at his side. They had stayed off of the main road and had followed narrow paths among the growing wheat fields. Louis knew that their expedition was a perilous one. Should the tunnels be trapped or blocked, they would be unable to enter the stronghold. Besides, Elye had proved that he did not hesitate to kill men of the Rebellion, even captains.
However, Louis was lighthearted. The weight of years of torment had fallen from his shoulders. He felt one again proud of who he was and of who he had been. Furthermore, he had sworn to his love that he would come back. Love. He enjoyed the word, now fully assumed. Folc had promised to tell no one, and he knew he could trust the boy. For an instant, he had yearned to stay, Selen tucked in his arms. Yet, those were not virtuous thoughts, and he had swept them aside. He had sworn an oath to Faremanne.
They progressed under the cover of night. Eventually, they came in sight of Mighthorn.
“There stands the castle,” Folc said, pointing at the gloomy stronghold. It stood out in the moonlight, overshadowing the city below. Beacons on the battlements glowed red. “The tunnel’s entrance should be in the patch of woods up there.” The boy moved his finger to the trees on the hill at their right.
They wound up the steep path leading to the woods. As they rode up the hill, Louis felt the first drops of water fall on him. Once they were under the trees, the rain poured down in buckets. His long hair was plastered to his neck and cheeks. In the darkness, it was not easy for Folc to find his landmarks. They searched the thickets for a while before finding the entrance.
“It’s here!” Folc exclaimed.
The wind roared, and they could barely hear each other. Where his body was not covered by his armour, Louis was soaked to the bone. The tunnel’s opening was too low for the horses to get in. Therefore, they tied their mounts’ bridles to branches before taking shelter under the entrance.
“I hope you know the place well, Folc,” Louis said, “because I don’t think we can light a fire or find dry wood with this rain. We have no means to make torches. We will have to creep in utter darkness. It’s not a maze, is it?”
“No, it’s not a maze, but there are different rooms. We must walk straight ahead or we could stay lost for a long time,” Folc answered. Louis did not feel reassured at all. “Follow me,” the boy said.
They advanced with caution in the darkness, each following the man in front closely. They were all ears to any noise that could announce danger. A cool draft was blowing in their faces. Louis grazed the wall on his right with his gauntlet. He felt fissures and crusts of mud. The humidity of the moss growing on the wall pierced through his leather gloves. From the ceiling, unseen water dripped into pools where their sabatons tramped in loud splashes. Louis dragged his frozen feet slowly, afraid to fall into a hidden crack in the ground.
They soon lost all notion of time. For what seemed like hours, they met no danger, saw nothing, and heard nothing but their own breathing. The moist air grew hot and stifling, but it smelled of only earth and roots. The passage wound steadily upwards. Sometimes, Louis’s hand lost contact with the wall. He remembered that the boy had talked about rooms opening on the side. He stretched his hand and laid it on Folc’s shoulder instead. They kept moving on.
The boy slipped under his hand with a scream. Louis heard a loud splash.
“Folc!” he shouted. He knelt and stretched out his hand. It plunged into water. He swirled it around and met Folc’s arm.
“I’m all right,” Folc said. “This room is partially inundated now, but we can still cross to the other side. I can touch bottom.”
“How can you find your way in that?” Louis muttered. He slipped into the ice-cold water with a gasp. The water level reached his chest, which meant that Folc had barely his head out. He followed the wash made by Folc. Behind him, the men cursed as they entered the water. Pieces of wood and rubbish floated around them. Louis felt something creep onto his hair. He struggled, horrified.
“Something climbed up on me!” he shouted. The thing had fallen into the water again. Louis’s heart beat fast.
“Did you see what it was?” Folc asked.
“A rat maybe, or a mouse,” Louis said. “I couldn’t see. We have to get out of the water, fast.”
On the other side of the room, they reached a stone stair. As Louis climbed the steps, water flew from under his plates. It turned into trickles. With the padding and his linen soaking wet, his armour felt like twice its weight. Furthermore, with his hair cold and wet on his neck, Louis was freezing.
“I think we are in the underground of the prison tower,” Folc whispered.
“How can you know that?” Louis asked.
“I tramped on a human bone.”
Louis thought that he glimpsed bars to his right. Something metallic shone. He saw a faint glow in the distance. They drew nearer silently. The group arrived in a poorly lit cellar. Casks had been stored on the side. A torch, hung to the stone wall, burned low. Faint whimpers could be heard in the distance. Louis looked at his men and communicated his plans by signs. While tiptoeing against the wall, he drew out his dagger. He glimpsed at the corner of the next opening.
