The King's Ring (The Netherworld Gate Book 2)

by Sam Ferguson

  “Fool,” Talon chided. The archer died an instant later as Drekk’hul pierced through the Kruk’s heart and drank deeply of the elf’s blood.

  The assassin looked back to the courtyard and saw one Kruk still alive. The elf was crawling toward the entrance to the castle with the assassin’s dagger still protruding from his upper back. Talon bent down and took the bow from the dead archer. He sent the arrow of death flying down to the last Kruk. Then he sent three more, one to each of the other elves in the courtyard, just to be certain they were dead.

  Afterwards he looked around and found a trapdoor in the center of the northeastern tower. He carefully opened the hatch and peered inside. The chamber below appeared to be empty, so he started down the ladder as silently as he could. Once he felt the floor beneath his feet, he sank back against the wall for a moment and listened. He didn’t hear anything. No footsteps, no shouts, and no bells. He thought that was curious, but he had already come too far to give up now. He saw two small doorways that appeared to lead to tunnels that would take him to the other towers. One tunnel ran due west while the other went due south. The third doorway faced northwest and the tunnel seemed to lead down into the earth. The assassin had not realized that the castle had underground passageways, but he decided to check it out.

  The air here was cool and musty. Only a few torches gave off light as Talon proceeded. The tunnel had several branches breaking off into different directions, but the sword compelled Talon forward, down the main shaft.

  “I will show you the way,” Drekk’hul reminded Talon.

  Talon followed Drekk’hul’s promptings for almost an hour, turning when the sword said turn, and going straight when it said straight. At last, he came to a large chamber. He sank down into the shadows and quickly studied the area. Here, five tunnels converged. There were no distinguishable marks in the room except for some faded runes above each of the tunnels.

  “Taish,” Talon said to himself disdainfully. Without a grasp of the language the search could take hours.

  Suddenly, the assassin’s hip grew very warm. He looked down to see that Drekk’hul was glowing. Talon looked up again and saw that a rune above one of the tunnels started to glow purple as well. Talon sneered and raced through the shadows and down the tunnel. This time he searched for only a few minutes before the tunnel ended abruptly.

  Anxiously, he searched along the wall until he found a small bit of stone protruding out from the wall. Talon pressed it, but nothing happened. So he pulled on it, but again nothing happened. He then took a firm grip and twisted the stone protrusion like a doorknob. This time it responded. The outline of a door became visible and the stone portal moved enough to reveal some light behind it. Talon pushed, and the small, stone door opened up into another tunnel. This cave had many more torches than the others though, and the footpath was well worn with use. He knew he was getting close.

  Talon had to duck down as he walked through the tunnel in order to keep from hitting his head against the stone ceiling. It was very obvious that this place had been built only for elves. He continued to wander through a large system of tunnels and stairs that descended downward a few more levels until finally he came to a very large chamber.

  This chamber was huge. There were several rows of columns that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. Talon looked up and guessed that the ceiling was forty feet above his head. The chamber was lit with torches that hung on four sides of each pillar. The floor was black marble, except for a strip of deep, crimson marble that led up to a golden throne. Talon’s heart skipped when he spied the small box on the throne. The key, he thought. It was then that he noticed the two figures in the shadows moving towards him from the far end of the room.

  Talon stalked back into the shadows. He felt naked with all of the torches casting light through the room. There was no good place for him to hide. He slipped Drekk’hul out of its scabbard and slid along the wall, sticking to the small, dancing shadows as best he could. Then the two elves came out openly into the center of the chamber.

  “We know that you have seen us,” one of them said in a stern tone. “There is no way out for you.” One of the elves clapped and a small portcullis slid down to cover the tunnel he had entered from.

  Talon remained silent, not knowing exactly what to expect or what he should do.

  “Come out of the shadows,” another elf said from Talon’s left. The assassin looked in the direction of the voice and saw two more Kruk’s advancing toward him. “We know that to come this far you must have beaten our brothers. We commend you for your skill and bravery, but it ends here. We will kill you.”

