Williwaw Chapter 38

At some point during the late afternoon Master Kenway made his exit from the Red Keep, but Devlin was soon so engrossed on his side of the library that he never noticed the heavy door shutting with a thud. With his unexpected opportunity to spend as much time as he liked he began to peruse the vast wealth of knowledge and literature in this one small room. There were books on economics, on hunting, fishing, architecture and irrigation, old history books about Gormica in its infancy, of the woes and triumphs of Rael. An entire section on the first hundred years of exploration and building what was at the time known only Velhurland, not Sadoria and Astoria, given to the two sons of the Gormican king for their bravery and discovery of this new land.

Then he found an assortment of heavy blue volumes, labeled one through five on The Age of Piracy and Rebellion. These told the story of how Sadoria had begun the atrocities of pirating on coastal towns and cities in Astoria, and when the Astorian Navy had retaliated they had then found their way to the west and begun the same vile endeavors on Arthuroan shores.

Devlin felt his throat tighten. There was no need to read of these recent happenings. It had been less than a decade since the fallout of those raids, and the ensuing involvement of Astoria, where the navy had stepped in help to their newfound “ally”.

General Bouillion, Commander of the Northern Astorian Navy hunted down all Sadorian pirates with swift justice, restoring peace to the Arthuroan coasts and in so doing brought prosperity and new commerce among these two newly allied nations. Sadorian raids subdued, and with unlimited opportunities awaiting, the general stayed in Arthuroan for a decade, working as peacekeeper and mayor of the booming city of Athunai where immeasurable wealth and riches were discovered in the murky swamps along the coast. He retired a decorated hero and returned to Astoria to live out the rest of his days.

Devlin scoffed. “I suppose if you put it in a book, it becomes the truth,” he said to himself, shutting the book with a disgusted thunk. As if the history of what he had done along the coast hadn’t been grossly misrepresented and had abstained from telling any of the horrors he had committed, it had also given patently false information about his whereabouts. He wasn’t retired. He was right here in Atheron, under a new name. But giving him the title of Magistrate Xerdex could not hide his scarred face from Devlin; could not wipe the memory of what he did to Athunai, and of what he did to Devlin’s family. And it had not changed his methods either. He was still lording over a city full of people whom he did not serve or care for, who he only subjugated to further his own financial and historical posterity.

The more Devlin thought about it, the more he became angered. He tried to find something else of more worth to read, but his mind kept going back to Athunai. To Boullion. To the reason he was here in Astoria in the first place. He never imagined that he would see Boullion, or Xerdex as he now called himself, in the flesh, let alone be asking for his help. But that time was almost up.

Here in the stillness Devlin had, for the first time in a long time, the space to himself to stupor and contemplate all that had been and would be. His inner being was alight with a burning passion to strike Boullion down where he stood. It was near the time of his dinner. Devlin knew exactly where he was at this moment. His arms were tense, his body from head to toe trembling with energy.

But he couldn’t do that. Not now. Not on the eve of what could be a defining day. If Eridan was to arrive tonight, he could not miss it. Personal vendettas and national pride had to be left on the cutting floor for the moment. His very life was in danger as long as Eridan was walking the earth.

So, he bid his time, slouched with his fingertips drumming off one another. He thought of Miles whose performance was surely beginning soon. He thought of back home, to the years he had spent to get himself where he was. Preparation is a taxing thing that can feel pointless. Devlin was never sure if any of the things he had worked for would ever be enacted. But he had never felt as close as he did now. And now nerves had to be steeled, hearts emboldened, and mind sharpened.

There were three main obstacles - or as his mentor would say, objectives to complete- to see the night through. One, he needed to wrest that sword away from Eridan. He wasn’t sure if that was where the power resided, but every time Eridan had used his abilities, his magic, it had been through that ebony blade. This first objective was accompanied by the second, that being arming himself. He had no sword, and waiting for Eridan to begin striking down guards was a far cry from a plan for obtaining one. Third: once he got the sword he had to get out of the town and do so alone. That sword was everything. And if he did not come away with it, Boullion certainly would.

