Siege of Night (2 page)

The thick oak double door was painted a deep blood red and elaborately decorated with green and brown horses surrounding the border, all fabricated from thin pieces of iron. However, the inside of the keep was strangely plain but well-lit due to many standing oil lamps that seemed to be apparent every ten feet or so. Oil made from animal fat was hardly in short supply, so oil-burning lamps were extremely abundant.

The floors and halls were all assembled from the same gray stone that graced the outer walls, with minimal attempt made to mask the drab settings. The occasional thin red or black carpet was thrown across a section of floor, mostly down hallways, with plenty of dull stone exposed on both sides, providing only just enough decoration to hint that some form of leadership might well preside within these walls.

Framed oil paintings, lace bordered tapestries, and other forms of art were few and far apart, as bare stone walls were more than standard throughout the keep. But the one decorative feature found in ample supply were the many stone statues positioned throughout the halls, and even in a few of the rooms, most of half-naked warriors frozen in their final death poses after the killing blow had been struck, while others depicted women with snakes around their necks or holding various other reptiles. These female statues were the few carved of glistening black marble. Great care had been taken when these were constructed, obvious by the high quality and excruciating detail.

Most of the soldiers resided in the barracks, which were attached directly to the arena, but a few marched the halls of the keep as well. They wore thick, black leather armor with three red slashes across the chest piece. The red slashes looked as if an animal tore the material open with their claws, which was also the universal symbol for Dronin’s flag. Their arms and legs were covered with the same black leather, but it was only found under the thick, tan fur that was long enough to sway back and forth as the warriors marched.

Very few carried a shield along with their weapon of choice. Most had two long- swords buried in black leather sheaths and fastened to either side of their belts. Despite having plenty of ore to make metal armor, the warriors opted against it, believing it hampered their movement in battle. They didn’t even wear helmets, due to the perceived disadvantage of limited vision.

The dining hall was easily the most elaborate room in the keep, for it was also used to hold meetings with local merchants as well as entertain other important guests. The thin, dark-blue carpet thrown over cold gray stone was bordered with white lace, and patterned with tiny green foliage with yellow blooms. Black oil lamps strung around the room flickered with a subtle orange glow, cascading uneven shadows across the thick pine wooden table set up on the raised dais. The only traditional forms of art in the whole keep could be found here: three unimpressive black and white tapestries hung from three separate walls, each five feet in length with identical checkerboard patterns stitched throughout the low-quality fabric.

Lord Corzon Thenalra leaned forward in his high-backed wooden chair covered in soft black cushion filled with goose feathers. He hunched over his filled plate as he tore angrily into a turkey leg, grease dripping from his thick black beard as he gnawed away. He wore fur clothing made of wolf, with an especially fluffy white collar and rugged black leather boots.

Three merchants shared the table with him this evening. Two sat on his right, the other to his left. Each enjoyed the full plates set before them as serving girls dressed in no more than common rags continued to fill their silver goblets with red wine each time anyone so much as took a sip. The girls clicked along as their beaded braids bounced around with every hurried step.

“I have to admit, a few of us have been wondering. Where is the man being held now?” inquired the thin, middle-aged man to Lord Corzon’s right before taking another large gulp of wine. He spoke in the native Dronin tongue, since there was no reason to speak Common given his present company.

“We have him locked up in a chamber downstairs...as if that is any of your business!” replied Corzon in a booming, impatient voice as his dark eyes flashed angrily toward the merchant. “I’ll keep him there until I decide if he’s a traitor or simply gone mad.” He grabbed a handful of black olives from his plate and shoved them down his throat without ever setting down the poultry in his other hand.

“My lord, then perhaps you can shed some light on the rumors that have been circulating,” said the tall, sharp-nosed merchant to his far right. “We hear that he was the lone survivor of an ambush, but for some reason you doubt his story, or perhaps his explanation as to why he is the only survivor?”

The man backed off the subject quickly when Corzon leaned to his side to give him a hard stare filled with fire. No words were needed. It was clear he had gone too far with his inquiring about business that concerned no one but Lord Thenalra himself. Besides, the merchants’ presence as guests this day had been arranged because of their business relationship with Corzon. They were not here to speak on rumors, and most certainly not about how he conducted the operations of his own keep.

Directly behind them leaned two figures against the long black banner with red slashes that hung from the ceiling as it flowed all the way down the stone wall. To the left leaned a man far larger than most in Dronin. Topping seven feet in height, Corzon’s personal bodyguard, Grandling, lazily surveyed the room as he fingered his two double- bladed axes on either side of his dark leather belt. He wore the black fur of a bear, which covered his thick torso except for his arms and legs, which remained uncharacteristically uncovered. It was odd for anyone to display exposed skin in the city of Dronin.

Grandling’s jet-black hair was woven into tight cornrows that clung snugly across his head then spilled into tight, long, woven strands that hung halfway down his back. The ends of his hair held a series of black beads which could hardly even be seen. He wore his long, black beard in four thick individual braids that came to rest on his massive chest.

The compact girl to the right leaned heavily against the banner with her toned, lightly muscled arms crossed defiantly, her head bent low as she seemingly studied the floor. Corzon’s daughter, Athel, was unusually short for her people, looking most of the men directly in the chest, but her height seemed no more unusual than her bright green eyes, a characteristic almost unheard of in Dronin folk.

That and her two front teeth made of shiny silver had always made her stand out a bit. Of course, she had always been short, but lost her front teeth playing roughly as a child and they had to be replaced. She had always been an unruly child, and that temperament seemed to follow her still.

