Sen's Fortress towered above the path North; a black, looming, finger of stone that protruded from the treetops around it to point to the pale sky above, as if threatening the Gods themselves. The clouds around it were purple and swollen and raining a soft fall of snow and ice. Lautrec watched them as they swirled and danced, imagining the thunderstorm that would be brewing if the weather hadn't taken such an unnatural turn to cold lately. In Carim, the older knights used to warn that a storm on the day of a new journey was bad luck; an omen that promised poor footing for the horses and poorer combat for the knights atop them. At least there is no horse to be thrown from, Lautrec thought, tightening his belt and shaking the morbid thoughts from his head.
Domhnall, Andre, and Sieglinde were clustered around the church steps, gathered to see Benjamin and himself off. Ben, who was bundled up tightly in a heavy brown cloak and a new pair of brown boots (courtesy of the merchant's wares) was standing atop the stone railing that spilled over into the forest below, staring northward towards the fortress the same as Lautrec. He edged forward, pinwheeling his arms to keep his balance from the long fall below. Sieglinde broke from the steps, grabbed him by the arm, and pulled the boy down, scolding him for his recklessness. Lautrec grinned. The two had gotten along like brother and sister in their short time together, and watching them reminded the knight of a simpler time in his life.
Andre pulled Sieglinde away from the boy with a hearty laugh and clapped Ben on the shoulder. "Stay sharp, boy," the blacksmith told him. "And don't waste none of those arrows I made ya, neither."
"No, I won't," Ben answered immediately. He turned to Sieglinde with a playful grin. "You just keep Sieg away from the wine, unless you want the whole Burg coming down on you from the sound of her belching."
The woman's face reddened. "Ben-!" She started, thought better of it, and moved to grab him instead. Ben laughed and sidestepped her attack, retreating back towards the church as she gave chase, laughing herself a bit.
Domhnall stepped aside so the two could go rushing off into the church, watching after them with a wistful smile, but when he situated himself again, the smile faded and he turned his eyes on Lautrec. "Knight... a word?"
"I'm not stopping you," Lautrec said, kneeling to tie the lace of his boot that had loosened; he had ditched the last of his golden armor-leaving it, with warning, in the hands of the merchant-and was instead garnished in dark leathers and woolen underclothes to stay warm.
"Eh... Andre? Could I, um, speak with him alone?" Dom asked, running a hand through his fall of shabby red hair.
"Aye," the smith said and turned to follow Ben and Sieglinde's warpath inside.
Lautrec had just finished lacing his boot when Domhnall's shadow fell over him. He rose to face the man and furrowed his brow, pulling his new gloves a bit tighter to his wrist. "Speak your piece, merchant."
Dom bit at his lip and lowered his gaze to his own boots. "Um... I guess this is it then, huh?"
Lautrec cast a shrewd look upon the man before him. "Clearly you have something to say, Domhnall. So say it."
Dom looked back up at him. "Lautrec... I know Andre and Sieg think killing Logan is the most important thing in the world right now. Saving the children, too. And they are important, certainly. Sieg also wants her father found. Ben... the kid's probably just looking for some adventure to be had. If I had to guess... I'd say you are most intent on finding Anastacia of Astora, and... settling your debt."
The merchant let the words linger there, apparently awaiting a response. Lautrec did not give him one, only held his eyes darkly on the man, awaiting whatever was to come next.
"But you must realize," Domhnall went on, "that all of this is for nothing if harm should befall Abby. If she lives, and I'm nearly certain she does, you must make it your priority to see her safe. To take her away from the Archives if she's there... even if it is against the girl's will."
Lautrec's frown deepened. "If the girl does, in fact, live... why would-"
"Logan is a very persuasive man," Domhnall interjected. "He has methods of... turning the mind on to things in a very alluring way. That not only goes for the girl, but for you as well. Heed my warning, knight: if you should come across Logan, kill him immediately. Don't let him talk. Just... just end it, alright?"
"Logan has no power over me," Lautrec snapped, tiring of the conversation.
"He will use that hubris of yours against you, Lautrec, trust me. I've seen strong-willed men fall under his spell as simply as a child. Merely being in his presence is like being slightly detached from the world... like... like living in a waking dream."
