R. Salvatore - The Ancient

The Alpinadorans rained another volley of spears at the defenseless duo.

On the far side of the chapel, the western wall, a second wave crept up and then broke into a howling charge, knowing that most of the monks were across to the other side, trying to help their fallen.

“Go! Go! Go!” Giavno yelled at Cormack and some others, and the group leaped down from the wall and rushed across, to see brothers on the opposite parapets already engaging the ferocious enemy. A series of lightning bolts shook the ground beneath their feet as they ran to bolster the defense, and Cormack understood that the immediate threat had been eradicated, though the fighting hardly quieted.

The others ran ahead of Cormack as he slowed to a stop. He glanced back at Brother Giavno and the continuing. battle at the eastern wall, wincing almost constantly from the terrible screams.

He went to the side structure of the keep, and to the bulkhead, where he picked up a torch and slipped down into the tunnels.

The sound of the fighting receded behind him, but it would take more than a closed bulkhead door to cleanse poor Cormack’s sensibilities. That reality only made him move with more purpose, however, down the side tunnel to the dungeon where the four barbarians sat miserably, side by side. Cormack considered the task ahead of them and wondered if they could possibly succeed. Beyond weary, half-starved by choice, and one still recovering from immolation, Cormack had to wonder if they would even be able to stand up once he freed them of their bonds.

“Your people come on again,” he said. “Men and women are dying up there.”

Androosis lifted his head toward the monk, and Cormack simply couldn’t read the expression on his face. Did he feel betrayed? Was he angry with Cormack? Confused?

“You would have us renounce our faith,” the shaman said in a voice parched and dry and so very weak. “We would die first.”

“I know.”

The simple answer elicited a curious look from both the shaman and Androosis, and that gave Cormack some hope. He set the torch in a sconce and moved around the wooden wall. “We will venture deeper,” he said as he loosened Androosis’s bonds.

“Because you fear my people will overrun your pathetic castle,” said Toniquay the shaman. “You move us away in desperation!”

Cormack hustled fast around the barrier to stand before the still-bound shaman. “Your people will not get through the wall. Not now and not ever. They will be killed to a man and woman at the base of the stones, unless we end this.”

“You doubt the power…”

“Shut up,” said Cormack. “More than twenty of your kin are dead already. More are dying right now. They will not relent and they cannot prevail. Their loyalty to you is commendable-and foolish.”

“What would you have us do?” Androosis interjected, and Cormack was glad of that, for Toniquay was about to issue another stubborn retort, and time was too short for such bickering. He moved around the wall again and freed all three, with Toniquay last.

As they were freeing themselves of the rope, and climbing out of the mud and the piss and the feces, Cormack went back to the sconce and retrieved the torch.

“Follow closely, and as fast as you can manage,” he instructed.

“And if we do not?”

Cormack swung about with a heavy sigh, drawing out a knife as he turned. “This ends today, now,” he said. “I will show you the way out of here, or…” He brandished the knife. “It ends today.”

“And why are we to believe you?”

“What choice have we?” Androosis asked, and motioned for Cormack to go.

To Cormack’s relief, they all followed, with Androosis helping the burned man, even lifting him in his arms and carrying him along. That gave Cormack pause-would they even be able to execute the planned escape?

They went through the door at the tunnel’s end, into the chamber where the lake comprised most of the floor.

“You are all strong swimmers, I would expect and hope,” Cormack said, placing his torch down and starting to strip off his heavy cloak. He paused, though, and considered the action. “I cannot,” he said.

Androosis shot him a concerned look. “We are not going back,” he said.

Cormack shook his head, showing the four that such was not what he was talking about at all. “I cannot go into the water and open the grate, as I had intended,” he explained. “If I return to my people with wet hair, they will know of my involvement.”

“Grate?” Androosis asked.

“A simple netting, with minor reinforcement,” Cormack explained, pointing to the northwestern corner of the underground pool. “Beyond it is a short tunnel-an easy swim to freedom.”

Androosis stared long and hard at Cormack. He placed his companion down gently and waded into the dark pool, walking in until the warm water was up to his waist before ducking under. While Canrak, the fourth of the barbarian party, lent an arm of support to the burned man, Toniquay stared unrelentingly at Cormack.

“You are so afraid of my people,” he said with a twisted grin.

Cormack brushed him off with a smirk and shake of his head, never taking his eyes off the spot where Androosis had disappeared.

“If it is not true, then why?” the shaman demanded.

“Because my God would expect no less,” said Cormack.

Androosis came up with a splash, sucking in a deep breath of air. “The way is clear,” he announced. “It is a short swim, with open water beyond.”

“What about him?” Cormack asked with sincere concern, and he indicated the barely conscious newest prisoner.

“I will get him through,” Androosis promised. He walked over to Cormack then and dropped his hands on the monk’s shoulders. “You are a good man,” he said simply, and that was all Cormack had to hear to know that he had indeed done the right thing. The cost to him might prove great, but whatever Father De Guilbe might do could not begin to approach the cost to Cormack’s sensibilities had he continued to do nothing.

Cormack came out of the side chamber a short while later, to find the battle still on in full, still loud and chaotic, still, he hoped, providing him the cover he needed.

He went to battle and prayed with all his heart that it would be the last.

Mitigating

They called him a multitude of names, and seemed to create a new one whenever he put his sword to work. The Dancing Sword, the Bird of Prey-any and all adjectives and superlatives to toss upon this warrior who stood so clearly above all others. Whenever a new title was bestowed, all knew to whom it referred, for there was only one it fit. All the conversations came back to the name by which they all knew him, the name used in his introduction to the soldiers. The Highwayman, he was called, and more than one sturdy soul shuddered to think of meeting this man on a darkened highway in southern Honce!

True to form, he danced this day, running about the battlefield, leaping and spinning, lashing out with his feet as he soared through the mobs and always striking mortal blows as he landed. Like a small tornado he rushed through the battling throng, and as the enemies-this day they were exclusively the blue-skinned and ugly little trolls-were easily distinguished from his comrades, there wasn’t the slightest hesitation in his movements and strikes.

He ran past one man and troll in a death clench and struck fast and hard and true, and the troll howled and thrashed and toppled to the ground.

Its killer was already gone, to another man, fallen, with two trolls standing over him and stabbing down at his supine form as he scrambled desperately and futilely to block.

The Highwayman leaped between the two surprised trolls, his feet kicking out to either side. He connected squarely on both, snapping their heads back. One went flying to the ground, while the other somehow managed to stay on its feet.