Nicolai padded through the tunnel to the end then stopped, his eyes widening as he looked out. Kleos had said this route would take him to the exterior of the castle and Nicolai had understood, in a vague manner, that this would mean coming outside and for the first time leaving the windowless confines of the castle. At the time he hadn’t thought much further than that. But now, as he stared upwards, he realised how sweltering and close and tight it had all felt, stuck inside and below an endless weight of stone ever since the Trial.

The sky stretched over him, a vast blue dome, the burning orb of an alien sun hanging above. It had passed the mid-point and was preparing for its slow descent towards the horizon. A wonderful cool breeze played over his skin, smelling of fresh and open air.

Equally impressive was the rambling bulk of the castle, stretching around him. His feet intruded upon a large walkway that extended around the exterior of the section of the castle he’d been in, and there was a crenellated wall before him. Stepping over to it he peered over, and saw a great and sheer drop immediately beyond. A gulf of empty air lay between where he stood and the ground, which was carpeted by a chaotic green mass. There was a jungle down there, vast and writhing and full of life, surrounding the castle in every direction he could see.

On the other side of the drop more of the castle rose, another bastion much like the one he stood upon. Its main standout feature was a great tower that rose from the centre of it, reaching towards the sky, the top of which had something strange on. Blackened iron that formed a great circular cage, reminiscent of a bird cage. Something within that cage drew his gaze, some kind of vague shifting movement. There was something up there, something that narrowed his eyes and pulled his face into a searching frown. He gave up on trying to work out what it was after his paranoia informed him he’d been standing there in the open frowning at the same spot for almost a minute.

Nicolai turned his head as he took in the many bridges that connected the mass of stone he stood upon to the one across the gulf. A few were huge, grand affairs, some were slender, arcing things, and others were simple straight boxy designs, with the walkways covered by roofs.

To his right there was a bit more of the bastion he stood upon, a few towers and buildings, then it all ended and the jungle below spread endlessly into the distance. He saw birds flying above it, some large like the hawks from the Trial, other regular sized and moving in flocks.

To his left, the bastion went on for some distance and eventually merged into a more general mass of the great castle, which grew, rising and falling, more like a city in the design of a castle than an actual castle. The bastion he was upon and the one across the gap were like large extensions sticking out from this castle-city.

The cities back on earth dwarfed this place, but he’d never seen nor heard of a real medieval style castle the size of what he now stood upon. In that regard, it was breathtaking in its scale. Everywhere his eyes looked he saw sprawling battlements, towers slender or thick, walls and walkways, windows and balconies.

According to what Kleos had said the great library would be on the bastion across from him, on the other side of the big gap with a jungle far below. The most direct there would be via the nearest bridge, which he could see from where he stood.

Along the walkway some distance to his left, down some stairs, then a bit further, was a large open area dotted with statues with several large buildings opening great doorways onto it. Extending from this open area was a wide stone bridge that ran straight across the gap to join the other bastion on the far side.

What Kleos hadn’t mentioned was that this bridge was defended.

Ranks of skeletal footmen stood listlessly atop it, the wind catching at their ragged clothing and armour. Faded flags flapped above them. Hulking undead knights let their greatswords and mauls rest on their shoulders or the ground. Groups of archers stood on raised areas on the edges of the bridge. Strange robed figures with no visible weaponry were scattered amidst them.

There was one gigantic undead being slumbering in the very middle of the bridge. Some kind of huge rotting lizard with tattered wings. Staring at it and trying to envision what it may have looked like before time had brung it low, the only word that came to Nicolai’s mind was: dragon.

Above all of these there were almost a dozen more beings, less impressive in terms of size, but they drew and caught Nicolai’s eye for one reason alone. They were flying. Undead wearing slender, lightweight plate armour, wielding longbows, hovering in the air over the bridge, drifting around without much apparent aim.

Nicolai took all this in and concluded any attempt to cross the bridge would end quickly and painfully. His gaze moved lower, examining the sculpted, curving stone supports that formed a structured mass below the bridge. They were quite wide. Wide enough to walk on.

