Dawn of the Merlin- The Final Quest

by Rory D Nelson

  Domithicus crawls on the floor towards Perronius. They’re surrounding us. What do we do? You said there were three exits out of here. One is flames. One we can’t go through unless we want to run headlong into a small army. Where’s the other one?”

  “Out the chute,” says Perronius, matter of fact.

  Domithicus grimaces and shakes his head in frustration. “With the raptors?”

  “It’s our only chance. And you must help me. I’d say to leave me, but if anyone other than myself gets to Gaeden Kai, he’ll likely kill them. You ken?”

  “You still want to get him?”

  “I’m not leaving without him.”

  Domithicus shakes his head. “You ask the impossible from us mere mortals.”

  Perronius smiles and laughs. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 10: An Expedient Escape

  Atticus looks back at the man, whose uniform is bereft of any rank. He is nothing more than private. “Private, is it?” he asks.

  “Ai,” says the soldier.

  Atticus presses a finger to his mouth and gestures with his finger to have a word with him.

  “What is it?” asks the private.

  "A word in private,” he whispers. They both go back behind a group of large barrels approximately six feet in height. As the soldier walks back out of view of the rest of the soldiers, Atticus reaches forward with lightning quick ferocity and twists his neck savagely, killing him. The soldier barely has time to register what is transpiring before blackness envelops him. The private drops to the floor. Atticus looks around the corner cautiously and sees one of the soldiers almost running forward.

  Atticus moves his hand forward to the butt of his gun. “You there!” yells the soldier desperately.

  “Need your help.” Atticus sighs and moves his hand from the butt.

  Atticus nods his head. “Ai. Will do what I can. Where do you need me?”

  “In the anteroom. We going to roust that bastard out of there, so we will. It will be the death of him. That bastard killed my men.” Atticus nods in compliance.

  “Trust me sir. We’ll get him at tempest halt.”

  (2)

  Germanicus begins to feel a bit dazed from the blood loss. Unsure of which direction to go in, he turns a corner and as he does, something catches his eye. Some sharp object cut through the vent. As he nears it, a smile erupts on his face. “Atticus,” he whispers.

  There is small parchment paper wrapped around the boa knife. “Not this way!” It says. “Take the vent to the left and make a sharp right. There is a grate at the end. I will be there, God willing.”

  (3)

  Atticus follows the men back to the area. Several men await, some are archers, and some are just soldiers. The men with only pistols begin to load them quickly. From the look of the way they work their weapons with seamless, unmindful skill, they are well-versed. Atticus does a quick count and grimaces. There are twenty.

  Atticus looks around further and sees they are in the arsenal room. Barrels of six shooters, rifles, scatter guns, Granados, bullets, flare guns, Gatling gun threads and dynamite. He cringes. This place could all go up at a moment’s notice. He thinks quickly. Germanicus is on his way here but getting in a gunfight will blow them all to high hell.

  Atticus thinks quickly. Something catches his eye among the arsenal. A flame-thrower. The men begin to congregate in front of the grate to kill their aggressor.

  He moves swiftly, using their distraction to his advantage. He sets up the flame-thrower. It comes complete with its own tri-pod. He extracts it and begins to set it up.

  Another guard looks around at him suspiciously. He smiles mischievously. “Should he make it out alive, we’ll burn him out. You ken?”

  “Good idea,” says the Captain. “We cover all bases.”

  The rest of the men turn their attention back to the grate and listen intently. Atticus continues to set up the flame-thrower. He positions it right in front of the men. The man who had looked at him suspiciously in his direction looks back at him.

  “I hear him coming," says Atticus. The men begin to cock their hammers on their pistols and shotguns.

  Atticus turns the pin-wheel tumbler on the flame-thrower, increasing the tension on the springs and accelerant. He squeezes the trigger and the results are instantaneous and deadly. The flame shoots out in a blazing death stream, charring everything in its path. Men cry out in excruciating pain as their bodies are scorched. The smell of burning flesh is nauseating. Oozing skin pools on the ground along with black, charred blood. Ligaments stretch grotesquely, and men drop from incinerated organs.

