Chapter 14: Ebrakhm
7th Lancer, 704 A.S
I don't know how much longer I may be alive. We're losing ground by the day, and while I think we'll be able to give as good as we get here—Ebrakhm Castle's very well defended—I know we can't last forever. I hope there's some way we can escape, obviously. Maybe we can shatter the coalition that Khyron's managed to build or appeal to the Bernese in some sort of last-ditch bargain or something. With every second that passes, though, the prospect becomes less and less likely. This castle may become a grave for all of the Red Shoulders. Perhaps the Revolution itself will be buried here. But even if it does, it won't go without a hell of a fight. Its last stand will etch its name in history for all eternity! Me, the rest of Squad Seven, and every other Red Shoulder remaining on Fibernia has pledged his life to the defense of this stronghold. For every one of us that falls, ten of the King's swine will die as well. I, Kain, Commander of Squad Seven, swear this by what I hold most valuable: Liberty and Reason!
If anyone will find this journal, be they friend or foe, they deserve to hear a full and truthful account of what lead to this battle. Thus, for the sake of truth and the dispelling of lies, here are all the events which lead the Red Shoulders to our last stand.
Our expedition to Caledonia was a failure. We were to meet with Chief Gelm of the Iceaxe Clan, to broker an alliance between them and the Wyvern-riders of Bern, led by Zedal Gustav. Yet their leader was assassinated and the entire tribe attacked us in a rage. We know nothing of what led to this tragedy, save they blamed his death on one of our "whores." Who this could possibly be we do not know—there was one soldier who said she was a "tattooed wench" who burned their chief to death while in bed with him, but I know of not a single Druid or Black Knight, male or female, with a single tattoo anywhere on their body.
In any case, it will be forever a mystery to us. After the tragedy, the fragile trust between the Bernese and the native Caledonians was shattered entirely. Zedal thankfully did not attempt to punish us for our failure, but we had no choice but to leave the island as quickly as we possibly could. We were sent back to Fibernia, with heavy hearts, to report our failure to our commander, Oldnar Posaydal.
And out situation on the larger of the three Isles was equally grim. As much as I hate to compliment a Royalist dog, Khyron of Caerleon is a ferocious fighter, and the Knight General Wayland is a capable leader. They have struck a ceasefire with Pirate Lord Goldeye, and that was enough to convince the other clans of Fibernia to withdraw their support from the Red Shoulders and leave us alone to fight. Ever since then we have been forced back, losing men every hour, retreating without stop. In the north, Oldnars forces were pushed further and further to the east, and almost from the moment my men departed from Caledonia and reached Fibernia, we were harried by Royalist forces, including those reinforcements sent from the mainland! We simply had no choice but to fall back as quickly as possible to our last remaining base: Ebrakhm Valley Castle. Here, we have enough supplies to last us years, and the fortifications we have built should allow us to stay almost any assault. Oldnar claims—and I agree with him—that if we are to hold out for any reasonable stretch of time, we have the best chance of doing so in this castle, and if we are to make any sort of last stand, this place and its defenses offer us the best chance of survival.
On the other hand, we are also trapped. From both the north and south do the Royalist forces press on us. That is not the worst of our troubles, however. What worries us more than anything else is that we seem to have lost our leader.
It happened one week ago. When we all went to sleep, Oldnar had finished giving us a speech, to lift our spirits and assure us that the Royalist wave would break upon the defenses of Ebrakhm castle. When we woke up, he was nowhere to be found! Not in his room, his meeting chambers, or anywhere else in the castle! For the first few days, no-one paid it any heed, assuming quite reasonably that he was busy with organizational duties or had secluded himself to think of some cunning plan. But it has now been a week, the Royalists are drawing ever closer, and we are growing worried, very worried.
Even worse, for me, personally, is that he took Kassa with us. Her last words to me, after listening to Oldnar's speech, was that everything would be alright, and the Revolution would surely triumph. But on the same day Oldnar disappeared, she did as well. Neither I nor any other member of Squad Seven has seen her for any of this time.
