Arcane Mercenaries: Insurrection, page 7
As the afternoon sun waned, the flow of messengers ceased, leaving only Grant, Ez, and Owen in the eerie silence of the catacombs. The air was thick with anticipation, and the pieces were in place for a decisive battle that would shape the future of Megenland.
He wouldn’t let his brother down.
“I’ll take you to your assembly point,” Owen said. He replaced his mask and threw his cloak over his head.
“What will you do during all this?” Grant asked.
“Worry,” Owen said and led them deeper into the darkness.
The soft yellow glow from the flickering wicks of their fading candlelight sent shadows flying across the ancient tombs of the forgotten faithful. Grant couldn’t make out the faded markings on the walls and focused on staying with his brother. Their shuffling steps and the rattle of Owen’s cane were the only sounds in these depths.
“There’s no entrance directly to the palace from our tunnels. I can get you close, but you’ll have to get across the square and storm the building.”
“It’s ok. This isn’t our first assault.”
“Sometimes I see the boy that waited on the coast,” Owen said behind his muffling mask. “I forget about the soldier.”
“I’m sorry, Owen,” Grant said. The words tumbled out of his mouth, emotions tripping up his thoughts. He had to say something about the last fifteen years; he didn’t know how. “For Irwin, mom, dad, and us. I didn’t know what to do.”
Owen looked his little brother in the eyes and weighed Grant’s soul. The heavy cloak, masked face, and cane made the retired commodore look like an agent of death, or perhaps the mythical creature itself.
“You didn’t become Erland, a warlord who seized authority with his power. You could have, but you didn’t. Go save our island.”
Grant couldn’t hold back the joy surging in his chest and flung his arms around his brother. Owen stood helplessly as Grant pressed his body against his older brother. Grant waited until Owen hugged him back.
That was enough for both of them to start again.
“Don’t get yourself killed,” Owen said as they parted.
“I’ll make sure he makes it to the next family gathering,” Ez said with a half salute.
Owen disappeared down a nearby tunnel, leaving Grant and Ez alone in the chamber with only a single flickering candle to light their surroundings. The room was spartan, a repaired wooden ladder in one corner the only sign of its purpose as a waypoint into the underground layer of the city. If someone found this area beneath the city center, they would have no indication it was in recent use.
Grant and Ez got comfortable while they waited for the rest of their group.
They didn’t have to wait long until the first whispers of clothing and the scrape of boots echoed through the distant passageways. Grant didn’t reach for his sword but wasn’t foolish enough to stand holding a candle to illuminate himself as a target.
Five people joined Grant in the waiting area. He asked them to remove their masks and introduce themselves. The days of hiding as an insurgent were over, and they had to look each other in the eye to commit to their reckless charge into the palace defenses, whatever they were.
At least they had military experience. Three served under his brother as sailors, one served in the militia, and the last was an Ismorian soldier who saw combat in the Mage Wars. All were under thirty and looked comfortable with their collection of weapons. Grant fought in the early years of the Mage Wars with less than this.
Bells tolled out across the city, a sign their plan was underway. All eyes fell on the ladder, and everyone waited for Grant’s command to take to the streets. Grant wanted to wait until the enforcers assembled and moved away from the city center.
More bells rang out in distant parts of the city, and the harbor responded with its warning. The protests were well underway, and Grant gave the signal to climb.
The soldier hit the bottom rung first and moved up the wooden ladder. Nothing creaked or groaned during the ascent, and Grant followed the man up. Ez organized the last members of their squad and came up last.
The lead soldier heaved aside a grate and pulled himself up into the street. They were in the shadows of an ally looking into the grassy square on the back side of the palace.
Instead of the broad doors leading into the great hall, Grant sighted the back entrance to the living quarters pressed against the multi-floored hall. By any palace standards, this was a small structure dating back hundreds of years. It was a step up from the square keep, but no earl bothered to add onto the building tucked into the center of the town.
A pair of guards fingered their weapons and stared toward the peeling bells. They looked like they wanted to be anywhere but standing alone outside this door.
Grant and his unit advanced across the grass and didn’t bother with subterfuge. All drew their weapons as they approached the pair of guards.
“Stop in the name of the warlord,” one tried with a wavering voice. Seven to two odds were terrible in any circumstance.
“One chance to walk away,” Grant said. He pushed gravity’s force around their weapons until the polearms fell from their grip. They stared at their hands and then looked at the advancing squad.
The guards ran.
One sailor from Grant’s group ran to the door and checked the lock.
“Too late to ask them to leave the keys?” Ez asked as they peered around the edge of the building toward the city streets. Shutters closed, and the roads were empty. They didn’t have enough time to organize a larger protest, and most citizens would wait out the storm.
Grant kicked the door until the frame rattled, and one more boot into the lock splintered the wood. Metal clanged to the floor from within, and the door collapsed inward. It wasn’t much in the way of defenses; this must be why the earl maintained a keep within the city.
The group of rebels moved into the entry room, and four servants held up their hands. This was the family’s entrance to their quarters, and this group looked like they were about to escape through the shattered door. That must be why there was no crossbar sealing the exit.
