Haern grunted, almost feeling foolish. Hard to remember at times the paladins were just people, fellow classmates who’d worked together to take down a brutal invader to their home. People with twisted values and an eager desire to see him suffering, but still people.
“Did I, now?” Haern said, feeling only the tiniest bit of guilt as he prodded the man further. “Care to give me a hint as to who they were? I mean, it’s all a blur, and I don’t think anyone stood out as having any skill…”
The man turned away, clearly trying to keep his temper in check. Haern gauged the distance. Still not close enough …
“That’s fine; don’t talk to me,” Haern said, eyes closing as if he were tired. “I’m capable of talking enough for the both of us when I feel like it. You know, your kind isn’t much for talking, I’ve noticed. Dying, that you’re good at. Living a lie, serving a mad, imprisoned god, now that you’re really good at.”
The man stepped closer to the wall of fire, putting a hand on the stone beyond its reach and leaning closer as he glared.
“You’ll be down here for years,” the young man said. “Decades from now, I will come down here to watch you suffering still. We’ll all take turns breaking you, humiliating you. Do you think your petty little words mean anything compared to that?”
He was inches away from the fire, which cast a purple hue across his skin. If he hoped to make himself look intimidating, it worked, but he also put himself within striking distance.
“My words?” Haern said, pulling the medallion out from his shirt and holding it with both hands. “Not really. But this might mean something. Ashhur!”
At his words, a bright light flared from the medallion, rolling in all directions like a wave. Without waiting to see what it did, nor daring to give his guard a chance to react, Haern leaped with all the strength his coiled legs could muster, dropping his hands to ensure they could reach full extension. Under the strength of the light, the wall of fire faded away, and as Haern came leaping through, he twisted and lifted his arms as he slammed right into the guard. Together, they toppled to the ground. The landing jarred his shoulder, but he’d positioned his arms perfectly, wrapping the chain around the young man’s neck. Sword trapped beneath them both, there was nothing he could do as Haern lifted his arms and kicked his legs, tightening the chain, strangling the breath out of the man. Twice he kicked, crushing his windpipe, for when he glanced about, he saw he was in the center of a long hallway … and at the far end of the hallway was another man in armor leaping to his feet.
“Joffrey!” the other man cried. Haern curled back in, bound hands reaching down to the dead man’s belt … and the lone key attached to it. He freed it easily enough, but with the lock facing him, between both his wrists, he had no choice but to put the key into his mouth, then curl up even more so he could insert it. Keenly aware of the charging man, Haern jammed the key, gripped it tightly with his teeth, and then twisted his head one way while turning his wrists the other.
With a pop, they came off, and just in time. Haern rolled to his left, over the body of the dead man, as an enormous sword stabbed into the hard stone floor. His ankles were still shackled together, but with his arms free to move, he reached out and grabbed the handle of the dead man’s blade. Pulling it from the sheath, he flung the weapon into the way as a second strike came crashing in. The blades smacked together, and Haern grimaced at the jolt to his arms. Above him, the guard leaned more of his weight into his sword, trying to crush him. The man’s eyes were wide, lips pulled back to reveal his clenched teeth.
“Try harder,” Haern told him, unable to help himself.
The man pulled back to swing again, but Haern was faster. Kicking his feet to give his upper body an upward motion, he thrust his sword with his arm extended to the limit. The tip of his sword slipped into the man’s belly, and the sudden pain froze the man in mid-swing. Turning the sword to open the wound further, Haern dropped back to the ground as the man staggered backward. Calmly, Haern let go of the sword, found the key he’d dropped, and removed the shackles from his ankles. Meanwhile, the wounded man rushed to the door of the dungeon at the far end of the hall, both hands clutching his bleeding wound to staunch the flow.
Picking up the sword, Haern broke out into a run, closing the distance between them. Around the man’s neck whipped his blade, and then a single cut dropped him to the ground. Hovering over the body, Haern took in a deep breath and checked his surroundings. The hall appeared to have a total of ten cells, each with an open face at the end, presumably for the same black fire to seal in any prisoners as they had with Haern. Other than Haern’s cell, which still burned with the black-violet flame, the others appeared empty. Down one way, he saw the hall come to an abrupt end at a stone wall, while in the other direction, it ended at a larger opening, plus a wooden door heavily reinforced and barred with iron.
Glancing down at the pendant to Ashhur still dangling from the chain around his neck, Haern lifted it to his lips and kissed it.
“Thanks, Del,” he whispered, tucking it back underneath his shirt.
Jogging down the hallway, he reached the door. In the opening around it were two tables, and on one he saw a pitcher, which he grabbed and greedily drank the water within. That done, he set it aside, scanning around him. On the other table, in a haphazard pile, were his belongings. Taking his cloak, he wrapped it about his shoulders, then grabbed his belt. Checking his swords, he saw they were recently sharpened, and he shuddered. He had a feeling that in a few days’ time, if not that following morning, those blades would have been used on him. Last, he put on his hood, felt its comforting shadow envelop his features.
Much better, he thought. Now came the one last tricky part: getting through the supposedly locked and barred door of the dungeon. Already fingering his lockpicks, he approached the door, searching for any sort of keyhole. There was none. Wincing, Haern began to feel across it, wondering if there might be a hidden lever somewhere, maybe a weakened spot of wood he could pry into. Laughter from the other side bolted Haern back to a stand. He peered into the small circular window near the top, which had three bars preventing anything larger than a finger from slipping through. Shaking his head at him from the other side was his father.
“I’m starting to think my rescuing you was unnecessary,” he said.
“Just open the damn door.”
Still chuckling, Thren vanished from the window. Haern heard something heavy scraping against the other side, followed by a thud. After a rattle of keys, the door swung open, revealing Thren with his swords and the bodies of two young paladins on either side of the dungeon entrance. Behind him was a set of stairs leading higher into the Stronghold.
“Follow me,” Thren said. “We don’t have much time before people start noticing the bodies.”
There was only one way to go, which was straight up the stairs before them. They curved sharply around, and after only a dozen steps or so, Thren stopped and motioned for Haern to be quiet.
“The entrance is just ahead,” he said. “I’ve killed the guards there, fools still convinced they had to be afraid of what’s outside instead of what’s in. The door’s been trapped, though, and will sound off an alarm spell the moment it opens.”
“How do you know?” Haern asked.
“Do you think this is the first building I’ve broken into that was warded by wizards?” his father asked.
Haern shrugged. Fair enough.
“How do we get out?” he asked instead.
“The third floor; there’s another exit to the hidden shaft along the interior. If we move fast enough, we should be out before anyone realizes you’re missing.”
Haern nodded.
“Lead the way,” he said.