A few minutes later, Rewjeo noticed a raven in the trees above him. He pulled out the last of his bread, which was by now barely edible, and paused to watch the bird. Ravens are often heralded as bad omens, telling of misfortune and bloodshed. Well, if you believe those kinds of things, that is. Rewjeo had always liked ravens, himself. Smart, sturdy birds. They weren’t as colorful as jays or magpies, and they weren’t exactly nice to listen to, but they had a kind of majesty about them.
It didn’t take long for the bird to notice him and fly down to the path. It hopped around some, and started cawing raucously. Rewjeo looked at the bread in his hand. “Probably want this, don’t ya?” he said, before tossing it towards the raven. It completely ignored the bread. “Too stale, even for you?” he asked out loud with a chuckle. The bird was still cawing, and it seemed to be getting louder. “What on earth are you doing?” he asked himself under his breath. Rewjeo started to walk closer to the bird. The ground gave out underneath his foot, and he tumbled down the hill beside him.
Rewjeo let out a moan once he reached the bottom, face down. He pushed his head up and spat out a mouthful of dirt and vegetation, and he winced as a pain shot through his wrist when he tried to push himself up farther. Then he spotted a pair of boots walking up out of the corner of his eye. Something grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him up. The pair of boots belonged to a captain in the Guldaran army. He was in charge of what looked to be a patrol of about two dozen soldiers, two of whom were now holding Rewjeo firmly by the arms.
“Well, what do we have here?” the captain asked, sword resting on his shoulder.
Rewjeo stood there in silence, intently studying the man’s armor. Why are there Guldaran soldiers out here? They have no business this close to Gassad, he thought.
“What are you doing out here?” the captain demanded.
“W-walking,” Rewjeo stammered as he snapped into realization of the situation he was in. The captain stared angrily in response. “Sir?” Rewjeo added, but the stare continued. Rewjeo regained his composure. “I was walking, sir.”
“And where were you walking, sir?” the captain asked.
“On the path up there, sir” Rewjeo explained, gesturing with his head as his arms were firmly pinned.
“Is he daft?” muttered one of the soldiers behind the captain.
“Yer destination. What was yer destination?” the captain asked irately.
“Uh…” Rewjeo grew pale. He looked to the soldiers on his left and right. Each was perfectly stoic. He wasn’t going anywhere they didn’t want him to go. “Well, you see, sir, I, uh, sir, I… don’t really have one,” was the explanation he settled on.
The stare came back, this time with a bit more incredulity. “All right, sir, d’ya have a name?”
“Yes. Yes, I do,” Rewjeo replied very slowly.
The captain’s nostrils flared. “Well, would ya mind tellin’ it t’ me?” he asked as he brought the blade down from his shoulder and started clapping it against his palm.
“N-n-not at all,” Rewjeo said, eyeing the sword as the soldier leaned closer and closer in.
“Well, then, what is it?!” the captain roared at him. Before Rewjeo had a chance to answer, the captain continued on in his rage. “You two,” he said, gesturing to the fellows holding Rewjeo, “take ‘im to the castle. I don’t have time for this.” With that, he let out a vicious backhand slap across Rewjeo’s face and turned away, gesturing for the two soldiers to drag him off.
“Ow!” Rewjeo shouted. He tried to bring his hand up to where the metal gauntlet had met his cheekbone, but the men holding him didn’t budge. “What kind of soldier just hits a civilian?” he asked indignantly. “Do they just let you do that where you’re from?”
The captain’s brow furrowed as deeply as Rewjeo had ever seen anyone’s brow furrow before he let out a wild swing with his fist. Rewjeo tried to duck, but all he could manage was to get the top of his head, rather than his face, in front of the incoming fist. “Take him away!” the captain shouted. It took all the self-control he had, not that he had much, not to lash out again.
The soldiers obediently followed the command. And, truth be told, Rewjeo didn’t mind that they were holding him so firmly. He’d banged his knee on something when he fell. This way he wouldn’t have to limp a few miles more to the castle, although he was pretty sure he could feel blood running down his cheek.
~~~~~
Seloh, Fligner, Lemina, and Fyrro all sat in the dark, dank cellars of Gassad. What felt like hours of not-entirely-conscious silence was broken by the sound of Seloh’s helmet clanging against the floor. They were all jerked back to awareness, and Seloh managed to bash his head backwards into the wall he was leaning against in his surprise.
“Ahhh,” Seloh groaned as the pain bounced around his skull. Meanwhile, the others let out a simple sigh of relief. Then the silence resumed.
