Perronius’ lighted goggles provide some clarity but not nearly enough. The group finally makes it across, sans four soldiers who had succumbed to the deadly sea creatures. The swell of the sea makes it difficult to raise up and gain a vantage point. But it keeps the group obscured from the soldiers who guard the only vulnerable point in the castle: a tunnel that provides the sewer system for the castle and is sealed off with a series of iron bars.
Cotteroy swims within a hundred yards of the soldiers and holds the rest of the group back with a ‘waiting’ gesture. One of the soldiers abruptly gets off his perch in order to investigate a noise. Cotteroy brings up his spear gun and pumps the chamber gauge, increasing the pressure on the firing mechanism. From this distance, he will need the maximum amount of pressure.
The soldier moves his head around in an investigative gesture. Cotteroy takes careful aim, which is difficult with the swell continually unbalancing him. He takes a deep breath, aims for the smallest part he can, and squeezes the trigger. The spear penetrates through his right eye socket, emitting a slosh of bile, crimson, ocular and brain matter out of the back of his head. It seeps from the arrows’ head. The soldier crashes back, sending the spear out the front of his head.
Cotteroy motions to the other soldiers. They swim forward with a sense of urgency. If the body is discovered, several other soldiers will be alerted, and they will be overwhelmed in minutes.
They reach the gate and inadvertently alert another guard to their presence. He moves closer to investigate and investigates the sea. Jamison gives a ‘get below the surface’ gesture to the others. The soldier is unsure. He scans the break for any sign of a disturbance but sees none. A glimmer of something seems to cross his vision, but he still isn’t entirely sure. His hand moves reflexively to the butt of his pistol. A bead of sweat trickles down his forehead and into his eyes. He waits. The group has no other choice but to wait. A pistol shot will alert every soldier within a quarter of a mile.
Unable to wait any longer, Cotteroy and Jamison look at each other under water and nod their heads. They must come up for air. They cock their spear guns and count to three. In perfect synchronicity, they dart out of the water and fire their spear guns nearly simultaneously. The first one catches the soldier on his arm that was resting on the butt of his gun. It penetrates through his hand and into his leg, impaling his hand to his leg.
The second one penetrates his neck and severs his jugular. Blood pours from the wound. He drops immediately, and his body convulses spasmodically for several seconds and he is still. The rest of the group emerges from the water. Cotteroy points to two of them. “You men, go and replace those men and change into their clothes. Eliminate any men who venture too closely.” They nod and begin to swim ashore.
Jamison retrieves his bag tethered to his body and fishes out a medium sized glass jar. He opens it carefully, knowing the compound inside the syringes is extremely toxic. The fumes can kill him if breathed. The liquid, Fluor-antimonic acid, the most powerful of all acids, itself will eat through anything. It makes hydrochloric Acid look like monkey piss.
Jamison takes the first syringe and applies the acid to the first bar. They hear a palpable ‘sizzling’ sound as the acid begins its work. Normally they could use a bar spreader to bend the bars, but these bars are very large, necessitating other means.
He applies the rest of the solution to the other side of the bar. He throws away the first syringe and extracts the second syringe, repeating the process. Jamison nods to Cotteroy. Cotteroy takes out his long rifle, which has a very heavy gauged stock. He waits just until the tide breaks on the shore and slams the butt of his rifle into the first bar. It snaps free. He does the same thing with the next bar and it dislodges. The group enters the tunnel. Jamison reaches into his knapsack and pulls out the schematics of the tunnels. He looks at Cotteroy.
Gilkrant looks at the pair. “We don’t have much time.”
“No,” says Cotteroy. “And this plan depends on many objectives acting in synchronicity.”
Jamison gives the detailed map a cursory glance and sighs. “Three miles of a labyrinth of tunnels we must traverse through and it will all be for not if Perronius does not make it through or if he is killed in the interim. Let’s pray he is successful on his end.”
“Ai,” says Cotteroy.
Chapter 8: The First Act of Subterfuge
Germanicus and his crew approach the corridors of the first drawbridge. They feign drunkenness, purposely walking as if they are unbalanced and disoriented. They yell at each other and slur their words.
