A Great Man’s Daughter
Geist swapped the torch into his right hand and reached low to find the wooden lever painted to blend into the rock of the tunnel. There was an audible clunk from the bolts holding the disguised entrance in place. He rolled the thick stone disc to one side and slipped through. Closing the bolts behind him, he raised the torch to ensure the passageway was empty. The way was clear to the hole in the foundations beneath the hall in the Lord’s Estate – the hall known as Úrsfrekr.
The entrance was concealed by empty barrels nailed together on a hinge and released by yet another hidden lever. Since the Tocsin sounded, Geist knew what he needed to do and where he needed to go.
Each of the Night Watchmen had their assignments in the event of an attack on the city. For some it was the securing of records and documents for safe removal from Aksson. Others were tasked with gathering certain treasures of cultural importance. The council members were assigned Watchmen to guide them and their families to safety during an evacuation.
Commander Geist’s duty was the protection of the baron and the Radsvinn family. After hearing the Tocsin, his plan to go to the baron’s estate to warn of an attack seemed redundant. He had sent word of his return to Aksson to Sub-Commander Valravn, informing him of his plan to escort the baron and his children out of Aksson through the tunnel system at Sonton Falls. He exchanged his lightweight toughened leather tunic and trousers for heavier armour, with light metal plates sown into a padded tunic covered by a cuirass of hardened leather. Large-linked chainmail was fixed by leather straps to maintain quiet movement, matched by separate arm pieces and leggings.
He bore twin shortswords on his hips and a custom-made crossbow slung under his right arm, collapsed and concealed. A bolt bag was slung across his chest. Four daggers were secured on each of his forearms, positioned for swift withdrawal. On his belt, a hand-axe was sheathed.
Once armed, Geist wrapped himself in his many pocketed black cloak of the Night Watchmen, its fine chain links sewn between the linings. He rode his grey Katiz horse, Nyx, and led two other pack horses carrying weapons, supplies and feed to Sonton Falls, over a league from the city. After Geist ensured the falls were still secure, he tied off his horses inside the first secret opening, where an area carved out of the rock could stable them. He then made his way back through the long tunnel on foot.
The Night Watchmen Commander extinguished his torch, and then covered his face and head with a black cloth and hood before he strode up the stairs into the large hall. Some house staff and two Shielders were moving supplies into the hall. He presumed it would be the withdrawal point should the walls of the estate be breached.
The Shielders were startled when they spotted the cloaked man and one of the women carrying a food basket screamed, but they relaxed when the man nodded toward them and produced his badge of office.
“The baron?” asked Geist, fixing his ice blue eyes on one of the Shielders.
“N-not ’ere. ’S gone ages ago,” the Shielder replied.
“Where?” Geist was growing frustrated, desperate to find the baron and remove him to safety.
“I don’t know ’sactly. Some of the lads said he went to the Watch House.”
Geist considered this for a moment. “What about Ulrik or the child?”
“Haven’t seen him since early, she’s ’ere though. Maybe you should talk to Commander Drell, he is outside sorting things out.”
“Thank you,” responded Geist as he moved to the door and out of the hall.
Exiting through the large oak door of the hall, Geist felt the daylight in his eyes before he could see the baron’s large mastiff hound sleeping by the door and drooling in the sunlight. The listlessness of the animal was in stark contrast to the activity in every other part of the grounds.
A crowd had gathered at the gates, seeking entry and refuge from whatever danger was about to befall the city, including some of the merchants and their private guards from the nearby surrounding streets, some of whom were growing impatient. Geist could hear the occasional shout from the far side of the gates.
“Mercy, please, at least let my children inside,” came the imploring voice of a mother.
The Night Watchman could see Drell on the battlements trying to keep the crowd calm. “Attention!” Drell called. “Shortly I will be letting women and children inside. I ask all of you to remain calm so no one gets hurt on entering.”
The shouts of the crowd quietened to a lower murmur.
“By order of the baron,” Drell continued, “no weapons will be permitted. If you have weapons on your person, you will be asked to surrender them to the members of the House Shield at the gate or you will be turned away. There will be no exceptions.”
“Nonsense!” rose the petulant voice of Darko Damario, a Reichtian horse merchant who was standing amongst his peers. “My men keep zer weapons.”
“Certainly,” responded the commander sternly, “as long as they remain on that side of the gate.” There came a torrent of objections from Damario and the other merchants.