After a few more minutes, Fyrro stood himself up. “All right, guys, let’s see if we can’t get some light in here.”
Seloh looked up at where the voice came from, still rubbing the back of his head, only to remember that he couldn’t see Fyrro. “And how do you plan on doing that?”
“There has to be a torch in here somewhere,” Fyrro explained, “All we have to do is find one.” His friends and sister spent the next while listening to him shuffle around the room, feeling walls for a torch, with the occasional “Ooph!” as he bumped into a table or shelf in the darkness. Finally, he let out a frustrated sigh. “Are you guys gonna help, or are you content to mope around in the pitch black?”
There was a groan as the three stood up. Sitting there for hours on the stone floor in their armor had made them stiff. “So,” Seloh asked entirely genuinely, “who do you think won?” No one answered. “I mean, what if General Kliszer won and he just doesn’t realize we’re down here? Or maybe he’s leaving us down here as punishment…”
“Shut up, Seloh,” Fyrro said. “Just keep looking for a torch.”
“Oh, I’m not blaming you,” Seloh said. “I mean, we all made it out all right.”
“Shut up, Seloh,” he said again.
Seloh paused momentarily, but his nervous habits got the better of him. “Do you think Lord Jyron is dead?”
“Shut up, Seloh!” Fyrro shouted. “As your superior officer, I command you to hold your tongue!”
“Are you sure there’s a torch down here?” Lemina said, eager to change the subject. “There’s a lot of space to check and there’s only four of us…”
“Well, is there a better way to spend our time right now?” her brother responded irately.
“We could find some breakfast,” Fligner suggested. “I’m starving, and there’s literally enough food for an army down here.”
“We’ll eat when we can see the food,” Fyrro said. “And, for now, that means finding a torch.”
After several more minutes of uncomfortable silence, Lemina again asked, “Are you sure there’s a torch down here?”
“No,” Fyrro admitted grumpily, “but I’d rather look for one than wait for this all to work itself out.” He awkwardly groped at the corner he’d made it to, making sure there wasn’t anything for him to run into.
“Hey! Guys!” Fligner shouted. He’d hit something metal sticking out of the wall. “I think…” he started, following the edge with his fingers. “I did! I found a torch!” He pulled out his dagger and struck it against the stone for a spark. After a full minute of unsuccessful attempts, the torch lit. Fligner gestured to the food around them. “Let’s eat!”
~~~~~
After a much more subdued walk through the woods, Rewjeo found himself being pulled through a massive hole in the outer wall of Gassad. “Found this guy wandering outside of town,” one of his escorts said gruffly, and they were allowed through. After that, the soldiers walked Rewjeo across the courtyard and through the broken gateway to the keep. Then it was a quick journey through the familiar halls of the castle up into some room Rewjeo had somehow never been in before.
There was a man in white armor officiating from a table placed in the center of the room. Important looking military men shuffled through, asking the man in white armor for orders and then passing them around. There was a man next to him wearing all black with straight red hair and blood smeared across his face. While the man in white was busy relaying information and writing it down, the man in black seemed to be keeping an eye on everything going on in the room, and the other soldiers in the room seemed to do everything they could to separate themselves from him.
The man in white looked up as Rewjeo and the soldiers, still holding his arms as tightly as ever, walked in. “And who might this be?” he asked, with a hint of disgust. Rewjeo realized what he must look like- he had been out in the wilderness for weeks, never mind the tumble or the beating he’d taken.
“Not sure, sir,” one of the soldiers said. “We found him wandering around outside town.”
“He was uncooperative,” said the other, “so our captain had us bring him to you, general.”
“Uncooperative?” Rewjeo asked indignantly. “I was very cooperative!”
This oughta be interesting, Kertankuse thought, rolling his eyes. “Well, what happened?”
“Well, sir, if that is an appropriate way to address you,” Rewjeo began very graciously, “I was minding my own business when this ‘captain’ fellow approached and started interrogating me. I answered all his questions without complaint, however, and in return I was dragged in front of you in this most indecent manner.”
“Is that so?” Kertankuse asked disinterestedly. “So, what’s your name?”
Rewjeo had managed to figure this much out since the incident with the captain earlier. “Kygao, sir. I’m a scholar from Ilyarium, a student of history, philosophy, both natural and metaphysical, et cetera, who has set out on a journey to study the world for himself.”
“And is there any reason for a scholar to be brought before me right now?” Kertankuse asked Rewjeo’s escorts exasperatedly.
