“Just a little something, to give me an edge. Want one?”
“No thanks. I was born with an edge.”
“Suit yourself. Here they come again.” He breathed deeply as the drug hit him, and smiled widely at the mercenaries. “Come and get it, you lousy bastards! Come one, come all!”
The main bulk of the attack force hit the window like a breaking wave, and forced the archers back by sheer force of numbers. Fisher was swept aside, fighting desperately against a forest of waving blades. In moments the room was full of mercenaries, most of whom ran past the small knot of beleaguered defenders and on into the house. Fisher and ap Owen ended up fighting back to back, carving bloody gaps in the shifting press of bodies. The archers fell one by one, and Fisher and ap Owen were slowly driven back across the room, away from the window, as more mercenaries poured in. There seemed no end to them.
Ap Owen laughed happily and mocked his opponents as he fought, and none of the mercenaries could get anywhere near him in his euphoric state. Fisher fought doggedly on. Mercenaries fell dead and dying around her, their blood staining the expensive carpet. Her footing became uncertain as bodies cluttered the floor, and it was getting harder to find room to swing her sword. She yelled at ap Owen to get his attention.
“We’ve got to get out of here, while we still can!”
“Right!” yelled ap Owen, grinning widely as he slit a mercenary’s throat. “Follow me!”
They made a break for the door, ploughing through the startled mercenaries, and cutting down anyone who got in their way. They burst out into the hall, and Fisher was surprised to find it deserted. Ap Owen headed for the stairs, with Fisher close behind.
“They don’t know where the Talks are really being held, so they’re wasting time searching the house,” said ap Owen breathlessly, as he took the steps two at a time. “But I know where there’s an emergency entrance into the pocket dimension. We can hide out in there till the fighting’s over.”
“What about your people?” protested Fisher angrily. “You can’t just abandon them!”
“They know where the entrance is, too. If they’ve got any sense, most of them are probably already there.”
Fisher heard boots hammering on the stairs behind her, and threw herself forward. The mercenary’s sword swept past her head, the wind of its passing tugging at her hair. Fisher kicked backwards, and the swordsman’s breath caught in his throat as the heel of her boot thudded solidly into his groin. Fisher turned around to finish him off, and found herself facing a dozen more mercenaries charging up the stairs towards her. She put a hand on the groaning swordsman’s face and pushed him sharply backwards. He fell back down the stairs and crashed into his fellows, bringing them all to an abrupt halt. Fisher smiled angelically at the chaos, and turned her back on them. Ap Owen was nowhere to be seen.
She swore harshly, and hurried up the stairs to the landing. She paused at the top of the stairs to get her bearings, and an axe buried itself in the wall beside her. She ran along the hallway, glaring about her. Ap Owen couldn’t have gone far. If he had, she was in trouble. He’d never got around to telling her where the doorway to the pocket dimension was. Sounds of hot pursuit grew louder behind her, and from all around came shouts and curses and war cries as the invaders spilled through the house, searching for the Peace Talks.
A mercenary burst out of a door just ahead of her, and Fisher ran him through while he was still gaping at her. She jerked the sword free and then had to back quickly away as two more men charged out of the room at her.
She put her back against the railing that ran the length of the hall and swung her sword in wide arcs to keep them at bay. Two-to-one odds didn’t normally bother her, but this time she was facing two hardened professionals in very cramped surroundings, with nowhere to retreat and no one to guard her blind sides. It was at times like this that she realised how much she missed Hawk. She cut viciously at one mercenary’s face, and he stepped back instinctively. Fisher darted for the gap that opened up, but the other swordsman was already there, forcing her back with a flurry of blows. Fisher fought on, but she could feel her chances of getting out alive slipping away like sand between her fingers.
And then one of the mercenaries went down in a flurry of blood, and ap Owen was standing over him, flashing his lunatic grin. Fisher quickly finished off the other mercenary, and the two Guards sprinted down the hallway, with more mercenaries in hot pursuit.
