The cellar was damp and warmer than the sewers. Subduing every urge, I stood still until my breathing evened to a slow periodic rhythm. Taking in everything that lay before me. Rushing in, especially, during an infiltration mission, is a common amateur mistake. One that multiple amateurs paid with their life. Three more steps in and I crouched low and waited. If Feador choose to betray me, this is where the ambush would occur. Not close to the door, where I would have an easy path to freedom but rather further into the cellar.
The cellar was dark, not that the darkness bothered me. The sounds. The usual sort. Some grumbling and low banter from above. A few rats scurrying around, fighting over some morsel that they discovered. Not even wind blew through the moist stale cellar. My left hand freed from the suede glove, rested on the cellar floor, an attempt to pick vibrations even minute ones. No heavy footsteps in the cellar. Next, I sniffed the air. Slightly putrid combined with the smell of mold, the scent of wine and some other cheap alcoholic drink, probably rye beer, rusted metal and old wood. The smell of a typical cellar. I counted up to thirty heartbeats and then moved further.
The deep cellar had all the usual things that one would expect in a rundown cellar. Cobwebs decorated the walls, barrels were placed around with no pattern or order. A rack with some wine bottles. Mostly cheap ones. Some crates containing old forgotten trinkets. A rusty metal-framed chest with a corroded lock, a few coils of rope and some worn leather flask and waterskins. A barrel half-filled with oil stood solemnly between the wine rack and the old chest. A few more moments, I memorized the items in the cellar. Some of them would definitely come in handy or rather I would have to improvise with what is available here.
Even in the best of my primes, taking on forty veteran knights is an endeavouring feat and I am not in my primes. To add to my misery, there is Silvaniel to protect. The elf is a lawyer, a man of letter, a feather flayer. I could hardly expect any assistance from him with a sword. The obvious option is to split the abductors. To stop them from targeting me with their full numbers. At least till Celerim arrives. But first, I need a layout of the warehouse and the location of Silvaniel, if I were to make his rescue successful.
The lone entrance door to the cellar was obviously locked from outside. The abductors were definitely not lax and took their security measures seriously. I tugged the handled a bit and felt the feeling of the rusty metal on my palms, sensing irregularities in the motion, should the other end be booby-trapped. The door felt secure without any obvious traps. I sniffed the rust that stuck to my glove. Rusty handle on a door, not well-maintained lock. I slit the slender blade of the tuck between the gaps and lifted the simple lock mechanism. After what seemed like a sufficient lapse of time and with no obvious motions or movements on the other side, I pushed the door open slightly and entered the main wing of the warehouse.
*****
The main wing of the warehouse was just as one would expect. Just a large hall. Stacked with various crates and containers. Some of them were ordered according to some invisible pattern and some were just placed without any considerations. The windows were barred with wooden boards denying entry for the sunlight. Dull darkness prevailed inside the warehouse only to be kept away by periodically mounted burning torches. Thick walls and huge columns supported the roof. Long wooden bars and frames ran along in periodic crisscrossing patterns above, providing support to the slanting roof above. The lowest bar was at a height of three fully grown adult elves.
The clinking sound of chains against metal warned of company. I manoeuvred myself in a nook between two crates, my breath held, fists balled, I stood still. Soon the source of the clinking sound, two sentries, fully clad in chainmail, appeared. Their step every bit relaxed as well as trained and calculated. No banter was exchanged. Just the silent steps of the two sentries patrolling. The sounds of their approach got louder and louder. I instinctively reached for the dirk and tuck. The chainmail gleaned in the light of the torch as they approached near. My fingers curled around the handle of the dirk and tuck. The approaching steps stopped. I drew a deep long breath. And then the steps retreated the way they came.
I breathed a sigh of relief and gingerly stepped out of my hiding spot. my thoughts raced. Firstly, they have placed guards inside the warehouse. Secondly, even inside the warehouse, their sentries are equipped with chainmail. They are prepared. My dirk and tuck will not cut through a chainmail coif, at least not without ruining the blade. I have lost the advantage. Ropes in the cellar and large wooden support bars above. The bar was high enough that light from the torches barely illuminated them. This could work in my favour.