“No, sir?” replied one, unsure whether or not the question was rhetorical.
“Well, then, take him away! Find a place to hold him. I’ll get to him at some point.”
“Ah, sir, if I may be so bold,” Rewjeo interjected, “What is going on here? You seem to be a very busy man, you see, and I think you may be busy for a very interesting reason.”
“You’ll find out in due time, sirrah,” Kertankuse said irately, “now please leave. I am indeed very busy, and you are wasting my time.”
“But sir!” Rewjeo said, somewhat desperately as the soldiers started to hoist him backwards. “I- I have services that may be of interest to you.”
“Really? And what might those be?” the general asked sarcastically.
“Well, sir, these would be delicate matters,” Rewjeo said quickly, ignoring the sarcasm, “and I would appreciate it if we could discuss them without the presence of simple soldiers. I’m clearly unarmed,” he said, gesturing to the two on either side of him, “and you seem to be both armed and armored yourself, anyways.”
Kertankuse paused for a moment. “Very well,” he relented. “You’ve piqued my interest. Out of the room,” he said to the soldiers, “and take that pack he’s got with you.” The two from the woods obediently released Rewjeo. Blood flowed back into his now-tingling arms, and he winced as the weight put on his knee released a twang of pain. The grimace on his face slowly faded as the various soldiers left the room.
“Now, what is it you can offer me?” Kertankuse asked once it was just Kygao, the red haired man in black, and himself in the room.
“Would you mind revealing to me the circumstances of your business?” Rewjeo asked in response, eyeing the third man suspiciously.
“I am General Kertankuse of Guldar, head of the invasion of Gassad. You are witnessing the aftermath of a successful assault last night,” he explained briefly, “and this is my second in command, Eirk.”
“That is very interesting,” Rewjeo said laboriously as he felt his heart lurch into his throat. Interesting is not the word he would usually choose to describe the occupation of his home.
“Yes, yes, I’m sure you find it fascinating, sirrah, but I don’t care what you do or do not find interesting. I suggest you offer me something I’m interested in, or I may let Eirk here have his way with you,” Kertankuse said.
“Ah, yes, yes,” Rewjeo said, trying to organize his thoughts, not fully registering the threat. “I forgot. I have a suggestion that might be of mutual interest. As a student of history, I am, in part, a ‘keeper of the past,’ as it were, and this present will someday become the past. As a witness to what could very well be an important historical event, I think my training could prove invaluable to future generations if I could be allowed to document these happenings as well as what your soldiers, subjects, et cetera might think of them. At the same time, my documentation could prove to be invaluable insight into the thoughts of your new subjects and soldiers for you yourself. All I would need is a place to stay and a steady supply of basic necessities as well as a steady supply of writing instruments and parchment.”
Kertankuse rolled his eyes. “And what’s your plan for getting them to talk to you, sirrah? They’ll think you’re reporting straight to me.”
“A valid point,” Rewjeo admitted. “What if I were to take on the title of ‘Martial Philosopher,” or some such thing, with other official duties and I do that on the side as a, ehem, ‘personal project?’”
“Kygao, was it?” Kertankuse said after a pause. “What brings you out here to study, if you come from Ilyarium, the legendary center of knowledge?”
“Information tends to get corrupted by the journey, sir,” Rewjeo explained. “Knowledge is best pursued in its purest form.”
Kertankuse gave a satisfied nod. “I’ll think over you offer, sirrah. Have the guards escort to a holding room. I’ll have them bring you back when I have come to a conclusion.”
After Rewjeo had been taken out of the room, Eirk turned to his general. “Well, he’s a queer one.”
“Yes, but that might just get people to talk to him,” Kertankuse said. “Keep an eye on him, Eirk. I don’ trust him, tbut he could be valuable.”
“Of course, sir,” Eirk replied with a bow. “Shall I invite the other soldiers back in? I believe they were saying something about holdouts somewhere in the castle.”
~~~~~
There was a pounding on the thick oak door. Fligner blinked his eyes into focus as he lifted his head up from the table. He looked around. The other three were still fast asleep. They had all slipped out of consciousness shortly after their meal.
“In the name of Guldar, open this door!” came a shout from outside before the pounding continued.
“Hey, guys,” Fligner whispered, nudging Seloh into waking. “Guys, something’s going on.”
Seloh yawned and rubbed his eyes. “Hm?” he said, not having processed what Fligner said.