His skin prickled, his paranoia slowly shifting within him as his gaze moved away from the bridge and he saw windows and balconies and walkways and towers. So many places people could stand. So many places he was visible from. Too many for him to keep track of them all. He’d seen no signs of guns in this place, but bows and magic were almost or perhaps, even more dangerous. It wasn’t good to stand out in the open. Just a pointless risk. Someone could be staring at him right now from one of a thousand places.

Nicolai stepped back from the crenellated wall guarding the edge, warily checking his surroundings, then headed towards the bridge. He kept low and slow with an eye on the undead on the bridge as he drew near, worried they might spot him from a distance.

Descending down towards the open area via a jagged stairway, he crouched behind the crenellated wall and crabbed his way towards the bridge. Now and then he poked his head up, taking it all in, searching with hope for some way he could reach the supports under the bridge without being seen by those atop, and the hope rose when his movements around the slight curve of the crenellated wall revealed an opening, and what looked like the top of metal ladder.

Creeping over to it Nicolai peeked out, and saw it was indeed a ladder, extending down to a thin stone walkway with no guard or handrails that led to where the supports began. Some kind of access route for servicing the bridge’s supports, perhaps. Regardless, it was just what he needed. Nicolai checked the bridge, wary of being seen descending, but the bridge’s side guardwall was high enough to block the undead standing on it from seeing the ladder, and none of the flying archers were currently nearby.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

As he considered the logistics of his plan he immediately found a problem. His polearm was too large and unwielding for the climb, it would just get in the way and if he encountered any problems he might be forced to drop it. Best to just leave it. The shield also wasn’t ideal for climbing, but he thought of the flying archers and decided to keep it with him. What if the archers came to check under the bridge? The thought made him frown. It would be foolish to go without seeing whether that was the case.

He checked the position of the sun. He had time, at least another five or six hours of daylight. He felt a pressing urge to move forwards, to find the ritual and begin growing his Seed, but it wasn’t wise to move until you had all the necessary information.

Nicolai settled down for a lengthy wait, and began his watch.

###

From the position of the sun, he judged an hour had passed. The archers had done nothing but drift slovenly about over the bridge. None of them had moved down to check on the underside of it. He should be safe to make his move. He decided to bring the shield anyway.

Nicolai returned a short distance to the stairwell, which he’d noticed was quite cracked and full of little nooks and crannies. After carefully checking, again, that no one was watching, he searched for a good fit amongst the cracks and holes. Finding a large enough one, he slid his polearm into the darkness until it was hidden and considered whether there was anything else he ought to leave.

In the end he removed the looted pouch of crystals, points tags and sustaining seeds from his belt and slid them in a different hole some distance away, all the way until his arm couldn’t reach any further. He took the time to count the number of steps up to the cracks where he’d hidden his things, and took note of a few defining features to ensure he remembered precisely where they were.

Back at the ladder, Nicolai checked for flying archers or any other threats, then levered himself out and clambered down. The wind tugged at him as he descended, a rush of air that blew endlessly through the space between the two bastions.

He reached the lower walkway and headed towards the supports. A great buttress of stone emerged here from the castle wall, forming a thick curving limb that stretched all the way across under the outside of the bridge to the far side. This wasn’t ideal to move across, as large columns frequently sprouted from it to rise and merge into the bridge.

Bending his knees and leaping high, he managed to grab the top of the stone support, heaving himself up in a series of somewhat ungainly motions, his legs scrabbling.

Standing on the support and looking to the area underneath the bridge he saw that apart from the main supports running below the outside of the bridge and upon which he stood upon, there was also a network of secondary supports which formed an endless criss-cross pattern, emerging from the larger exterior supports and the walls of the castle to sort-of form a secondary supporting bridge below.

Here and there this pattern converged and stone columns would rise to press against the bottom of the bridge. The pattern was tight enough that even if he fell, he should be able to grab a neighbouring support.

These internal supports weren’t as thick as the one he stood upon, but they were wide enough and he determined that they would serve as his best route across.

Nicolai lowered himself from the main support and down to one of the secondary columns, which was about a foot wide. Starting to move he began carefully, putting one foot in front of the other. The wind twisted unpredictably, curling around the supports, buffeting from different angles.

