Path of Ruin

by Tim Paulson

  Meera shook her head but her rounded ears twitched, tracking in one direction, then another, before they stopped dead. “I think I hear him,” she said, eyes widening with alarm. “He sounds bad!”

  Giselle hopped up, “Children, story time is over for today.” The unwelcome announcement was greeted with a chorus of “Awwww.” “Go right home please. If you need help just ask Drusilla in the main hall Ok?”

  Heads hung low as the many thickly clothed children murmured their assent and struggled to stand before exiting the castle garden. Unfortunately Meera was getting up to leave as well.

  “Not you Meera. I need you to take us to where your brother is,” Giselle said as she pulled a kerchief from a pocket in her gown which she then whipped at Celia. The girl had been sleeping soundly on a nearby bench since their arrival in the garden.

  Celia did not move. She was still snoring gently, ensconced as she was in the bench with the hood of her cloak pulled over her eyes and the rest of it wrapped around her like a swaddled babe. Giselle slapped her shoulder.

  “Huh? What?”

  “Stories are over. I'm going to look for one of the children. Planning to come?”

  “Uh, yes?” Celia said, semi-conscious and rubbing her eyes. “I... I'm sorry. I really planned to stay awake but then you started with your stories and I couldn't help it.”

  “You're an abysmal lady in waiting. You know that don't you?”

  Celia nodded, yawning. “Thank you.”

  Giselle shifted her gaze to the little lion girl. “Can you show us where he is?” It was the garden after all. Giselle had been playing there her whole life. There wasn't a whole lot of trouble you could get into, even for a child. Mother made sure of that when she had it cleared and replanted long ago.

  “If he's caught up a tree somewhere I'm going to laugh, just letting you know,” Celia said with an impish grin.

  “We don't climb trees!” Meera said.

  Giselle shot Celia a dirty look. “She knows sweetie, she's just being a pain. Now can you take us to what you heard?”

  “I think so. He sounds very far away, this way,” the girl said pointing with a furry finger.

  They followed past the miniature roses in their carefully arranged vertical trellises, past the topiaries shaped like a boar, a griffin, a lion and a goliath, to the far edge of the garden near the wall. A parapet of the castle rose from the ground here and a solid wooden door reinforced with thick black metal stood barring entry to somewhere.

  Giselle couldn't remember where it went exactly, one of the lower halls in an older part of the castle, probably storage of some kind. When she was little she'd enjoyed infuriating tutors and nursemaids by actively trying to get lost. She knew she'd eventually be found by someone and while she was lost, she didn't have to do any lessons.

  “I don't see anything,” Celia said, sounding bored. Her eyes drifted upward toward the garden's nearby trees.

  Giselle ignored her, “Where is he Meera? Can you hear him still? Shon!” she said.

  “Quiet!” Meera snarled.

  “Sorry, I just thought, sorry sweetie,” Giselle said.

  “I hear him, he's down there!” Meera said as she moved over to the wall and squatted down, pointing to a row of holly hedges that abutted the walls of the parapet. As Giselle bent over to look she noticed the hedges obscured a drainage ditch that led to a series of grates. One of the grates had been pulled aside and a furry tail stuck out from the dark void beyond.

  “Help! I'm here!” Shon said. His voice could barely be distinguished from the noise of the wind in the trees.

  “I'll get him. Don't want you to soil your lacey lady gown,” Celia said.

  “Nonsense,” Giselle said as she hiked her gown's skirts. “Why have a laundry at all if we don't get our things good and dirty?”

  Together she and Celia both crawled under the hedge and stuck their arms into the drain far enough to grab the boy's legs and wrench him out.

  “What happened?” Giselle asked the panting boy once they had him out safely, all of them caked in brown mud.

  “I heard something down there. People were talking and laughing. I tried to hear them better and got stuck. I'm sorry!”

  “Do you know where that goes?” Celia asked while they both tried to shake at least a little of the mud from their clothes.

  “Lower halls I think. Storage,” Giselle said, waving to the children as they scurried on home, one of them slathered in mud.