Oldnar could not possibly have abandoned us! I am sure he is crafting some stratagem which will certainly lead us to victory. He was one of Paptimus' most trusted men, a Dark mage of unparalleled power, a leader of unquestionable skill, and wholly devoted to the Revolution and our noble ideals. There is no way he would desert our struggle now, much less hand himself over to the King and his befrocked Church dogs. The same applies to Kassa. She is, after all, one of the most powerful Druids among us Red Shoulders. None can match her skill with either shadow or staff. Oldnar must have taken her along because her abilities would ensure the success of his mission. It makes sense they would leave me behind, in order to lead the other Red Shoulders while they're gone. I haven't told the men they've disappeared yet, but if questions arrive I will, and assure them Kassa and Oldnar are working on something which will lead us to victory.
Yes, they definitely must be on some clandestine mission of sabotage or diplomacy. If they have not told me or anyone else in Squad Seven, it is because their purpose requires the utmost secrecy. This journal will be my only breach of trust: If someone finds it, it will be proof that not a word of my friend's mission escaped my lips in life, for this record shall be pried from my body only in death.
-X-
Report of Khyron Caerleon to His Majesty's Etrurian Government, ONLY for the eyes of King Galahad, his rightful descendants, his lawfully-appointed regents, or his loyal and rightfully designated Generals:
10th Lancer, 704 A.S
I am, as you know, ever eager to carry out my duties without the least hesitation or question. The slightest bit of doubt in the service of my beloved liege is LITERALLY inconceivable to me! Yet recent events have been so utterly confusing, disheartening, worrying, burdensome, (series of indecipherable scribbles) LOATHSOME that I MUST give you a full and unvarnished record of what transpired, unbelievable as it seem! It is the only way, my beloved liege, to prove that my loyalty to both you AND the Church (you will see why the second part is important) is unimpeachable, and if anyone tries to traduce me, ESPECIALLY if they are from the Church (you will see why they may want to do so by the end of this report) you will be able to deny their slanders quickly and irrefutably. With no further ado, then, for your perusal I shall write down the events which transpired on the 8th Lancer, 704 A.S, two weeks before our final assault on Ebrakhm Castle.
Khyron hadn't the slightest idea of what they were doing here, in this unhappy shanty-town near the eastern edge of the Ebrakhm mountain range. It probably had something with that strange letter Serapino had received a few days ago. Yes, the silly little monk had his uses, but he could be so annoying at times—why, ever since he'd gotten that missive he seemed to be frightened of everything, including his own shadow! Granted, Khyron had no idea of what the letter said, but it couldn't have been that bad. In any case, he had also received a strange message himself—Archbishop Gosterro had contacted him via crystal ball again, telling him there was a very important rendezvous to be had in this area, at the small church, specifically, and the fate of Khyron's mission itself could hang in the balance.
The building was nothing impressive—a small, one-story stone affair that wouldn't have been out of place in any small hamlet in Etruria—but compared to the rest of the wooden hovels this village consisted of it might as well have been a monument. Khyron wasn't sure if it was inhabited. In fact, the entire village seemed to be deserted, which wasn't an uncommon sight on the Isles; constant bandit attacks, the vagaries of mining, and disease meant there were innumerable "ghost towns" scattered all throughout these lands. Still, Gosterro had no reason to lie, and if he said someone was waiting for him in this church, there would certainly be someone waiting for him. It was also probably not an ambush, either; this was why Khyron was comfortable taking just Serapino and Levin (ever since the affair with Kelles, he had been convinced the bard's songs were as useful in combat as they were at festivals) along with him. Barim and Wayland had been left behind to take care of army preparations for the upcoming siege of Ebrakhm Valley Castle.
He knocked on the wooden doors to the church; when no answer was forthcoming he opened the doors and strode in. No dust rose to greet him—the first sign that someone had indeed been here, and recently—but the interior was very dark (its windows were boarded) and it took Khyron's eyes a moment to adjust.
When they did, he saw his target.
His targets, as it were. A man and a woman were sitting quietly in one of the pews; neither of whom he recognized. The man seemed vaguely familiar, as if Khyron had heard of one fitting his description before, but the woman was entirely unknown to him; her most distinguishing traits being her pretty face, ample chest, and long black hair. Both were dressed in humble brown robes which would not be out of place among travelers or pilgrims anywhere on Elibe.
