Escana (28 page)

'I
can tell when a young lady is feigning sleep you know, they tend to
do it around the likes of me for some reason.'

She
tentatively opened her eyes, they were greeted by a crippled old man
with a hump who stared at her through rheumy eyes as he gripped his
cane.

'I
can't say I blame them, I'm not the prettiest sight you'll see when
recovering.'

Easing
her way up on the bed she kept her eyes firmly fixed on the man. The
room felt less safe than before. 'Who are you?'

The
man frowned slightly. 'You mean to say Mrs Newbury failed to inform
you? That woman would forget what the staircase was for if she didn't
see people walking up and down it every day.'

Ella
refused to be goaded by his playful nature. 'You still haven't told
me who you are.'

He
shifted stiffly to the side of her bed and settled himself down,
hanging the cane on the end. 'I am Falarus, owner of this house of
rest and recovery. You were brought to us in dire need of help, no
doubt the latest victim of the guards. We have laboured day and night
to speed your unlikely recovery.'

Much
like her previous conversation, the words seemed well rehearsed, yet
she couldn't help but notice the sincerity and concern behind them.
It was then she realised the shocking claims of the man. 'I've been
unconscious for days?' She stared around the room, the other beds
were now empty. They were alone here.

Falarus
nodded at her sadly as he saw her take in the surroundings. 'The few
that made it have long since left this place. We have seen others
like you before but none of them were as strong in spirit. It took
you a full week of recovery to have this discussion with me.'

A
slow pattering filled the silence that followed, rain striking
something metallic high above them. She tilted her head upward and
saw the faint ridges of the ceiling high above them in the darkness.
They reminded her of her father's gate, and a strange pang of longing
filled her chest.

'A
young man has been asking for a girl named Ella since you arrived
here. He has been most belligerent in his efforts to get past Mrs
Newbury, who has rebuked him at every attempt. Do you know of any
such men that would seek you?'

This
snapped her attentions back to Falarus. 'There was only one man
seeking me?'

He
nodded, stiffly rising from the bed. 'He goes by the name of Jimmy
and has been regularly visiting his other sick friend down below. Do
you know of him?'

She
was tentative in testing her legs as she slid them down onto the
floorboards. Although she had no recollection of what had been done
to her, she was able to guess. It had to have been pretty rough for
her to not only forget it but take an entire week to recover. No
doubt they had seen the previous signs of abuse too, though the man
had not mentioned it. Perhaps such things were commonplace for the
women that frequented this room.

'If
you could take me to his sick friend I will wait for him there,' she
said.

Falarus
smiled, yellowing teeth poking out under withered lips. 'You know
these two then? Luck is indeed with you.'

Ella
didn't feel lucky.

H
e
swept his gaze over the bodies of assorted men. They had been a rag
tag bunch of fugitives, but trustworthy all the same.

Then
of course there was The Hermit.

He
had once planned and plotted and drawn out detailed strategies but
ultimately the limited understanding of such a small group made the
effort futile. These were not military men drilled into precision,
instead of tactical warfare they simply followed The Hermit nowadays
with an odd faith that appeared entirely justified given the results.
It didn't seem to matter how perilous the situation was, following
The Hermit offered the greatest chance of survival. The men who had
caught on to this idea were the only ones that remained now.

The
past few days had been the most testing of all his time in Urial.
Ever since the breakout his men had been found dead in a similar
fashion as before. Whatever that creature was he couldn't fault its
efficiency, the only protection left seemed to come from The Hermit.
The confrontation and the powerlessness he felt kept running through
the back of his mind constantly. There were far too many unanswered
questions to risk his silent protector leading them outright, yet
something about his continued presence stopped the creature from
massacring his men. He didn't appear to have a choice.

Until
now.

The
young man he had saved a few days ago was raw and hard working. This
didn't make up for his overly talkative nature. Gadtor didn't expect
him to last much longer, his constant questioning and his emotive
responses took prominence ahead of discipline. If he wasn't so hard
pressed for men he wouldn't have taken him. The Hermit seemed to
think he showed promise but Gadtor felt he could get a lot of men
killed if he did the wrong thing at the wrong time.

This
was exactly the position he found himself in, stuck with a man he
couldn't trust and a liability he couldn't keep his eyes off.

Although
he never could get used to the stench, the sewers were very familiar
to him now. Many times he had dashed through them, divining a fast
exit when all hope seemed lost. He prided himself on having rescued
more men than he had lost each and every time. Now he was facing the
stark reality of losing many and saving none.

He
continued to stare at the bodies of his finest men. The cuts were
many and efficient. A scrape here and a slash there, all of them
surface wounds with the express purpose of drawing blood rather than
ending the conflict. The men had been bled to death for someone's
amusement and he had no doubts as to who was behind it. The fury
bubbling up inside was choking him. They were all dead, there really
was nobody left. He had sent them all to their deaths after having
saved each one.

He
started to drag the bodies, knowing in his heart that there were far
too many to afford a fit burial. The Hermit's hand came down firmly
but kindly upon his shoulder, forcing him up as he eventually caught
hold of his senses. Although there were only three left now, there
was little point in getting them all killed leaving Urial.

The
journey back toward the safe house was a blur in his mind. He kept
trying to think about the old man's face and what he could possibly
say to him of his failure.

