Before he could scream Ferrin pulled in and sliced sideways, spilling a veritable river of blood over the man's sandals. Ferrin pulled him back into the shadowy recesses of the dungeons, laying the limp form in a corner. There was only a single hall with a torch hanging from the side wall. Noises came from ahead of him, a mingle of screams and moans that made Ferrin's blood turn cold. Clenching the dagger tight to him, he crept closer to the corner until another shadow fell across his line of sight. Ferrin dove for the side of the hall where a small pile of fur cloaks were piled. He nestled in them, finding out too late that the furs were fresh with blood.
Closing his eyes, trying to keep the blood from running into his eyes and mouth, he listened closely as heavy footfalls came closer, the shadow of someone that had a great deal of girth to them standing near him. He readied the dagger, thinking that he had been found out, but let out a sigh of relief when the figure simply took one of the furs from the dripping pile and left. Leaning away from the furs, Ferrin watched the bare, sweat covered back of a large man stride further down the hall, blood trickling from the fur that he had clenched in hand.
Thinking it was safe to move Ferrin slipped from the pile of furs and crept to the corner of the hall, spying around the corner to see what lay beyond. The cold stone of the dungeon glistened wet in the fire light of the many torches that filled the walls. Loose straw was scattered along the floor, soaking up what the youth gathered could only be blood. On one side of the wide chamber there was a row of iron barred cells, each with pitiful moans and terrible scents spilling from them. The main hall was wide and well kept, with two smaller halls branching off of it. One of the halls the bare chested man strode along, making his way to the right, while there lay another hall directly ahead. No door barred the entrance to the hall, nor were there any guards to contend with. Ferrin scoffed at the lack of care the Baron took in guarding those that he threw in the dungeons.
When he had his surroundings down, he crept first to the hall on the right. It was forty feet in length, with a heavy wooden door at the end of it. The top of the door had a barred window with light streaming from it. Ferrin decided that it was the perfect place to begin his search. Silent as the night, Ferrin crept along the passage until he was at the door, standing on his toes to per inside and see what lay beyond. Ferrin saw devices of torture that he had read about in his travels around Umbriel. There were crow's nests where men were set to hang from the ground in iron cages until they wasted away. The rack was near the center of the room, a hellish device that attached straps to the victim's hands and feet, with a winch that was tightened until it tore the joints straight out of their sockets. It wasn't anything that Ferrin really felt like trying out in the near future. He gauged that there had to be at least half a dozen more torture devices at the Baron's disposal, each deadly in its own right.
When Ferrin saw that one of the masked guards were stalking toward the door he staggered back and ran for the shadows of the main hall. He turned the corner just in time as he heard the rusted hinges of the door open. There were the same heavy footfalls, and there was a dragging noise that fell in time with it. Ferrin pushed back further in the shadows that cloaked the corner of the hall, praying that he was a part of them as the big man walked within a dozen paces of him, a comatose prisoner drug in his arms.
Ferrin was suddenly doubly glad that he didn't have the ability to speak when he realized that Cameron was that prisoner, bloody and nearly broken by his captor. The dark hooded man opened one of the cell doors and dropped him in there, letting the straw soak in his blood. With a guttural laugh he left Cameron, slamming the iron door shut with a pronounced bang. The man stalked off, not once seeing the frightened youth cowering in the corner. When Ferrin was sure that he had gone back to the torture chamber he made haste for the cell where Cameron was being kept. It was child's play for him to pick the lock with the tools he carried on him, in pockets that he had hidden near the bottom of his shirt, sewn on the inside. It clicked loudly, making him grit his teeth and spin around, thinking that the great ape would come running out to see what made the noise. But he didn't come. Ferrin threw the door open and slipped inside.
Cameron was cool to the touch, shirt blood stained and hanging from him in tatters that barely stayed. His hair was a mess of dried blood and grime from the dungeon floors. Cuts and bruises adorned his body, from his stomach to his chest and arms, to his face. It seemed that nothing had been spared in their torture of him. Ferrin shook him, trying to rouse him enough to walk, but he received no response. Frowning, Ferrin looked up to make sure that he wasn't being watched. He rifled through his pouch of tools again, this time bringing out a glass vial with clear liquid in it. He pried the stopper free and waved the vial under Cameron's nose. Ferrin was flung backward when Cameron shot up, nearly punching the youth square in the nose as he rose up. His eyes were wild, those of an animal. He was quick to stand, but fell even faster, groaning with pain, his muscles screaming with agonies from hours of torture. He spun around, facing Ferrin as the youth brushed himself off.
