The others looked down at the note hastily scrawled in their lady’s penmanship. There could be no mistake. She sought entrance to the catacombs intending to exact revenge for the failed assassination the day before. Their mission was to clear a path for her warriors to enter and strike at the Guild from an unseen quarter.
Reaching into the sack before them in their trunk, they drew out their traditional apparel. The uniform of the Shadow Stalker Assassin was a simple black robe with a hood, a pair of crossed blades forming a menacing symbol over the heart. The dark shades of the robes would allow them to blend into the shadows as their namesake indicated. They would be difficult to spot as they moved through the dimly lit halls.
At the base of their trunk was a false bottom. Removing the panel, the leader drew out a series of wicked looking weapons. The weapons had short oak handles with razor sharp blades stretching at right angles from the tip. A stranger might mistake them for a small scythe but the Kama were meant for a different type of harvest. A number of shuriken were also drawn out and secreted in the folds of their robes.
A noise at the door drew their attention. In the open doorway, a guildsman was staring slack jawed at the sight before him, painfully unaware of the danger he was in. Without a thought, the leader hurled his Kama. It turned quickly as it tore through the air and struck the surprised errand runner in the chest. The lad died before he hit the ground, shock still written across his pained expression. Nodding to the others, the leader pulled his hood up over his head, casting his features into shadow. Strolling to the door, he retrieved his Kama, stopping only to wipe the blood from it before he moved noiselessly into the corridor.
The three men moved rapidly towards the catacombs underneath the merchant quarter. There were dozens of sally holes from which the warriors and tradesmen of the guild could pass seamlessly between the surface and the underground passages that served as their stronghold. They would secure one of these portals for the Mizumuran soldiers to enter.
Initially, they encountered little resistance, but as they drew nearer to the entranceway, it became obvious that the sentries had been alerted to the impending invasion. The sentries were in a heightened state of alert. Unfortunately, they were ill prepared for an assault from within their sanctuary. The three men moved as wraiths, striking from the shadows. The Shadow Stalkers wielded their dual blades with grim efficiency, making short work of the lightly armoured soldiers and leaving a wake of death and destruction as they moved.
Entering the corridor that led to the surface, the Shadow Stalkers stopped in their tracks. More than a dozen armed sentinels waited for them. At the sight of the black robed assassins striding toward them, a shout went up. The assassins quickened their pace, as they ran the assassins struck out with their Kama, slicing through the torches that lit the corridor. The torches split in pieces, scattering embers everywhere. With the torches extinguished, the hall was plunged into darkness.
Suddenly the footsteps stopped and the sentries strained their eyes peering into the darkness, searching out the imminent threat. A sentry went down; unable to scream as his hands clutched at a silver star that had struck him in the neck.
Out of the darkness, a barrage of the lethal projectiles flew. More sentries fell wounded as the sharpened stars tore through their ranks in a nightmare of steel and shadows. Rather than wait for the barrage to continue, the remaining sentries charged into the darkness seeking to confront this new threat that had laid low so many of their comrades.
Accustomed as they were to fighting in the shadows, the assassins gave no quarter. The little light that remained danced off their Kama as they moved quickly between the sentries. In less than a minute all of them lay dead.
Tucking his Kama back into his belt the leader moved quickly to the end of the tunnel and opened the heavy oak door. As the hinged door swung outward, he found himself in front of a ladder leading up into a building on the surface. Scaling the ladder, he emerged in a warehouse located deep in the merchants’ quarter.
Making his way through a door onto the street, he spotted a company of soldiers in the emerald armour of the Mizumura. ‘For the honor of our Lady,’ he called in greeting, as he ran towards them. ‘I have come to guide you safely into the stronghold. Once you have secured a breach head you are to send word to your allies amongst the Wolf. One company will not be sufficient to carry the day. You will need their assistance to put an end to those who threaten our Lady.’
‘Understood,’ the sergeant acknowledged as he shouted orders at his men. They followed the black robed assassins back into the catacombs.
