"Took you long enough," Laria grumbles, standing up.
Darko ignores her jab and pulls out a ring of keys, shoving one into her cell until finally one works. He swings the door open and she steps out, immediately pressing her back behind the wall and peering through the main door, looking for anyone that might have followed the slaver.
He repeats the motion until all four of us are free and Crispin sighs, turning to the man he gave his word to. "Where is Rose?" he asks, folding his arms across his chest.
The man looks between Crispin and Darko before pursing his lips, "Somewhere in the keep. All I know is that she isn't being held in the dungeon—honest," he answers, then motions to the keys. "Now keep your word."
Glancing at Darko, Crispin nods, "Let him out."
The slaver slowly shakes his head but doesn't object, and shoves a key into the lock, popping it open. The man steps out, his eyes filled with disbelief at his freedom. The only thing he has left to do is find a way to escape without alerting anyone. Realizing though, that if a guard were to see a slave running free, they would undoubtedly seek us. "He needs to stay here," I say, stepping forward, "If someone were to catch sight of him we'd all be done for."
Crispin nods, agreeing with me. "She's right. Stay here and on our way out we'll come back for you," he says. The man objects but Crispin raises a hand, not having time to argue. "You have to trust me. I'm not going to risk you blowing this for us."
The man frowns but gives a nod. "Fine. But I won't stay here, I've lived in these four walls long enough. I'll ready the horses at the stable, just tell me which ones are yours," he states. Crispin quickly describes them and the man slinks out into the darkness.
"You aren't really going to leave me here, are you?" the crippled man suddenly asks, gripping the bars so tight the skin goes white over his knuckles. "If you don't, I'll scream and listen for the crows wings as they fight over your corpses," he threatens.
Amiri's eyes darken and he steps forward, squaring up with the man. Just as he opens his mouth to alert the guards, Amiri reaches through and with one swift motion, he grips the man by the back of the head before jerking him forward, slamming his face into the iron bars. He falls into an unconscious heap and I raise a brow, somewhat not surprised. The mad man laughs and a part of me fears that it will alert a guard until I realize that they are probably used to his antics.
"Let's go," Laria whispers, and we follow her through into the man area of the slaving building. We search for our clothes and find that they sit in a pile inside of a basket.
"Where is our armor and weapons?" Amiri asks, "You have them, do you not?"
Darko nods, "They sit behind the blacksmith shop in a rubbish bin. Stay here and I'll bring them right back. Afterwards you are on your own."
Without another word from any of us, he disappears outside into the darkness as well.
We quickly get dressed, giving each other as much privacy we can afford and await for Darko's return. Ten minutes go by...twenty...thirty, and I begin to wonder if something went wrong. When I'm about to suggest that we look elsewhere, he returns with a heavy bag of our belongings and tosses it at our feet. "My debt has been paid. I got you into Rorik and have done what I could. If you don't mind, I'll take my leave," he says.
Crispin nods as the rest of us dig through the bag, sorting out the items. "Aye. Thank you for taking us this far, would have been a hell of a lot harder if we killed you," he says with a half-smile. Darko smirks and silently leaves us to our own devices. As for where he is headed, I have no idea, but he'd be a fool to stay around tonight given the fact that he was the one that brought us here.
Slipping on my leather breastplate, I accept the help Crispin offers to lace it up as I work on my bracers and try to ignore the feeling his fingers give me as they brush across my back. When he finishes, I watch Amiri give a few practice swings of his swords and listen as they slice through the air. He then gives us a nod sheaths them before tying his pouch of shurikens to his waist, giving it a satisfied pat.
"Before we go out, I'd like to say a few things if that's alright," Crispin says, looking at each of us. "I want to thank you all for agreeing to come on this journey my father sent us on—I couldn't fathom having to face the things we have with anyone else. I don't know about you, but I feel as if it's given us an unbreakable bond and I'm thankful for the friendships that this has given me," he says. "If for some reason we die tonight, I know we won't go down without a fight. If capture resorts to torture, I won't hold it against you if you tell them what you know."
Nodding my head, I look around and study the faces of those around me. Determination is all but radiating from their bodies, along with a mixture of confidence and adrenaline. There is something else in their eyes I can't place though, perhaps admiration for him?