"You are Lord Khyron, Mage General of Etruria, I presume?" When he heard Khyron's entry, the man got up, taking his companion's hand and lifting her up as well. Both of them bowed courteously. "It is an honor to meet you. I am grateful beyond words that you've agreed to grace a pair of humble supplicants with your presence."
"Spare me the pleasantries," Khyron snapped. "There's something afoot. Archbishop Gosterro himself would not have bid me come here if you were nothing more than a pair of pilgrims. Who are you, and what's your business?"
The man's face curled in what could have been a smile. "You're as direct as they've always said you are, my lord. No point wasting time, then.
"My name is Oldnar Posaydal, commander of the remaining Red Shoulders on the Western Isles. This lovely young woman is my…wife, Kassa. We wish to defect."
No words came from Khyron's mouth—only a sharp intake of breath indicated the extent to which he had been shocked.
"Again, we wish to defect," Oldnar added hastily. "We have grown weary of war and reject entirely the beliefs for which we once fought. We have changed, truly! The light of Elimine has pierced the darkness in our hearts. We know now the misery our campaign has caused, and wish to make up for our crimes by devoting ourselves, bodies and souls, to the noble Khyron of Caerleon, emissary of the will of both King and Church."
"You…" Khyron breathed, face beginning to redden, "You! You think I'm actually going to belive that?! Worthless, faithless cur! You die, here and now!"
"No! No!" Faster than Khyron could have expected, Serapino darted out from behind him and jumped in front of Oldnar, holding out his arms to protect them.
"Damn you, monk! Have you turned traitor?! Get out of my way or I'll burn you along with the Rebels!"
"I-I can't do that, milord," sniffed Serapino. "Please, listen to me! The letter I received the other day came straight from His Excellency himself! It told me to protect these two with my life, if necessary! Th-their desire for repentance is sincere, Lord, it has to be! Otherwise the Church wouldn't extend to them Her protection!"
"Addlepated child! Do you have any idea how much misery this man has caused? How many good men have died because of him and his Red Shoulders? The only "penance" he deserves is death! Death! Do you hear me? You're standing in the way of justice, and if you don't move now, I will hold you every bit as responsible as this vermin, and I will render unto you the exact same judgement!"
"Respectfully, Lord Khyron," said Levin, speaking up for the first time, "it's not his fault. Put yourself in his shoes: Of course he has a duty to obey you, as you are the Mage General of his homeland. At the same time, though, he's a believer in Elimine's Church. If the Archbishop of that Church has told him he must defend this man, what other choice does he have but to obey, even if that means defying you? As great as the Mage General may be, he must still kneel before an Archbishop, lest he lose the favor of both God and King, yes?"
The trembling Serapino looked at Levin with the most grateful expression conceivable, while Oldnar looked on with an equally flat, stony expression—except for that slight upturn at one of the corners of his mouth indicating his pleasure, and that alone was almost enough to inflame Khyron's anger far enough to burn him (and the monk defending him) on the spot. Khyron had not forgotten the smug expression on the blackheart Trunicht's face when he'd brought the Citadel down, framing Khyron for the murder of the civilians imprisoned there. That expression was very, very similar to the one Oldnar wore now, and Khyron realized why those vermin were such close friends.
"I…is there not a single honorable man among the Red Shoulders?" he spat through gritted teeth, his astonishment almost as clear as his rage. "No? Not a one?! I know you filth are nothing but the most execrable villains Elibe has ever seen, but surely you cannot be so entirely, irredeemably lacking in even the slightest bit of valor! Is there absolutely no lie you're not willing to chant, no oath you're not willing to break, no depths to which you can't sink?"
The black-haired beauty next to him did not break her silence, but did bow her head respectfully, indicating she accepted the Mage General's harsh rebuke. Her companion, however, did not.
"I am trying to redeem myself, Lord Khyron," said Oldnar calmly. "I admit I am far, far deep into the darkness. May I at least not attempt to claw my way out?"
"I'm sure he's sincere, milord," Serapino blubbered. "Please, spare him! He and the girl have no weapons and came here unarmed, just to show their goodwill! Th-that's worth something, right?! Please, Lord Khyron, I don't know what I'd do with myself if you dirtied your hands killing those who can't fight back!"