Thank you Ferrin. It seems that Avernus Cromley has much to answer for, and I intend to collect those answers before I plant my sword in his heart. Cameron signed to Ferrin. He stripped his shirt off and let the remains of it fall to the floor. Dunking his head in the water barrel that sat in the corner, he shook the beads of water from his hair, slicking it back with a hand.
You nearly hit me. Ferrin signed back, looking hurt. Then he smiled at the warrior, The good father was worried so he asked me to find you. Avernus told us that you were gone, that you went back to the road, but the good father didn't believe him. Neither did I. So I came to look for you. Good thing I found you, too, or else that brute may have tortured you to death.
Cameron patted the youth on the shoulder, smiling around the many bruises he sported, "They may have beaten me down, but there's more fight in me than they realize. How did you find your way in here, Ferrin?"
A channel connects the back of the dungeon to a portion of the back yard near the ocean side. But there's a grate blocking the opening. I was scrawny enough to fit through it, but I think you might need to lose another fifty or so pounds if you plan on leaving that way.
"Then we'll have to take the stairs, won't we?" Cameron commented, making Ferrin stare at him in wonder. Cameron was about to leave the cell when the youth caught hold of his shoulder.
No, wait! There's someone coming from down the hall! You better just play dead for now. Grudgingly, Cameron lay back down on the floor, tossing the rags of his shirt back on his chest as he lay down. Ferrin thought fast and dove in the water barrel at the corner of the room, submerging enough to keep out of sight. A shadow fell over the door of the cell. There was a rattling, and a man grumbled loudly when he realized that the door wasn't locked. Ferrin caught sight of the big man from the torture chamber, coming back in with a dagger in his hand. Holding his breath, Ferrin waited to see if he had been found out.
"Well, friend," the man rumbled in a low tone, "Seems that you got no luck today. Orders came in to kill ya. Too bad, too. You had promise. Been a long time since I had anyone survive one of my sessions. Guess it wasn't meant to be." the man laughed coldly as he leaned down and angled the dagger to finish him, pulling his hair back to slit his throat. The executioner's eyes widened when he received a hard chop to the throat. Gagging, he dropped against the bunk and spilt over, clutching his throat in a futile effort to draw breath in. Cameron was fast on his feet, taking up the dagger and giving it back to the executioner, blade first. The man tried to cry out but only made a weak gurgling noise as blood seeped from the wound in his neck.
"Some things just aren't meant to be," Cameron told the dying man as he wrenched the blade back out of his throat. Tossing it in the air and catching it by the blade. Ferrin was fast after him out the door of the prison cell, keeping a keen eye on the halls ahead of him. A rousing cacophony of pleas rose when the other prisoners saw that there were free, spindly arms reaching through the iron bars, dozens of pleas begging them for freedom. The pleas were enough to rouse the guards, who came running from both the torture chamber and the hall that lead to the stair well. Cameron took aim at the first of the guards that came out of the torture chamber and let the blade fly from his hand with deadly accuracy. It felled the soldier, sliding deep in between his breast plate and helmet, knocking him clean off his feet.
Ferrin spun around his own dagger, leaning this way and that as one of the soldiers singled him out. The man had chain mail armor and a long sword in hand. The soldier lunged forward and swiped, using the length of his blade to keep Ferrin at bay. This wasn't the first time that Ferrin had that technique used against him, however, and rolled right under and toward the soldier, sweeping him off his feet. The man scrambled to his feet and turned in time to watch the youth swipe the dagger along his arm, peeling back the chain links and drawing blood. Ferrin leaned away from another swing, dropping to his knees and stabbing with the dagger, piercing the armor a second time. The soldier gasped and fell away, holding the bleeding wound on his stomach. Uttering a hoarse scream, he came at Ferrin again, bringing his blade in a cross arc, one swing aiming high, the other cutting low. Ferrin blocked the first strike and was thrown off balance by the force of it. The second one tore through his thigh, making blood splatter along the cold stone floor. Ferrin did all he could to hold the dagger fast, and lunged in when the soldier over extended the swing. He crossed the blade along the man's eyes, blinding him. When the soldier dropped the long sword he carried Ferrin kicked it toward Cameron, and then plunged the dagger in one last time to finish the battle.
