The Brotherhood (The Eirensgarth Chronicles Book 1)

by Philip Smith

  “Sounds good to me. Jenake be careful on your own,” Robert moved through the door. Dinendale and Woodcarver took the left, Jesnake took the middle, and Robert and Paige went right.

  “Be careful, princess,” Dinendale whispered as they parted ways, and Paige nodded at him. She drew her bow and followed Robert into the tunnel and descended into the mountain.

  ◆◆◆

  “I count three guards,” Broadside whispered, pulling his head back from around a pillar.

  “There’s probably more,” Duelmaster hissed. “There were six at the gate guarding the cistern, no way they would leave the barracks guarded with fewer men, right?”

  “I’m not sure if the three of us could take out six men, let alone more,” Twostaves said from behind the next pillar. The trio had skirted around to the south barrack where they now waited in anticipation for their jail-busting compatriots.

  “Well, we can’t exactly drag Olivian through the cistern,” Broadside whispered. “She’ll be in no shape to swim as far as we know. Remember what Din looked like when he came back?”

  “It may require a theatrical performance,” the wood sprite laughed, smugly. “But it will be a show for the ages, I guarantee it!”

  “Well, as soon as the guard changes, I’d say let them have it,” Broadside hissed. “They should be changing soon anyways.”

  They sat in the dirt twiddling their thumbs until finally the horns sounded. Duelmaster peeked his nose around the pillar and watched the guardhouse eagerly. Four men waddled out of the structure while another set staggered into the box, ridiculously out of form. Duelmaster felt a grin slide across his rugged face.

  “Well fellas, four men it is then.”

  “You ready?” Twostaves asked.

  “Give it a minute,” Broadside urged. “Let them settle in and get real tired.”

  They counted off the moments till the evening’s stillness could be trimmed as easily as a candle wick. Duelmaster took a deep breath and shook out his limbs, sheathing his rapiers temporarily.

  “Here’s to hoping this actually works,” the dryad said, drawing a bottle from inside his cloak. He splashed the remains of a foul smelling ail on his face and swished some of the brew in his mouth, nearly gagging at the flavor.

  “How do people drink this stuff? The taste alone….”

  “Duely, focus!” the little dwarf waved his arms around frantically.

  The dryad nodded. “Right,” he heaved, taking a slight bow to his brothers. “It has been an honor serving with you all.”

  “Just make it back to us in one piece, aye?” Twostaves clasped the dryad’s shoulder. Duelmaster’s eyes twinkled as his signature grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. He staggered towards the door of the palace gates. He swayed, even though it was unnatural for him to be off balance. He got within four paces of the barred wood doors, then sang an old ballad completely off key.

  “Come lads, have a drink,

  And dance atop benches,

  Ignore soldiers and King,

  And their foully stenches!”

  He gave the bottle in his hand a swig and hurled it at the barracks door. It splintered glass as it crashed. Duelmaster continued his shouting monotone.

  “Give to me a broken spoon,

  And a shield of ham shank,

  I’ll whip the whole Shaud army,

  And cook them in my cake!”

  Two guards hustled out, quickly putting their helmets on. They ran at what they perceived to be a drunken man with raised spears and annoyed expressions.

  “How in the name of Shah did you get inside the gate?” one of them shook his fist.

  Duelmaster looked at them with rolling eyes, pasting on a goofy smile. “Hey! You’re soldiers!” he said, stumbling into one of them. “I like soldiers! We’re gonna be great friends, you and I!”

  The soldier shook him off quickly. Duelmaster stumbled to the ground and lay on his back, looking at the Shauds with the goofy smile still plastered on his face.

  “How did you get in here?” the first guard repeated angrily, thrusting a spearhead at the stumbling dryad.

  “Relax, Hadarack,” the fatter guard yawned. “He’s just a drunk, probably stumbled in before the gates were shut.”

  Duelmaster sneaked a look past the two guards and saw the other two huddled in the gatehouse. A large hulking black mass moved in the shadows to his right, and one of the soldiers turned. Knowing Twostaves would be impossible to miss, the dryad acted fast to snag the guards attention back.

  “She LEFT ME,” he wailed, suddenly changing from the happy drunk to the sobbing sot. He fell to his knees and held his arms out as if looking for a comforting embrace. “She LEFT me, OH! How did I not see it coming?”

  “Shut up!” the man kicked Duelmaster in the foot. “Shut up!”

  “Oh, WHY? He was a banana merchant! What did I say? Was I not a-peal-ing enough?” Duelmaster continued to wail.

  “Oh, let him sit and sob.” The fat guard lit a rolled tobacco leaf with a match. “The sorry drunk isn’t in shape to hurt anyone, even if he was inclined to.”

  But before Duelmaster could stop him, Twostaves was sneaking up behind the unsuspecting smoker. The thin guard turned.

  “Intruders!” the man yelled. “We have a…”

  Duelmaster kicked out his foot with a snap, connecting with the back of the man’s leg. The soldier’s legs buckled, and he crashed to his knees. The fat guard whirled around facing a hulking Twostaves.

