“Here!” Rowan’s voice came from further in the dark. Sparks flared and died, burning their impressions into Will’s vision. A moment later there were more sparks and the hiss of fire catching over the packed end of a torch. Rowan pulled the torch from the bracket, holding it aloft to spread the light further into the hallway. Will’s heart sank. It was the same passageway they had taken before when following the Ranger, the one that led to the tunnel Marl had tried to use to kill the Ranger.
“I don’t like this,” Rowan said, echoing Will’s thoughts.
“We aren’t going the same way,” Colin said, leading them to a door on the right hand side of the corridor. “But I don’t feel you will like where we are going,” he tried opening the door before throwing his shoulder against it. Will and Rowan pushed against the door as well until it finally, slowly, opened on creaking hinges that made the hair on the back of Will’s neck stand on end.
“The crypt,” Colin said, reaching out for the torch in Rowan’s hand. Rowan relinquished it without a word. “Is in the graveyard. It’s the grave of Kings.”
Will shivered, cold running through him as they stepped into the room. The room was large, the walls draped in black cloths that fluttered gently, though he felt no breeze. Benches lined the room on either side, casting long shadows in the torchlight. Ahead, barely visible, was a step up onto a platform and on the platform rose a large table. Colin’s face had darkened, his eyes unreadable.
“Colin, what is this place?” Will asked, instinctively resting a hand on the hilt of his sword.
“It’s known as the Final Farewell,” he began walking, Will and Rowan falling into uneasy step behind him. “This is where those killed and brought to the castle for burial are brought for a last goodbye, a chance for the living to see them one last time.”
The three stopped in front of the platform. Colin’s eyes had become overly bright and he shook his head, forcing a grim smile. “I haven’t been here since I came with my cousin. We were collecting the body of my brother.”
“Colin, I’m sorry,” said Will.
“Same here,” Rowan whispered, turning to stare at the rows of benches behind them. “I never knew your brother died here.”
“He was in the final stretch of becoming a knight before going home to inherit Lonnac,” he shrugged and stepped onto the platform. “We have to find the others.”
Will and Rowan exchanged nervous looks, neither knowing what to say. Will’s fingers moved more firmly to the hilt of his sword as they sank into silence, walking quietly across the stage to the door at the back of the chamber. He fought the pull to look back again as Rowan opened the next door silently.
Cold air rushed over all of them, the torchlight dancing wildly. Will found himself following his two friends into an open space, a walkway around a large courtyard. Between the light of the moon overhead and the torch, he could make out the shapes of stone markers ahead of them, glistening under thin layers of snow and ice.
“I really don’t like this,” Rowan said matter-of-factly, drawing his sword.
Will nodded, drawing his own. “Where’s the crypt?”
“At the far end. I’ve only been here once, but I don’t think it’s easy to miss,” Colin whispered softly, closing the door to the chamber behind them.
“Of course, it would be at the far end,” Rowan grumbled, his boots crunching into the snow as they left the walkway. “It’s never an easy answer, never like right in front or even dead center. They have to have it at the bloody edge, out of sight, in the dark and-”
“Shut up!” Will hissed, throwing his arm out. His heart slammed against his ribs as his ears strained to hear anything in the black. He had heard something, he knew it. Neither Rowan nor Colin protested, Colin finally moving to draw his sword, shifting the torch into his left hand. They all tensed as an eerie cry rose up from the ground at their feet, muffled by distance and earth.
“For once I really hope it’s the tunnel people,” Rowan moaned. “Because if the dead are rising, I am so over this squire escapade.”
The distant sound of another cry was followed by the clash of steel on steel. “They’re being attacked!” Will and Colin were the first to move, sprinting forward in the dim light. Will nearly tripped over a low stone but caught himself, scrambling after Colin as he wove toward a raised dais. The snow had been disturbed and the top of the dais shifted to the side, revealing a broad stairwell descending into blackness.
“One of us ought to go back for Laster,” Colin said, throwing out an arm to stop Rowan and Will. “We can’t all just rush down there!”
Will glanced at his two friends, his mind racing as the sounds grew from below, the battle out of sight in the grave beneath them. “We need to help.”
“Colin, you’re right,” Rowan grabbed the torch from his unexpecting grip. “Get to Laster, now, and wake the other squires.”
“Yeah right!” Colin shook his head. “I’m the best swordsman out of the three of us and don’t you dare try to argue it, you know it’s true. Rowan, you’re the fastest. Take the torch and go. We will guard here. They won’t be expecting people at the top of the tunnel.”
Rowan looked between Will and Colin before swearing under his breath. “I literally hate both of you,” he thrust his sword into its sheath. “If you two die, I will bring you back to life and kill you!”
“Go!” Will and Colin both snapped and Rowan spun on his heel, sprinting back the way that they had come, the torch’s light following him back into the castle. Colin and Will plunged into darkness, clutched their swords and waited.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
It felt like Will’s heart had moved into his throat. He heard the scream of someone in pain and instinctively moved forward toward the stairs but Colin shook his head. “Step back a bit. We can kill anyone who slips past,” he ordered, voice low.
