The Sorcerer's Ascension (4 page)

The cause of death was obvious. A single thrust of a blade into the heart, the abdomen opened wide allowing the entrails to fall in a pile upon the stone floor. However, it was not the manner of death that shocked every man looking into the cell. Most had seen far worse brutality in their line of work, even the King’s magistrate. It was the placement of the body itself that was so dreadful. It was not laid out on the floor or on the bed but hung from the solid stone ceiling. The hands and feet were spread wide and completely encased in the solid stone of the cell’s low ceiling. It appeared as though the extremities had passed through the stone as if it were water then made solid once again.

“How could such a thing have happened?” Chief Inspector Lazlo asked in shocked awe and disbelief.

“Wizardry obviously, but that is the least of my concerns. I no longer have a prisoner to interrogate and the King demands answers! How could you allow a man to walk in here and do something like this without a single guard raising an alarm?” the King's magistrate demanded.

“If it was a wizard, and I think we both agree that it must have been, he may not have walked in at all," Southport's chief magistrate responded.

“I will speak to every guard that was on duty last night and this morning. No one leaves this building until I have spoken to them,” Lord Crassus ordered.

“Of course, My Lord, I will see to it at once,” the chief magistrate complied with his senior.

Lord Crassus interviewed every guard, jailer, and servant that day but none had any idea how or when someone was able to get into the cell and murder Darius Giles. He was exhausted but he needed to call on the Duke to express the King’s displeasure at the loss of his prisoner.

"His Grace will be with you shortly, Lord Crassus," the Duke's chamberlain, who had introduced himself as Alton, assured the impatient magistrate.

Crassus looked about the study in which he was waiting. He found it a rather typical study adorned in hardwood, books, small wine rack, and a crystal decanter full of some amber liquid. His observations were interrupted as the door to the study opened and Duke Ulric strode in.

"Good evening, my Lord Magistrate, I hope my chamberlain has made you suitably comfortable," the Duke said as he shook the magistrate's hand.

"I am having far from a good evening, Your Grace. This debacle concerning the King's prisoner has left me and His Majesty most uncomfortable," the magistrate said with a scowl.

"Yes, a most unfortunate and disturbing situation," he agreed. "I assure you, Lord Crassus, that I will spare no expense in rooting out the cause of this murder as well as the dead man's illegal activities. I have my own men securing everyone that sailed on that ship for questioning. Once I have them in custody I will get answers, I assure you."

"The King is most appreciative of your diligence. Had you only displayed such in the safekeeping of His Majesty's prisoner perhaps all this would not be necessary."

Lord Crassus regretted the accusation almost as soon as he said it, knowing that it was somewhat unfair considering the manner of the man's death. Not to mention that despite his own lofty position, Ulric was a duke of the kingdom and every bit his superior.

"I understand yours and His Majesty's displeasure at the loss of the prisoner, but I assure you I did everything reasonable to assure his safe keeping," the duke responded in a tight voice obviously fighting to keep his temper in check at the accusation of negligence.

"Forgive me, Your Grace, I am exhausted and forget myself. Of course, His Majesty will understand that you did everything within your power to safeguard his prisoner. Given the method and obvious determination of the murderer to carry out his dark deed, I doubt there is anything anyone could have done to prevent such a thing," Crassus said, smoothing the Duke's ruffled feathers. The King had enough troubles with his dukes and nobles these days without him getting into a spat with one of the most powerful ones in the kingdom.

"It is quite all right, Lord Crassus. I understand it has been a long day after an even longer trip. Please, allow me to offer you the hospitality of my castle and staff."

"Thank you, Your Grace, but I must decline. I have a nice room already prepared in town. I will retire there and send a pigeon back to His Majesty informing him of the loss. Please inform me once you have the ship's crew in custody so that I may question them myself."

"Of course, Lord Magistrate, I'm sure it will not take long," Duke Ulric assured the magistrate.

Crassus had his coach take him to his room at a fine inn within the city and immediately fell into an exhausted slumber.

*****

The half dozen dark cloaked men galloped down the moonlit road towards Brelland, the capital and seat of power within the kingdom of Valeria. As the King’s Blackguard, they had access to fresh horses at several private stables used expressly for them and the royal messenger service. They were also authorized to commandeer any horse from any citizen in the empire in the line of duty. It would take the men less than two days to travel from Southport to the capital, a trip that would normally take more than a week by normal horseback.

The men were on their third change of mounts and had already covered over a third of the distance to Brelland. Their business was urgent, a matter of national security. The artifact they had discovered in the possession of the ship captain was as good as a death sentence to anyone that possessed it. Whether the man was guilty or had been set up as a dupe was not their concern. Protecting the King from assassination and usurpation was.

None of the riders saw the rope stretched taught across the road between two trees, intentionally dyed grey to make it nearly invisible in the pale moonlight. The two lead riders caught the rope at full gallop, one across the chest, the other shorter man across the throat, crushing his windpipe and killing him almost instantly.

Both men were thrown to the ground as if they had been snatched out of their saddles by a giant, invisible hand and dashed onto the road. One of the men struggled to regain his senses while the other lay still and unmoving after issuing a few short choking sounds. The next two soldiers ducked low, sensing the type of trap that had been laid, while the remaining two reined in their horses before reaching the strung rope.

