Vainglory 3.40 - Element of Surprise

Enjoy :)

-Plum

40 – Element of Surprise

Ward tied his horse to a thick cluster of dark green branches in the hedgerow, then he pushed himself through, ducking his head to keep the rough, spiny leaves from scratching his face. When he was thoroughly embedded and could peer through a gap in the outside branches, he shifted his position until he got a view of the gates in the stone wall that surrounded the estate.

He could see Robb standing there beside his lame horse, waving his arm and talking animatedly. A cluster of other men, dressed very similarly to the crew who’d attacked Ward’s coach, stood before him, listening. After a few minutes, one of the men took Robb’s horse’s reins and led it through the gate.

It was a good sign, Ward figured, that Robb was still standing there, hopefully waiting for a fresh mount and reinforcements. The man glanced his way several times during the exchange but was always quick to look away. Ward liked that; it meant his former prisoner knew Ward was watching. Ward was confident that he believed his threat of immediate, violent repercussions if he double-crossed him.

Ward was a good fifty yards from the gate, and he could see what was going on, but the voices were too distant for him to hear clearly. Still, every now and then, a waft of cloying fear would drift toward him on the gentle breeze, further reinforcing his conviction that Robb was too scared to try anything stupid. His faith in the man’s cowardice was rewarded when, a few minutes later, a crowd of men on horseback filed out of the gate. The last one through was leading a fresh horse for Robb.

Ward watched him get mounted, then Robb yelled something, waved an arm, and the hunting party took off, galloping down the lane. Ward counted eight men with Robb, meaning there were two more mercenaries, Reembak, and her three personal fighters left to deal with. If he were placing bets, he’d say the two mercenaries would be watching the gate.

“Not too bad, Robb. You earned your escape as far as I’m concerned.” Ward pushed his way through the hedge and stood before the stone wall, contemplating. It was eight feet high, and he was sure he could climb it easily enough, but was that the right move? Should he just go take out the men at the gate? Of course, that might make a commotion, and then he might have a sorceress and three more dangerous men to contend with.

Ward looked into his mind, contemplating the spells he had prepared—a partially faded Mana Bolt, Shadow Step, and Chains of Silence. He’d thought long and hard about that loadout before leaving his quarters at the Assembly. In his mind, he’d been due for another sorcerous challenge, so he’d prepared accordingly. He supposed the spells were still fitting for the occasion. Ideally, he’d like to refresh Mana Bolt, but he didn’t have time for that. He had to be prepared for the chance that those men would figure out Robb was full of shit and race back to the estate.

Ward checked his sword in his scabbard and, satisfied that he was prepared, reached up, grabbed the top of the wall, and hauled himself up. When his head cleared the top, he peered over, getting a lay of the land before committing the rest of the way.

Unfortunately for Ward, it seemed Coral valued a rather pastoral setting on his estate grounds. There was a wide expanse of meadow-like grass, dotted with oval flower gardens, a few small, well-pruned trees, and a gravel drive leading from the front of the stone-block home to the gate. In other words, there was very little to conceal Ward on his approach to the house.

He glanced to his right, toward the gate, and confirmed his earlier suspicion that the remaining mercenaries were there. They were slouched lazily against the stone columns on either side. Ward dropped himself back down outside the wall and ran in the opposite direction, aiming to circle the property to see what the back of the estate looked like.

The wall was long, but he rounded the corner and ran down the length of the side wall in just a minute or two. When he reached that far corner, he pulled himself up again and peered over. That angle looked a lot more promising. First of all, the men at the gate wouldn’t be able to see him. Secondly, only a few shuttered windows were on that side of the house. More importantly, there was another, smaller wall enclosing a garden, and he could just see, beyond that wall, a pair of doors that would give him access to the house.

Ward pulled himself the rest of the way over the wall, dropped down, and ran over the grass to the garden wall. He vaulted it and landed on the flagstones beyond with only a faint scuff of his boots. He crouched there, between a pair of rose bushes, listening and trying to detect any scents beyond the near-overpowering aroma of the flowers.

Birds and small animals made little scurrying sounds, but Ward couldn’t smell anything that might be a person, nor hear any larger sounds. Crouching low, he moved through the garden, stalking like the wolf he was, ever closer to the house. When he reached the final approach—a planter-lined pathway to a patio outside a high-windowed solar, he froze and watched those windows for several long minutes.

When he was certain nothing had moved, he darted to one of the doors. It was locked. At that moment, Ward sorely wished Haley were with him, but she wasn’t, so he examined the situation. The door was glass set in a tarnished bronze frame, and when he pulled on it, there was quite a bit of play in the latch. Nodding, Ward drew his belt knife, shimmied the tip into the gap between the door and the housing, and applied some leverage while he pulled.

The door opened almost a half an inch before the clasp caught. Encouraged, Ward pried harder and gave it a good jerk, and the door popped open with a scrape and a rattle. Ward held it still, almost closed, and listened. When no sound or scent of a human came to him for more than a minute, he carefully opened the door, slipped inside, and pulled it closed.