"You speak as if you were regular old pals with the man... and yet you stand here in defiance of him," Lautrec pointed out, narrowing his eyes on the merchant. "And you suggest that I cannot?"
"You have anger in your heart, knight," Domhnall persisted. "He will sniff that out and use it. Please. Don't speak with him. Just kill the madman."
Lautrec sighed and began double-checking his shotels nestled in their sheaths at his hip. "I make no promises."
Dom's hand reached out and took hold of his arm, yanking at it to pull his gaze back. "This is no matter to take lightly, knight. For Abby's sake... for Lordran's sake... save the girl and kill the madman and be done with it."
Lautrec's eyes moved from Dom's face to the hand gripped around his upper arm. "Perhaps you think us better friends than we are, merchant," he said, injecting just a bit of menace into his voice as he glared at the man. "Just because we've shared meals and laughs over the last few days doesn't mean I won't hurt you. It would be wise to remove your hand."
Some of the anger melted from Domhnall's face and he swallowed as his grip came loose. "...and you're a cold man..." he said in a quiet voice. "...Logan will use that against you too."
"Enough about Logan," Lautrec said, shouldering past the man to stand before the path North; the path to the fortress. "Go get the boy. I'm ready to leave."
The five of them said their goodbyes there on the church steps a few moments later, Ben and Sieg hugging, Lautrec and Andre shaking hands, and Domhnall watching with his arms folded and an anxious look plastered to his face. Ben fell in line beside Lautrec, who gave him a nod, and then they were off; the boy turning back one last time before they descended the stairs leading down and out of the Parish to wave farewell. They were halfway to the big building that housed Andre's former smithing quarters when Ben quietly said, "Sieglinde begged me to remind you about her father."
"They all want something, don't they," Lautrec answered, and to that, Ben had no reply.
The smith's quarters were as empty and abandoned as they'd been during the many passings the boy and himself had made before and after hunts. The wood floors and steps made hollow, bouncing, sounds of their footsteps off the high ceiling, but then they were quickly on the middle-tiered level and stepping back out into the cold, to the long, stone, bridge that pointed North.
Sen's Fortress stood before them, waiting. The stone monster loomed up into the sky like some ancient beast; its towers climbing up around it in tight clusters, its gaping entrance a dark, chilling, thing peering into its belly. Snow whipped around the fortress, and when the icy winds picked up, the swirling display of white washed away the very top levels of the structure, cutting it in half, yet somehow painting it even moreominous.
Ben walked forward a bit and craned his neck back to take in the sight of it. "Geeze... It's so big. It's... terrifying."
"Come," Lautrec said, nudging the boy in the back to get him moving again. "Standing here won't make it any less frightening."
They pulled up their cloaks to shield their necks and faces from the biting winds that raked the long, stone, bridge leading up to the fortresses entrance, moving as quickly as they could with their shoulders lowered and their boots trudging through the heavy snow underfoot. The bridge was, thankfully, not very long and soon enough Lautrec lifted his eyes and found they'd made it before the stairs leading in. Ben's head was still lowered when his foot caught the first step, and he tumbled down to the snow with a yelp. Lautrec bent forward, snatched up his elbow, and pulled the boy to his feet to lead him inside.
They crossed beneath the half-drawn portcullis whose metal teeth loomed overhead, threatening to chomp down upon them, and the winds dyed off immediately, leaving them in a suffocating silence. The fortresses' front chamber was a wide room with stone pillars, a few shattered pots, and little else. Lautrec crouched to shake the snow free from the bottom of his boots as Ben stepped forth, eyeing the walls and ceiling with a look of wonder upon his face. "This is it then... Sen's Fortress?"
"That's right."
"And you know the way up? You've been here before?"
"Yes," Lautrec said, and after a moment's thought, added, "In another life." Ben raised an eyebrow at that, but Lautrec ignored it and rose back to his feet, pointing forward. "The fortress is, actually, fairly straight forward. We can reach the top before dawn if the Gods are good."
Ben nodded, looking up at the ceiling again. "And what if we run into this 'Havel the Rock'? I've never heard of him, but you seem to know a good bit about him. What should I know?"
That if we do run into him, Lautrec thought, it likely means our lives. "He's a big man," he said instead, "with heavy armor and a heavier shield. Hell of a thing to penetrate. He likes to swing around a dragon's tooth. You ever seen one?"