  Duelmaster heard shouts behind him, “Gradhrahal!” He immediately complied with the order and ducked his head to the left as a small bolt whizzed inches over his head. Although it was no time for contemplation, Duelmaster couldn’t help but think about how horribly the dwarves, as a race, slaughtered the elvish language. Geyahal, or “ Look out” was such a simple word, yet the dwarf continued to butcher it with his nasty guttural sounds.

  The shaft of the arrow sunk deep into the fat man’s tunic, making a clinking sound as it sank through the chain mail. The man cried out as he crashed to the ground. The first guard struggled back to his feet and drew his curved scimitar. With a resonating grinding sound, the steel scraped against its steel scabbard. Two more guards ran out of the guardhouse.

  “Help! Forghadra hal addi!” he shouted in Shaudar, the ancient language of the Shauds. Duelmaster leapt up and pulled out his knife, his face bereft of its grin.

  The first soldier rushed him with a shout. Duelmaster cried out as the scimitar sliced through his robe and cut deep into his right arm. The dryad stumbled back, hot blood pumping dark green from the open gash. The Shaud drove his free hand into Duelmaster’s stomach with a sickening thud. The dryad hit the earth with a crunch, gasping to reclaim the wind that had been ripped from his lungs when the metal gauntleted fist connected with his leather jerkin.

  Thinking quickly, Duelmaster reached into his belt and felt the small sack he’d taken from the supply wagon two days prior. He ripped the drawstring open and flung the black powder contents into the face of the oncoming attacker.

  The powder flew into the man’s face, and he cried out as the sulfur burned his eyes. Duelmaster kicked him back to the ground. The guard scrambled in the dust around the dead Shaud; he staggered to his feet, and charged the dryad in a blind rage.

  Duelmaster leapt to meet the soldier, driving a still smouldering tobacco wad into the man’s face. The powder residue ignited like a vat of whale oil. The man screamed in pain as fire engulfed his head and helm. He dropped his sword, smashing his hands against his face to put out the smouldering flames. Wasting no time, Duelmaster drove the man into the courtyard steps and beat his helmet into the stone until his body stilled.

  “Awe, acorns,” Duelmaster cursed, hearing the shouting of men echoing across the green.

  “We need to get out of here,” Broadside snapped, running up behind the bloody dryad. The trio looked up to see guards on all the surrounding battlements rousing out of guard houses. Noise blended with shouts an
d glances into the barracks and parade field.

  “They’re waking the whole bloody garrison,” Broadside snapped.

  Twostaves dropped the Shaud he’d just finished choking to the point of unconsciousness. “We have to do something,” worry etched his every word. “We’ve lost the element of surprise.”

  “Aye, but perhaps we can let the others keep theirs intact,” Duelmaster said, blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes. It stuck to his cheek which was sticky with his own blood. The dryad quickly ripped the hem of his shirt and used his teeth to tie a makeshift bandage around his arm.

  “What are you suggesting?” Twostaves asked.

  “We need to draw the guard out from the palace,” the dryad said, looking at several soldiers with torches in hand hurrying to the steps on both walls, descending like ants upon a carcass.

  “Ah, time to whip up a few tricks, you think?” The dwarf’s eyes glinted.

  “It’s never not a time to whip up tricks Broadside,” Duelmaster chuckled. “Twostaves, think you can get these gates to stay open?”

  “Is a dragon's fanny-” Twostaves began.

  “Not the time!” Broadside shouted.

  The giant nodded. “The gate will be open. No worries. You two get to work with those tricks. I’ll make sure the escape route is open.”

  “Great. Duely, to the stables?” Broadside asked.

  “Aye. I hope Dinendale knows what he’s doing,” the dryad said, tossing aside his cloak and drawing his rapiers. “Otherwise this is going to be a much longer night than I wanted it to be.”

  ◆◆◆

  Paige and Robert quietly inched down the corridor. Only a few torches remained lit in the long halls; the only other light was the dull green shine from the stone Woodcarver had given them. Thick oak doors were spaced every so often along the passageway, each bearing a gold plaque with writing Paige couldn’t read.

  “What are they? Cells?” Paige asked, hopeful. Robert shook his head, taking a torch from a peg in the wall.

  “Hardly. They’re rooms of state. That one says Map Room and that one says Archives.” He stopped at a turn in the hallway, and peeked around the corner.

  “There’s a stairway,” he said beckoning to Paige to follow. “Stay close. It’s a horrible choke point.”

  They walked around the corner to the stone stairway, with Robert’s spear shining in the green light as it led the way. The crude stairs looked to be newly constructed granite, spiraling up several stories. The steps were wide enough for four men to walk abreast of each other. Paige and Robert moved quietly, their leather clad feet padding softly on the stone steps.

  “You really think the dungeon is up a flight of stares?” Paige asked.

  “Well, it’s carved into the mountain,” Robert replied. “I just have no idea where in the mountain the door might be. For all we know it could be at the top floor of the palace.”

  “What do we do if she’s not up here?” Paige asked.

  “We’ll meet up with the others. We’re not leaving here without her.” He suddenly turned to her.

  “Paige, just in case we don’t get through this,” he stammered. “I need you to know something.”

