Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.79T)
Welcome to my weekly serial. This is a rough draft that I am working on, for your reading pleasure.
It is a fairly grim tale, so be warned.
Here is the first post from this series.
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On and on they ran, their feet pounding the stone and metal stairs of the great tower. From below, Retaak could hear the footfalls of his pursuers, but they did not concern him. Only Waachear mattered to him now, and although Uzaagwaar was tall, the torturer would soon run out of places to run.
With no interference, Retaak closed steadily on the winded Hob. Waachear was gulping air in uneven breaths, while Retaak paced himself, gaining ground as his prey ran out of energy.
“I am coming Waachear!” he shouted.
A bolt slapped into the stones in front of him, and Retaak kept running, trying to put the curve of the stairs between him and the attacker below. A window flashed past and he saw the mountains and the distant green of the forests. They were well up in the tower now.
He rushed past an alcove, then stopped, wedging his bulk inside. He keep still, barely breathing, willing himself to silence. Soon enough he heard the sound of his closest pursuer. He waited until they drew close and then leapt out.
The crossbow twanged, but the wide-eyed guardswoman was surprised and the bolt went wide. Retaak’s fist caught her in the temple and she sunk to the ground. He turned and ran, knowing that Waachear would not have made it far.
He caught sight of an open doorway on the next landing. Had Waachear sought refuge in a room? He doubt it that the Hob would leave an open door, it had to be a trap or some other gambit; Waachear would lock himself in a room if he found one with a sturdy enough door that it would keep him safe from Retaak. He ignored the open door and kept running.
Soon enough he caught sight of Waachear. The Torturer was at the top of the staircase fumbling with a set of keys, trying to unlock the door to one of Ushochhushi’s chambers. Two guards stood between him and Retaak, blades at the ready.
“I have come for Waachear,” Retaak intoned. “You need not die for him.”
The guards ran at him, coordinating their attack as they charged. Retaak slowed, watching them, anticipating their movements.
“Kill him!” shouted Waachear, shrill and foolish. The last thing the guards needed was to be distracted by their leader. Of course they would try to kill him.
Retaak struck at that moment, shifting swiftly to the left to put one guard in front of the other. As they turned he kicked out, slamming his boot into the lower lip of the guards shield. The guard was skilled enough that the upper lip did not crash into his chin, but not so skilled that he was able to ward off Retaak as the Ogre took advantage of his imbalance and tossed him down the stairs.
The second guard was swift and sure, slashing Retaak, almost opening his throat. Retaak stepped back, feigning his wound being worse that it was. The warrior relaxed and stepped in for the kill, only to meet death as Retaak shifted and struck cobra-swift, ramming him through with his blade.
Above him Waachear swore and slammed the door, locking it behind him. Retaak snarled as he saw the solid construction of the chamber; it would take him too long to break it down.
He cast about for an answer when his eyes fell upon one of Ushochhushi’s slave girls, watching him warily. She was chained up inside of the room that she was cleaning, an abhorrent predicament. She flinched as Retaak strode toward her, lowering her eyes.
“Fear not,” said Retaak, breaking the chain. “Elves are not my enemy.”
The elf woman stared at her chains in disbelief.
“There are weapons on the dead soldiers, back there,” said Retaak. “If you know of another way into that chamber I can keep the guards busy while you free your fellows.”
The elf nodded.
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