As they approach the first drawbridge, the guards at the entrance are alerted. They seem concerned but not alarmed. It is after all, a festival. “Who goes there?” asks Monte, the head guard.
“Who goes there?” asks Germanicus, teasingly, to provoke.
“The First Lieutenant,” says Monte. “You fellows here are trespassing and need to be moving along or else-”
“Do we now?” asks Chels, one of Germanicus men. The other men laugh boisterously. Monte shakes his head in exasperation.
“I’d be getting along now!” demands Monte.
“Should we now?” asks Germanicus, facetiously. “Why?”
Monte sighs and nods at his other guards. Time for a tussle. They’ll welcome one. Their duties rarely offer any action. They all pull out their billy clubs. “This is why,” says Monte. Monte moves quickly, pivoting his foot and rolling his shoulders fast, snapping the billy club out, hitting one of the men on the side of the temple. The other guards follow suit. The men feign incapacitation and submission.
The guard at the tower looks on with only mild concern. There is always apt to be troublemakers during a festival. The guards will enjoy giving them a rightful beat down.
The guards take the men out of view of the guard tower. As soon as they ‘round the corner. Germanicus nods, signaling them. Germanicus rises like a piston from his slumped position, taking his captor by surprise. He head-butts him in the jaw and dazes him.
He pivots around and swings his elbow in a deadly horizontal arc, catching the man in the jaw. There is a sickening crunch and the man drops. Germanicus turns to him quickly and twists his neck, killing him.
The guard next to him tries in vain to intervene, but he is much too slow for Germanicus. Germanics pirouettes and pistons his fist up into the man’s throat, forcing his damaged larynx into his windpipe. The guard clasps his throat in vain and falls to the ground, thrashing about like a fish out of water. Germanicus finishes him off with a quick twist of his neck.
From a nearby bush, several other men spring out of action and fall on the group, bludgeoning them with their own version of a billy club. With several strategic cracks to the head, the soldiers fall in a heap, some still convulsing spasmodically. Germanicus nods to them. “Quickly men.”
The men remove the soldiers’ clothing and change into it. If they are gone too long, the guard at the tower will grow suspicious.
Several minutes have elapsed and the guards have not returned. The guard at the tower in deed grows suspicious. He sighs heavily, extracts his whistle, and is about to blow when he sees the guards return.
Germanicus looks up at the guard. His face is obscured by the guard’s head plate. He waves at the guard in the tower. The guard nods and waves back. The guard at the tower tries to peer around Germanicus. Something behind him seems strange. Walt Grey, the expert marksman peers through the side of Germanicus and readies a shot from his longbow.
Germanicus waves one more time to set the Guard at the tower’s mind at ease. As he moves to the side, the soldier takes one more second to take aim. The guard at the tower grabs his whistle, but he is too slow. The arrow is released with deadly and swift velocity. It pierces the man through the neck and hurls him back towards the other side of the wall. He trips up and falls into the stairwell, breaking his neck in the process.
Germanicus looks at the other men and shakes his head. “Hurry!” he yells.
; (2)
Songre Khan paces back and forth in his receiving chamber. He heard the troubling details about the knights. One of his own elite, Lespie, son to Gaeden Kai, has been kidnapped.
Their relationship with the treacherous OstraGauls is tenuous. It is rumored Perronius and his knights are behind the disappearance of Lespie. He has no doubt it is true. Gilleon’s Knights are the only ones who could possibly accomplish such an act. To think one of the elites could be taken. The gall of those imprudent bastards. They will be dealt with, Songre has no doubt. But he must be prudent. They are here to negotiate.
Songre Khan’s luxurious palace belies the truth; he is running out of funds. If he is to invade the precious Falklands, he will need a bounty of resources. Vast money. The OstraGauls have plenty of it, but they cannot be coerced to share it, so far. Songre Khan must bite back the bile of seething hatred and anger he harbors in his heart. He must be civil to these errant and arrogant knights and invite them into his palace for negotiations.