  Paige felt a slight ache in the pit of her stomach. “Don’t talk like that. We’re going to be just fine.”

  “I know, but on the off chance something were to happen… that is to say… I want you to know...”

  Whatever he was trying to say, he couldn’t seem to find the words. Paige felt the ache in her stomach grow. She felt as if she’d swallowed something so sour that it was putting her entire body on edge.

  “Spill it Robert,” Paige hissed. “We don’t have all night.”

  He closed his eyes and nodded.

  “I just want you to know I consider you the best friend I’ve had in a long time, and I care a lot about you….”

  “Robert!”

  Eöl’s cheeks flushed. “No, princess, please let me finish.”

  “No, idiot,” Paige said, pointing up.

  Robert turned to see the light of a torch descending down the staircase. Robert shoved the green stone onto the stairs, both hands gripping his spear. The light approached, and they could hear nasal, fast-paced chatter. Robert threw up his hood as a lone man rounded the stairwell.

  “And just who does he think he is! Am I supposed to make him a papaya salad in the middle of the night? I mean do I look like a chef? Yet he says ‘Marco! Fetch me a salad,’ as if I were his slave. No sir. I prefer the term ‘bonded for the foreseeable lifetime,’” the man mumbled. He was of a dark skin, with long black hair and big bulging eyes. He wore a shockingly bright coat with every color of the rainbow and a cylindrical hat of the same material. He was skinny as a yew sapling; he held a candle in one hand and an empty plate in the other.

  Paige’s heart thundered in her ears. This was it. They were going to be found out. She gripped the hairpin till her knuckles popped.

  Robert wasted no time. He jumped up the stairwell and threw his weight into the slender slave who landed flat on his backside.

  “Hey now!” the man pouted. “Watch where you’re going!”

  “What are you doing up at this hour wandering the hallway?” Robert barked authoritatively. The man looked puzzled as he pulled himself up.

  “He wants a pomegranate salad for a tummy ache. ‘Go fetch a salad Marco,’ he says, and then throws a chair at me. A chair! Why not? That’s what normal people do right? Try and high-five the servants in the face with a chair? Well, I’ll take my own sweet time making his salad and hope he gets indigestion. Where am I even supposed to find a papaya out here? We live in a glorified cave in the middle of nowhere just before winter!”

  “Oh shut up will you!” Robert growled. The man looked him up and down and then past him to Paige, and his expression changed.

  “Wait, who are-” he started to say, but Robert threw his hand against the man’s thin chest and shoved him against the turret wall. He pulled back a heavy fist and slammed it into the servant’s pointed jaw so hard, the man spun round a full turn before crumpling to the ground, snuffed out like the candle he dropped.

  “That was way too close,” Robert said with a shaky breath, picking up the green stone out of his pocket. He grabbed a handkerchief and shoved it into the man’s mouth, taking his woven belt off his thin waist and tying his spindly hands behind his back.

  “Tell me about it. Let’s go check out the top of the stairs before he wakes up,” Paige urged. They climbed up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  The top landing opened to a long hallway curving sharply to the left. They rounded the corner to see another hall lined by lit torches and a single door at the end. The gigantic slabs of iron-studded wood was inlaid with the gold engraving of a snake. Elegant silver lettering scrolled around the frame, glittering in the torchlight. They approached it apprehensively.

  “I… I don’t think this is the dungeon,” Paige said with a sinking feeling in her gut.

  “Hey, Paige?” Robert asked quietly. “Did that nutcase say who he was getting a salad for?”

  “No, but you know what I think?”

  “What?”

  “I think we need to leave right now,” Paige said, backing up towards the stairs.

  “I agree. Let’s go,” Robert said, following suit.

  Just as they turned their backs, the door opened, slamming against the wall. Wind howled through the corridor, filling the hallway. Torches extinguished. Paige blinked in the dim hallway, her bow drawn and ready for action.

  It was deathly still for a moment till a crawling chuckle echoed in the stone hallway. It sent a chill down Paige’s spine and made her heart freeze within her bosom. A shadowy figure slithered into the edge of the green light, a pair of cruel eyes catching just enough glint to shine like sharpened obsidian.

  “Oh, but I have been waiting so long for you to stop by, my friends!”

  The sinister voice chuckled as its owner stepped into the light. Paige felt
her grip tighten on the bow as she pulled it back to her cheek at full draw. She saw the golden intertwined snake-crown resting atop the young man’s head. He smiled in the magical stone’s light as he stared them down. His eyes glinted with the same intense hatred Paige remembered the night he’d taken everything from her.

  “The prince!” she whispered.

  Chapter 19

  Blackest of Prisons

  Dinendale felt a bead of sweat forming on his upper lip. His hands shook slightly. The fewer numbers were a risk, and he wasn’t happy about that. It also increased the odds that they would be discovered. When he escaped Aschin before, this building had only been about half constructed. Now he felt as if a tomb had swallowed him. Try as he might, he couldn’t push out the nagging fear that, if this rescue went south, he could once again become a slave in this forsaken place. He ground his teeth thinking about it and just decided he’d have to trust the others to keep out of sight.