Devlin pursed his lips. Perhaps he could even put that wild beast down once and for all. But would he have the time? Was personal revenge worth the future of his home country. Arthuroan had needed a savior of its own for some time. Perhaps Devlin could be his own country’s Black Bull. But he wouldn’t be like Eridan, or Boullion, or any of the people here, always looking out for there own interests, fighting over land and wealth that was never theirs in the first place. He could be better. He would be better

The weaker but more vibrant sun rays began to peak through the narrow windows. Devlin stood quickly. Finding a weapon was now the priority. He had two options: scour the keep in hopes of finding something, or stalking across the open courtyard into the numerous forges where there would surely be a plethora of armor and weapons.

If he had the time to make a smarter decision he would simply wait for nightfall and then make his way to the forges, but since he had no idea if Eridan would arrive, and if he did what time of day, he decided to quickly mount the steps to the keep. Most of the arched, wooden doors were shut away with heavy metal locks. The keep was nearly barren on the first three flights, adorned with nothing more than a bench, rug, and man-sized candlestick. They were tall, metal, and as Devlin approached and looked closely in near complete darkness, he realized the candle sat secure in the pincers of 4 metal braces that appeared to resemble spear heads.

Devlin paused. A spear may be the more effective weapon. If I can get in close, I can force his blade away.

He looked around, decided that climbing five more flights of stairs would be tiring and likely no more fruitful, and grabbed the candleholder with both arms. There were four skinny legs to support the tall thing. Those would get in the way. Devlin listened for any sign of life, but as had been the case all day he heard none. He took a deep breath and then brought the holder down hard. The loud smack rang in the cylindrical space, echoing up and down the keep. Devlin surveyed the damage. One of the legs had snapped off completely, leaving a jagged edge, and two more had been bent at an awkward angle. He shrugged. No sense in stopping now. Two more momentous swings left him with a makeshift, four-pronged spear, one candle that had been launched against the wall and shattered, and four mangled pieces of metal that would never be useful again.

Oh well. Something about eggs and omelets.

He hurried back down the uneven and winding staircase – a design meant to slow and trip up attacking forces – and arrived at the front door once more. The light was now almost gone, the air silent, save for his heavy breathing. He peeked the door open, bracing for a frozen gust of wind, but to his surprise and joy the air was still outside. Frigid yes, but it was a clear night with scarcely a cloud in the darkening sky. The lights in the forges had gone out, but the barracks were lit up all around, as well as a cluster of torches at the guardhouse and on either side of the portcullis.

The guard at the portcullis was facing away, down the incline, but who knew what eyes could be inside the guardhouse, watching for any disturbance. What if the magistrate had recanted on his earlier sarcastic responses to Devlin and had made his troops aware of a possible coming danger? Even if he hadn’t, it was a good two hundred paces from the keep to the first forge, with absolutely no cover in between along the cobblestone. Not to mention that on such a quiet night, his footsteps across the courtyard would echo like hammers on an anvil.

He shut the door and made his way to the nearest window. He needed to think this over. One false move and he would be put in a dungeon, and whether by Eridan or Boullion he would undoubtedly be killed. Deserters in a time of war were even more sure to die than soldiers on the front line.

He kept his gaze on the guardhouse, but it was impossible to see if there was anyone inside. Redling had been at post for at least eight hours. Assuming the guardhouse ran three shifts a day, this new post would not be switching until midnight, still several hours away, despite how late the winter nights made it feel. So, unless there was to be commotion elsewhere, there was no distracting him. Perhaps Devlin could slip out of the keep and make his way to the closest barracks. He might be able to work his way along the backs of the buildings in a half-circle. He would have to move quickly with how much longer it would take and stay alert for soldiers stepping out for a smoke, or to relieve themselves at the outhouses in the back. Still, it was a better chance than sprinting across the courtyard.

He readied himself to sneak out, envisioning the route in his head. He had no idea of the layouts behind the barracks, but he would deal with that as it came his way. But he never had to. A shout near the portcullis drew his attention back that way. He watched as a soldier came running up the hill, hands on his hips as he tried to relay his message through heaving breaths. It was hard to catch everything he said, but by his animated hand gestures back down the hill it seemed something was amiss.

