29
The resistance let a week pass to lie low and regroup before renewing their harassment of the occupiers. In turn, the authorities bore down ever harder on the occupied.
With the possibility of a spy in their midst, the rebels trod warily, conscious that they could be exposed at any time. Stryke wasn't alone in thinking that the humans and dwarfs in his group were looked on with suspicion. A feeling strengthened perhaps when Jup's power of farsight had been revealed to Chillder, for all that the Wolverines tried to brush it off as mere 'intuition.'
The band found itself fully employed helping to put pressure on the humans. The Vixens, too, played their part in stirring things up. As reward, the first signs of disobedience by the general populace showed themselves. The hoped-for revolution started to look like more than a possibility.
Adding to the tension, and assuming the prediction was true, the comet Grilan-Zeat was expected almost hourly.
But for Stryke and his band one mission was paramount.
The plot to assassinate Jennesta was known to very few, even within the Wolverines. Stryke kept his team small, picking only Coilla and Haskeer, with Eldo and Noskaa as back-ups. A sufficient number as the plan depended on stealth, not force of arms. Equipped with a rough map of the interior, supplied by sympathisers working as menials in the fortress, Stryke and the others set out on the first cloudy night.
Like all old castles, Taress fortress was large and rambling, having been added to and refashioned over centuries. Such an acreage meant many walls to protect and doors to be kept barred. One particular annexe, projecting from the fort's eastern side and unprotected by the older moat, was where the daily needs of a garrison were most obvious. The kitchens and food stores were there, alongside the heaps of vegetable waste, stripped carcasses and other flyblown detritus waiting to be hauled away. It was the province of servants, and welcome to it.
There were guards, as everywhere on the perimeter, but they were few and Stryke had been told their routine. Furtive blades easily dealt with them, and their bodies were hidden in piles of refuse.
Finding a recessed door, Stryke softly knocked. The response was so long coming he was about to rap again when the sound of drawing bolts was heard. The door creaked open a crack and anxious eyes surveyed the group. Then it was pulled wide to usher them in.
The orc who admitted them was aged and crook-backed. He wore a once-white apron, grubby from toil and bloodstained.
'You know what you have to do?' Stryke said.
'It's little enough,' the servant replied. 'I get you in. After that you're on your own.'
'What about you?'
'I'll go missing as soon as you're in, and I won't be the only one tonight.' He stared at the group with rheumy eyes. 'I don't know who you are, but if you're here to put paid to that… hell cat, I pray the gods are with you.'
'You mean Jennesta.'
'Who else?'
'It'd be better if you didn't know why we're here. For your own safety.'
The old one nodded. 'I hope it's her. The bitch. You wouldn't believe the depravity since she got here.'
'I think we would,' Coilla told him.
'Time's pressing,' Stryke reminded them. 'It won't be long before those sentries are found and — '
'Follow me,' the servant instructed, reaching for a glowing lantern on a shelf by the door.
He led them through corridors and twisting passageways, up small flights of steps and down deep staircases. Until at last they reached a heavy door, which he unlocked with a brass key. There were more steps inside, going down to a dim passage.
'This is one of the tunnels we use to service our betters,' he all but spat the word, 'without them having to suffer the indignity of looking at us.'
'We seem to spend a lot of time in tunnels these days,' Haskeer observed.
The tunnel proved as ill-lit as they expected, and damp ran freely on the walls; a reminder that they were passing under the moat.
They came to another door.
'Beyond that, you're in the castle proper,' the old menial explained. 'That's when your map comes into play. Take this.' He thrust the lamp into Haskeer's hands. 'My eyes are used to the gloom down here. Now go! The door's unlocked, we've seen to that. And good luck.' He turned and shuffled off into the shadows.
They approached the door cautiously. On the other side was a corridor. It was unlit, but there were hangings and items of heavy wooden furniture against the walls, indicating that they'd moved from the world of servers to the served.
With Haskeer holding up the lamp, Stryke got out the map and laid it on an ornately carved half moon table. He'd already done his best to remember most of it, and what he saw confirmed his recollection.
'We should be here,' he said, tapping a finger on the parchment. 'Our quarry's high up. Five flights. So we need to go… that way.' He pointed to the right.
The corridor was long and branched off in various places. But they kept straight on to the end and a twisting stone staircase.
'This is only for servants too,' Stryke said, 'and if we've been told right, they'll not be using it tonight.'
'What about guards?' Coilla asked. 'There have to be some.'
'The map shows where the permanent ones are stationed. They're where you'd expect; the governor's private quarters and the like. We don't know about patrols.'
'Which are likely to be random, right.'
'So stay sharp.'
They began to climb.
A few hundred steps took them to the first landing. Two doors were there, both firmly shut. They crept past them. The next floor was the same; closed doors, no sign of anyone. Things were different on the third. Here the landing opened directly on to a corridor. It was richly carpeted, and they caught glimpses of fine paintings as they stole by. The fourth level was again open, like the one below. On the fifth they found a door unlike any other. It was lavishly ornamented, too much so, though its decoration was old and beginning to fade.
'Remember,' Stryke reminded them, 'it's a sharp turn to the right then two passages down.' He looked to Noskaa. 'You're guarding this door. If we're not back soon, get out. Fast.'
The grunt nodded.
'Now let's see if this door's unlocked,' Stryke said, reaching for the handle.
'And if there's magic?' Coilla wanted to know.
'We trust our blades to better it.' He turned the handle.
The door opened on to a corridor that spoke of the status of those who walked it. Brightly lit, it was sumptuously carpeted and exquisitely embellished.
'You won't need that,' Stryke whispered, indicating Haskeer's lantern.
The sergeant gratefully dumped it on a nearby cushioned chair.
They took the right turn and padded along to the second corridor on their left.
'You're stationed here, Eldo,' Stryke ordered, strengthening his line of escape. 'Same as I said to Noskaa; if we're not back, or you think we're lost, get yourself out. Otherwise, if anybody comes near, drop 'em.'
'Got it, Captain.'
Stryke, Coilla and Haskeer entered the corridor. It was as handsome as the other, but there were no doors. Ahead of them, about as far as Haskeer could throw an enemy's leg, it turned sharply to the right.
When they got to the corner, Stryke whispered, 'We think they'll be a couple of them. It'll have to be quick, and true.'
Coilla nodded and plucked a throwing knife from her arm scabbard. She gave it to him and drew another for herself.
'Ready?' Stryke said.
She nodded.
