by Sam Ferguson
“Khefir will have you first,” Murdok promised. A quick jerk of his hands and the man’s neck snapped in two. The soldier convulsed only a couple more times, and then his body was still.
Murdok bolted down the remaining stairs to the ground level. Keeping close to the wall, hoping that none of the traitors would see him, he sprinted hard for the gate house. He kept an eye out for other city guardsmen, but he saw none. Only a few people were out and about in this part of town. In was dusk, and everyone was hustling to get home before the new curfew that Councilor Bahn had set when he took over as the temporary governor.
He stopped in the doorway of the gatehouse, bracing himself with his right hand to keep from sliding beyond. His left hand shot down for the knob and he started to twist it. The brass ball didn’t budge.
“Locked,” Murdok muttered. He looked around frantically. No guards were at the base, and he knew the windlass was kept high inside the gatehouse to prevent anyone from tampering with it. If he could not get inside, then his task was hopeless.
He raced across the gateway to test the other door leading into the gatehouse. It too was locked. He situated his belt and moved his sword to rest behind his buttocks, then he moved to the wall. The smooth stones had only a minimal gap between them, and none of them jutted out far enough for any significant handhold. He brushed his fingertips against his pants and then slid them over the wall, looking for anything he could use to drag himself up. At last he did find just enough of a gap to create a handhold. Up he went, slowly scanning the wall for additional crevices or jutting stones. He didn’t get very far though. About ten feet above the ground, the wall became as smooth as a sheer, polished slab of granite. There was nothing else for him to hold onto.
His fingers began to shake and quiver, and then he slid down the wall, nearly skinning his palms as he fell back to the ground. He slapped his hand against the wall and cursed it. Another thought came to him. If he could warn the Rangers, then the city might stand a chance. They could alert the guard.
He bolted down the street toward the dungeon. He knew he wouldn’t arrive there before the army entered the gate, but it was his only chance at realistically saving Rasselin. His heart pounded within his chest as his feet struck the ground heavily with each running step forward. He put his hand down to his sword to keep it from slapping his legs or tripping him up, making for an awkward run where he pumped his left arm and right shoulder, instead of using both arms for momentum.
When at last he finally made it to the dungeon he saw two city guardsmen standing before the door. One of them looked at Murdok and stepped forward. “What is the matter?” he asked.
“Open the door, I must speak with the Rangers,” Murdok shouted back.
“What is this fuss then?” the second guard chimed in.
Murdok didn’t stop. He ran straight through them both, knocking one to his butt and the other to the wall. He didn’t even pause long enough to apologize, he just tore the door open and kept running inside. As he entered the long hallway he stopped to catch his breath and look at the doors on either side. He knew the stairs at the end of the hall before him led to the dungeons below, but he couldn’t remember which door was the correct one to find the Rangers. One was for the interrogation cell, and the other was for a large hall. He decided to try the one on the right. He opened it and found nothing but a chair and empty shackles in the room.
Murdok turned and went in through the other door. By this time, the two guards from the entry were running in after him, shouting and hollering something, but he wasn’t listening. He pushed the door open and saw a long, rectangular hall with a single long table in the center of it. At the opposite end of the hall was another door, which was closed. At the head of the table sat a single man, eyes closed and a glass of wine in his right hand.
Murdok rushed in and stopped a few paces away from the man. The man opened his eyes slowly and then lifted his head from the back of the chair to look directly at Murdok. He slowly set the glass down upon the table and drummed with his left fingers. He drew in a deep breath and then leaned forward, placing his black goateed chin upon his clasped hands as he peered at Murdok. “I do not wish to be disturbed,” he said simply.
“I am sorry, but I need to inform you that there is going to be an attack,” Murdok said.
In came the two guards from the entry. “Sorry, Ranger Diggs, but he slipped in. We’ll get him out.”
Diggs waved them off with a flip of his left hand and then pushed back from the table.
