Severed Destinies (10 page)

Balthus frowned. Leading an attack on a tavern was not exactly his purpose for being there. However, it would allow him to bring his skills into effect finally. With a nod of understanding to Draliak, the invoker wheeled his horse around and shouted to the nearest Shada-Kavielian soldiers to follow him.

The men looked to Draliak for confirmation that they should listen to Balthus and the commander gestured towards the tavern. "Balthus, there will most likely be a rear entrance," he called after the invoker. If Balthus had heard him, he had not acknowledged it.

Draliak swung his gaze back to the small defensive line, which the Rotian officer commanded. With a slight smile, he pulled his sword from its scabbard.

"Keep a close eye on that door," Gorric ordered the nervous Ashgar man, pointing at the door leading to the kitchen. The man was the youngest of the Ashgar group and Gorric could see a look of fear in his eyes. "We'll watch out for each other, don't worry."

Khir regarded his friend with surprise. Gorric's voice was strong and clear, giving orders as an officer would to his men. It seemed that he had inherited his father's battle sense. Many times, Khir had heard tales of how Celestius had trained as a soldier and had become a well-respected officer, who led his men against those who would threaten the kingdom. How true these tales were was unknown to Khir, but Celestius had given up his place in the Rotian forces to become a member of the noble council and to raise his family in the sleepy country town of Tamriel.

Khir could see Gorric following in similar footsteps to Celestius and he felt slightly more at ease knowing that his friend was by his side.

"You." Gorric pointed his finger at Varayan, who was still leaning against the back wall. "Help to guard the kitchen door."

"Don't order me around," snapped the young thief. "I'll do as I please."

Gorric glared at him with contempt. "You'll help, or I'll cast you out into the midst of the fighting myself."

Varayan glanced down at the small blade in his hand and laughed coldly. "You think I'm a fighter like you?"

"I'm no fighter," growled Gorric.

"The man lying dead in the kitchen would disagree with you if he could."

"Just help us," said Gorric, turning away from him.

He walked to one of the front windows, coming to stand next to Khir. He looked for his father, but could not see him amidst the multitude of figures in the town square. He longed to charge out there and fight alongside the Barentin defenders.

"Who are they?" Khir asked him.

"I don't know. The man I struck had his face covered, but they wore blackened armour the likes of which I have never seen or heard of."

"Perhaps a mercenary force that has been building up over the years."

"Perhaps, but doubtful."

"Why do you say that?"

"They move with the brutal precision of a military force. They have basic formation, but their movements are those of trained men."

Khir caught sight of a Barentin guardsman being overpowered by two of the attackers and turned away from the scene. "Why are they here, Gorric? Why kill people as they are?"

"I wish I knew, Khir. They seem to be here to destroy Barentin. Other parts of the town are burning, I can see the light from the fires illuminating the sky above." Gorric could see rain falling outside. "At least the rain may help douse the fires a little."

Behind them, Forven approached. "I believe we should consider leaving this place," he said. "It would be safer to get out of the town."

"No," answered Gorric. "I'll not leave my father here."

Forven glanced at Khir. "They are burning everything, young lord," he stated. "Sooner or later, they will manage to set this tavern alight and we will be trapped."

Gorric sighed. "I understand your concerns, but we stay here."

"We should at least head towards the river."

"Don't you think they will already be at the docks?" Gorric asked Forven, turning to face the cleric. "What force would attack a port and not strike the docks first?"

Forven held up his hands. "I know, but we are vulnerable here. Your father would agree…"

"I have spoken, cleric," said Gorric, harshly. "We stay."

"Who exactly put
you
in charge here?" came Varayan's mocking voice.

As Gorric started to answer, the sound of splintering wood was heard from the kitchen. For a moment, everyone in the bar room stood in silence. Then, Gorric signalled for the Ashgar man to stand ready on one side of the door and he himself vaulted the bar to stand the other side. Forven, Rynn and Khir moved to the bottom of the staircase, whilst the barkeeper ducked down behind the bar with Varayan.