  The soldier who had looked at him suspiciously just barely managed to duck out of cover in time. The searing heat singed his boot through completely, burning his feet and catching his pants on fire. He reaches for his pistol and fires at Atticus.

  Atticus ducks for cover and returns fire. One of the shots finds its mark in the man’s shin, shattering the bone and eliciting his excruciating cries. Blood seeps from the wound, carrying fragments of pulverized bone with it that pools onto the ground. He continues to cry out. Atticus ends his cries for good with a shot to the head, nearly disintegrating his face in a gory mess of cartilage, bone and crimson spurts. His head crashes to the ground, wearing a look of ‘what the fuck’ bewilderment.

  The intense heat manages to burn off the screws and hinges of the grate. It comes crashing to the floor. Atticus shakes his head at his stupidity. Hoping that Germanicus is still alive, he fires off two shots to dissuade him from coming out this end.

  None are needed. Germanicus backtracks through the grate as soon as the heat from the flamethrower is unleashed. Pain courses through every fiber of his being, igniting a stream of quiet obscenities under his breath. The temperature inside the ducts continues to rise every minute. The sweat drops from him and the salt stings his eyes. Every nerve lights with fiery rapidity.

  Hearing the exchange of gunfire and explosion that blows through the castle, the next soldier in charge, a lieutenant, begins to bark out orders.

  Several men are dispatched to the next room. They reluctantly move forward. As they near the corner, Atticus fires off several rounds, hitting one in the chest. He is hurled back against the wall as blood spurts from the cavernous hole in his chest. He tries in vain to suck in air but manages only to suck blood into his lungs, asphyxiating himself. He slumps over, dead as he hits the ground.

  The other man is shot in the head. Blood splatter from his nearly disintegrated skull pours out as his head hits the ground. Atticus moves forward into the next room. Instead of charging into the maelstrom, he pops open a couple of Granados he confiscated from the arsenal and throws them into the room.

  He hurls himself against the opposite wall and waits. The charges ignite in a fiery, devastating explosion that sends blowback debris into all corners of the room. The men in its immediate path are nearly incinerated. Others farther away, are pelted with debris and deadly shrapnel. Others take cover.

  It gives Atticus the perfect diversion. He charges in and begins to fire off several rounds. He ducks for cover, narrowly missing a random bullet that ricochets off the wall. He finds two targets and fires at them with unrelenting rapidity. One soldier cries out and drops his gun. He fires on him reflexively, nearly eviscerating him. The man cries out in anguish. He fires one more bullet to his head and silences him.

  Atticus hears another man scurrying away. The other soldier haphazardly fires off a shot. It is without direction but still whistles past him dangerously close. He looks up at the grate and prays that Germanicus is still up there. He can only imagine how bad the heat is up there. He fires off rounds through the bolts securing the grate, effectively blowing them out. The grate is nearly knocked off its hinge. Atticus prays that Germanicus is still alive to come through it. He listens intently for his foe but instead hears another deafening gun blast, this one too close for comfort. He gets up slowly from his crouched position and moves forward, while firing off several
random shots.

  Several shots ring out and he hears his adversary moving around, trying to get a drop on him. He moves, pivots and slides forward, and hones in on his whereabouts. This time, he pauses and looks. Just around the corner of a large wooden barrel, he sees a nebulous presence. He lines up his shot carefully, taking a slow deliberate shot. A hole materializes from the barrel, spilling its content onto the floor and a man cries out in excruciating pain. He moves to the sign to preclude another hit.

  This time, Atticus fires off several more rounds. Two of them find home in the man’s chest, opening a gaping wound, gushing blood with each agonizing heave of his chest. The doomed man fires back recklessly. Atticus fires one more round, splitting his skull like an egg shell, sending blood pouring from the top of his head.

  Atticus looks around. “All clear!” he yells.

  A large slam ensues, and the grate falls to the floor and two boots dangle out of the vent. One of them is drenched with blood. Seconds later, Germanicus drops to the floor. He cries out in anguish as his feet hit the ground. He wears a pained expression on his face as he limps forward. His hair is unruly and much of it is plastered to his face.

