“Being a brother means we never mention it. You saved me many more times,” says Perronius.
“You still have that grappling hook?” asks Perronius.
Domithicus shows him. “That is well,” says Perronius. “Guns?”
“Four. Still got my two twelve shooters. One reload each. Two six shooters. No reloads. What about you?” asks Domithicus.
“About the same, with one exception.” Perronius produces a forty caliber Scatter rifle with eight cylinders. Twelve chambers for each cylinder. “It’s the only thing that will kill them quickly.”
“Where do we go from here?” asks Domithicus.
“Downhill,” says Perronius.
“Can you move your legs yet?” asks Domithicus.
Perronius shakes his head. “Not yet.”
“Anything?”
Perronius smiles. “My toes are starting to itch. That’s a good sign, but unfortunately I’m not going to be able to walk for a while.”
“Where to then, brother?”
“Downhill.”
“In the wheelbarrow?”
“After some modifications. You still have your copper threading?”
“Of course.”
"You need to hurry. You know what I have in mind?”
“Of course,” says Domithicus. “Dismantle the metal stands. Tie the wheelbarrow so it sits farther up. Use the wooden handles to steer it downhill.”
Without so much of a hint or the slightest register of alarm, Perronius grabs the scatter rifle, cocks the hammer and fires several rounds. An awful splattering sound ensues and the unsettling cry of the raptors. “You have about sixty seconds before we’re overrun with raptors, so get to it.”
Domithicus nods.
Chapter 11: Castle Breached
Songre Khan scowls and says nothing. He resists the urge to send every man down to the pit to eliminate all those detestable knights, but he knows that course of action wouldn’t be prudent. He must remain composed and not give into caprice. As if to emphasize this point, another large explosion rumbles throughout the castle, shaking the room, teetering the paintings and frescoes on the wall, lending them a bit of surrealistic life.
“What is your course of action, My Lord?”
Songre Khan slams his fist down on the massive elliptical table that takes up at least one quarter of the room. “It’s Perronius. I know he’s behind this.”
“Perronius is dead, my Lord. He was penetrated with several darts and he succumbed to arsenic poisoning,” says Persius.
“We did not see him take his last breath,” barks Songre Khan.
“It is the only outcome there is, my Lord. He’s dead.”
“Then I want to see his body, so I may be satisfied. Produce it for me.”
Persius gives one of his subordinates an uncomfortable look. “See it done.” He orders him. The man complies and goes off to do just that.
“I realize I ordered him fed to the raptors. If that is the case, then there’s still his sword. Bring me the man who witnessed his death and his consumption by the raptor. That will suffice. Failure to do that and I promise there will be hell to pay for that oversight.”
“I understand my Lord,” says Persius, in a placating way. “I will have the man executed myself.”
“They’re after Gaeden Kai. I know they are,” snaps Songre Khan. “Quadruple his guard. I want ten men inside his cell with him as well.”
“My Lord, perhaps those resources could be better spent discovering the reason for the breach,” offers Persius.
Songre Khan whips his head around so fast, Persius feels the whiplash just witnessing it. “Do it or I’ll find apt replacement who won’t question my orders. You ken?”
Persius bows. “Of course, my Lord.” He hastily exits, but before he can completely exit, Songre calls him back. His blood seems to run icy cold through his constricted veins. “And Persius?”
He turns around. “Yes, my Lord?”
“If Perronius is not found, I’m holding you responsible. You will be relieved of your duty for good. Do you understand this?”
Persius’ throat constricts so much he finds it nearly impossible to swallow as an impossible lump forms in his throat. He nods and bows. “Yes, my Lord. I’ll see it done.”
(2)
Cotteroy, Jamison, and Gilkrant lead their forces to the first drawbridge amidst a chaotic scene throughout the castle. Every few minutes, another explosion erupts, sending shockwaves through the walls, knocking weapons from their racks, toppling shelves and force men to scramble for cover. They look at each other, seemingly with the same thought. This wasn’t part of the plan. Usually, nothing ever does go to plan, but they had hoped that Germanicus’ team wouldn’t have destroyed the place.
