David Dalglish - A Dance of Ghosts

Haern batted aside the meager weapon, and momentum unchanged, he slammed into the boy with a sword leading the way. The boy’s cry halted as he doubled over, a sword buried to the hilt in his gut. Haern stared right into his eyes, horrified by the sight. There was no doubt, no sorrow, no confusion … just rage.

No different than I was at his age, thought Haern, and he felt a chill as if a ghost had crossed over his grave.

Cries from below quickly echoed the boy’s warning, and Haern swore again. He had to get out of there now, before they could overwhelm him. He flew down the stairs, trying to push the memory of the boy’s dying face out of his mind. At the floor beneath, he found the door open and a man standing before it. He was stout and not very tall, but he held an enormous sword in one hand, its blade wreathed with black flame. Contrasted against the plain white bedrobe he wore, the sight would have been comical if not for how the paladin nearly skewered Haern as he ran down the steps.

“Who sent you?” the man asked, pulling back for another thrust as Haern dodged the first.

“Luther did,” said Haern, hoping to confuse him. Based on the glare he received, Haern decided he’d hit a nerve, and the burning blade slashed down with all the man’s might. There wasn’t much room in the stairway, but Haern was more than agile enough to slide to the side, the fire and steel cutting the air before him. The sword smacked into the stone steps, immediately charring the red carpet and cracking the step in two. Haern gave him no chance to recover, his right arm swinging out so his sword opened the man’s throat. A follow-up kick sent the body tumbling, the sword clattering along with him. Haern winced at the cacophony it created. If there was anyone in the Stronghold who hadn’t realized he was inside, they knew now.

No time, no time, no time.

Haern ran, wanting nothing more than to see those beautiful oak shelves full of books. Instead, he found two more men armed with swords rushing up the stairs, the blades of both paladins wreathed with flame.

“Sorry, can’t stay long,” Haern said as he lunged with both weapons. He knew they would successfully block the attacks, and when they did he felt a tingle in his hands, as if the sting of the flames had traveled through the steel of his swords, through the hilt, and into his flesh. It kept them back, though, just enough that he had room to leap headfirst into the library. He rolled along the carpet, then skidded to a stop so he could turn and fight. He had room now, and every intention to use it.

“You will suffer for this insult!” one of the paladins cried, and Haern grinned at him. Suffer? No, not today. He attacked the man just as he tried to rush through the doorway, sabers a blur. The paladin tried to block, and there was no moving that dark blade, no forcing its position like he might against a normal opponent. But Haern had speed, and due to the surprise nature of the combat, neither paladin had their armor to rely upon. When the paladin tried to counter as a way of buying himself some space, Haern blocked it with ease, then stabbed him through the belly. As he doubled over, the other paladin shoved the body forward, using it to keep Haern from attacking while he was limited by the doorway.

“Karak guide my hand,” said the paladin as he grabbed the hilt of his sword with both hands. The dark fire around its steel grew stronger, and the very sight of it made Haern’s head ache. He moved to attack, but the fire flared, and without knowing what it meant, Haern fell back. So badly did he want to flee to the wood carving, but if any caught sight of where he was going, there was too much of a chance they could decipher where he might exit. Better they thought he vanished like a ghost than into a cramped tunnel in their very walls.

“Karak be my strength.”

The paladin swung, and it was as if he wielded an inferno with his hands. Haern retreated until his back was to a bookshelf, bumped it, scattered books to the floor.

“Karak be my victory!”

A massive downward chop, but Haern was already moving. The sword hit the stone, the books erupted in flame, and then came the smoke. Haern slid to one side, then pushed off into the air. Twirling, all cloaks and swords, the paladin could only guess where to position his blade in defense. He guessed wrong.

The man’s body crumpled to the ground as Haern landed. He was given no chance to celebrate nor retreat, for more men were running into the library, all wielding swords or axes. Knowing his time had long since run out, Haern did not engage them, instead racing toward the fire and knocking more books into it. As the smoke billowed, Haern grabbed one that was already aflame, the violet fire consuming it eerie to witness and powerful in its heat, and then hurled the book into another shelf. It caught as if doused with lantern oil.

Deeper toward the back of the library he ran, dodging desperate swings as the men rushed into it. They were trying to be methodical, sealing off the exit and lining the far wall so that there’d be no aisle he could hide in, but that only gave him more time. He knocked over another shelf, then assaulted a paladin that had been chasing him. Their weapons clashed, and though all feeling was gone from his hands, Haern still managed to slice out his heel, then finish him with a stab to the neck in passing. From the other side, he heard men shouting, asking where he was, and debating what to do about the flames that were leaping from bookshelf to bookshelf as if containing a life of their own.

Keep on arguing, thought Haern as he raced for the enormous wood carving and his escape.

Just before he reached, it a burning blade swung into his vision. On instinct, Haern dropped to his knees, the sword searing the air above him. The heat was incredible, terrifyingly so. Whirling about to face his opponent, he found an older man with gray hair, his black armor decorated with the silver skull of a lion. His strength was incredible as he pulled the enormous sword back around for a second swing, faster than most men could wield a dagger. Haern knew blocking was impossible, and trying to time the swing right, he dove underneath, hoping to come out of his roll beside the man and stab him in the neck while he was vulnerable.

Except as he dove into the roll, the sword dipped, swung with only one hand. Coming up for the stab, Haern found a mailed fist already waiting. It struck him square in the face, blood blasting from his nose.

“ Karak! ” cried the man, and suddenly, that fist felt like the hammer of a god. The blow rocked through his body, straining his bones, filling his throat with a scream that sounded far too horrific to be his own. Legs suddenly resisting him, he dropped to one side, limbs curiously asleep. Trying not to panic, he glared up at the older paladin, who knelt down before him.

“You’re either a brilliant man or a fool,” said the paladin as arms grabbed Haern from all sides. “In our dungeon, we’ll see which of the two you truly are.”

Something hard hit him from behind, and then the darkness took him.

The last thing Alyssa did that night, as she did every night, was remove her eyes. Despite the insistence of the craftsmen who’d formed them, despite her own fingers that could confirm their smoothness, she still felt as if they were covered with a thousand jagged slivers that sliced into her vacant eye sockets. Only once had she tried sleeping with them still in, and she’d awoken halfway through the night to find her fingers digging into her sockets, which were wet with tears.

There were no servants with her in her room, Alyssa at last left in solitude. They’d check on her occasionally, she knew. At the foot of her bed, resting atop a table, was a brass bell she could ring if she ever needed anything, not that she ever did. She was blind, not an invalid, and whenever she needed something, she left her bed, walked across the cold floor, and opened the door to ask the servant waiting outside. She remembered when Melody first suggested the bell, except the bell was to have been hooked to a rope hanging beside her head. She’d threatened to set the entire bed on fire if she ever discovered such a set up.