Perronius feels the first of the blow darts whiz past him, a couple almost too close for comfort. He brings up his sword and quickly deflects several more, but with every deflection, several more darts jettison through the air towards him. He crouches and rolls, trying to make an impossible mark of himself. He feels the first dart penetrate his ankle. Thank God it is far from his heart.
He picks up one of the guns he had taken and fires it rapidly, hitting a couple of the archers. They fall from the catwalk, crying out in pain and land with a violent thud on the marble floor face first, spraying crimson on the stark white surface. Perronius rises but his right leg seems to weigh a thousand pounds. He is slowly going numb from the bottom up. His miscalculation throws him off and another dart lodges into his collarbone, just below his neck.
He winces and cringes. That is too close to his heart and brain. If he needed forty-five minutes for the antidote before, he estimates that he must cut that time in half. He swings his sword to deflect more but one more manages to penetrate him. He grows woozy and drops to the floor.
Persius stops the onslaught with a gesture. “Stop! We got him.” He and Songre Khan emerge cautiously from their hiding place behind the bullet riddled throne. They approach him slowly as they would a downed, rabid animal.
Songre Khan looks at him disgustedly. “Get him out of my sight.” He looks at Persius. “Feed him to my raptors. It will be the first time they have tasted Knight.”
“We know nothing of who or what his plan entails. He will take his secrets to the grave,” says a stupefied Persius.
Perronius feels his throat begin to constrict as his breathing grows shallower. His heartbeat grows slower and more erratic as it tries to fight the poison coursing through his veins. Though he is now completely paralyzed, his body begins to rapidly convulse involuntarily. Panic naturally rises to the surface, but he wills it away. His life now lies with whether he can receive the antidote in time. Perronius waits to die. Or live. Two guards pick up his body and carry it to the room adjacent to the raptor enclosure.
(4)
Germanicus cannot risk running. It would only draw unwanted attention. He walks quite briskly without appearing to panic, which is difficult. Alarm bells are going off in his mind. The demeanor of the guards around tells him that something is amiss.
He rounds a corner, which precedes the Great Hall and he hears the massive doors abruptly shut. He comes to the entrance and confirms the awful truth. A soldier standing guard looks at him curiously. “I need to get in there,” says Germanicus.
“Why?”
“A message I need to deliver to Songre Khan. A private message,” says Germanicus, trying to keep the panic from his voice.
“Well, it’s a little late for that now. They are in private sessions.” He looks at Germanicus curiously, as if he is an imbecile. “Door’s locked from the inside. Everyone knows that.” He looks at him more closely this time. “Don’t recognize you. What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t,” replies Germanicus.
“Wait right here,” states the guard. Germanicus is compliant, but once the guard is out of view, he darts off. He runs through the hallways, which are now nearly bereft of soldiers. As he circumnavigates the Great Hall, he notices a vent about twenty feet high. He looks around and ensures he is not being watched and sighs in dread. It’s his only option.
He removes the grappling hook from beneath his cloak and fires it into the grating of the vent. The hook catches and he ensures it is snug. He pushes on the ascent button and propels to the top. Germanicus takes out a small but dense, metallic object from his saddlebag. It is part crow bar and part bar spreader. He positions the object inside the grate, twists the crank, and pulls on the bar, snapping the grate from the vent. It drops to the ground with a loud bang. He pulls himself inside cumbersomely. He squirms inside as quickly as possible, ignoring the panic slowly building within him. The vent is so narrow he cannot put his arms out in front of him. He must use his hands to propel himself forward. He continues forward, praying he can make it through in time to save Perronius.
(5)
A curious guard is one of the last remaining among the archers. Without specific orders, he lingers and looks at the chests full of gold with envy. He pushes his hand through one of the chests and something catches his eye. It appears to be an odd plastic device. He pulls it from the chest. As he does, a hand inexplicably reaches out for him and grabs him by the hair, smashing his head into the gold several times until he loses consciousness. He falls back onto the floor, blood seeping from a broken nose and gashed in forehead.
