Dinavhek- The Fall Page 10

  Now alone in the hallway, Aasimah looked about for something to do. Her gaze fell upon the painting of the wolf hunt, and she grimaced.

  Although Aasimah was surrounded by members of the nobility, her companions seemed everything but noble. This was a world more foreign to her than the slaver's shack.

  She looked back down the hall, to the doorway that Itholera had fled into. She then turned in the opposite direction, to the grander entrance that the knight charged through only moments before.

  *​*​*

  Xanthus was a fine horse. Bred from the very best stock that Dinavhek had to offer, the warhorse was no less brave, loyal, and enduring than his own master. Never did the proud steed balk from a fight, especially not on his knight order's. His master was uncommonly fair to him and was certainly the boldest of any men the horse had ever encountered. His master treated him like a brother-in-arms, never pushing him farther than he could go and gave him only the highest quality feed. If it wasn't good enough for the knight to eat, then it wasn't good enough for his horse.

  Still, the proud and noble beast was most cross when his master took him out of the stable that day. He had been enjoying a particularly tasty blend of oats and apple slices and the stable hand had been in the middle of grooming him. Normally, the horse did not allow anyone but Glanen to brush his mane out, but this stable hand was a gifted young lad who seemed to really know what he was doing, and that was rare indeed.

  With a shimmering black hide and a silky black mane that flowed about his neck and shoulders, Xanthus was the perfect picture of a noble steed. He was also a highly disgruntled one, as his unfortunate master was soon to find out.

  At first, the stallion refused to be armored. He stamped his hoof on the ground as the knight attempted to dress him, tossed his mane, and even had the gall to snatch the helmet right off the knight's head. It was only when the knight promised to double his rations (at least, for the foreseeable future) that the horse finally relented.

  “The life of a knight and his valiant steed is never easy,” Glanen said to the horse, patting him fondly on the side of his neck, “but it is a glorious life, full of purpose and honor.”

  The horse snorted. To Xanthus, the purpose of life was to simply eat well.

  “Onward, then!” the knight cried, “let us delay no further!”

  The horse began to trot lazily, taking them a few paces away from the stall and circling around – well, it was a start, but it wasn't good enough. The knight patted his horse on the side, gently encouraging him to pick up the pace.

  When Xanthus began to turn, Glanen soon realized that his horse meant to return to the stables.

  “Fine, fine, you can have my morning apples, too!” the knight promised, growing increasingly desperate. The horse sped up, soon breaking into a gallop, as he suddenly felt much more enthusiastic about the idea of rushing headlong into battle.

  Glanen hoped fervently that their opponents were a stupid and inefficient lot, for they had wasted far too much time.

  Thanks to Xanthus' quick hooves, the trip out was not a very long one and before he knew it, the knight found himself at the entrance of the village. It was one of Dinavhek's most successful and independent villages. It was a charming little place, and the fruit pastries it produced were popular among natives and visitors alike. More than once, Glanen had helped Adsuni shirk his responsibilities so that they might visit their market stand and buy as many treats as they could possibly smuggle back.

  Once, when they were in their teens, Konrad caught them sneaking out. Instead of berating them, he gave them a pouch full of coins and bade them to bring something back for him. It was a warm memory, one that Glanen clung to for dear life as he took in the destruction that had already been caused to this beautiful community.

  To see this village up in flames was to experience a nightmare come to life. Several homes were completely destroyed, most of them still burning. A few had been put out, it mattered not for the damage was already done.

  Glanen slowed his horse to a trot and approached a young man, who was standing back from one of the houses and watching in disbelief as it crumbled before him.

  “Is anyone in there?” the knight asked urgently.

  “N-no, sir knight.”

  “What happened, lad? Where are the bandits?”

  The man tore his gaze away, allowing the knight a full view of his face, which was horribly scorched, bloody, and raw. The man required immediate medical attention. His hands looked even worse, as if he had waded directly into the fires, perhaps to come to the aid of his neighbors.

  “They have – they have her. My niece. They said if I come after, they will cut her throat.”

  “Which way?” the knight demanded.

  The man pointed a shaky finger, pointing past the knight and further down into the village. “They have her at the elder's house,” he croaked. “It's the biggest house here. Two stories, straight ahead – you can't miss it.”

  The knight took off without another word. He rode through a long path of destroyed homes, past sobbing women and screaming children, and injured men who had braved the fires to rescue friends and loved ones. On his way, the knight heard so many desperate pleas for help, and he would have given anything to be able to assist them, but as long as the bandits remained alive and on the loose, they were a threat. There was only so much the young man could do on his own.

  Where were the rest of the knights? Why had they not come to the village's aid? It was easily the worst attack they'd experienced in several years, so how was it that this hadn't caught their attention?

  After what felt to him like an eternity, the knight at last came upon a larger building, two stories high, and seemingly unscathed. There was no mistaking it. The knight halted without warning, causing Xanthus to rear his head in indignation. He dismounted and patted the animal's muzzle to comfort him – the horse was having none of it and backed away, snorting and tossing his tail in disapproval.