  Suddenly a flash of flame started at the far end of the room and spread along the wall. It moved quickly with a tremendous roar as it raced around the room. At first Talon was worried, but then he realized that it was a mechanism for adding light to the room. A shallow vein of oil ran halfway up the wall, kept in place by an expertly crafted trough. The new fires flooded the large chamber with a golden glow of light. It was almost as bright as the open plains at midday.

  “Nice trick,” Talon commented as he stepped forward.

  “The Sierri’Tai were crafty,” one of the Kruks said. “I am sure you would be quick to agree with me.” The elf pointed to the blade in Talon’s hand.

  The assassin smiled knowingly. “I would agree with you wholeheartedly.”

  “Even with the dark blade, you cannot hope to defeat all of us,” a new voice called out as five more elves entered the chamber through a large doorway in the back. “There are nine of us and only one of you.”

  “Then it is almost a fair fight,” Talon shouted back. “I will wait if you would like to get a few more helpers.”

  None of the Svetli’Tai Kruk warriors laughed. They drew their scimitars and prepared for battle. “This is your last chance to surrender,” one of the elves called out.

  “Would you accept my surrender?” Talon asked cynically.

  “No,” the elf from the back declared. “But we must at least offer you the chance to do so. We will kill you either way for your trespass.”

  Talon’s eyes narrowed as he stepped forward and lifted his magical blade to the ready. “I will accept your challenge,” he shouted with a smile.

  Without further conversation the two elves from Talon’s left dashed forward. Talon barely was able to dodge the attack. He leapt to his right and somersaulted away. He rose to his feet and was about to launch his own attack when he realized that two more elves were bearing down on him from behind. He turned to face them and slashed out with his sword. Steel rang against steel and sparks flew as Drekk’hul clashed against one of the elves’ blades. Talon rolled left and dodged a savvy thrust by another elf.

  Now he faced a semicircle of four Kruk warriors and he knew the other five would be on his heels within seconds. His left hand reached for his scabbard and he tried to mentally call forth the smoke from the scabbard’s mouth. Nothing happened. He despaired for only a moment before he let himself fall into his dance of death.

  He wheeled to his right, but it was only a feint. At the last moment he lashed out to the left and caught one of the elves across the shoulder with a great slash of his sword. The elf reeled in pain as the gash in his shoulder hissed and smoked. The assassin smiled and struck out with the scabbard in his left hand. The blow knocked away a charging elf’s scimitar and he followed it with a quick slice of his blade across the elf’s sword arm. The attack severed the elf’s arm just below the elbow and left the elf howling in agony on his knees.

  Talon was forced to backpedal to avoid the other two charging elves. He lashed out with a few quick strikes, but they all missed. He turned and ran toward the nearest column. He leapt up and ran vertically up the stone for a moment before leaping off backwards, over the charging elves. He landed behind the surprised Kruk warriors. Normally they would have been fast enough to counter him, but the power of the sword lent Talon an unearthly agility and quickness. He struck out with his blade and caug
ht one elf in the spine. The warrior howled and slumped to the floor. The other elf dove left and avoided the follow up strike of Talon’s metal scabbard.

  The sound of quick footsteps alerted the assassin that it was time to move. He turned and spun into the five oncoming elves like a windmill. His blade swept away the strikes of the nearest elves and his scabbard slammed into the jaw of another. The elf staggered backwards a few steps, but he kept his feet under him and advanced again despite the fact that his jaw hung loosely and wobbled as he moved.

  Talon parried left, then struck out right. His sword worked in a blazing blur of steel and blood. His scabbard-turned-cudgel pummeled any part of the elves’ bodies that came too close to the whirlwind of death. Two more elves fell to the floor as Talon continued to spin through them.

  Then everything went black.

