A Stag in the Shadows

by S E Turner

  'How did Coben do that?' said Nate jutting his chin towards the boats.

  'I don't know, maybe they've been there for as long as the mine,' said Ike.

  'It's the only explanation,' said Philip. 'He couldn't have got through that tiny opening like us.'

  Laus was eager to get moving.

  'Come on men, let's get out of here; the day is young and the weather is warm, and with three boats for us to use, no matter how they got there, we should make good headway.'

  The men nodded and looked at each other in agreement

  'I would say this is the River Dru,' said Philipe. 'It runs half a mile past my land. '

  'Our homestead is not far either,' said Jak looking at his brother. 'And I'm certain that Fyn is not far from us.'

  Eryk surfaced from the water and shook the water from his hair in one swift movement. 'I'm not that far either.'

  'He took all us land owners didn't he, and put us in the mines. I hope our workers and families have got out safely,' said Tion gravely.

  'They will have,' said Nate with renewed hope and certainty. 'They will be safe.'

  Philipe had been working out the logistics of the boats.

  'As Laus is furthest north, then Fyn, then Jak and Ike; maybe you take one boat and go upstream. I will go with Eryk and Tion downstream. Will and Nate can go west from here, that will take you to the old croft and the lake.'

  'That sounds good to me,' said Laus.

  'And me,' said Eryk.

  'May the gods give speed to all,' said Nate.

  'Get home safely everyone, and we'll meet again very soon,' said Will.

  'Safe journey to all, and be sure to keep that young man's details Philipe. I hope he remembers his name and where he is from very soon.'

  Fyn's voice disappeared into the rocking motion of his boat as he clambered in with the three other men.

  Will and Nate navigated downstream to their turnoff, while Philipe and his two companions began to make their way downstream.

  It was still dawn, and the pale ripples of light danced like a serpent on the surface of the river, spinning away from the oars when they made contact, and dancing again when the boat had passed. The swish from the oars and the creak from the boats were the only sounds they heard as they disappeared from view; each man immersed in his own thoughts, wondering what scene would greet them when they got home. But mostly, they didn't want to get noticed; for no one could be really sure that all the guards were in the king's hall.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Cornelius watched them go, long after their voices had faded away and the faint light of Philipe's lantern had disappeared round a corner. Now it was his turn to escape. The candles in the walls were still burning, creating a line that weaved a trail of smoke to the upper chambers. A long, dim, passageway, with twisting walls and low ceilings paved the way. He followed the whimsical plume, even though it tried to extinguish itself several times, but something kept the serpent alive. He shuffled through the passage; cold, damp, musty and claustrophobic. The bottom of the steps soon appeared and he switched on his senses to alert him of unwelcome sounds. Weak and tiring, each step took most of his strength. His legs were burning from so many stairs. The rumble of his breathing and groaning was the only sound he could hear. He stopped to take a breath and put his hand on the wall, he nearly lost it to a slick of crumbling mortar. He recoiled and bent over to catch his breath again, but he had to keep going—rest would come later. He found himself at the top of steep, narrow stairs. He could almost see his heart beating through exposed ribs. The pale skin covering his sinewed muscles was almost transparent, goodness knows what his face must look like, he thought.

  At the top there was a doorway. He went across the darkened alleyway and into a maze off tunnels called the Labyrinth. He had been briefed about which route to take. He ducked beneath the wine cellar, and again when he reached the cheese store. He was hungry for both, but he couldn't stop now. In the distance he could hear music—he followed the sounds.

  It led him to a first floor chamber. He went through that, and up some stairs, then into a second floor chamber. The music was getting louder. He moved slowly to a metal door. At head height was an open guard hatch, crossed with iron bars. He put his face to the bars and looked through. He took out his dagger. He lifted the latch, ever so slowly, carefully and gently, so as not to raise suspicion. He peeped out. There was a guard there. What should he do? There was only one thing to do. Element of surprise. He came out of the door. Slowly, silently, effortlessly. Grabbed the soldier from behind, and ended his life with a flick of the knife. The bloodied weapon was put back in his belt, and he dragged the dead soldier, taking his sword, and locked him in on the other side of the door. As he turned, he caught a glimpse of himself in a basin of water placed on a table with plates and dishes. His cheeks were gaunt, his eyes sunken, and his pallor made him look like a ghostly apparition. He felt his face, then his chest— his ribs were craggy ridges over the cave of his stomach.