"No."
"Well... it looks like what it sounds like," Lautrec went on. "If he takes you below the waist with the thing, you'll never walk again. Above the waist and your ribs will shatter. Higher than that... you'll likely lose your head."
The boy's mouth had fallen agape, his eyes frozen wide apprehensively. "Well that... sounds bad. What are we supposed to do if we have to fight him when every hit of his weapon can break us in two!?"
"Don't get hit," Lautrec said and gestured for Ben to follow as he walked deeper into the fortress.
The main chamber of Sen's Fortress was, by far, the most breathtaking. The walls stretched up to form a narrow canyon of stone, the top of which spilled out to the cold world outside, the bottomending in a pool of filthy water and bones and rats. Lautrec stepped before it with Ben awestruck at his side. The thin walkway that cut across the length of the room awaited them. It usually housed enormous blades that swung overhead, five-ton iron guillotines looking to split anyone foolish enough to misstep beneath them in two, but now they lay dormant, their hulking bodies of metal cluttering the path as if in barricade.
As Lautrec walked forth to examine the things, Benjamin spoke over his shoulder, "It's so quiet in here."
"Without the traps running it is," Lautrec agreed, stepping out onto the walkway and kneeling to run his hand along the first guillotine. "There's enough room to crawl under," he told Ben, pointing to the narrow gap beneath the massive blade. "The things are still sharp, though. I wouldn't try to stand too quickly or you're like to cut yourself in half."
Ben nodded, stepping to the edge of the walkway and breathing warm breath into his cupped hands.
"Follow close behind me."
Lautrec began lowering to his belly when Ben called to him, "Lautrec..." He froze and turned back to the boy. "I just... I wanted to say thanks. For, you know... not leaving me this time."
"I'm not paying you a favor, boy. I need your help."
"I know," Ben went on. "But... I don't know. You've taught me a lot of stuff over the last few days with hunting and skinning and correcting the flaws in my archery and everything. I haven't felt this good in a long time. So, I guess, just... thanks."
"That's what worries me," Lautrec muttered and began lowering to his belly again.
"You said that before," Ben halted him again. "What does that mean? Is there something you're not telling me?"
Lautrec turned to the boy once more. Ben's face was dark in the shadowy blanket of the fortress walls, his beard still lightly dusted with frost, his brow furrowed shrewdly. He's close enough to a man to know the truth of it, Lautrec thought with a sigh. "The witch... the witch had a theory."
"Quelana?"
His thoughts turned briefly to her face, pale and sharp-featured and beautiful. "Yes. She thought that maybe since you and Abby are both Chosen Undead who came to Lordran at the same time, that perhaps... perhaps you are linked."
"Linked?" Ben echoed, stepping forward. "What does that mean?"
"I've thought a bit on it since she told me that day. I believe she's right. The two of you... you share more than just being Chosen. You look similar. You must be close to the same age. There are similarities in your personalities and your mannerisms. Even your names have an odd duality to them. Abby and Benjamin: 'A' and 'B'? It's as if the Gods sent us a choice to Lordran instead of simply a way."
Ben frowned, bemused. "So... what does my health have to do with any of that?"
"The witch also thought that perhaps you two are joined in a sort of pulley system. As in, when one of you grows stronger, the other weakens. Her theory proved true at the start of this mad journey, when you two were together. You were terribly sick those first few nights out of the Asylum when the girl was lively and exuberant and growing strong with pyromancy. And now... your strength is flourishing. It makes me wonder... makes me wonder what has become of the girl."
Ben was quiet then for a while, his hands rubbing at his beard, his eyes narrowed in concentration. Finally, he asked, "Why didn't you tell me this earlier?"
"Does it change anything?" Lautrec asked.
Ben thought on it, shrugged, and answered, "No."
"Then what does it matter? We are-"
A scream came thundering up from somewhere deep in the fortress, so thick with pain and anguish and terror, it crackled with distortion. It was shrill and it was deep. It was human and it was inhuman. It was everywhere... and it was nowhere.
Ben was trembling where he stood. Lautrec's breath was caught in his chest, his own heart pounding in his ears as the haunting noise played in his memory on repeat. Then- something exploded, a deep rumbling tremor coursing through the entire fortress.
