The Crown of Treason

Chapter 2. Escape (part 2.)

Ewan turned toward Vydar, Knight of Faearinn and his right hand in about all his affairs military.

'Vydar, you're in charge of looting the bodies. Amrs, money, jewelry, take everything we can use for the road back home to Silver Fort. Divide it between the men, but never more than one man can carry.'

Keryll, usually a man of few words gave the reins to Valbert, the first among the sergeants. The reins had barely left his hand before he led Ewan on a stride inside through the smoke.

They had barely set foot inside before the smoke fell upon them like a coat of smudge. Ewan rattle like a lepper to clear himself from the strangling grip of the black smoke. The first floor of the Court of Falclau was already lost beyond any saving. The wooden heads of falcons on tips of timber beams stared at them engulfed by manes of fire. The large double stairs to the upper gallery croaked and were about to collapse in on itself. Black smoke hung like a thick mist over the bluestone floor.

In between the stone arches flames held court. A lot more smoke, heavy like a velvet curtain rose up from the wall, filtering the light in the hall to a red twilight gripping Ewan's throat. -A sense of groping muck seemed to cut his breath from the inside of his lungs.

Ewan could barely keep his eyes open. Pressing a hand to his mouth he coughed.

'We're trying what we can to keep the flames from taking the aisles, the upper floor is lost.' Keryll shouted above the fire.

Ewan nodded to safe his throat from speaking. Keryll continued.

'What kind of a monster is he?' Ewan thought.

The giant stood head and shoulders taller than him, his face in the thickest of the smoke, still, he did nothing to protect himself.

At the end of the hallway, the smoke became less oppressive. The cool nightly air made it allowed them to talk without coughing up their lungs.

'The kitchen staff have mostly mastered the fire here. Your lady wife and your youngest sons are safe until the fire cuts off their exit.'

'My youngest sons? Where is Iwan?'

Keryl pointed his finger at the boy running buckets back and forth trying to contain the fire in the aisles. Drops of sweat sparkled on his face and brow.

The weight of his mail shirt hardly seemed to bother him. He rushed back and forth with his comrades to every spot where the flames were breaking out. They threw water, wine, and any liquid they could get their hands on at the fire.

Despite their efforts, the struggle became more unequal with every passing moment. The load-bearing beams of the first floor started to be consumed by the flames, as they had already done to those bearing the roof. Shards of roof tiles and burning wood were tumbling down at increasingly shorter intervals. The debris formed a pattern of rubble on the floor mosaic.

Water mixed with wine, oil and mud in thick puddles in which torches and burned tapestry were smouldering.

The gracious calm and the ease Iwan seemed to have in navigating the rubble in his heavy mail stood in contrast to the jerking, half-panicked motions of the rest of the house staff. Stumbling and cursing they fought against the fire advancing in the side aisles, in a desperate attempt to keep it from the central hall as long as possible.

'Valbert could attest to it, milord. Iwan was the first in armour when this havoc started. Says, he would have run straight into the pikes of the Iron Scrapers if he hadn't caught his neck. I told him to remain here and leave the fighting to the guard.'