  The knight neared the building. Like the rest of the houses in the village, it was circular in overall shape, and entirely made of wood. A large double door stood in the middle. There were no sounds coming from the house, at least from what he could tell. He wasn't about to get himself killed trying to burst in without investigating first.

  Suddenly, he heard galloping, and he wondered if Xanthus had abandoned him. He turned around to see someone else fast approaching, and for a moment he felt hopeful, thinking that one of his comrades might have gotten wind of the raid and come to help him. He nearly dropped his sword when he realized the truth of it.

  The horse stopped close to Xanthus and the figure slid off, landing on her feet gracefully.

  “Aasimah!” the knight exclaimed, stunned beyond belief to see her there. He recognized the horse she had ridden to be one of the prince's own, a small bay mare that Adsuni had grown very fond of. She was an older one, having been born on the same day that his mother had passed. As such, she was heavily pampered and never saw battle.

  Glanen couldn't help thinking about how devastated the prince would be if he knew about this!

  Aasimah was almost unrecognizable; she had changed from the dress the prince had provided her into a multicolored tunic that brought to mind a lush forest. She wore, too, finely crafted leather armor, along with a plain scabbard, which dangled from her belt.

  “I found it all in one of the storage rooms,” she said, noticing his perplexed stare. “I didn't think the prince would want his best knight returning with a knife sticking out of his back. So... are we going to just stand here all day?”

  “You're here to help me?” he asked in awe.

  “Yup.”

  “Do you know how to fight?” the knight asked, hating himself for even considering the thought. He felt like a brute for asking such a question. How could he expect her to take up arms against such a powerful, not to mention unknown enemy?

  “I can,” she confirmed. “Well enough, anyway.”

  “'Well
enough' isn't good en—”

  “Let's get to it, then.”

  Aasimah merely strode past him. She leaned to the left door, placing an ear against the wood. The knight stood across from her, then did the same.

  Silence.

  “They're in there,” Aasimah whispered.

  “How can you be sure?”

  “It's unnaturally quiet in there.”

  “Shouldn't that mean that the building's empty?” Glanen asked. Aasimah shushed him, fearing that he might give them away too soon.

  “This is the only building that's still standing,” she reminded him. “They're in there. I know they are.”

  “Cowardly curs, abducting a child! And burning a whole village down to do it! Who would even contemplate such a despicable act?”

  “Desperate criminals, looking to make a profit. If you've been in such a business for long enough, you start to lose any sense of morality. That, and some never had it to begin with. Believe it or not, they're not the most dangerous ones.”

  Glanen glanced at her quizzically.

  “Don't forget: Itholera and I were taken by men who knew better than to just destroy everything in their path. Those are the kinds you have to watch out for.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Aasimah answered. There was no room for doubt left in the tone of her voice. She was the very picture of resolve in that moment.

  “Very well,” the knight said, sounding both admiring and a bit resigned. To face the same type of men that had once held her captive in such a way... to the knight, it was unthinkable. He couldn't believe he was even going along with it in the first place. “How are we going to do this?”

  Aasimah backed away even further from the door. “I think we should split up,” she said. “One of us can search for another entrance, another can storm the front.”

  “I see. So, who—”

  “I'll take the front,” Aasimah said confidently.

  “Are you s... Yes, milady, I suppose I'll... go look for... another entrance,” the knight finished slowly as the woman's eyes narrowed. “Will you be able to – never mind.”

  With an odd clicking sound, Aasimah began to work on opening the door. The knight could see a small metal object in her hand, and she appeared to be working it into the keyhole.

  “I'll give you about five minutes,” Aasimah said cheerfully, making him all the more nervous.

  “Er, right.”

  “So you should probably go. Now.”

  The knight took off, leaving her sight. Aasimah rolled her eyes and abruptly ended her attempts to pick the lock... which, had Glanen actually been paying attention, she wasn't actually doing. The door opened with ease when she put her hand to the knob, and offered no resistance when she began to push. It was almost as if it were welcoming her.

  She took a deep breath, readying herself, before pushing it all the way out, and stepping into the building.

  Glanen, found it strange that Aasimah seemed to be trying to get rid of him. He knew she wasn't really picking the lock. He had watched the young prince do so more than once during their youth. What was Aasimah planning?

  It didn't take the knight much time to find another door – this one, a single door, and it was indeed locked. Still, it was a weak old thing, and the knight feared for the child's safety. Pressed for time, he had no better option – he would have to force the door open.

  Subtlety was never his strong suit, anyway.

  Chapter 10

  The Unblooded

  ∞∞∞

  Aasimah wasn't terribly surprised when she entered the house only to find herself surrounded by men on all sides. She'd expected as much, after all.

  A quick glance in several directions, and she counted seven. They blocked most of her view, crowding around her rudely, but she could see all that she needed to at the moment. The child was nowhere to be seen, which meant that she was either already dead, or that she had been moved, assuming that she'd ever been in their possession to begin with. There were two doors off to each side, and a single door along the back wall, each being guarded by a bulky, armored man.