Geist crossed the courtyard and waited by the foot of the battlement steps. Drell spotted him and nodded. “That is my final word on the matter. I shall return in a moment to open the gates. Remain calm and we shall all be better for it.” The captain descended the steps as the voices rose anew.
“You have your hands full, Tartanis,” said Geist.
“They’re just scared. The whole place is losing its mind. Did you hear about the dock?” Drell pulled out a cloth and wiped his bald head.
“I’ve seen it,” said Geist. “A Kraken ship set ablaze. It’s part of a larger attack. I was following up on evidence of a suspicious operation on Ilak Disa. An informant told me about a group of overseas merchants paying for information about the reef walls and safe routes to Aksson. In truth they were Zadesti pirates. I learned a man named Alfarinn was funding them from here and an attack on the city was imminent. I took the first ship I could find, but it made port in Arnleif. When I landed, they were waiting for me. Chased me for the last two days.”
“It’s good you made it in one piece,” said Drell, fascinated.
Geist nodded. “That was never a certain outcome. I must get the baron to safety. Where is our lord?”
“They were gone when I got here – the baron, Ulrik, Roslind. The little one is helping some of the women gather water from the well, I believe.”
“Good. Tell her to go to the hall, give her some job to keep her inside if you need to, but I want to know where to find her when I return with the baron, so we can leave fast if necessary. I heard he went to the tower. What say you?”
“I’m sorry, I just don’t know,” Drell said. “The child did say that, but she heard it from some of the men. I was summoned by Ros-…I mean Sir Radsvinn from my home. My man told me there had been an attempt on the baron’s life in his own chambers by an assassin dressed as one of your boys. We were halfway here when I heard the five blasts. Oh, and her little ladyship told me our old friend has gone to the watch house after the baron, so you might meet him there.”
“What in the world is Thorn doing here? I will ask him myself. As for the assassin, I know one man who can give me some answers, if he is still in the city. You said Roslind is home? I expected she was not due back here for another week.”
“As did I. She must have travelled faster than the wind to get back here so soon. How lucky for her, eh? She is down at the docks with Hrókar. Don’t know how she’s doing. No reports have come back in.”
“The trouble at the docks is not all the city will need to deal with today,” said Geist. “I’ll take the tunnels as far as I can toward the Watch House. May Oln guard your back, Captain.”
“Aye, and yours, but I would prefer he put out the fires and settled this mess first,” the captain replied, smiling.
Geist shook the man’s hand and made his way back to the hall.
A Shielder approached Drell, clearly having waited until the cloaked watchman with the covered face had left.
“Sir, the crowd. They’re growing impatient.”
“Fine, fine. Slide the gates open just a little, we don’t want to be swamped. No one in without being searched.”
The Czarrin Steel gates were ratcheted open enough to allow in two people at a time. There was a surge forward but shouts from the Shielders on the battlements caused them to stop pushing. The Shielders at the gates patted down the people and searched whatever baskets, satchels or bundles they clung to before letting them pass. Drell kept a close watch on the process.
A young woman dressed in ragged clothing entered the grounds clutching an infant to her chest. She approached the captain and fell at his feet.
“Thank you, sir, thank you, you have saved us,” she cried, tears making their way down her cheeks. The captain, feeling somewhat awkward at the sight of the grovelling woman, knelt to help her stand. When he looked into her eyes, he was surprised to see her resolute expression. Too late did he see her remove the head of the wooden doll she clung to, revealing a blade.
“Death to the evil baron and his servants, Oln guide us!” she screamed as she drove the blade into Drell’s neck.
The captain reeled onto the dusty ground as the woman removed the blade and attempted to strike again. A Shielder close to the captain drew his weapon and was about to swing it at the woman when he was tackled by three other women and brought to the ground. His sword was taken from him by one attacker and thrown to another, who stabbed it through the Shielder’s back.
Drell fought to get to his feet, holding his open throat with one hand and drawing his sword with the other. His lifeblood oozed through his fingers. As he stood, another attacker dived at him. Drell sidestepped and swung his sword at him, cutting deep into the attacker’s neck.
When he pivoted, he found his original attacker had gone. The remainder of the Shielders, having seen the attack on their commander, drew their weapons and joined the melee.
Drell attempted to cry out as a Shielder plunged his sword into a woman holding a toddler by the hand who was unaware of what was transpiring. The shriek of the mother ended abruptly as she fell to the dirt. The toddler stood there, holding his dead mother’s hand.