  “Want to check it out?” Celia said.

  “Why? You think there will be men down there?” Giselle lifted an eyebrow.

  “Not everything I do is about that.”

  “Just most things,” Giselle said, arms folded.

  “Right. So do we go or not?”

  “Well it's through that door...” Giselle walked over grimacing as a lump of mud slid down inside her stylish Pyrolian leather boots. She tried the handle. It was locked. She shrugged, honestly more interested in a warm bath than following Celia on one of her man hunts.

  Celia stepped up. “Let me see that,” she said and produced a lock picking kit from some recessed portion of her skirt. Giselle's eyebrows lifted in mock surprise.

  “I swear Celia, the longer we're together the more I start to suspect you're part of some grand plan to overthrow my father or the king or the pope... Someone!”

  Celia chuckled absently and said what she always did when when asked about some wild and prior un-demonstrated skill that she was somehow surprisingly good at. “Where I grew up, you needed to know things like this.”

  “Mmm Hmmm,” Giselle said, folding her mud caked arms.

  There was some clinking as Celia rubbed the probe back and forth against the inside of the lock, then a satisfying click.

  “There we are,” Celia said. She then pulled on the hanging circle of black iron and the heavy wooden door swung open with an ominous creek.

  Beyond the doorway a stair of stone sunk into an inky blackness. On the wall to the right were a line of old oil torches as well as a lighter. Above them a simple wrought iron wall sconce stuck out from the wall like a black hand, ready to come to life and grasp the hair of any girl foolish enough to come too close.

  Giselle pursed her lips. This was one of those times when being a teller of stories with an active imagination was a distinct hindrance. She took up one of the torches and pulled the small handle on the lighter. It made a popping noise and produced a short blue flame to which she touched her torch until it ignited with a startlingly loud “foof.” Giselle collected herself and moved to light the nearest sconce.

  “Don't,” Celia warned. “If someone's down there we don't want them to be able to follow us out.”

  This seemed sensible until Giselle thought about the consequences. “But how will we get out?”

  “We will,” Celia said. She sounded unconcerned. “Let's go.”

  Down the stairs they went, Giselle reluctantly in the lead with her torch casting an orange glow on the walls. Several times they passed wall sconces that she wished she could light. Still it only took a quick glance behind to see how even the leaf mottled light of the fall day in the garden grossly illuminated the stairwell behind them. In comparison to the oppressive gloom of these lower chambers it was a beacon, a ray of hope that would be hard to miss if they wanted to turn around and return.

  Where was Celia? A clang sounded from behind and Giselle whipped around to see that the comforting day light from the open door was gone. This was followed by the sound of soft footsteps approaching from above.

  “Why did you do that!” Giselle said.

  “It was too bright,” Celia said.

  Giselle shook her head.

  If it turned out that there was some stitched together monster hidden down here just to scare the daylights out of her, Giselle would be extremely cross. She had never been a fan of pranks. She screamed easily and often. That made it great fun for others and she knew that, but was helpless to prevent it.

&nb
sp; As if in answer to her very thoughts a hooded face appeared in front of her. Giselle bit her lip to stifle a scream. It was Celia.

  “Let's go. I think I heard something ahead.”

  Giselle turned back to face the remaining stairs leading down to the next floor. She couldn't hear anything but their footsteps on the stone stairs and her own panting breaths.

  It was slippery down here too. There was moisture in the air, the earthy smell of mosses and mushrooms and something else, a fruity odor, like honey.

  When she reached the floor her torch illuminated scores of stacked casks. The sight of them all, lined in rows three casks high in specially built wooden racks that trailed off into the darkness, jogged her memory from lessons years ago.

  “This must be the cellar below the old meadery,” She said to her cloaked companion. “I remember being taught about this place. It was at the South side of the garden, they used to make it above. I suppose they stored it here. The fourth baron loved it.”

  “Fascinating, truly,” Celia said flatly.