"It's been one wild ride, my friend," Amiri says, holding out his hand. The two grip each other's forearms and fall into an embrace, clapping each other on the back.
As they do this, Laria pulls me into a hug as well. "See you when this is all over, Cora," she whispers before releasing me.
Amiri then turns to face me, and encloses my face between his two tanned hands, "Fight well, little thief. Remember what I taught you," he tells me. I nod and he pulls me in, squeezing me tightly.
It is then my turn to say any potential final goodbyes to Crispin as we use the last few moments of peace before we head out. He takes my hands and kisses the top of them gently before pulling me into a warm embrace and places another on the top of my head. I snake my arms around his firm torso and close my eyes, breathing in his scent wielding it to memory.
Words of farewell are not shared between us, so we only stand there silently for a few moments before he pulls away, brushing his soft lips against mine briefly.
"If we get split up, meet at the stables. If you can't wait, go to the last encampment we had if you can find it. Stay for a week tops and if the others do not arrive, just head to Paevia," Crispin orders. With a deep inhale, he gives a nod and we follow him outside.
From the height of the moon, I'd have to judge that it's early morning only a few hours from dawn. Mostly everyone should be dead asleep at this time, making our job somewhat easier. Gripping the hilt of my blade, I follow Crispin as he leads the way through the shadows of Rorik. We cling to buildings and try our best to stay out of sight, moving both quickly and silently.
As we draw closer to the keep, I can't help but notice a posse of guards that patrol the main doors.
"Do you think there is another entrance?" Laria asks in a low whisper.
"Doubtful. Another entrance adds just one more thing that needs to be kept guarded," Amiri says.
Laria nods, seeing sense in his words. "So what shall we do?" she asks, looking at Crispin.
"Well there is six of them and four of us. Amiri, you come from behind and take out as many as you can with your shurikens. We'll come from hem straight on and finish them off as quickly and quietly as we can. Shouldn't be too hard," he suggests.
With no other ideas forming, we settle on his and crouch down, slinking forward. Amiri banks right and I assume his plan is to come up from behind them, giving us the upper hand.
We hide behind crates draped with netting about thirty yards back. Thankfully the torch lights do not reach us, falling short a few feet ahead leaving us cloaked in darkness. There is a few moments of silence when something whizzes through the air, sinking into the back of the skull of one of the guards. Another immediately follows, taking out another. The bodies drop, gaining the other four's attention and we spring forward, charging them with blades at the ready.
They are not expecting our attack and fumble with their blades attached to their sides. By the time we reach them, Amiri has already slit another's throat and moves onto another who is just about to let out a warning call. Reaching them, I drive my blade through a guard, skewering his abdomen while Laria chops off another's head. Crispin plunges his sword into the heart of the last one, piercing his armor with ease.
I have to admit I'm impressed with our fluidity, but now is not that time to triumph on our works.
"We need to hide the bodies," he instructs and Laria picks up a man, slinging him over her shoulder. Crispin and Amiri do the same and I feel useless, knowing that I wouldn't even be able to drag a body without aid. Having a small stature came in handy as a thief, but as of late it has only served as a hindrance.
Making myself useful, I serve as a lookout as they stash the bodies inside one of the crates we hid behind, noticing that Amiri steals a ring of keys off of one of their belts.
Without catching their breaths, they push through the large wooden doors and I follow suit.
The first thing I notice when we step inside is the lack of light in the keep. Lanterns hang on hooks every fifteen feet or so down the long hallway before it forms a T shape, forking to both the left and right
"Well, don't see any ghouls or rabid bears here," Amiri mocks quietly, earning a jab in the stomach from Laria. His voice echoes down the hall and I flinch, hoping that no one else hears him.
Placing our feet as soundlessly as we can on the stone floor with our blades at the ready, we study the corridor, unsure of where to begin looking. "Any ideas on which direction we should go?" I whisper, looking towards the left hallway.
"Best not to split up at the moment. Your call," Crispin says to me, the light of the torches casting shadows over his face that draws out his striking features.
I don't appreciate the offer, knowing if I choose the wrong direction it will not only cost us time but possibly our life. Three pairs of eyes focus on me and I shake my head, unsure of where to pick. "To the right I guess," I say, and immediately wonder if this path will end with our demise.