“Go back outside,” Diggs commanded. The two guards saluted and left just as quickly as they had come in, closing the door behind them.
“Sir, I am serious,” Murdok insisted.
“Yes,” Diggs said with a nod as he rose from the table. “I am sure you are.”
“You have to alert the other Rangers, Tehrigg has turned on us, and even now he marches to our gates with an enemy force of thousands.”
Diggs brought his hands in together and cracked his knuckles. Then he stretched his arms before pulling a blood-encrusted sword from its scabbard. “There are no more Rangers,” Diggs said. “A new day has come. Only those willing to wait out the night will live to see the dawn,” he said cryptically. “Tell me, guardsman, do you understand when it is time to lie down and let the darkness overtake the world? Or are you bound to fight the twilight?”
Murdok backed away, not fully understanding what was happening. He kept his gaze on the reddish-brown blade that Diggs held in his hand. “You killed them all?” Murdok asked. In alarm he drew his own blade and shook his head. “Why would you do that?” he whispered.
Diggs chuckled. “Because, like you, they did not see the good of change.”
“I will not betray our people,” Murdok said, backing away slowly.
“Then you shall die, as did the others.” Diggs lunged forward with lightning-fast speed.
Murdok barely lifted his sword in time to deflect the Ranger’s blade. Diggs sent a heavy kick to Murdok’s stomach, causing the man to stumble back. Then the Ranger jumped and kicked Murdok in the face. Murdok’s nose crumpled under the blow and blood began to fly through the air as Murdok sailed to the floor and landed on his back.
“Pathetic,” Diggs chided as he moved in with his sword raised high.
Murdok hooked his ankle around a chair and flipped it into the Ranger’s way. The chair didn’t cause any damage, but it slowed the Ranger enough that Murdok was able to roll under the sturdy table and out of reach. Murdok crawled to the other side, but he heard a heavy wathump atop the table. A blade flashed down between a pair of chairs in front of him, and Murdok stopped short.
“Come on out,” Diggs said. “Fight me like a man, or are you only a dog, crawling under the master’s table and begging for scraps!”
Murdok turned and tried to crawl the opposite way. No sooner did he near the edge of the table than a blade stabbed down in front of him again.
“I can do this all day,” Diggs shouted from above.
Murdok looked to the end of the table. He rolled to it. This time he wasn’t careful about making noise. He slid his feet up under him, planted his hands firmly against the ground, and his shoulders up to the table. This time, when the blade stabbed down, Murdok shot up with all of his strength. The table flipped up, creaking and groaning under the strain. Diggs stumbled and then fell into the middle of the long table. The wood splintered and the table snapped in half. Murdok kept driving his half up until the piece he held flipped over backward.
He then whirled around with sword at the ready. The table half slammed down atop Diggs.
“Son of a biff,” Diggs mumbled as the wood sandwiched him. Diggs was struggling to get out from under it. Murdok jumped atop the broken furniture and drove it down with all of his might.
“Gargh!” Diggs shouted.
Murdok jumped again, and then he stomped the table with as much force as he could muster. The table shifted under him, and he could feel that Diggs was positionin
g the table half to throw it off. Murdok leapt out to the side. A moment later, Diggs threw the splintered slab of wood toward the door. At that moment, with the Ranger’s sword on the ground next to him and his arms fully extended from throwing the table, Murdok came in with a single thrust, perfectly aimed at Digg’s chest. The blade slipped in between two ribs and stopped only as it went out the back and jammed into the other table half underneath Diggs, pinning him to the table like some sort of morbid butterfly in a collection. The Ranger’s eyes went wide and his hips arched up, struggling against the sword. When that didn’t help, he reached out and grabbed his sword. He swung it clumsily and glared at Murdok.
Murdok released his sword, unable to free it without risking being caught by Diggs’ sword.
“Come on, dog,” Diggs growled.
Murdok grabbed a nearby chair and brought it down with all of his strength. The wood cracked and broke apart as it smashed Diggs’ sword arm into the ground. The Ranger squirmed and moaned. He coughed up a bit of blood and then went still.
