Mighty Hammer Down (17 page)

"Forgive me Alana, but I must have one
of my men guard this door. Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t,
but you must understand that I can’t have a stranger roaming around
in these sacred halls. The door will remain unlocked, and your
guard will escort you around if needed. Simply open the door and he
will take you wherever you need to go or bring you whatever you
need."

"I understand. I make no complaint. I
am grateful that you have taken me from that dirty cell and that
you understand my intentions. Luckily your men captured me and not
more men from the Medoran army. Can I ask for soap and water so
that I can clean myself?"

"Of course. I will have someone bring
it right away. I will also provide you with a robe as I mentioned
before so that we can get you close to the General
tomorrow."

"Thank you sir. Your help is much
appreciated," she said as she entered the room and sat on the bed
inside.

"Certainly Alana. I thank you in
advance for your help in our cause and I wish you luck with
yours."

She nodded a single respectful nod,
almost like a bow as he closed the door. He was amazed at how well
she seemed to fit into the plan. There was no doubt in his mind
that her intentions would do nothing but simplify his strategy. The
General’s murder was going to make things so much easier in the
future. He smiled as he considered his plan as a whole. All the
pieces were now on the board, and after tonight, he would control
every single one of those pieces.

Chapter 14

The harsh orange glow of the
torchlight stung his eyes as he struggled to open them. His body
felt heavy and weak, making it difficult to move. He was only
vaguely aware of his surroundings, and he fought to determine where
he was or how he had gotten there. As he considered his
predicament, he realized that not only did he not know how he got
there, but he didn’t know anything at all. He struggled to summon
memories but all that came was emptiness.

He turned his head to the side and the
light seemed to fade. The blackness in front of him swayed and
shifted, and he thought that perhaps someone stood there between
him and the torchlight. He clumsily turned his head the other way
and saw a similar dark object blocking the light. To comfort
himself he looked to the ceiling where there was flickering light
dancing above him. He attempted to reach out at these black figures
to his sides, but his arms would not obey him. He felt cold, hard
metal at his wrists and determined that he was fastened to whatever
it was he was lying on. It too was cold, but not metal; perhaps
some kind of stone.

More darkness crept in from the
shadows. Through his blurry vision he could not see what the shapes
were. He could only watch as they approached from the sides. He
began to worry as he wondered what was going on and what was going
to happen to him. In another futile attempt, he tried to free his
arms. His legs were held tightly as well, as he found out when he
made an effort to stand.

Almost all the light disappeared
except for what he could see on the ceiling. Slowly his ears began
hearing again. He had not noticed that he could not hear while he
was focusing on the sights in front of him. First he heard the
crackles of the torches, but then he heard voices; low, calm voices
all around him. He listened close in case the voices were telling
him how to free himself, but if they offered any help, he couldn’t
understand it. The voices droned and rolled in different rhythms
that made his head swim as he tried to untangle their messages. The
harder he focused, the more disoriented he became, so he decided
not to concentrate on the sounds around him.

He looked down at his feet, but he
could not make out the parts of his own body. It was mostly covered
in black cloth and seemed to fade into the shadows around him. He
felt his eyebrows knot in confusion and frustration as he started
to feel the weight of reality pushing down hard upon him. He again
fought to free himself to no avail. Out of desperation he tried to
speak. When no sound came he tried to scream; no scream came
either.

It seemed like hours between each word
that he heard drilling into his brain. He fought the agony of
frustration until he was so exhausted that he could hardly keep his
eyes open. Darkness started to fill his vision and he welcomed it.
It was too hard to fight anymore, so he began to give up and give
himself over into the icy blackness blanketing him. As he did this,
the voices got louder and sounded more determined. It seemed like
the voices were holding him here in this room against his will just
like the shackles at his wrists and ankles.

Suddenly he heard a word in their
chants.

Breathe

He was confused by the word. It made
no sense that all the sounds echoing around him were saying
something so simple. He tried to ignore it and return to the
darkness.

Breathe

He heard the word once more, this time
more intense and commanding. It was becoming quite an irritation
and he attempted to voice his anger but no sound came from his
throat. All of a sudden he realized that he was unable to speak
because there was no air in his lungs. In a powerful torrent, air
rushed inside him, filling him with life and energy. He pulled in
another breath that sent waves of power surging through him.
Remembering the shackles at his wrists and ankles, he commanded his
muscles to pull free from them, but he was still unable to
move.

Things still moved in slow motion
around him, but it seemed faster and clearer than before. He spoke
but he was unable to properly form the words in his mouth, and his
tongue seemed to get in his way. He shook his head and tried to
clear his thoughts, but everything was still a dark mystery
surrounded in shadow. Another shadow fell upon him, this time a
real one. Above him he saw a hooded man staring down at him. He
could not see his face, but he could feel them man’s oppressive
presence. He spoke to the others as he held a book in one hand. The
words were wet and slippery, like a different language flowing from
the darkness under his hood. He was powerless to do anything but
watch and listen for any words he could understand.

It seemed that it would never end and
he would be trapped forever lying on his back watching the strange
figures shift and move before him. At times he felt them touch him
on his chest as they chanted loudly. The one above him holding the
book did not chant with the others, but instead spoke to the air,
or maybe the ceiling. He was the loudest, and his voice cut deeply
into his mind as it raked through the room.