I retraced my path back to the cellar and took the coils of rope. The rope withstood a few initial tugs and pulls. The last thing I need is for it to break while scaling the wall. Satisfied with the quality of the rope and assured that it would hold my weight, I exited the cellar. Tied a knot to one end of the rope, swung it above and used it as a support to climb upwards. Once above, I tested my surrounding. The wooden bar was wide enough to hold my weight and broad enough for me to move comfortably. I slowly retrieved the coil of rope and scanned the scene beneath me.
Solid crates and huge sacks piled up, littered around the whole warehouse. Some were arranged in certain patterns providing temporary partitions, offering makeshift rooms. A few room dividers stood out in the sea of crates. What lay behind those room dividers, demanded my investigation.
Motionless like a lizard, I held my position, observing the chain mailed figures down below, moving in their allotted patrol path. At the far end of the warehouse, stood a sturdy bolted door, wide enough to comfortably allow a huge carriage and with that my hope crushed. Celerim would not get through that door fast. It would resist his attempts.
One of the large room dividers held around ten sleeping figures, or soldiers who rested on their bedrolls. Nearby another locked chest lay. The arrangement and position of the chest, indicating something of value held within. The dwarven puzzle box. Another of the smaller room divider was provisioned with a small cot. It held the curled up form of Silvaniel. Still breathing. Silvaniel lacked any of the grace that he radiated when he first received me. He was a hollow shell now. Unkept hair, bruised eyes and torn lips. He was not alone. Two sentries in chainmail guarded Silvaniel.
Trained soldiers, forty of them and a sturdy door to prevent and hinder the arrival of Celerim. The odds are definitely not in my favour. Ignoring the sleeping ones, there is still thirty to consider. To add to the complication, the room dividers would offer much less protection. At the first sign of trouble, the abductors would split through the dividers and rush in from all directions. Against thirty of them, my luck would definitely not hold for long.
This is no longer an infiltration or even a battle. This is a board game. The abductors have only two objectives. Smuggle the box out of the warehouse and silence Silvaniel. My objectives on the other hand are a bit more complex. First, Silvaniel in his current location cannot be protected. I need to manoeuvre him to a corner or some location where he cannot be surrounded. Secondly, even if ten of the enemies escort the box through the sewers, that leaves the first wave of assault with twenty veterans and ten more joinings further as the fight drags. Their number needs to be cut down. Failing which, the number in each wave has to be reduced. Thirdly, we need to meet up Celerim and the city guards as soon as possible. Once the fight starts, I need to move Silvaniel not just to a corner but also towards a preferable position closer to Celerim’s reach. Finally, I need some means of informing Celerim once the fight starts.
Victory does not belong to the one with a superior number, rather to the one who controls the battlefield. The words I taught my daughter echoed. A distant memory. I mentally worked out the possible shortest paths the patrolling guards would take to reach Silvaniel. This might work out to my advantage. Rather than protect Silvaniel from all sides, I could alternatively delay the guards from reaching Silvaniel in time. Make them take a longer path. That way the first wave of abductors would be stretched thin over a period of time. Valuable time that I could gain for Celerim to act. My thoughts again drifted back to the barrel of oil and waterskins in the cellar and a plan formulated.
I visited the cellar again, filling whatever waterskin and wine flasks I could find with oil. Climbed on the bars and from my vantage position above, emptied the oil on the sleeping soldiers. After emptying five waterskins of oils, I examined my handiwork and felt a certain satisfaction. This may not outright kill them but they definitely will not be joining the fight soon. In the second round, I left the oil trail on the bars till a barred window. I deliberately let the oil drip further down, soaking some pile of clothes and fibers down below. This one would be the signal for Celerim to move in. With three more trips, I further blocked a few possible paths for the patrol guards. Now they will not be taking the shortest path to Silvaniel. Finally, I poured oil in a way that all the isolated oil puddles were connected. On one last trip, I made sure that Silvaniel has a secure path to the door.
