Is he a sorcerer? A chameleon? Able to turn his body invisible? I stand still and glance around the room, paying attention to subtle clues. Where is his scent coming from?
My attention is drawn to the wall at my left. It’s paneled in burled wood made by a craftsman who paid attention to the smallest details. I could swear Khour is behind one of these panels.
I step over bodies to reach the back corner of the room so he won’t be able to hit me if he were to shoot through that panel the way I shot through the door.
My heart is pounding, and it has nothing to do with the danger I’m in. It’s because I’m so close to Khour. I’ve dreamed, even in my canine form, of killing this bastard since he slaughtered my village. To be so close and not be able to reach him will drive me insane.
I hear the sound of footsteps pounding down the hallway. Eight of my comrades barge through the doorway after opening the destroyed door.
“Where is he?” Steele asks, his intelligent eyes scanning the room.
“I know he’s here, hiding. I believe he’s behind this wall.”
“My weapon has charge left,” Stryker says. “Stand back.” As soon as I step out of his line of fire, Stryker lets loose a steady stream of fire. A moment later, when he stops shooting, instead of seeing through the wall into the next room, we see thick metal plating behind what was left of the decimated wooden wall.
“Finish the job, Stryker,” Shadow says.
The gladiator continues to fire until there is almost nothing left of the original wood veneer of the wall. We see a shining silver metal wall; it withstood the barrage of laser fire.
“A safe room,” Shadow announces.
“What?” Stryker asks.
“My parents had one.” An idiot couldn’t miss the hatred and disdain with which he says the word ‘parents’. “And well they should have. They collected enemies like other people collect jewels. It’s a fortified room or closet within a house where the owner can retreat in times like these. See this?” He touches a seam that was hardly visible until he pointed it out. “And this? These seams outline the doorway.”
“The motherdracker is in there, alright. Hiding like the coward he is,” Dax says.
“What should we do? Will Justus be able to blow the door off?” Stryker asks.
“As hated as Khour is, I doubt he spared any expense in constructing this room. We’ll try certainly, but I don’t think we’ll be able to blow our way in,” Shadow says. “Steele, Dax, Stryker, and Maximus, wait here while the rest of us secure the grounds. You all have enough ammo?”
They nod.
I don’t want to secure the compound. I want to stay here and figure out how to kill my mortal enemy. I’m not in charge, though. I just joined the crew, at least as a humanoid. I catch up with the group as they wander the hallways investigating every bedroom, refresher, and closet along the way.
When the house is secured, we inspect the outbuildings. There are many of them, including a small ludus with attached slave barracks. We spend hoaras combing through the area, investigating the thick stone walls, the groundskeeper’s cottage, and an old stable.
We find Erro’s brother Turk in the groundskeeper’s cottage with six innocent staff he was protecting. We send them to the mansion.
“Let’s rendezvous back in the main quarters in an hoara. Each of you go back and cover a sector one more time.” Shadow says.
“I’ll take the area near the garden,” I announce, then hurry over to it. Something just didn’t seem right when we investigated it before.
The well is a round, stone structure that looks like it was part of the original grounds that were built centuries ago, long before the mansion was erected. When we passed here before, something nagged at the back of my mind, although I’m not certain what.
Now that I’m here, I see it. I check my laser and see that it’s almost back to full charge, then ease forward to the patch of soil behind the well. It’s been recently disturbed. The ground hasn’t been tamped down properly.
I kick the dirt with my boot and easily scrape it down until I feel something hard underneath. After hurrying to the groundskeeper’s shed, I return with a shovel. In just a few moments, I scuff newly-placed earth off a wooden panel, then prise it up and hurl it a few fiertos away.
Steps. There are steps hewn into the soil. By the look of it, they’ve been trod not that long ago. Someone went to great lengths to hastily cover this over and hide its existence.
I hurry down the steps with a sense of urgency. It’s not just my instincts that are blaring an alarm, but my canine is chuffing inside, by his impatience this mission seems urgent.
My nose is assailed with smells. None of them are good. The first thing I notice is the stink of dirty bodies. The filth is so thick, the stench so horrendous, I’m not sure if I’m smelling animals or humanoids. Even WarDog drops and covers his nose with his paws.
Then the scent of misery slams into me like it’s a living thing. Fear and dread vie with anger for my most prevalent emotion.
I’m in a dungeon under the soil. It’s almost pitch black in here. There are dim lights built into nitches in the walls. Even with them, it’s almost too dark to see my hand in front of my eyes. I smell death, or perhaps dying. That’s clear. But
