A Shadow Cast
Water flung in an arc, splashing the wall and sloshing noisily to either end of the trough, as Geist hauled the woman’s head clear of the reservoir to her coughing, gagging and gasping for breath. The warrior held her by the arm and neck low to the water. “Once more, who sent you here today?” he asked.
“Marach go barún olch, Marach go bhíach olch, Oln feadfach treoir linniv,” spat the prisoner, still coughing. Her style of clothing, her skin tone and facial features suggested to Geist she was Zadesti, but her language confirmed it.
“[Who commands you?]” asked Geist, shifting his thinking to Zadesti. “[Who ordered the attack?]”
“[Death to the evil baron, death to his evil servants, mighty Oln guide us],” she repeated.
Geist pushed her head back into the shallow water. The woman’s cries turned to bubbles. She thrashed about, using her free hand to claw at Geist’s arm, with no effect.
A Zadesti in Aksson is rare enough, but a Zadesti who does not worship their prophet is unheard of, thought Geist.
He could feel her efforts weakening and decided she had enough. He hauled her out of the water once more. An arrowhead burst through the back of the prisoner’s head, spraying the Night Watchman in her warm blood before her legs gave way and she fell to the ground. Geist scanned the ramparts and quickly found a woman in grey standing on the roof of the guard tower, nocking another arrow. Recognising the archer’s skull-shaped mask, a panicked excitement wrenched his gut. It was the woman he knew as Scaíth, but others knew as ‘Death’s Shadow’, ’Lady Death’, or ‘Death’s Competition’. Geist was in her sights and judged the first arrow intended for him. There was no cover other than the body of the woman on the ground. There was no way out of her shooting line.
Geist ripped away his new mask and pulled back his hood to reveal his face and straw blonde hair to his foe. All he could do was stare at her…and wait. The archer paused, easing the tension on her bow. Then she drew the string to its fullest and released the arrow. Geist did not flinch as the arrow burst through the wooden wall behind him, half a foot above his head. He knew it was the only warning he was going to get.
He tipped his fingers to his brow, acknowledging she had spared his life. The woman then pointed behind the Night Watchman. Geist turned to see numerous ladders along the wall, and individuals already topping the ramparts of the house. It was a second wave of attack. Armed men and women began teeming over the walls of the estate at dozens of places along the battlements. The main gate with its three pots of heated fat was avoided as more ladders appeared against the outer walls. He looked back to the guard tower – Scáith was gone. The house would be lost this time, Geist knew it.
He shouted the retreat to any Shielder who could hear him. The walls were soon covered by assailants. Geist ran to the nearest soldier he could find, a young Shielder, barely a man. He ordered him to retreat to the hall and not to go looking for others. Geist checked his surroundings and bolted for the hall, still conscious of the deadliest woman in the world. The only chance of escape for everyone was through the tunnels under Úrsfrekr.
They had waited as long as they could for the retreating Shielders, but the assailants gathered and attacked the hall, one Shielder cut down as he reached the large oak doors. Geist led Kitsvanna and the others into the darkness underground. Progress was slow, the injured soldiers carried on litters by the remaining Shielders. The group had only reached a fraction of the way to the falls when the echoing of a large bang from behind them caught Geist’s attention. He told Kitsvanna to go on ahead with everyone else, checking she could remember his directions through the tunnels, telling her he would go back to investigate the noises and catch up with them.
The ‘Ghost’ waited in the darkness. A single, narrow shaft of daylight from an overhead grill gave a modicum of light. The air smelled damp and mouldy in the old stone tunnel, reminding him of a potter’s workshop. He listened. The voices and footsteps of the people on the streets above were present but low. The occasional squeaking of a hungry rat punctuated his efforts to listen, but he could not hear who had followed them.
He judged he was close to the Western Gate. He had chosen a four-way cross point in the tunnels to attempt to stop his pursuers, placing a device made from musical instrument wire with tiny squares of iron hanging from it across the tunnel to the Lord’s Estate – an early warning device. He locked the limbs of his custom-built hand-crossbow in place, drew the string tense and placed a shortened black bolt in the groove. Where he kneeled, there was a small red phial to his right, removed from its protective wooden box and ready for use to create a large amount of smoke.
