Sanctuary (Order of the Ring Book 1)

by Phil Maxey

  “The room we couldn’t open. The one that needed a key.”

  She opened her eyes, blinked, then sat up a little. “Noise?”

  “Yes, like a squawking.”

  “You sure you weren’t having a bad dream?”

  “I know what I heard. Come with me, you’ll hear it for yourself.”

  She sighed, and pushed her heavy body to its feet and traipsed across the cold floor into the hallway. Soon she had her ear up to the old wooden door with the strange ‘Cave’ word above it.

  As she strained to listen, her eyes wanted to close. I’ll try the bed I think—

  “Squawk!”

  She jumped back and looked at Darren.

  “I told you! There’s something alive in there. It’s a dragon, or maybe a centaur, or maybe one of those winged things we saw on the motorway.” His words were falling out of his mouth faster than he could let in air.

  “Calm down, this door is locked, whatever is in there, ain’t coming out.”

  “Our bedrooms, are just there!” He pointed to the two doors, just a few yards away.

  “Well we don’t have the key, and I doubt my grandfather would have put something in there that could hurt me.”

  “Actually …”

  “Actually, what?”

  “We do have the key.” He opened his palm revealing a large gold-coloured key.

  “Where did you get that?” Her words came out with shock and surprise.

  “It was on a shelf on the second floor.”

  “It’s probably 2 a.m. and we are in a town full of probably dead frozen people and we are being chased by shadow creatures, and you want to open a mysterious door, where a squawking noise is coming from?”

  “I can’t sleep, it keeps making a noise,” he said sheepishly.

  She looked at him with the eyes of an angry teacher, holding her hand out. “Key.”

  He handed it to her.

  “We’ll open it in the morning, I’m too tired to be fighting dragons tonight. Close your door, they have latches on the inside.” She walked to her room, Chip followed, then she pulled the door closed behind her and collapsed on the bed.

  CHAPTER 31

  Gus Pascal parked his vehicle in the empty street in central Edinburgh, as more snow continued to fall. It was 1 a.m. and it had taken him two arduous days to get up to Scotland.

  He was tired and hungry, but also knew that he urgently needed to find out if the sanctuary had been compromised, like most of the others seemed to have been.

  He opened the car door and stepped out into a few inches of snow, then walked to the boot. Before pulling it open he had a quick look around him. A nearby street lamp flickered, but there was no other movement in the sloping cobbled street.

  Opening the boot he looked down at his weapon and armour options. The broadsword would need too much space to wield, he needed something for close quarters combat. He picked up his spiked mace, some lightweight armour for his shoulders, torso, upper legs and gauntlets for his lower arms and hands.

  He closed the trunk, then moved into the almost hidden alleyway, which was covered in shadows.

  Being only a few feet wide, it wound its way left and right, but always moving upwards. As he got to the end of it, he slowed. Soon he peered out onto a large cobblestone forecourt, with a five-storey beige sandstone building looming above it. Its corners had bartizans, and rounded towers covered the roof. A wide set of stairs ran up to its high-arched entrance, which contained an impressive coat of arms carved in stone.

  Most of the windows in the buildings around him were dark, but the few top floors of the Edinburgh sanctuary were lit.

  Keeping to the walls around the edge of the forecourt, he moved swiftly to the front of the sanctuary then down some stairs which ran to the side of the main building. He had been visiting this place for almost two hundred years and knew every conceivable way in and out of it.

  Soon he came to a small door in the huge stone walls. Producing a small key from his pocket he opened the door and moved inside quickly. He was in one of the many tunnels which ran under the building as well as many others in the ‘old town’.

  He had a small torch in his pocket, but he knew these tunnels like the back of his hand and didn’t want to use it unless he had to. Moving swiftly along them, he came to a small set of stairs with iron railings. Moving up them quietly, he listened as best he could to what was beyond the door at the top. Not hearing anything after a few minutes, he opened the door gently. Still silence.

  He walked through the doorway and into the basement. Rickety wooden shelves, full of items which would have otherwise been termed antiques, ran along the walls. Everything looks normal down here. Maybe they never got this far north.

  He moved through the darkness, being careful not to knock anything. Finally, he reached the doorway which led to steps climbing to the ground floor of the building, coming out under the grand staircase.

  He waved his hand left and right, to loosen his muscles. As the only living custodian that was ‘Ordained’ his appearance of a fifty-five-year old man hid his well over two hundred years of age, and his joints complained when the temperature dropped below zero.

  He moved slowly up the staircase to the ground floor, listening as he took each step, and ready for the door above him to fly open. There was only silence ahead, which could either mean the inhabitants that usually lived here were sleeping, or that something had happened to them.

  Getting to the top step, the wooden plank below his foot creaked and he froze waiting for a response, but there was none.

  Opening the top door, the answer to the question he had posed just a few moments before became obvious as the metallic smell of blood wafted by him. Damn.

  Slowly pushing it further open, he crept out onto the rugs that covered the wooden floor of the downstairs lobby and tried to see what he could in the gloom.

  The streetlights outside offered just enough light for him to see the dark stains on the rugs. People died here.