The only sound heard were the cries of men dying out in the square. Gorric gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. Remembering his previous encounter with one of the attackers, he made a motion to the Ashgar man to strike at the exposed neck. The man nodded, but Gorric was not completely certain that he had understood.

The door to the kitchen was thrown open and a black figure stepped into the bar room, sword and shield ready. Gorric swung with all his strength, but was shocked to see the attacker react quicker than he expected, ducking the blow. Gorric's sword struck the door's frame and sent a painful vibration back along his arm, but he managed to keep hold of the weapon.

The attacker slashed up with his own sword, a blade a few inches longer than Gorric's and jagged along one edge. Gorric leapt back, barely avoiding the lethal blade.

"Now," he yelled at the Ashgar man, who was frozen to the spot.

Shaking his head clear, the young Ashgar man swung his shortsword, but it glanced off the armour's back plating. The attacker, seemingly unaffected, took a step towards Gorric, his shield leading the way. Behind him, a second attacker appeared from the kitchen, turning to face the Ashgar man.

"I need help here," cried Gorric.

Khir took a step forward, his hunting knife clutched in one hand. He caught sight of the barkeeper edging around the corner of the bar and motioned for Gorric to lead the attacker backwards. He then glanced through the open doorway into the kitchen and could see more dark soldiers waiting to enter the bar room

.

Gorric moved back to the end of the bar, where the barkeeper waited, and the attacker suddenly rushed forward with alarming speed. Gorric jumped aside and the barkeeper swung his curved sword as the attacker approached. The sword slammed into the attacker's right knee, which was covered with loose-fitting chainmail, and he stumbled, falling forward and landing heavily on the wooden floor. Immediately, Gorric was on him, lunging down with his sword. The back of the man's neck was not exposed, as Gorric had hoped. Instead, his helmet had a plate guarding against any rear attack and Gorric's sword slipped off it and lodged in the floor. Cursing, he wrenched his sword free and, as the attacker rolled over to face his opponent, Gorric kicked out and caught him under the chin. The attacker slumped back, rendered unconscious by the blow.

There was a cry of pain behind him. Gorric turned to see the Ashgar man impaled on an attacker's sword.

"Gorric, no."

Gorric heard Khir's warning as he started back toward the doorway and saw attackers filing into the bar room.

"Out the front,” he ordered.

As they ran for the tavern's front door, it flew open and more of the attackers entered. One was carrying a crossbow, which he aimed at Gorric.

"The stairs," came Khir's shout.

Aware of dark forms closing in on them, Gorric ran for the stairs, allowing the barkeeper and a frightened Varayan to reach them before him. The crossbowman lost sight of Gorric amongst the crowd and cursed.

Khir, Forven and Rynn were first to the top of the stairs, followed closely by the barkeeper, Varayan and last of all Gorric.

"Is there a window we can escape from?" Gorric asked the barkeeper. "One which looks onto the courtyard?"

"There is one that looks down onto the stable's roof," replied the barkeeper, leading them off along the landing.

Behind them, the dark attackers rushed up the stairs in single file. Their heavy boots could be heard pounding up the wooden steps and this made the fleeing men move quicker.

"Here," cried the barkeeper, entering a bedroom and running to the only window. As he opened it, the others entered behind him and Gorric slammed the door shut.

"Forven, help me," he said, grabbing the bed and dragging it towards the door.

With the cleric's help, they stood the bed against the door and then began shifting the other sparse furniture in the room to the barricade. The door groaned as weight was applied to it from the other side.

"Go, get out," ordered Gorric, seeing the open window. "Make your way along the roof and watch your footing."

The barkeeper was the first man out of the window, carefully lowering himself down onto the stable roof, which was slightly slanted and slippery from the rain. The roof ran twenty feet before dropping to a narrow alley below. The barkeeper glanced to his right, looking down into the rear courtyard of his beloved - and now doomed - tavern. Seeing no signs of movement, he started across the roof.

