The Citadel of Hate

"You are too slow! Take some water and get back to work!" Aranthir picked up the waterskin and continued down the tunnel without comment, though he wanted little more than to rid himself of the man. Unstoppering the waterskin, he realized that it was his own, which he had last held at the oasis, just before the knights arrived. His labors in the mine had left him parched like he had never been before, so he raised the waterskin to his lips and drank deeply until it was all gone.

The oasis's water was strange to his tongue, infused with something extra he could not place in his mind. He swayed on his feet as he felt an unfamiliar presence in his head. The air before him swirled and began to take shape. A small blue-white cloud floated in the dry, dusty tunnel.

"What are you?" Aranthir asked in a whisper.

"I am a djinn," a high woman's voice answer. "A daughter of the oasis. Do not be afraid, mortal."

"I have more to be afraid of here than you."

"The Sorcerer?" the voice asked. The cloud trembled and Aranthir heard a woman's laughter. "I suppose he would be frightful to one such as you. But I am a spirit of the desert. He has no power over me."

"I have heard of many mortals who know how to bind the djinns to their will. Do you not fear such a life of servitude?"

The cloud laughed again. "It would be a welcome release from my imprisonment."

"Imprisonment?" Aranthir asked.

"In the oasis. It was my home for a thousand years, but now I have tired of it. I wish to see the world. Perhaps to reach the sea. Have you been there, mortal?"

"I have. And my name is Aranthir."

"Aranthir," the djinn repeated, "A lovely name. I have many names among the djinni, but the last mortal I knew called me by the name of Tamia."

"Well, Tamia, I would gladly take you to the sea if it means a release from my imprisonment here. Can you help me?"

"Oh, indeed I can!" the cloud shook with excitement. "It has been so long since I have had a patron, but with my power you could surely be free of here, sorcerer or no."

"Can we leave tonight?"

"Tonight?" the djinn replied, "Why wait?"

"The desert is too hot during the day, and at night we will be hidden from pursuers."

"Very well. I will wait until tonight. But I so wish to see the sea!"

"I have many companions who I will take with me. They will be tired and hungry. Can you do anything for them?"

"I can provide them with nourishment for a time, but they will die if they cannot feed themselves soon enough. I can guide you to the nearest river, though it is many leagues away. But with my magic, you will move as if you have the desert winds at your back."

"Very well. When the overseers take us back to the surface and feed us, I will rally my companions and break out."

"Oh, would that I could speed the sun's descent," the djinn complained. "But very well. I have spent so many long years in solitude, I can be patient now at the end of it all."

The cloud dispersed itself and Aranthir continued down the tunnel toward the sound of picks. The overseers were leaning against the wall in conversation, ignoring the miners' activity. They paid Aranthir little mind as he rejoined the others. Finding a place between Rora and Aigon, he looked over one shoulder to ensure the overseers were still distracted.

"I have a plan to escape," he said. "Tonight."

"I've already tired of this place," Rora said, her brow beaded with sweat. "Tell me already."

"I have encountered a djinn," Aranthir began, "at the oasis. It is a stroke of true luck, and she promises to help us escape."

"A djinn? How can we trust it? What does she want?"

"The Sardmen I've talked to always say to trust a djinn at your own peril," Aigon complained.

"She wants us to bring her to the sea," Aranthir replied. "She might play us false, but how many other choices do we have?"

Aigon shook his head while Rora simply shrugged.

"I suppose you're right. So, what next?"

"Once the overseers take us up, we'll break out. First, we storm the armory, then the stables, and finally the gatehouse. We'll ride northeast, towards the Lyarus, and follow it into the green lands."

"What of the pursuit?" Rora asked.

"At the end of the day we'll be too tired to escape," Aigon complained.

"We will get our evening meal first, and with the djinn's magic, I can provide us with sustenance long enough to get to other food. I can also mask our trail long enough to escape. It will be a hard ride, but with luck we can make it to the river in two days."

"Alright, let's go," Aigon said after a pause. Rora nodded in agreement.