His advisor, Persius, looks to Songre Khan for an answer. “Well, your Grace? Perronius demands an answer. Should we receive him?”
Songre Khan holds back his anger and forces himself to relax. He unclenches his fists and sighs. “Permit them entry, Persius. There is a ban on doing business on the Festival of Devon Khan. But I think under the circumstances, we can grant him a dispensation. You ken?”
Persius nods. “Ai, my Lord.” He turns to go.
Songre Khan stops him before he goes. “Take careful note of everything they do and what their intentions might be, especially Perronius. He is as slippery as he is deadly. Report back to me at tempest halt.”
“Yes, your Grace.” Persius bows and walks away.
After several minutes, Persius returns, unable to hide the smile that stretches from ear to ear. Songre is more than curious. “What is it?” asks Songre.
“The brotherhood is attempting to seriously negotiate for something.”
“Do tell.”
“He has brought ten chests full of gold pence,” says Persius, unable to stifle his smile.
“Has he now?” asks Songre. “I had heard this knight was particularly clever. Able to see around corners in fact. It appears his intelligence is greatly exaggerated. Send his party in.”
“He’s not with any party, your Grace. It’s just him.”
Songre Khan looks more intrigued. “Really? What is his game?”
(3)
Perronius is escorted in through the Great Castle without his sword, gun belt, flap jacket, which has many compartments for his throwing daggers and scythe. His greatest weapon is himself, the lethal weapon. He rounds a corner and is alerted to the presence of his most trusted: Germanicus. His piercing blue eyes radiate that familiar presence and he smiles.
Inside the garb of the SeneGauls, a black-hooded wool frock coat and a head plate, Germanicus’ features are obscured. Perronius nods to him and he crosses over to him. Perronius seamlessly hands him the vial. Their movements are so swift, they are undetectable.
Perronius enters the Palatial, the receiving chamber of Songre Khan. Detailed frescoes are painted on the dove white walls. The hues are so white a warm glow emits. The marble floor looks as if it were polished hours ago. Songre Khan sits in an elevated throne in the middle analyzing Perronius and is disconcerted by the man. Perronius feels his piercing, careful and pensive gaze. Yet, Perronius descends to knee and prudently bows.
Persius steps forward. “Your Grace, I present to you, Perronius, lead knight in Lycenea. Songre Khan nods the slightest bit.
“Your Grace, a sincere pleasure. I have come a long way to negotiate with you.”
Songre Khan's servants bring in the ten chests of gold pence. Several murmured whispers echo throughout the hall. Songre stares at it, clearly impressed.
“You would fill my coffers? How generous of you.”
“I would make you an offer,” says Perronius, matter of fact.
“I would hear it.” Songre Khan motions Perronius closer with his hand. “Come closer knight.”
Perronius steps closer. “Now, what is it you would like to negotiate for?” he asks.
Perronius is about to speak, but Songre Khan interrupts him. “I’m curious, Knight. Where would you get such a bounty? I’ve heard some unsettling rumors as of late. I’ve heard that you kidnapped Lespie Kai and are holding him ransom. Is this true?”
Perronius shakes his head. “I know nothing of that. I’ve brought in sixteen thousand gold pence to make you an offer. If this were a ransom, it would be the most backward ransom of all. Have you not heard the rumors of me, my Lord? I am no tripe knight.”
Songre Khan rises from his throne and purposely throws around his prodigious frame in order to intimidate Perronius. Perronius is far from intimidated, but the sharp shooters who listen and watch, awaiting Songre Khan’s orders are more than a little uneasy.
“Which makes this little display more than a tripe unsettling. What’s your game?”
“I have none. As I said, I am here to negotiate. Shall we begin to negotiate, or do you prefer to guess why I am here?”
The doors to the Great Hall abruptly shut. Perronius’ heart skips a beat. “Careful knight. You are here alone, without the aid of your brethren and without any weapons. I would tread carefully were I you.”
Perronius bows. “Your Grace, I meant no disrespect. I cry pardon.”
Songre dismisses it with a wave of his hand. “Never you mind. Now, what is your offer?”
