The following day, Isolde rose early. She grabbed a hunk of cheese and a few apples from the kitchen on her way out, and made her way to the well where Park and Roline were waiting for her. Roline waved as Isolde approached, but Park just leaned against the well with his head in his hands, groaning.
“I don’t see why we couldn’t have talked about this last night,” he moaned as Isolde hugged his sister hello, “Before my head exploded.”
“I told you,” said Isolde, “This is big. Or it might be. I don’t know. But it’s not the sort of thing you share with tavern drunkards.”
“Hey,” Park protested, “I’m no tavern drunkard. I’m a man… in a tavern… who happened to be drunk. There’s a difference, you know.”
“Same result,” laughed Isolde, “I trust you enough to keep my secrets in sobriety. Surely that counts for something?”
“Aye,” Park smiled, “I suppose it does.”
“Well then,” said Isolde, “Can you walk?”
“If I must,” groaned Park, “Roline, give a man a shoulder to lean on, will you?”
“Not likely,” snorted Roline, “You’re on your own, brother.”
They set off through the still empty streets, talking in low voices as they went. Isolde described the vision that Roline had shared with her to Park, and the siblings - untroubled by Isolde’s pided loyalties - speculated gleefully about what it might mean for Sir Hagen’s position in the Order.
“If he’s consorting with elves behind the Order’s back, that’s treason, pure and simple,” said Park, firmly.
“Is it treason to follow one’s heart then, brother?” Roline countered, “Sir Hagen’s loyalty to the Order need not be compromised by his love for Lera.”
“And hasn’t Lera shown that she is a friend to humankind, Park?” asked Isolde, “She seeks to ally with us against the Dark Lord. Her union with Sir Hagen only strengthens that commitment.”
Park shook his head.
“What Lera wants doesn’t matter. It’s her father who holds power among the elves, and many will tell you he is hungry for more. Hakan may have been an honorable elf once, but his ambition is well known… his allegiances less so. Sir Hagen is playing with fire.”
The group fell silent as they walked on, thinking. Isolde knew that Sir Hagen’s secrecy had, at the very least, brought his authority into question. But she could not bring herself to condemn a man for falling in love. There were many men in both the Order and the Brotherhood who distrusted elves completely, but wasn’t that in itself enough of a reason for Sir Hagen to keep his love affair a secret?
As the silent friends rounded a corner, the rising sun glared Isolde and she looked up from her musings. They had reached the square where the Order’s barracks stood and there was a commotion at the door of the building. Guards streamed out, adjusting their armor and checking their weapons, as a dark haired young officer barked orders at them. Park and Roline stood back as Isolde rushed up to the soldiers, holding her ring aloft like a badge of office. The officer recognised Gelderrin’s blue stone and nodded respectfully as Isolde approached.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Sir Hagen has sent word from the Labyrinth’s Snare,” said the officer, “Lera the Elf Princess is in mortal danger.”
“Lera has been found? Did her father Hakan call for assistance?”
“Word came from Hagen’s own messenger,” the officer replied, “I know only that my commanding officer needs help.”
“My team and I will join you in the Labyrinth’s Snare,” Isolde announced, in a tone that would brook no argument.
“Chosen one,” said the officer, nodding his acknowledgement.
Isolde turned and sprinted back to Park and Roline.
“We need to fetch Carason and Scher,” she told them, “We’ve got a fight to join. Sorry Park, but you’re going to find out what portal travel feels like with a hangover.”
The trio sprinted back to their lodgings as quickly as they could, woke the others, grabbed their weapons and were ready and waiting at the Healer’s House in five minutes flat. Isolde closed her eyes and felt the power of her ring flow through her body and shoot out from her arm in a focussed blast, opening the portal that would carry them into the dungeon realm.
“Park,” she teased, “You go first. If you’re going to be sick, I don’t want you doing it on my boots.”