Domithicus pulls himself from the bottom of the gold chest and walks over to the guard and twists his neck violently, killing him.
Ithicus, Atticus, Domithicus, Justinian, Syrus and Savelle emerge from inside the chests of gold pence. A small, almost invisible straw is what separates them from a suffocating death. Still, the tiny amount of air they received just barely sustained them. They all breathe deeply as they emerge from their confining places. They all look around at each other.
Two other soldiers walk into the room, a look of consternation on their faces. They reflexively reach for the butts of their revolvers, but they are much too slow. Atticus and Syrus fire off daggers from where they stand, hitting both men directly in the Adam’s apple. They fall to the floor, wheezing and trying in vain to suck in air. The blood seeps into their windpipes and they die soundlessly and thrashing.
“Let’s move, Brothers. We haven’t much time,” says Domithicus. He looks around at them. “We all clear on what do?” he asks. The brethren nod. “Then let’s be about our business.”
Chapter 9: Awaken the Dead
Lucius Bomerain, unlike many in these detestable depths, does not loath his job. Normally, the soldiers who work in these dank, noxious and dark environments would do anything to get out. Not Lucius. He loves the smell of rotting flesh and the way the raptors devour their prey without compunction. He has seen them in action and they are marvelously engrossing to watch.
One of the creatures, a female by the look of it, once took a thirty-caliber shot to the chest and still survived. The poor skags, who had managed to evade her, were summarily hunted down and eaten alive. Their dying screams were like music to his ears. Not many men make it to the outskirts of the castle unchecked. Those who do are met with a painfully gruesome death. Lucius moves through the pile of corpses and he smiles at the sight of something.
Some poor, pathetic beggar stirs groggily from a restless slumber. From the massive knot on the back of his head, it’s apparent he was knocked unconscious. Lucius smiles to himself at the fun to come. The man has the look of consumption, gout and God knows what else. Large, putrescent, pus filled boils cover most of the man’s body. I’ll be doing the man a favor.
Lucius cannot contain the smile that stretches from ear to ear. He walks over to the rank beggar and grabs him by the leg. The beggar is feistier than he appears. He kicks his leg out, catching Lucius unawares and slamming him in the stomach. “What gives, you fuckwad?”
Lucius gets up and extracts his billy club, hitting the beggar on the side of the head with the braised side of the club, opening a considerable gash. “Just doing my job, you good for nothin’ fuckweed!”
“What are you doing to me? Why am I here? Where is this place?”
Lucius smiles wolfishly. “Well, this here is the feeding pit for the raptors.” He moves closer until he is only inches from his face. Though his breath is as foul as the pit of a sewer, he does not flinch or back away. “That makes you dinner, old man.” Lucius laughs as if he had just told the funniest joke ever.
The beggar screams and thrashes about, trying to push Lucius away from him, but Lucius is well prepared for it. His screams only succeed in sending Lucius into an uncontrollable laughing fit.
He holds down the old man and begins to pummel him with his billy club until he is still. “That’s better, pops. Imagine she’s hungry today. Imagine it
won’t be long, which is a pity, if ever there were. Should have liked to have seen you suffer some.”
Lucius drags the beggar out towards the feeding chute, leaving a small trail of blood that opened from one of his gashes. Lucius brings the man to the edge of the pit and frowns. He prays he has not knocked the man completely unconscious or worse. To be sure, he extracts a small vial of smelling salt and pushes it in the man’s face. He begins to come to. Lucius smiles and drops the man through the chute.
Though the chute is more than forty feet down, the chute spirals and empties out the unlucky recipients out onto a grassy and usually soggy mound, unscathed from the five-foot drop. This only adds to Lucius’ enjoyment.
The sound of someone going down the chute draws the attention of other soldiers working in the pit. It is one of the few outlets they have for recreation. They gather around and look at the display through the windows, which offers the perfect viewing area.