“Where the hell have you been?” demanded Fisher. “I turned my back on you for a moment and you were gone!”
“Sorry.” said ap Owen breezily. “I didn’t notice you weren’t still with me. Now save your breath for running. We’ve got a way to go yet, and those bastards behind us are getting closer.”
A mercenary appeared out of nowhere before them and ap Owen cut him down with a single slash. Fisher hurdled the writhing body without slowing, and followed ap Owen up a winding stairway. Footsteps hammered on the steps behind her, and she glanced back over her shoulder to see half a dozen mercenaries charging up the stairs after her. Fisher looked away and forced herself to run faster. She was already bone-tired after the long day, and her legs felt like lead, but somehow she forced out a little extra speed. Ap Owen, of course, was running well and strongly, buoyed up by his battle drug. Sweat ran down Fisher’s face, stinging her eyes, and her sides ached as her lungs protested. She just hoped she wouldn’t get a stitch. That would make it a perfect bloody day.
Ap Owen led her down a wide corridor at a pace she was hard pressed to match, but somehow she kept up with him. The growing crowd of mercenaries snapping at her heels helped. It worried her that she hadn’t seen any of ap Owen’s men. Surely some of them should have got this far.... A growing suspicion took root in her that they were all dead. That all the house’s defenders were dead, apart from her and ap Owen. Which made it all the more urgent they reach the pocket dimension and warn the delegates.
Ap Owen darted suddenly sideways through an open doorway, and Fisher threw herself in after him. She whirled to slam the door shut, but three mercenaries forced their way in. Fisher cut down one with a single, economical stroke, and his blood flew on the air, but another swordsman darted in under her reach and cut at her leg. Her thick leather boot took most of the impact, but she could still feel blood trickling down her leg inside the boot. She drove the man back with a frenzied attack, and for a moment held off both opponents by the sheer fury of her attack. And then ap Owen was with her, cutting and hacking like a madman, and between them they finished off the mercenaries, slammed the door shut, and bolted it. It rattled angrily in its frame as men on the other side put their shoulders to it.
The two Guards stood exhausted over the bodies for a moment, breathing harshly, and then ap Owen jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Let’s go. The doorway’s here.”
Fisher looked behind her, and saw an open door hanging unsupported in the air. Beyond the door there was only darkness. “About time. I just hope the pocket dimension turns out to be a damn sight more secure than this house.”
“It is; I guarantee it. Now let’s move it, please.”
He grabbed her arm and hauled her through the doorway. The door slammed shut behind them, and disappeared from the room. There was a brief sensation of falling, and then Fisher was in the Peace Talks’ hidden room. The delegates rose startled from their seats around a long table, staring at her and ap Owen. She quickly put up a hand to forestall their questions.
“The house is overrun with mercenaries. We had to cut and run. No choice. How many more of our people made it here?” She took in their blank faces, and looked away. “Damn. Then I think it’s fair to assume they won’t be coming. We’re the only survivors.”
She looked quickly round the sparsely furnished, medium-sized room, and then blinked as she found there was no sign of the doorway. All four walls were blank. She shrugged, and looked at ap Owen, who was sitting on the floor beside her with his head hanging down. He was deathly pale, with sweat stre
aming off his face, and obviously using all his willpower to keep from vomiting. Fisher smiled sourly. That was battle drugs for you. Great as long as adrenalin kept you going, but once you stopped there was hell to pay. She manhandled him onto a chair, and then turned back to the delegates. They were obviously waiting for a more detailed report, and it was clear from their faces that their patience had just about run out. Really, the report should come from ap Owen, as the senior Captain in charge of security, but since he was out of it and likely to stay that way for some time ... Fisher realised she was still holding her sword, and sheathed it. She drew herself up to parade rest, thought briefly about saluting the delegates, and then decided the hell with it.