A guard sat at a small table, his back turned towards him. Further away, jails were packed with men, their men. The wall turned at an angle. Louis did not see more guards, but he guessed that, considering the thickness of the bars, str
ict surveillance was not necessary. Without a sound, he moved to the guard on the chair, put his hand on the man’s mouth, and slit his throat clean. The gushing of the blood attracted the attention of the prisoners. Louis put a finger on his lips and progressed into the room, following the wall. One of the prisoners lifted two fingers. Louis unsheathed his sword. He took a deep breath and turned the corner.
The two guards rose, startled. Louis’s dagger reached the first one in the throat as he tried to flee. The other guard grabbed an axe, but he had not raised it high when Louis’s sword severed his belly in two gaping red lips. Louis turned around, spun his sword, and chopped the man’s head off. The jail’s keys on the man’s belt shone in the torchlight. He picked them up and ran to the jail’s gate.
“Don’t make any noise,” Louis whispered. “How many of you are still alive?”
“We were around seventy when we were brought here, my captain. But the men are scattered in the whole tower,” one soldier responded.
“We will have to take over the tower then,” Louis said. “We are only a handful, so you will have to manage it yourself. Can you do that?”
“Yes, my captain,” the man said, resolute.
Furtive as cats, and using ruses, the soldiers moved through the different rooms of the tower. They picked up weapons and freed their comrades. Louis had ordered them to take over the whole tower before stepping outside. He supervised the operation from the staircase. The more they grew in numbers, the better. Louis sent the soldiers clean each level one after the other. In the end, it was only Folc and him left. They climbed the snail stairs swiftly and reached the last level of the tower.
“This is the last door,” Folc whispered.
“Good. Once we’re done here, we rush inside the yard,” Louis said, pushing the key into the keyhole. He opened the door.
Louis tried to adapt his eyes to the light, thinking he was hallucinating, but his vision was clear. “Lilo?”
The two prisoners in front of him rose. “Louis? Louis, is that you?” Lissandro exclaimed, incredulous. “Louis! You look terrible.”
“Yes, I know. I am glad to see you too.”
Folc opened the cage. Lissandro rushed into Louis’s arms. The two men embraced each other warmly. “Did you go through the sewers?” Lissandro asked, looking at him and wrinkling his nose.
“I don’t know what I went through, but I intend to leave this place by the main door. Come.” Louis paused and stared at the other prisoner. The woman was approximatively their age. She had short, dark hair and doe eyes. Though she had a long scar on her cheek and some bruises, she was comely in her way. Yet, she looked miserable and was dressed in rags. “Who is she?” he asked Lissandro.
“Oh! I’m sorry. This is Kilda,” Lissandro said. “Kilda, this is Louis.”
“Is he your dear one?” the woman asked, confused.
“No, not him,” Lissandro answered with a blush, “but he is a friend. He will get us out.” Lissandro turned to Louis. “Kilda is a valiant knight, but they took her armour.” He moved against him. “Elye mistreated her,” he whispered in his ear.
Disgusting bastard, Louis thought. The man sickened him. He felt compassion for Kilda. “You think you can follow us?” he asked.
She nodded.
They went down the stairs. The soldiers had freed every prisoner, even people unknown to the Rebellion, and had taken the guards’ weapons. They now gathered in the large room in front of the entrance door. A lieutenant came to talk to Louis in private.
“We found a room, my captain.” The man was under shock. “A torture chamber. I have never seen anything like it in my whole life. There were corpses at different stages…and cages. We asked the guards what it was for before we killed them.”
“And?” Louis pressed the lieutenant.
“They said it was…a command for the king.”
“Did you free all who could be freed?”
“Yes, my captain.”
“Good.” Louis did not want to investigate deeper on that now. For some people, there were no limits in crime. Louis moved to the door and faced the men.
“We need to reach the keep before they seal it,” Louis said. “How far is it from here?”
“It’s only a few yards away, but we need to pass in front of the kennels. It won’t be silent,” a soldier answered.
“How do you evaluate their forces?” Louis inquired.
“I would say two hundred men, but we have already killed some here. Maybe a hundred and fifty. We need more weapons if we want to fight.”
“More weapons won’t help us if they block the keep. You will need to take whatever sharp object we find on the way. Those of you who already have a weapon can follow me on the front line,” Louis told them. “Whatever we see out there, don’t stop. Now, on my move.” He took a deep breath and slammed the door open.