From his memorization of the schematics, Cotteroy leads them through the labyrinth and into the first drawbridge. They are met by several guards who stare at them with icy suspicion. One guard in particular looms over them aggressively.
Cotteroy looks him straight in the eye and nods politely. The guard, a lieutenant by the look of it, assesses him. “Haven’t seen you around here. Who are you?”
“I am from the Balks. Songre Khan called us in to replace some fallen guards.”
The guard looks at him dubiously. “Has he now?” The other guards look at the new guards with increasing suspicion and alarm. None of them look familiar and there is mounting tension in the castle. They’ve all heard the explosions that continue to rock the castle, threatening to topple it.
The lieutenant gives his cohorts a knowing look. He looks back at Cotteroy. “If that’s true, I imagine you would have some papers for me. Wouldn’t’ you?”
“Of course,” says Cotteroy. He slowly pulls out the forged assignment papers from his saddle bag. The other guards nervously touch the butt of their pistols. Cotteroy looks around cautiously and reflexively touches his own fingers to the butt of his speed shooter. He hands them to the lieutenant, who peruses them.
Cotteroy glances inconspicuously towards Jamison and gives him a barely palpable nod. He doesn’t return it with his head but with his eyes, which move up and down in a nodding manner.
The lieutenant sighs and nods himself. His guards relax as well, satisfied for the moment that nothing is amiss. With lightning quick intent, Cotteroy pulls his speed shooter from his holster and fires it into the guard, knocking him back against the wall and emitting a splattering of blood. He clutches his chest as prodigious blood flows unabated from the gaping wound.
Jamison and his crew do not hesitate for the slightest second. Jamison reaches for both guns and fires them, emptying them in almost seconds. Men fall back and are knocked to the ground as a series of crimson spurts explode in a mess of bile, brain matter and viscous blood. Jamison pivots, plants and fires off the remaining bullets in his gun. He doesn’t reload. He just throws his speed shooters aside and brings up the other guns he had tucked away inside the two holsters on his side.
The deafening bang of the gunshots go off, seemingly for hours and echo throughout castle, drowning out the explosions that continue to rock through the castle. The gun fight, however, lasts less than thirty seconds.
Not all of Jamison and Cotteroy’s men are left unscathed from the gunfight. One of Gilkrant’s men, Orpheus, is shot in the gut at point blank range, opening a cavernous hole. He clenches his stomach and topples over as his intestines nearly spill out of him. He screams an agonizing, blood-curdling wail, born part out of excruciating pain and partly out of horror. Gilkrant looks on helplessly. His screams are cut short when another bullet penetrates his skull, emitting a pouring of blood from the top of his head. He goes slack and silent, with the same look of consternation on his face.
After the fighting ensues and the ringing of gunfire is all that remains within their heads, the men nod at each other. Gilkrant looks at his fallen soldier, Orpheus, a man who had saved his own life numerous times. Sadly, he was not able to return the favor. He shakes his head in grief and hold
s his tears at bay. Now is not the time for grieving. “He was a good man. A good soldier,” says Gilkrant. “Let us ensure that his death was not in vain. You ken?”
The other soldiers nod in respect. “Let’s get this drawbridge down," says Cotteroy.
Jamison goes to the coal pit that fires the massive crank wheels, which turns the drawbridge. He turns a dial which emits a cloud of accelerant into the pit. The temperature rises exponentially in seconds. There is a lock on the fulcrum lever that works the cranks that control the drawbridge.
“Look for those keys,” says Gilkrant.
The men begin to rifle through the bodies, upturning corpses quickly and methodically, without a second thought to reverence or dignity. “Found one,” says one of the men. He hands it to Cotteroy. Cotteroy looks at it and confirms.
The men begin to search the other corpses for the second key, but Cotteroy stops them. “Don’t bother,” he says.
“Why?” asks Gilkrant.
“They never keep both sets of keys here. Security protocol. They use a lottery system to determine who has the second set of keys to the drawbridge. It changes from week to week and both sets of keys are never allowed down here unless the drawbridge is being opened up.”