Assured of my work, I stretched my legs and back one last time and glanced down below. Silvaniel was awake but still curled in his cot, shrinking under the watchful gaze of the two sentries. I drew in a deep long breath and jumped. My folded knee came in contact with the neck of the first sentry. A small shock passed. The sentry opened his mouth to scream. My clasped hands clubbed down on the sentry’s head. The crunching sound of spine breaking followed. The sentry’s legs wobbled for a fleeting moment and then gave away. I roll dodged as I landed on my ground.
“Silvaniel, it is me. Get ready, “ I alerted the tired elf, “We are getting out.”
The second sentry, cautioned by the deathly screams of the first, unsheathed his longsword. With resolute eyes, he slowly advanced. I backtraced two steps. The sentry clasped the hilt with both arms and stooped low. With the flick of my wrist, my twin blades spun. A silent acknowledgement of the challenge. The sentry drove first with the tip of his blade. An attempt to draw first blood. My left blade tapped away the longsword. A refusal to yield. As we crossed each other, my right blade finished the riposte. A full arc swung upwards, cleaving a bloody path through the unprotected face of the sentry. A bestial wail erupted from the sentry in return.
Awoken by the bestial wail, Silvaniel jumped to my call. A powerful kick brought down one of the room dividers. A tumultuous roar burst in the warehouse, alerted by the screams from the sentry. I grabbed the nearest lamp. A loud clink was issued as I broke the glass. The sounds of orders being issued echoed through the warehouse. I threw the lit flame on an oil-covered crate.
The flame kissed the oily surface, danced a bit and then flared into a conflagration. More orders were barked. The conflagration furiously snaked its way through, guided by the well-oiled path. Orders morphed to shouts and soon the shouts became howling as bodies caught up in the fire.
I grabbed Silvaniel and rushed. A wall of flame flared up on either side, providing a clear, well-protected path.
“Silvaniel,” I tugged his hand down and said, “keep your head low, away from the smoke.”
“Rylonvirah, how..... what.....” he struggled.
The fires reached the barred windows and enflamed. More voices screamed.
“Save your breath. The Justiciars are outside,” I assured.
A different set of voices drifted from outside the burning window. Controlled voices issuing orders. Celerim made his move.
Longswords slashed through the flames. I tightened my grip on Silvaniel and continued dashing. A soldier leapt through the flame, brandishing his longsword. A well-placed kick sent him stumbling back through the flame wall. A few more longswords appeared cutting through the flame wall. A few slashes, I flicked and parried with my blade. Some slashes found their mark. Silvaniel howled with every cut. I ignored the pain and pushed forward. It was difficult to parry with a single sword. Soon, another figure jumped through the wall of flame. Arms raised, longsword held above, in a posture ready to strike. I threw my blade, aiming for the abductor’s face. A clinking sound was echoed as the blade glanced at the chainmail. Then it flew past, missing the opponent’s vitals. As a follow-up attack, I rammed into the abductor. A jolt passed through as my right shoulder dislocated from the impact. My opponent stumbled back from my momentum and fell backwards.
Loud thud noises were heard from outside. The noise of axes clobbering against the wood. The noise of heavy strikes aimed to break closed wooden barriers. The noise of Celerim and the city guards attempting to rescue. Our Rescue.
I gritted my teeth and willed myself to ignore the pain. I lowered my head and bit into the leather doublet. Cannot give up now. I delivered another kick to the grounded opponent before me. Another scream issued. The nose broken and bloodied, the opponent wailed more. I quickly jumped over him and pulled the shivering Silvaniel towards the door. Only a few paces left.
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Just as the door was in sight, two figures leapt in through the flames. Our path to safety, blocked. With blades drawn and striking posture assumed, they made their intentions clear. They denied our escape. I looked at Silvaniel. He wore a blank expression. His eyes, devoid of light. I ground my teeth and struggled to draw breath. Then a loud thud reverberated and the arrows flew by, targetting the two abductors before me. The arrows pierced the chainmail and embedded themselves.
From the corner of my eyes, I spied silhouettes climbing in deftly through a broken window. The owners of the silhouette, too small to be high-elves, too slender to be dwarves and too lithe to be humans. Wood elves.
I gave a sigh of relief.