  The assassin almost panicked. Am I dead? Talon asked himself. There was no light. There was no sound. There was only nothingness. Then he heard Drekk’hul loud and clear. This time, the sword was not speaking only in Talon’s mind, but out loud for all to hear.

  “I am the void,” Drekk’hul said. “I am the night!”

  Talon then realized that the same fog the sword had created before was now so dense and powerful that it absorbed all the light in the chamber. A moment later, a light purple outline glowed around each of the elves around him. They flailed about madly. They could not see him.

  Drekk’hul then spoke to Talon’s mind. “Now that I have returned to my home I have awoken fully.”

  Talon was awestruck. The power of the sword was incredible. He looked back out at the glowing figures and laughed at the elves. Struggle as they might against the magical darkness, they could not see through it.

  “Kill them,” Drekk’hul hissed. “Kill them all!”

  “Gladly,” the assassin replied aloud. Talon lifted the sword and ran forward at the elves. The fight was over in seconds. Talon was merciless and swift in his execution of the Svetli’Tai Kruk warriors. As the last one fell, the darkness was gone and the light was back to the way it had been. Talon looked down at the blade but the runes did not glow. The warmth was gone, and the blade was silent once more. The assassin wondered for a moment if he had imagined the sword talking to him, but then he shook his head and smiled. He knew the truth of it. He turned and approached the throne and the little box that sat thereon.

  *****

  “I have the count,” Sorbiy announced as he walked in to the small room where Kelden lay, exhausted from the night’s battle.

  “What is it?” Kelden asked hoarsely.

  “Of the freed prisoners there are fifty seven left alive, and half of them are injured badly. We have run out of supplies to dress the wounds with, and we have no skilled field surgeons. It is likely that many of the wounded will die if they catch infections.”

  “How much of the city is destroyed?” Kelden asked.

  “Most of the city has been turned to rubble. We were not able to deal with the fires until after the soldiers had been dealt with, and by then it was too late to save the city. We were fortunate to find a warehouse filled with food that had not been razed. I have asked the soldiers that are not injured to distribute rations. As for the journey to Kobhir, we don’t have enough men to take with us. We would do best to stay in Rasselin and help the citizens rebuild here.

  Kelden rose to his feet and walked outside to survey the damage for himself. All around him the buildings lay in ruin. Smoke rose above the rubble, creating a haze that nearly blocked out the late morning sun. “It is horrible, isn’t it?”

  “This is war,” Sorbiy said grimly.

  “It is not much like the songs of legend, or the tales of old,” Kelden admitted. “Yet, I suppose sometimes it is unavoidable.”

  “We brought freedom back to these people,” Sorbiy pointed out.

  “We also brought them death and ruin,” Kelden replied. “Still, the traitor had to be dealt with.”

  Sorbiy nodded his agreement. “You have to know that the prisoners would all have died eventually anyway. What we did brought hope, even in the face of ruin. This city is now liberated. The people here would still be under the traitor’s command if we hadn’t come.” Sorbiy placed a hand on Kelden’s shoulder. “Freedom, even in death, is better than tyranny and exploitation.”

  “Perhaps,” Kelden replied weakly. “But if the Shausmatian army returns this way, the people will die. There is nothing here that would fend off an attack now.” His eyes surveyed the charred remains of buildings in front of him. Bodies littered the ground. Women wailed and mourned their dead. Blood stained the streets and the stench of death hung in the air as thickly as the smoke. “This is not the victory I had hoped for.”

  Sorbiy removed his hand from Kelden’s shoulder and shrugged. “Well, it is better than the outcome I expected, to be frank. Things could be worse. At least we won.”

  Kelden nodded. He knew the man was right. “How long till we can get the survivors into a caravan?”

  “A caravan?” Sorbiy echoed. “Where would you like them to go?”

  “I want to send the freed prisoners and the other citizens of Rasselin some place safe. I know a small village nestled near the mountains. There will be plenty of food, and there are people there who can help tend any injured who can last long enough to finish the journey. I have a man there that I trust. Murdok is his name. He has a good head on his shoulders and he will know what to do with the refugees. He is raising a militia as we speak. It will be a good place for these people to go.”

