Chapter 13d: Another Trap

On the other side of the palace where the light of day had never reached, a robed figure crouched in the darkness, waiting.

Twelve hundred years ago he had been a man known as The King Killer, a well-earned nickname, a testament to his abilities. The civilized world knew him for his skills in dealing silent death, and for the right coin he boasted that he could kill anyone. It wasn’t an empty boast. The King Killer combined cunning genius with the stealth of a great cat to make him a life ending machine that brought fear to the hearts of friends and enemies alike. There hadn’t been a class of people he hadn’t brought death to, whether they be homeless drunks, wealthy merchants or even powerful kings, he had killed them all when the coin matched the job. Status, religion, skin color or sexual preference didn’t mean a thing to him, just the coin, just the reputation, just the kill. He brought assassinations to a new level in his day, changing it from simple brutish henchmen work to a true form of art.

His wonderful life had ended quite suddenly, but not in a way he thought it would. Pursued through a forest after his latest kill, a barbarian lord had forced him deep into the marshy woods. He had almost escaped, a mere mile or so from freedom, when he fell into a peat bog, banging his head on a root and drowning in the organic soup. He had always pictured himself dying in a sword fight, or even being vengefully stabbed in the back, but never drowning under putrid water with no one around to witness it.

Over the centuries his body had merged with the bog, taking in its minerals and rich organic makeup, preserving him to a great extend. Protecting his body against the ravages of time. Turning his skin to into a pliable leathery material, making it as dark as the murky water that surrounded it.

He probably would have stayed that way until the bog dried up if a hand hadn’t reached beneath the shallow waters and drug him to the surface, toting his black body to an even darker place. He was glad to be back, doing what he loved to do.

The King Killer grabbed his wrist and squeezed. He let go and gently ran his fingers along the indentions left by his grip as they slowly smoothed back over. He skin was pliable, like dough. Even his bones had softened up, Not to the point of making him a wobbly mess, but with a slight elasticity, allowing them more give, making them harder to break, almost like cartilage. Unlike dough, his skin glistened black, onyx. Not the blackness of a normal dark skinned man, but the blackness of night, the black of a crow. He liked his new self, the perfect representation of his inner self, his soul.

A light flickered just under the door. Dim voices whispered back and forth. The King Killer stood and waited.

As the clomp of footsteps echoed through the chamber just beyond the door noises became louder, clearer. A deep voice rumbled, "Help me with this here wine shelf, Champ. It’s heavy as the dickens and I don’t want to be droppin’ any of the wine."

Another voice, full of laugher, replied, "Then why don’t ya just take the bottles out. Set them off to the side."

"Awe come on. You want me to move pull all these here bottles just to move this shelf over a few feet and then put them all back. That’ll take half n’ hour when movin’ the stinkin’ shelf with the bottles’ll only take a couple of minutes. Besides, it ain’t like we’s gonna come back here and drink it after this."

Some of the laughter died from the second voice, "Yeah, you be right about that. I figure once we leave here the dead’s gonna be the only ones drinkin’ the wine, and I doubt they would appreciate it much."

Another set of footsteps moved in. A third voice echoed off the walls with military authority. "You two shut it up and just get that shelf out of the way. We need to make sure the door to the caverns is accessible and not stuck. We will be needing to use it in the next day or so."

The deep voice replied, "Yes sir. I’m sure glad that the Renier’s never closed this secret exit off. Coarse, it ain’t so secret no more, or won’t be for long. What, with everyone traipsin’ through here to escape."

"Well, come on Grommy. You’re the one that asked me to get the other end of this here shelf and now ya just stand there flappin’ yer trap. Let’s do this already."

Grumbles escaped the lips of the deep voiced one and then the chamber filled with a loud screech as the wine rack skidded across the floor.

Footsteps. Keyes jingling. Clicking inside the door. A bar being lifted. The door opened.

The King Killer moved deeper into the shadows as three men stood in a pool of torchlight. One of them raised his torch high into the air and pointed it down the cavern shaft. "Don’t look too inviting, does it, sir?"

The skinny man with the laughing voice replied, "Looks like freedom to me Grommy."

The one in the center, wearing leather armor, put his hands on their shoulders and said, "Okay, let’s lock it back up and tell Duke Renier that the exit is ready."

He had to slip through the door before they closed it and locked him out, but he couldn’t do that while they stood in the way, and he couldn’t kill them yet without alarming everyone in the palace, and he wasn’t ready to do that just yet. With a flick of his wrist he launched a small stone into the darkness, further down the stone corridor.