Murdok grabbed another chair, but then stopped when he realized that Digg’s upper arm now bent in ninety degrees about halfway between the shoulder and elbow. The sword arm was useless now. Murdok bent down and pried the Ranger’s sword from his grip. Diggs grunted, but he didn’t cry out. He just kept his icy blue eyes locked on Murdok.
“This sword is a Ranger sword,” Murdok said. “It is only given to those found worthy to join the Rangers.” Murdok turned the blood-stained blade over in his hands. “As you have dishonored it, I shall restore its honor.”
Diggs continued to stare into Murdok’s eyes. Murdok moved in and placed a foot on Diggs’ chest, near where his sword rested. The guardsman held up Diggs’ sword and then brought it down in one clean chop. Diggs’ head rolled free. The eyes still stared out, but now the fire was gone from them.
He wiped his new sword on Diggs’ pants and then left the way he had come in.
The two guards were waiting for him outside on the street.
“Are you loyal to Rasselin?” Murdok asked coldly.
The two guards glanced to each other and then back to Murdok. “Of course,” they said in unison.
“Then come with me, we are under attack and we need to raise the guard.”
“By what authority?” one of them asked.
“By the Rangers of Rasselin.” Murdok held up the sword and the two guards nodded slowly.
“What about Diggs?” one of the guards asked.
“He is unable to join us at the moment, but gave me his sword to show that I have the right to send you away from your posts. Go, find as many of the guard as you can. An army is coming to the gates, and will soon…” Murdok’s words trailed off and he stared down the street. “Oh by the Gods,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
The other two guards followed his gaze and similarly muttered under their breaths.
“They’re already inside,” Murdok said. “Go, now, GO! Find the others!” The two guards dropped their halberds and sprinted down nearby streets to find other guardsmen.
Murdok stood still and looked down the street he had been running on only a matter of minutes ago. Now, a horde of horsemen rode upon the street killing any who dared exit their homes or shops. Tehrigg was not among them, and all of them wore Shausmatian colors.
Murdok bent down and grabbed the two halberds the guards had left and held one in each hand. “I don’t know if any of you are listening,” Murdok prayed to the gods. “But, if any of you would lend me strength, I would be your servant forever.” He leveled the halberds, balancing them so that he could run and still wield each one. Then he charged down the street. It was only a matter of seconds before the horsemen saw him. One of them ordered a charge and they all kicked their horses into a faster gallop.
Judging by the speed with which they passed the buildings, Murdok knew he had only seconds until they reached him. He ran with carefully measured steps. Scanning the horses for a weak link in the group. He dodged left, then right, trying to create confusion among the riders, then he feinted left and jumped out to the right just as they closed in on him. He threw the first halberd with a wide arc, spinning the blade end through the air until it bit into a horse’s lower neck. The blade did little damage, as it was not a heavy throw, but the butt of the halberd planted firmly on the ground and the shaft splintered as the beast ran on. It punctured through the horse’s chest and the animal flipped over, throwing the rider and causing the next several horses to stumble and fall.
Murdok held the second halberd in both hands and went to slide on his knees, just under the closest horseman’s reach. As the rider passed by, Murdok struck up at the next horseman, catching him in the gut and flinging him from his saddle. The rider less horse neighed and jumped up, fore hooves clawing at the air and inadvertently creating a shield to Murdok’s left.
Murdok jumped up, running alongside the wall and twirling around to catch the next rider in the face. The halberd’s blade punched through the helmet’s visor and tore the man’s head off. Next, Murdok ducked down as a series of riders galloped in. The nearest one thrust a spear, but Murdok caught the weapon under his armpit and held it fast. When the rider yanked it hard, Murdok released it and then lunged in, using the spike atop his halberd to pierce the rider’s side and push him from his mount.