The mercenaries leapt through the fizzing blue portal one by one. Isolde followed, emerging moments later in the now familiar, torchlit gloom of the dungeon realm.
“The Labyrinth’s Snare is well named,” said Scher gravely as he unsheathed his broadsword and looked around, “We are deep in the maze of caverns that make up this underworld, chosen one. Keep your wits about you and your weapon ready, or we will all be trapped here.”
“Feel free to lead the way, big guy,” grinned Park, who seemed to have made it through the portal with his sense of humour in tact, at least.
“Gladly,” said Scher, bashing the hilt of his sword against his shield.
“Let’s do this,” hissed Carason, “May the gods be with us.”
“Whatever works,” said Roline.
*
Scanning the shadows for hidden foes, Scher pushed forward into the dungeon. A wide stone walkway fell away on either side into impossible depths. There was no sign, as yet, of the Order’s guardsmen. No sign of anyone, in fact. But as they crossed the threshold into the next chamber, there was a sudden flash of fire and four monstrous warriors appeared; demons with strange fish-like features and feet like clawed toads. Even as they materialised, the demons drew their weapons and took aim.
“Get down!” yelled Scher, and the others dropped low immediately as Scher swung his sword in a wide arc. As the warriors took form out of the air, the guardian’s blade was waiting for them. He scythed them down like ears of corn - all four in a single mighty blow - and sent their bows clattering to the floor. As their life force leaked away, they seemed to melt into the stone of the floor, like water running into cracks.
“The Dark Lord has more for us today than his bone soldiers,” said Carason from the rear, “Good. I welcome the chance to cut down his infernal minions.”
“You’re in an unusually cheerful mood,” said Park, “Shall we?”
He gestured for the group to continue, but with his first step, a new wave of enemies materialised in the shadows before them. Three snapping, silver gargoyles stared at the band of warriors with fierce yellow eyes. Great trails of slime drooled from their wide jaws as they launched themselves at Scher. The guardian began to lift his sword again, but he was too slow. The creatures were gaining ground fast. Isolde, though, was ready for them. She felt the surge of power that coursed through her body as she brought up her bow. Cullers’ training had unlocked the full force of Gelderrin’s ancient magic in her. Her movements now were instinctive, not planned. When she fought, she was one step ahead of her own thoughts. Without consciously aiming, she let loose an arrow, charged with the magic of the chosen. It split into three as it flew, each enchanted projectile glowing white hot as it screamed through the air towards its target. There were three soft thuds as the arrows found their marks in gargoyles’ hearts, and three louder thuds as the beasts crumpled to the flagstones and melted away.
“Keep moving,” said Isolde, stringing another arrow as more of the fish-faced demon warriors arrived to replace the fallen, only to be cut down by Scher’s broadsword and a flash of lightning from Carason’s staff.
Wave after wave, the demons kept coming, as Isolde and her mercenaries pushed doggedly on from chamber to chamber. As they ventured deeper into enemy territory, they began to find the bodies of guardsmen - men that Isolde recognised from the Order’s Dawnshire barracks - strewn about the dungeon floor. They too must have met fierce opposition. Isolde prayed that some of them had survived to aid Sir Hagen in his rescue of the princess.
“How many of these ugly bastards do we have to kill?” cried Park as he wiped the blood from his blade and turned to face a fresh line of enemies. Ten. Twenty. The demons kept coming. And then, with a rumble that shook the room, and a blast of magic that warmed the stones beneath their feet, a new foe appeared.
She towered above Isolde and the others; a leather-clad giantess as tall as an oak tree. Her hands crackled with energy as she pointed to where Roline was dispatching another of the fish-faced warriors with her dagger. A bolt of light shot from her fingertips and exploded like gunpowder as it hit the floor just a few feet from the young mercenary, who was blown off her feet and sent skittering across the flagstones. The giant woman advanced slowly, seemingly unconcerned about any threat that the humans posed. In three enormous paces she was standing over Roline, looking down her nose with an expression of pure contempt. Behind her, Scher charged, ready to stab at the giant’s ankles, but before he could reach her she reached back lazily and swiped his feet out from under him. He scrambled to his feet, then let out a roar of pain as an arrow hit his shoulder. The warriors were still closing in.