The men spun around as the stone met a wall and clattered to the floor.

Grommy held his torch out towards the darkness. "Did you hear that, sir? Somethin’s down there."

"Sssssshhhhhh"

They waited, listening to the darkness, hearing nothing.

The armored one drew his sword and walked into the corridor, the other two followed his example. They walked past The King Killer, oblivious to his presence as their eyes and ears focused on something further down the passageway.

He let them walk a little further into the darkness before creeping out and sliding through the door. As he walked past the wine rack he glanced back into the darkness, where three forms silently crept over the rough stone floor. He smiled and thought, Thank you gentlemen. I couldn’t have done it without your help. Then he walked on, into the palace to earn his keep.

Chapter 13c: Setting the Trap

Within the darkening forest outside the palace walls General Faygen watched as the gate cracked open and thirteen people crept from the safety of the city walls. One of the individuals even looked to be a young woman, dressed in an outlandishly bright blouse.

A thousand years has passed and men are just as stupid as they ever were. Faygen thought to himself, shaking his head back and forth. He had heard the ringing of the church bell. He had seen the message from the city walls. The men in the palace desperately wanted to rescue the poor souls trapped in the temple, they only needed an opportunity. Faygen had given them that opportunity, pulling back the undead and giving the brave men of the palace the incentive they needed to attempt a rescue. It was almost too easy, unfair even. Those poor bastards think they are only dealing with the mindless undead. They are about to learn a hard lesson.

He watched the potential saviors as they crept down the road, swords drawn and arrows notched. They didn’t hold themselves like soldiers; bar room brawlers perhaps, but not soldiers. They had no formation and their steps radiated nervous energy, fear. Have men fallen so far since my day? Are they now cowardly and stupid? If this is the best they can do I will have the palace under my control by dawn. At least they had enough sense to send a few archers.

Faygen almost pitied them, especially the girl. She reminded him of a slightly older version of his own daughter, his sweet Eyliasa.

He couldn’t get distracted by such thoughts. He couldn’t allow himself to sympathize with the enemy. He didn’t want to think of them as the enemy though. He didn’t want to see himself as the bad guy, the evil one in the battle, but he couldn’t see himself as anything else. The people of this city had been destroyed by a great evil. An evil that he was helping, but what choice did he have. He couldn’t allow Eyliasa to be hurt again because of him. Not again.

The heroes faded from sight as darkness claimed the road and the forest. Faygen looked at the undead around him. The white disk of dead eyes stared back at him. All over the forest the dead eyes stared. Thousands of them, just far enough into the woods so that they couldn’t be seen from the palace walls, hidden almost in plain sight. They waited for his commands. They waited to feast. They wouldn’t have to wait much longer.

He turned, facing deeper into the wet forest, and gave his mental command. Wait! Stay here until I return.

He felt some resistance to the command. Singly they didn’t have much will, but in such large numbers their willpower became a force to be reckoned with. Luck fully his own willpower was up to the task, at least at this point. He didn’t know what would happen if he gave a command in the middle of a feeding frenzy. Hopefully by that time things would be under control and he could let these disgusting creatures go about their business.

He walked into the forest, the damp undergrowth soaking his britches. His body no longer generated any heat, so it didn’t give him chills, but it was damned uncomfortable none-the-less. He could feel his dry skin soaking up the moisture, wrinkling as dry skin pulled in the water like a sponge. He could also feel himself beginning to rot. His wet skin itched constantly, giving off a sour odor. Gasses built within him and he had to belch and fart every few minutes to ease the discomfort of bloating. He didn’t enjoy being one of the living dead.

Belching, he put these thoughts behind him. He had to beat the heroes to the temple in time to evacuate the undead. He couldn’t do it too early or the people in the temple would realize their jailers were gone and flee, but if the beat the heroes there by a few minutes everything would work out perfectly. He widened his stride and picked up speed.

Chapter 13b: To the Temple

Ten men stood next to the front gates of the palace. A light drizzle misted the air, hazing the fading light and adding to the gloom that shadowed over the men’s faces. Stiles ran a hand through his damp hair as he walked up to them. They knew something would happen soon, they just didn’t know what. He dreaded telling them.