Chapter 23
Tristan arrived at the Eastern Entrances to find rank upon rank of guild warriors arrayed for battle. Should the Wolf manage to gain access to the catacombs, they would be surrounded on three fronts and would die in droves trying to secure a foothold inside the Guild’s stronghold. The troops parted to allow him through and Tristan hastened to the front.
As he reached the large oak gates, he spotted Ferebour arranging the defenses. The Dwarf was almost unrecognizable. Gone were the apron, hammer, and chisel he frequently bore as he shaped the stonework throughout the catacombs. Instead the iron-sinewed dwarf was clad from head to toe in the finest splint mail he’d ever laid eyes on. A polished steel helm covered his head. His steely eyes stared out from beneath an ornate gold face plate. His fiery beard was fixed in tight plaits and a lit pipe hanging from his mouth, sent small wisps of smoke into the air as he tightened his grip on a large war hammer.
Tristan called out a greeting as he approached. ‘How fare the defenses, Ferebour?’
‘They’ll hold, lad. It seems all o’ Belnair beats on our gates but we will weather the storm. My folks have been fighting beneath the ground since the Allfather carved us from the mountains. These Wolf don’t stand a chance.’
‘I have no doubt, Ferebour, but if all goes to plan, we won’t have to lift a blade to do it.’
‘Care to let me in on the secret.’
‘Soon, Ferebour, very soon.’
The big oak door swung inwards and two dozen sentinels streamed through the portal, bows in hand as they beat a retreat. Last through the door was Maneron. Still nocking an arrow, he turned and let fly. A howl of pain echoed down the corridor signaling that the arrow had hit its mark. The Wolf were not far behind. Soldiers hastened to slam the gates shut and lifted a heavy beam across them to strengthen them.
Turning to Tristan, the yeoman spoke quickly between deep breaths. ‘It seems Gerwold is out for blood. If the assault on the Western Portals looks anything like this, then at least half of the Wolf Host is deployed against us. We harried them for every inch of ground, but their number was too great. We did little more than sting their hide.’
‘Maneron, you did fine. You bought us time we sorely needed to prepare. Rest now as we may need your bow again before the day is through.’
There was a commotion in the hall and Ezras shouldered his way through the crowd. Spotting Tristan, he stumbled towards him, clearly exhausted from the journey. Resting one hand on Tristan’s shoulder, he gasped, ‘It’s done! Now we see if this scheme of yours works.’
The defenders waited quietly in their places for the ensuing storm. With the cadence of boots on stone growing louder and louder as the Wolf drew nearer, Tristan guessed they were no more than two dozen paces from the door. Walking towards the door, Tristan pulled a torch from a bracket on the wall and gestured to the door. ‘Open it!’
The guards looked back at him with confusion evident on their faces. Maneron intervened, ‘I’m not sure that’s wise, Sir. I may not be as quick with a sword as you are, but I am positive that we stand a much greater chance of withstanding their assault if our gates are barred.’
‘Have faith, Maneron. Open the gate!’
Ferebour nodded and the heavy beam blocking the door was lifted out of its place.
Tristan pulled the door ajar and called out to the Wolf, ‘Soldiers of the Wolf, you come unbidden into
our home, depart at once and no further harm will come to you. Take another step and the wives and daughters of Belnair will have great cause to mourn this night.’
A Wolf soldier in the uniform of a captain pushed to the front of the throng and called towards the door, ‘Cowards and sewer rats, this land you squat on is the sovereign territory of Gerwold, Baron of the Belnair. He demands that you surrender the murderer Tristan Listar to face judgment for his crimes. Should you do so, our most beneficent Baron will grant you amnesty for your past deeds and allow you to depart in peace...’
‘You may tell your Baron,’ responded Tristan cutting off the captain, ‘should you live to report your failure, his secret deeds and works of murder are known. With the Allfather as my witness, justice will be done upon him.’
‘Who are you to speak of justice?’
Tristan threw open the door and stepped out of the shadows, the light from the torch in his hand reflecting across his polished steel breastplate. The dim light showed the menace in Tristan’s eyes as he answered, ‘I am Tristan Listar and I will see justice done - justice for my people who were slaughtered at his command, slaughtered by men amongst your very ranks. Today their souls will find peace.’