"Very well," growled Khyron, the appeal to his soldier's honor finally winning him over. "Very well! You don't deserve the satisfaction of watching me disgrace myself by killing an unarmed foe. However, there must be some sort of explanation for your sudden change of heart. I'm not so foolish as to just take you at your word. Let's see what your "patron" Gosterro has to say about this!"
He reached into his traveling pack and whipped out the scrying crystal which kept him in touch with his Church handlers. "Serapino, Levin, keep a close eye on those two. Don't let them move an inch! If they so much as twitch, I'll incinerate them where they stand!"
Oldnar and Kassa seemed to heed this threat: Both of them stayed absolutely still as Khyron reached out to Gosterro with the crystal's magic. After a few moments, the hard, wizened face appeared in the orb's smoky depths.
"Ah, Khyron," said the Archbishop, sounding distinctly satisfied. "I take it you've received my gift?"
"Gift? Gift?!" Khyron now seemed as angry at Gosterro as he was at Oldnar. "What treachery is this? How could you possibly expect me to treat with Red Shoulder vermin!"
"Be rational, Khyron," retorted Gosterro angrily. "Oldnar is far more valuable to you alive than dead. Do you have any idea how useful his knowledge will be in combat? He knows every last nook and corner of Castle Ebrakhm, every last piece of equipment his forces own, and the capabilities of every man in the Red Shoulders. With his advice you'll be able to destroy the rebels and take their castle within a day! Much more importantly, his testimony will bring an end to the war on the Isles entirely."
"Entirely? What the devil do you mean?"
"Even after the Red Shoulders fall, you'll still have to contend with the Bernese on Caledonia and the natives all over the Isles, yes? Well, after what Oldnar tells you becomes common knowledge, all three of these forces—the Etrurians, the Bernese, and the native pirate and warrior clans—will be united against a common enemy."
"Explain!"
"Oldnar, if you please…"
As if on cue, the former Red Shoulder nodded. "To make a long story short, Mage General, the Red Shoulders have intentionally set all of the powers on the Western Isles against each other in the hopes of destabilizing the entire continent and plunging it into chaos, after which we would rise to take control of everything. You've heard of recent events on Caledonia, haven't you? The resumption of hostilities between the native clans and the Bernese occupation forces?"
"I've received reports. They've been strange and contradictory. The Bernites were on the verge of creating an alliance between them and the natives against my Royalists before something happened and all hell broke loose."
"That was the plan of the Red Shoulders. Our best men, led by Squad Seven—an autonomous team much like your Autonomous Company, during the war—assassinated one of the native chiefs allied with Bern and slaughtered his entire tribe, framing Bern for the crime. The plan was to have the warrior clans and General Gustav's forces slaughter each other, which would allow rebel cells hidden in Bern to rise up and overthrow the regime while it was preoccupied with the distant Western Isles. It would be easy for us to do so, as so many of Bern's best men, including one of its Wyvern Generals, would be so far away."
"S…such audacity," Khyron gaped, quite genuinely awestruck.
"Our second objective was the enslavement or extermination of the natives of the Western Isles. That was another reason we set the men of Caledonia against those of Bern, hoping they would destroy each other. It was also why we failed to assist the natives in their assault on Jutes—they would be weakened and would be easier prey in the future.
"One of my top leaders, a man named Kain, was the most enthusiastic proponent of this plan. He wanted to kill every man, woman, and child here. According to him, only the Red Shoulders were 'worthy' enough to live here! His bloodlust shocked even me, and was what made me reconsider my actions. I understood there was a monster in my ranks, so I fled to the arms of the Church, hoping to repent." Oldnar bowed again. "I hope I'll be given that chance?"
"You will," said Gosterro from his crystal ball, "do not worry, you will. Now, Khyron, make the necessary arrangements for Oldnar and his wife's safe travel. And ask as much as you can about the defenses and layout of the last Red Shoulder stronghold. You may be able to take it without the loss of a single man, depending on how much Oldnar can give!"
The image in the crystal ball winked out. And when Khyron raised his eyes away from it, he saw Oldnar smiling at him, that smug expression threatening to make him explode with rage.
But as he always did, as he knew he must, for yet another time in his life, Khyron restrained himself.
-X-
You'll be with me soon.