  Torches were mounted all around the walls, providing sufficient lighting. She might be able to use those to her advantage, if she could get out from her current predicament. A plain cowhide rug, sandy in color, sat beneath her boots. The room reeked of steel and blood, and Aasimah could spot a few stains of it along the floor and walls; there had been a struggle, of that, she was certain.

  She could see, too, over the shoulder of the man directly in front of her that, straight across from them, was a simple wooden throne.

  Sitting upon it was a big, burly man, clothed in animal skins of all sorts, with matted gray hair and a nasty, cruel expression.

  “Welcome,” he called, revealing a mouth that had long ago lost several of its teeth, “I wasn't expectin' any volunteers, but I won't turn any away!” he guffawed. His men chuckled in support.

  What a stupid laugh, Aasimah thought. She instantly lost a bit of whatever fear she might have had for the man.

  Aasimah couldn't believe such idiots were capable of doing so much damage. There had to be someone else involved. Still, she mustn't underestimate even complete morons such as them; after all, the biggest fools were usually the most unpredictable and dangerous. She was beginning to wonder if it had been wise of her to send Glanen away.

  He's a fool, too. I did it for his own good.

  “Now, now, this doesn't have to get too bloody,” the leader called from the back of the room.

  “I've come for the girl,” Aasimah answered. “However much blood gets spilled is on your hands, not mine.”

  That earned a great belly laugh from all but one of them – the man to her right, holding his dagger against her throat, seemed nervous. Good. There was a weak link in that chain.

  Aasimah didn't crack a smile. Her eyes were cold and determined.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” the leader asked.

  That was an excellent question, Aasimah silently approved, as she elbowed the man to her right as hard as she could. He sucked in a messy breath and doubled over, and Aasimah quickly kicked out at his knee, forcing him down. The rest of the men, too shocked to react, had wasted several precious seconds, just enough time for Aasimah to pick up the man's dagger. It wasn't much, but it would do.

  “I said,” she growled, “I'm here for the girl.”

  The laughter died down. The leader stared at her curiously. It wasn't very often that he found himself being challenged. Villagers rarely had the courage to fight back.

  “Ah, now, don't be stupid,” he called, though Aasimah sensed a break in the man's confidence. “You're outnumbered. Just walk over here, nicely, and we won't rough you up... much.”

  Much.

  Aasimah appeared to consider it, and a small breath of relief escaped the leader's mouth – just as the business end of a sword blade emerged through the chest of one of his underlings – the man who had been standing by the door to her far right. The man gurgled and fell to the ground, revealing Glanen, the noble fool who had come to her rescue.

  “Aasimah!”

  So he found his way in, after all. In no time at all, the knight was beside her, and even more blood began to spill. She heard groans, grunts, and gurgles, the hissing of blades meeting through the air, the shuffling of feet, the clinking of armor, the soft clunking and thudding of bodies falling to the ground. At one point, she heard the leader call out for reinforcements.

  Aasimah found herself lost in the chaos, suddenly helpless.

  A rough hand grabbed at her, pulling her away.

  Glanen?

  No, Aasimah realized, opening eyes that she had not even realized were closed, and finding herself nose-to-nose with the leader.

  In the heat of the battle, Glanen had been pulled away from her and pressed back against the wall, attempting to fend off a trio of bandits. There would be no help from him.

&nb
sp; Startled, acting on instinct alone, Aasimah blindly thrust with her dagger. The leader had made no attempt to block her, likely hadn't even anticipated the attack. They stared at each other in wordless shock as the blade buried itself into his stomach smoothly, offering little resistance. Aasimah felt it graze against something momentarily, and realized with a sickly feeling that it was bone.

  Aasimah backed away, feeling utterly repulsed and leaving the weapon buried into the leader's flesh. He drew an abrupt gasp and stumbled back, his mouth hung open, his lower jaw trembling violently. He lurched, and at that point, Aasimah forcibly closed her eyes.

  She heard him fall to the floor, heard a few groans and thuds as more bodies fell, and what she assumed was the sound of Glanen's boots as he drew near. It was over in the blink of an eye... the final beat of a dying heart, but for Aasimah, it felt as if it were a lifetime.

  For that man, it was the end of his lifetime.

  Unaware of herself, moving as if pulled involuntarily by some unseen force, Aasimah found herself kneeling before the body, her eyes opening at last. It came as a great shock to her when she found herself staring into his empty eyes. What was she doing?

  Glanen cleared his throat, and Aasimah rose, though she did not meet his gaze. She felt the knight's hands close upon her own, prying something loose. She heard the soft clink of the dagger hitting the ground. When had she retrieved it? She did not even remember. Her body was acting against her will, her mind long gone.

  Glanen tugged on her hands a bit, urging her to come to her senses. When Aasimah looked at him, he appeared unusually solemn. Every trace of innocence had left him, though he did not appear reproachful. Then again, why should he? His body count was significantly higher, after all.

  No, he appeared sympathetic, almost concerned, and Aasimah found herself disgusted. He simply looked into her eyes, staying completely silent.

  “Why are you looking at me that way?” Aasimah asked.

  Glanen's expression was soft. “I remember my first kill. I wondered, after that, if I had what it takes to be a knight.”