He crouched in the solar—a big, bright, open room with several cheerfully upholstered couches and chairs arranged to make conversation pleasant. Nobody was there, but Ward saw a heavy wooden door leading further into the house. He crept toward it and immediately tried the handle, sighing with relief when he found it unlocked.

Ward pulled the door open just an inch and peered into the dark hallway. Despite being exposed to the brightness of the outdoors, his wolfen eyes instantly compensated for the dark, and he saw a long stretch of hardwood floors leading away from the solar. Archways about fifteen feet ahead led either right or left, and beyond that, he saw a handful of doors before the hallway opened into another big, bright space through another archway.

Ward watched for a minute or so and was about to slip through the door when someone moved across the far archway—a man with a fighter’s gait wearing a dark blue cloak. Ward froze, counting to thirty to see if he’d cross back the other way. When no further movement came, he opened the door and slipped into the hallway, darting to the intersection with two archways.

He peered left and right, careful to only present one eye to any casual observer, but his caution was unneeded. Both hallways led past closed doors. The hallway on the right ended in a window, but the one on the left in another junction. Ward turned left, and as he stalked down the hallway, he listened for any clue that might point him in the direction of the captives. No sounds came from the doors he passed, and when he reached the end of the hall, he peered around the corner.

The hallway led past some empty rolling carts to a swinging door with a copper push panel. Ward was no expert on medieval estate design, but it looked like a kitchen door to him. He hurried forward and crouched there, listening. Sure enough, he heard voices beyond. He placed his fingertips on the door and gently pushed it open, just an inch, so that he could hear a little better.

“…would surely taste better if you’d let me go out to the greenhouse and get some herbs.”

“Don’t give a pig’s arse how good it tastes. Just make the damn shit.”

“Well, you don’t have to be rude.”

“Lady, are you daft? You want to join your friends down in the cellar?”

“N-no, sir. Apologies.”

“Just make the damn food. I’ll have a piss, but don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be just outside.”

Ward heard boot heels on tile and the clatter of someone struggling with a door latch. “The hell’s wrong with—”

“You have to lift up on the latch! Don’t yank it!”

Ward listened to more clattering and then the squeal of overused door hinges, followed by the crash of a door closing. The man had gone outside as promised. He pushed the swinging door open and slipped through. A big shelving rack piled with sacks of flour and other baking supplies blocked most of his view of the kitchen, but he could see movement through the gaps. Hoping the woman who was apparently cooking up a meal wouldn’t overreact, he crept around the rack.

As the rest of the kitchen came into view, Ward marked the door that led outside. It was closed. Then, he focused on the petite woman furiously stirring batter in a big copper bowl. She had dark curly hair and angry, sharp brows. Her movements were nimble and sure, and the crow's feet around her eyes and wrinkles around her lips said she was no novice cook. Crossing his fingers that she wouldn’t overreact, he said softly, “Don’t scream.”

She gasped softly, jerking her head up to look at him. “Sir!” she hissed. “Don’t you know—”

Ward held his finger to his lips. Then pointed to the door. “If I fight that guy and we make some noise, is anyone close enough to hear?”

Her eyes widened as she understood what he was asking. “Are… are you here to help Lord Coral?”

Ward nodded. “I’m a friend.”

She licked her lips, glancing at the door before continuing to stir. She whispered, “I don’t know where the others are—the ones who attacked. I don’t think they’re nearby.”

Ward nodded and hurried around the counter toward the exterior door. A pantry opened on the opposite wall, so he slipped into it and turned the corner, lurking among shelves of pickled foods, jars of nuts, and other sorts of goods. He drew his sword and willed himself to be still, closing his eyes and controlling his breathing as he concentrated on what he could hear and smell.

When he heard the squeal and rattle of the exterior door and the boot heels of the man, Ward mentally tracked his movement. One step… He was just inside the door. Three steps, moving closer and then further… He was facing the woman again, moving into the kitchen. Two more steps… He was where Ward wanted.

Ward slipped out of the pantry and saw the woman stirring, studiously avoiding looking up as the man stood watching her, arms folded over his chest. He was a tall, strong-looking fellow, with a finely-tooled leather vest over a cream-colored silken shirt. A basket-hilted rapier hung at his waist. “You’ve got salt at least, yeah? And butter? I’ll have a slice of that bread when you’re done.”

“Yes, sir, I—” The woman looked up, her eyes flew wide, and she slapped a hand over her mouth as she saw Ward behind the man, sword raised high.

It was almost enough to ruin Ward’s attack. The man unfolded his arms and began to turn, saying, “What the hell are—”

His further words were cut short as Ward’s broad, heavy sword smashed into the crown of his skull, splitting the bone and wedging four inches into his brain. Blood sprayed in a fan-shaped splatter away from the strike, showering the woman, her butcher-block counter, and her bowl of fresh-mixed dough in crimson. Ward grunted as the dead weight attached to his sword fell to the tile floor, leaning forward with the effort of maintaining his grip. He took one look at the woman’s stunned face and said, “Don’t you dare scream.”