Cameron heard the sound of steel scratching on the floor, but couldn't pay it any notice. A pair of guards were trying to keep him between them, using their blades to stab and swipe at him. Cameron ducked and rolled away from another wild swing, bringing himself right over the long sword that Ferrin kicked to him. He straightened himself and broke into a defensive stance, clutching the blade close to him, feeling weariness tear at him. The first of the soldiers came for him, holding his sword two handed. He swung the blade in a vicious arc that went for Cameron's chest. He ducked the attack and leaned away long enough to rip his shirt back off and throw it at the man. The soldier reacted instinctively, swiping the shirt out of the air with his sword, leaving him open to Cameron's attack. The warrior swept low, bringing the long sword in across the man's stomach and breaking flesh along with chain. Hollering with pain, the soldier keeled over as the second took up his place before Cameron. They paced one another, circling each other, looking for the right moment to strike. Cameron was the aggressor, slashing down and then up, bringing the sword up vertically with savage force. The soldier blocked both shots and countered, bringing his blade across for Cameron's neck. He parried, circling the sword around to the soldier's other side, then stepped to his left and swung again for his ribs. The soldier took a quick step back and locked swords with him again, pushing on Cameron's sword in hopes to bowl him over. Cameron let his wrists go limp and side stepped. The soldier over balanced; pin wheeling to keep himself upright. Cameron brought the sword across the man's back, failing to breach the armor but knocking him to the floor. The soldier rolled to his feet and rushed back in, gritting his teeth as he swung hard overhead, attempting to plant his blade in Cameron's head. The warrior blocked the attack and let it slide off the tip of his sword, returning with a shot that flashed across the soldier's face, opening it wide in a sickening diagonal gash.
Before the body even had the chance to drop he spun to face Ferrin, who was being backed into a corner by the last of the soldiers. He was using a hand axe, bringing the curved edge down inside long arcs that kept the youth from employing the dagger. Ferrin was nearly back against the wall when he tripped and fell into the corner. The soldier was fast to act, swinging with a blow that would cleanly sever Ferrin's head from his shoulders. The youth ducked even lower, letting the axe glance off stone, sparking wildly as it did. He stabbed in fast, taking a small piece of the soldier's knee with him. Crying out, the soldier took a nimble step back, out of Ferrin's reach, raising the axe to strike another blow. But the axe fell from nerveless fingers when Cameron struck a ragged blow across the soldier's back, killing him in a single strike. He lowered the blade and offered a hand to Ferrin, who gladly accepted it.
"What say we free these people and give the good Baron a pleasant surprise when we travel back up the tower? What do you say, Ferrin?" Ferrin smiled devilishly and held up a skeleton key in one grimy hand.
Kirstin woke to the sound of footsteps outside the door. It was before sunrise, but not by far. She fancied that they were lingering out there, waiting, but what they were waiting for was beyond her. Kirstin stepped from her bed, slipping sandals on her feet as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The voices were much closer then, just beyond the door, the shadow of their feet falling under the door jam. Kirstin pulled a wool robe around her, tying it off at the waist and crept closer to the sound. She started, nearly falling over when there was a series of raps at her door. Catching her breath she grabbed for the knob and pulled it open. To her surprise she saw Damien standing in the hall, fully dressed as if he were planning on travelling somewhere. Kamil and Benmont were with him, also travel fit, with tired expressions coloring their faces.
"Father? What's wrong? Is there something the matter?" she asked, seeing the pale, worried look that worked over Damien's features. The priest smiled at her, if only a little, and asked if he could step in the door. Not knowing what else to do, Kirstin pulled back and swayed her arm, a gesture for him to enter.