Maybe she will not come, thought the solitary Night Watchman. The sound of a boot scraping on the floor of the tunnel suggested otherwise.
The pursuers were getting close. He extended his left hand holding the crossbow and used his right to steady his aim. He could see the first hints of torchlight in the tunnel. Geist closed his eyes and focused his attention on what he could hear. There were footsteps, a lot of footsteps.
At least ten people, Geist thought, making slight adjustments in his aim. All trying to be quiet.
The faint glow turned a brighter red, and he could hear their apprehensive breathing. Someone contacted the wire, rattling the iron squares to make a thin metallic sound. Geist loosed a bolt at the sound.
In shock and fear, the stricken man released his grip on his torch, and it dropped to the stone floor, halving the light in the tunnel. The rest of the group shouted and those at the front tried to get back along the tunnel as Geist, with his eyes open and able to see the weapons in their hands, had reloaded his weapon and loosed another bolt into the back of a man’s skull.
Geist rolled to his right, grabbing the phial and readying his throw. In the low-burning torchlight, one man was crawling back to the bend in the tunnel and another was lying dead beyond him. There was a terrified yelp from the injured man as he noticed the obstruction and the pool of blood, growing like a still living thing, flowing freely from the dead man’s head. With renewed vigour, the man clambered his way over the body and back to the relative safety of the tunnel bend. Geist set down the phial and loaded another bolt. The ‘Ghost’ waited in the darkness.
Kitsvanna stopped in her tracks. She had been walking at the back of the group to ensure no one would fall behind, and because she was struggling with the weight of her grandfather’s sword. Their progress was slow in the near total darkness.
Drell had lost consciousness and was being carried on one of three litters by his Shielders. A beam of light would appear intermittently, from one of the small circular ventilation rises along the route. One of the remaining Shielders, Willem Bolvar, who at eighteen years old was the youngest Shielder in the city, slowed to Kitsvanna’s side as she walked. The young man was tall and broad across the shoulders and appeared to Kitsvanna to fill his chain shirt well.
When she stopped moving forward, he bumped into her. The large mastiff hound, Trapper, attempted to pull on the length of rope tied to his leather collar and held by Kitsvanna.
“Apologies, my lady. What is it?” the Shielder asked.
Kitsvanna mused that the deep and dulcet tone of his voice made him sound older than he looked. “Listen,” instructed Kitsvanna. “Where are those voices coming from?”
“What voices, m’lady?”
“There were voices and the sounds of boots coming from somewhere. They are getting quieter.”
“Well, if they are getting quieter, what does it matter to us, m’lady?”
The mastiff reversed his direction back along the tunnel wall, letting out a low rumbling growl. “Here, hold him. Stay put,” Kitsvanna said, ignoring his question and placing Trapper’s rope in the Shielder’s hand before running up along the tunnel.
“Ellik,” she called, her voice just louder than a whisper. “Ellik. Where are you?”
“My lady?” answered the old House Steward. He fumbled his way back through the crowd of people, helped by his grandson, Fionn.
The rest of the group also stopped. The Shielders lowered the litters and grouped together to have a discussion. She drew Ellik and Fionn back along the tunnel to speak to them in a hushed voice. The minimal light from a ventilation shaft allowed them to see each other’s faces.
“Do you know the way to the falls?” Kitsvanna asked.
“Well, yes, I think so,” answered Ellik.
“Good, carry on, take this,” said Kitsvanna, handing over the sword. “Get everyone to safety. I have to go back.”
“What? Absolutely not! Your father would never allow –”
“My father is not here, Ellik, and I am going back. Just make sure you get everyone out,” she said with determination.
“No, my lady, I cannot let you go,” said Ellik. “I must insist we make haste to the falls, all of us.”
“Geist is back there, and I think he is going to be surrounded. I heard their voices. I need to see if he is safe.”
