The Vale: Behind The Vale

by Brian D. Anderson

  Drake sprang up and ran headlong down the other side of the hill. Quickly, he searched the bodies. No keys or anything else useful. He regretted the need to kill these men, but he couldn’t risk having them alive at his back. There was no telling how long it would take to find the prince, and should they wake up while he was still here, that could mean trouble. Of course, a bit of information from them would have been useful.

  “I must be slipping,” he muttered.

  Inside the shack was a four-foot-square steel trapdoor set into the ground. A mana pad was placed on a raised panel just beside it. Definitely slipping. He could have used one of those men alive. Too late now. He didn’t have enough corrosive to burn through, so this left him with only one option.

  He aimed his P37 at the mana pad. This would open the door, sure. But it would also probably alert everyone inside that he was coming. The burning in his chest increased as the power flowed into him. He shut his eyes and concentrated. In truth, the P37 wasn’t really made for this sort of magic. But you learned to improvise when you were a hawker.

  An instant before Drake fired, there was a loud beep and then a rush of air as the door began to swing upward. He instinctively backed away. A moment later, a young lad of no more than fifteen years stepped out carrying a covered tray, preceded by the scent of steamed vegetables and cooked beef. With his attention focused firmly on his feet as he stepped cautiously over the lip of the door, the boy didn’t notice Drake at first.

  Drake leveled his weapon and waited until the youth’s eyes raised. When they did, the tray immediately fell to the ground, scattering its contents. For a long moment the boy simply stood there, seemingly paralyzed with shock.

  He wasn’t about to kill a kid. But he sure would scare the hell out of him. “Don’t move,” Drake ordered in his toughest voice.

  Ignoring this, the boy suddenly jerked into life. He reached for his belt, and Drake saw the glint of a handgun. Rushing in, he grabbed at the boy’s wrist. To his surprise, he was struck twice on the cheek before he could wrestle him to the ground.

  The boy was still determinedly trying to reach for the gun. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Drake shouted.

  “Help! Intruder! Help!”

  It was easy enough for Drake to overpower him. Wrenching the weapon away, he tossed it to one side, though letting go with one hand earned him a few more punches. Fortunately, the boy wasn’t nearly strong enough to cause any real damage.

  He quickly shifted his knees and sat heavily on the boy’s stomach. This promptly took the wind out of him, yet still he struggled. Drake pressed the barrel of the P37 to his head.

  “I would rather not kill you,” he said. “But I will if you make me.”

  “Go ahead,” the boy spat.

  “Look, kid. All I want is to know where the prince is being held. Tell me and I’ll let you walk out of here alive.”

  “Fuck you. Pull the trigger. You’ll never get to him.”

  Drake groaned. “Listen to me. There’s courage, and then there’s just plain stupidity. Do you really want to die?”

  The boy said nothing. He just kept glaring at him defiantly.

  Drake shrugged. “Fine. Have it your way.”

  He squeezed the trigger and the boy went rigid for a second, then fell limp. After checking his pulse, Drake let out a sigh of relief. Still alive. Though this one would definitely need to be tied and gagged.

  The sound of fast-approaching footsteps coming from below reached him. They must have heard the boy’s shouts. He shot up and ran from the shack, taking up a position just outside. The echoes from the corridor masked the number of people coming.

  The first figure emerged up to shoulder level with a large caliber revolver poised and ready in his hand. His eyes darted over to where the boy still lay.

  “Tomis is down,” he called back.

  “Get inside and close the door!” shouted another voice.

  Before the first man could respond to this order, Drake fired with eyes closed. The flare exploded with a deep thump immediately above the open trapdoor. Cries of panic erupted as the blinding flash and massive concussion ripped down into the hideout. Drake opened his eyes and rushed back inside the shack.

  The first man, dressed in blue coveralls, was still half in and half out of the opening. His mouth was hanging in utter shock, his red raw eyes shot wide, as he clung desperately to the trapdoor for support. Without hesitating, Drake fired a round into his chest. The man’s grip on the door instantly fell away, and he tumbled down the flight of metal stairs he’d been standing on. Drake followed him below.

  Three more men were at the bottom, roughly ten feet down, screaming and cursing, the nearest one bleeding profusely from both ears. Drake shot twice more, then hurried over to the remaining man who had been standing further back from where the flare had exploded.

  Drake threw his shoulder into the man’s gullet and slammed him into the wall. He then glanced over to his left to note that there was a long corridor with a number of metal doors evenly spaced on either side. It ended in a set of double doors about a hundred feet away.

  He struck the survivor sharply in the temple with his elbow. This was more than enough to quell any resistance, and the weapon he had been holding dropped harmlessly to the floor. Drake then forced him down and onto his back.

  “Tell me where the prince is,” he demanded. For a moment, he thought perhaps he had hit him too hard. “Talk, if you want to live.”

  The man shook his head. His eyes were open, though from the way they moved about it was clear that he was still blind. “You’ll never get there,” he said.

  “That’s not your problem. Just tell me where he is.”

  “Two levels down. In a holding cell near the far end.”