“The offer still stands!” the voice outside shouted. “This is your last chance- open the door, or we’re coming in!” The pounding continued.
“Do you guys have any idea what he’s talking about?” Fligner whispered urgently.
“In the name of Guldar, open this door!” came the shout again.
“Not a clue. But it looks like Gassad lost,” Fyrro said grimly, realizing what that last shout meant. “There’s no chance I’m surrendering to some Guldaran scum,” he raised his voice, growing into a shout, but Seloh cut him off
“Whoa there! I’m not too keen on surrendering either, but what else are we supposed to do from in here? I don’t want to be a prisoner for the rest of my life, but that sounds better than dying.”
“Rewjeo used to sneak in and get stuff out of here all the time when we were kids,” Fyrro explained. “There’s a way out of here other than that door. We just have to find it.”
“It won’t be obvious,” Seloh cautioned. “You only need one hand to count the number of people who know their way around this castle’s hidden passages. If other people haven’t found it after generations of moving stuff around in here, do you really think we have a shot?”
“We don’t even know what their offer is,” Lemina reminded them.
“Well, then, that settles it,” Fyrro said, standing up. “Either way we’re taking a risk. Might as well go out on our own terms.” Seloh rolled his eyes, but grunted agreement. He knew he couldn’t change his friend’s mind. With Seloh’s acquiescence, Fyrro turned to the door and shouted, “Go swallow your sword!”
“Listen,” Seloh said quickly, before anyone could react to the change in their situation, “we need to establish a better defensive position if we want a chance at holding them off. They’ll get through that door if they want to, and right now we’re sitting ducks. If we can get some defenses up between here and the doorway, and maybe empty some barrels onto the floor, we might have a shot. Oh, and put out the torch if they get in here, too. The harder it is for them to see, the better.”
“All right, then,” Lemina said, popping up from the table, sword already in hand, “let’s get to it!” She marched up to a barrel and whacked the spigot off of it with her sword. As the red liquid poured out onto the floor, she walked up to the next barrel and chopped its spigot off, and then she moved to the next barrel, and the next one.
Fyrro smiled and shook his head for a moment, watching his sister go straight to getting work done, before joining her in creating the haphazard obstacle course. He walked up to up to the first barrel she had opened up and yanked it off the table, sending it crashing into the floor. Fyrro started rolling it, soaking the floor in the red liquid. Seloh and Fligner joined in, too. They tossed the table the four had slept on into the sticky mess, where it lay sideways, and then set about tumbling shelves and benches across the room. Before long, they had a kind of makeshift, almost unnavigable field of debris to protect themselves. The floor was wet in some places, sticky in others, with barrels on their sides and tables upside down and benches lying diagonally across the space.
Seloh grinned as he watched the torchlight reflect off the slick stones and cast monstrous shadows on the wall. “All, right,” he said to his cohorts, “if that doesn’t slow them down, nothing we can do will.”
“It smells awful,” Fligner said, but no one paid him any attention.
“Let’s see if we can find some more torches, then, and try and find our way out of here,” Fyrro said, taking command again.
The four of them turned around and marched through the cellars. “Good lord, this place is huge!” Fligner remarked, having never been in the cellars before. “You can’t even see the far wall from here!” It was true. Gassad was a huge castle, and, as such, there was a lot of food stored there. The cellars were appropriately sized, and that meant that the light from the torch didn’t illuminate the room from end to end. It also meant that it was big enough for there to be more than just one torch kept down there. “No wonder Rewj was able to take stuff out without anyone noticing,” he continued as they picked up and lit one torch from along the wall.
“So,” Lemina asked as they continued their search, “just what exactly will this hidden passageway look like?”
“Based on the fact that no one really knows where any of them are,” Seloh said as he scanned the walls, “I suspect it looks basically like everything else in this room. We’re just gonna have to go over every inch of this place to find it,” he said, almost apologetically.
“But this place is huge!” Fligner complained.
“Seloh’s right,” Fyrro affirmed. “Like he said, generations of people have worked in here without finding it. We won’t just stumble across the entrance. We’ll have to-”
A massive bang came from the door behind them. The four whipped around, hands on their weapons.
“Get ready to put out those torches,” Fyrro whispered, recalling Seloh’s defense plan.
Another bang reverberated through the room.
“Did they bring in a battering ram?” Fligner asked. Bang.
“I doubt it. There isn’t much room on the other side of that door,” Seloh said, thinking back to their flight through the castle. “In any case, I don’t think we’re in too much trouble right now. We barricaded that door well enough.” Bang.
