David Gemmell - Wolf in Shadow

Shannow went to the hunched figure at the front of the line and gently took him by the shoulders, turning him to face the lift. When the Wolver moved obediently towards the shaft, the others followed.

Shannow rang the handbell and waited below as the box moved out of sight. Then he checked the six dungeons. In one he found seven bodies, small and emaciated; in another, two corpses had begun to rot and the stench was almost overwhelming. He forced himself to check the other rooms, and in the last he found Ridder crouching against the wall.

"It's not my fault,' said Ridder, staring down at the body of a child of around eleven.

'How long is it since you visited these cells?'

'Not for a year. It's not my fault. The mine had to work — you see that, don't you? Hundreds of people rely on it.'

'Get up, Pastor. It's time to go.'

'No, you can't take them away. People will see them and they'll blame me. They won't understand.'

'Stay here, then,' said Shannow and he left the man squatting in a corner and moved back into the tunnel. Batik had sent down the lift and he stepped inside and rang the bell.

On the upper level, Batik had disarmed the guards and had laid Archer's unconscious body across the table the men had used for their dice-game. Shannow examined the black man's swollen features; he had been beaten badly.

'Who did this?' he asked Batik.

'The man Riggs and a half-dozen others. I tried to help him, but he wouldn't help himself; he just stood there and took it. It seemed to make them more angry and when he fell, they started kicking him.'

'Why did they do it?'

'He simply told them he wouldn't work for them — that he would sooner just starve to death.'

Shannow moved to the guards. 'You,' he said, pointing to the burly man, 'lead us out of here. The rest of you can help carry my friend.'

'Are you going to let them live?' asked a man, pushing himself through the milling Wolvers.

Shannow turned to see a wasted scarecrow of a figure, with a matted blond beard streaked with filth. He was naked but for a stained leather loin-cloth, and his upper body was a mass of sores.

'We need them, my friend,' said Shannow softly. 'Hold your anger.'

'My son is down there — and my wife. They died in that black hole.' -

'But we're not free yet,' said Shannow. 'Trust me.'

He took the man by the arm and led him to Batik, collecting a double-barrelled flintlock pistol that the Hellborn had taken from one of the guards and pressing it into the man's hand.

'We may have to fight our way out. Take your revenge then.'

Shannow looked around the room and saw there were close to ninety people packing the chamber. He signalled the guards to lift Archer and then led the way into the tunnel beyond.

Batik was at the rear. Shannow cocked his pistol and walked behind the guard he had chosen to lead. Slowly the column of slaves moved through the bowels of the castle, the air freshening as they climbed towards the light. Finally they came into a high-walled corridor where far above them the dawn light shone in majestic shafts through arched windows. A chittering noise broke from the Wolvers, who raised their skinny arms, hands stretching towards the golden glow.

Ahead was a double door of studded oak and the guard began to move more swiftly.

'Stop!' said Shannow, but the man merely dived for the floor and the doors began to open.

'Down!' bellowed Shannow, dropping to his knees, his pistol coming up as the muzzles of several rifles appeared in the open doorway. Shannow fired, and the first rifleman pitched from sight.

The corridor was filled with deafening explosions. Shells whistled past Shannow and his own gun boomed twice more, then there was silence. He flicked open the cylinder guard and reloaded his pistol, then ran forward, hugging the wall. A rifleman stepped into sight and Shannow put two shots in his chest.

Behind Shannow, the guard who had been leading them reached into his boot and produced a long-bladed knife. He rose silently 'and launched himself at the Jerusalem Man, but a shot rang out and he staggered. Shannow twisted and fired and the man slumped to the floor.

Batik sprinted along the other side of the corridor.

'Nice pistol,' he said. 'Pulls a little to the left.'

Shannow nodded and pointed to the right of the doorway and Batik sighed and cocked his pistol.

Moving forward at a run, he dived through the doorway and rolled on his shoulder. Behind the door a crouching rifleman swung his weapon, but Batik shot him in the head before he could bring the barrel to bear. Shells ricocheted off the marble floor, shrieking past Batik's head. He glanced up and saw he was in a huge hall edged by a wide inner balcony where other marksmen were kneeling, covering the door. He scrambled to his feet and hurled himself back into the corridor.

'Any other ideas?' he asked Shannow.

'Not at the moment.'

'That's just as well!'

Behind them four of the Wolvers were down and dying, the others crouching around them keening softly.

'Can you climb?' asked Shannow. Batik glanced up at the high windows.

‘I’ll break my neck.'

'All right, we'll just sit here and wait for a miracle.'

'I thought your God was good at those.'

'He helps those who help themselves,' said Shannow dryly.

Batik exchanged pistols with Shannow and pushed the fully loaded Hellborn gun into his belt.

The wall below the window was constructed of solid marble blocks about two feet square; between each block was a crack which allowed a tentative grip. Batik placed his foot on the first block and began to climb. He was a powerful man, but before he had climbed more than fifteen feet his fingers were aching with the effort; at thirty feet, he began to curse Shannow. At forty feet he slipped. His feet scrabbled for purchase and all of his weight hung on the three fingers of his right hand. Sweat dripped into his eyes and he fought down panic, moving his foot slowly into position to take his weight. His arms began to tremble, but he took a deep breath and pushed on, hooking his arm over the ledge of the arched window. Light blinded him and he blinked rapidly; he was overlooking the main courtyard and could see men running from the walls to the steps below, leading into the hall.

Swiftly he straddled the ledge and leaned out. As he had feared, there was no easy way to the windows above the hall balcony, and now the drop was even worse. With a whispered curse he lowered himself to the first foothold and started to traverse the outer wall. He had moved some ten feet when a musket ball hit the stone beside his head and screamed off above him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a man on the gate turret hastily reloading his weapon.

Batik moved on. How long would it take to reload? Thirty seconds? A minute? His heart was pounding furiously as he reached the window and clamped his hand on the secure ledge. He risked another glance and saw the man aiming the rifle. Batik swung out, hanging by his right arm as the shot hit the ledge, chipping stone fragments which stung his hand. He hauled himself over the ledge and tumbled on to the balcony. Two men were kneeling there watching the doorway below, and they both turned as Batik fell. The Hellborn threw himself at them, knocking aside a musket barrel. The weapon fired. Batik cracked his fist against the man's chin and kicked out at the second rifleman, catching him in the chest and knocking him flat. The first man drew a knife and leapt forward; Batik blocked the man's knife-arm with a chopping blow, grabbed his hair and, with a tremendous surge of power, hurled him over the balcony wall. The man's scream was cut off as he hit the marble floor.

Batik pulled his pistol clear and swung on the second man, who was sitting motionless with his hands above his head. He was a youngster, maybe sixteen, with wide blue eyes and an open face too pretty to be called handsome.