  But there were no bodies that he could see. He put his foot on the first step of the impressive staircase and looked up as far as he could to try to see the top most floor of the building. The lights up there were turned on, but he couldn’t hear anything from this distance.

  He moved upwards quickly, keeping to the far sides of the steps so they wouldn’t creak as much, and was soon on the first floor. In the shadows lay a body still grasping a sword.

  A noise came from some floors above and Gus quickly pulled himself against the wall. As he did, he knocked a pewter jug which sat on the corner of a drawer unit. It wobbled and threatened to fall, but he quickly steadied it.

  The noise was unmistakably footsteps across the wooden floors. But was it friend or foe? He needed to get closer.

  Stepping over the body, he walked around the landing and started to walk up the next set of stairs. More bodies. The time they lay on the stairs themselves. A man, a younger man, and an older woman. Because of the lights from upstairs he could see both had been killed by a sharp weapon of some kind.

  He had lost count of how many battles he had been involved in, but it gave him the ability to look at a body and instantly know what weapon brought them down.

  As he moved carefully around the dead, more footsteps drifted down from above, he then heard voices. It sounded like men, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. Need to be closer.

  Walking onto the second floor as quietly as he could, he peered upwards, when a hand grabbed his leg. He jumped backwards raising his mace, when he realized it was another body, and this one he recognised. It was the foreman of the sanctuary, Ira Groves.

  He knelt next to him, while being conscious the noise he just made probably alerted whoever was upstairs to his presence. “What happened here?” he whispered.

  The old man swallowed before speaking. “We were attacked. Many dark forces. Some—” his eyes fluttered. “—still here.”

  “How many?”

  But
Ira’s eyes were closed.

  Gus checked his pulse. Still alive, for now.

  A sound of shuffling came from three floors above then stopped. The light then went out and he was plunged into darkness with only the street lights giving any guide to the area around him. Luckily as with the tunnels and basement, he didn’t need the light to know his way around.

  He also knew that one of the rooms on the second floor had a slim spiral staircase that joined it to the floor above it. Keeping close to the wall and straining his ears and eyes for any sign of movement on the landing above him he quietly opened the door to the room with the spiral staircase, and closed it behind him. He then moved across the floor and quickly climbed the staircase listening above him, in case those that had invaded the building knew of it as well, but when he came out onto the third floor there were no noises.

  He walked slowly to the door to the main staircase, and listened. There was only silence, but the hairs on the back of his arms were prickling. They’re close.

  He waited, then he heard it. A hardly audible creak not far on the other side of the door. Then another, louder.

  In a flash, he pulled the door open, grabbed the figure on the other side, pulled them in flinging them to the ground, and closed the door behind him. The person was dressed in armour like himself, and was armed with a sword. What disorientation they had felt from being grabbed quickly left them as they lunged forwards with their sword.

  The cold blade scraped off the side of Gus’s torso armour, who then charged forwards swinging the mace against the assailant’s head rendering them unconscious. They slumped to the floor. Taking their sword, he slid it into his belt, and quickly stepped back to the door to listen to the other side. There was only silence, but his instincts were telling him the person he had just struck down wasn’t alone.

  He moved over to the unconscious body, and dragged it to the door. He then heaved it up, and propped it up near the frame. He then opened the door and pushed it forward. The light from outside the windows glinted off the long blade as it slid through the body that he had just picked up.

  Gus instantly pushed the body forwards onto the attacker and the person with the sword fell backwards onto the landing, struggling to untangle themselves from their comrade they had just run-through.

  Gus’s mace came swiftly down on the persons helmet knocking them out. Their arms fell limp.

  He looked around him, then moved to the bottom of the next set of stairs. There was no noise, or sense of any threats around him.

  * * * * *

  A steel covered gauntlet slammed into the man’s midriff making him groan and gasp for air at the same time.

  Gus stood squarely in front of him. “If you want any chance of being alive this time tomorrow, I suggest you start talking.”

  Ira sat grimacing on a chair behind him. “Look at his hand,” he said to Gus.

  Gus moved around to the back of the chair the attacker was tied to. He tried to cover his hand, but Gus grabbed and held it. “There’s a mark here, looks like two crossing mallets. The sign of the house of Bors. So, they have returned.”

  The man spat out some blood and grinned.

  Ira rose to his feet awkwardly, trying to contain the pain. “I doubt he’s going to talk no matter what we do to him. Let’s leave him here, maybe after a few days he will think differently.”

  “In a few days, it won’t matter where I am,” said the man.

  Gus and Ira looked back at him, then locked the iron bar doors in the dungeon. Gus had spent the last few hours ferrying the bodies to the basement, and patching up Ira’s wounds.

  They were soon back upstairs inside the old kitchen.

  Gus opened one of the pantries, and pulled out some cheese and bread. “I hope you don’t mind, but I really need to eat something”

  “Be my guest, there is nobody else here to eat it.” Ira then sighed, followed by him grimacing and holding his side.

  Gus sat with his sandwich. “So, what happened? How did they get inside?”