Some other fella Lucius had never seen before moving toward the viewing area to have a gander. “I bet that old fuck don’t last two minutes,” says Markley.
“That a bet?” asks Lucius.
“Four half pence coins, if’n you up to it. What say?”
“I’ll take that bet,” says Lucius.
Lucius looks curiously at the new man. He seems indifferent to the spectacle and distracted. Something about him seems off. He almost seems to be scanning the grounds, almost as if he is looking for something. Perhaps it’s just his imagination, but something about the stranger makes him uneasy.
Lucius pulls out his pocket watch. “I would start the time about thirty seconds ago. That sound right to you?” he asks Markley.
Markley shrugs. “Ai, sounds about right.”
Markley and the rest of the soldiers stare out the windows, enraptured with the proceedings. The raptors materialize from out of a thick fog. They move with almost a preternatural speed, deliberately and with purpose. The largest of them, a female, lifts her massive head up and seems to taste the air. Her small nostrils flare up with each sniff of the air.
She savors the delectable aromas of a meal within easy grasp. Her thick scaly skin has small, minute hair follicles, which register, depth, pressure and determine proximity to prey. She moves on her hind legs, which are as thick as tree trunks and equipped with razor sharp claws. They can be used to shred apart prey or scale a nearly vertical assent. Her forearms are thick with scaly muscle and her front paws are prehensile. She can grasp at anything and her grip is monstrously strong. Whatever she possesses in her grasp will never escape or be pulverized to death- whichever she wishes.
Her tail is massively strong and helps to propel her to speeds of over sixty miles an hour. It also a lethal weapon itself. It is scalier than the rest of her body and is serrated with tiny bumps. With a snap of her tail, she can incapacitate, if not kill the largest of beasts.
The old man notices her, and he stops dead in his tracks. His throat seems to tighten up on him and his heart seems to stop in his chest and abruptly trip-hammers at an alarming rate. She opens her mouth and emits an ear-splitting, high-pitched mewling call that sounds part hyena, crocodile and bird of prey. There is no sound anywhere like it and it does more to unnerve the man than her frightening appearance could do.
Her pack seems to materialize and emit the same ear shattering call. The hunt is on. The man takes off like a shot. The female pursues. He screams, the adrenaline driving him forward at breakneck speed. Unaccustomed to the pervasive fog and having to run for his life, he trips headfirst into a rocky mound, opening another gash on his forehead. The female follows closely but permits him to get up. Without looking back, he gets up and continues running.
The female closes in and grabs onto him with her arm, seizing his hand in a vise-like grip. The man screams in excruciating pain as his hand is immediately pulverized. The more he struggles to get away, the harder she grasps onto him. She slowly pulls him closer, savoring the moment and prolonging the pain. She pulls him closer and bites into his arm and severs it from the shoulder joint. She swallows his arm in one gulp as blood spurts from the severed appendage, staining her in crimson.
Still, the man tenaciously clings to life. It is short-lived. He stumbles awkwardly, without the use of his arm and tries to run, as life drains from him. He turns a corner and runs headfirst into another raptor. The raptor lets out another monstrous ‘caw’ and chomps down on the man’s head and severs it. He gulps down the head as the man’s body falls to the ground, gushing crimson and writhing in its final death throes.
The other pack swoop in and begin to fight over the left overs, darting in, lashing out at each other with lethal ferocity. The soldiers watch in rapt attention and laugh raucously.
Atticus, dressed as one of the soldiers, desperately looks for Perronius among the corpses. He notices one of the bodies convulsing violently and approaches him. It is Perronius. He bends down cautiously while ensuring the other soldiers are still preoccupied. He extracts the syringe and grabs Perronius’ arms. He takes an elastic tie and ties it around his arm and feels for the vein. He removes the plastic cap and plunges the needle into his vein. Perronius continues his writhing. “Almost home free, brother,” he says. “Hang on.”