"Good. Tell the others, quietly."

"All of them?" Aigon asked.

"Just us," Aranthir replied. "The others have given up. Look at them."

"They have no hope, but we could offer them hope," Aigon protested.

"They are just as likely to tell our plan to the guards. We cannot afford the risk."

Aigon opened his mouth to protest but Rora put a hand on his shoulder.

"Aranthir is right," she said. "We can't save everyone, and we can't save ourselves if they give us up. Look out for yourself first."

Aigon moved away down the tunnel wall and spoke in hushed whispers to the others in their group. Rora looked to Aranthir is disappointment.

"You're right," Aranthir said, "we can't save everyone."

"You used to be more like him," she said.

"We all did," he replied sadly.

The day wore on slowly, prolonged by their eager anticipation of the escape as much as by the utter monotony of their work. At last the overseers cracked their whips and barked that it was time to go. The slaves fell in line and were ushered back up the tunnel to their bunkhouse. When they reached the surface, the sky was reddening in the west as the sun fell below the horizon. Its waning rays stretched out across the flat plain and the dry hills around the citadel, creating shadowed valleys where it could not reach. Aranthir smiled to himself. Once out the gates, they would be invisible.

In the bunkhouse, the guards thrust upon them another meal of porridge and cheese, though this time they added a few strips of salted meat. Aranthir could not tell what animal the meat had come from, and simply hoped it wasn't human. For drink, they were given a small cup of beer each. Once the meal had been served, the guards eagerly exited the bunkhouse and made for their own barracks. Aranthir could see them shuffling their cards even as they walked.

Their meal eaten, the slaves dispersed and Aranthir gathered his own party to him on the ground floor. They assembled in a circle, all looking to him for their next move.

"It's time," he said, and the others nodded. They were ready to begin, but Aranthir had something else to do first. "Tamia," he called, "now is the time for your magic."

At first, there was no sign of her. Then they all heard a soft woman's laugh, and a cloud began to form between them. The cloud was larger and more definite than it had been before, taking a shape vaguely reminiscent of a woman's form. Aigon looked on in wonderment, while the others had expressions that ranged from unease to impatience. All except Lutharis, who merely watched with amusement.

"You are all no doubt tired," the djinn said, her cloud form turning around itself as if she was using it to look over them. "But I need you alert and ready. So take of my power and feed yourselves on it."

From the cloud flowed a wave of vapor, as if it was exhaling on a cold night. The misty vapor reached Aranthir's nostrils and he breathed in deeply. He felt a rush of sensation, the cool refreshing sensation of cold spring water in his throat, a hearty meal in his stomach, and a good night's sleep behind him. He gasped with the feeling and heard others do the same. Looking around at them, he saw them leave behind their day in the mines. All the back-breaking work and the lashes of the whips washed away like dust under a waterfall. He smiled as he looked over them and they returned it threefold.

"Now it's time to go," she said, and the cloud began to fade away. Aranthir stepped into the circle again.

"Alright, the plan is armory first, then stables, then the gatehouse. We will ride northeast towards the Lyarus all night, and rest once the day gets too hot to continue. Take any food and water we can find in the stables and armory, but we must be out of the citadel before they notice we're gone. Any questions?"

They all shook their heads.

"Well then, no sense wasting anymore time."

With Aranthir at the head, they crept from the bunkhouse into the bailey. They kept to the shadows as the wound their way along the outer edge to the armory. The building was a low block of bridge and mortar with narrow windows reinforced by bars. The door was a simple door made from the wood of whatever hardy trees grew in the wastes, but strong enough to be a significant barrier. Aranthir called on the djinn again.

The cloud slowly coalesced before him, this time a mere puff of white in the night air.

"What can I do for you now?" she asked with amusement.

"We've no way to open the door. I could smash it open with my shoulder, but it will give whoever is inside time to arm himself, and we've no weapons to fight him."

"Very well, I will come to your rescue once again," the djinn replied. The cloud swept forward as a white streak, disappearing into the door's keyhole until there was a loud click. Aranthir seized the handle and yanked the door open, admitting his company into the armory.