They rushed into the yard, slicing and chopping everyone they found on their way. On their right side, the dogs in the kennels barked wildly, raising the alarm. Louis and the soldiers hurried up the staircase leading to the keep’s heavy oak gates.
“Watch out for archers!” Louis yelled as he pushed the left side of the door with all his strength.
Guards were waiting for them in the hall inside, but they were unprepared and were soon overrun. The soldiers of the Rebellion progressed inside the keep, picking up weapons as the enemy collapsed. They visited the rooms one after another—the chambers, the kitchen and the halls, killing men on sight. Blood jetted onto the walls. People caught in their beds in the middle of the night screamed of terror. No one was spared.
Louis ran upstairs, followed by a group of soldiers. “I want Elye alive, you hear me?” he shouted.
The great hall was empty, but a door at the end of the room stood ajar. He ran to it. Elye’s soldiers hurried down the staircase. Louis threw his sword at them. His blood burned in his veins. He felt only the need to kill every living soul in this wretched place. Too many of his friends and innocent victims had suffered by the count’s hands. The last guard stumbled in front of him. Louis drew his sword out of the man’s chest. When he entered the room at the top of the stairs, Elye stood by the fire in the solar.
“You were more cunning than I thought,” the man said, steadfast. Though he had lost, the count showed no sign of fear. “Now, I suppose you will kill me?”
“No,” Louis said. He grasped the man by the shoulder and pushed him down the stairs, holding his arm fast.
When Louis appeared outside the keep, pushing the count in front of him, the soldiers had already gathered in the yard. With one harsh push, Elye fell down the stairs, then rose. He stood alone, facing his former captives.
Louis placed himself in front of Elye. He was half covered in dry mud, half covered in blood. His hair, shaggy and soiled, fell on his face. With one hand, Louis grabbed the man’s jaw. With the other, he laid his dagger under the count’s left eye.
“Faremanne is dead,” he muttered with rage.
The count stared at him with contempt. He reminded Louis of Segar. More, he reminded Louis of all these dragons who had led to his and his previous love’s downfall, vicious, corrupted men. His dagger trailed slowly down, cutting the flesh of the man’s cheek.
“I would love to kill you,” he whispered, “but you are not mine.” Louis moved his dagger away and stepped back. He turned to the crowd and walked towards Kilda. “He is yours.” He gave her his dagger. “Make him pay.”
Still trembling, Kilda moved forward with insecure steps. She stopped in front of Elye. The tall, wretched woman rose straight, facing her torturer, looking him in the eyes. Elye shrieked when she stabbed him in the crotch with the dagger. She pulled out the blade and slit his throat. Elye’s body fell on the pavement in a pool of his own blood. That was tough, Louis thought, impressed. Behind him, the crowd of soldiers roared in approval.
“What should we do with the prisoners?” one of the lieutenants asked Louis.
“Kill them. Kill them a
ll and burn this place down. Send the villagers you rescued back home and take all the horses. We’re leaving.” He turned to Lissandro. “Help her retrieve her armour and join me in the stables.”
Louis went to the stables with Folc and saddled horses for himself and his friends.
Lissandro joined them. At his side, the woman had put her armour on. Louis did not approve of women soldiers, yet, he had to admit that she did look like a knight. They mounted and led their horses into the courtyard.
As Louis rode through the gatehouse over the drawbridge, Lissandro, Folc, and Kilda by his sides, the flames of the braziers licked at the walls outside the windows, reaching for the roof. Soon, Mighthorn Keep would be ashes. Blood had been shed.
CHAPTER 50
They had a long distance to cover. The dam was many miles further south, in the first hills of the mountains. Selen rode at the head of over a thousand soldiers. He did not know which title applied to him now, as he had four of Pembroke’s captains under his command. He should have squirmed. He always had hated to be the center of attention. Yet, today, he was too happy to care. Love filled his heart. He was glad to ride at the front. No one could see him smile stupidly for hours. He barely considered that something could happen to him. He knew that of both of their missions, his was the most dangerous one. The orcs never took prisoners. Yet, the size of his battalion made him feel invincible.
Once again, the mission he had to accomplish was decisive for the Rebellion. He had asked for experienced riders with light armours. Normally, it would take two days for a company to make the journey, but Selen wanted the battalion to reach the dam at dawn. They would push their mounts to their limits, first heading south. Then, they would take advantage of the night and turn east, up the river. Promptness seemed the only way for Selen to take the enemy unprepared. Once the battle was over, they would have to ride back as soon as they could. The Rebellion already marched to the Eryas Lowlands and would wait north of the plain for their return.
Rising from Dust (Light from Aphelion Book 1) Page 31