Jimmy
let out a cry beside him, scattering his thoughts. Someone had
spotted them as they had made their escape and had tracked them to
this point, hoping to spring an ambush. He cursed himself for his
foolishness and drew his sword, this wasn't going to be pretty.

It
was then he noticed that the huge claymore was sitting lightly in the
palms of the man's hands, Gadtor had heard of this sword in legend
and found that terror had struck him still. This was Skullcleaver,
the immortal sword.

The
man dashed forward with a slight limp in his stride but the look in
his piercing blue eyes was terrifying to behold.

The
Hermit stepped forward to meet the challenge, drawing his sword with
a careful precision and holding the blade vertically between his
eyes. The attacker slowed somewhat in confusion, then stopped
completely as if realising the other man's stance.

Gadtor
felt his fear sweep away from him, replaced with something he hadn't
felt in a long time, a reverential awe.

The
Hermit advanced one pace and the attacker gave ground. He then
motioned at Gadtor to depart.

The
mistrust he felt at being discarded the last time was still there but
Gadtor hadn't lived this long without knowing when discretion was the
best course of action. He looked across to Jimmy but found that the
boy was already sprinting toward the safe house, a wise choice.

They
pounded on the door and realised that they'd probably be mistaken for
the guards. They were let in by none other than Falarus himself,
looking very concerned.

'Why
are there only two of you, what of the others?' the old man cried.

Gadtor
shook his head, having no time to explain. He slammed the door shut
and bolted it without a second thought. Moments later the hammering
on the door was unmistakeable.

'Open
the door in the name of Lord Kelgrimm' roared a voice outside,
followed by a brief silence.

Gadtor
turned to face the door and held his ground. There was no other exit,
they were trapped.

The
lack of sound drew tension further into the air, the only perceptible
change being the wheezing of Falarus, which seemed more laboured than
before.

Gadtor
had placed the wooden bar across the door knowing he was only
delaying the inevitable but if they were going to take him they'd
have to break their way in.

It
seemed an eternity to wait before he realised that they had neither
started knocking the door down or brought a ram.

He
was on the verge of confused relief, cautiously moving forward to
unbar the door when the old man clapped him on the shoulder.

'Someone
approaches, keep the door secure.'

Gadtor
didn't sense anything approaching, but stayed his hand for the
moment.

A
cold chill went up his spine when he heard the laughter peeling off
as if inside his head.

'Come
out, come out, the gatecrasher himself is upon you! Don't make me
huff and puff!'

Whilst
he didn't understand the words, the cold mirth did nothing to conceal
the deadly threat that the voice carried. A tiny voice of his own
suggested that he probably wasn't going to live through this.

'Alas,
it is foolish to believe that a simple obstruction would prevent me
from entering this abode. Especially one such as yourself who has
witnessed my previous sport.'

Anger
overtook Gadtor at the mocking mention of slaughter dressed up in
pretty words. 'The door isn't the obstruction you prancing
whorespawn, I am.'

A
heavy sigh ran through Gadtor's mind in response to his own words,
disappointment and tiredness seemed to lace through it.

'There
is little sense in bandying further words with you, your tongue will
be equally juvenile when you babble like a babe for your life. Yet
your insolence shall brook no mercy.'

Gadtor's
bravado was extinguished, the air seemed to tighten around him
mercilessly, it was then he noticed that the wooden bar on the door
was beginning to make an odd hissing noise.

He
started to motion at Falarus to retreat when the bar caught fire,
flickering flames rushing along the surface as if fuelled by an
invisible oil. In spite of himself he took several steps back and
braced his body for the unknown onslaught. The licking tongues ate
into the wood as if they were snakes devouring prey. Without warning
the bar exploded in a series of charred splinters.

The
blackened wood settled around them, none of the debris had caught
them and the door remained firmly shut, Gadtor had been expecting a
lot worse.

The
lock on the door started making a strange clicking sound, Gadtor's
heart leapt into his throat.

He
found he was holding his breath, those conscious in the room had
frozen since the bar had been destroyed, seemingly hypnotised by the
strange noise of the lock.

He
felt the same fear that had gripped him last time multiplied by the
knowledge of what was on the other side of the door.

The
clicking gradually sped up, leaving him with the certainty that the
lock would yield. Moments later, the door slid open to reveal his
greatest fear.

A
wicked smile curved the creature's mouth, it was the first time
Gadtor had got a good look at the features of this monster. Its ears
and brows were curiously pointed, like a demon out of some faerie
story, the sword it brandished seemed to blaze crimson with the blood
of his men. In all his years, Gadtor had seen nothing like it and the
cheerful nod it gave him before advancing upon him signalled his end.

'Halt!'
a voice shouted, stopping the creature moments before cutting Gadtor
to ribbons.

It
let out an audible sigh at this new figure by the door. 'I know,
leave him and the old man alive as an example. I was fully intending
to deliver on that request, your constant shadowing of me puts you in
considerable peril.'

The
older looking guard by the door seemed unmoved by this threat. 'Lord
Kelgrimm needs them to survive the night, I'm here to make sure they
do.' He motioned forward with his hand and a series of guards poured
into the room. 'Take the old man and the one eyed bandit captive.' He
turned back to the creature. 'You may kill the rest.'

It
made a scoffing noise. 'If you want the cripples dead you may do it
yourself, I have other matters to attend to.'

Lowering
the sword and paying Gadtor no further interest, it walked out the
door, eyeing the grizzled looking guard with distaste. 'I assure you,
my absence will become notable very soon.'