"We turn back," Ben whispered, eyeing the doorway they'd come from. "W-we go b-back, Lautrec. We can still go back. We'll come another day. We-"
"Shut up," Lautrec snapped, listening for movement. He could heard the distant thumps of heavy footsteps marching through the fortress. They seemed to be wrapping around a staircase, or perhaps moving in a circle. He closed his eyes and followed them, above, then to the side, then above again. Finally, he listened as they moved to the opposite end of the chamber; the chamber that they were currently in. "Lay down on your stomach. Slow."
"What?"
"Right now. Do it."
Ben's face had turned as white as the snow in his beard, but he listened. He knelt and extended two, shaking, arms to the stone floor, lowering himself until his chin was pressed against it. Lautrec had done the same, angling his body so that he could peer beneath the hanging guillotines and stare down the narrow bridge leading to the opposite end of the chamber. Boots appeared in a dark doorway there, grey and steel and heavy.
"What do you see?" Ben whispered.
Instead of answering, Lautrec held up a fist to silence the boy. The boots hesitated only slightly in the doorway and then began stalking forth onto the bridge - heading their way. "Curse the Gods," Lautrec muttered and slowly moved a hand to the hilt of one of his shotels. The boots thump - thump -thumped along the bridge before coming to a sudden halt. Lautrec held his breath, watching them in complete silence.
A faint whimper came from the boot owner's direction. The sound was followed by a grunt and then another quake of an explosion. Lautrec watched as part of the bridge was swept clean away by the arching path of a dragon tooth's swing; massive chunks of stone sailing loose and raining down to the murky waters below to land in disorganized plops amidst the waters. Havel, Lautrec thought. He's as mad as they say. Havel whimpered, as if in pain, and stomped his booted feet atop the walkway, turning in a semi-circle to his left, then to his right. He made a sound that may have been an attempt at a scream, but choked it off before it truly began, turned on his heel, and made a mad sprint back the way he'd come from. Lautrec listened as his thumping bounded through the fortress, trailing, thankfully, away from them.
"What in Izalith was wrong with him?" Ben whispered when the footsteps faded entirely.
"A madman is a madman," Lautrec said. "Tis a waste trying to decipher their ways. Come on."
"Come on!?" Ben snapped. "Are you mad as well? We have to turn back, Lautrec! We-"
"-don't have as much time as you think," Lautrec finished for the boy, and without waiting for further conversation, lowered to his stomach and began worming his way forward beneath the first guillotine.
The going was slow, both because of the row of guillotines that needed to be crawled beneath as well as the periodic pauses Lautrec made them take when he thought he heard Havel's thundering footsteps storming back their way. They came upon the missing sect of bridge a bit past the halfway point and had to stand to hop across it; the plunge to the water, and their likely deaths, below awaiting a misstep greedily. The arduous trek to the other end of the chamber went thankfully unplagued by Havel's return. When they were across, the winding stone halls and stairs of the fortress awaiting them beneath an arched passage, Lautrec stood and helped Ben to his feet behind him. The boy's face had lost all of its early-morning daring now that they stood together in the lion's den, the threat of death around every turn as real as the noses upon their faces. Lautrec grinned. "Bit different being on an adventure than simply reading about one, isn't it?"
Ben had ignored him, opting instead to stare warily around the chamber they'd passed through, clutching to his dagger's hilt at his hip. "If that thing charges us here..."
"There will be no retreat and no room to maneuver," Lautrec confirmed. "So let's be on our way."
They followed the dark hall around a bend and up a flight of stairs that spilled to another bridge, although this one was much shorter than the first. It was lined with guillotines, like its longer twin below, and the two of them had to drop and crawl once more.
"Where did that madman go?" Ben whispered as they crawled. "This seems to be the only way forward. We would've seen him if he crossed here."
"Even I don't know every secret this place holds," Lautrec admitted as they neared the end of the bridge. "There's likely hidden passageways."
The room beyond was small and tight with only two, visible, entrances coming and going, and so Lautrec halted the boy and took a moment to orient himself. He could still visualize the climb, the bridges and walkways, the bolder traps and elevators. If everything was shut down, they could make good time. Ben's breath was coming loudly from the boys mouth as he paced anxiously about the room. He moved to an empty chest at the far wall's center and prodded it with his boot. "Who would leave treasure here?"