“S-s-sir…” She trailed off, squeezing her eyes shut as she blindly groped for a kitchen towel. Ward pressed his boot to the back of the dead man’s neck and yanked his sword free with an almost obscene sucking sound. He was glad the woman wasn’t looking.

“This guy mentioned your friends in the cellar. Is that where they’re keeping people?”

“N-no…” she gasped, scrubbing her face with the towel. After a few seconds, she added, “That’s where the bodies of the ones they killed are.”

“Ah.” Ward rubbed his chin. “Can you show me where Coral is? Is Gwen with him?”

“Yes, sir! They’re in the main parlor, and they have Miss Gwen bound and gagged.”

“All right. Sorry, but you'd better clean up that blood in case someone wanders in here.” Ward grabbed another white kitchen rag and tied it around the dead man’s head, hoping to stop more blood from leaking out. Then, he grabbed him by the ankles and dragged him into the pantry. “Quick now, show me where to go, and then you can clean this up and get back to baking. If someone comes looking for that guy, say he stepped outside and you didn’t dare ask where he was going.”

“Yes, sir.” The woman hurried to another swinging door, a twin to the one Ward had come through, and gingerly pushed it open. Ward was right behind her, sword ready. She darted through and tiptoed to the end of a short hallway where a door on the right and a door straight ahead blocked their progress. She pointed to the right and whispered, “Dining room.” Then she pointed to the other door. “Entry hall. If you walk past the staircase, you’ll see two doors. The second one, the one on the right, is the parlor.”

“All right. Go keep your head down.”

Wide-eyed, she nodded, then gingerly reached out to squeeze Ward’s arm. “Good luck to you, sir. Them devils killed some good folks.” With that, she turned and scurried back to the kitchen. Ward advanced on the door to the entry hall and pushed it open a couple of inches. He saw the grand front door of the manor and another hallway beyond. Nothing moved, so he opened it a few more inches and looked beyond the rich tapestries on the walls to the ornate banister of a darkly-stained, wooden staircase. Beyond it, two doorways were in the far wall, and, as luck would have it, Reembak stood there with both of her other swordsmen.

Ward ducked back, closing the door, and stood there gripping his bloody sword, wondering what the move was. Was his wolf ready for action? Would it matter against a powerful sorceress? He’d seen two higher-tier sorcerers going at it back in Tarnish—seen them throwing around spells that made his mana bolt look like a child’s trick. Still, if he could catch her off guard… If he could get the chains of silence on her…

Would it work? There was a reason Trent Roy hadn’t wanted him to take that spell. It was an anti-mage spell if there ever were one. Moreover, it wouldn’t kill her, so he’d be able to question her…after. That still left the two swordsmen, but Ward wasn’t so worried about them. His wolf was well-rested, wasn’t he? He caught himself thinking of his wolf as a different entity from himself, and he growled, irritated. “My wolf is me,” he hissed, wishing Grace were there to tease him.

The thought made him remember his conversation with Pallishae, and, before he went and got himself killed, he figured he might as well give the spirit’s advice a try. Again, barely vocalizing, whispering just a bit louder than a breath of air, he said, “Grace, if you need some anima to recover, you can use mine. I want you to.”

Standing there in the silence, wishing Grace would appear, scowling and chiding him out of his lunacy, he heard the soft murmur of a conversation beyond the door, and he wondered if he should just wait. Maybe they’d finish talking and then separate, going different ways. What if one of them came toward the kitchen, though? What if he got into a fight with one of the swordsmen, and then Reembak got a clean shot at him with some high-tier spell? If he acted now, he could get the drop on her. He had her in his sights…

Growling, Ward focused on the spell, getting the words set in his mind, and then, before he could have any further doubts, he threw the door open, took one step, and focused his gaze on the trio. Reembak’s beautiful emerald eyes shifted toward the noise, and she said, “About time, Lorin—”

Then Ward’s voice tore through the quiet, burying her normal, human words beneath the tumult of his words of power, “Trahl Vrothun Slenvek!” To his utter delight, the words rang like chains slamming the hardwood paneling and marble floor, and then Reembak threw her hands to her neck, her mouth opening and closing to no avail. Not a sliver of sound escaped her red, glossy lips.

The two swordsmen whirled, and their blades sang as they ripped them from their scabbards. Their mouths moved, but they too were silenced, and Ward laughed. The spell had hit all three of them! His revelry was short-lived as the two men lunged forward, reminding him that swordwork didn’t require talking.

“All right, then,” Ward growled, stepping forward, sword ready. That was when his nose picked up a familiar musk, and he caught the red-tinted glare in the eyes of the two men before him. They lifted snarling lips to expose sharp fangs, and Ward realized he was about to fight not one, but two other lycans.