Markley continues to laugh raucously, but something catches his eye. The new soldier is acting more suspicious. While new guards routinely make entrances, there is something that doesn’t add up about this one.
Markley walks over to the soldier and as he approaches, Markley is almost positive he sees a shiny, metallic object. It sends off more alarm bells.
Atticus begins to drag off Perronius with the other guards distracted. Unfortunately, he forgets to look behind him and he backs up into Markley. He whips his head around. “What are you doing?” asks Markley.
(2)
The soldier who had questioned Germanicus was more than a little suspicious of his actions. When he returns with two of his superior officers and finds Germanicus absent, he becomes alarmed. “He was right here?” he says to his Captain.
“We need to find him-at tempest Halt! You ken? It will be your head on the chopping block if there is a breach,” warns Captain Baldean.
Talbert finds it nearly impossible to swallow. His tongue feels as if it has swelled to nearly five times its original size. He can barely speak. “I assure you, he will be found.”
“He better.”
The Captain enlists several other men for the task of scouring the immediate grounds for Germanicus. The rodent handler, Gak, carries two cages. After several minutes, two soldiers run back towards the Captain. “What is it?” asks the Captain.
“Found something interesting,” says Gak. “You should have a looksee.” They hurry to the spot he mentioned and look up at the grate.
“You think he went up there?” asks Dillens.
The captain nods his head. “Ai. Don’t know who or what he’s up to, but we’ll fish the bastard out, so we will. Where does this vent lead?” asks the Captain.
“Only six rooms inside the antechamber where they go. Thems ventilation ducts. Two of the rooms, the ducts become too narrow to fit through. Unless he’s a boy, he’ll never make it out of that end.”
“What do we do?” asks Talbert.
“Go to those rooms he can fit through and wait until he comes out one end. Send these badgers up there to rat him out. We wait at the other ends and nail this bastard as soon as he pops his head out. These badgers will eat him alive or he’ll be riddled with bullets. Either way, he won’t make it out of there alive,” says the captain confidently.
(3)
Germanicus continues to move through the ducts at a much slower pace than he would have preferred. He is fortunate the ducts widen, allowing him to position his arms out directly in front of him, propelling himself much faster, which is encouraging. His encouragement is short-lived however when he hears unmistakable claws scuttling along the surface of the ducts. The ventilation system permeates the smell through his nostrils
and he knows the sober truth-he is being tracked by some sort of animal, probably a badger.
The sound carries far on his end and he hears a grate being pulled off and the scurrying claws along its surface. Within minutes, numbers of badgers will be upon him. The men at the other end await his arrival should he evade the badgers, which is unlikely. He sighs deeply and curses himself for his stupidity. He should have eliminated the guard immediately.
(4)
Atticus feels his heart trip-hammer in his chest, but he manages to keep his alarm from his face. He looks sheepishly at Markley. “This one has the look of hard coin. I was going to check him for the sign of it.”
“Oh, were you now, scout.” He peers closely at Atticus. “Who are you anyhow? Ain’t never seen you here. I know most of the new recruits, so I do. But I ain’t never seen the likes of you.”
“Oh, I see. You an expert on everyone that enters this pit, are you?” asks Atticus, facetiously.
Domithicus enters the room surreptitiously, careful not to draw the attention of the other guards. They take little notice. Instead, they begin to congregate around Markley and the man he questions.
“I noticed you did not want to watch the spectacle. Just witnessed a man being teared to shreds by a raptor. And you weren’t the least bit interested. Seems a trig peculiar. You ken?”
“A spectacle I’ve seen before many times,” says Atticus.
Markley pauses and looks at Atticus and the man on the ground suspiciously. Something is not adding up. “What is your business with this man? I noticed you when you came in. You were looking for someone. I swear it.”
“I was looking for coin,” says Atticus.
Dawn of the Merlin- The Final Quest Page 7