As Khir began to climb out of the window, Gorric turned to Forven. "We only have moments before they realise what we're doing. They'll have an easy shot with those crossbows if we're not fast enough."

Forven pushed Rynn towards the window. "We'll need horses," he said to Gorric, terror in his voice. "How many are in the stable?"

Gorric shook his head. "They'd be upon us by the time we entered the stables. We have to escape on foot. We'll find horses soon after that."

With the barkeeper, Khir and Rynn moving quickly yet cautiously across the rooftop, Varayan was the next one out and he dropped nimbly from the window, landing with perfect balance on the slippery surface and moving off at double the speed of the others. He looked back at the tavern and saw flames beginning to rise from the building. As he frowned at how quickly the attackers had managed to get the fires started, his attention was pulled away by the sight of several black forms emerging from the tavern's back door. He assumed that the rest of them had fled from the front of the building.

With the six soldiers in the rear courtyard stood a man dressed in a tunic, trousers and a cloak. He did not wear a helmet, only a hood, and, even though Varayan could not see his features, he could see the man's pale skin illuminated by the flames that were spreading throughout the tavern. Something about him was unsettling, but Varayan turned his eyes back to the rooftop before him.

Forven dropped to the roof, slipping slightly. He managed to catch himself from falling and started after the others, his heart slamming hard against his ribs.

Gorric was the last out of the tavern and he too nearly lost his footing on the rooftop. Seeing the attackers below in the courtyard, he caught sight of one with a crossbow and cursed quietly to himself. He wished that he had picked up the shield of the man he had knocked unconscious in the bar room.

There was a shout from down in the courtyard as the attackers spotted the fleeing Rotians.

"Watch out," warned Gorric, seeing the crossbowman taking aim. The target was either Khir or the barkeeper.

The bolt was fired from the crossbow and Khir ducked, but it was not meant for him. The barkeeper, seeing the edge of the roof just ahead, made a dash for it. The bolt caught him in the side and he was thrown off the rooftop by the impact.

"Get off the roof," yelled Gorric to the others, who had ground to a halt seeing the barkeeper's demise.

"Gorric," said Forven, pointing at the pale man in the courtyard. "Look there."

Gorric turned his head and saw the strange man holding out his right arm towards them, muttering quietly. Looking back at Forven, his expression showed that he did not understand.

Before the five rotians could react, the pale foreigner made a gesture and the stable roof shuddered as the sound of wood breaking was heard below them. The roof pitched sideways and the five men found themselves slipping towards the courtyard. They landed heavily on the muddy ground.

Gorric looked back at the stable, to see the supports splintered. He realised that his sword was not in his hand and, looking around, he saw it lying just out of arm's reach. His body ached from the fall but he rose quickly and scooped up his weapon, turning to find the attackers standing before him. The five who carried swords and shields stood ready to strike, whilst the crossbowman - having reloaded - shifted his aim between the group of rotians.

The pale man who they had seen gesturing moments before they fell approached at a safe distance behind the soldiers. He regarded them with a cold stare and an almost mocking smile.

"Any ideas?" Gorric asked the others, aware that they were at the disadvantage.

The other four, mud-spattered and sore from the fall, did not answer and instead watched the foreigners for any sign of attack.

Gorric took a long look at the one who was unprotected. It was the first opportunity he had to examine one of their assailants upclose. The man was tall and thin, yet he held himself with an almost arrogant stance, regarding the rotians as if they were prey that had just been cornered by the hunters. In a way, Gorric supposed that they were. The man's features could be seen beneath his hood and were similar to those of any Rotian, yet there was significant enough difference to tell them apart: the pale skin and lips, the alien clothing and even the bone structure in the face. They were not Skardan, nor Morassian. These attackers were something very foreign to the Rotian Kingdom.