We head right and are lucky to find the corridor empty though two voices echo down its stretch. Seeing that it only curves to the left, we send Amiri to finish them off, relying on his acclaimed skills.
If it weren't for the abrupt end of their conversation, I would have never known he'd have done the job so quickly. He pokes his head around the wall, waving us forward and we rejoin him as he scouts ahead.
My heart beats rapidly as we clear out the lower half of the keep which proves to be relatively easy as Amiri does all the work. The majority of it is made up of a dining hall, supply closes, a kitchen, and a few empty rooms.
It's when we ascend the narrow staircase to the second floor that I realize the task is far from over. In just about every hallway there are a handful of guards that requires all of us to tend to which takes much effort from our end to keep them quiet. After the corridors are cleared, we split up to clear out any rooms in search of Rose. I come across three broom closets before I stumble into a bedroom which houses a sleeping man, his large arm pinning down a naked woman.
Crispin has instructed us to leave none alive, but it feels wrong to kill someone in their sleep, unable to defend themselves. I must force myself to recollect that these people—these Roriks—would have us be slaves and are no better than the Roriks we stumbled across at the outpost.
Taking a deep breath, I stare at the sleeping forms and pull out my dagger, swiftly cutting the man's throat. His eyes open wide and he gurgles, which rouses the woman. My hands quickly go to her mouth and I hesitate for a split moment, my eyes searching hers for any sign of innocence. Perhaps she is only here by force as I am? Obligated to coincide with the man I just killed?
But her wide eyes tighten and behind them I see malice. She reaches up—I don't know, claw my face or choke me maybe—but I quickly jerk my right hand, opening a gash across her throat and inevitably ending her life. As she bleeds out, I can't help but notice that her arm is free of any blemishes, including the slavers mark. This makes her death settle somewhat easier with me, knowing that she chose this life.
A large crash sounds from the hallway and I know if I heard it others must have too. "Shit," I mutter, sheathing my dagger and drawing my blade as I run out into the hall. I see Laria struggles with a man the same size as her in the room across from me, a leather cord wrapped around her throat as he attempts to garrote her. There is a broken vase on the floor which cracks as she stomps over them while trying to get the upper hand. The shards sink into his bare feet and he howls in pain, his grip releasing just enough to where she spins around and head-butts him, sending him crashing to the floor.
As she bends down to collect her sword, I spare no time and sprint the short distance, driving my dagger into the spot where I believe his heart to be, twisting the steel in a gristly fashion.
"Oi! Over 'ere!" a gruff voice shouts, and I hear the familiar grunts of Amiri and Crispin as they begin fighting off what sounds like a herd of guards.
"Come on!" I shout, no longer bothering to be discrete. The two of us run down the long hallway and turn left to see Crispin and Amiri facing off with a swarm of guards, all clad in armor that ranges to mediocre to fine-crafted and if I had to guess, I'd say there's about twenty in total.
For a split moment I watch the two cut down their enemies, Amiri moving so smooth and swift it almost appears as if he were dancing, his blade an extension of his arm. Crispin exults his power and skill, expertly dodging any intended blow and countering with deadly precision. I'm only broken out of this trance when Laria grips me by the collar and drags me behind her before we rush in, cutting down anyone with an unfamiliar face.
Given that the corridor is narrow and long, it's tough to fight in its confined spaces for those that are larger, where as I easily slip through the gaps, slicing away at Achilles' tendons or shoving my dagger upwards into their lungs where the armor is weak. Only once did I have to pull out my blade to parry and counter a few strikes from a pale looking brute, but somehow I managed to get the upper hand in the matter. Suffice to say, Amiri would be proud.
The stone floor soon becomes slick with blood and as the numbers dwindle I find myself trying not to slip. The room smells like a mixture of iron and piss as the deceased muscles relax and I wrinkle my nose in disgust, trying to not dwell on the mess.
When the last man is killed by a mighty swing from Laria, another wave of guards come to take their place and the battle rages on. Remaining relatively unscathed, I manage to take out five of my own when a brawny man meets my eye and stalks towards me.
