Chapter eight
The last news he heard on the matter before leaving on his... mission was that the army was already aware of his being alive, they had been for a long time, and they weren't very pleased. As for his mission, it involved finding a certain Keenan, a barbarian necromancer, and killing him. No one had listened when he had said that he wasn't the man for the job, that he had entered the palace out of sheer luck. Wherever Keenan was, he was well protected. He imagined how much easier this job would be with a properly calibrated Barret M281 and a single, solitary depleted uranium round. They had given him a sword (not the sword, apparently, it would be made especially for him by a wallmaker, making it priceless...), boots and a cloak, neither of which were too fine either. They had given him a mail shirt, and he also had a little purse full of silver pieces. Then they had driven him to a hill and told him to make his own way to a fortress a mile to the east. There was a tall hill around halfway there; Law had been pretty good with the Barret, from that hill, he would have been able to put the single, solitary depleted uranium round into Keenan's head, and blow it clean off. He obviously didn't have a Barret; he would have had a hard time getting away in that universe, but in this one, he had to get up close with a sword. This mission was a suicide mission. He couldn't really think of a good reason to carry it out, but he started walking anyway. Law realised that for the first time in a long time, he was actually afraid; he wasn't sure if he should be happy or not. The truth was that this little trip into the Old Kingdom had changed his life; whether or not he lived, whether or not he returned home, he would have to kiss certain parts of his life goodbye. His career in the military; his guaranteed position in an engineering firm once his service was over, a couple of lady friends back home. He sighed wistfully, and concentrated on his job.
There were tracks in the dirt; deep imprints of hobnailed boots. An armed patrol. He stopped imagining what his first meal when he arrived home would be (Canneloni), and forced himself to focus again. He was around a kilometer from the fortress, assuming that Old Kingdom miles were the same as miles everywhere else, and assuming that his conversions were accurate. He followed the tracks quickly and quietly, being careful to stick to the frozen areas so as not to leave footprints. They led directly to a track, which curved gently from his left to his right when he arrived. Law crossed the track and crouched behind a shrub on the other side. He waited a few minutes to make a decision about which way to go; no guards came for him to follow, so he just went to his left. He kept his eyes opened, and moved parallel to the track; he didn't dare go through the woods, there were probably bear traps or something in there. He spotted a guard tower around the bend and went deeper into the woods. There were lots of twigs and pine cones and stuff on the ground, but since there didn't seem to be any guards in the tower, he wasn't overly concerned with making too much noise. At the guard tower, the track went off in two other directions; it continued, and also went into the centre of what Law imagined would be a big circle; the centre was his destination.
The towers and the traps had made him expect a high efficiency military structure, but the so called fortress was more of an extra well guarded castle, which suited him fine. The castle struck him as the type that they had in the educational books he used to read as a kid; with cross sections that showed a secret entry/exit or five. That would be ideal as an entrance, but the assassination had to happen tonight; he would never find it in time. He had approached the castle from one of the sides, as he went around it, he saw that the moat was filled with hundreds of sharpened stakes instead of water. He searched for the front way in, and found it on the other side of the castle; it was protected by an old school drawbridge, and apart from the secret entrances that would have to exist, this was the only way in or out. He hadn't been spotted yet, so he found himself a nice bush with a direct line of sight to the drawbridge, a mere thirty metres from the drawbridge. The drawbridge was being lowered. Law peered around the thick foliage of the bush; a dozen guards or so were being allowed to enter. The drawbridge hit the dirt with a loud thud, and the guards passed over the hardwood with their hobnailed boots. The drawbridge was slowly raised again; Law made a run for it when it was at around one meter's height; it was being raised so slowly that by the time he reached it about four seconds after getting up, it was still below shoulder height. He grabbed the drawbridge as it passed, and shuffled over to the right chain, then he moved hand over hand on the chain. The opening that was slowly reeling the chain in was a square with meter sides; easily large enough for him to crawl through. The bridge was starting to move faster; Law stopped moving hand over hand and waited. He swung his legs into the opening and held onto the chain. He was dragged into the opening; once in safely, he let go of the chain and started crawling.