"I fear there may be more wrong here than any of us realize, Kirstin. I have come to think that we may be in danger here; that we may have to leave. To seek sanctuary in the north."
"That's what this is about?" Kamil whined, rubbing his eyes and ruing the fact that the father had pulled him out of bed before the sun had even risen. He was getting as bad as Cameron, "What kind of danger could we be in, except for priests that won't let a growing boy get all the sleep that he needs."
"Kamil, stop that! Father Alohm wouldn't have brought us here if he didn't have reason to. Father, why do you think that there's danger here? Everyone seems to like us here."
"You mean Trost likes you here," Kamil countered, bringing a blush to Kirstin's face, "Name of the One! First it's Cameron that you fancied, then it's this Trost! I hope you don't change your mind this often about everything that you do, Kirstin!"
"Stop that! Kamil, you have no right to say such things to Kirstin. I have seen you with that young woman. What was here name, Diela? You are just as enamored of her as Kirstin is to Trost, so I suggest that you keep quiet about it, yes?"
"Sure, father. I was only kidding about it anyway," Kamil turned away, letting his red colored bangs fall over his face. Benmont grinned smugly and patted Kirstin on the shoulder. She put her hand over his and smiled back, her shoulders shaking in a silent chuckle.
"Where does this danger come from, father?" Benmont questioned, removing his hand from Kirstin's shoulder. Damien hushed them with a quick finger over his mouth. There were footfalls outside the door, closing in on them with a brisk pace. Several sets of footfalls were coming closer. All three of the children were scared all of a sudden. What if the father was right and they were in danger? Kirstin was the first to take up a blade, the one that Cameron purchased for her in the village of Casteel. Kamil and Benmont also found courage with the embrace of steel. Damien crept to the door and listened with mounting tension as the footfalls came closer, only to fade into the recesses of the hall as the pair passed Kirstin's bedroom. Damien sighed and pressed his back to the door, watching the three children standing in the center of the room. Kirstin was quick to slide her sword back into the scabbard that sat on the dresser where her clothes were tucked away.
"Now could you explain to us what you think is happening, father? At least so we don't go about frightening each other anymore?" Kirstin asked, hopping on to her bed, waiting for the priest to begin speaking.
"I will tell you all what I know, but first we will wait in the hall while Kirstin makes herself ready to travel. I will tell you everything once we have made a way out of this place. I will tell you what the One God has made known to me. Now please, get dressed."
Outside Cromley Tower, in the beginning day of a brisk autumn morning, Drawn Faleem stood with his back to the high wind, eyes staring hard at the tower and the guard houses along the banks of the shallow land. Gregor Thundar was near Drawn, his helmet buckled to keep the strong gusts from taking it off his head. Gregor didn't like the idea of being that close to the tower, where Cromley's guards could find them at any given moment, but Drawn had given the lot of them orders to maintain vigilance while the centiant went to reconnoiter the land and fond them a way to steal inside.
"This is madness, commander! Even if that blasted tree lover finds us a way in, we'll be heading into a bloomin' stronghold! There are six of us against all the men that the baron has under his employ! Let's just wait till the army finds us! That shouldn't be more than a day, way I heard the scouts talkin bout their position!"
"Shut up, Thundar! I don't have you with to think or to contradict my orders! We wait here for the centiant and then we sneak into the tower and take care of those bastard children! Then we plant a blade in the centiant's back, be rid of him once and for all!" Drawn waved them all silent when he saw something in the choppy water ten yards from shore. They took position behind rocks, swords at the ready.
Verion climbed out of the chilled water, not feeling the effects of it against flesh that had been bared even in the harshest of winter storms. He and nature were brothers, and a brother would never harm his own flesh. Verion walked over the hard sand beach, avoiding a rather large piece of driftwood that had found its way on shore, and stopped a half dozen paces from where Drawn had chosen to hide.
"You may come out, sub commander. It is only me, and I have the information that you seek."
"Well done, Verion. How do we get into the tower without rousing outside suspicion?"
"You will not like it, but there is only one way for you to enter and not be seen. You will have to make way through the waves and bank along the eastern side of the peninsula, where the bank is shallower. The water is quite frigid, however, and I wouldn't want you to die of hypothermia."