“Sixteen thousand pounds of gold pence for Gaeden Kai.”
Songre Khan laughs out loud boisterously. He stops short of hysterics. Persius joins him. The rest of the soldiers laugh. Perronius remains deadpan and serious. The laughter continues for several seconds and dies down.
“I am not tripe!” yells Perronius.
Songre Khan whips his head around so fast, it instantly quiets all in the room. “You lie in a bed of hind serpents and yet you would poke them with a stick. Do you have a death wish, knight?"
“No more than you do?” says Perronius, defiantly.
Persius whispers in his ear. Songre Khan dismisses it. “I’ve never met someone so defiant before, someone so unflappable. Why do you not quiver in my presence? I heard rumors that you are the most gifted knight to emerge in hundreds of years. I also heard you are on your way to becoming Merlin. I see now those rumors are greatly exaggerated. I would not sell Gaeden Kai to you if you offered me ten times that. I would not give him to you if you offered me the keys to heaven. Not in this life, not in any. He is more valuable to me than anyone and anything. He is a talisman, a teacher, a demi-God, a gift from God himself.”
“He is a man and nothing more, though a great man. If you wish to expand into the Falklands, I know you need coin-substantial coin. You ken?”
Songre Khan laughs another bellowing laugh. His men and servants reluctantly join in once again. “And I have you to thank for bringing it to me.”
“Tratamus will have serious issue with that, your Grace. It is his money, after all. That would not behoove you if you took his gold. He has an alliance with Pirates from Panzene. I don’t they would take kindly to someone taking their share. You ken? You may find yourself overrun with discourteous guests at a most discomfiting time.”
Songre Khan looks at Persius and nods. “Knight, would you give us a moment to palaver?”
Perronius nods.
They step back about ten yards and begin a whispered conversation. “He’s hiding something,” says Songre Khan icily.
“There is much he is hiding,” says Persius. “I don’t know what his game is with Tratamus, but he does bring up a very good point. Tratamus will want his money back if deal is not struck. God only knows what Lespie has revealed.”
“True,” agrees Songre Khan.
“But he knows our targets. It is more than enough for the most cunning to figure out. You ken? Perronius is that cunning. This is an impasse and it is vexing. What are your orders, My
Lord?”
Songre Khan sighs deeply. “Take possession of the gold. Arrest Perronius and torture him, as you have never tortured anyone before. You ken?”
“A prudent course of action, My Lord.”
They both turn around simultaneously, all eyes transfixed on them. “Arrest him!” orders Persius.
Two guards immediately grab Perronius, but he is too fast. When one guard reaches for his hand, he takes it and twists it around and snaps it over his head. He twists his neck, violently. The other guard reaches for his pistol, but Perronius grabs it and twists the man’s wrist inwards, unnaturally. It breaks, eliciting the man’s ungodly wail. He points it in front of the man’s face and pulls the trigger. At such a close range, it penetrates through his eye, shattering his cheekbone to bloody cartilage and exits the back of his head.
Two other guards fire, but Perronius pivots and avoids the bullets. He brings up the gun quickly and fires off four perfect shots. Two sequential shots enter a man’s sternum, splattering crimson and severing a vital artery. Blood pours from his side and his life with it. Two other shots find their mark in two men.
One man’s head nearly disintegrates as the bullet rips through it, spraying mangled cartilage and bone from a cavernous hole in his head. The other man is hit in the shoulder and screams but is able to cock his hammer to get off a shot. It does him little good as Perronius fires off two more rounds in his chest, knocking him back against the wall and ending his assault for good.
Perronius reaches for the last man’s scabbard and retrieves his sword. It will be the only defense against certain death. He can’t risk more than two.
Perronius fires off two reckless shots towards Persius and Songre Khan, who duck reflexively. Persius looks at the archers along the catwalk. There is now no chance of taking him alive. “Kill him!” yells Persius. The archers put down their bows and grab their deadly blows darts, armed with arsenic. There is no escape. They need only hit him once.
Dawn of the Merlin- The Final Quest Page 6