“How are we supposed to open up the drawbridge then?” asks a stupefied Gilkrant.
“You must leave that up to us,” says Jamison. He gives Cotteroy a conspiratorial look. They smile the slightest bit. Cotteroy goes to his saddlebag and removes a small pair of needle nose pliers and a pair of small wrenches.
“Increase the temperature in the coal pit," instructs Cotteroy. Gilkrant motions to one of his men and he begins to comply, adding more coal and turning up the accelerant. The temperature rises. Cotteroy deftly takes his tools in his hands and begins to manipulate the lock. First, he sticks his needle nose plier inside the lock and twists the first chamber until it opens slightly from the pressure. He puts the tiny wrenches inside the lock and begins to twist it gingerly. He puts his ear up to it, listening for the tell- tale signs of the first few rings giving way. He listens intently and hears the first set of clicks.
He motions to Jamison. Jamison puts his key in the lock partially and waits. If they are off by the slightest amount, the lock will not engage. Cotteroy nods to him and they both simultaneously work the lock mechanism; Cotteroy manipulating the wrenches the tiniest amount and listening to the clicks and Jamison slowly turning the key.
And, the click they have been waiting for rings out clearly. They nod at each other. The whirr of the pistons comes to life and the motor begins to turn. Slowly the chains holding the drawbridge begin to descend, lowering the forty-ton drawbridge down to the other side.
The men look at each other and begin to laugh boisterously, clapping each other on the back and sighing with relief. “This is only the beginning,” warns Cotteroy. “We still have much more to do, set watch and warrant it. I’ll buy you all an alespritz when we are successful with this mission.”
“Indeed,” says Gilkrant. “Prudent words, Sai. Will take it to heart. Will take you up on your promise. A Samarian does not forget a promise easily.”
Chapter 12: The Search for Gaeden Kai
Kels, Sorren, Ricter and about a dozen soldiers in Gilkrant’s army continue to make their way into the drawbridge boiler room, which houses the coal pits that power the first drawbridge, the larger of the two. Justinian and Syrus represent the brotherhood. When the first of a series of explosions thunders through the castle, they look at each other, seemingly with the same thought. What the fuck? This wasn’t part of the plan.
Soldiers run through the area, looking for something. The captain barks orders at random soldiers. When he sees Gilkrant’s group of men walking through without a sense of urgency, he grows suspicious.
“Where are you men off to without haste? Can’t you not see this place is a hurly burly. You trig or what?”
Justinian looks at Syrus for a second and steps forward. “These men are under my command, Captain. They are to go to the parapets to give support. “He points to Syrus. “This private and I are to hoist up the bridge.”
The captain heaves a sigh of relief. “That is well. Get to it. And with a bit of urgency, please. This whole fucking place is about to fall. Get that bridge down now!”
“Ai, Captain. That I will. Will have it done at tempest halt.” Justinian salutes him and the men quickly disperse and breathe easily.
Once the Captain leaves, Syrus and Justinian nod at each other. Justinian opens a large bag and spills its contents onto the ground. Several grenado charges roll out. They begin to pack them up, while watching out for any soldier who may unwittingly walk in.
Syrus and Justinian go into the boiler room with the first set of grenado charges. Luckily, most of the men assigned to the area have dispersed. Four guards however, remain. They eye Syrus and Justinian suspiciously. Justinian nods at them to allay their misgivings for the split second needed to drop his grenado and he reaches for his speed shooter with icy fortitude. He fires off several rounds, hitting two of the men in the chest and neck. They drop to the floor, while grabbing their neck and chest, spilling prodigious blood flow.
The other two guards reflexively reach for their shooters but are stopped dead in their tracks by Syrus, who fires on them as soon as Justinian opened fire. They are riddled with a plethora of bullets that puncture and penetrate their lungs and throats. They fall to the floor, clutching their necks in a feeble attempt to stop the unrelenting blood flow.