“Where’s the warlord?” Grant didn’t shout.
They shrugged their shoulders and eyed the door.
“Not here,” one woman said. “He left an hour ago.”
“Left where?” Ez said. She wasn’t as gentle with her tone, and the servants cowered from her anger.
“He just left,” another said. “Told us to secure the palace.”
Grant tried not to show his frustration. They lost their prey and their chance to end Erland’s reign.
“He knew we were coming,” the former Ismorian soldier said.
Or he’s responding to the protests, Grant thought. This was the first significant challenge to his rein in years. Last time he killed a bishop, and today he had an army of enforcers that had just been paid after Protection Day.
13
WARLORD
Grant forcefully ushered the servants out of the palace. They were just innocent bystanders trying to make a living, and he refused to let his anger consume them. He slammed his fist into his hand and stormed through the palace’s ground floor, each step echoing his fury as he peered into each room.
Erland had slipped through their grasp. The plan hinged on eliminating the warlord, and now Erland had evaded them. It was a crushing blow, and Grant knew the fault lay on his shoulders. Things might have been different if he had told Owen to secure the palace and castle with a cordon.
“He’ll annihilate this rebellion,” Grant seethed, barely controlling his frustration.
“Where would you go when the fighting started?” Ez asked.
“March straight toward the sound of battle,” Grant said.
But Erland wasn’t a soldier. He was a vicious tyrant, commanding his brutal thugs to terrorize the city and enforce his ruthless rule. He was the type of man to execute a religious leader for daring to speak against him. Fear was his most potent weapon, yet it could also be his Achilles’ heel.
“Where’s the biggest protest planned?” Ez asked their squad.
They glanced at each other, none willing to speak the truth. They didn’t know.
“He’ll be at the keep. It’s safer and a symbol of his power,” Grant said. He was sure of it.
“You wouldn’t hide away in a stone structure,” Ez said. “That’s the opposite of what you’d do.”
“He’s not me, Ez. He stayed when I fled. Erland had no family and didn’t harm anyone in the first days after StarFall. He waited and pounced when things settled down. If he’s not here, then he’s at the keep,” Grant said. “Follow me.”
Their squad swiftly departed from the earl’s palace, racing through the deserted streets. Faint echoes of distant shouts reached Grant’s ears as distant soldiers clashed with unseen protestors. He pushed for more speed through the empty paths to the keep.
A desperate struggle unfolded before them—thirty protestors valiantly battled a dozen soldiers under the imposing shadow of the keep’s walls. The protestors wielded makeshift weapons while the enforcers used lethal weapons and wore steel cuirasses.
The thugs pressed forward, and the bodies littered the ground. It was only a matter of time before they forced the protestors to retreat, and the ruthless enforcers would cut them down.
“Take them out,” Grant ordered and broke into a sprint. He clutched his blade in two hands and roared his challenge. He’d do anything to break the focus on the helpless citizens.
Ez raced by Grant’s side as Erland’s lead soldier redirected half their force to intercept the new arrivals. Two citizens crumpled to the ground, their heads brutally bashed in, before Grant could race across the gap between him and the assailants.
Witnessing the people of Megenland succumb to the ruthless aggression of his former friend, Grant surged with a fiery determination that stoked his arcane abilities. He engaged his first adversary, and the man toppled to the ground, surprised by the ferocity and skill of an experienced soldier.
Against unarmed civilians, the enforcers appeared formidable, but their discipline and training were severely lacking. Their clumsy blade work exposed their complacency. Grant and Ez efficiently cut down four adversaries while their squad tackled the rest.
When the patrol leader realized Grant’s team had torn through his defenders, he ordered a retreat. That was a terrible mistake as his soldiers tried to turn and run. A more orderly withdrawal could have saved some, but these men were far from being actual soldiers.
Several protestors seized the opportunity and mustered their courage, bringing down the retreating enforcers with a vengeance. The tables had turned, and rocks and clubs became terrifying weapons as the prey turned against the hunters. Grant and Ez left the remainder to their squad and hustled to the keep’s entrance.
“There’s another dozen on the battlements,” Ez said as her power flared. “They’re ready to drop stones and burning oil.”
“Kind of old-fashioned, isn’t it?” Grant asked as he caught his breath.
“Effective, though. Would be nice if we had Jafran,” Ez said as she peered along the lengths of the walls.
Jafran’s StarTouched ability was to control flames, and he surprised many defenders in a siege when he showed how a vat of flaming oil would recharge his powers and frustrate their dangerous weapon. They’d fight without him today.
The squad finished the rest of their work and joined Grant and Ez out of range of the soldiers on the walls.
“Think they have ranged weapons?” Grant asked.
“They would use them if they had them,” Ez said. “Takes a long time to train an archer, and I don’t know if your old friend paid for crossbows.”
“Not really a friend.”
“Good thing he’s cheap.”
“Here’s the new plan,” Grant said. “Lead the protestors here and make a demonstration against this wall. This is the only gate to this old fortress. They’ll protect it with everything they have.”
“They’ll kill us,” a squad member said.
“Don’t try to breach it. We’re going in a different way,” Grant said. “Get the protestors back and build a battering ram. Saws, axes, the works. Make them think you’re building a battering ram.”