Her wild black braids filled with red, white, and black beads flared out in all directions and rattled noisily with even the slightest movement. Two customized half- moon short-swords rested in black leather sheaths fastened tightly across her back. They seemed almost ceremonial, given the red and yellow jewels encrusted within the hilts, but neither of these thick blades was for show, as she had proven to others before. Many would no doubt agree with the assessment...if they were still around.

She often went down to the arena to work out with the soldiers, teaching them a thing or two before returning to the keep. Training with the men was something she loved to do whenever she found time. Despite their completely different appearances in demeanor and stature, it had always been unclear as to whether Athel or Grandling was the bigger combat threat. Whatever the difference, a rodent would surely starve on it.

Corzon often entertained small gatherings with the local merchants. It was not unusual at all to have six or seven here in the dining hall so they could all discuss local business and what could be done to improve profits. Even though Dronin was certainly one of the largest cities in Tarmerria, the barbarian city was completely dependent on foreign coin, so constant gatherings with the local merchants were imperative to making sure things ran smoothly and profitably. However, Corzon didn’t appear to be himself this day. He seemed non-talkative and distracted as he tore through his meal, hardly even acknowledging his guests.

One of the serving girls leaned into Corzon’s ear and muttered something while she topped off his silver goblet that certainly didn’t need more than a drop or two. A devilish smile slowly split his face as she spoke, just before he pulled her onto his lap and kissed her deeply with his mouth still plenty full. She did her best not to look disgusted as she scrambled back to her feet, forcing a smile with great effort as she wiped grease from around her mouth with the back of her hand then scurried out of the room at a much faster pace than she had entered.

“My friends, the entertainment is finally ready,” said Corzon as he rubbed his hands together vigorously. “This is a special little surprise I have been saving for just the right occasion. Send them in,” he shouted as he stood from his chair and stretched an open hand toward the entrance.

“Oh, what an honor this is. I can’t wait to see what his excellence has planned for us this evening!” gushed the balding, flabby man to his left as his multiple chins shook with excitement. His permanently red-tipped nose matched the bright, foreign, wool coat he had bartered for years ago. Serving maids began to put out some of the oil lamps to darken the room a bit. The mood was to be just right for this special treat.

Three scantily clad women entered the dimly lit room, followed by a handful of musicians who scurried into the corner quickly with their heads held low, knowing full well they were hardly the main attraction here. The girls’ outfits were identical except for their colors: one green, one blue, and the lead girl wore yellow.

Each had loose-fitting pants made from a thin, nearly transparent silky material. Bare feet displayed painted toes that matched their fingernails, all the same color as their apparel. Exposed bellies revealed rigid, hard stomach muscles covered by tight dark skin. Undersized velvet vests with two small golden cords across the open front were the only things barely keeping their breasts contained. Veils of the same transparent material were strung across each one’s face, leaving only fluttering eyes with long, dark eyelashes exposed. Each one’s dark hair was tied back by a ribbon of matching color, revealing large, gold hoop earrings that swung about as they slinked up toward the table.

The low, deep, steady thumping of a drumbeat began to fill the air, followed shortly by a duo of fluttering flutes as they chirped away in perfect harmony. When the lute player added his contribution to the hypnotizing melody, the girls began to pulse their hips in perfect time while fluttering their fingers in the air to one side, then the other.

Each pulse brought them one step closer to the table, where the men had all but forgotten about the food as they swayed back and forth in their seats, like snakes being charmed. Each girl reached over the table to the man seated before them and shoved a finger deep into his mouth. One became three, then four, as they methodically worked the inside of the merchants’ mouths, while not a single protest was voiced for the vulgar act. Withdrawing their moist hands, they traced invisible lines down each man’s chest before resting them on their groins, finally giving a firm squeeze.

Each man jolted forward with a slight whimper before the girls backed off as quickly as they had come on, quickly returning to the hypnotizing dance. Thin veils did little to hide their amused smiles as they turned slowly in circles with one hand dropped to their side, the other reaching for the ceiling as their hips pulsed angrily. At various points of the dance, each would lean far back into impossible back bends, with the tops of their heads mere inches from the floor before snapping back up and continuing on with the seductive dance. It seemed they had to be tied to strings to get that low without falling over.

As each began twirling in tight circles high on their toes, colored ribbons seemed to sprout from the living tornadoes, flaring out into colorful spirals. They came to a sudden stop and began a much slower twirl in the other direction, now spiraling the long, matching silk ribbons around their bodies with the perfect speed so they stayed just inches off the floor while encircling the girls several times. The exotic dance carried on for some time as they twirled and pranced around the room, all the while waiting for the nod from Corzon, which finally came in the form a subtle eye gesture to his left.

The three vixens moved in perfect unison, like reflections in a mirror, as they twirled gracefully toward the fat merchant, who seemed to be getting more excited by the second. He shook his chins inadvertently as his open hands lightly smacked the table in time to the music, wondering just what moral limitations had been placed on these lovely creatures.

All the unsavory thoughts of an upcoming treat flooded from his mind as the lead girl, wrapped in a skimpy yellow outfit, took flight in an impossible leap clear over the table. The merchant’s mind couldn’t wrap itself around the chaos as two daggers soared right past her hips while she was still in the air, clearly thrown by the other two.

The impending scream due to white-hot pain surging through each shoulder never presented itself, as the heavy kick drove all the remaining air from his lungs, toppling the poor man straight backwards. As he gasped for precious air that simply wouldn’t come, he became only half aware of his current situation. The skilled assassin in yellow kneeled heavily on his chest with two daggers crossed over his throat, simply daring him to move. Although completely unnecessary, the other two had arrived only a second later and had both the man’s shoulders pinned to the back of his toppled chair.