Frowning, I pull out my blade and brace myself as he charges forward. Knowing I'd never be able to match his strength, I wait until the last second and slide across the stone floor, sinking the silver into his shins hearing an audible thunk. He lets out a cry of pain as he looks at me wide-eyed. Gripping the hilt, I jerk the sword out of the bone and in one clean motion end his suffering before getting back on my feet, wiping the slick liquid that coats the floor on my thighs.
The second wave is soon defeated and we hear more come from the third floor. Not wishing to wait, we meet them at the bottom of the stairs, picking them off as they reach us. We then ascend the stair case onto the third floor, leaving behind red footprints with each step.
As we reach the landing, my eyes immediately focus on the mass of both men and women who guard the door at the end of the hall and I know that both Santiago—and hopefully Rose—is on the other side.
Lining side by side, we wait for them to encompass us but the never, as if they await the same reaction from us.
"We don't wish to kill all of you. I've only come for Rose," Crispin says in a ready position after a few moments pass. "
Half of them let out cruel chuckles while the other look at one another, seeming to consider his offer.
"Surely you know we killed your friends down below to have made it this far. Was fairly easy too. Do you really wish to throw your lives away so carelessly?" Amiri asks, raising a bushy dark eyebrow. "Either way, we are getting through that door, mates."
There is a low mumble of murmurs as many of them quickly talk it through, questioning what their next course of action should be. Suddenly, one with an eyepatch scowls, "Who is the bitch to you, anyway?" he asks harshly.
Crispin clenches his jaw, clearly not appreciating the word choice for his sister. "My sister. We've come a long way and have killed many people to get here for her and my patience is running thin," he says in a cold tone.
"You heard of the outpost where fifty of your men were slaughtered? That was us," Amiri chimes in proudly, "Only us. Not ten men, not twenty...just four."
Their eyes tighten, not believing his words. "Sod off! It'd take at least three scores!" a woman exclaims from the rear.
"Can't have you just waltzing into Santiago's room. We're dead either way so I'll take my chances," another man interjects and crouches low, his afro pressed down with a red bandana.
"So be it," Laria mutters. Gripping the hilt of her great sword, she chargers forward, letting out a guttural cry.
In the blink of an eye, parties from both sides follow suit, meeting in the middle of the surprisingly wide hall. Bodies slam together and the only thing that I can hear is grunts, shrieks of pain, and the sound that flesh makes as silver slices through. Somewhere to my right, a man is disemboweled and his innards splatter onto the floor before the man falls forwards into his own mess. I steal a quick glance and see that it was Amiri who delivered the gristly blow, who has already moved onto his next opponent—a woman matching his size with a spiked mace. It takes only moments for him to finish her as she his no match for his prowess.
Inhaling sharply, I join the others and try to ignore the drumming of my heart. Seeing Crispin battling three men, I decide to lend aid and drive my sword in a Rorik's back which sends him crumbling to his knees before pulling the blade out with little effort. I then flex the muscles in my shoulder and with all my might ram my body into the back of another man, causing him to trip over his feet and fall into his comrade. Crispin and I finish them off and together we fight off our adversaries, clearing a path to the large wooden door.
From the corner of my eye, I see a man with a scimitar point it at me before he runs at me full throttle. With wide eyes I ready myself as best as I can but am relieved to see Laria tackle him to the ground when he's about ten feet away before gripping his jaw and snapping his neck earning an audible pop. As I watch, someone comes up from behind me and encases my throat with their forearm. He tightens his muscles, constricting my airway and I gasp as he bends backwards, lifting me off the floor.
Raking my fingernails at his sink seems to do nothing and my vision begins to become blurry. I slam my fists as best as I can into his face, but my reach comes up short. My feet flail below my and I kick the stone wall in my panic when an idea surfaces into my mind. With all my strength, I place booth of my boots on the surface and push off as hard as I can. The man stumbles slightly and his grip loosens, giving me enough leeway to reach the dagger on my side. My fingers find the handle and I pull it out bringing it over my shoulder and driving it into his face. He screams directly into my ear causing it to ring and I repeat the action again just as he drops me, the dagger leaving my hand.
Falling to the floor, I gasp and massage my throat before turning around to see that my dagger has found its place inside the man's eye socket and I notice that there is a deep red puncture wound inside his cheek which slowly trickles blood. Looking to my left where I remember dropping my blade, I quickly snatch it up and drive it through his abdomen before pulling it out—the silver now slick with his blood.