  He looked at the array of ornate dishes, waiting to be filled with an assortment of food. How he wished he could eat something right now. Instead, he made his way to the Grand Hall, and waited behind a pillar for Saskia to arrive.

  It was a cool day in the kingdom of Durundal. In the distance, north of the palace, the foothills below the Giant's Claw were crowned with indigo clouds, dark against the bleached whites and yellows of the coastal mountains. Ethereal bands of rain hung like veils from the sky. In a light airy chamber, Saskia watched the rain drift steadily eastwards, and away from her tower.

  From her room she could hear the orchestra, and the beautiful harmonies of the choir filtered through the passageways. She fixed her hair in an elaborate arrangement above her head, and looked in the mirror. A bewitching face was etched with sadness; she thought of her brother and slotted a few more razor sharp pins in her chignon. The beautiful dress of ivory silk, that clung to her body like a whisper, and accentuated her shape like a second skin, was a mere camouflage for the person underneath. And for all the dazzling jewels that radiated extravagance, for every stitch and button, crease and fold, created with chafed fingers and milky eyes ruined from working by candlelight – a warrior looked back. She went to the window, and throwing it wide open she dropped her precious cargo to the ground. She watched it fall. It took a long time. Then she heard the thud, and smiled contentedly. The clothes that Coben had given her, and the weapons she had trained with would be retrieved later. If not, she would surely die. But today—dying was not an option.

  For the warrior born from her brother's death, sought revenge, and would not stop until the weapon that she had carved from the white walls in her prison cell, dripped red with the blood of her captors. She stroked the dagger with a finger, it was razor sharp and wickedly cruel. A smile tugged at her lips and she kissed the murderous blade. The companion that had been crafted over the last six months of incarceration, looked back at her. She stroked it one last time and put it up her sleeve. Then she faced the door and waited to be escorted to her doom.

  The guards came.

  She walked to the beat of a lone drum. The tremulous sound slowing down the frantic pulse of her own heart. The passageway sloped downwards, the stone walls chilling the air. Even though it was the height of summer, goosebumps pricked at her skin. The cool tunnel led into a long chamber lit by lamps fixed along the walls. The smell of sweetness cloyed the air, and a tense silence amplified the shuffling footsteps of those around her.

  Led by two guards, she looked around in wonder at the beautiful enamel carvings, each one decorated and embellished with rose buds and climbing jasmine. At every corner and every niche, a lone musician was playing an instrument as she glided past. She stopped a while to listen to the exquisite harpist, and lingered in awe at the sonorous sounds of the cellist. The great doors stood open and two young maidens scattered petals at her feet as she made her way to the front. A soprano held a high octave as she continued down the aisle.

&nb
sp; In front she saw the banners and arrangements of vibrant blooms. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a shadow. Turning, she saw that it was a golden haired man behind a pillar. He looked like the man in her dreams, but paler. She shook away the image but felt compelled to look again. He put an index finger to his mouth so she would not give him away. Was he here to assist her she wondered. Had her father instructed him she asked herself. She averted her eyes and concentrated on her mission, but the stranger had intruded her thoughts. She wanted to look at him again, but knew her gaze would give him away.

  The hall stretched on forever. She was aware of the guards behind her now. They must have followed her in. There were others to her left and to her right. The king seemed to get larger as she got closer. His smile widened, his eyes grew thin.

  She kept on walking until she was two feet away from him. Segan Hezekiah, king of the mountain, and master of Hezekiah Hall.

