The sound of the guards scrambling to their feet was followed by the clanging of steel. The northern warrior was bleeding freely from his wounds and knew he would not be able to withstand many more. Without his sword, he had little hope.
Unexpectedly, the sound of something striking the ceiling above could be heard, and the room was illuminated by fire. Dulnear could see his sword and he took hold of it. Now that he could see his enemies, he advanced against them.
As one guard leaped at him from his left, he ducked and plunged his sword into the rib cage of the one on his right. The first guard continued his attack, chopping downward toward the back of the northerner’s neck. Dulnear spun around quickly and blocked the attack with his metal hand, then kicked the man backward with a powerful boot to the chest.
To the warrior’s surprise, the second guard advanced as if there were not blood pouring from his side. The man from the north stepped back, stunned that the man showed no sign of slowing his attack. As the guard slashed inward toward his head, he dodged and brought his sword down upon his shoulder, cleaving off his right arm.
Then the first guard ran back. He swiped toward Dulnear’s side, but the warrior trapped the guard’s sword with his own. Once disarmed, the blind man growled like an animal and began clawing savagely.
Disgusted and ready to end the battle, the man from the north shoved the guard back with his right fist, then swung his sword around, taking off the man’s head. His body fell to its knees, then onto the floor. As it did, Dulnear noticed that the other guard was still crawling along the floor.
The blind, one-armed man felt around on the floor until he came to his own dismembered arm and began to peel the blade out of his own dead hand.
“You must be kidding me!” the man from the north exclaimed. He sheathed his sword, kicked the guard’s weapon away and grabbed the man by the leg. As animal barks and hisses poured from the blind man’s mouth, Dulnear held him high and flung him out of the large, open window with revulsion.
Taking a deep breath of the night air, he heard a woman’s voice yell from below, “You almost hit me with that guy!”
He looked down from the window and saw that Faymia was waiting at the foot of the castle. “Sorry about that!” he yelled back. “And thank you for the light!” he added, pointing toward the fiery arrows lodged in the ceiling.
“You’re welcome, my darling,” she said. “Now grab Son and get down here. That mob isn’t going to stay trapped in the courtyard much longer!”
“Son? Where is he?” he asked.
“He came in after you.”
Dulnear’s neck tensed as he thought about his friend’s safety. He ran toward the door and pounded at it with his metal fist. Realizing that it was taking too long, he ran back toward the desk, pointed it toward the door, and pushed it with all of his might.
The door broke partially off of its hinges, giving the man enough space to get his sword through and remove the bar that was securing it shut from the outside. Breaking through to the vestibule, he could see Son standing over the slave king with a sword to his neck.
“A secret path on the north side of the road,” the boy exclaimed. “Just east of Redbramble!”
The man on the floor quivered and pleaded for his life. Dulnear fought back the urge to run him through and send him flying out the window to join his bodyguard. “Down the stairs and through the front gate,” he instructed his young friend with a forced calmness.
Son nodded and quickly headed down the stairs. As the man from the north followed, he grabbed the lantern that Ocmallum took with him when he locked the warrior in his chamber. As he stepped over the slaver, he could hear the man gasp in panic. Turning to address him, he snarled, “You are a pathetic man. Pray that you never see me again, or I’ll burn more than the ceiling of your bedchamber.”
Dulnear wasn’t certain, but he thought he saw an odd smile creep over the old man’s face. He then spun around and darted down the staircase to catch up with Son.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Son could hear the clamor of the mob out in the courtyard. It was dark, but he remembered that the castle was longer than it was wide. If he moved away from the courtyard doors, he should find a way out and reach the portcullis quickly.
All of a sudden, there was a sound of shattering wood and the voices of the men outside became louder. They had broken through the door at the opposite end of the hall and were pouring inside. The boy had just begun to dart away from the commotion when a large, metallic hand tapped him on the shoulder.
He startled and looked behind him to see his friend Dulnear standing there with a lantern in his hand. “Hold this,” the man said, handing off the light. He then withdrew his sword and added, “Quickly, lead us out of here. I will guard our backs.”
Son sprinted through the halls of the manor, surprised that it was so dark and empty. There seemed to be no occupants other than Ocmallum and his soldiers. He would have dwelled on the observation longer had the slaver’s crew not been growing louder.
“That way,” the man from the north directed.
The
