Valiant

Chapter 3: Deals with Snakes

The Warden sat, high on the rooftops beneath the shadow of this most ancient castle. He could swear he heard a soft hum across his ears. Aided by the full moon filtering through the narrow slit in his helm, the Warden laid his eyes upon the ancient, shining sword in his hand. Starfyre, the sword of legend, bane of terror, and for his target, the last thing he would see.

Silent, he sat. Just another statue upon the walls. Stiller than stone, and quieter than death. His eyes never strayed from their mark upon the cobbled street. Watching. Patiently waiting for this moment, which he wanted to happen for so long that he could taste it.

The mules rumbled into sight upon the Warden's left, dragging along a wagon of rotted cabbages for the dump heap to the southeast. Or, more accurately, that is what they would have me think. Pathetic. The armored shadow shook his head, and rose to his feet, perched with the elegance of a cat upon the ledge of the tiled roof. And then, when the time was right, he flew.

For an instant, the wind searing through the greathelm drew a tear to his eye, and the shifting momentum inside his body roiled with anticipation before his inevitable landing. The weight of the falling man and his armor should have broken both the Warden and the cart, but the driver never even felt the cart shift under the warrior's weight.

The Starfyre's pommel made quick work of the driver, cracking across the man's skull with painless precision. His soft gasp was never even heard as his body was thrust from the seat and into the gutter, knocked out cold. A small amount of sympathy for the body sprawled in the excrement lining the street shot through the Warden, but he dispelled it just as swiftly, donning the driver's ragged, brown cloak about his own armor. After all, now was no time for sentiment.

Thick, lobstered gauntlets now gripped the reigns, urging the oblivious pack mules away from their normal path, down into streets of mud and rivers of filth where the hopeless sat in squalor. And now, the castle walls loomed ahead, guarded by a great, iron portcullis and two Scarlet Cloaks bearing crossbows and sabers. Very important guards for a very important entrance. But neither one of them so much as batted an eye as the hunched, cloaked man driving the mules creaked and rumbled his cart inside.

The tower loomed right ahead, stone made solid from ages past mortared together to form an impenetrable fortress- for a lesser man. The Warden lifted the cloak from his armored form, and fixed his gaze upon the light emitting from the top floor- a hundred cubits straight up. Again, not an issue. The Warden took a longbow and two arrows from the cabbage cart, nocked the first arrow, and aimed it at the window.

He took a deep breath and released, feeling the oiled horsehair vibrate as it flung the arrow high into the night. The spinning, writhing device on the arrowhead clicked into place, biting its metal teeth securely into the stone.  He stopped to loop a rope through the next arrow before drawing it back to his cheek. The weight of the bow's pull strained at the his chest and arms, but all of his focus was poured into the tiny, minuscule loop that had been lodged into the window. He hit his mark the first time, and the arrow caught through the loop like magic.

Pulling a couple of times to test stability, he took a sack containing three small darts from the cart and strapped it to his belt. Then, hand over hand, he began the journey upward at a steady, alarmingly fast pace. Before long, the city laid before his vision like a tapestry unfolded, all shadows and stars and candles. Faster and faster the warrior prowled up the building, until he finally swung himself up onto the windowsill. Silent and swift, he worked his way around the high ceiling, adorned with ancient murals, and came to rest upon the flickering chandelier in the middle, about twenty cubits above the gigantic war table. Opening his ears, he listened to his target speak.

"No, this is not possible, Arwick! King Maximus would never condone the murder of an entire town to find one boy!" The portly man clad in furs and fine pewter stroked his beard nervously as he spoke.