An attempt was made by the men on the battlements to close the gates but they found them obstructed by a steel strut on the ground. Arrows flew from nearby rooftops, ripping into some of the soldiers on the walls of the estate or bouncing off their shields. More attackers entered the grounds, brandishing weapons and passing them to those without. Not all who entered the grounds were part of the attack. Some men and women with children screamed and dropped to the ground or ran further into the Lord’s Estate.
Drell tried to shout at his men to get them into formation, but this just resulted in a spewing of blood and a guttural, choking sound. Taking a moment to catch his breath and cough some more, the captain leaned on his sword, blood flowing from his neck.
He caught a glimpse of Damario and some other merchants fleeing with their men from the area. One of Damario’s protectors had tried to help the Shielders before being ordered to follow.
Moving again into the fray, Drell was struck by a crossbow bolt high in his thigh, but his armour prevented it from penetrating deeply. He yanked the bolt from his leg, located the archer and moved towards her, still clutching his throat with his left hand and becoming incensed by the pain and rage wracking his body. The archer did not have time to restring before Drell was upon her, batting the offending weapon to one side and driving his sword up through her breast and out her back with a powerful thrust – she died screaming.
The sounds of the fighting around him grew muffled in his ears. He placed his left shoulder against the woman for leverage to remove his sword and was then startled by a blood-curdling howl from one of the men close by, who moved to attack the captain.
Two Shielders intervened and blocked the man with their shields. The enraged attacker slashed out with a hand scythe, catching one of the Shielders on the arm. They stopped him without much effort as he was focused on reaching Drell, even to the point of dropping his own weapon and attempting to clamber over the soldiers’ shields, all the while screaming his hatred. The soldiers stabbed him a few times before one of them moved to aid Drell as he wavered.
Drell’s vision was dimming, but as the Shielder – whose face he could not make out – dragged him from the battle, he was convinced the mortally wounded attacker crawled to where Drell had felled the archer. He thought he saw him reach out his right hand and grip her arm before life left him.
As Geist reached for the handle of the door to the hall, he heard the screams of the woman in the courtyard.
At first, he believed it was some impatient and upset townsfolk, scared and apprehensive, taking it out on the poor soldiers; but he realised this was not the case when he watched a Shielder knock a man to the ground with his shield and run him through with his sword. He also noticed Drell on the ground, wounded and grabbing his throat. Next, he heard another scream much closer to him. It was the baron’s younger daughter.
“I told you not to let them in!” Kitsvanna cried to no one in particular.
Just in time did Geist see the girl draw her sword and move to attack him.
Expecting a clumsy strike, Geist decided to explain himself once he had disarmed the child. He dodged several swipes and was surprised at the girl’s skill. He needed to draw his own sword to parry her blistering attacks. Geist pulled his mask down to his neck and shouted, “Cease, girl. I am your father’s man, Geist!”
There was a moment’s hesitation from Kitsvanna, which was enough for Geist to use his sword to lift and spin Kitsvanna’s short rapier from her grasp and into the air, letting it fall onto the ground beside him. He sheathed his blade.
They both looked back to the scene at the gates and watched as two Shielders were overwhelmed on the battlements and thrown into the crowd. They saw a soldier carrying his captain take a crossbow bolt through the back of his head. The men crumpled to the ground, Drell splaying onto his back. Geist scanned the scene before him, taking note of the positions and numbers of those involved in the fighting and quickly counting the fallen soldiers. There was a crowd beyond the gates trying to gain entry. Arrows continued to land both in their targets and randomly in the dirt, the number of archers outside estimated by Geist to be between fifteen and seventeen.
Parts of the attacking group were breaking off in the direction of the smaller rear gates at the back of the estate. Geist could tell the situation could be lost soon.
“You need to get out of here,” he told Kitsvanna. “Get inside the hall and tell whoever is there to follow you to the cellar. It is how I got here. There are two empty barrels at the far end nailed together which open into a tunnel. The lever is underneath the…” Geist followed the girl’s gaze to the fallen men and could see Kitsvanna transfixed by the dead Shielder, as a pool of blood was forming around his head.
“Listen to me!” Geist commanded, grasping the girl by the shoulders. She was shaking and her frightened eyes darted back to Geist. “The lever is underneath the left cask,” Geist continued. “Once inside, pull the barrels behind you. I should be with you by then, but if not, there will be a second blockage along the tunnel, the lever for this is near the ground and looks like the rest of the rock but will feel like wood. They should not be able to follow you past there.”