"It was bait for a trap," Lautrec said, pointing to the hole in the wall directly above the emptied chest.
Ben winced and sidestepped quickly from the hole's trajectory. He moved near to the indentation and traced the rim of it with his finger before moving on to a cluster of statues gathered in the corner of the room.
"I know these guys," he said. "They're modeled after the knights of Anor Londo. There were pictures in our history books."
"I think I know the quickest way," Lautrec said, nodding. "Come on. If I remember correctly there's a shortcut..." His words lingered and fell away when he caught the oddest sight in his periphery. He turned to face Ben and narrowed his eyes on the boy's shoulders, where a strange, liquidy, ooze was sliding off the boy's cloak mantle.
Ben noticed him staring and frowned. "What?"
Another drop landed beside the first. Lautrec traced its origin upwards, to the rafters of the room. In the corner, hunched down in a shadowy nook, Havel was watching them. Lautrec saw, with horror, that his helmet was off and that his eyes were missing; gouged clean out of their sockets, leaving two, scarred, patches of flesh in their place. The man's mouth was twisted into a maniacal grin, drool dripping from the corner to fall to Ben's shoulder directly below. Beneath his heavy breaths, he giggled: a madman's giggle, soft and uncertain and anguished.
"Cross the room," Lautrec croaked from his suddenly-dry throat and gestured Ben forth. "Cross right now. Right now."
Ben, too young and too inexperienced to obey, turned his head back to follow Lautrec's stare.
Havel pounced.
The room came alive with the heavy landing of the man's feet driving into the ground. Ben had rolled forward at the last moment, Havel's greatshield nearly taking off his head in the process. Ben scrambled forth to his feet and Lautrec wasted no time grabbing and shoving him through the nearby doorway. Havel screamed, pulled up his dragon's tooth, and wrenched it back over his shoulder. Lautrec did not stick around for the rest.
He had only just dashed outside the room when the wall behind him shattered apart like a pane of glass, chunks of stone rocketing past his shoulder in an explosion of chaos. One chunk clipped his shoulder, but his adrenaline was pumping too hard to feel the blow. Instead, he lurched forward to snatch up Ben's arm and pointed the way up a long, steep, inclination that would lead-if memory served him correct-to the boulder room. "Go! There! Now!" Lautrec barked, and this time Ben did not hesitate: he ran, scrambling down a short flight of stairs to leap up and climb to the inclination. Lautrec stole a glance back towards the room and saw Havel peering out from the hole he'd birthed in the wall with a twisted smile on his face, his blind eyes scrunched together in a rage. He charged forth.
Lautrec, out of time, leapt the gap down to the inclinations base. Ben had already climbed it, and when he landed, the boy's hand was extended and ready to aid him. Lautrec took it, allowed himself to be pulled upwards, and broke to a sprint as the THUD of Havel landing behind them bellowed into the curved walls. The man screamed, something exploded, and then his thumps were giving chase.
Ben, younger and more agile, outpaced him up the inclination. By the time Lautrec had caught up with him at its top, he was red-faced and panting, but he had gotten it right: they were in the boulder room. "There!" Lautrec shouted, pointing out a narrow passage in the room's corner. Ben nodded and hurried off. Lautrec rested his hands on his knees to catch his breath and watched as Havel made the climb up towards them. Fight him here, a voice told him. The man wears no helmet. Fight him here and take the mad head off of his mad shoulders. He reached for his shotels.
"ARGH!" Ben's scream wailed from the passage Lautrec had just sent him down.
"ARRGHUAAAAHEEE!" Havel screeched, possibly trying to mimic the boy's pain, and his mad smile widened as he bounded forward with even more haste.
Lautrec released his shotels and darted off to see what had become of the boy. He found Ben in the next room, a crossbow bolt protruding from his left arm as he pressed against the wall, sucking air through his grit teeth and grasping at his wound. Lautrec didn't need to ask what had happened. His eyes moved to the opposite wall, where another hole was etched, a trap that was, apparently, still active.
"We have to keep moving," Lautrec told him.
Ben pushed off the wall, wincing with the effort, but nodding his head in agreement. "Right."