The next rider barreled in, shoving the horse out of the way and cleaving Murdok’s halberd in half with a heavy sword. Murdok held onto the sheared shaft and somersaulted under the rider’s horse. As he rolled below, he thrusted the pointed end of his broken weapon up into the horse’s gut. The animal jumped and kicked wildly, forcing the rider to hang on for dear life. Other riders couldn’t get in close now, for the horse became frantic, jumping and kicking at anything nearby.
Murdok danced around the horse, using it as a moving shield as he surveyed the remaining warriors. The living barricade only lasted a few moments though. When it became clear that the horse was beyond comforting, the rider drove his own sword into the beast’s neck and leapt off before it fell to the ground.
“He is mine!” the soldier yelled as he yanked his bloody blade from the horse.
The other warriors cheered and formed a semi-circle around them.
“Get him Barret,” one of them yelled.
“That horse has been with me since I entered the army,” Barret growled.
Murdok smirked. “Well then, judging by your age, I can only surmise that the horse has more than lived out his usefulness.”
Barret yelled and came in with a high chop. Murdok jumped left and swung his blade at Barret’s back. Barret whirled around with blinding speed, deflecting Murdok’s blow with such strength that Murdok nearly lost his sword. The man lunged in and shouldered Murdok in the chest, knocking him back against the wall of the house they were fighting in front of.
“Nothing to say now?” Barret sniggered.
“You fight as well as my sister dances,” Murdok said. He blew a kiss at Barret and then moved in. He swung left, then dropped and feinted a thrust before twirling around and chopping from the right. Each time, Barret kept pace, moving and shifting his feet and blade perfectly and blocking each advance. Murdok came in with an overhead chop. Barret used his sword to pinch Murdok’s sword against the wall of the house. Then the man smiled.
“My turn,” he growled. He pushed off Murdok’s blade and came in with a diagonal downward chop, then reversed it up into a feinted slice before flipping the handle over and twirling around in an underhanded slice. Murdok ducked under the blade, and then realized his mistake as Barret smiled and came down hard with a stab aimed for his neck. Murdok jumped back, barely avoiding the blade as it clanked against the packed dirt. A bit of dust and a couple chunks of earth flew up as Barret ripped his sword free and came in again.
Murdok pulled a knife from his belt and flicked it. The blade whistled through the air and suddenly stopped when it sank into Barret’s neck at the bottom just above where the ribcage forms together
to form the sternum. Barret choked and coughed. Then he fell over.
Murdok rose to his feet and turned to face the other riders. Their circle was tight, and he knew to charge them would be death now. He had to wait for them to make the first move. Then, one of the riders pulled a bow from his back.
“I’ll end this,” he said.
Suddenly the door behind Murdok opened and a pair of big hands pulled him into the doorway.
CHAPTER 3
A dark night fell over the city of Bluewater. The moon rose high into the night sky, but hid its face behind clouds and gave little light to the city below. Guards were out in force, patrolling the city with a ferocious determination and focus. Seldaric and Kai kept watch from the second floor window of a warehouse near the docks, hoping to catch the scoundrel as he attempted to escape.
“Are you certain that the assassin could not have a boat and crew waiting for him in some other predetermined spot?” Kai asked as he scanned the dark streets for any sign of movement.
Seldaric shook his head. “The waters are too treacherous in the other areas around the island,” the elf replied. “The jagged reefs and rock formations would pulverize any ship that was foolish enough to come too close to the shore.”
“What about a small vessel, like a rowboat or canoe perhaps?” Kai asked.
Seldaric again shook his head. “If the assassin is able to navigate the rocks and reefs with a canoe, then the open seas will take him down to the depths. I am unaware of any settlements reachable directly by sea other than Tuport.”
“You said he killed your grandfather,” Kai went on. “Was there anything else he might be after?”
Seldaric turned an impatient glare on him. “As I told you last week, if the assassin had wanted to steal from my grandfather, he would have gone to the Scholar’s Keep.”
Kai nodded and folded his arms across his chest as he leaned back on a large wooden crate.