Flames of Awakening: Faemoch Cycle Book 1 (5 page)

Chapter Eight

Jaxius peered up the winding
stairwell. Torches lit the inside of the witch's tower with a fitful glow. The
flickering, orange light spilled down on him, bouncing off of small
imperfections in the rough-hewn stone walls. The smooth black stones that made
up the stairs were worn and rounded.

"Up or down?" Tolian asked
in hushed tones.

"Well, it is a tower. So I would
say most likely up."

Jaxius slid his
viortassi
from
its sheath.

Seeing this, Tolian pulled his two
favorite daggers from their place at his hips. Jaxius couldn't help but smile a
bit at the juxtaposition, but at least his friend was ready.

The two proceeded to climb the
stairs. They worked their way up the tightly winding stairway slowly and
silently. Jaxius tested each step carefully before trusting it. Towers like
this were not often filled with traps like some adventurers boast, but Jaxius
preferred to err on the side of caution. Ten steps. Fifteen. Jaxius' muscles
tensed. Something was terribly wrong. Something very strange was happening in this
old tower. An unspeakable evil lurked here. Twenty steps. Twenty-five. Jaxius
paused, listening closely. His half-elven ears caught the faintest whisper of a
sound from ahead. Whoever or whatever it was tried intently to not make much
sound. Then, a solitary sound filled Jaxius' ears: the swish of an unsheathing
blade. The seasoned warrior flattened himself against the wall, and Tolian
followed his example.

The sound of battle preparation was
followed with footsteps echoing down the stairs. Jaxius held his
viortassi
with
both hands. His knuckles whitened with the strength of his grip. His mind
focused on the coming task. Jaxius cleared away all thoughts other than his
blade and his instincts from his mind. At that instant, Jaxius and blade were
one and the same. He almost pitied his coming attackers. Almost.

The first guard rounded the corner
with his sword drawn, but was cut down by an upward slash of the elven heavy
blade. Jaxius used the momentum to step further up and around the already dying
barbarian. He brought his sword down deep into the next guard's shoulder before
that one could get his shield up to block. Ripping his sword back and in,
Jaxius sent the second guard tumbling down the stairs.

From his new vantage point, Jaxius
could see at least three more of the witch's warriors on the stairs above him.
Their thick fur and hide armor blocked Jaxius from seeing any farther up the
stairwell. He wondered if any men on the lower levels of the tower had heard
the commotion of battle. If the witch hadn't been alerted when the pair entered
the tower, she certainly had now. The half-elf prayed they would be in time to
save young Bergar.

"We have more from below,"
Tolian said, confirming Jaxius' thoughts. As if summoned, the clatter of blades
echoed from just beyond Tolian. Knowing that the battle-tested bard could
defend himself better than most soldiers, Jaxius turned his attention back to
the barbarians before him.

Jaxius stepped forward to meet a new
foe; this one was definitely more prepared than his two unlucky predecessors.
The defender thrust out his straight-sword only to have his attempt parried to
the side by Jaxius'
viortassi
. Another guard moved in and swung his axe
around, intent on removing Jaxius' arm from his body at the shoulder.

For Jaxius, all time magically ceased
to exist. He was astonished at how terribly slow the barbarian's swings had
become. The awestruck half-elf had time to contemplate each of his opponent's
swings and how to best avoid being struck. This new found consciousness of time
dizzied and would have distressed Jaxius if he didn't have an axe blade inches
from his shoulder. He ducked his head under the axe and thrust his
viortassi
out to deflect his original adversary's sword. As if on cue, the axe
resumed its original speed and completely missed Jaxius. The other assailant's
sword clanged loudly as it rebounded off of Jaxius' perfectly crafted blade.
The out-of-control axe continued its suddenly altered path and crashed into his
clansman's chest.

The impaled barbarian's eyes widened
with surprise. He clutched at the axe embedded in his chest and fell headlong
down the stairs. His lifeless body crashed into the small throng of warriors
coming up from below.

If his mind had not been completely
engrossed in the dance of battle, Jaxius might also have been surprised at the
dizzying experience. However, he could not afford himself the luxury of
thinking. The feverish fight up the tower must consume him. He must be
completely taken by it. So, he let the graceful and flowing dance with the
viortassi
become the entirety of his existence. Enraptured by the dance of death that
he had become, Jaxius pushed forth.

Abruptly, Jaxius' world changed. He
was no longer in the stairwell fighting the witch's barbarian guards. Instead,
he stood atop a great hill. The full moon shone bright and heavy in the deep
night sky. A cool spring wind whipped his cloak about. The gust brought with it
the first splattering drops of a cleansing spring rain. Jaxius met a new
attacker's charge head on.