The guard at watch pounded on the wall of the guardhouse and a few seconds later another man staggered out, pants half-zipped, and shirt unbuttoned, rubbing his eyes with balled up fists. The two conversed in quick and sharp tones. Devlin caught the words magistrate, alert, and riot. The half-dressed guard cinched his pants and took off at a sprint across the courtyard to the right. He was headed for the barracks as he buttoned up his undershirt on the run. His night shift was starting earlier than anticipated tonight.

Devlin made his way to the door and opened it wider this time, sure that the guards would not be looking his way. He watched as the running guard arrived at the middle barracks and crashed through the door. There were shouts as lights flickered and a great commotion came from within. The guard came back out, flanked by two officers who were already in full gear. Each man headed to a barrack, as soldiers spilled out of the first one. Devlin licked his lips. This was his chance. In the chaos he could weave through them. In the dark no one would notice one lone man.

Within two minutes there were nearly a hundred men lined up in small cohorts outside the barracks. The two officers gave a salute to the gate guard, and he headed back to the small guardhouse, his shoulders rising high and sinking low. There were many drills such as this practiced back in the Royal City where Devlin had trained. Simulations for what would happen if their camp was raided at night or early morning. But it hadn’t helped at Hoden’s Pass. Not one bit. Images of the blood on the snow, those crazed blue-painted barbarians pouring into the pass, Eridan in his larger-than life armor, made Devlin shudder. And now he had to face it all again.

But this time he had no companions, no armor, and no real weapon.

It was early enough in the evening that the soldiers had likely been pulled away from their leisure time after dinner, and so they were fully armed and moving quickly down the hill now. Whatever situation had beckoned them was not big enough to deploy all of troops, and there was no extra movement on the ramparts, but many had spilled out of the barracks to see what the commotion was. A hundred troops moved out in three lines abreast, funneling into two columns as they exited the courtyard.

It was now or never. Devlin slipped out of the keep, moving at a quick walk. He thought he had time to make it across the courtyard before the organized chaos died down, and the last thing he wanted was attention. In the dark he hoped that his makeshift spear looked believable enough as a silhouette. He walked tall and upright, just like every good soldier, headed to intersect with the column like he was a late participant. He felt so exposed out in the open, his mouth drying and his pulse quickening. But no one seemed to pay him any mind.

He did a quick survey as he approached the halfway point. Many were beginning to amble back into their barracks. The guardhouse eyeline was now blocked completely by the columns of red-and-white and so Devlin hurried his pace. As he approached the back of the columns, he did his best to hide his face without looking conspicuous. He had no helmet, no armor, and his face would be an oddity, a newcomer to these men that saw the same faces day in and day out for months if not years.

He slipped right behind them, the backs of the exiting soldiers to his left, the backs of those not called to duty on the right, the forges straight ahead just fifty paces away.

That’s when the shout went up from outside the keep. There was a faint whoosh and the horizon outside the gate glowed orange for a moment. There was a shout from the officers at the head of the column and the soldiers began to double time it as those near the barracks dropped to a dead sprint.

It’s happening.

But was Devlin in the right place? Was Eridan attacking, and was he doing it head-on? It had worked before. And did anyone, even Eridan, know the full extent of what he could do? Perhaps Devlin had underestimated his power and overestimated his own intelligence. Maybe he had over-thought and overcomplicated everything and it was going to cost everyone dearly.

He paused for a moment, unsure, and looked around. What he saw was a keep full of five hundred soldiers that would soon be empty, completely vulnerable save for the few archers on the ramparts. Eridan had taken Hoden’s Pass and Potter’s Creek with sheer violence and power. He could now take the Red Keep without lifting a hand. And if he took the keep, he could sweep down the city streets unseen, like a wave of death through narrow corridors.

Devlin took off at a blistering pace, nearly bouncing off the walls of the forges, headed straight for the Jurtel Courtyard.