Legends of Arkn

Ch. 7 - From The Inside

The bolt hole was narrow and dark. Phan wasn't particularly tall and even he had to stoop to move through the passage. Progress was slow, moreso as the ground began to slowly ramp upwards.

"We've passed the barbican," Zhavo said in front of Phan. "The passage connects to a cellar in the keep's basement. We should hit stairs shortly."

Phan nodded and trudged on, stopping as he went. His back was strained and his neck hurt. Even for someone comfortable with the physical abuse of combat and poor living situations.

Light appeared ahead of him, at first just a small flicker. As he continued up the slope, the tamped dirt gave way to a stone floor and then he found himself in a small room. The rest of the team was arrayed around it. A staircase led. One of the Shinodans held a torch that flickered and flared against the darkness.

"We'll split up," said the General. "Daron and I will take the team to get secure the gate. Phan, you and Zhavo will head to the dungeon. It's likely where they are holding Baron Bradd and anyone else who wouldn't go along with the coup, if they're still alive. Get anyone out and meet us at the gate."

Before Phan could do much as nod, the General lit a second torch and tossed it to Zhavo. Then he, Daron, and the rest of the team moved up into the darkness of the staircase.

Phan looked at Zhavo and nodded. The man had an unsettlingly intense face. His head was clean shaven. His beard was largely shaved, except for twin locks of braided hair that hung six inches down from his chin. His eyes always seemed to be slightly widened. It reminded Phan of some of the berserkers from the Grey Company, when their battle drugs started to wear off after combat. Without a word, Zhavo headed down a hall to their right.

Phan followed his guide deeper into the fort. Thoughts of failure were sinking in as he followed the flickering torchlight ahead. The walls of the passage were ancient, the weather stone scuffed from years of men running through the corridors with weapons drawn as they defended the southwestern borders of the Kingdom over the centuries.

"Keep up," Zhavo muttered out of the darkness ahead. "We're almost there."

Phan stayed silent and almost nodded to the darkness. He gripped the hilt of his sword and firmly pulled it out of the hilt an inch. The torch ahead extinguished suddenly and Phan felt a stab of dread that he'd been betrayed. After his eyes adjusted, he saw a dim light ahead of them, a slit of orange against the darkness. They crept up to the light and Phan realized it was coming from behind a heavy door.

Zhavo glanced back at Phan and placed a hand on the door. Phan nodded. Without waiting another moment, Zhavo slammed his full weight into the door. It swung wide and Zhavo let his momentum carry him forward, rolling and coming up on one knee with two short swords drawn, his eyes wild and ready for blood. Phan raised his sword above his head, legs in a wide stance and ready to slash down at any threat.

"Good of you two to drop in," said a man with his back to Phan and Zhavo. "We were just about to look for a way out of here."

Four other men around the room were quickly putting on weapons and armor salvaged from two other men who lay slumped in the corner, chins on their chests as if they'd passed out from a night of heavy drinking. Judging by their blood-soaked collars, Phan didn't think they were asleep.

"We're looking for the Baron," said Phan. Zhavo just chuckled and shook his head. He stood and sheathed his blades. The man with his back to them spun around and bowed slightly.

"Baron Bradd, the pleasure is mine," he said with a wink and a smile. His hair was a wild mess reigned back by a headband with ear muffs over them. He had a full beard that was neatly trimmed, but still long and shaped into a point a few inches below his chin.