They moved away from the entrance in silence. Will’s hands were sweating on the hilt despite the freezing night air around them. he strained to hear anything familiar in the voices below. Images of the Ranger, lying in a pool of blood, of Haru, eyes blank and lifeless like Sir Dannix, ran through Will’s mind. He had to fight the urge to spring forward again when there was another clash, clearly closer than the others had been. Time seemed to drag by, each moment longer than the last. What was taking Rowan so long? Will shifted, his side pressing against a nearby gravestone. Another clash was followed by a muffled but familiar voice swearing loudly.
“Haru,” Colin hissed. “Don’t attack, he might be coming back up.”
Will nodded, hoping Colin could make it out through the dark. He didn’t need the reminder to wait to strike. He was frozen to the spot, listening to the sounds of the fight that was approaching up the stairwell, towards the graveyard at the two squires. There was the sound of an impact and the thud of a heavy body falling down the flight of stairs. Please don’t let it be Haru, don’t let it be Haru, Will thought. No one appeared but the sound continued to grow as more fighters started yelling near the stairwell. Will saw the flickering of light below, growing brighter as the battle started to rise.
“We’re losing,” Colin said, stepping out from behind the stone he had been leaning against. “Get ready, Will.”
Will’s knuckles whitened on the hilt and he braced himself, raising the sword to strike. The first form was appearing from the tunnel, backing up the stairs, while kicking striking and swearing. Will didn’t need to see the red hair, sweat-soaked and plastered across Haru’s forehead, to recognize the oldest squire. Three men were forcing their way through the entrance behind Haru, pushing him toward the graveyard. He tripped over the top stair and Will ran forward, ignoring Colin’s yell.
He struck at one of Haru’s attackers who had lifted a sword to drive into Haru’s stomach. Will’s blade caught the man by surprise, slicing into his arm and making him recoil away in pain. Losing his footing, he fell backwards, against one of his comrades, both plummeting into the darkness below. Haru struck out wit
h his boot, catching the last man in the stomach as he tried to steady himself. The man grunted and fell after the other two.
“What are you doing out here?” Haru demanded, scrambling to his feet.
“We followed you!” Colin said, jogging toward them.
Haru swore. “You two shouldn’t be here!”
“Nor should you,” Will snapped. “Rowan’s getting help.”
Haru sighed, running the back of his hand over his forehead, glistening in sweat from the light below. “We need it.”
“What’s going on down there? Where are the others?” Will demanded.
Haru stepped up the last stair, standing over the entrance with his sword raised, ready to strike. “They are trying to block other entrances that are connected to the crypt,” he plunged his sword down as a hand reached out of the tunnel. A scream of pain was followed by the hand vanishing from sight. “You two need to get out of here!”
“No!” Will and Colin replied in unison.
Haru looked between them, panting, his body shaking with exhaustion. “Then get over here and help me,” he staggered backwards from the entrance, collapsing onto the snow. Colin leapt onto the dais, standing above the stairwell and out of sight.
Will moved to follow but hesitated, turning to crouch beside Haru instead. “Are you injured?”
Haru shook his head, his sword free hand pressing against his thigh. Even in the darkness, Will could see the blood staining the wide snow around Haru’s leg. “I’ll be fine, help Colin,” Haru grunted. “We are here to protect Alamore.”
Will heard another strangled cry in the darkness behind him and stood, turned, and sprinted to Colin’s side, leaping onto the dais. His boots slithered on the icy snow and he fought to steady himself. “Is Haru okay?” Colin asked.
Will hesitated then shook his head. “We need Rowan to hurry up.”
Fingers curled over the side of the crypt entrance, ready to pull a person into sight and Will struck, slamming his boot onto the fingers. A scream followed by swearing rose up and he scrambled backwards as a sword blade blindly struck around the tunnel entrance.
Colin and Will, the blade narrowly missing them, scrambled backwards. “We can’t keep this up, they’re catching on,” said Will, looking toward the castle.
“Get ready to fight them,” Colin ordered, grimly.
Will nodded. Sweat ran down his forehead in icy trails, his heart thundered in his ribcage. For a moment, the world held still and he seemed to notice everything, from the stars burning brightly overhead, to the dark patches of snow already growing around the passageway. He stepped from the dais and turned toward the light from below as the first man finally broke past the stairs, blocking Colin’s strike downwards.
The man, a dark form in the night, rushed at Will, broadsword raised. Will braced himself and, as the sword rushed downward to meet his shoulder, turned and lifted his weapon to block. The force of the two blades striking sent a tremor and pain shooting through the bones in his arms. Will staggered backwards a moment, the man not hesitating to advance and raise his weapon again. Again, Will blocked, taking another step backwards. His back hit something tall and immovable. He could feel the cold of the stone at his back leaching through his tunic and hear Colin’s sword clash against another enemy weapon. The man struck again, swiping at Will’s neck, and he was forced to duck. The sword hit the solid stone making the man swear. Reaching into his belt, Will grabbed the dagger with his left hand and drove it, hard, into the chest of the attacking soldier. The man grunted, staggering a step away and Will struck again, his shoulder driving into the man’s stomach and knocking him off of his unsteady feet.