“We’re in trouble.” she said bluntly. “Someone hired a small army of mercenaries, backed them up with some heavy-duty sorcery, and sent them here looking for you. Our security forces didn’t stand a chance; the mercenaries rolled right over us. Unless some more of our people arrive in the next few minutes, you’d better get used to the idea that your entire security force now consists of ap Owen and me. And there aren’t going to be any reinforcements. We’re trapped in here. and the house is crawling with mercenaries.”
“It’s not quite as bad as you make it sound, Captain,” said Lord Regis calmly. “Firstly, we are quite safe here. The dimensional doorways won’t open to the mercenaries, and the only other way in is to open a new doorway. Even a high-level sorcerer couldn’t do that without first knowing the exact co-ordinates of this dimension, and those are, of course, only known to a select few. All we have to do is sit tight and wait for the mercenaries to leave. They won’t hang around once they realise we’re not in the house: an attack like this is bound to have been noticed, especially in Low Tory. I think we can be fairly confident that the Guard is on its way here even as we speak.”
“Wait a minute,” said Fisher. “How will we know when it’s safe to leave?”
Lord Regis shrugged. “We’ll just stick our heads out from time to time. and see what’s happening.”
Ap Owen chuckled harshly. “He means you and I will stick our heads out. Fisher. They’re not going to take any risks. Right, my lord?”
“Of course,” said Lord Regis. “That is what you’re here for, isn’t it?”
Fisher looked at ap Owen. His face was still pale, but he was sitting up straight and he looked a lot more composed. “How are you feeling?”
“Great. The side effects don’t last long.”
“Long enough to get you killed, if they hit you at the wrong moment.”
Ap Owen shrugged.
“You’re all missing the point.” said Major de Tournay. “How did the mercenaries know to look for us here? Our location was supposed to be secret.”
“He has a point,” said Lord Regis, looking heavily at ap Owen.
The senior Captain nodded unhappily. “Somebody must have talked. Someone always talks, eventually. But since they couldn’t know about this dimension, it doesn’t really matter. The mercenaries will just ransack the house, find no trace of the Talks, and report back to their masters that you weren’t here. They’ll be called off, and you can resume the Talks undisturbed, secure in the knowledge they won’t be back again. And if the Guard reacts fast enough, they might even be able to follow the mercenaries back to their masters, and we can round them all up in one go.”
“Excellent!” said Lord Nightingale. “This might turn out to have been all for the best, after all.”
“Hold it just a minute,” said Fisher, and there was a harshness in her voice that drew all eyes to her. “A lot of good men died out there, trying to protect you and your precious Talks. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
The two merchants, Rook and Gardener, had the grace to look a little embarrassed. The two Majors stirred uncomfortably, but said nothing. Lord Regis looked thoughtfully at the floor. Lord Nightingale sniffed.
“They were just doing their job,” he said flatly. “They understood they were expendable. As are we all.”
“I’m sure that’ll be a great comfort to their widows,” said Fisher. “Those men never stood a chance, thanks to your insistence on low profile security.”
“That’s enough, Captain!” said Lord Regis sharply. “It’s not your place to criticise your superiors. We have to consider the bigger picture.”
Fisher gave him a hard look, and then turned away. Ap Owen relaxed slightly, and felt his heart start beating again. He didn’t think Fisher would actually punch out a lord, but you could never tell with Fisher.
“His lordship is right, Fisher,” he said carefully. “The safety of the delegates must come first. That’s what they told us when we took on this job, remember? Now take it easy. We’re all perfectly safe in here; nothing can reach us.”
He broke off suddenly, as far away in the distance a bell tolled mournfully. The sound seemed to echo on and on, faint but distinct, as though it had travelled impossible distances to reach them. They all stood silently, listening. The bell tolled again and again, growing slowly louder and more mournful, like the bell from a forgotten church deep in the gulfs of hell. Fisher’s breathing quickened, and her hand fell to her sword. Something was out there in the dark, she could feel it; something awful. The pealing of the bell grew louder still, painfully loud, until everyone in the hidden room had their hands pressed to their ears. And then the air split open above them, and nightmares spewed out into the waking world.