The doorway they'd passed beneath splintered apart as Havel's dragon's tooth drove across it, crumbling the stone foundation around its trim and busting up the wall beside it. Lautrec grabbed the boy's unwounded arm and pulled him along in a sprint. The fortress halls wrapped and wound and eventually spilled them out to another bridge. Massive guillotines like the ones from downstairs swung back and forth overhead, still in operation, and Lautrec cursed as he pulled Ben to a halt before them. "Alright, watch me. Do as I do," he said, stepped to the edge of the bridge, and waited.
Swing, the guillotines came rushing by, a chilly sweep of air accompanying them.
Swing, they came a second time, the short gap to cross beneath them clear to Lautrec.
Swing, they came a third time and he kicked off his heel, dashing as fast as he could to the far end of the bridge.
He made it just in time to feel that cold air brush the back of his neck. He turned, catching his breath, and signaled Ben to do the same.
Ben stepped forward as confident as the the boy could clearly muster and eyed the guillotines, his hand still pressed to his wounded arm. He watched as they came once, twice, and-
-before the third time came, Havel appeared behind him, dragon's tooth clutched in his raised arms above his head. Ben looked back, yelped, and stumbled forth onto the bridge. He's dead, Lautrec thought. But the boy lived. He tumbled to his hands and knees, but between two of the swinging guillotines. He was just thin enough to stand before they took him in two and wobble forth on shaky knees to pass by the next two. He nearly walked right into the last blade, but caught himself on the tips of his toes, losing his balance and spilling forth just as the blade was making its return trip to end his life. Lautrec caught him and shoved him against the wall to still him.
"Your bow," he commanded.
Ben looked puzzled for only a moment before he reached around and yanked the bow from his back. Lautrec took it and shouldered it immediately, eyeing the far end of the bridge where Havel had stepped to and was now glaring across the path hatefully from the blind pits of his eyes.
"Arrows," Lautrec demanded calmly.
Ben ripped his quiver loose and handed it over. Lautrec fasted it to his belt.
"Follow those stairs up and around the bend. There is another bridge. Take it and go right at its end. That will take you outside. Wait for me there." Ben opened his mouth, but Lautrec anticipated him and hastily repeated, "Wait for me there. Now!"
Ben took off running.
Lautrec pulled an arrow from the quiver and nocked the bow at his shoulders, drawing the line tight and taking a deep breath to still his aim. Havel was hopping from foot to foot, licking at his lips, running his fingers along his weapon as if it were his lover. He whimpered then giggled then screamed then whimpered again; the cycle of a man with no sanity left to him. Lautrec took aim at his unarmored head, awaited the guillotines gap, and loosed.
The arrow crossed the bridge clean, but Havel intercepted it with his greatshield at the other end.
Lautrec cursed and nocked again. Is he blind or not? It's impossible to tell. He was ready to loose again when Havel roared a warcry, wrenched back his weapon, and swung it forth with such force, Lautrec felt the gust of wind all the way across the bridge. The dragon's tooth collided with one of the guillotines and the thing screeched as metal bent and twisted and then something snapped. Lautrec watched, mouth agape, as the entire blade went sailing off its hinge, plunging to the fortresses' lower levels below.
One less guillotine to worry about, Havel crept forward from the darkness behind him; his tongue lolling about madly in his mouth as he fixed the next trap with his weapon's aim.
Lautrec loosed the arrow on the off chance it would hit, it didn't, and he dashed off to follow after Ben. The path was, as he remembered, straight forward, and soon enough he had come upon the final bridge of the fortresses' inner chambers. The guillotines here were as dormant and still as the ones on the ground level, and as Lautrec scrambled forth, he slid to his belly and crawled as quickly as he could beneath the first one before standing and breaking into a sprint up to the next.
It was as he was lowering to crawl beneath the second trap when Havel's scream of despair and contempt thundered into the room behind him. He stole a glance back and saw the man rushing forth. He came upon the first guillotine, cocked back his dragon's tooth, and smashed the thing out of his way with such velocity, it sailed into the far wall and stuck there upon impact. Lautrec clawed his way forth, inching beneath the guillotine, and eyeing down the next. He was halfway there when the room exploded with sound and he heard the trap he'd just passed beneath shatter and bend. Havel roared once more and his thumping footsteps rumbled forward.
