For four gruelling days, Zan tracked the trail left by the Red Fang bandits and their horses. The path wound through dense forests, over rocky terrain, and across icy mountain streams. Exhausted yet unwavering, she survived on herbs and small game snared during the nights, and birds she hunted by throwing stones with deadly precision. Each step brought her closer to her goal, and each night she grew more determined to rescue Tisara.
On the fifth day, as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the rugged landscape, she finally arrived at an old castle. Nestled deep within the mountains, the castle was a relic from the Koth-Hyrkanian warring period, abandoned for many ages until the bandits claimed it as their own. The crumbling stone walls, patched with rough wooden palisades, loomed ominously before her, a ghost of its former glory now serving as a den of thieves.
Zan crouched low behind a cluster of large rocks, her eyes fixed on the decrepit yet formidable structure. The high walls and watchtowers made a direct assault impossible, even if she had a retinue of soldiers by her side. She pulled an old prayer candle from her pouch, its wax delicate beneath her trembling fingers. She had found it in the rubble of the temple village, a grim reminder of her mission. Carefully, she prepared a small incendiary device using pine resin, tinder, and dry sticks, all collected during her journey. Attaching the device to the candle's base, she set the wick to burn slowly, providing her with the necessary delay to find Tisara and the looted relics before chaos erupted.
She scaled the rough outer wall with ease, her movements as agile and silent as the whispering wind. Inside the castle, the air was thick with the scent of unwashed bodies and stale ale. Rowdy laughter and the clinking of mugs indicated the bandits were relaxed, unaware of the shadow in their midst. Zan set the candle in a hidden nook near the castle's eastern wall, where large, dry wooden beams supported part of the crumbling structure. The flickering flame cast eerie shadows on the stone and timber.
Moving through the winding corridors, Zan kept to the darkest corners. She paused behind a stack of crates, her eyes narrowing as two guards ambled past, engrossed in a drunken conversation.
'Can you believe we had to kill all those nuns?' one guard grumbled, his voice slurred. 'And he keeps that one girl for his own enjoyment. At least he could share.'
The other guard scoffed. 'You know he isn't much for sharing. Likes to keep his toys to himself, up in his fancy tower.'
The first bandit let out a barking laugh. 'King of the castle, now with his 'queen'.'
They both laughed as they turned a corner and disappeared.
Zan's heart twisted at their words, a mix of horror and relief washing over her. Tisara was still alive, but her situation was dire. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her dagger. It was a reliable weapon but inadequate for the confrontation she anticipated. As the guards moved out of sight, she crept into a nearby storage room, her hunger gnawing at her. Her eyes scanned the cluttered space, finding nothing to eat. Then her heart leapt at the sight of a sword and shield leaning against a wall. She approached them cautiously, her ears straining for any sounds of approaching bandits.
The sword felt balanced in her hand, the weight familiar and reassuring. The shield, though a bit worn, was sturdy. Armed now with proper weapons, she felt a surge of confidence. Zan slipped back into the corridor, her new armaments giving her the edge she needed.
Navigating deeper into the fort, Zan knew she had to find the leader's tower. Her path was lit by sporadic torches that cast shimmering shadows on the uneven stone floors. The ancient walls echoed with the faint sounds of bandits carousing, but she kept to the darkest corners, avoiding detection.
Arriving at the inner courtyard, she soon spotted the tower, its imposing silhouette dominating the skyline of the fort. Guards were stationed at the entrance, their alert posture indicating that this was no ordinary watch. Realising a direct approach was impossible, Zan scrutinised the tower's exterior for an alternative route.
Her eyes settled on a cracked brattice high up the tower, its stones broken and jagged. Taking a deep breath, she began her ascent, climbing the rough stone exterior with practiced ease, as she had climbed the cliffs and mountain walls of northern Shem in search for eaglets to tame when she was a young girl. Her fingers found holds in the ancient masonry, and her feet balanced on narrow ledges as she made her way up. The wind whipped around her, threatening to dislodge her grip, but she pressed on with clenched teeth.