“You sure about that?” Fligner asked nervously.
“Yeah,” Seloh said confidently. “Based on the space in the hallway and the mass of that shelf on this side of the door, I don’t think there’s any way they can push that door open.” The banging continued. “After all, you guys don’t see any light coming in from around that door, do you?” Seloh may not have been the best soldier, but he was smart. He’d spent the better part of his childhood in the royal library, and, since his conscription into the army, he had started studying tactics and the physics behind siege equipment.
His friends admitted that the door seemed to be staying firmly in place, but they were nervous nonetheless. “Well, I’m gonna start looking,” Seloh said. “Let me know when the noise stops. That is when we should be worrying.” With that, he broke off from the other three, still standing tensed with their hands ready to draw their weapons at a moment’s notice.
Fyrro stood still, staring intently at the door. Bang. He thought he might have seen something rattle over by the door, but then things looked like they were in the same place as before, too. Bang. Again, things seemed to be holding in place. “It looks like Seloh’s right,” he said with a frustrated sigh. “Standing here won’t do anything, anyways. Let’s start searching for a way out of here.” Bang. The door seemed to be intact, but he was still plenty nervous about it.
“Hey, why don’t you come with me?” Fligner whispered to Lemina. They had only found three torches between the four of them, so there were going to be two people with one torch.
“Sure,” Lemina said, confused, following him as her brother headed off elsewhere to see if he could find anything.
Fligner sensed her confusion. “They’re gonna be too quiet,” Fligner explained, nodding to Fyrro and Seloh, “and I really don’t want to hang out over here by myself.”
“They’re going to be too quiet for you to look at the wall?” Lemina asked disapprovingly.
“Well,” Fligner said, munching on a piece of bread he had picked up off of a shelf next to them, “I was also kinda hoping you would do most of the looking.”
“You’re ridiculous,” she said, stopping in her tracks, trying to conceal a smile.
“What?” he asked, mouth full of half-chewed bread. “I’m hungry.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she said with a chuckle. “Here, give me the torch.”
“Okay,” Fligner said with a shrug. He handed her the torch, and she started walking back off through the massive room. “Wait, where are you going?”
“I’m finding another torch to make sure you get some work done!” she called back.
Fligner rubbed his eyes wearily. Should’ve been a baker, he thought as he took another chunk out of his piece of bread. Could’ve avoided this whole mess that way. And I could have had fresh bread whenever I wanted.
“Shhh!” came a harsh whisper from across the cellars. “Be quiet!” It was Seloh’s voice.
“We’re just having some friendly-” Fligner began explaining.
“No, they’ve stopped trying to beat the door in!” Seloh said back.
“Well, okay, then,” Fligner said. “So what? Whadda we do now?”
“Keep looking!” Seloh said back. “And do it quietly so we know when they try getting in here again.”
Fyrro wasn’t paying attention to his friends’ exchange. He was busy staring at the wall in front of him. It wasn’t all that tall- maybe eight feet- but he realized just how daunting their task was. The room stretched hundreds of feet to either side of him, and the walls were covered in tables and shelves that they’d have to move in order to get a good look at them. He traced his finger along the crack between the stones. What are we looking for, anyways? he wondered. As far as he could tell, it was just a normal wall in front of him. From the floor to the ceiling, it was entirely ordinary.
A high pitched creaking suddenly filled the space from the doorway, snapping Fyrro out of his daze. The four Gassadians walked slowly to the center of the space, again ready to draw their weapons at a moment’s notice.
“Looks like they found a new way to get in,” Seloh said, grimly. “Get ready to put out those torches,” he reminded his comrades.
Another squeak shrieked through the room. “What are they doing?” Fligner asked, cringing. Before anyone could respond, there was yet another shrill screech and then a loud thud, revealing a sliver of light along the ceiling.
“They’re taking out the door!” Seloh realized. “Shit,” he cursed, snapping into focus. “Get ready for a fight, guys. They’re coming in!” He had been right. The Guldarans couldn’t knock the door over, but they wanted in, so they were getting in. “Put the torches out now. Let our eyes adjust as much as possible.”
The four crept forward carefully in the dark, swords and bow drawn. “Are you sure we can hold them off?” Fligner whined.
“Shh,” Fyrro hushed his friend. “We really don’t have another option right now, do we? Now get ready to shoot. A few well-placed arrows in here can change the whole battle.”