"How thoughtful, centiant, but that's going to be my problem. You will lead us to the back of the peninsula. I will deal with the water."
"Sir, it would take only a short time to make a raft to float over the waves and save us the discomfort of the cold," Gregor offered hopefully, not relishing the idea of wading into water as bitter as the southern coast had to offer.
"That will waste precious time, Thundar. We go now, when daylight has yet to find us. We raid the tower and return to Dagoth as heroes, enforcing the king's will!"
"I never heard the definition of heroism as related to the killing of three youths before. Perhaps you would care to enlighten me?"
"Shut up! It is a matter of honor! Not that I would expect you to know what that really meant! All you know is the forest, yes? Well, if I have my way, you'll never see the forest again, never!"
Verion opted to remain silent and allow the little man to vent. There would be time for action later, and in his own way. If he could fight the power that held him long enough, that was. Wading back into the water, he waved a hand for the rest of them to follow. Drawn was the first, clenching his jaw with the shock of how cold the water truly was. Holding his blade over his head, he followed the centiant deeper into the churning waters off the tower. Gregor Thundar was the last to follow, grinding his teeth, shaking his head. He would maintain that this was a poor idea. Drawn was becoming desperate, he had ever since the centiant allowed the children to slip out of his hands. He carried with him a bad feeling as he strode ever deeper into the blackened water that filled the gulf near Twin Port.
Verion pulled out of the water with the same strength he had when he submerged himself. They were at the back of the tower, where a thin strip of stone marked a walk path that wrapped around the base of the broad tower. A thick, wooden door was at the ground floor just ahead of him, as well as several windows that lead to higher floors. The only sound to be had at the back of the tower was the crashing ocean as foaming waves broke on the jagged rock that dotted the tower's perimeter. Verion hoped that the soldiers had drown, that he didn't just damn them by bringing their executioners here, but he hoped in vain. Drawn was fast out of the water, blade still dry from fighting to keep it over his head. Gregor was out last, chin shaking from the cold, his skin pale white. Drawn took one long look to the top of the tower where the baron's flag whipped in the frenzy of wind that dominated the sky and cast his gaze back to Verion.
"We will climb to a window; the third or fourth floor seems the most likely place to find the least amount of resistance. Gregor, I want you to lead the men. Secure the area you come into and wait for the rest of the team. Do you follow this?"
"Understood, sir," Gregor replied as he fumbled a wet rope and grappling hook from the pack he wore on his back. Five minutes later Gregor had the line secured to the window frame while the rest of the soldiers kept a watch for him at the edges of the tower.
Gregor found a storage chamber, door closed. From the dust that clung to the pane of the window he surmised that it wasn't used all that often. Drawing the dagger from a hip scabbard, he busted one of the panes and cleared the broken glass from the wood. He found the latch that kept the window closed and twisted it, then pulled it up and fell inside. He was fast on his feet, grateful that the warmth in her was bringing back feeling to his feet. Sword in hand he made his way to the door and pressed an ear to it after taking his helmet. He heard nothing. Feeling that it was safe to call the others up, Gregor leaned from the window and waved to them, urging them to hurry.
Verion bowed his head in silence while the others began to climb for the window. He grieved for the role he played in this and vowed that he would find the children and apologize to them before the treacherous sub-commander killed them. Somehow, to Verion, that didn't seem like much.
"What are you talking about?" Kamil shouted at the priest as Damien fought to quiet the youth, "You think that Baron Cromley is trying to kill us?"
"I know he has more planned for you than you think. He agreed to Devlin's arrangement because he knew the king wanted you. Avernus is clever; he knew that Darius would come for you, because the three of you were more of an obstacle than the kingdom of Southcross. He intended to barter your lives for rule over Dagoth when Darius took the High Throne. We need to leave because I think something has happened, and it's not at all good."
"This is insane, father!" Kamil exclaimed, stopping in the hall and jerking free of the priest's hold. "You expect us to believe that Avernus Cromley had us come here so he could use like coin?"
"It makes sense," Benmont commented, "And I sure wouldn't put it past the man if the opportunity found him. He seemed like the kind of man."
"Oh, did you make that assumption before or after you began flirting with Tandy?"
