by Mark Dame
“Enough,” Ugglar yelled. He pushed Kel out of his way and started toward the staircase.
Grunting and clinking metal and thudding of weapons filled the air. Flyn’s head swam. He had almost let Kel talk him into joining Jarot. And now his friends were fighting for their lives. He pressed his hands to his temples trying to clear his head, trying to make sense of the commotion around him.
Sigrid was dodging Vorggak’s club, her attacks falling short. Brenna had engaged one of the other orcs, while Harvig was freeing Randell from the other.
Flyn closed his eyes.
Jarot was evil. Kel was under Jarot’s spell. The words Kel had spoken had been Jarot’s lies. Jarot was his enemy, not the Ilfins, not Sigrid. Randell, Harvig, and Sigrid had risked their lives to help him find Kel. Gudbrant had died to help him. And Brenna. Even after finding out her love had died, she had still shown empathy to Flyn when she’d found out about his friend.
Those weren’t the actions of evil people. Those were the actions of good people. Of friends. His friends. And now they needed his help.
Flyn opened his eyes.
Ugglar was almost to the staircase. Once he reached Randell and Harvig, they would be done for.
Flyn picked up his sword. He didn’t even remember dropping it.
“No, Flyn!” Kel yelled as Flyn stood and turned. “Lord Jarot is your master now.”
Flyn ignored Kel’s pleas.
“Ugglar,” Flyn yelled.
The orc commander turned to face Flyn.
“It’s time we finish this.”
“This time, you die, Andor.” Ugglar scowled at Flyn. He reached down to his belt and pulled out the rod he had used to torture Flyn. Blue lightning bolts arced between the prongs. He moved toward Flyn, holding the rod up in front of him.
“Your magic doesn’t scare me anymore, Ugglar.” Flyn braced himself.
“I don’t care,” Ugglar replied. “I’ll kill you just the same.”
“Don’t hurt him,” Kel shrieked from behind Flyn. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing!”
“Your friend has chosen the wrong side and now he’ll die.”
“But Lord Jarot wants him alive!” Kel screamed.
“Jarot isn’t here,” Ugglar snarled.
Kel bolted past them. Flyn ignored him.
Clanging and yelling echoed through the hall. Flyn shut it all out. He stayed focused on the large orc advancing on him. He had to. If his larger opponent gained an advantage, the battle would be over. He raised his sword.
Ugglar snarled and ran toward Flyn, lightning flashing at the end of the rod. He thrust the rod at Flyn with a yell.
Flyn stepped to the left to dodge the strike and brought his sword down on the orc’s arm, slicing through his leather gauntlet. Ugglar shrugged off the blow and spun back to Flyn, surprisingly quick for his size.
Again, Ugglar lunged at Flyn with the rod and again Flyn stepped to the side to avoid the strike. This time Ugglar expected the move and flicked his wrist at Flyn. The end of the rod struck his shoulder, sending a painful tingling up and down his side. He grabbed his sword with both hands to keep from dropping it as he twisted away from Ugglar’s attack.
The combatants faced off against each other. Blood—red, Flyn noted, rather than blue like the other orcs—flowed freely from Ugglar’s arm where Sigrid had cut him with her ax. Flyn’s right side was going numb from Ugglar’s rod. Flyn moved to his left, circling his larger opponent, looking for an opening. Ugglar turned to follow.
“You’re no match for me, Andor. Your puny sword can’t pierce my armor. I’ll crush you like an insect!”
“My sword has already pierced your armor, orc. And I don’t have to strike to defeat you. That wound in your arm will bleed you dry. I just have to wait.”
Ugglar growled at Flyn, his eyes burning with hatred. Flyn tightened the grip on the hilt of his sword, waiting for the commander to strike.
With a loud yell that reverberated off the walls of the great hall, Ugglar lunged at Flyn, the rod spitting lightning as it drove for Flyn’s chest. The attack was exactly what Flyn had expected. He easily sidestepped the thrust and brought his sword down on the rod.