  Just as he spoke, the double doors at the far end flew open to reveal an older woman wearing the same blue coveralls as the others. Drake spun his victim around just as a stream of green mana sprang from her hands in his direction. His human shield screamed in agony as the spell seared his flesh. Drake fired back, sending a coil of white light spinning toward the woman. The mage tried to counter the attack, but her reaction was too slow. The light wrapped itself around her body, pinning her arms to her side. At the same time, the stricken man was flailing about wildly. Drake ended his suffering with a shot between the eyes.

  The mage was still chanting feverishly in a desperate attempt to dispel the magic binding her when Drake drew close. A grin formed as he clicked the switch above the handle on his P37 twice and then squeezed the trigger. In an instant, the mage froze completely motionless, her face still contorted into a mask of pure fury and hatred. She had likely never encountered a weapon like the P37 before. Mages were an arrogant lot, unable to fathom that a non-magic user could ever be their match. Too bad this one didn’t know whom she was dealing with.

  The mage was still trying to mumble her spell. “Don’t bother,” Drake told her. “If I fire once more, you’re dead. Now tell me, how many are coming?” He placed his finger on the trigger and weakened the spell enough to allow her to speak. The pain in his chest doubled as the mana re-entered his body, causing a wave of nausea to wash over him. Drawing power back from a mage was always unpleasant, something for which he could never really prepare himself.

  “You’re royal guard?” she asked.

  “I was.” He peered through the double doors – another long corridor identical to the first one. “Now, quickly. Tell me who’s coming and I’ll only knock you out.”

  “No one,” she replied. “There isn’t anyone else on this level.”

  Drake chuckled. “You know, I never did care very much for mages. They lie when the truth would serve them better. And you are definitely not improving my opinion of them.”

  Raising his weapon to her eye level, he placed his finger ominously on the trigger. “Last chance to be straight with me.” He jerked his head over his shoulder to where the man hit by her spell lay. “Believe me, what you did to him will be
heaven compared to what this will do.”

  Fear showed in her eyes. “I have your word you won’t kill me?”

  “That all depends on what you tell me.”

  After an extended moment, she nodded her agreement. “Six more men are waiting in the last room at the end of the hall.”

  “And how do I get to the holding cell from here?”

  Surprise registered. “You’re here for the prince?”

  “That matters?”

  “Why would you want to save that pig? Do you realize what he’s done? And what more he’ll do if he ever gets free?”

  “I don’t care. Just tell me.”

  Her jaw tightened and she looked again at Drake’s finger poised to deliver pain and death. “It’s simple. End of the hall and take a left. You’ll find the stairs. Two levels down, turn right.”

  “That’s it? A bit vague, don’t you think?”

  “They’re waiting for you. You’ll never make it to the cell.”

  “I see. So I just follow where all the bullets are coming from.”

  Drake could see the last room positioned on the right-hand side of the corridor. Very deliberately so that the woman could see him doing it, he altered the spell, changing its light to a pale green. Just before he fired, a thought occurred.

  “You didn’t think I was here for the prince, did you?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “What then?”

  “Vex crystals.”

  Drake furrowed his brow. “Why on Vale would I want those?”

  When there was no answer forthcoming, he squeezed the trigger. The mage let out a muffled groan as the spell did its work. Very quickly she became limp and crumpled to the floor. After gasping twice, she then became perfectly still.

  Drake lowered his head and sighed. “Sorry. But I can’t risk having you at my back either.”

  He hated killing women. And even after living in the provinces for all these years, he was still uncomfortable about lying. But at least it had been more or less painless compared to what he could have done to her. He reminded himself that, given the chance, she would have roasted him alive.

  Pushing these thoughts from his head, he crouched low and took aim at the six mana bulbs fixed into the ceiling. Each burst with a sharp pop, leaving the hall in complete darkness. As soon as the last one was extinguished, he edged forward with his back pressed against the right wall until reaching the door immediately before the one the mage had indicated. Once inside, he could see it was a sparsely furnished office containing just a desk, a few cabinets, and an outmoded holoplayer shoved into one corner. He pressed his ear to the wall. A muffled cough told him that they were indeed waiting for him in the next room. Likely they would have burst out as he passed by.

  He crossed to the far wall and pointed his P37 low. After four quick shots, he exited the office and threw himself flat on the passage floor. The explosion that quickly followed sent the doors to both the office and the room where the men were waiting flying from their hinges and crashing into the opposite wall. Through the dust falling from the ceiling in great clouds, he could see flames spewing from the room. The screams of dying men and the crackle of furnishings being consumed tore through the air, though the screams fell silent after less than a minute.

  Drake waited until the flames had receded before continuing to the end of the hall, pausing only briefly to glance inside the last room where the wall had been blasted inward from the other side. Six bodies were strewn about, their coveralls burned away and their flesh scorched black.

  Poor bastards.

  Following the directions given to him by the mage, he came to the stairs. They were situated beside a lift, a light above indicating that it was currently on his level. He grinned inwardly. Perfect. He used this to descend just one level and then peered out. Off to his right several yards away was a heavy looking door with the word station written in bright yellow letters. Right next to this was another door, this one held open by a stop at the bottom.