"Name of the One!" Kirstin gasped, clutching the side of Damien's travel cloak, "Cameron! Do you think that the baron did something to Cameron?"
"Kirstin, don't tell me that you're buying this! The baron is a nice gentleman. I can't believe that he'd use us like this!
"I sent Ferrin to the dungeon, where I believe that Cameron is being held. I only pray that he is alright. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if anything happened to him."
"Are you even listening to me? I can't believe it, father! I need to hear it from the baron himself!" Kamil turned away from the priest and made a move to leave, only to stop dead in his tracks. His blood ran cold in his veins as he watched armored men coming closer, blades in their gauntleted fists. There were three in all.
"Father Alohm. Baron Cromley wants to have words with you regarding the welfare of the children. He believes that they may be in danger and we have been sent to safeguard you. Please follow us."
"Behind me, children," Damien waved his hands to push them back as the soldiers advanced on them. Benmont thrust past him, sword in hand, and a snarl contorting his face. He leveled the blade at the three men, a silent challenge for them to come closer.
"I'm tired of deception," Benmont growled at them, "If you mean to kill us come ahead and face us, don't try to make us lower our guard with your lies. The priest knows the baron's dirty little secrets."
"Very well then," one of the soldiers stated, "No deception. I have the big lummox. I want to see him dance on the end of my blade. You two kill the other three. Take them!"
Kamil watched with mounting horror as the soldiers charged, their chain mail glinting in the dawning light of the sun through the windows. These were soldiers, not highway bandits that preyed on cattle in the night. They were trained to fight, to kill on the command of their lord. Kamil shrank back from the fight even as Kirstin rushed in to take his place, sword at the ready. She looked just as frightened as he was, but she wrestled with her fear and controlled it. He envied her for that.
Benmont lunged forward and crossed swords with the soldier, locking them tight and circling each other in the confines of the darkened hall. He broke away in mid step, turning fast on one heel and punching another soldier that sought to pass him as he ran by. His fist connected with the helmet and there was a noise like a gong being rung, then the soldier toppled to his chest and laid still, the sword falling from his hand.
Benmont spun around just in time to parry a stab for his chest, pushing it away from his body and slashing with a short arc, trying to take the soldier's arm off at the shoulder. The soldier saw the move and side stepped, bringing the hilt of his weapon along Benmont's face and smashing him. Benmont staggered, blood tricking from a fresh gouge on his forehead. He smiled at the soldier and swiped, nearly taking the man in half with brutality. The soldier dropped to the floor, left with no other way of dodging the blow, and stabbed high, aiming for Benmont's chest. The big man leapt off to his right and cleared the shot, letting the soldier thrust at stone instead of flesh. But the soldier was faster than Benmont, moving to his feet and swiping again, and then a third time. With the fourth connection he found himself bladeless, the sword sliding down the hall. Benmont rushed to chase it but a sting of pain that formed a line along his back forced him to turn. The soldier had scored a blow along his back and Benmont could feel his own blood staining the wool shirt that he was wearing. Then the soldier dove in with a fast thrust for the kill.
Kirstin blocked another well timed shot, staggering against the wall for balance. She ducked a swipe that would have taken her head off her shoulders and retaliated, cutting the man across the chain mail he wore, forcing him back several paces. The soldier stalked around her, stabbing once and then again to test how quickly she blocked him. Kirstin advanced after the second thrust and swung along his chest, which he parried and pulled away from, cutting along her leg and pulling a scream of pain from her lips. She fell away, nearly fell over, holding the well of rushing blood with a whitening hand as she held her sword out. Another swing followed by an ill timed parry took the blade from Kirstin's hand. The soldier stabbed, just missing her stomach, but laying her side open some and pinning her tunic to the wall. The man wrenched free a dagger from the sheathe at his side and brought it down for her. Kirstin crossed her hands and blocked his forearm with her own, the dagger just an inch or two from her chest. A bead of sweat ran across her face as she fought to keep him from burying the blade in her chest but it was a losing battle. She could hear Damien near her. It sounded like the priest was struggling with someone else. He couldn't help her.