Lautrec dove for the final guillotine, his chin painfully colliding with the stone bridge beneath it as he landed, and scrambled desperately forward to escape the madman coming up fast behind him. The trap wailed in twisting, breaking, collision as Havel smashed it to bits while Lautrec was still beneath it. Lautrec rose and stumbled forward, feeling the dragon's tooth clipping at his heels. He rounded on the corner, seeing the light of day awaiting him up a flight of stairs, and stumbled.
He collapsed to the floor, the toe of his boot tangled with the edge of the bridge, and landed hard on his bad shoulder. His head smacked the stone floor and the face of a beautiful woman appeared briefly before him, one moment it was Anastacia, the next Quelana, the next Abby, and finally - it was Havel.
The mad man loomed above him, the blind sockets of his eyes fixed down upon Lautrec with twisted delight. He chomped at his teeth, as if biting some unseen stalk of contempt. He shook out his thinning hair and giggled, smiled, whimpered, screamed, screamed, screamed.
Lautrec dug backwards on his elbows to escape the man, but his world had gone fuzzy from his head's collision, and whatever injuries he'd sustained when he'd been thrown from that bridge so long ago had reawakened with a vengeance. He could barely move.
"AAAAARGH!" Havel wailed, raising a hand to claw at his own eye as he moved forth, the dragon's tooth clutched impressively in one hand.
"What did Logan do to you...?" Lautrec whispered, letting himself fall to the stone floor in defeat.
Havel punched at his own chest, whimpered, and took up the dragon's tooth in a two-handed grip. He cocked his head sideways and drool onto his own neck.
It is a good end, Lautrec thought, resting his head to the floor. An end in combat is all a knight could ever truly ask for. Ana... I'm sorry. Though when his head laid back, he felt the floor beneath it shift slightly under his weight. He frowned and turned, his eyes scanning over the slightly raised indentation of floor beneath him.
Havel stepped forward to crush his skull-
-and Lautrec pounded the floor beside his head with his fist.
A trap, still active like the one below, sounded, and an array of crossbow bolts sailed out from a nearby hole in the wall. Havel's back arched as the three attacks took him in quick succession in the rear. He screamed a confused, hateful, sound and turned slightly to face this unknown assailant. Lautrec used the brief window to grab the hilts of his shotels and yank them free. He leaned forward and hooked the two curved blades around Havel's massive ankle, forming a cuff-like hold on the man's leg. Havel turned back to scream at him, but Lautrec dug into the floor with his legs and ripped as hard as he could. Havel's armor was too thick to penetrate, so instead of taking the foot off, his leg came up as if he'd been tripped, and the man's arms pinwheeled to regain his balance.
Lautrec wailed a warcry of his own, forcing himself to clamber to his feet, ignoring the injuries screaming at him from his body and head, and pulled one of Ben's arrows free from its sheath. Havel's mad, blind, eyes landed upon his and the man's balance returned to him.
Lautrec drove the arrow up through Havel's throat. It pierced the soft flesh there, a spray of bright, red, blood spilling loose immediately, and came popping out beside the man's nose. Havel's mouth moved up and down like a fish's, his eye sockets shook with what might have been fear, and then he made a chocked, gurgling sound and went limp.
He fell to the floor, dead, and rolled off the edge to spill the two-hundred foot drop down to the base of Sen's Fortress, where he came to a satisfying plop in the waters below.
Lautrec bent, snatched up his shotels, and sheathed them. He leaned out over the edge and stared into the dark abyss below. Rest now Havel the Rock. He spat, clutched to his wounded shoulder, and limped out of Sen's Fortress.
The day's light outside was so blindingly bright, Lautrec had to shield his eyes as he stepped into the cold snowfall and howling winds that wrapped the fortresses' rooftop. "Ben?" He called, but no answer came. Curse the Gods what now? he thought and rounded the corner to climb a short flight of stairs.
At the top, he made it two steps forward before movement caught his eye. He halted, lifted his head-hand still hovering atop his brow for shade-and squinted forth to the raised section of roof before him.
Ben was there on his knees, a gag in his mouth, a dagger held to his throat.
Holding the dagger was Patches, and crowded around him on either side were two fat men in heavy plate armor and a grinning woman with bright red pigtails. She held a bow shouldered before her, an arrow nocked and pointed at Lautrec.
Patches lives, Lautrec thought bitterly, raising his arms skyward in surrender. And now the Hyena has gathered himself a pack.
...how unfortunate.