The voice echoed through Kain's head, so loudly it was almost painful. He staggered, gripping the upper wall of the rampart on which he stood to steady himself. It would have been terrible if he'd fell; it was quite a drop from the highest levels of Castle Ebrakhm to the lowest. Leitner, standing beside him, along with Kessler, Zalf, Jann, and Deckham, looked at him with concern.
"Are y' alright, Kain?"
"Y-yeah, I'm fine," he said. "J…just vertigo, that's all." Kain didn't say anything about the voice. He had no idea where it had come from or why he was hearing it. He hoped he wasn't losing his mind, especially since this would be the most important battle he'd ever fight.
"Well, I hope so, 'cause it's gonna start soon. Think the plan's still happenin'?" Leitner pointed out into the distance, to the south. Kain could see a large, loud mass approaching—he knew those were the Loyalists. Encouragingly enough, though, he also saw shapes in the sky behind them. Those were the Bernites—and according to the letter he'd received one week ago from Oldnar, they were allies.
As his friends watched, he drew from a pouch at his belt a small, folded scrap of parchment. Unfurling it, he read its contents once again:
17th Lancer
For Squad Seven only
I, Oldnar Posaydal, apologize for leaving you so suddenly. Kassa gives her apologies as well, Suffice it to say our mission, which was successful, left us no time for farewells. None of that matters, however. The important thing is the orders I have for you:
Kassa and I have successfully parleyed with both Bern and the Natives. They're back on our side. While the Royalists are still advancing towards Ebrakhm, the pirates, warrior clans, and Bernese will strike at them from behind just when they're in sight of the castle—they won't be expecting it. Your orders are to keep Ebrakhm as locked up as tightly as possible and ensure that every last one of our men is safe within its walls by the time the Royalists near. This will ensure no-one gives away our plans. Kassa and I will meet with you once your defense of the castle is successful.
Signed,
Oldnar Posaydal
"Sounds too good to be true," sniffed Zalf. "How'd he and Kassa pull it off? Both the Bernmen and the natives hated us as much as you could imagine the last time we saw 'em."
"Don't you trust Oldnar?" Jann laughed. "You've always been a grim one, but now's not the time. Oldnar's as trusty as Kain is! Paptimus wouldn't have appointed a fool or a coward to lead the Red Shoulders. Now's not the time for doubt, friend! Have faith in our commander!"
"Faith's not something Red Shoulders are supposed to have, Jann."
"Not as if we have much else," Deckham laughed, trying to back up his friend, but the joke fell flat. Jann didn't notice or care, though.
He simply shrugged his ebon-armored shoulders and laughed again, never having been much for philosophy. "Trust, then. All I know is that I trust Oldnar. And if any of us didn't, we wouldn't be here!"
That was perhaps debatable, but now wasn't the time to argue about it. "Alright, we'll have to assist the Bernese and the natives soon." Kain raised a hand and prepared to conjure the giant purple sigil in the sky which was the signal for the Red Shoulders to break out and advance, but Leitner stopped him.
"Hey, hold on. Look at that," he said, still staring at the approaching army and the Wyvern Knights flitting above it. "I don't think they're attacking the Royalists."
"What?!" A dark cloud fell over all of the men of Squad Seven as they rushed forwards for a better look. The Royalist army was approaching, yes, and there was a cloud of Wyvern knights above it, true, but combat had not been initiated. In fact, it seemed as if the sky-riders were advancing with Khyron's army, not against it.
Even worse, the composition of the army below them was growing clearer. As they came within sight, Kain noticed they were not all in the colors of the Etrurian army. Many of them were clad in green, red, orange, and many other colors of shabby clothing, most wielding large axes and crude swords which were the hallmarks of native Western Isles craftsmanship.
It seemed for all the world like all three forces were…allied with one another, not at odds.
"Th…this doesn't make sense," said Kain, breaking out into a cold sweat. "They can't be all against us…or at least not on the same side! There's no way Bern and Etruria would ever work together!"
"It sure as hell looks that way," replied Zalf, a note of panic in his voice. "Damn it, they're almost here! I'm not just gonna sit here and wait to die!"
"Wait, Zalf!" Kessler reached grabbed him before he could run off to man one of the ballistae on the rampart. "The Royalists are certainly our foes, but we don't know what the Bernese or the natives are planning. We shouldn't strike at them first, at the very least!"