Tristan threw the torch to the ground and watched as it struck the cobblestone floor and rolled into a puddle of viscous black liquid that was pooling on the cobblestones. The puddle ignited instantaneously and flames tore through the passageway towards the Wolf.
Ezras’s latest invention had been slowly seeping through the passageways and sewers surrounding the Guild’s stronghold. Masked by the overpowering stench of the sewers themselves, the liquid had seeped into the Wolf’s clothes and boots and it saturated the passages they had just fought their way through.
The carnage would be terrible as the firestorm swept through the confined space. Those that didn’t burn to death or succumb to their wounds would face asphyxiation as the air itself was sucked from the passages by the blaze. Tristan doubted that one in ten of the Wolf would survive to make the surface.
A fate well-deserved, he thought as he turned from the inferno and walked back into the Guild Hall. Ferebour, Maneron and the others stared in shock as the flames blazed away from them with unnatural fury. ‘Well done, Ezras. That worked perfectly.’
‘T’was your plan, Tristan. I merely mixed the brew.’
‘I doubt they will be back anytime soon. If Maneron is right, thousands of them will perish in the next few moments. Our feigned assassination has lured them exactly where we wanted them.’
Before they could celebrate, a warrior came sprinting into the entrance hall. ‘Tristan, the Mizumura are in the halls, several hundred at least. Halmir asks that any men that can be spared rally to the Council Hall to drive them back.’
‘We can deal with the Mizumura,’ Tristan declared, ‘but the real danger lies in how they got in. The sewers are afire which means they came through one of the service ways. We must find it and seal it before the Wolf gain access to it.
Maneron, watch the gate. When the blaze dies down, ensure that there are no survivors. Ferebour, we need to seal whichever entrance they are using as a breach. You know these tunnels better than any other and you know what we’ll need. Take Ezras and ensure you have what you need to do so. I’ll lead our men in support of Halmir and throw back the Mizumura.’
Tristan took off at a run, several companies of guild warriors falling in behind him. Dashing through the subterranean tunnels, the noise of boots on stone was deafening. Tristan would have dearly loved to stop and catch his breath but their very existence depended upon sealing the tunnels before the Mizumura could establish a breach head for the Wolf.
As they rounded the corner and entered into the corridor that led to the Guild’s council hall, they saw a sea of green armour-clad warriors pressing at the doors leading to the council chambers. ‘Halmir must be inside!’ yelled Tristan. The guild warriors would be fighting for their lives but, caught as they were, it would only be a matter of time until the sea of green warriors washed over them.
‘For the Guild!’ shouted Tristan, picking up his pace. The soldiers nearest to them turned to meet the charge that threatened their flank.
In seconds, Tristan was upon them, his rapier drawing blood at every stroke, moving as an angel of death through their midst their armour was powerless to save them. At every stroke, the rapier found its way past their defenses. Tristan caught one warrior in the throat before dodging a blow meant to sever his head. Turning with his aggressor, Tristan slid the blade straight through the gap in his armour beneath his armpit and the man collapsed in a heap. A third took a throwing knife to the neck and similarly crumpled. The guild warriors pressed on, inspired by their fearless leader, and, filled with a desire to defend their home, they thundered into the Mizumura.
Several of them fell to the green-clad warriors, but they would not be deterred. The warriors stormed forward, giving hope to the beleaguered guild warriors pressed against the Council Chambers. Faced with enemies on two fronts, the Mizumura began to fall back. As they retreated, Halmir appeared in the doorway. ‘Tristan, I thought that would be you. How fares the eastern front?’
‘Completely routed, Halmir. The quick fire did its work well. I doubt they’ll launch another assault on that front anytime soon.’
‘Glad to hear it. The Mizumura broke in using one of our service ways in the Merchants’ Quarter. We must close it quickly before the Wolf rally to their side.’
‘Ezras and Ferebour are working on doing just that. Now that we know where they are coming from, we can collapse the tunnel and seal it off.’
As if summoned, Ferebour appeared from a nearby doorway, war hammer grasped firmly in two hands. Ezras ran behind him panting and carrying a barrel. ‘The Merchants’ Quarter, you say, Halmir?’ the dwarf asked gruffly.