The soldiers outside the cellar door moved to the second hinge on the door, and the creaking started up again. This hinge was rusted more than the last, and it let out an almost unbearable screech. There was creaking and then another loud thud. The crack at the top of the door grew wider, and then the door moved out of the doorway. The flickering light of flames filtered now around the shelf they put in to block the door. Then the heavy wooden structure, piled high with full barrels and mounds of food, started rocking. The Gassadians watched it in silence, arms slowly rising with their weapons in hand.
Finally, laboriously, the shelf toppled into the cellars with a crash. Guldaran soldiers rushed in behind it immediately. Fligner pulled his bow taught. The first soldier in slipped on the slick floor and toppled onto his torch, dousing it. Fligner squinted to make out the backlit shapes. The second soldier in tripped over the first, his armor clattering loudly against the floor. Fligner’s arrow whipped past the third Guldaran and into the hallway harmlessly. The fourth one bumped into the third, who had frozen momentarily, and pushed him into the pile of limbs below. With a grunt of disappointment, he quickly whipped out another arrow, notched it, and let it loose. There was a thud, a grunt, and the silhouette in the doorway- number five or six in- doubled over. Meanwhile, other silhouettes tripped over tables and slid around on the floor with moans and grunts.
“Keep firing at the center,” Seloh whispered to Fligner. “The three of us will move up the edges. If we can use the shadows to our advantage, we ought to be able to drive them out.” Seloh and Fyrro took the right-hand wall while Lemina took the left. They moved carefully and quietly, sure to keep behind the obstacles they had placed so that the Guldarans would have no idea they were coming. Meanwhile, the dozen or so soldiers who had entered the cellars were continuing to try and make their way towards where the arrows were coming from, stumbling and sloshing around the obstacle course haphazardly. A few more arrows flew from Fligner’s bow. One caught a second torch carrier in the arm.
Lemina was crouching behind a table near the third and final torch carrier. An arrow whizzed by her head, and she nearly shouted “Watch it!” to Fligner. She caught herself, though, and the torch carrier dropped his torch once he realized that he was being targeted by the archer. With all the torches inside the cellars doused, the only light was from the hall outside, and that was plenty dim on its own. A soldier was climbing over a barrel nearby, and, suddenly caught in the dark, slipped and fell to the ground. Lemina took her chance. She leaped over her table, grabbed the torch carrier and smashed the hilt of her sword into the side of his skull. He reeled backwards, clutching his head. Lemina took the moment to give the soldier on the ground a sharp kick to the gut, and then turned back to her upright opponent. He regained his composure and moved to swing his sword at the vague shape in front of him. Lemina lunged at him, and their bodies collided in the dark. Their two swords fell to the ground, and Lemina and the soldier grappled. After a few moments of pushing and grabbing, the Guldaran managed to grab her by the arms and started to toss her around. Lemina gave him a headbutt to loosen his grip and then made him let go with a followup knee to the gut. She pulled his helmet off from his doubled over position, grabbed him by the hair, and smashed his face into some wooden structure nearby before shoving him into the ground, where he lay moaning.
Meanwhile, Seloh and Fyrro had launched their own attack on the other side. One Guldaran was climbing up a shelf whose top was resting on a table, laying the shelf diagonally in space. Seloh looked back and forth between Fyrro and the table several times and pulled in with his hands. Fyrro nodded in agreement. The two crawled over and yanked the table out from under the shelf, and it fell with a bang. The soldier climbing up it let out a whimper as it hit the ground and pain rocked through his arms. One nearby soldier ran over to help. Fyrro caught the soldier’s arm as he started to swing his sword, gave him a punch to the jaw, then shoved him to the ground, Fyrro’s forearm pressed against his throat. Seloh crept up behind a nearby soldier, confused by the sudden chaos, and laid his blade against the soldier’s neck.
Fligner shot another arrow into the foray and caught someone in the thigh. Between his shout of pain and the sudden chaos on the sides, a call for retreat came. The soldier Lemina had battered badly, the one who had been climbing on the shelf and dropped, and the two Seloh and Fyrro had pinned remained behind, incapacitated, while the rest fled in a clumsy exodus.
“What’s going on?” a man, clearly their superior, from outside said, stepping into the doorway. “Get those da-” An arrow from Fligner grazed his ear, quieting him, and he quickly pressed himself against a wall. His soldiers paid him no heed and proceeded back into the hallway. The one shot in the thigh straggled out and then he gave the order for the door to be put back. “Lock ‘em in there, again, men! I suppose we’ll just have to wait them out…”
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