Syrus points to the crank motor. Justinian nods. They pull back the lever switch on the grenados and toss them into the crank. They hide behind several wooden barrels and wait. Ten seconds later, the explosion rocks through the boiler room, hurling shrapnel indiscriminately through the boiler room. Wooden barrels are blasted and spill their contents onto the floor.
Outside they hear the cacophonous repetitiveness of nearly continuous gunfire. With the motor to the drawbridge disabled, they run up to the parapets. They proceed swiftly but cautiously up the stairwell. They listen intently for any footsteps, nod at each other and open fire at any who is foolish enough to come down.
In less than a minute, they make it up to the first parapet. Edging around the corner with extreme caution, Justinian is nearly blinded from a bullet. It ricochets off the walls and nearly misses them both.
Syrus faces his palm up and sketches the outline of a rectangle with his finger. Justinian nods. Syrus fires off two rounds near their aggressor and he fires back in retaliation. Meanwhile, Justinian removes his flap jacket and touches his daggers reassuringly. He tumbles at the same time Syrus fires at their enemy.
As he fires in the opposite direction, Justinian flips around and angles himself perpendicular to the shooter. With one quick and deft move, he pulls his dagger and throws it with an unnaturally fast thrust of his wrist. The dagger impales his Adam’s apple and constricts his throat. He tries to scream but only manages to suck in blood instead of air. He drops to the floor, writhes in agony for seconds and is still.
“Two more to go,” says Justinian.
(2)
Domithicus steers the modified wheelbarrow down the hill at a perilous speed. It is difficult to steer it with any real precision, though. He narrowly averts a tree and nearly topples Perronius and himself from the contraption. The branches from the tree scrape against his cheek, leaving a visible scratch. “How’s your leg?” asks a frenzied Domithicus.
Perronius merely shrugs. He gestures to Domithicus to step aside with a wave of his hand. Domithicus ducks down and his heart nearly seizes in his chest at the deafening sound that threatens to burst his eardrums. He looks behind him at the aftermath. A raptor’s head hangs at an impossible angle with the raptor slumped to the side, the neck spewing dark blood from the tendrils that had been severed and pulverized from its neck. He nearly vomits but manages to hold it inside.
“Watch out!” warns Perronius. Domithicus just barely has time to make out the five foot drop
off from what looks like an oblong rock that protrudes out from the ground menacingly. He has no time to steer out of its way. They go up over the top of it precariously and inevitably go airborne. The wheelbarrow lands with a violent thud and careens down the hill faster. Perronius somehow manages to keep them upright and avoids falling over. It would no doubt be a death sentence.
Despite gorged bellies and the evidence of what transpired to the rest of their pack, two other raptors give chase, running down the hill at an alarming rate. “I’ll shoot. You steer,” says Perronius emphatically. “No need to look back at the carnage. You’re going to get us both killed.”
Domithicus nods. “Ai. Will do.”
The faster of the beasts catches up with them in less than a minute. It emits another awful sounding ‘caw’ that chills Domithicus to the bone. He grimaces and forces himself to keep his eyes forward. Luckily, the fog is beginning to dissipate.
Another ear-deafening blasts from the scatter rifle erupts, knocking the raptor’s legs out from under it. It skids across the ground, braying in excruciating pain. Blood gushes from its nearly severed hind leg. It pushes itself forward with its less substantial front legs. Perronius mercifully puts another slug through its torso, ending its cries for good.
The other raptor prudently retraces its steps- for the time being. Perronius knows better. It is just re-organizing, preparing itself for a better opportunity. The wheelbarrow continues its breakneck speed downhill. The descent becomes more pronounced. Domithicus sees the north side of the castle coming into view as the fog dissipates and the sun begins to peek through in shards of sunlight.
"We’re coming up on the castle, Perronius. What do I do?” asks a bewildered Domithicus.
“Look! Are there a series of doors leading up to a hillock rock wall?” asks Perronius.
Domithicus peers closely. He sees them. “Ai,” he says.
“Head right for it,” commands Perronius.
“At this speed?” asks Domithicus.
“Ai. You still have the grappling gun, right?”
Dawn of the Merlin- The Final Quest Page 10