  “What is the name of this village?” Sorbiy asked.

  “Shinder,” Kelden replied. “Find a map and I will mark the village for you.”

  “You aren’t coming?” Sorbiy asked.

  Kelden shook his head. “You are in command now. Take Garret and the dwarves with you.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “Kobhir,” Kelden said flatly.

  “That is suicide,” Sorbiy replied.

  Kelden shook his head and offered a half smile to Sorbiy. “That is where I belong. Get these people safely to Shinder. Help them start over.”

  “You aren’t going to say goodbye to the dwarves or Garret?” Sorbiy asked.

  Kelden shook his head. “I am going to find a horse, and then I am going to be on my way. Tell them for me, alright?”

  Sorbiy nodded. “By your command.”

  CHAPTER 20

  “Milady, the men have been assembled along the walls as you have asked. We have managed to erect two working catapults, but the enemy is camped out of range.”

  Queen Dalynn turned from the window to face her personal messenger, Karmt. He was a tall, thin man. As bald as the day he was born, though the wrinkles on his face showed he was far closer to death than birth. His nose was long and pointy, and his eyes were shrewd. Despite his hard features, the queen had always found him to be a caring, soft spoken man. That was why she trusted him, she supposed.

  She walked over and motioned for him to take a seat next to her on a long, wooden bench. “Are the knights ready to ride?” she asked.

  “They are milady,” Karmt replied. “I sent for Sir Alexander, as you asked, and he is waiting without.”

  “Send him in, Karmt. I should like to speak with him now.”

  “Is there anything else that you would have me do?” Karmt asked politely.

  “No, that will be all for now.”

  “Very well, milady” he replied obediently. “I will send in Sir Alexander.”

  “I shall wait here.” She watched her messenger rise to his feet and walk out from the room. When the door closed behind him, she turned once more to the window and looked out to the west. Beyond her walls she could see dust churned up by the thousands of enemies camped beyond reach of her catapults or scorpion launchers. The latest scouting report had estimated that there were ten thousand men in the enemy camp. Kobhir had only half of that number, and almost a thousand of them were militia men, not proper soldiers. She tw
ittled her thumbs as she sat on the hard bench and watched the faint movements in the distance. Over the past couple of days the enemy had been building siege gear. It was only a matter of time before the battle started.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Come in,” Dalynn answered.

  “I was told that you wanted to see me, m’lady,” Sir Alexander said as he knelt down on one knee in the doorway. His armor was polished to a high sheen, though it was dented and scarred from the recent battles. It clanged against the stone of the floor as he knelt.

  “Please, rise to your feet, Sir Alexander,” Dalynn said softly.

  “As you wish,” the knight answered. “How may I be of service?”

  “I would like to ask you and your men to change your minds,” Dalynn said in a tone that was neither commanding, nor timid.

  “My queen,” Sir Alexander began, “I do not see another way. The enemy has catapults that can reach our walls, yet we have nothing to strike back with. Our catapults cannot reach the enemy camps, nor can the scorpion launchers.”

  “The mission you are proposing is suicide, Alexander,” Dalynn said, shaking her head. “You know I cannot open the gates and allow any men to march after you should your knights fall in over their heads. I fear that all of you will die.”

  “Kobhir will suffer far greater casualties if we allow the enemy to use their catapults.” The knight strode towards the window and pointed at the distant camp of soldiers. “If my men and I can ride out and crush the catapults, then the enemy will be forced to march on the wall with ladders and clumsily built siege towers. Our sacrifice will ensure that the walls of Kobhir do not fall, and the soldiers on the walls will keep out the enemy.”

  “There are ten thousand of them,” Dalynn reminded him.

  “It will still be a hard battle for the city, but I think we can win as long as the walls stand firm.”