In Isolde’s head, she saw the scene before her perfectly. Not as it was, but as it would be. She knew the danger was great, but at that instant, she knew something else, too. She knew she would win. Every move was there in her head. Every arrow she must dodge. Every blow she must deal. It was as if she were being given a glimpse of the near future. All she had to do was remember the moves and copy them. No. She didn’t even need to do that. They came to her naturally, as if she had rehearsed the scene a million times. With the giant standing over Roline, poised to deliver her death blow, Isolde dashed right into the centre of the crowd of warriors, nimbly dodging their arrows on her run. Then she dropped to her knees, pointed her bow at the sky and let the power of the chosen consume her again. Isolde could not have found the words to describe what she did next if you asked her, but as she knelt on the dungeon floor, she felt as though her the arrow she shot into the air was a message to all of the chosen in Midgard. A call to arms. And it felt like the call was answered. Her arrow split into a thousand flaming copies of itself and a rain of blue fire decimated the demonic warriors though Isolde’s team members, fighting among them, were left unharmed. The giantess screamed and clutched at her head as the arrows rained down on her, and Isolde seized her chance. She squared up to the giantess and drew another arrow. This time, there was no magical duplication. Only one arrow was drawn and only one left her bow. But what an arrow! Isolde felt the power of Luxis’ ancient hero swell in her heart again as she let loose a bolt of golden energy that grew as it flew until it was as long as a lance and as thick as a roofbeam. It pierced the giantess’s leather tunic with ease and passed straight through her, punching a hole through her chest big enough to pass a cannonball through. A look of surprise and confusion came over her face as the towering woman touched at her wound gingerly, before collapsing face down. There was an unpleasant crunching sound as her skull whacked against the hard stone floor, then she was still.
Isolde pulled Roline to her feet and checked her over quickly.
“I’m alright,” Roline insisted, shaking Isolde off.
“I’m not,” said Scher through gritted teeth as he snapped the shaft of the arrow that was embedded in his shoulder, “But I’ll live. And we do not have time to lick our wounds.”
Isolde nodded and gestured towards the next chamber. The team advanced cautiously. As they neared a broad gateway blocked by a heavy portcullis, they could hear chanting from the room beyond. And fighting too. The unmistakable sound of clashing swords.
“Come on!” Isolde called, breaking into a run again, but as she neared the heavy iron barrier, her way was blocked by the arrival of more demonic warriors. They arrived with weapons drawn, flanked by four dragons with purple scales and blood red wings. These were much smaller than the dragon Isolde had faced on her first trip to the dungeon realm, but they looked more than dangerous enough.
“Get back!” screeched Carason as he raised his staff and fired at the snarling beasts. Isolde leapt back from the priest’s bolt of energy as it whizzed past her to connect with the thick hide of one of the dragons. The remaining three screeched indignantly as their companion fell. They opened their mouths and let out a stream of fire that clung to the stones where it splashed against them and burned on, fiercely. Isolde, who was closest to the dragons, dropped into a crouch and ran for her life as their fire scorched the air over her head. As she cleared the jets of fire, she turned to shoot over her shoulder, catching one of the creatures with an arrow to the eye. A third fell to Roline’s crossbow as her brother danced among the demon warriors, his sword singing as he whirled and sliced at them. The last of the angry dragons pulled back into a crouch, spread its wings out wide and launched itself at Scher’s throat. The guardian raised his sword and the beast impaled itself like a kebab. Droplets of oily slime slipped off the tip off the dragon’s tongue, bursting briefly into flames as they fell, and leaving little puffs of acrid smoke hanging in the air. Scher’s lip curled with revulsion and he shook his muscular arm until the dragon’s dripping corpse slid from his blade and landed at his feet.