*****
“Justiciar Celerim, Celerim,” I raised my voice, “Silvaniel is hurt. Nothing serious but he is shocked. He needs attention.”
After a brief pause, the refined voice of Celerim echoed.
“You survived, by the divines. It is remarkable,” exclaimed Celerim.
“Too early, Celerim. They are escaping through the sewers. I will pursue,” I screamed amidst the rising flames.
Two wood-elves in drab brown leather armour jumped down and rushed towards us. I handed the shaking Silvaniel to them and then turned to rush towards the cellar. Only to be blocked by Celerim.
“You seemed hurt, “ uttered Celerim with a voice filled with concern.
“Keep up. Nothing severe. I have been through worse.” I did not pause and continued.
Justiciar Celerim dashed beside me, his precious longsword still sheathed but the silken cover was missing.
“Who are they?” I shouted to Celerim, indicating the wood-elves.
“Oh, Rangers of Viridian Dawn. They happen to be in the vicinity. Recruited them. Raelian would not be amused when he hears.“ Celerim allowed himself a chuckle.
“Raelian who?” I was puzzled by this new name.
“Leads the Viridian Dawn Rangers. Sort of their hero and legend. Our family has a friendly feud with Raelian. Mostly because the wood-elves could not tame gryphons,” he chuckled once more.
More screams arouse behind us, only to be silenced with arrows.
We reached the cellar. The door fully wide open. Our quarry has passed through the cellar then. I took a moment’s pause and unsheathed my remaining blade and held it in my working arm.
“Who are we pursuing? Since Silvaniel is safe, should we not retreat?” pleaded Celerim.
“Celerim, think for a moment. This is nifty politics we are dealing with,” I admonished the naive Justiciar, “the warehouse belongs to Feador, a mostly human underground group, the abductors we attacked are all human. What do you think would happen if they get out. There will be a different story. A narrative which we do not control.”
“I do not follow you. They held Silvaniel captive. We rescued.”
“Yes, but with the help of Viridian Dusk Rangers. I am a drow. The Justiciars are high-elves. Do you fail to see how the story would be retold if they are allowed to escape? A bunch of elven authorities colluded and massacred humans. At the worst, they could incite a riot in the city and escape in the commotion. The dynamics of Sarenthill are different.” I articulated for Celerim.
“So we apprehend them?”
“Yes, we will, if they wish to surrender, lay down their arms.” A statement I immediately knew to be false.
*****
Taltil in her pudgy form jumped out of the shadows.
“Dark Mistress, six men. That way,” she pointed towards one of the non-descriptive tunnels.
“Are they carrying light sources with them?” I questioned.
“Only one torch,” answered Taltil.
“Then they will not get far,” I grimaced.
Humans, in an unfamiliar tunnel with only one light source. Their progress will be slow.
Urging my burning muscles for one more feat, the chase continued. After one winding turn later, the flickering flame of a torch at the other end of a tunnel greeted. Six humans, one in the lead holding the torch and the one behind him holding another familiar human by the back of their cloak. Feador. Another abductor in the middle had a huge sack on their back. The dwarven puzzle box. Protected in the middle. The rear was defended by two other sentries. None of them held a torch for visibility.
I inhaled another deep breath, bit my lips to ignore the rising tide of pain and strode towards the light. The abductors turned left around a corner. My weary legs resisted. Summoning all my strength, I willed them to follow. The gap closed. An arms distance from the last abductor. My blade flashed in the darkness. The first slash harmlessly met the chainmail of the sentry. Rattled by the impact, the sentry turned. A follow up reverse slash caught the surprised sentry across the face. The long diagonal slash travelled across the right lower jaw to the left eye, invoking a shriek from the surprised sentry.
The blade of the other sentry snaked out. A direct attack to buy time. To let his collaborators escape. I was pushed three steps back. The sentry continued his onslaught, taking advantage of my defenceless state. His snarled face, in the dim glow cast by the torch, was a picture of enraging fury. My legs gave under the flurry of blows. One leg on the ground, I knelt blocking upwards with my blade. A feeble attempt to keep myself from succumbing.