A new light was rising from the
shadows. Everything that was black was beginning to hum and glow a
faint purple. The orange light from the fires of the torches fought
to remain in control, but their flitting flames were no match for
the soft power emanating from the darkness. It grew brighter and
brighter until it was difficult to see where light ended and shadow
began. In the glow was hidden a pain and a pleasure, a sunset and a
dawn, a beginning and an end. He could not decide whether or not to
give himself over to the light as it curled around him and tugged
at his soul.

The man above him closed the book but
still spoke loudly. He bent over and put down the book and then
raised his arms to his sides. A cool wind began to blow and filled
the room with a chill air. The ceiling seemed to warp and shudder,
and the whole room began to grind and vibrate. The twisting ceiling
above looked more like clouds than stone, and the wind seemed to
pull the roiling clouds across the black marble that had turned to
skies of black. The winds grew stronger and the man spoke even
louder. He looked up to the man as lightning flashed in the large,
circular room. Something gold hung from his neck.

Gold.

Suddenly he realized there was
something else gold in the room. He could not see it, but he heard
it calling to him and felt its power. It pulled at him, begging for
his attention. It screamed silently directly into his mind and
offered help. He focused on it and thought that he could feel it
there in the room, somewhere off to his left. A slight tingle
burned in his blood as he listened to the voice screaming in his
head. It was guiding him. Not really with a voice, but with a
feeling. He did his best to ignore the light around him and gave
himself over to the burning feeling inside him. He closed his eyes
and calmed himself, pushing all the noise and the light from his
thoughts.

Suddenly he realized he was stronger
than the shackles that held him. He curled his arm and the metal
shattered, sending splinters into the crowd of men around him and
making them turn away in fear.

"He cannot harm you," the man above
him shouted over the howling wind, "we control him. He is
ours."

The words did nothing to dull his
strength. He could feel power rushing through him and knew that
this hooded man above him was no match for him. He reached out with
his free arm and called to the gold off to his left. It answered
him immediately and came to his hand. The men surrounding him were
terrified at the sight, and even the speaker took several steps
back.

In his hand he saw the thing that had
called to him and offered him help. It was a sword, a golden sword
that seemed to be made of one seamless piece of the precious metal.
He examined it there in his hand, its edges catching the orange
light of the torches that now burned brightly in the room. The
purple light had fled just like the courage and determination of
the men panicking around him. He broke the other shackles that held
him as if they were made of paper and sat up. He realized that he
had been lying on an altar made of black marble in the center of a
large circular room. He reached down and traced a white vein in the
stone before hopping off the edge.

The hooded men were running in all
directions, horrified that he would come near them. He remained
calm as he approached them. They all seemed to be running in slow
motion, and he had no trouble catching up to them.

"Get him!" the speaker yelled. "He
must not leave this room!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The commotion in the nearby room was
just the kind of disruption Alana was hoping for. She had already
persuaded her guard into her room and killed him an hour earlier.
Since his robes were hemmed in blue, she couldn’t use the robe that
she was given earlier, so she took his. She had put it on and stood
outside of her door, pretending to be the man she had killed. She
could not believe that the Mages would be so stupid as to give her
one of their robes as well as her knife.

Unsure of how to exit the labyrinth
the Mages had built, she approached the door to the room with all
the noise. She carefully pushed it open and peered inside. There
were screams from men being sliced open by a large man wearing only
black pants and boots. In his hand he held a golden sword. Her mind
raced to decipher what was happening. She had seen a man with a
gold sword before, but he was wearing a robe, and he certainly
wasn’t slaughtering his companions. Either she was wrong about the
Mages and they were good people, or this shirtless Mage was
fighting for the other side.

Some of the men seemed to be able to
escape, but the man with the sword did not look concerned. His back
was to her, and she could see his ribcage expand as he breathed
calmly while Mages ran from him in every direction. He cocked his
head as if he heard something, and slowly turned around. Her eyes
went wide when she looked into his face.

"Rommus!" she cried. "It’s not
possible. I saw you die."

He looked at her as if he was
confused. Then he took a stride towards her. She realized that he
had no idea who she was, and thought that she was a Mage, even
though she obviously had a female voice. She pushed her hood
back.

"Rommus, it’s me, Alana."

He stopped in his tracks, but he still
looked puzzled. He looked at her from under his dark eyebrows, a
look that was half anger and half confusion.

"Rommus I don’t know what’s going on,
or how you are alive, but we should get out of here. Come this way,
I have another robe you can wear to disguise yourself." He cocked
his head again and blinked at her a few times as he thought.
"Hurry! Before they know what’s going on."

Reluctantly he followed her through
the door and into her room. She could see that he had a scar on his
stomach where he was stabbed. There was little chance that this man
was just someone who looked like Rommus; it had to be him. She
grabbed the robe that was given to her earlier and threw it at
him.

"Hurry, put this on. They don’t know I
am wearing this robe and they won’t expect you to be in one either.
We can get out of here before they can figure out our
plan."

He put the sword down on the bed as he
slipped the robe over his head. It was a little tight, but it would
have to do. She looked down on the bed at the gold sword wet with
blood.

"I thought you said that a sword
couldn’t be made of gold like that."

"What?"

"Oh never mind. What is going on? How
is it that you’re alive? How did you manage to kill all of those
men?"