The opening stank of decaying flesh; Law could already guess that the drawbridge wasn't powered by mules. He shuffled through the tunnel like opening, and found he was right, it was powered by the dead. He could see them chained to a wheel, still walking, still reelingthe drawbridge in. The drawbridge hit the stone wall with a dull thud; the dead went limp. Law would have described them as lifeless, but... A big guy with an axe walked by the opening that Law would obviously have to exit from. Red cloak, red leather boots. He walked by again and Law edged closer to escape. The plan was to leave the room noiselessly. He would be able to garrote or knife this guard silently, but it was probably in his best interests to let him live. For now. He might be missed. Law watched closely; the guard spent fourteen seconds to the left of the opening and three to the right. He exited the opening, and the room when the guard had his back turned, without being seen. He emerged in a long hall; blue carpet, gold trimming. There were tapestries and paintings on the wall; fields, forests, mountains... He passed several doors, all of which were locked and silent. As he moved down the hall, the sound of celebrating got louder and louder. He tried door after door; they were all locked. He finally reached a door that seemed to have the celebrating behind it. It seemed to have quietened a bit though. The door was unlocked; he walked into a banquet hall and closed the door behind him, and no one saw him enter. A minstrel, or a bard or something was singing a ballad about someone-iel's triumph over the dead hordes. Not Sabriel or Lirael, he knew those names. Everyone in the room was entranced by her story and her sweet singing voice. Law scoped the room out; the guy at the head of the table seemed especially interested. He was a tall guy, a bandolier across his chest was making his meal kind of difficult. Keenan. They had described Keenan to him in general terms: tall, pale, red hair, bells across the chest. He spotted a dark corner that would provide a better view of Keenan. He made his way there and watched Keenan and those around him. Six others in the room wore bells, and all of them sat at the same table as Keenan.
The banquet ended a long time after Law entered the room, possibly two hours. Law managed to steal some chicken and a mug of ale to wash it down with; he hoped it had a low alcohol content. He saw Keenan and the minstrel leave the hall and followed. A guard had followed ahead of them, but when he had heard Law, Law had hit him hard enough to put him in a coma and had dragged him into a dark corner, there was no shortage of those. The guard had been carrying four throwing knives. Law had commandeered them, and had hurried after Keenan and the minstrel. The hall was pretty long, and they were well ahead of him. Law decided to take a risk and started jogging. Someone screamed ahead, and he heard light footsteps around the corner. There was a suit of classical knight's armour in an alcove to his left, and to his right. He ducked behind the one to his left. The minstrel passed him, and he could hear that Keenan followed. Keenan passed before he realised it. He drew his bayonet.
"Everything all right sir?" someone asked, "We found this one running and caught her for you."
"Yes. Release her and carry on." His husky reply. Law peeked out of his alcove. No one in sight. He emerged from his hiding place and ran down the hall Keenan and the minstrel had just come from. He scanned left and right as he ran, until he found a door that was ajar. He entered, and when his eyes adjusted to the poor light, he saw why the minstrel had screamed.
Dead people, chained to the walls by their throats. They were in an advanced state of decomposition, and Law didn't doubt that they were of the walking variety. He heard a snarl behind him; one was attacking. It reached out for him with rotten, gnarled hands. He kicked it in the jaw, and the metal collar around it's neck restrained it as it swung viciously into the wall and collapsed. He heard Keenan and the minstrel approaching; Keenan was sweet talking the bard. Law saw another door and tried the doorknob. It was unlocked. He entered the room and closed it behind him. This room was nothing like he had expected; there was a rack of wicked looking weapons above the hearth, but other than that, this room was as normal as they came... in this kingdom. There were bookshelves, a desk and a bed. He would fit under the bed. He crawled beneath it, and he could still hear Keenan outside the first door.
"Close your eyes if you like, my pretty," he said, "I promise, no harm will come to you." Right. This guy was bloody creepy. Law still clutched his bayonet into his hands. He was under the bed of the man he was meant to assassinate, and no one had any idea. Maybe the Abhorsen had picked the right man after all...
"So, you see, my pretty, They are there for our protection!" Keenan said as he entered the room.
"Oh, my, your room is beautiful! Look at the view!" the minstrel had a musical voice, very nice. He got the impression that they would have sex now. He was right. It didn't take long for them to get started, or to finish. Law felt dirty. He could hear light snoring on the bed above him, and gently felt the mattress. The minstrel was a pretty little thing, barely twenty one by his guesstimate. Keenan struck him as slightly older than that, and he was a tall, solid guy. He didn't want to kill the minstrel, so he started quietly shuffling out of his hiding place. Evil laughter filled the room and Law froze. The snore turned into a gurgle, and an arterial spray covered part of the wall, and half of Law's face. He ducked back, just in time to miss being squashed by the minstrel's corpse. Keenan laughed again and Law felt his weight shift on the bed. Shoulders about here.
"Ha ha, motherfucker." he whispered, more to himself, and plunged his bayonet into the mattress. The fifty centimetre razor sharp blade cleared the mattress and bone in Keenan's back easily. Law thrust another fifteen times and emerged, face covered in blood. He looked dead. Just to be sure, Law broke Keenan's neck and stabbed him in the heart, one more time. Then he cleaned his face and bayonet on the sheets and left the room. As the blood pounding in his head subsided, hebegan tohear the sound of chaos tearing through the castle.