Lightning exploded from the rod in a blinding flash that illuminated even the darkest corners of the great hall. A thunderclap, louder than any storm, reverberated off the marble. Sparks flew in all directions, striking the nearby columns and stairway and dancing along the blade of Flyn’s sword.
Flyn and Ugglar were knocked back by the blast, landing on their backs. Flyn lay on the ground, stunned, his body tingling. Ugglar recovered first and with a scream of rage, pounced on his prone opponent, driving both fists down at Flyn’s head.
Flyn raised his sword and braced himself. Too late, Ugglar saw the sword and tried to avoid landing on it. The sword pierced the side of the commander’s neck and was buried to the hilt as the great orc’s bulk smashed down on the smaller human. Ugglar collapsed, a final gasp escaping his mouth.
Smothered by the massive body of the dead commander, Flyn struggled to free himself, but the weight was too great. He couldn’t move, couldn’t see, couldn’t even breathe. He heard the blood pounding in his ears. His lungs ached for air. He scraped and clawed at the body crushing him, trying to push it off of him, but it was too big.
Then the weight lifted from his chest, a blast of cool air hit his face. He gasped and felt the coolness rush into his lungs and relieve the aching.
He was alive.
He lay still, just breathing for a few seconds before opening his eyes. Gathered around him were his friends. Randell, Harvig, Sigrid, and Brenna looked down on him.
“Are you still alive, Andor?” Harvig asked.
Flyn nodded, still unable to talk.
With help from Randell, Flyn sat up and looked around. The other orcs were dead, two lying by the staircase, one off to the side.
“That was an amazing bit of swordsmanship,” Sigrid said. “Well done.”
“An amazing bit of luck,” Flyn said. “I just remembered what Randell taught me. Use your opponent’s size and anger against him.”
“You learned that lesson well,” Randell said.
“Where’s Kel?” Flyn looked around.
No one knew. He had disappeared.
“We have to go,” Harvig said. “More guards will be here soon.”
“What about Kel?” Flyn said.
“He doesn’t want to leave,” Randell said. “He’s completely under Jarot’s control.”
“And he almost had you, too,” Brenna said. “If Sigrid hadn’t attacked when she did, you’d be another one of Jarot’s puppets. Kel knows your weaknesses and that gave Jarot a lot more power over you.”
“I won’t fall for it again,” Flyn said.
“Probably not,” Brenna replied. “But you won’t get the chance. The whole citadel is bound to be on alert now.”
As if to confirm her statement, the sound of orcs shouting drifted down from the stairwell.
Harvig started toward the tunnels, with Randell and Sigrid close behind. Flyn hesitated, looking up the stairs.
“I’ll be back for you, Kel,” Flyn said to himself. “I promise.”
He turned and ran after the others.
Flyn looked over his shoulder as he entered the passageway to the tunnels. An endless line of orcs streamed down the stairs, the first ones almost to the floor of the great hall. Harvig stood at the doors, beckoning him to hurry. The shouts of the pursuing orcs echoed though the hall.
Once Flyn was through the door, Harvig slammed it shut and pushed Flyn ahead.
“No way to lock the door,” Harvig said. “We’ll just have to outrun them.” He handed a torch to Flyn. “Run! I’ll bring up the rear.”
Flyn ran. Ahead of him, Randell and the others were exiting the room where they had stored their gear earlier. They waited for Flyn and Harvig with their packs and Flyn’s bow and quiver.
“Go!” Flyn said, attaching the quiver to his belt. “I�
�ll catch up.”
The others ran, Harvig pulling on his pack as he went.
With his pack on, Flyn ran after his companions, the torch and quiver in one hand, his bow in the other. He slipped the bow over his head and reached for his sword.
It wasn’t there. He remembered. He had left it buried in Ugglar’s neck. He cursed himself for his carelessness, but there was nothing he could do about it now.
Behind him, the door to the great hall smashed open and the shouting of their pursuers filled the tunnel. He risked a glance over his shoulder.
The orcs were stopped in the doorway, shouting for torches. These orcs, dressed in black tunics with a red skull emblazoned on the chest, carried scimitars rather than clubs. The steel blades flashed in the torchlight from the great hall.