It was bad luck and poor judgment that the leader of the group was one of the men in the lead as well as the one carrying the artifact. Given the importance of their mission, getting the artifact to the king was the only thing of importance. Had someone else been carrying the ebony gauntlets, they would have continued running without pausing for the fallen men. It was a duty each of them were fully aware of and not one man among them would hold the others with anything resembling contempt or scorn for leaving them behind.

One of the riders reached down to haul their fallen captain onto his own horse as dozens of men burst out of the trees on foot as well as horseback. Seeing that they were surrounded and unable to quickly retrieve the gauntlets from the dazed captain, the blackguards prepared to sell their lives for king and country.

Small hand crossbows appeared from under the guards’ heavy black cloaks and filled the air with a sound like large, angry hornets. The small darts uncannily found their way into exposed throats and between helmet eye slits, dropping several ambushers before the elite guards drew the swords that were unique to the King’s Blackguard. Only slightly longer than a shortsword, the blades were wider and weighted to help them cut through armor and block heavier blades without fear of being snapped in half.

Guiding their mounts with their legs and knees, the blackguards charged fearlessly into the mass of ambushers, short blades flashing with lethal speed and accuracy. Such an ambush should have been an unqualified success against any opponent, particularly considering the gross numbers pit against the ambushed men. However, these were not ordinary soldiers. These were the King’s Blackguard; the best trained and most feared men in the kingdom. Even the king’s elite special guard recognized them as their superiors when it came to small unit combat.

Hand crossbows were cast aside as hands flung small throwing knives into the faces and exposed flesh of the ambushers. The ambushers responded with the twang of a dozen light crossbows. Two of the blackguards seemed to disappear from their saddles as the bolts swarmed past or stuck in the suddenly empty saddles of their mounts. The other two swept their thick black cloaks around and caught the quarrels within the heavy folds. An instant later, the blackguards were once again in their saddles, vaulting back up from where they had been clinging to their mounts’ side, the other two casting back their cloaks with the crossbow bolts dangling harmlessly from the heavy fabric.

The blackguard charged into the ranks of ambushers, swords jabbing in and finding the vulnerable points between armor joints and visor slits with frightening speed and accuracy. The ambushers used their greater numbers to surround the blackguard and come at them from multiple angles and even that tactic was proving costly.

    
The blackguard seemed to almost dance upon the backs of their mounts, opening the throat of a man to their front then spinning around backwards in their saddle to block a cut from an enemy to their rear and counterstrike, more often than not with lethal efficiency.

General Baneford saw his men being slaughtered by an enemy he had outnumbered four or five to one. With a savage cry, he charged through his own men to get within range of these agents of death. The outcome, despite the blackguards well-earned reputation and skill, was never in question. They were mortal men despite their prowess. The only question was how many men it was going to cost him to relieve them of the artifact they carried. Right now, it looked like the answer was going to be far too many.

Two of the blackguard were down, three counting the one that the rope had laid low, which left two still in the saddle and one afoot that was wreaking havoc on his men on the ground. The man had obviously shaken of the effects of his hard, painful dismount and was darting between the legs of the horses and ambushing the men afoot on the other side, delivering savage cuts to the legs of the riders on his way past.

Baneford reached the fight just in time to watch one of the blackguard open the throat of another of his men only to dodge a spear thrust and a slashing sword by jumping up into the air and turning a somersault over the head of a third man from the back of his mount. The blackguard landed nimbly behind one of his men, stabbing him through the back before leaping onto a horse’s rump of another of the tightly packed riders and cutting him down.

The general engaged the man, now fighting from the back of one of his own horses, matching steel with steel. Like all blackguard, the man fought with twin blades, his offhand, if such men could be said to have an
off
hand, darted about as if it were being controlled by a completely separate man. The blackguard slashed at General Baneford, his blade ringing loudly against his shield, while simultaneously parrying the blade of another man almost behind him.

Gods, what I could do with a hundred men like these
the general thought to himself as he finally broke through the defenses of the blackguard and struck him down.

Given the side he found himself on however, he was profoundly grateful there were not a hundred such men in the entire kingdom.

The final mounted blackguard fell with a spear thrust through his lower back, leaving only the man on the ground that still fought like a dervish despite the numerous wounds that soaked his heavy cloak and armor and spattered the ground with his blood.

General Baneford’s trained warhorse lashed out with a fore hoof, catching the blackguard on the thigh. The crack of the man’s femur was audible even over the shouts of battling men and the cries of the wounded as he crumbled to the ground. One of Baneford’s men raced forward to finish the man off and received a sword through his chest for his enthusiasm.

Despite the blackguard’s grievous injury, he defiantly cast one of his blades at the man that rushed towards him, knocking him backwards with the force of the impact, the blade piercing his heart and protruding from his back. The guard’s shattered leg sent waves of agony coursing through his body but he responded to the pain with nothing more than a hiss.

General Baneford dismounted and pressed through the men that had the blackguard surrounded, weapons nervously poised to strike at the slightest movement.