Ellik placed his hands on her shoulders. “That man is not only a soldier, but one of the commanders of the Night Watchmen, and he can take care of himself. And if not, it is his duty to die to protect you. You cannot render his sacrifice meaningless by traipsing back down this tunnel only to find your own death. He stayed behind to give us time to get to the falls and he knew what it meant, my dear child.”
In the dim light, she could see the worry in the old steward’s eyes.
“Opa is right, Kits, we need to keep moving,” Fionn said. “We are in no state to fight anybody, anyway.”
Kitsvanna gritted her teeth. The death she had seen at the house, the attackers and Shielders cut down alike in screams, flashes of steel and the life-taking thud and squelch of sharp blades, fought for her attention. She felt different from before.
The torments she had imagined to be so real and so important were like fanciful self-pity compared to the reality in which she found herself. She had also watched Roslind ride off to battle; Thorn, of whom she knew little, had disappeared after her father, who himself had gone off into the city like a man possessed. Ulrik was not to be found and could be dead in the streets. Her home burned, its people fleeing. Drell, always so sure of himself, lay dying, strapped to a broken door being dragged through a tunnel. Geist was the only one among them who could protect them, plan strategically, fight like a demon if needed. He was too important to the survival of the entire group to be left behind.
Why did I not realise this sooner? Kitsvanna thought, knowing it was because she had no experience of this kind of thing and yet was being looked to for answers because she was her father’s daughter.
It then occurred to her she did not need any support for her idea.
“No one is asking you to fight, coward,” she darted at Fionn, removing Ellik’s hands from her shoulders and turning back along the tunnel.
“M’lady?” came the voice of the most senior Shielder left.
Kitsvanna wheeled back toward the new voice. “Who speaks?”
“Sergeant Kafli, House Shield, First Watch, m’lady. If you need someone to go back there, me and the other lads can do it, we’d welcome a bit of payback. We will check it out and, if needs be, give support to the Ghost. I…I think it would be best, m’lady.”
“I need you to stay with the others,” Kitsvanna instructed. “We do not know what is waiting for us at the end of the tunnel, and they will need your protection. There should only be two more junctions before the Sonton Falls. Hold your position at the second junction, I will catch up with you before too long.”
“Forgive me, m’lady, but if you are going back there you are more likely to need protection than the others,” Kafli stated. “I have already lost the Baron’s House today, I will not lose his daughter as well. A house can always be rebuilt. We are coming with you and there is nothing else to be discussed here.”
Kitsvanna could tell the soldier’s words were heartfelt and sincere, and she knew if Geist was in trouble, he would have a better chance with Shielders supporting him. But she could not leave everybody else, including the children, unprotected. Whatever about her father not allowing her to go back for Geist under these circumstances, she knew he would consider it unthinkable to leave the rest of this group unprotected. She admitted to herself she was afraid of what she might find back along the tunnel but knew what must be done. “No,” she replied. “There are over thirty people here with us, most of them children, even some babes in arms. All need protection. I know I am not the baron, but I am Lady Kitsvanna of the House of Radsvinn. Do as I command and make sure they reach safety. I will take Willem and Trapper with me. I promise we will not get into any trouble.”
“What is the holdup back there?” came the hushed voice of one of the attendants.
“I will be along once we see if Geist needs our help,” Kitsvanna affirmed, before she disappeared into the darkness.
“My lady, please come back,” Ellik implored as he searched the darkness.
“Get them to the falls, Ellik. I will meet you at the junction, and may Oln protect you,” came Kitsvanna’s now resolute and echoing voice. The Shielder, Willem, remained silent and pulled lightly on the dog’s rope, following his lady into the darkness.
The old steward listened to her footsteps becoming fainter. “Oln give you strength, my dearest child,” he whispered.
“What do we do now. We can’t just let her wander off, can we?” asked Fionn.
“It looks like we do not have a say in the matter, my lad,” replied Ellik. “And we have many others to keep safe. I do not think Oln himself could stop her going back. We have both seen her in the training ring – you know she can handle herself. Let us just pray she does not need to.”