It reminded him a little of the slender walkways and obstacles of the Trial. Lava had been traded for a fall of hundreds of metres to the jungle below.

However, this time Nicolai was in full control of his body. Smiling, he stepped rapidly along the support, a tiny thrill of delight moving through him as he navigated the obstacle with relative ease, enjoying the sensation of moving his body and having it respond exactingly.

The wind twisted around him but he adjusted to it without real trouble, his body moving smoothly to his directions, his mind focused on the task, his eyes on the supports before him, mapping his route. Now and then he would reach one of the columns that rose from the supports and occupied the space he would normally move through, and had to cling to these columns as he slithered around them to continue. As he stepped onwards he kept his eyes moving, looking through the bulk of the exterior supports. Though he’d never seen any of them drift down here, his paranoia wouldn’t allow him to forget the flying archers.

He was halfway across, looking to the left, when he heard a faint shrill hissing. Nicolai had only just begun to lunge forward when something smashed with a sharp flash of pain like an electric shock combined with a punch into his shoulder and he was pushed sideways, his feet slipping from the support. His face twisted into a grimace of pain and primal terror as he felt the pull of the vast yawning drop, his body tumbling towards it. Nicolai ignored the tearing pain in his shoulder as he stretched his arms and grasped the support he was falling towards with flailing hands before he could fall past it.

His body snapped tight, every muscle straining as he swayed. Nicolai didn’t wait, pulling and heaving to force himself back up and onto the support. His desperate gaze found the culprit of his troubles, a flying archer which had just happened to descend on the right, while he was looking to the left. An arrow with white feathers stuck out from the exterior of his right shoulder, and he felt it scraping on his bone when he moved, a nasty itchy awful pain that made his stomach knot.

The archer wore light steel armour, and its helmet possessed a metal face-mask displaying an emotionless visage. It was nocking another arrow into its bow, motions smooth and unhurried, then it raised the bow and sighted down the arrow at Nicolai.

He was on the support now, sitting on it with legs dangling either side, and he regretted that his shield was on his left arm meaning he had to twist his body at a difficult angle to get it between him and the archer. He heard the snap of a bowstring this time then came the whistle of the arrow which crashed into his shield with screech of metal-on-metal and went pin-wheeling away through the air.

It felt like a big man had kicked his shield and Nicolai’s arm was shoved back, his shield’s upper edge clipping his mouth and nose and almost knocking him backwards, his abdominal muscles straining and his legs kicking as he forced himself back into balance. The flying archer fired with far more power than those in the undead patrol.

Moving fast while the archer drew a new arrow, Nicolai gripped the arrow in his shoulder and tried to rip it out, and then he was screaming in pain, a scream he couldn’t hold in as he saw his flesh bulge around the wound and waves of agony and instinctual horror ripped through him.

Gritting his teeth, snorting and groaning, he kept pulling and saw the nasty barbed prongs of the arrow start to rip their way out from his flesh then with a final scream and a surge of force that ripped a chunk of bloody flesh away he ripped it all the way out and threw the arrow, alongside a chunk of his shoulder, away.

Snorting like a beast through the snot that filled his nostrils, his face wet with tears, Nicolai raised his shield in time to deflect the next arrow, leaning forwards at the last moment to ride its force and preserve his balance, grunting as the shield knocked into his forehead. His right arm was dead so with his aching left he grasped at his Orb of Rejuvenation, pushing the funnel down and taking a full breath deep into his lungs before flicking the funnel back up with his thumb.

Another groan of agony found its way through gritted teeth as his shoulder burned with a horrible, needle-like itchiness. He could see his flesh knitting together and regrowing, and he raised his shield ready for the next arrow. Slowly but surely, he was working his way out of this sticky situation.

He lowered the shield when no arrow came. The archer wasn’t shooting. Instead, it tipped its helmets visor-mask up to reveal a surprisingly well preserved but clearly still zombified face with blue lights in its eyes, put two fingers into its mouth, and let out a shrill, piercing whistle.

Nicolai immediately knew what this signified. It was calling for reinforcements.

You bastard.