Celerim’s blade streaked through as the Justiciar intercepted the overhead swing from my attacker. The slender blade of Celerim held stalwart against the repeated blow from the much robust metal of my attacker. The blade, very much similar to my very own “Reminiscence”. My very own trusted blade, “Reminiscence”. A name that Lyria revealed as she gifted me with the elegant longsword. The only memento of her and I had to part with it. Taken from me. Forced to leave behind.
“After them, I will catch up,” Celerim voice broke me out of my haze.
The abductors quickened their pace. I abandoned the sword, freed the tuck from its restrictive sheath and resumed my chase. The shadow of Taltil loomed behind me, attempting to catch up with her Mistress. I lunged forward, with the tuck in my extended left hand towards the sentry with the box. The tip of tuck met the chainmail and stop for a fleeting moment. A final show of resistance from the chainmail, before the tuck, penetrated the chainmail. A howl issued from the sentry attracting the attention of his companion.
The vanguard with the torch quickly sprung into action and exchanged places with the abductor holding Feador. I pulled the half-broken tuck out. A good blade lost. I threw the broken tuck, aiming for the torch-wielders face. He casually ducked the oncoming weapon and retorted with a thrust of the torch, blocking my advance. The other abductor wrestled with Feador. Bereft of all my other weapons, I held the dirk tight and looked directly into the eyes of the torch-bearing abductor. My eyes darted like swallows between him and the other abductor.
“You are done. There is no escape,” I uttered with a tired grimace.
The opponent refused to give into my taunts. He responded with silence.
“Did you know it is a bad idea to swing a torch in a tunnel?” Taltil’s well-aimed stone throw caught the man in his forehead.
“You will be an easy target for those hiding in the dark.” I finished.
Finding himself alone, the last remaining abductor turned his head between Feador and me. His actions froze in the uncertainty of the moment. A failure which I was quick to capitalise on. I rammed the dirk through his eye, gave it a final jerk before pulling the weapon out.
“You, did the impossible,” uttered Feador.
I considered Feador with unfilching eyes. An act Feador understood all too well and cowered.
“No, you cannot. I helped, “ he took a step back and stumbled, “You promised me peace.”
I responded with a wry sad smile and repeated, “I promised peace and now I will deliver the peace.”
Feador screamed. His screams attracted the attention of Justiciar Celerim.
“You are all alone,” he laughed hysterically, “I am a fool. There are no houses involved. How could they be? All your houses are embroiled in your own machinery. Your Exarch Rebellion. It would be the end of you all.”
“The Exarch Rebellion is over.” I calmed myself as I steadied my voice.
“Lady Dellynthel,” I took a moment to compose myself, “no...Deyllyntheliara of Aleaninth won.”
“The Exarch Rebellion is over.” I ended the statement with a heavy heart.
Justiciar Celerim screamed from behind, voicing his protest. I silently ignored.
“You ungrateful wench, filthy fornicator, ” cussed Feador as seeing there was no escape.
Leaving no room for hesitation, I thrust the dirk towards Feador’s neck. Feador raised his arm in defence. I feigned with two quick jabs. A predator playing with its cornered prey. The third attack found its mark. Feador gave out a gurgling noise, a noise between a scream and a cry, rendered unable to fully commit to either, partly due to the dirk sticking out of his neck. I killed him.
*****
“You murdered an unarmed man in cold blood,” shouted Celerim. Nothing could hide his disapproval.
“Yes I did,” I answered while wiping the dirk on my trousers.
“He was no threat and yet you had to let your bloodlust guide your actions,” exclaimed the Justiciar as he lifted his sword and pointed the tip in my direction.
“Did I not tell you to trust me?” I addressed the enraged elf.
“I never agreed to wanton killing and will not stand for it,” declared Celerim.
“I solved all your problems, Celerim. What I did, I did it out of consideration for you. Have you considered what would be the general opinion when Silvaniel is released? Held captive by a bunch of humans and yes, Feador did have a hand in it. That sort of affair will polarize the crowds. The last thing you want as a peacekeeper. Now as far as the rest of Sarenthill is concerned, Silvaniel was held captive by a bunch of human fanatics and Feador, another human, gave his life, trying to get Silvaniel to safety. Racial riot averted. All problems solved. Just as I promised you.” I extended my left hand to comfort Celerim.