  “You’re alive!” says Atticus.

  “Barely,” he says in a hoarse voice. “Didn’t expect that we must blow up the whole fucking place.”

  Atticus laughs and shakes his head in exasperation. "I suppose we didn’t help our ultimate cause much, but we are still alive. You ken?”

  Germanicus grasps onto Atticus in a pleading gesture. He pulls out the syringe from his saddlebag. “Perronius, we must get him this before it’s too late.”

  “Already administered,” says Atticus.

  Germanicus sighs in relief. “Thank God. I thought he was dead.”

  “Just paralyzed,” offers Atticus. “You know he covers his bases well.”

  Germanicus looks at him curiously. “Paralyzed?”

  “Just from the waist down. Effects of the antidote. Don’t worry. He’s recovering. If anyone can recover, it’s him. But as you know, it’s not an exact science.”

  “Those gifted hands. If there are weapons within easy grasp, he’ll use it to great effect,” muses Germanicus. “Where is he now?”

  “With Domithicus.” Atticus looks at Germanicus curiously. “You look awful.”

  “I feel even worse.”

  “What happened to your foot?” asks Atticus.

  “Badger.”

  “We must get the hell out of here, but if we don’t remedy that foot, you’ll be a corpse by the time we do.” Atticus looks around for an inconspicuous place.

  “There,” he says. He points at an alcove just behind a stairwell. He walks over there quickly, while Germanicus hobbles over. He removes his sticky boot, which is covered with blood and his sock underneath. Germanicus emits a sharp yell and grimaces. Blood seeps from the wound. Atticus extracts some supplies.

  “I’m no healer like Perronius, but I think I can keep you from dying until we get out of here. The pain, however, is going to be fierce.”

  “It already is,” says Germanicus, wincing.

  “It’s going to get worse.” Atticus takes out some gun powder and sprinkles it on Germanicus’ foot. He lights a match and the gunpowder. It sizzles, spits and fires up, scorching his foot. It also cauterizes the wound and disinfects it. Germanicus bears down and grits his teeth in agony, forcing himself to be quiet with considerable effort.

  “Should have told you to bear down,” says Atticus.

  “Wouldn’t have done any good,” says Germanicus.

  Atticus extracts some copper-wired thread and a needle and begins to sew Germanicus up. He winces only slightly as the needle goes in and out of his skin. It’s nothing compared to the gunpowder. Besides, Atticus is so fast and performs the task as proficiently as any skilled surgeon.

  In only a couple of minutes, he is done. “You’re going to hurt like hell with every step, no matter how small,” warns Atticus.

  “This I know too well,” says Germanicus. “Will take heed, set watch and warrant it.”

  “What we do for our brother,” says Germanicus.

  “He would do no less for any of us.”

  “Ai,” says Germanicus. “It seems every mission is a suicide one.” He pauses. “Did he tell you why he needed Gaeden Kai so bad?”

  “I didn’t ask,” says Atticus. “If it’s our business to know, then he’ll tell us.”

  “Wouldn’t you want to know the reason you’re going to your death?” asks Germanicus indignantly.

  Atticus shakes his head and sighs. “And there lies the difference between us, brother. You’re a knight, one of the most elite warriors of this world and yet, it’s not enough for you. Either you forget your place or delude yourself of a higher one.”

  “You think he’s a god?”

  “If we succeed in this, he’ll be the Merlin. That’s the closest thing we have to one, so you should take pause rather than question everything. You ken?”

  Another explosion rocks through the next room, shaking the walls to their foundation and knocking over items from their shelves. Atticus looks at Germanicus in a beseeching manner. “Whether you’re ready or not, we need to get the hell out of here.”

  Germanicus nods. “Ai, let’s go.”

  (4)

  Domithicus does his best to block the only entrance out of the pit, except for the raptor chute. He puts up a large block of wood to prevent an easy entrance. As soon as he does, he hears a large crash against it and the muffled shouts of men trying to get in. And the bullets begin to fly through the door, blowing the wood to splinters.