"Shut up, you idiot!" Zalf was very clearly losing control. "They're all against us! What else could—"
"Enough." Calmly, without the slightest trace of anger or fear in his voice, Jann strode up to the Sniper and placed both his hands firmly on his friend's shoulders. His grip wasn't painful, but it did prevent Zalf from making any more movements. "Just wait, Zalf. Faith or no, Oldnar wouldn't betray us. You know that. I'm sure this is just part of his plan. Wait for the Wyvern Knights to arrive and everything will be sorted out."
That wouldn't be happening.
"They're here!" yelled Kessler, pointing to the sky. Bern's Wyvern Knights had surged forwards, disregarding the possibility of any attack; Kain had not cast the sigil to attack and his forces, showing admirable discipline, had held their fire. The Bernese had apparently anticipated this and had now advanced into the airspace directly above the castle itself, behind its walls. Indeed, for a moment Kain allowed himself to hope that Jann's optimism was not misplaced. The sky-riders were soaring over all their heads, but they hadn't shown any sign of hostility. Perhaps Kassa and Oldnar truly had won them over, and the natives as well. Perhaps Khyron was here to surrender his army…
Kain allowed himself to hold these happy hopes, and he might not have been the only one. Kessler shouted for joy and waved at the incoming Bernese, thinking they were on his side.
His cheering stopped abruptly when a Javelin streaked down and embedded itself in his chest.
He didn't even have time to scream, nor did his friends.
Pure reflex was the only thing that saved Leitner and Kain. When another hail of Javelins fell from the Wyvern Knights following the first, the two of them leapt away, back towards the stairwell leading to the roof from which they'd arrived. Deckham, Jann, and Zalf were not so lucky. The Hero raised his shield to block several of the thrown spears, and all of them just bounced off of Jann's heavy armor. Zalf, on the other hand, attempted to follow Kain and Leitner, darting backwards towards the stairs, but wasn't quite quick enough. A Javelin managed to punch through his leg, and he fell down with a cry.
In front of them, a similar scene was unfolding across all of Castle Ebrakhm. The Red Shoulders were taken completely by surprise, and only now beginning to muster a counterattack, but it was not enough. The Wyvern Riders descended and cut down the dark mages with unparalleled savagery, and even worse, they were supported by the Royalists. The burning energies of Bolting spells crashed down from the sky, further scattering and demoralizing the rebels, who couldn't understand why Etrurians were siding with Bernites.
Kain and Leitner couldn't focus much on the progress of the battle as a whole, though—they were too occupied with saving their own lives. Kessler was already dead, but they had a responsibility to rescue their friends. Zalf couldn't move, but Deckham and Jann quickly got into position around him to shield him from any more attacks. Kain and Leitner cast spells of Darkness into the air; they didn't hit anything but succeeded in driving the Wyvern Knights away.
However, they didn't manage to drive off the passengers those Knights were carrying.
The lizard-riders veered left and right, farther away from the men on the roof, but lowered their altitudes, and as they did so Kain and Leitner heard the sounds of men jumping from saddles and landing on the stone rooftop. They looked around to see magic-users dressed in the white tunics and blue, red, or purple capes of Etrurian sages. The Bernese were actually permitting Etrurians to ride behind them! This was yet another shock to the already beleaguered Squad Seven—
And shocked them long enough for Jann and Deckham to fall.
The shield of the Hero and the armor of the General were enough to ward off most physical attacks, but not magic. The Sages who had just landed flipped open their books and pointed at the two men, and before Leitner and Kain could ready more spells, Jann and Deckham disappeared in huge columns of eldritch fire, their screams drowned out by the roar of magic. When the flames dissipated, the only things that remained were ashes floating around burnt pieces of scrap metal.
"This is your fault, Kain," Zalf screamed as he lay bleeding on the castle roof. He managed to cry out, "Damn you, damn you, damn y—" before another blast from a Sage silenced him forever.
"Zalf…" said Kain, not entirely comprehending what he'd just saw. "Zalf! Jann! Deckham! No! NOOOOO!" He opened his black tome once again and prepared to rush forth at the gathered Sages and Wyvern Knights on the rooftop, but fortunately for him, his Leitner stopped him from committing suicide.