Kamil was ready to break and run. They were trapped. The soldiers that Avernus had sent to kill them had the rest of them right where they wanted them. The promise came to his mind, the one that bound him, told him to do the right thing, no matter the cost. He was a scared little boy when assassins first came to Hamla. It was nearly his father's death. He could help here. With hands that shook, he held out his sword and charged the soldier that was trying to put a dagger into Kirstin. Kamil screamed as he charged, drawing the soldier's attention. The man backed away and attempted to raise the dagger to block but failed, feeling the burn of the sword cutting deep along his chest and killing him almost instantly. The soldier dropped at Kirstin's feet, unmoving.
"Thank you, Kamil. You saved my life," She hugged him gratefully and scooped up the sword that the soldier had been carrying. Kamil followed her as she rushed to aid Benmont.
"I did save your life," Kamil muttered quietly as he rushed for the next enemy, "I did it." Finding new courage with that revelation, Kamil brandished his sword and readied himself for the next attack.
Benmont thrust back the man, narrowly avoiding the lethal caress of the blade that he wielded. The soldier staggered back just enough to allow Benmont time to gain his bearings and then he was on him again, cross slashing and nearly cutting Benmont's arm off. The big youth retracted his arm and cursed under his breath. He knew there was no way out of this. He waited, gathering strength to exchange death blows with the soldier. If he had to die in this place then he was making sure that his killer was going with him.
Then the soldier's eyes bulged in his head and he dropped the blade with a clatter before pitching forward, falling into Benmont, who caught his dead body and let it drop to the side. Kirstin stood behind him, her sword bloodied from the thrust she dealt him, blood dribbling off the tip of it. Her clothes were as ruffled as her wild hair and Benmont saw a wound on her left leg that spread a stain of red ever widening.
"Kirstin, it seems that this time I owe you."
"Think nothing of it, Grim," she told him with a playful smile, trying to hide the shaking in her hands and the white that covered her face.
"No, I will remember this. I owe you much, sister." Kirstin blanched at the comment. Just a simple word made her forget the terrible combat that they just endured. Sister. But that was what she was to him, wasn't it?
"We...we better see if Father Alohm is alright," she stammered, unsure how to react to the word. Sister. She shook her head and turned to see the priest kneeling over the third man that came to attack them, the one that Benmont punched in the head. The father had just finished a prayer when he saw them all staring at him wide eyed.
"He was injured. I healed him. There is no need to shed any more blood then we have to, wouldn't you all agree?"
"He tried to kill us, father. I don't think he's worth saving. If I had my way I'd put my sword through him right now and be done with it," Kamil replied coldly, holding his sword close to him.
"I see Cameron taught you well, Kamil. But there are times when killing someone isn’t the only answer to an immediate threat. Death is a very permanent solution to a temporary problem."
"You there!" came a shout from behind them, further down the hall. Kamil spun to see more soldiers moving down the hall. Another four to be exact, dressed in the shining chain mail that the others adorned themselves in. Three of the men carried swords, while the last, the biggest, chose a short chained morning star as his desired weapon. Damien gathered the children around him, looking behind them for a place of retreat.
"You killed soldiers loyal to the Baron. This crime is punishable by death, and I have been granted license to carry out that sentence here and now! Throw down your arms and I will see that your deaths will be swift and painless!"
"Come and try it, dog! I need the release!" Benmont screamed at them, holding his sword at the ready. The captain gave the order to attack and they came charging toward them, only to stop at a crossing in the hall when another man dressed in light clothes and a heavy cloak stepped out before them. He wore leather gloves on his hands and high boots that trailed up to his knees, sewn at the side. He had a long sword that was crafted of silver. He was dark haired with a thin beard, perhaps in his thirties.
"Trost!" Kirstin exclaimed, rushing forward to aid him, only to have the priest gather her in his arms and hold her there, keeping her from the fray.
"Come, child! Trost is buying us time to flee, and flee we will! We must find a way out of the tower, any means that we can!" Damien took her hand and Kirstin gave Trost one last look as they turned a corner and were gone from sight. The ringing sound of battle filled the air behind them, reverberating in the halls and Kirstin tried to break free of the priest's hold but he held her fast. Kamil discovered a stairwell near the back of the hall they turned along. The straight cut of stone steps led them to the lower floor and Kamil looked to Damien for guidance.