He turned back in time to see Harvig turn down an intersecting passage. Flyn raced to catch up with him. Reaching the intersection, he saw Randell’s torch far ahead of him, bouncing and flickering as he ran. The others were just dark silhouettes in the torchlight. At each intersection, they were farther ahead of him than the last.
Flyn was already breathing heavy. His chest hurt where he had injured it escaping from the ogres what felt like years ago. The burning in his legs screamed for him to stop running. The orcs behind him kept him going. Gasping for air, he willed himself on as the sounds of their pursuers grew louder.
In front of him, Randell’s torch disappeared down another tunnel.
He tried to run faster. His feet felt like blocks of stone.
He reached the intersection. There was no sign of Randell and the others. He checked the ceiling for his mark and, finding it, started again down the correct tunnel, no longer able to run. The orcs were less than a hundred feet from him now.
Flyn yelled with pain, forcing his legs to move faster.
Up ahead, Randell reappeared. He was at the next turn in the passageway. Harvig stood next to him, sword drawn.
“Hurry, Flyn!” Randell called.
Flyn could hear the footsteps of the pursuers gaining on him. Their torches cast his shadow on the wall, bouncing away from him into the darkness ahead.
Flyn reached Randell and Harvig, his head spinning. Harvig grabbed him and helped him turn the corner. He staggered forward, his lungs on fire. Harvig pulled him along the tunnel.
“Where’s the key?” Randell asked.
Flyn couldn’t answer. He reached into his belt pouch, pulled out the keys, and handed them to Randell. The militiaman took them and ran ahead.
“Don’t give up now,” Harvig said. “We’re almost there.”
Flyn nodded, the only response he could give.
They turned at another intersection. Ahead of them, Randell, Brenna, and Sigrid were at the steel doors that separated the citadel tunnels from the exit. Randell was holding one of the doors open. As soon as Flyn and Harvig ran through, he slammed it closed behind them. Sigrid was working the lock before the echoes faded.
Flyn fell to the ground, gasping for air.
“Got it,” Sigrid said.
A loud boom echoed through the tunnel as the orcs on the other side smashed into the door.
“No time to rest,” Harvig panted. He was bent over, his hands on his knees. “It won’t take them long to find another key.”
“They’ll need more than a key.” Sigrid chuckled. “I’ve jammed the lock. Unless those pig-faces are better at locks than I think they are, we don’t have to worry about anybody following us.”
Harvig looked up at Sigrid and shook his head. “There’s no end to you, is there?” He sat down next to Flyn.
“How will the other girls get out now?” Brenna said.
“Maybe the pig-faces are so busy coming after us, they’ll be able to sneak out another way,” Sigrid said.
“I hope so,” Brenna said. “I suppose we’ll never know.”
In spite of Sigrid’s assurances, the group didn’t rest long. Once they had caught their breath, they shouldered their packs and started up the tunnel. Brenna took a leather belt off one of the dead orcs, along with strips of cloth from his pants.
“When we stop again, I need to make something to cover my feet,” she said.
The orcs were still pounding the doors as they started up the passageway toward the exit.
They rested again at the tunnel entrance. The fresh mountain air energized their spirits after the damp, stagnant air of the tunnels. Even Sigrid was glad to be in the open again.
“Those tunnels may have been built by dwarves,” she said, “but they smell like orc.”
“How long do you think it will take them to get here from the front gate?” Flyn asked.
No one could guess, so they didn’t rest long.
“I’d rather not climb down that cliff at night,” Sigrid said. “Especially with a bunch of novices.”
“No choice,” Flyn said. “We have to do it.”
They walked to the edge of the small plateau and looked down. All Flyn could see below them was darkness.
“I remember being able to see clear to the ground where we came down earlier,” Sigrid said. “We should try there.”
Sigrid led them to the edge of the cliff where they had descended from the trail.
“I can’t see any better here than over there,” Flyn said, looking down.
“You’ll just have to trust me, lad.” Sigrid looped the rope around a tree.
“I’m not really dressed for climbing down a cliff,” Brenna said, looking at her bare feet. “I’m not even dressed for a walk through the woods.”