  Giselle brushed away the dust caked on the side of a cask. It said Twin Mountain Meadery and it had a little image of the two peaks to the Northeast of the Castle. Below that was written “Sunbrew 1428”. Almost two hundred years old, she thought, but a noise from the distance snapped her out of it. It sounded like clapping or laughing.

  “You heard it this time right?” Celia whispered.

  “Yeah.”

  “Douse the torch, we'll go on without it.”

  “What? Are you insane?”

  “We can feel along the casks to the stairs. It'll be easy,” Celia said, patting her on the shoulder. “Unless you're too scared that is.”

  “Celia, I'm far too old for a transparent ploy like that. I'm a man's wife. I'm not scared, really I'm not,” she said, though she absolutely was. She would not be shown up by Celia however and doused the torch with a muddy fold of her under skirt.

  Men laughed again in the distance as Giselle reached out blindly until her fingers brushed the top of a cask. She slid them down to the bottom edge of the rim and used it to take a few steps forward, silently cursing herself for not having the foresight to look at the floor for any obstructions before she killed the torch.

  Slowly, moving from cask to cask, Giselle inched forward toward the other side of the room, though she had no idea how far ahead it went. Luckily it wasn't too long before her eyes began to adjust to the dark.

  Absent the torch, which she now held like a club in her left hand, she was starting to see that light wasn't completely extinct in the cask room. Some tiny shafts of illumination trickled in from behind her, perhaps what little could make it down the drain shaft Shon had gotten himself into. Also up ahead against the far wall could be seen the barest suggestion of a corner around which there might be torches or a fire due to the faint orange glow that danced upon the stone walls.

  She tried to calm her fear about the whole situation, telling herself it was probably just a few of the cooks, some kennel men, or maybe some stable boys who'd found a place to sneak off during their shifts to imbibe spirits. Giselle wasn't sure why such things were so common among the servants and other laborers but she knew it was. She'd witnessed it several times and been lectured by her father about spirits more than once as well.

  At the end of the wall of casks she came upon Celia, ran into her really.

  “Shhh,” Celia said in her ear. It was bright enough here from the orange glow to clearly see the edge of the wall. The two of them stole in closer, listening. The voices were still faint but now sometimes discernible.

  “I want that boy, he's a little prick!” said one.

  “I didn't know you swing that way!” said another.

  “No! … fright... little pain in... arse... cut him in two!”

  “Long as you keep the face... Don't matter.”

  “What about them women?” Said another. This one had a sharp hard voice.

  “Same,” came the reply.

  “Gonna love that, we all will I think. It'll be a fight for that daughter though, she's a lovely little dove.”

  “Comes right my friend. I'm gonna do it all over her. I been watching her for years, prancing about with that limp dick city boy... I'll show er how a real man does it!”

  Celia's gloved fingers dug into her shoulder, a warning. It was obvious what these men were discussing. Something had been planned for her family. Something terrible. Fear gripped her like a cold fist closing around her heart and lungs.

  “Fuck the girl,” said a gruff low voice.

  “That's the plan!” said another.

  More laughter.

  “... I want me the mother! I never fucked no classy lady like that but once and this time it won't cost me a months wages!”

  “... matter as long as by the end of it, they're all dead,” said another. He had a strange foreign accent Giselle wasn't familiar with.

  The important point though was they were going to kill her. They were going to kill her whole family! She felt the urge to cry, to scream and run and bellow angry words at these disgusting horrible people, all at once.

  Celia appeared before her again as if sensing her distress, finger pressed to her lips, face stern, commanding. Yes, she had to stay calm, quiet. If these men found them they would just as likely start their plans early for they were clearly excited about the prospect.

  She might even have succeeded in wresting control of her mind and body from the jaws of terror, had it not been for the rat that decided at that moment to run over her foot.

  Giselle shrieked.

  Loud angry voices yelled in alarm down the hall, followed by the metallic sound of swords being drawn.

  “Run! Now!” Celia barked in her face. Then there was a chopping noise and a series of groaning creaks.

  Giselle whirled around. How could she run if she couldn't see? The edge of the two nearest casks was all that was visible in the orange tinged gloom.