Ez grinned. “Arm the others with the weapons from the guards. If they come out here, make them pay for it. If they stay inside, make them think they aren’t safe.”
“What will you do?” the soldier from their squad asked.
“Going inside,” Grant said.
Grant and Ez helped their squad reissue the weapons from the fallen thugs and explained their plan. Five people grabbed saws and selected the best tree from the square. Others ran off to muster more support for Grant’s operation.
The StarTouched were going after one of their own, and the warlord’s days were numbered.
The protesters felled the tree and dragged it out of range of the gates. Limbs gave way to saws, and a growing crowd brought ropes to fashion a proper battering ram. The shouts from the square grew as the siege weapon took shape.
It was a good ruse, and the guards above seemed concerned with the growing effort in the square.
“Keep an eye on the gates,” Grant warned his team. “They might attack the crowd before you finish the battering ram. Arm everyone you can and be ready.”
He didn’t wait for confirmation as he and Ez left the group and circled the walls. It was an old fortress, hopelessly outdated if an actual attacker decided to storm the town. Ivy traced an upward path on the walls, and the mortar was loose and brittle from disrepair. It would be a challenge to climb, but it could be done.
Ez checked the tops of the walls to find an unobserved location.
“I didn’t bring rope, and I’m out of practice scaling,” she said, looking at the heights.
“Jump.”
Grant lightened his weight to a fraction of normal and reversed the gravity vector. It was a practiced move not to throw himself too high into the air and to cushion his fall back to the battlements. Ez was a moment behind him, implicitly trusting Grant’s experience with his power to care for them both.
The wall was empty, so he used the same method to drop them into the inner courtyard behind the lines. Grant considered attacking the soldiers from behind and throwing open the gates for reinforcements, but the protestors were buying him time. They would die by the dozens if they faced off against Erland.
Grant strode inside the castle grounds and proceeded to the inner keep. Unlike the massive structures in Nanteene or Alenann, this fortress was a fortified house. The first floor had no windows and only an iron-bound door, and the second floor had arrow slits squinting into the surrounding green. The final floor had thick shuttered windows and a small row of battlements at the top.
Grant launched them up to the top floor, not wanting to risk an assault through the front door. Erland would keep his strongest warriors close at hand, and Grant wanted to avoid extra bloodshed. There would be more than enough today.
As they touched down on the roof, the trap door leading into the upper chambers flung open. Three people emerged, two giant thugs and Erland, Warlord of Megenland, behind them.
“Grant Gwydian, the wayward son. You haven’t aged a day.”
Grant said nothing as he sized up his adversary. Erland was forty pounds heavier and a half-foot taller than Grant. He wore a fur cloak clutched to his neck with a golden clasp, and shimmering mail covered his torso. Unlike the rest of his outfit, his sword looked functional.
“Kill the woman, and bring him to me.”
The bodyguards didn’t hesitate and moved forward as a practiced pair. Neither shouted threats or bragged about their skills. They advanced silently, covering each other’s movements, and drew long blades.
The fight was brief, but the outcome was inevitable. The soldiers came from the ranks of the Ismorian elite, but Grant and Ez had decades of experience backed by StarTouched ability. Grant used his powers sparingly to resolve the fight.
“It’s over, Erland. No more fighting, no more protection. Surrender, and we’ll show mercy,” Grant said.
“Like you showed Irwin? You killed her and left her to rot. Is that what you’ll do with me? Leave me to rot in prison while the church hunts us down and hangs us?”
Grant hesitated.
Erland didn’t.
The man rushed forward, but before he could swing his blade, Ez threw her dagger. It was a flawless off-hand throw augmented by a surge of her arcane abilities, and it would have hit Erland in the eye socket. It never landed.
Instead of a sharpened steel blade flashing home and ending the fight, Erland’s power matched Ez’s and turned the blade into water. He paused as the liquid splashed on his face and smiled at the pair.
“You didn’t know what I could do,” Erland said. “I never worried about the noose because I could change it into anything. Fire? No problem. Your blades? Worthless.”
The hair stood on Grant’s arm as Erland pushed his StarTouched ability. Grant’s sword and dagger turned to water, and Ez’s followed. With a thought, Erland disarmed the mercenaries.
Grant didn’t care.
He threw himself across the distance and landed the first punch. Erland’s eyes flew wide as Grant’s knuckles impacted and split his cheekbone. Grant slammed gravity around them before Erland could recover and summon more power. More blows fell on the man, just like when they were kids.
Grant’s scrappy energy hammered away at the much larger man. The broken fingers in Grant’s hands healed as fast as he threw the next punch, and each bloody mark disappeared as Erland healed each wound.
The push and pull of gravity kept the man off balance as Grant slammed into the body time and time again. Fists, knees, and a forehead were viable weapons as the StarTouched childhood adversaries struggled in a terrifying battle of wills.
Erland fought to escape, but Grant didn’t care if he died. The images of his wife, parents, and family flashed through his mind. The horrors of Protection Day fueled his blows, his powers augmenting them like sledgehammers as Grant pinned Erland to the ground.