Standing up, I try to ignore the headache I now have from lack of air supply and search for another target, my confidence now dwindling in my abilities to fight.
Sucking in a breath, I press forward and watch as Amiri throws two knives with expert precision. They sink into the skulls of a group of men that Laria fights off and she gives him a quick nod of thanks before ending the life of the last man before her.
It is then that I realize we have won our third battle for the night as Crispin spins, beheading the last Rorik in the hall. Wincing, I look away and hear two thuds—one louder than the other as the head rolls away. Turning back, I survey my friends pleased to find them relatively unharmed. All are covered in blood and gore but from the lack of open wounds it's safe to say it's not theirs.
There are a few minor cuts though, such as one over Laria's blonde brow and a few nicks on Crispin and Amiri's hands—nothing that needs immediate medical attention. We take a quick moment to catch our breaths and step towards the door.
"Ready?" Crispin asks, gripping the hilt his blade. We give a small nod and he goes to twist the door handle before frowning. "It's locked," he mutters, "Should have known."
Amiri chuckles, sheathing his two swords and walks over to the pile of bodies, bending down and plucking up an axe. "The great Santiago afraid of the four of us. Who would have thought?" he asks himself, tossing the axe to Crispin who catches it with ease. I want to mention that I am more than capable of picking the lock, but decide to keep quiet, allowing Crispin to have his moment.
It takes him only a few swings before the door begins to crack, and a few more until there is a decent hole by the handle. Quickly, he reaches his hand in and unlocks the door before pushing it open and together we file inside, weapons at the ready.
I expect to have another mass of men come at us—protecting their ruler with their lives until the bitter end—but instead there is only two figures standing before a large hearth, the flames dancing in odd patterns. There's a bed to the left—unkempt—and to the right is a small table with old dishes sitting in a pile. The floor is covered in an elaborate fur rug and beautiful tapestries hang from the ceiling.
With the light coming from behind the two figures, it's hard to make out their faces but I assume it has to be Santiago and Rose. "Why would she be here, with him?" I think.
"Crispin?" a small voice says, soft and sweet.
"You know this man?" another voice says, coming from the man before us. It's thick with an accent that I've only heard come from a Spaniard who lived in Paevia. "Why have you come here?" he demands, and I see the light of the fire gleam off of the sword he holds out before him. Stepping forward, I realize that in the dim light Rose stands behind him, halfway hidden behind his back.
Santiago stands with his left arm out as if protecting her from us. Raising my eyebrow, I'm confused at the sight. Why would he protect her? And why is she hiding behind him as if we are the dangerous ones?
"For my sister! Now hand her over and you can keep your life!" Crispin spits, stepping forward to the man.
"No! Don't hurt him, Crispin!" Rose says, bolting out from behind the man. She quickly stands before him, holding out her arms with wide, fearful eyes. I can now see that all of the rumors about her beauty were true. Her eyes are a clear blue and her hair is so blonde it appears to be ashen. Her full lips are identical to Crispin's and her nose is small and button-like, pointing upwards ever so slightly. She's about my height and even under her nightgown I can tell she has curves...but there is something unsettling about her form that I did not quite see at first.
Where the nightgown should fall flat beneath her breasts, there is a minute bump of her swollen belly. "She's pregnant?!" I think, shaking my head, trying to piece together the puzzle. Studying their body language and the way the bed suggests that two people have slept in it, I come to the conclusion just as the words leave her lips.
"Crispin I love him!" she pleads before her eyes begin to tear up. Spinning around, she buries her head into the Spaniard's chest and begins to sob.
Santiago drops his sword immediately and wraps his arms around her, petting her head. "Shhh, it's okay my flower," he whispers, "It's okay."
Looking over, I see Crispin's face flashes between looks of confusion, disappointment, and anger and I grip his arm though he doesn't seem to notice.
Santiago looks up, his eyes weary and his lips tighten. "It appears we both have some explaining to do."
The chapter didn't really turn out the way I wanted it too--I pictured more action but lets face it, I'm absolute trash when it comes to writing those types of scenes. Anyways, hope you enjoyed!