“Don’t worry, lass,” Sigrid said. “We’ll lower you down first. You can take one of the torches so the rest of us can see where we’re going.”
Sigrid wrapped the ends of the rope around Brenna, fashioning a harness that allowed her to sit as they lowered her down. Harvig and Randell grabbed the rope while Flyn and Sigrid helped her over the side.
“Make sure you hold that torch away from the rope,” Sigrid said. “Wouldn’t want you to burn it through and fall.”
“Important safety tip,” Brenna said with a nervous smile.
Harvig and Randell lowered her down, Sigrid giving directions to them as Brenna descended.
“Who’s next?” Sigrid asked after Brenna was safely on the ground.
Flyn volunteered and Sigrid reminded him how to wrap the rope and how to climb down. When he was ready, he eased himself over the edge, holding his breath.
He wasn’t sure if not being able to see was better or worse. Brenna stood below him, holding the torch so he could see the ground, but looking down gave him the dizzy, tingling sensation again, so he focused on the cliff face in front of him.
Pausing after each step, he worked his way down. Ten minutes later, his feet touched the ground.
“That’s an amazing trick,” Brenna said after he had unwrapped himself from the rope.
“Sigrid taught us,” he replied. “We wouldn’t have been able to rescue you without her.”
“I can see that.”
Nearly an hour had passed before they were all safely on the ground below the ledge.
Flyn finally relaxed. They were free from the citadel and the orcs.
Chapter 16
Their journey back through the Nidfel Mountains was harder and slower. Except for a few torches in the distance on the first night, they saw no sign of pursuit. Even so, they didn’t want to chance traveling the Yord Trail, instead finding smaller, less traveled paths. With the coming of summer, the spring rains had mostly ended, and with plenty of food from the supplies they had taken from Jarot’s storeroom, they were in no particular hurry.
Harvig and Randell expected to be reprimanded for disobeying the Thane’s orders to go after Kel and Brenna, even though he had only explicitly forbidden Gudbrant. Sigrid had a long journey in front of her, but she seemed content to accompany the humans at least as far as Inefel before departing to the south. And while Brenna talked eagerly of home, she couldn’t hide how much the loss of
Gudbrant weighed heavily on her heart. She confided in Flyn that she hoped the long journey to Garthset would bring her peace before facing Gudbrant’s family and friends.
As for Flyn, his encounter with Kel had left him numb. Although the others tried to console him and convince him to let Kel go, he couldn’t accept that his friend was gone forever. He vowed to search for a way to free Kel from Jarot’s control, even if he had to search all of Tirmar for the answer.
Their first stop was Kaldersten. They needed to rest, resupply, and try to get a new mule. Brenna needed new clothes, not to mention shoes. The others had given her some of their spare clothing to replace the linen frock, but no one had spare boots. She had used the orc’s belt and strips of cloth to fashion makeshift sandals to protect the bottoms of her feet, but they made for very poor hiking shoes.
On the afternoon of the tenth day after rescuing Brenna, the weary travelers arrived in Kaldersten and made their way straight to The Frozen Mug.
The main room was empty, except for the innkeeper sitting at a table eating a bowl of soup. When he saw who was walking in, he set down his bowl and clamored to his feet to greet them.
“By the gods, you’re alive,” he said, hurrying over to the group.
“We are,” Flyn said. “You seem surprised by that.”
“When Gunnulf came back alone, I feared the worst,” Svendar said. “He told of how you planned to sneak into Uskleig.”
“We did,” Randell said. “We rescued Brenna.” Randell introduced Brenna to Svendar.
“Well, that certainly calls for a celebration,” the innkeeper said. He paused, looking at the group. “Where’s the other one?”
“He didn’t make it,” Flyn said.
“I’m sorry. He seemed like a good man. Uskleig is a dangerous place.”
“He never made it to Uskleig,” Flyn said. “We were attacked by a vargolf.”
“The Nidfels have many dangers,” Svendar said, shaking his head.
“It would never have happened if that backstabbing Gunnulf hadn’t stolen all our supplies and abandoned us,” Randell said.