"Go! Even if we are blocked from exiting we may be able to leap out into the ocean!" Kamil shot the priest a wide eyed look but didn't say anything, instead rushing down the steps. Damien followed with Benmont last in their ranks, guarding the rear. The bottom of the stairs lead them straight to what must have been the servant's quarters on the fourth floor. The halls were narrower and there was little to decorate the walls. Nor was there any carpeting to keep the floor warmer then the bare stone that it was made of. Damien threw open the shutters and gaped out, seeing the spray of the ocean and the cruel rocks below by better than four stories. He guessed that another floor down wouldn't hurt them any. He noted something peculiar about the window below him. There was a grappling hook and rope hanging from it, as if there were others who sought escape from the baron's tower.
"Can we take the jump, father?" Benmont asked, peering past Damien into the ocean below. He grimaced when he got a better view of the surroundings. Jumping here might prove to be suicide, he thought.
"We will take that rope down, and swim to Twin Port if we must," Damien informed them, backing away from the window and closing the shutters, "We must find a path to the lower floor, and the room that is exactly below this one."
"Father!" Kamil hissed, pointing at the stairs that they came down from. There were footfalls echoing down them, coming closer.
"They got past Trost already!" Kamil pressed himself against the wall and readied his sword, thinking to cut the soldier down before he got fully to the floor. A blade appeared first, stained crimson from the wounds that it had inflicted. Kamil held his breath and waited for him to step down. He took a wild swing in and sought to check it when he saw a knee high leather boot step down onto the floor. Trost helped him check that swing by holding his blade up and letting it glance off. The grounds keeper stepped in front of him, tunic and vest stained with splatters of blood.
"Trost!" Kirstin exclaimed, loosing herself of the priest's hold and wrapping her arms around his neck. Trost hugged her back with an arm as he turned his gaze to the priest.
"I overheard what Avernus meant to do with you, though I have yet to hear why. Not that it matters to me. I had sworn long ago that I would defend that right in the world, and right now it seems that you are in the right and my employer is not. How do you need my aid?"
"The room below here, it seems that someone has either escaped already or someone infiltrated it. Either way, we could use that way to escape. Will you help us?"
"I will," Trost told the father as he gently pushed Kirstin back from him. He leveled his gaze to meet hers and saw that she was on the verge of tears. He brushed one of the tears away with a gloved hand.
"Are you alright, Kirstin?"
"I thought you were going to die up there!" Kirstin blurted, then tried to calm herself, combing through her hair with her fingers.
"I'm not that easy to kill," Trost told her with a sure smile.
"Can you lead us there, Trost?" the priest asked again.
"Follow me. There's another stairwell in the east wing of the tower that's seldom used. I don't think that any of the guards will notice us if we hurry, so everyone form after me and keep silent as you can."
Trost lead them along the passage, past the servant's doors that lined the walls on either side. He brought them to another corner of the hall where a door was nestled into the stone work of the wall. He opened it and made his way down, silver sword before him. Kirstin followed fast after him, a faint smile on her lips. Kamil and Damien were next, followed by Benmont, who demanded to have the back in case of attack. At the bottom, of the stair well Trost froze where he stood and leveled the blade before him, his face turning grim as he appraised several men that strode closer to him.
"Dagothian scum," he muttered as he lowered his fighting stance and stalked forth, sword at the ready. He saw their standard embroidered to the side of their armor, the anvil with the curved sword in it and the stain of their mail, dark from the forges below Dagoth. Three men approached him, all with sword and shield, then there were three more behind them at the turn in the hall, one of them stood more regal than the rest, his armor shining where theirs was dull. The standard differed for that man, taking a different color and being larger. Trost knew him for one of the Honor Guard.
Kirstin stepped down behind him and gasped, putting her hand over her mouth.
"There's one of the whelps now," the Honor Guard pointed Kirstin out behind Trost, "Take her, and any others that you find. There are three of them. Our king has decreed their deaths, so his will be carried out."
"Over my dead body," Trost snarled, spitting at them.
"Very well then," the Honor Guard obliged him. "Attack."
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