Before he could say anything Ash stepped to the front and said, “Did you tell Duke Renier what a wonderful job you did on our escape from his dungeons? Was he so impressed with your bravery that he told you to go out and vanquish the rest of the undead? Did you tell him how you let Horn die?”

“That’ll be enough of that, Ash.” Stiles could feel his cheeks turning red with the conflicting emotions of both anger and shame. He didn’t know if he wanted to hit Ash or walk up to him and apologize. Instead of doing either he kept his emotions pushed down and stuck to business. People needed saving.

“That ain’t nearly enough…”

“Ash, please. You are partially right. The Duke did give us an assignment.”

To be given an assignment by Duke Renier was an honor, an honor that even Ash couldn’t balk at. The other men shifted their feet. Their brows furrowed inquisitively while their eyes shone with pride. Their nervous shuffled betrayed their fear.

Blade stepped in and put a firm hand on Ash’s shoulder, “What did he give us, Stiles?”

Stiles hand rose to the back of his neck and rubbed it nervously. “This is a great honor, but I’m not sure that you guys are going to like this one.”

Royd’s rough voice spoke up from the line. “Well, considerin’ that the last assignment started out with ale and story tellin’ and ended with us havin’ an undead jailer, getting a tough assignment might not turn out so bad, if you get my meanin’”

“I hope your right, Royd. I really do.”

He took a deep breath and folded his arms over his chest before continuing on. “Duke Renier wants us to go to the Temple of Vaspar and save some people who are trapped inside.”

Blade raised his hand but spoke before Stiles could acknowledge him. “How do they know anyone is there?”

“They have been ringing the Temple bell, I believe it’s called The Bell of Saint Renando. There are also people moving around in the bell tower. Nobody knows who’s in there but it looks like at least one teenager and maybe a priest.”

Another guard spoke up, “I don’t mean to sound like a coward or anything, but does it make sense to anyone for eleven people to be going out to save two. I know my counting ain’t so good, but this just don’t add up.”

“Jamee, I’m not going to force anyone to go. If I have to I will go by myself. The Duke asked me to do this and no matter what else has happened he is still my Duke and this assignment is an honor that I’m not going to shun. You can do what you want.”

Blade forced a smile, giving Ash’s shoulder a squeeze. “Well, you can count me in. Do we leave in the morning?”

“No, you will need to leave right now.” The voice came from the side and caught the men by surprise, the voice of the Duke.

The men straightened, trying to make themselves presentable, but the Duke waved his hand, telling them to relax. Behind him, a grin stretched Wellan’s lips.

“Like Stiles stated, I won’t force any of you to go. It’s true that we aren’t sure how many people there are in there. There may only be two, or there may be two dozen. I just want to give them a fighting chance. I don’t want to leave them stranded, to starve or become one of the undead. There aren’t many of us left. I want to save the ones that remain.”

Blade raised his hand, index finger pointed to the heavens. When the Duke nodded to him he asked, “Why now, sir? Why at dusk?”

“The undead have left our walls. We don’t know where they have gone or for how long, but this is the best opportunity we have had to get to the Temple of Vaspar. I don’t know if Stiles has brought this up, but I would like a group of you to rescue the people at the temple, another group to scout out the city and see where everyone has gone, and a final group to leave the city and go to the Baron Milchev. His people need to be warned. Stiles will split you up into different groups when you arrive at the temple.”

Splashing interrupted the Duke as two people sloshed through the muddy puddles; a man and a woman, wearing flamboyant clothing and packed to travel. They stopped at the end of the guard line.

Wellen stepped around Duke Renier. “Shannai, what are you doing here?”

The man spoke before she could answer, “We want to go. Get outside the city while there is a chance.”

The duke’s brows furrowed. “You and your wife are safe here. There is no reason to take a chance in the city if you don’t have to.”

Stiles bristled as the man glanced at the woman and rolled his eyes. “First off, she is my sister, and secondly I don’t want to be trapped in here if those things come back. We’re getting out while the getting is good.”

The Duke’s arms folded over his chest. “I won’t force you to stay. It’s your decision, but I think you and your sister would be better off here. We are making plans to leave the city. Plans that don’t involve dealing with the undead any more than we have to.”

Wellan spoke before the man could reply. “Is this what you want Shannai?”

The woman stared at the Dukes boots as she replied. “I will follow Marchas. He’s never let me down yet.”

Marchas’ teeth gleamed through his smug grin, but Stiles noticed that his sister never looked the wizard in the eye as she answered, and her voice barely rose above a whisper.