  “We kept them out for a few days, but on the third day, our wards failed, and they stormed us on all fronts,” he looked up, “even from the air.”

  “Draugr and Wyverns?”

  “Yes, but also human fighters, some extremely skilled.”

  “Did they all have the house of Bors mark on them?”

  “His was the only one I could see.” He smiled. “Mostly, I was trying to stay alive. It was only because they thought I was dead, that I did.”

  “You should return with me to London, they have that sanctuary back up and running. I’ll then need to go to Rochester.”

  “Well, old man—” Ira had called him that since he met him when he was a teenager, “—it is true I am not in too good a condition, but someone needs to stay here. As you know a foreman should never leave their post.”

  “There are exceptions, and this is one of them.”

  Ira raised his hand. “There are some potions in the basement that I can use to heal, and I will keep questioning our friend downstairs, maybe he will be more forthcoming.”

  “He seems to be under the illusion that he won’t be here that long, that might mean they will return.”

  “I might not be able to stop them from entering, but if they do, this time I’ll use magic to hide my presence, they won’t find me, don’t worry.”

  “OK.” Gus looked around, then stood. “Be good to have some wine to wash this down with.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Chip barked.

  “You sure Chip’s secure?”

  “Yes, he’s in the closet or toilet or whatever that room is.” Kat struggled to find the words. In her left hand, she had a large silver candle stick, and in her right the golden key which Darren had found. “You ready?”

  He nodded, holding a candlestick of his own.

  She slid the key into the lock, and turned. There was a subtle click. She glanced at Darren, then slowly pulled the handle downwards. The door opened outwards, creaking slightly.

  Darren put his hand to his nose. “What’s that smell?”

  In front of them was a large room with tables and counters all covered in bottles, and ancient microscopes made of brass and leather.

  Kat moved into it cautiously, with her makeshift weapon raised. Darren was right about the smell which was emanating from the back part of the room, but she wanted both hands free, in case she needed to run back and lock the door behind her.

  Darren pointed. “What’s down there?”

  At the end of the room, was what looked like a prison cage, built into the wall, with arched stones at the front. Beyond the bars was only darkness, but they could both see something large moving in the shadows.

  Darren leaned forwards to examine a small glass box on one of the counters, which seemed to contain a sparkle which was moving around inside.

  “Don’t get too close to anything!” said Kat, putting the key in her pocket.

  He moved backwards still trying to understand what he was looking at.

  “Come on, we need to know what’s behind those bars.”

  They stepped forwards slowly. When they got within four yards of the bars, a loud squawk made them both hunch down, while trying to keep the candlesticks out in front of them.

  The creature behind the bars then slowly came towards them. It was about the size of a large dog, with a head and front of a bird.

  “What—” was all Darren could pronounce, when Kat noticed a small envelope resting up against the bottom of one of the bars.

  She picked it up. Her name was on the front of it. She quickly opened it, while keeping an eye on the creature in front of her, which was doing the same to them.

  ‘Dear Kat, what you see in front of you, is a Gryphus, or more commonly known as a Griffin. At least he will be in a year or two as he’s still growing. He has had a staple of diet of rats, while I’ve been away, which I’m sure he’s grown tired of by now, and he drinks water which comes in naturally from the local
stream. I leave him in your capable hands. A. PS Oh, he likes gold.’

  “Griffin!” shouted Darren, making Kat and the Griffin jump. It squawked and spread out its small wings.

  “You’re going to scare him!” said Kat.

  “Sorry. What does the note say? It’s a Griffin, right?”

  Kat walked closer to the bars. “It is.” She looked around at the tiny bones that littered the floor and felt a bit nauseous. Mixed in with them were what looked like some gold coins. The griffin sauntered around then sat with a small squawk. “He’s just been eating rats.”

  “Eww, that can’t be good for him.”

  “Go back into the main room and find me something made of gold, not too big. A coin would be perfect.”

  “Oh, right, yeah, because they like gold don’t they. OK, be right back.” Darren’s eyes fixed on the small glass box with the skittering sparkle as he walked past it.

  “Hello? Have you got a name, or is it just Griffin?” said Kat, moving a little closer to the bars, but being mindful of just how sharp its talons looked. “I’m going to call you err—Hack.”

  The Griffon squawked making her jump back slightly.

  “I’m hoping that means you approve.”

  She examined the strange creature which belonged in fairytales. Glossy large eyes and a strong beak sat above a richly feathered front torso which then somehow transformed into the short hair of a large cat at the back.

  “I wonder where you come from Hack?”

  “Hack?” said Darren, standing behind her. “That’s not a very friendly name, is it? That’s like calling a lion, Claw. Actually, I think he has the back part of a lion,” he said, trying to see into the cage.

  “Until I come up with a better name, Hack, it is and anyway we’re, you know, hackers. Have you got the gold?”

  “There’s this.” He handed her a small gold box.

  “What’s in it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She rolled her eyes slightly, and turned the small latch. Inside was a small gold coin and a small piece of paper. “It’s got a gold coin inside!” She turned over the paper, on it was a small handwritten note. ‘Not for the Griffin!’