Isolde was at the portcullis already. Through the gaps between its criss-crossed bars, she could see fighting. They had finally caught up with the Order. And there was Sir Hagen himself, back up against the wall as he fended off a trio of attackers.
There was something else going too. A ritual of some kind was underway, and though the Order’s guards were doing their best to disrupt it, they were too busy defending themselves against the enemy’s endless reinforcements.
“Help me get this open!” Isolde yelled to her team. Scher, the biggest and strongest of them by far, pulled off his gauntlets and spat on his hands as he strode over to the winch that held the portcullis in place with a thick, iron chain. He grabbed the handle, which was clearly built with at least two smaller people in mind, and turned it slowly until, inch by inch, the enormous gate began to raise up. Isolde slipped under it as soon as there was space, quickly followed by Park and Roline. Carason found a sturdy spear lying by the body of its previous owner, and pushed it between the gears of the winch to jam the portcullis. Then he and Scher drew their weapons again and followed the others.
As soon as Isolde and her team were behind the iron gate, the demons turned their attention to them. Isolde ped, drew, fired and dodged as she fought her way closer to heart of the chamber, where the ritual was underway.
Six demons - the same kind that had impeded their progress through the Labyrinth’s Snare - stood chanting in a circle marked on the ground with carved runes and bands of coloured stone. At its centre, a shallow pit of blue fire lit the faces of the assembled. Above the blue flames, a whirlwind of arcing energy formed a strange sort of stormcloud. And, at the heart of the cloud, suspended like a puppet on invisible strings, was the Elf Princess, Lera. Her arms and head were thrown back uncomfortably. Her legs dangled below her, toes pointing as if she was reaching for the ground. Her mouth hung open in a mask of terror and pain.
“Isolde!” It was Sir Hagen calling to her from across the room where he had only just overcome his attackers. “You have to stop them! If the princess dies, Nidhog will rise!”
Nidhog! The name sent a shiver down Isolde’s spine. Every child in Midgard knew the tale of the Dark Lord’s favourite dragon who scorched the earth in the wars of old. He had been bound in the dungeon realm by the elves’ magic. But Nidhog was no more than a story, or so Isolde had thought. Was the great dragon real, then? Had he been held prisoner all this time? Long enough for his name to become legend and his danger forgotten?
“Take out their priests!” Sir Hagen yelled, and Isolde snapped back to the present, her mind racing as she searched for a gap in the enemy’s defences. Suddenly, two of the demons directly in her path dropped like stones, clutching at a pair of crossbow bolts that were lodged in their chests. Isolde glanced to her right to see Roline saluting her casually, before picking her next target. Isolde took her chance and ped through the gap left by the fallen demons. It was a matter of only a few feet to the edge of the stone circle. The chanting grew louder and the princess’s body contorted with agony. In a few more seconds it would be too late. Isolde pulled back her bowstring and brought her weapon to bear on the nearest of the chanting demons. She fired.
As Isolde let fly her arrow, there was a blinding flash of light that filled the room completely. She didn’t see where the arrow landed, but when the light subsided and the chamber became visible again, the demons - all of them - had vanished. In the stone circle, only Lera remained, her body lying limp and lifeless. Sir Hagen, scrambled to the princess’s side and pulled her into his arms.
“Why? Why?” he cried, as Isode watched on, helpless, “How could you, Hakan? Your own daughter!” he wailed, “Curse you and your foul master!”
Isolde’s mind reeled at the implications of Sir Hagen’s words. What part had Lera’s father in her kidnap? And how could she even hope to get answers from Sir Hagen when he was consumed by his lover’s death? Park interrupted her train of thought.
“We need to get moving before anyone else arrives,” he said, placing a hand on Isolde’s shoulder, “I’ll get Hagen on his feet. You open a portal and get us the hell out of here.”
<<< Chapter 11 : Second Sight >>> Chapter 13 : A New Alliance