Duke Renier frowned. “So be it. Marchas and Shannai will join the group that leaves the city to warn Baron Milchev. I wish you all the best of luck, and may Vaspar be with you as you go about your appointed tasks.”

Chapter 13a: Brother and Sister

"The body is a vessel for the soul and nothing more. We, our true self, dwells within, waiting for release, waiting for the day that we can be judged for our actions. "

~Dokken the Wise
Brother and Sister

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“Where have you been?” Marchas spit the question out like an accusation.

“Since when did I have to start reporting myself to you?” Shannai spat back.

Seeing their way of life destroyed filled them with tension. Instead of bringing them closer together they struck out at one another. Directing their fear and aggression at the ones closest to them. Arguing more than they had since they were little.

Her brother’s nostrils flared, and he pursed his lips in anger. He opened his mouth to reply and stopped. His face relaxed and he sighed. “Sorry, Shan. You’re right. I’m just worried is all.”

She sat on the edge of the bed while he buttoned up his shirt. “I hope you’re not worried on my account. You’re the troublemaker.”

He placed his hand over his heart, feigning injury. “Me, a trouble maker. Who started that bar fight in Tholog? If I remember correctly I was minding my own business, entertaining some very fine young ladies, when you hit that trapper across the head with your beer stein. Put a hell of a dent in the stein too, if I remember correctly.”

She laughed and threw a pillow at him. “You know that wasn’t my fault, Marchas. That bear of a man had all the manners of a wild boar, and the smell to go with it. If he had kept his paws to himself that would have been a pleasant evening.”

“It would have been for me. No doubt about that. I was doing pretty well that night.”

She started to comment on his philandering, but stopped as he sat on the bed next to her. His eyes shined with fear, and his brows furrowed in concentration.

“Shannai, we are in trouble like we haven’t been before.”

She looked at her lap, where her fingers twisted a button on her blouse, and nodded her head. Her voice shook in a cracked whisper, “Yeah. We are, aren’t we?”

He put his arm over her shoulder and pulled her close. “I’m not trying to frighten you, but I don’t want you to think that just because we are here at the duke’s grand palace everything is okay, because it isn’t.”

“At least we aren’t alone. There are others here. City guards. The wizard…”

He stood up and walked to the window. “Have you seen how many city guards are here? Not hardly enough to stop a bar fight, and, though I was a bit out of it when I met him, it looks like the wizard has met his match. There’s too many of them. You saw. There’s not a city block that doesn’t have ten or more of the damned things trying to kill you. I’m guessing that they’re congregating around the palace walls even as we speak. Trying to get in here and have their way with us. It’s just a matter of time before that finally happens, and I don’t want to be here when it does.”

She twisted her shoulders to face him. “You aren’t thinking of going back out there again? By ourselves? They will get us for sure this time. Besides, I think they are stacked ten deep around the palace walls, just like you said. There is no way we could get through, even if the guards allowed it.”

He slammed his fist into his palm. “I’m thinking it will be easier and safer for two people to sneak out of the city instead of everyone in the palace to try and walk out of there. We know what to expect now, I think we can do it. We just can’t wait here for them to get in.”

“Marchas, think about it. They can’t climb the wall. We are safe here. It’s also a long walk to the city gates. The palace is backed up against the Barclaves at the furthest point in the city from any of the walls. I think it’s too far for just too people. I don’t even think we can get out of the palace. There are just too many of them waiting right outside the palace walls for us.”

He turned from her and grasped the window seal, leaning against tense arms. “Well, I just can’t wait here for them to break through, or for us to starve to death. There has to be something we can do to get out of this.”

“Let’s wait, see what the Duke…”

Rapid knocking on the door interrupted Shannai. Marchas whirled around and looked at her. She shrugged and then turned to the door. “Come in.”

The door opened and a teenage boy stepped into the room. Grime covered his face in the fading light, making this toothy smile stand out. “I didn’t mean to bother you, but I just heard that we might be saved. I’m going around and lettin’ everyone know.”

Marchas stepped up to the boy, his voice reflected the boy’s excitement. “Saved? How?”

The boy hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. “I’m so stupid. The people. The infected ones. They have walked away from the wall. They aren’t blocking us in no more.”

Marchas thanked the boy and walked him to the door. When the boy left he shut the door and leaned back against it. His smile shone through his goatee with as much enthusiasm as the boys. “I think this is out chance.”