Will forced himself not to stare at the body at his feet, instead looking around the graveyard. Colin was locked in combat with yet another soldier, one holding a torch that illuminated the burning Phoenix emblem of Phersal on his chest.
Haru was pulling himself to his feet, trying desperately to strike at another oncoming fighter. Torn, Will took a step toward Colin, who was being forced to retreat with every strike. He glanced again at Haru as the older squire attempted to dive forward with a killing blow. The weight on his injured leg made him yell out in pain, the leg collapsing beneath him. The man bearing down let out a bark of cold, familiar, laughter.
Fury made Will’s muscles react of their own accord, launching himself at Haru’s attacker. He didn’t have time to think, no time to devise a plan of attack. Instead, he crashed his body against the man’s back as hard as he could. The man didn’t fall but stumbled, swearing, and turned as Will caught himself before he could hit the ground.
“You always love to show up and meddle,” Marl snarled. “I should have killed you as a boy.”
Will didn’t say anything but dove forward again. He hated this man, hated him more now than he was sure he had ever hated anything else. Blinding hot rage drove him forward again, this time with the sword.
Marl parried the strike with a lazy movement, snorting with laughter. “You haven’t been a squire for a year yet and you think you can fight me? You are a moron.”
Will struck again and Marl moved to the side. “That’s not going to do,” Marl’s eyes reflected the light of more torches being carried from the crypt. They couldn’t fight them all. They couldn’t stop the attack. “How about I teach you how a man fights, son,” Marl struck forward and Will barely had time to block. He had just enough time to register the attack then Marl was striking again. He advanced on Will, raining down blow after blow, forcing Will to block without a chance of striking back. Will’s foot caught on one of the lower stones and he fell, hard, to the frozen ground. The sword slithered away, leaving deep tracks in the snow. Will looked up at Marl’s maniacal smile.
“This is when you beg to be spared by my mercy,” Marl purred, lowering the point of his sword to Will’s chest. “Go on, boy, beg. Pride doesn’t do anything to save a man.”
Will’s blue eyes flashed as he glowered at the man standing over him. He would not beg. He would not let Marl play these stupid games. His fingers tightened around the hilt of the dagger in his left hand.
“I don’t recommend that, boy,” Marl snarled, pressing the sword harder into Will’s chest. He felt the sharp pain of steel cutting through skin and the familiar warmth of his own blood rising to meet the open wound. His dark eyes bore into Will’s own, the fire reflecting his fury and hatred. “If you will not beg,” he spat the words out, “then you can die.”
He lifted the sword, ready to strike down, and Will reacted instinctively. His left hand flew upwards, the dagger clashing against the sword, pushing it away, as he rolled to his right. Marl’s blade sliced down, pinning his cloak to the frozen ground and barely slicing along his skin. Swearing, Marl lifted the sword again as Will’s right hand found the hilt of his sword. He swung the sword up with all his strength, forcing Marl to take a surprised step away.
Will made to stand but fell backwards again to avoid Marl’s swipe at his throat. He kicked out with both feet, catching Marl in the knees. He heard the grunt of pain and scrambled to his feet before Marl could right himself. Panting, Will held both the dagger and sword at his sides, ready to strike again as Marl, black hair falling over his eyes, stared at him. People were starting to fill the graveyard. He had lost sight of Colin and Haru. He turned as a man ran past, torch held high. They couldn’t hold them off anymore, they needed help.
Marl used that moment to dive forward with a victorious shout. Will barely had time to lift his sword and parry the blow. Marl’s boot came up and kicked him, hard, in the stomach. He staggered backwards and had to block again. Out of the chaos around them, a terrible snarling made Will and Marl both turn. Will’s blood ran cold as two massive shapes bounded from the shadows. The King’s two dogs, Grot and Chon, both struck Marl at the same time. Grot’s teeth tore into the man’s sword arm while Chon grabbed his boot.
Running into sight behind them, Laster, Novin, Leaf, and Loper crashed between tombstones, swords drawn. Will
gripped the grave marker at his side for support as Marl shook the dogs away, kicking and swearing, only to be locked into combat with Laster. The two men were moving in graceful but deadly strikes and parries, each step taking them away from Will as Laster rained down blows without mercy.
Will shook himself. His fellow squires were all rushing into the graveyard, leaping markers, roaring battle cries. In all the mayhem, he had lost Haru. Will scrambled toward where he had last seen the oldest squire, his heart slamming in his chest, his knees shaking so badly that he stumbled to the ground and had to right himself.
“Haru!” he clutched a nearby marker desperately as he tried to make out anyone in the flickering light of torches. “Haru!”
A groan made him look down and relief rushed through him. Haru was perched behind the rock he held, a hand pressed to his leg, his blood staining his clothing, but very much alive. “We need to get you to the healer!” Will said, kneeling next to Haru. He didn’t dare sheath and lay aside his sword and dagger and clutched both as hard as he could.
Ranger of Kings (William of Alamore Series Book 1) Page 34