Kitsvanna, having seen the bloodshed at the gates and Drell falling to the ground, was not going to argue with Geist’s instructions. “I’ll wait for you in the tunnel,” was all she could muster.
Geist nodded, retrieved Kitsvanna’s sword and handed it to her. “Go!” He drew both of his swords and stalked towards the gates.
From the doorway of the hall, Kitsvanna watched as the Night Watchman dodged an arrow before dispatching three assailants while forging a path to Drell. She was astonished by the man’s speed and agility. She wanted to keep watching him but quickly thought better of it. She was closing the door when some other members of the house pushed their way in.
“Is there anyone else?” she asked, knowing she could not wait much longer. She saw an elderly woman being helped by a younger woman holding a baby as they ran from the fighting, and Kitsvanna called to them. They hurried to the door of the hall and passed inside. The baron’s daughter scanned the courtyard for others, but a crossbow bolt pounded into the door above her head. She ducked back inside the hall and closed the door.
Kitsvanna was confronted by the familiar faces of the steward and the many household staff, attendants, stable boys and serving girls – most of whom were the children of the staff. She also took note of the unfamiliar faces. She was relieved to see the steward’s grandson, Fionn, with whom she had developed a friendship, holding the baron’s mastiff, Trapper, by the collar. The large dog pulled against the boy, attempting to approach Kitsvanna. She moved closer to them and petted the hound. “You all need to follow me. Gather what you can, we are leaving,” she said.
A torrent of voices spoke at once, causing quite a din. The steward of the house, Ellik, silenced them. “My lady, what is happening?” he asked.
Kitsvanna looked into the eyes of the old man she had known all her life and of whom she was so fond. “The House has come under attack,” she said. “The Shielders may be overcome. We need to go. No more questions, just get everyone into the cellar.”
Ellik addressed the rest of the staff. “You heard Lady Radsvinn, everyone downstairs. Go, go.”
The people moved with haste, gathering baskets of bread and jugs of water before making their way down the cellar stairs. Kitsvanna managed a weak smile of gratitude at the venerable steward. Fionn, holding the collar of the dog, waited for Kitsvanna at the top of the stairs. “Where is the lord, and your brother and sister?” asked the boy.
The situation became too much for the girl and the question opened an emotional floodgate. Kitsvanna felt herself welling. Fionn released the hound and hugged her. “I’m sorry, I did not mean…” But he could not find the words to finish his thought.
Ellik came back to the foot of the cellar stairs when his grandson and Kitsvanna did not descend. Kitsvanna pushed away from the boy and turned so as not to allow anyone else see her cry. She pretended to adjust her long honey-coloured hair, tying it into a ponytail. The fourteen-year-old boy’s face grew flushed, and he lowered his eyes to avoid the disapproving look from his grandfather as he moved down the steps.
“I’ll be along, Opa. Get them to the far end of the cellar,” Kitsvanna said. She looked around the great hall, Úrsfrekr. She looked at the large table from where her father would rule. She looked up to the banners with the Radsvinn coat of arms above each fireplace and then to the displayed armour and sword of her grandfather, Ulrik ‘Red-Mane’. They were things she had seen so often she had stopped noticing them. She felt a pang of shame as she realised that on any other day she would have disregarded these items which bore such significance for her family.
She could not understand why people were attacking her home. She did not know who they were or what they wanted, and she resigned herself to the idea she may never know. Her family and Thorn were scattered in the city, and if they were not already dead, they were fighting just as hard as the men dying outside of the hall. She asked Oln if her father, siblings and all the men fighting to defend their homes and families would succeed in repelling the attack, or if they would take from her everything she ever knew and loved. There was no reply.
They won’t take everything, she thought. She dragged one of the chairs to where her grandfather’s arming sword hung on the wall.
Kitsvanna found the sword heavy as she lifted it down. Trying different ways to hold it, she found it best to use both hands to carry the weapon. She cast her eyes again at the fireplace, put the sword on the floor and re-climbed the chair. She reached up to a narrow banner of arms depicting the bear-claw of the House of Radsvinn. Taking a firm grip of it, she tugged as hard as she could to pull it from its spike in the wall. The string holding the banner coaxed the spike from the wall and the wooden crossbar clattered to the stone floor. Kitsvanna hopped from the chair and rolled the banner tight. She then hefted the sword.
She moved down the stairs and into the cellar where everyone else was waiting, receiving strange looks from those gathered. “This way,” she said, as she moved past them to the hidden passageway.