"We gotta get outta here," yelled Leitner, restraining his screaming, half-mad best friend. "Dammit, Kain, there's no way we c'n win! We gotta run!"
"No, no, no—mmf!"
Leitner summoned a globe of darkness over the entrance to the spiral staircase he and Kain had just entered—it wasn't strong, but it would frighten the Bernites and their Sage friends for a few moments, at least. He then clapped a hand over Kain's mouth and dragged him further down as quickly as possible—and as far as he could, before Kain broke free.
"Damn you, Leitner, they just killed our friends! Jann, Deckham, Kessler, and Zalf, they're all dead! I need revenge! We both need revenge, don't you—"
"We're not gonna get shit if we're dead! We gotta run f'r now, don't y' see? No way we can survive 'gainst th' Bernites, th' natives, and th' Royalists! Ah!" Turning back, he fired off yet another globe behind them, a pair of loud screams indicating he'd hit some pursuers. He gave Kain a shove, and the two Black Knights rushed down, Kain finally managing to see the wisdom in Leitner's words. He wanted revenge, and an explanation for this betrayal, too, but dying in some sort of last stand here and now would result in receiving neither.
"So then where the hell do you propose we go?!" yelled Kain as he burst out into the third floor of Ebrakhm Valley Castle, shutting and bolting the wooden door of the staircase behind them.
"Jus' follow me," hissed Leitner as an axe bit through the wood of the door. Kain did so, running right behind him through the stone corridors of the castle. The fighting had already reached this level of their "impregnable" fortress; several Bernese Wyvern Knights had crashed through the windows, along with their native and Royalist passengers. Even as he blasted any he came across with his Dark magic as he ran, Kain still couldn't believe what he was seeing. How could Etrurians and Bernites possibly be working together, much less with the natives? Had Oldnar and Kassa failed that badly? The letter they sent said they'd succeeded. Had they betrayed the Rebel cause, then? But there was no way Kassa, his dearest Kassa, could betray him or her friends like that. Squad Seven was almost family, after all.
He hadn't much time to ponder these questions, though. They didn't bother helping with the fighting—it was already over. Pretty much every Rebel on this floor was dead, and they both assumed the situation was even worse outside. Thus, Kain and Leitner concentrated on stealth, avoiding the Bernese and Etrurian forces prowling through the castle, searching for survivors.
They managed to evade detection long enough to reach a strange destination—the library on the third floor. A pair of Sages was already there, rifling through the old texts and looking for loot. The pair of Black Knights blasted them into dust with their Flux spells before they could raise a general alarm. However, more soldiers would almost certainly follow them.
It seemed like a strange place to flee to, but Kain realized what Leitner was planning. "Leitner…you…are you running away?"
"Nothin' else we c'n do! Dammit, Kain, listen! We die here, Squad Seven dies with us. We run, we live t' fight another day, and we can get revenge then! Which d'you want?"
Kain let out a low, pained growl, sorrow choking his throat, but he couldn't argue with that logic. He thus took the lead, and headed over to a shelf near the back of the room.
As commander of Squad Seven, he'd been given a full map of Castle Ebrakhm, and had familiarized himself with every nook and cranny of the fortress. Including its secret ones. As much of a cliché as it was, there was a hidden passage inside this library, meant for a quick and stealthy escape just for situations like this. Kain pulled out one of the books on the shelf, revealing what seemed to be a keyhole in the wall behind it. He reached into his pocket and took out the tiny, oddly-shaped key which fit into that hole, and then turned it. As if it were a normal wooden door, the shelf swung back, revealing a small tunnel—just barely higher than Kain and Leitner themselves—that was completely unlit. From the light of the room behind them, though, the pair could see a pair of unlit torches set on stands along with a bag of supplies on the floor below them, obviously meant to aid any escapees on the journey out of Ebrakhm Valley Castle and through the winding, labyrinthine tunnels connecting it to the Mountain itself.
They could hear noises from the hallway behind them—more enemy reinforcements would be arriving soon. Kain and Leitner darted into the tunnel, lit the two torches, slide the shelf-door, shut behind them, and, with Kain holding the map of the castle (which also depicted the tunnels), began their exodus.
::Linear Notes::
God damn! Quite a chapter, eh? I bet not many people were expecting that. Well, just keep reading…next chapter's gonna be even harder :o