  Coben was standing on one side of him; and the falcon, protecting the book, was on the other.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Everyone was silent as the king stepped forward. Her heart accelerated, her breathing quickened. She knew she was a warrior, but right now she felt like a day old kitten; weak, vulnerable, and a likely victim to any predator. He crooked a finger and summoned her closer. She looked at Coben for guidance. She couldn't look at the king.

  'Please look at our master—the king of Hezekiah Hall,' said Coben, his face rigid, his eyes giving nothing away.

  She did as she was instructed.

  The king stepped down and reached for her hand. She wanted to pull it away, but she saw Coben shake his head from the corner of her eye. Bad idea, she thought. The king kissed her fingers. His lips were gentle but his eyes hid secrets. She couldn't tell what they were, but she knew they were evil enough to drain the light out of the stars and suck the glow from the moon. A shiver went through her spine as he dropped her hand and stepped back in the line .

  'This is the day that I have been waiting for, Saskia. This is the day where I ask you to be my wife.'

  Her head barely moved in response.

  'And I know that you will say yes. So we will be married here, now, in front of all these people.'

  Without looking behind her, she knew that the assembly was made up of guards, maids, and many gifted people who had been stolen from their homelands.

  'Don't you think you are lucky to live a life of ease with everything at your fingertips? You can have anything you want. Anything at all. I can give it to you.' He looked over her shoulder. 'All of these people around you; all of them, are here to offer you a service.'

  She nodded meekly again. Her blood chilled at the thought of them working to please her.

  'I offered someone else that once you know.'

  The air froze. His eyes narrowed.

  'Someone very close to me.'

  He stepped forward and moved to the open window. The bird flapped its wings. Hooded, blinded, tethered; like everyone else in the room, it wanted to fly away and be free. The king breathed in the air and looked towards the mountains. The sun drenched the horizon and the warmth poured through the window spilling into every nook and every crevasse. But it was still cold in the hall. Nothing could make it warm.

  Saskia chewed on her bottom lip.

  Cornelius was keeping an eye on the guards.

  'I loved this person with all my heart,' he continued. 'I gave them everything. '

  He turned and walked towards Saskia. He faced her again.

  'I am so sorry that I have to do this on our wedding day. But it's such an important day for me—for us—and I want to start afresh, anew, with no doubts at all. You do understand don't you Saskia?'

  She nodded.

  'Speak girl, speak. Only the fearful stay silent. Only the coward nods his head. Only the traitor remains mute.'

  She quickly stammered her answer. 'Yes I understand my lord. I understand everything.'

  'It's all about trust Saskia, it's all about respect and honesty. Can you see that?'

  She was trying to calm her nerves, fearful that he could see right through her now. She nodded again.

  'Yes, I can see that.'

  The king smiled at her. A sickly, meaningless smile. His eyes narrowed. He licked his lips—slowly. Her legs nearly buckled beneath her with fear. He span on his heels and withdrew his dagger. With perfect aim he threw it at Coben's neck. The knife hit him in the throat, sinking up to its hilt. His shout became a wet gurgle as he clutched the blade.

  'No!!' Saskia screamed.

  The maids screamed. The musicians couldn't believe what they had just seen. The soprano fainted. Two guards stepped forward to hold Saskia.

  Coben was still alive.

  The king gritted his teeth. His nostrils flared in anger. He raged to within an inch of his brother's face .

  'I know what you have been doing. Do you think I am stupid. Do you think I am an imbecile?'

  His brother was on his knees now, clutching the blade. Saskia was trying to break free of the guards.

  'Always trying to get one over on me. I gave you everything. I took you in when you had nothing. I gave you a home.'

  'Brother...' Coben's voice was weak.

  'Brother?' Saskia creased her face in shock.

  'I know that it was you who let that prisoner go. I know you got a horse. I know you helped him.'

  Coben was on the floor, covered in blood. But still the wrath of the king continued.

  'You betrayed me—and this is what happens to those who betray.'

  Atilus was marched forward.

  Saskia stood rigid, rooted to the spot. Why was Atilus here?

  The king stood up. He wiped the sweat from his brow and straightened his apparel. 'Ah, young man. How have you liked your time in the iron rooms?'