‘Indeed,’ Halmir responded.
‘Well, at least it’s not far. This is more exercise than Ezras has had all year-he’s almost dying,’ the Dwarf chortled heartily.
‘Like you can speak, Fatso! You’re not in any better shape than I am.’
‘I’m not the one struggling for breath, now am I?’ the Dwarf retorted laughing.
‘It’s the barrel, you little runt. Now lead the way, before I drop it on you and squish you flat.’
‘As you wish,’ chortled Ferebour, who took off down the corridor where the Mizumura were retreating. ‘If we strike one of the intersections underneath the storehouses, it should bring it down nicely. The fact that some of those warehouses don’t belong to us, is just a bonus.’
The warriors tore after Ferebour, as the Dwarf made surprisingly good time. Despite his stubby legs, what he lacked in height, the dwarf seemed to possess in endurance. As they entered the corridor they sought, the Guild’s forces found a rear guard of the Mizumura trying to hold the corridor whilst they waited for reinforcements.
Without slowing, Ferebour simply hefted the large war hammer to his shoulders and swung with all his might. The momentum of the charging Dwarf carried through the swing as it caught the first Mizumura in the chest plate. There was a sickening crunch as his chest cavity caved beneath the mighty blow. The poor broken warrior was tossed like a ragdoll, bowling over his beleaguered comrades.
‘Right! Who’s next?’ the Dwarf shouted angrily at the Mizumura who backed away with trepidation. They were not in a hurry to join their comrade lying broken on the floor. As they continued to back away Ferebour motioned for Ezras. Tristan led a pack of warriors after them to buy time for Ferebour and Ezras to work.
Ezras and a number of nearby Guild Warriors came running and set down the barrel before Ferebour. The warriors stood guard while Ferebour fussed over the barrel. Pulling the pipe from his mouth, Ferebour ignited a fuse on the side of the barrel. As Ferebour bent over to pick up the barrel a nearby Guild warrior turned, placing one hand on the Dwarf’s shoulder, he plunged his sword into Ferebour’s chest.
Hearing the commotion, Tristan turned. Se
eing the blade, he cried out, ‘No, Ferebour!’ Tristan stared in shock at the assailant and realized the Guild warrior was the suspicious veteran he’d seen in the practice pits earlier. ‘Jearus!’ Tristan shouted, as he stormed towards the traitor.
The Dwarf looked in pain at the sword in his stomach the carefully placed strike had pierced his fine splint mail in the joint and blood was beginning to flow from the wound. Seeing Tristan approach, Jearus yanked his sword free. Or at least he would have if he’d been able to. Looking down at the wounded Dwarf, Jearus was surprised to see the Dwarf gripping his blade in one armoured fist preventing him from drawing it.
Before the traitor could react, Ferebour drove the other armoured fist into his jaw. With a grinding crack, the man’s neck broke and he collapsed dead, the look of surprise still evident on his face. Without pausing, Ferebour looked down at the barrel with its fuse still burning brightly. Turning the barrel on its side, Ferebour gingerly rolled it down the corridor after the retreating Mizumura.
‘Now, gentlemen,’ Ferebour declared, clearing his throat and spitting out a mouthful of blood, ‘I suggest we fly like bats out of Hell or we’ll be buried alongside that lot.’ Tristan and the accompanying Guild warriors gingerly supported the wounded Dwarf as they turned tail and fled as fast as their feet could carry them. The Guild warriors had barely turned the corner when they heard the explosion.
The force of the blast reverberated through the tight space, blasting the masonry to pieces. The supports gave way and the tremendous load being borne by them caved in. There was a deafening cacophony of sound and motion as the tunnel collapsed with hundreds of tonnes of stone filling the space that they had occupied only moments before.
‘That merchant is going to be extremely upset when he arrives at the store today,’ laughed Halmir, patting Ferebour on the back.
‘Not nearly as upset as I will be if we can’t get this bloody sword out of me. Fetch the surgeons... I’ll bleed out in minutes... once the sword is removed. I’ll need them to stop the bleeding,’ the Dwarf stated slowly.
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