  Had they crossed to another aisle of casks? She didn't think so but suddenly wasn't sure. There was no time to find out.

  Giselle grit her teeth, put a hand on the nearest cask and ran off into the inky black before her, silently begging any hidden rats to get out of her way.

  There was more creaking and then a loud crash behind her, followed by the sound of splashing liquid. Men yelled, cursing loudly.

  Giselle passed the last cask, hesitating for a second before she realized she had to turn left to find the stairs. Find them she did, by stumbling over them, painfully bumping her shin.

  She ignored the injury though, up she rushed, listening for the sound of footsteps behind her, hoping to hear Celia but dreading to hear more. When she bumped into the door she pushed it hard and it opened.

  Giselle burst out into the open air and the sun. She paused outside, just for a moment, catching her breath and listening for Celia who only moments later erupted from the door, slamming it shut behind her.

  “Are they coming?!” Giselle said.

  “I don't know,” Celia said, she too looked relieved. “We need to get the guards.”

  “We need to get my father!” Giselle exclaimed.

  * * *

  Dark clouds of birds filled the skies as Baron Halett's goliaths emerged from the trees in staggered defensive lines and marched forward, a wall of stone and steel. Standing fifty feet tall or greater most carried swords as tall as castle walls but all were imbued with the glowing power of veil energy. It burned inside of them, animating their limbs and connecting the knight with the living demon soul of the goliath itself.

  Mia's Zeus, jogged at the head of the formation's left flank. She had been trying to discern the nature of the flock of birds hovering above the trees ahead when she heard a horn. She turned Zeus's head right just in time to see the lord commander Partham's goliath raise its gleaming veil sword with the flat facing forward, the signal to stop.

  Suspended in her riding harness inside of Zeus's center, when Mia moved her own a
rm instantly Zeus followed suit. Together they echoed the commander's gesture raising Zeus's sword with the flat forward, giving the order for those behind to halt.

  Zeus was currently married to a lithe class III chassis widely known as the Assassin. It was a lighter weight faster frame with only two built in cannon in the left side of the chest. Each cannon tube carried a single shot ball roughly the size of a crouched man. Most knights using an Assassin chassis would carry a spear, a javelin, or a light short sword but Mia had equipped Zeus with a steel buckler the size of a horse cart in the left hand and an exceptionally long side sword in the right. The sword was similar to a rapier but slightly thicker giving her the ability to turn relatively heavy blows with the blade alone, a decided advantage given the often chaotic environment of goliath combat.

  As the heavier goliaths had been left behind at castle Aeyrdfeld, arrayed behind Mia and Zeus were a motley group of spindly things with lighter weapons and faster movements. They were the dancers of the battlefield, usually relegated to scouting and light engagements but when forced to fight, not to be counted out. Like all goliaths, each carried deadly veil weaponry. No matter how large the enemy might be, if the knight inside or the goliath's heart was destroyed, it was over.

  The goliaths behind Mia had slowed to a stop, steel toed feet sinking into the soft mud and rounded stones of the creek that Zeus now stood in the center of. She squinted, hoping somehow to see a little better through her goliath's glowing eyes. Mia knew it made no difference, the veil power that bound her to Zeus gave her a degree of control and allowed her to see and hear through his massive head, but it worked the same no matter how hard she squinted. Some habits were too hard to break.

  Mia judged the birds circling that copse of trees in the distance to be too big to be black birds. That meant crows. Crows ate carrion and often followed armies but especially the imperial army's horrors. Lord Partham appeared to agree with her. Though it should have been another day before they ran into the Ganex, it was clear, the enemy was here.

  The commander's goliath raised his sword again, pointing slightly forward. Measured advance was the order. Mia didn't like it. It felt like they would be advancing into a trap. What lay beyond that thick line of trees on the other side of the stream? It could be nothing, or it could be the entire imperial army, waiting for them. Still, she couldn't let Partham advance the center without her left, so Zeus too raised his sword canted forward and her knights in their goliaths began to advance across the stream.