  Domithicus ducks for cover and reflexively reaches for his guns and begins to return fire.

  “Let’s go!” shouts Perronius. “Now!” Perronius points to something in the corner. “There! A wheelbarrow. Grab it and take us out.” Domithicus complies. He dumps the wheelbarrow of the hideously scarred corpse inside and picks Perronius up and puts him in.

  “Won’t be the most comfortable of rides, brother,” says Domithicus.

  Another large crash and splintering of wood ensues.

  “Go down the chute, Perronius and put me in the barrow and sit me on top of the glass cage. You know what I’m going to do?”

  “We need to find a rope,” pleads Domithicus.

  “Not enough time,” says Perronius matter of fact.

  “That’s nearly a forty-foot drop,” warns Domithicus.

  “Cushion,” says Perronius.

  Domithicus nods. He sees a prodigious corpse lying on the floor. With considerable effort, he drags the corpse onto the wheelbarrow and loads Perronius on top of it. The smell is beyond foul- festering putrescence. Domithicus reflexively gags throughout the process but manages to keep from vomiting. Perronius looks stoic and unflappable as usual.

  “They’re coming,” warns Perronius. “Go now!”

  Domithicus wheels Perronius and the corpse onto the glass panel. No sooner does he accomplish it when the door is knocked free of its hinges and several soldiers begin to run in, while simultaneously shooting. Bullets ricochet throughout the room. Perronius doesn’t hesitate.

  He fires several rounds through the glass panel, shattering it. The wheelbarrow drops like a lead weight. Though the ground is indeed soggy, it jars Perronius to his marrow. His head snaps back into the corpse, not only shattering the cartilage in his nose, but pulverizing it as well. It spreads out grotesquely on his rotund face, creating a nightmarish visage.

  Perronius hears several sickening crunches and because of the painful impact, he at first believes that he broke something within himself; but after feeling his body and realizes it’s intact, he knows that it was the corpse that sustained the injuries.

  The wheelbarrow teeters precariously from side to side after its crash but manages to keep up on its wheel. Perronius reaches for his pistol as he feels the presence of the raptors, who begin to emerge. Though they have been gorging on the feast of several kills, such an easy
meal within easy grasp is difficult to resist.

  The female emits a high-pitched mewling sound that does more to unnerve him than anything up to that point.

  (5)

  Domithicus just manages to get into the glass chute before an onslaught of bullets cuts him to ribbons. The glass chute detaches from its wood-based moorings, knocking Domithicus off course. He flies off the chute and lands face first into the most disgusting and noxious mud puddle imaginable. He wipes it off and vomits from the sickening smell. The smell is too execrable to be just mud, he realizes.

  As he wipes the excrement from his face, his heart nearly stops in his chest. As soon as he opens his eyes, he comes face to face with her. She sniffs the air around him but hesitates. She backs away from him. She seems put off by him. Perhaps it is because he is covered in excrement. Perhaps it is because she longs for the chase and the sport of the hunt, especially since she is not hungry.

  Domithicus takes very careful, deliberate steps, backing away from her slowly. She contorts her face, scrunching up her face-the raptor equivalent of a growl. Domithicus won’t get much of a chance. She may not be able to go down completely with one shot. She begins to lunge. Domithicus reaches for his pistol but before he can reach it, a loud crack rings out and her tiny ear nearly evaporates in a gush of scaly crimson gore. She doesn’t go down but becomes angrier. Perronius.

  Domithicus doesn’t wait for her to continue her assault. He fires at her, blowing several holes through her head in extreme rapidity. She falls to the ground. Her ghost appears to take up the call for vengeance. Another high-pitched mewling sound echoes off menacingly in the distance. There are more.

  Domithicus takes off like a shot. The fog dissipates but not enough to see more than fifty yards in front of him. He runs off towards where he assumed the shot emanated from. He prays he doesn’t run into any more raptors. His luck holds up as he emerges from a significant amount of scrub brush. He spies the wheelbarrow and Perronius still inside.

  “Thank God you’re still alive. And thankee for saving me yet again.”