  The sinews in his legs erupted, propelling him in this direction. He raced up to the open door, glancing inside before spinning around and heading back toward the lift. As he’d suspected: another trap. A burst of gunfire reverberated down the corridor in response to his fleeting appearance. Dozens of bullets ricocheted off the stone wall, but such was the speed of his movement that he was already well away from the line of fire.

  They obviously hadn’t expected to encounter him here. Drake figured they had been waiting for him to reach the next level and then attack from behind. A good plan. Or it would have been if he were just some guy trying to steal vex crystals…for whatever reason.

  From his brief look, he reckoned on about fifteen armed men, each wearing shaded goggles. Smart. But not smart enough. Once back at the lift, he stopped and turned. The heat rose in his chest as he prepared a powerful shot. He needed to be precise…and very careful. He could hear orders being barked. Within seconds, they would be coming out after him.

  “Did you see how many?” shouted a voice.

  “I only saw one,” came a reply.

  “Could be a trap,” suggested another.

  It made sense that they should wonder about the number of intruders. What kind of fool would attack this facility alone? They were probably thinking it was a large group of magistrate’s men or the royal guard. The explosions from upstairs would have furthered that assumption. By the time they realized he was alone, it would be too late.

  He fired at the floor halfway between himself and the open door. A fist-sized red ball of gelatinous fluid sprang out and landed on target, where it wobbled around for a second before splitting itself in two. Drake wished he could see the confused looks on their faces as the two balls then split into four, and then again to become eight, now forming a line right across the width of the corridor. This was one of his favorite spells, though one that he rarely had the opportunity to use.

  Thick clouds of pink smoke began issuing from each ball until it formed a dense fog. At the same time, Drake heard the pounding of a lone pair of boots drawing near. One of the men had rushed blindly forward. Fool. There was a gasp of someone catching their breath, and then a thin man with short-cropped blond hair came stumbling into view through the smoke, screaming as it clung to his face and began eating away at his flesh. Barely had he appeared when he spun around and headed back in the direction of his comrades. His screaming reached a frenzied crescendo...then he went silent.

  Drake focused another shot. This one need not be very powerful: a simple gust of air. The fog cloud slowly drifted toward the remaining men, settling to about waist high as it went. The shouts of fear and trampling of retreating boots told him that it had worked. The spell would only be lethal for about five minutes, but they wouldn’t know that. The smoke would linger for at least an hour, the spell having been crafted to resist being sucked up by ventilation. The poor soul who had made himself an example came into view. Now motionless on the floor, there was nothing left of him but a few chunks of bloody meat clinging to bone. A painful way to die.

  Drake did not waste time dwelling on this. Crossing to the lift, he drew his blade and used it to pry open the door. A service ladder was fixed to the shaft wall. Looking down, he frowned. The next level below was the last. He had been hoping to go down one further than that and then climb back up.

  “I guess you’ll be blasting your way through instead,” he muttered. At least they wouldn’t be expecting him to arrive that way. As the lift had not moved, most of them would be watching the stairs.

  He climbed down until able to stand on the lip of the lift door at the bottom, the steady hum of machinery masking any slight sound he might have made in his descent. Using the ladder to steady himself, he found the release for the door and eased it open a few inches. Through this he could make out a massive chamber with a series of black cylinders placed in neat rows, each one five feet tall and roughly half that in diameter. The rear wall was about one hundred yards away, bu
t he could not yet get a good look to either side.

  He widened the opening. He needed to know exactly where they were, otherwise…

  A bullet pinged off the door, answering his question. More rounds rapidly followed, forcing him back onto the ladder. The gunfire ceased, and he could hear muffled shouts. This was not good. It would take them only a few seconds to work out what they should do. Holstering his weapon, he began to climb. But it was already too late.

  The whir of the motor came to life and the cables began to move. He had just a few seconds before being crushed by the lift above.

  Drake spotted a small crawl space covered by a metal grate just below where he was. But the grate was bolted, and right at this moment his P37 wasn’t charged enough to blast apart the lock securing it. He let loose half a dozen quick shots anyway, but as expected, they did only minor damage.

  “Fuck!”

  There was only one alternative. Reaching out, he jerked the lift door fully open and dived through, throwing himself flat as quickly as possible. Still not quickly enough. Pain shot through his stomach and shoulder as bullets found their mark. Large caliber…they were penetrating, though he couldn’t be sure yet how deeply. He returned fire, blindly at first. Then he spotted a dozen men knelt behind a row of toppled tables.

  The nearest line of cylinders was only a few feet away. As he scrambled toward these, another round struck his right thigh, very nearly sending him back to the floor. Somehow he made it all the way, though not before yet another bullet had grazed his neck.

  More rounds pummeled the cylinder now shielding him. A thought flashed through his mind. If these things were filled with vex crystals, they wouldn’t be shooting at them…would they?

  A door flew open on the opposite side of the chamber and more men ran in. Blood was now soaking his arm and pouring down his stomach. The wounds burned like hell, but he had little choice other than to fight on. It was either that or simply give up and die. Channeling power into the P37, he loosed six shots at the newcomers. Blue light streaked across the room, erupting into a wall of flames only a few feet ahead of them and halting their advance.