The new assailant, a man, was dressed
in lush dark purple with rich, blood red trim. As Jaxius caught the man's sword
with the pommel of his
viortassi
, he stepped closer, into the mysterious
man's reach. That is when he noticed what he, himself, was wearing. No longer
was he wrapped in his ordinary traveler's cloak and winter furs. Now, he wore
an unrealistically light suit of plate armor trimmed in gleaming gold and
sparkling silver.

Jaxius slid his
viortassi
past
the purple dressed man's guard and into his stomach. From all sides more men
dressed in exactly the same colors stormed the hill where Jaxius stood alone.
He eagerly awaited the tidal wave of adversaries that marched to their
inevitable deaths. He hefted back his blade and began his bloody work.

Lightning flashed across the sky,
distracting Jaxius for only the briefest of moments. When he regained his
senses he was in the middle of the stairwell again, parrying and dodging two
new guards' advances. As Jaxius deflected and evaded these attacks, he wondered
why he was continually tormented by these strange visions. Were they somehow
related to what the forest fae, Chlora, had said? Or was he merely going mad
and imagining these things? He did know one thing for certain, he had to get to
the truth of it. But, for the moment, he needed to focus his attention on the
task at hand.

He harshly parried the next blade
away and drove in with the point of his
viortassi
. The blade thrust into
the man's abdomen and exploded through his back. Jaxius ripped the blade around
and out of the pitiful barbarian, sawing him nearly in half.

He moved up and around another step
leaving Tolian completely out of his field of vision. But from this vantage
point he could see a door at the top of the stairwell looming just beyond the
last three defenders. He listened for a moment down the stairwell. Tolian
fought off no fewer attackers than he. Although, from the sounds of Tolian's
robust taunts, the easy-going bard was definitely having more fun.

Two of the guards, forsaking their
own position of balance, leaped for Jaxius. He ducked below their ill-conceived
attack, bringing his blade up into the gut of one assailant. The heavy blade
sliced the man open, spilling ruby blood out onto the steps. The other man
landed at a terrible angle and rolled bonelessly down the steps.

Jaxius glanced back at the enormous
ball of animal furs as it bounced down the steps and then turned to face his
final impeding guard. A dark and mischievous grin broke across his blood
splattered face. He adjusted his grip on his
viortassi
and set himself
for the clash.

"You'll never win. She already
has the boy," the barbarian sneered. "The ritual has begun. You
cannot stop what has been set in motion. Now, die!"

The barbarian launched himself at
Jaxius. His sword crashed down into Jaxius' hastily raised sword.

Jaxius countered with a sweeping
strike aimed for the guard's knees, but the guard jumped back and away from the
counterstroke.

They both swung again, their blades
engaging as each leaned in to push the other away. The overconfident barbarian
spat in Jaxius' face. Both men withdrew.

Jaxius wiped the foul spittle from
his check with one sleeve, keeping his eyes trained on his foe.

The barbarian sneered once again and
stepped to his right.

Jaxius noticed the man's leg tense.
Curiously, time had again dilated. He could see every muscle twitch as the man
swung his longsword around to Jaxius' right side. The half-elf, with his
enhanced reflexes, easily dodged the blow. After his opponent's sword cleared
his torso, he slammed it against the wall, breaking its blade with the sudden
impact. He quickly followed with an upward thrust of his curved blade, catching
the off-balance barbarian in the soft flesh between chin and throat.

A look of terror and surprise
contorted the barbarian's face as he fell to the floor, now at the correct
speed. Again, Jaxius had no idea what happened to his perceptions, but he was
starting to welcome this peculiar occurrence.

Jaxius took a few steps back down and
called, "Tolian, I have the door."

"Go," Tolian grunted.
"Don't worry about me. Get Bergar."

Jaxius knew that Tolian could
probably use his help, but he knew their mission was more important. Besides,
Tolian had proven time and again to be far more resourceful than what was
credited to him. Jaxius ran back up the steps and slammed his shoulder into the
locked door. Its boards creaked with the force of his blow. Another fierce blow
with his shoulder failed to smash in the door. He took a step back and kicked
the door with all his might. The door exploded from its hinges, and he stepped
through.

Jaxius' face twisted with disgust at
the horrifying sights in the room.

Chapter Nine

Grundar slowly backed away from the
questioning barbarian.

"I said, 'What are you doing
there?'" the man demanded of Grundar.

"Me? Oh, I be lookin' fer me
son," Grundar said. "Have ye seen 'im? I think I seen him over
here."