Finally reaching the small balcony with weary limbs, she pulled herself over the edge, crouching low to catch her breath. The brattice's door was just a hanging curtain, slowly moving in the breeze. With a deep lungful, sword and shield in hand, Zan slipped inside, her senses on high alert. The room was dimly lit, lavishly decorated with tapestries and stolen artefacts and treasure—a stark contrast to the decayed state of the rest of the fort. The handsome bandit leader sat on a makeshift throne, his scarred face and long dark hair illuminated by the golden glow of burning candles. An opulent meal of meat and fruits was set up on a low mahogany table in front of him, with crystal glassware, gilded flagons and candelabras of silver and gold. King of the castle indeed. So where was his queen? Hunger made it hard for Zan to take her eyes of the cornucopia of food displayed, but when she carefully scanned the rest of the tenebrous room, Tisara, or her corpse, was nowhere to be found. Instead a brute of a man stood beside the leader, a grim war hammer at his side. Zan cursed her bad luck. Alone, she could maybe handle the leader, if she had surprise on her side, but with this henchman, it would be difficult.
Zan steadied her breath. She had come too far to falter now. The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows on the luxuries that adorned the walls. She could feel the weight of her exhaustion, but she pushed it aside as the image of Tisara's grateful face and arms around Zan's neck spurred her on.
The bandit leader, engrossed in his feast, hadn't noticed her yet. His brutish henchman, however, was more alert, his eyes scanning the room with the wariness of a seasoned warrior. Zan knew she had to act swiftly and without fear. The henchman was the immediate danger; his war hammer could crush her skull with a single blow.
With silent steps, Zan moved closer, her sword poised and ready. When she seemed to be undetected, she took a deep breath and, with a low growl, rushed the few paces between them and thrust the sword into the brute's side with all her might. It dug deep, and the huge man roared in pain and surprise as Zan's blade and hand quickly drenched in his blood. With a powerful swing, he turned and bashed his war hammer down at her. At the last moment, Zan managed to get her shield up. The forceful blow splintered the shield and pushed her backward, her shield arm numb. Gritting her teeth against the pain, Zan counterattacked and slashed at his arm, severing it at the wrist. The hammer fell to the floor, together with the brute's hand, still clutching the haft. Before he could react, Zan was upon him, her sword slicing through muscle, sinew, and bone with deadly precision. The huge man's head flew off in a cascade of blood and landed with a heavy thud on the table, rolling among the tableware and scattering burning candles, jugs of drink, and bowls of food sloshing in all directions.
The bandit leader, his handsome face contorted with rage, rose from his lavish seat, kicking the table aside. Plates and goblets crashed to the floor, mingling with the blood pooling from his fallen henchman. He unsheathed a wickedly curved scimitar, her scimitar! The familiar blade glinted in the candlelight.
"You!," he hissed, eyes narrowing at Zan. "You should be dead. But I'll enjoy adding you to my collection."
Zan's grip tightened on her sword, her breath steady despite her racing heart. "You'll find me a harder prize to take," she retorted, her voice cold and determined.
The red fangs bandit leader lunged at her with surprising speed, his scimitar slashing through the air. Zan parried the blow, the clash of steel ringing out in the dimly lit chamber. She countered with a swift strike aimed at his side, but he twisted away, deflecting her blade with a deft flick of his wrist.
They circled each other, eyes locked, each looking for an opening. The leader feinted left, then swung right, his scimitar aiming for Zan's neck. She ducked just in time, feeling the blade's wind against her skin. Using her smaller size to her advantage, she darted inside his guard, delivering a series of quick, shallow cuts to his torso. The leader growled in pain, blood seeping through his elegant silk tunic.
"You fight well for a worm," he sneered, swinging his scimitar in a wide arc.
"And you talk too much for a dead man," Zan shot back, deflecting his blow with her broken shield.
With a roar, the leader pressed his attack, driving Zan back towards the wall. She blocked and parried, but the power of his strikes sent shockwaves through her arms. Her back hit the cold stone, and she realised she had nowhere left to retreat. In a desperate move, she dropped to the floor, rolling under his next swing and coming up behind him. She kicked out as she passed, hitting the bandit leader in the hollow of the knee. He fell hard and twisted around on the floor, but too late. Zan had already rolled up on her feet and now raised her sword for a killig blow.
"Stop!" The clear, desperate voice cut through the chaos. A woman's voice. "Don't kill him, please!"