Creatures with insane shapes that hurt and disturbed the human eye fought and oozed and squirmed out of nowhere, and fell writhing to the floor. There were things with splintered bones and snapping mouths, and nauseating shapes that twisted through strange dimensions as they moved. Creatures with flails and barbs and elongating limbs. A monstrous slug with grinding teeth in its belly fell heavily onto the conference table, its weight cracking the thick wood from end to end. A clump of ropy crimson intestines squeezed out of the split in the air, and dropped squirming to the floor, where it dripped acid, eating holes in the carpet. The conference room rang to a cacophony of screams and howls and roars, drowning out the madly tolling bell.
For a moment everyone froze where they were, and then Fisher threw herself forward, swinging her sword in wide, vicious arcs. Strangely colored blood flew steaming on the air as her blade sank deep into unnatural flesh, and howling shapes rose up in fury all around her. Ap Owen was quickly at her side, and together they forced the demons back. Major Comber and Major de Tournay drew their swords and fought back to back, old enmities forgotten in the face of a common foe. They cut and thrust with professional efficiency, and nothing could stand against them for long.
The two traders, Rook and Gardener, retreated into a corner and defended themselves with unfamiliar swords as best they could. Creatures swarmed eagerly about them, scenting easy prey. Lord Regis fought stubbornly with his back to a wall, barely keeping the fangs and claws from his throat but determined not to give in. Lord Nightingale cleared a space around him with inspired swordsmanship, chanting all the while in a harsh forced rhythm. Human blood.flowed as the creatures pressed closer, forcing their way past flashing steel by sheer force of numbers. And still more shapes poured through the split in the air, and there seemed no end to them.
“We’ve got to get out of here!” Fisher yelled to ap Owen.
“We can’t,” he answered, grunting with the effort of his blows. “Only Regis and Nightingale can open the door. And they both look a bit busy at the moment. See if you can work towards them, take some of the pressure off.”
Fisher tried, but the growing tide of creatures forced her back foot by foot, and ap Owen had to struggle to keep his place at her side. A jagged cut on his forehead leaked blood steadily down one side of his face, and he had to keep blinking his eye to clear it. A raking claw suddenly opened up a long, curving gash across Fisher’s hip and stomach, and she stumbled and almost fell as the pain flared through her. Ap Owen darted in to try and cover her, and a long, serrated tentacle whipped around his sho
ulders and snatched him up into the air. Fisher hacked at the tentacle, but it wouldn’t let him go. Comber and de Tournay were soaked with blood from a dozen minor wounds, but were still holding their ground and grimly defying the creatures to move them. Rook and Gardener had already fallen and disappeared beneath a heaving throng of frenzied shapes. Lord Regis was struggling, tears of exhaustion running down his cheeks, but Lord Nightingale ignored him, concentrating on his rhythmic chanting.
And then Nightingale’s voice rose sharply to a shout, and the split in the air slammed together and was gone. The creatures burst into flames, screaming and thrashing as a searing golden fire consumed them, leaving nothing but ash. The faraway bell was quiet, and the only sound in the hidden room was the harsh breathing and groans of the two Guards and the surviving delegates.
Fisher sat with her back braced against a wall, watching exhaustedly as ap Owen slowly picked himself up from where the burning tentacle had dropped him. The two Majors leaned on each other, exchanging quiet compliments. Lord Regis bent wearily over two bodies lying twisted and still in a corner, then straightened up and turned away. Rook and Gardener were beyond help. Regis looked across at Lord Nightingale, calmly cleaning the blood from his sword in the middle of the room.
“I didn’t know you were a sorcerer, Nightingale.”
The Outremer lord shrugged easily. “I’m not, really. I just like to dabble.”
“Still, I would have expected you to mention it,” said Regis. “Since one of the conditions for these Talks was that none of the delegates be a sorcerer.”