With that Grundar dashed off into the
woods. He slipped quickly behind the largest tree he could find and waited.
These Hawklos clans were full of fools and inbreeds. And as sure as sunrise the
dolt fell for it. Grundar grinned a little when he heard the crunch of the snow
on the lightly used trail leading into the woods.

"You out there," the
barbarian called. "Where you at? You ought not be snooping where you don't
belong."

"That's right I shouldna,"
Grundar muttered. The man had barely passed Grundar's hiding spot when the
barbarian chieftain exploded from his concealment, sinking his axe deep into
the man's skull. "But ye came t' me first."

At that moment, an idea occurred to
Grundar. He couldn't hide. It was against his nature. He was, after all, a
member of the Dernegart clan. The proudest of his people. The most fearsome of
all of the warriors of the Great North. And so, Grundar laughed aloud as he
took the dead man's cloak and furs.

Fully disguised, he picked up his axe
and quietly made his way back to the stone tower. Although he was of a similar
build to the barbarian, Grundar pulled the hood of the stolen cloak up about
his face to make sure he was not recognized. Staying mostly away from the
center of the encampment he prowled around and finally found his unwitting
prey, a man sitting far apart from his companions, cup in hand.

 "Hey," Grundar called from the shadows trying his
hardest to mimic the subtle changes in pronunciation between his dialect and
his southwestern neighbors. "Help me out over here will ya?"

The man looked up groggily from his
now empty pewter cup and nodded. He stumbled as he got up. Grundar thought that
a most fortuitous occurrence. The drunk barbarian weaved and half tripped his
way to Grundar.

"Eh? What do you need?"

"Well, it's right over
here," Grundar said and led the man into the shadows behind the tower. He
pointed to spot a few feet away. "Right there, you see it?"

As the drunkard stepped forward to
see what mystery Grundar pointed to, Grundar raised his axe. He cut the man
down where he stood and then used a handful of snow to scrub his axe clean. He
dragged the man to the tower wall where he propped the body up into a seemingly
natural position. Then Grundar set off to find yet another victim.

Grundar noticed that the watch
tonight was heavy. Something was definitely brewing. He hoped desperately that
it had nothing to do with his son. But that foreboding feeling of hopelessness
crept back into his thoughts. He focused on it and slowly it changed from
hopelessness to anger. Then from anger to furious hatred.

The best candidates he could find for
his little trap were a pair of slowly patrolling guards.

"He... Help," he called to
them and fell to his face into the shadows.

They both came running to aid their
ailing comrade. They pulled him up out of the snow by his arms. He mimed regaining
his balance but intentionally wobbled enough to break free from their helping
hands.

"Little early to be this dog
drunk, don't you think?" one man lectured.

"Aye, and a bit early to be
callin' me drunk too." Grundar snapped a dagger from his sleeve and buried
it deep into the speaker's throat and heaved his axe up and into the second
man's neck. Both men crumpled to the snow-packed ground. Again, Grundar posed
the bodies in natural positions to avoid untimely questions.

This game could get to be too much
fun. However, Grundar knew he couldn't possibly take out this entire tribe with
such devious tricks. So, he stayed to the shadows, waiting for his companions
and watching warily for more unwanted attention.

A fair amount of time passed and
another lackadaisical patrol came around. Grundar sat as still and quiet as he
could. He held his breath for quite some time, hoping to be passed by. The
patrol noticed the three bodies laid out in the snow around the tower's wall.
The men chuckled at their comrades' seeming drunkenness. One of the two
approached Grundar, assuming him to be another reveler. When the patrolman got
near enough, Grundar leaped to his feet and drove his readied dagger into the
surprised man's chest. The other warrior lunged forward and swung his blade at
Grundar, but Grundar ducked away from the attempt. The man dropped his sword
and charged in. He bowled Grundar over, pinning him to the ground.

"Intruders!" the patrolman
called. "North side of the tower. Raise the alarm! Intruders."

Grundar didn't expect this man's
quick reaction time. He mustered his strength and thrust the man up into the
air and off of him. The chieftain was up and to his feet a split second later.
He slit his foe's throat but was a moment too late. He could hear the sound of
at least a dozen of Fylzia's horde headed his way. The group closed in on
Grundar; attackers came from both sides of the tower. They formed into ranks,
encircling him. Grundar's original assessment of their number was off,
unfortunately. There were closer to eighteen of the armed men.

Grundar dropped his axe to the ground
and knelt in surrender. The Hawklos barbarians closed in to take him prisoner.

Grundar grimaced.

"Ye took m' boy. Now let 'im go
'n I'll let most o' ye leave with yer dignity."