  Atilus struggled and tried to shout out, but the tight wadding around his mouth stopped his frantic words.

  'Now, now, two months is nothing compared to what other traitors have had.' The sinister smile spread across the king's face.

  Coben was still hanging onto the blade. If he took it out now, the blood would flow. But Segan wanted him alive, for just a bit longer—to hear everything that he had to say .

  'This little guy told me what you did.' The king looked at the bedraggled boy; tethered, bound, gagged.

  'He betrayed his family for freedom.' Hezekiah cocked his head and sneered at the trembling figure before him. Then looked down at Coben.

  'I don't like traitors. I don't like people who betray family for their own ends.'

  His sword went straight through the young lad's body. Atilus crumpled to the floor and died instantly. Hezekiah then sucked the sword out of the corpse and plunged it into his brother.

  She thought of Vlavos. She saw him dying at the hands of the blade. She thought of Coben. She had grown to love him like a father. She screamed again. The power surged through her veins, she roared like a warrior summoning all the strength she had.

  The king turned round—shocked, aghast. He wasn't expecting this from a woman. His mouth was wide open in bewilderment. She broke free of her constraints and in a blur of speed, she withdrew her knife and plunged it into Hezekiah's heart. Then she swung round and sliced the jugular of the guards behind her.

  The king fell on top of his brother. The two guards were dead before they hit the ground.

  Cornelius had already worked out his line of attack and slit the throat of the guard with his back to him. He retrieved the sword quickly as another guard ran up to him. Cornelius faced the assailant, keeping his weapon locked in front of him. The sword was scarred with use, the edges splintered. The guard made the first move, yelling as he charged. Cornelius avoided the first strike but the guard pressed in to the attack forcing him back with a series of short cutting blows. Cornelius recovered his stance and they crashed together. Swords locked, hilts engaged, neither one ready to yield. Cornelius snarled and shoved his blade forward. The guard fell, his grip gone. With a quick, stiff
armed strike, Cornelius smacked the sword from his hand, sending it flying, and as the guard sprawled on his back, stood over him, pointing the tip of the blade at his throat. The deed was done quickly.

  Another guard came at him but he was soon disposed of. In the blink of an eye, Cornelius had vaulted onto a table with a dagger in his hand and sprinting down the surface, kicked the bowls and plates of food everywhere. Someone made a grab for his leg, but he kicked them unconscious. Another aimed a bow, but that was punched out of the way. He wrestled another off the bench.

  Saskia ducked as a sweep cut nearly took her in the neck. She parried her attacker, locking the man's blade into her own hilt, then threw back her head and gave a long loud roar that pulsed through the room and shocked her attacker into submission. A perfectly aimed swipe downwards ended his life. She then went on to hack a pathway through the dozen or so soldiers in front of her.

  Cornelius drove his blade into the chest of another soldier and pulled the sword free, kicking the dying man out of the way

  Another soldier came from the left, head down, straight into his ribs, the wind was knocked out of him and a low tackle took them crashing into the plinth of the falcon. The leather book, span into the air and landed by Cornelius. The bird, still tethered and hooded, squawked in fear. The attacker was on top of Cornelius, his face was sickly and desperate as he repeatedly rammed Cornelius' head on the floor. Cornelius heard the sound of sliding metal and a dagger appeared at his side. Saskia willed the life back into him from the sidelines. Cornelius grabbed the dagger and plunged it into the side of the assailant.

  He staggered to his feet. He was trembling. A past was disorientated in his mind. He heard a female voice telling him to help her. But his mind flooded with memory—with ambition—with power, with dangerous knowledge and desires. He felt the pain and twisted pleasure. He held his head as if to free himself from the images, fighting against the suffocating malevolence, struggling to escape this hold on his mind. But something forced him to see the mire of his truth. He screamed, but it was silent. Wide eyes searched for a way out, but they couldn't see. Suddenly his death played out in his mind. He was forced to remember. A recent event. One, which up till now, had been forgotten.