Celerim took a step back as if my touch was putrid. With a mask of cynicism, the Justiciar kept his eyes trained on me. His blade held horizontally between us. The tip pointed directly towards my chest.
“what are you doing, Celerim?” I let my dirk fall.
“Taking you under custody,” said Celerim expressionlessly, “for murder.”
“You are mistaken. At this very moment, I am with Silvaniel. Bringing the poor elf to medics. I am sure even Leyandur would correlate my story. You got no witness.” I grimaced, finally revealing my hidden card.
Celerim bit his lips and arched his eyebrows.
“I am the witness. The Viridian Dawn Rangers and City guards. Would speak and provide ample proof of your absence above.” replied Celerim.
“About that, it may not work well in a court of law. The charges against me, brought by you. The city guards and Viridian Dawn Rangers are men and women under your command. On my side, Silvaniel. a victim and a renowned solicitor. Leyandur, another influential barrister and by extension a law firm. Which version would the court favour, I wonder?”
Anger seared in Celerim eyes for a brief moment and then he drew a long breath before lowering his longsword in dejection.
My eyes widened at the sight of the blade. Celerim was holding “Reminiscence”. My own blade. Crafted by my love. A blade meant only for my hands. My eyes sought the hilt of the longsword. The hilt was a bit elongated, different to be my own blade. If not for the hilt, Celerim’s longsword would be a twin to my own “Reminiscence”. The intricate etched pattern on the hilt paid revered homage to its maker. The longsword was definitely made by Lyria. Celerim knows Lyria.
“Celerim, your sword. It is a good blade. Where did you buy it?” I realised the anxiousness in my voice and tried to compose myself. “How much did it cost?”
“Not for sale. Not everything can be bargained or procured,” responded Celerim with demurral.
“So how did you get it?” I prodded.
“A gift. Presented.” Celerim turned his back and refused to look in my direction.
“From whom?” I persisted in my questioning. All this time. Lyria was close by.
“That information is of no relevance to you,” concluded Celerim and proceeded to sheath his longsword. To protect his treasured weapon from my covetous eyes. As if my very gaze would cause the weapon to corrode.
A small clicking sound, too small to be heard normally, echoed as the longsword settled in its sheath, locked firmly in its place. But not before I got a glimpse of the rune engraved on the blade, a few fingers width away from the hilt. If I had any doubts about the maker of the longsword, I was now convinced.
It was definitely Lyria’s rune.
For my own longsword, the rune spelt “Reminiscence”. Lyria smouldered me with affection as she presented the sword to me. She named it “Reminiscence”, a reminder for me. A remembrance of her when I was out on campaigns. The longsword, a constant presence of her, when I fought battles, when I ordered troops when I attended meetings. The hilt when I held, would remind me of home, of the family waiting for me, Of Lyria, Of our daughter.
In contrast, as if a cruel blow dealt by fate, Celerim’s longsword read “Sentinel”. To guard. To protect someone precious. She gave remembrance to her lover and yet protection to Celerim. If she gifted her lover with her memories, then who would she gift with her protection? The answer was self-evident.
“Dear Celerim, I just realised...” I stopped mid-sentence. Celerim was nowhere near.
“oh my sweet boy, please answer me. I swear, I will never let any harm come to you. Celerim, please, I beg you. Trust me.” I screamed. Only the deafening silence of the sewers answered in return.
"Please, hear me out......Lyria.....I lost her......my daughter....alone... Everyone I loved....I failed...I did not realise.... please, forgive me...... Lyria....how is she? Please answer me, Celerim love," I bawled at the absent Celerim. My words broken. I was broken. I tore at my hair in anguish.
“I know you are angry but please give me a chance. I beg you.” I pleaded and cried. Tears streamed through my face and my sobs echoed through the sewers.
I cried, not from the pain of the dislocated shoulder, not from the thousand cuts received while running through the conflagration. But I nevertheless cried as I broke down. Until Taltil came and wrapped her tiny consoling arms around my shoulders.