Inside, the room was crowded with racks of weapons and armor. Two overseers jumped up from a table in the back which they had covered in cups and a keg of beer. They shouted a warning to no one in particular and rushed to arm themselves from the racks.

Aranthir did the same, seizing a dagger of black iron from the nearest rack and rushing to attack his foes. Behind him, the others flooded through the door and seized whatever weapons came into their reach.

The first guard attacked Aranthir with a scimitar in the narrow aisle between the racks. Aranthir ducked the blade as it cut the air in front of him and then retorted with his dagger. But the man was wearing armor and the dagger's point caught in the rings of his mail, nearly wrenching the blade from his hand. The guard leapt back, his scimitar poised for another strike.

On the other side of the racks, the other guard was hurled bodily to the floor by Lutharis and Pairas, where they stabbed him as he tried to crawl away. The man opposed to Aranthir realized he was alone and hesitated in fear. Aranthir rushed at him, seizing the opening. He caught the guard's wrist as he tried to bring his scimitar to bear, and they fell to the floor. The scimitar became entangled in other weapons in their racks and tore itself from the grasp of its wielder, leaving him defenseless under Aranthir.

Instead, the man clutched at the half-elf's face, trying to work his fingers into Aranthir's eyes. Aranthir fought down the grasping hands and plunged the dagger into the guard's neck. Far from being a mortal blow, the wound instead induced a dying panic in the man, who flailed about and screamed in his death throes. A spear knocked loose from the rack fell onto them, its shaft striking Aranthir in the back of the head. Aranthir stabbed the guard again, tearing the blade across his throat to complete the deed faster.

At last the man expired, though in his passing he had bled all over the floor and Aranthir's own clothes. Aranthir wiped the dagger clean as best his could, but there was nothing to be done for his clothes.

Rising from a bloody floor, Aranthir looked around the room. Despite its humble mudbrick and plaster appearance on the outside, the interior of the armory was fit for a king. Intricately carved wooden molding crowned the walls while the floors were polished hardwood. The walls were covered with a mural that wrapped around from the entrance, showing scenes of a dark figure and the knights in strange armor riding over foes in deserts, then the fields and finally storming the walls of a city until at last the figure sat seated on a throne with a headless man in king's robes at his feet.

Aranthir recovered his enchanted longsword and pistols in short order. Next to follow was his armor, which the Black Lord's men had even cleaned for him. Lutharis retrieved the closest saber and muskets he could find, with no concern for what had been his. He also purloined a pair of double-barreled pistols for himself and a second pair for Aranthir.

Rora appeared at the exit, having rearmed herself and her sharpshooters. "We have to move quickly. We will take the stables while you move on the gatehouse. Once we have the horses, we'll meet you there."

Aranthir nodded and Rora set off at a run with her sharpshooters in tow. Pairas and his men armed themselves with muskets and donned cuirasses and helms of black iron. Aigon distributed stolen bandoliers of ammunition among the group. When they at last were armed and armored, Aranthir cracked open the door and peered around the bailey. There was no sign they had been spotted so he carefully and quietly led his companions outside.

From the armory, they crept along the outer wall toward the gatehouse. A narrow stair climbed the wall to the gatehouse entrance, overwatched by machicolations hanging above the door. With Lutharis at his back and a double-barreled pistol in each hand, Aranthir crept up the stair to the door. It was locked, but Lutharis had taken a decorated steel tabar from the armory, which he now drew from his belt.

"This will only take a moment," he promised, and he and Aranthir exchanged places. Aranthir turned his pistols upward, ready to fire all four barrels into anyone who looked down from the machicolations. With a deep breath, Lutharis raised the tabar above his head and swung at the door handle.

The heavy axe bit deep into the wood and Lutharis twisted it in his hands, splintering the wood where it had struck. Another blow cracked the wood around the handle and Aranthir kicked it with a heavy boot. The door handle broke off and Lutharis tore the portal open.

Inside was a lone knight in that strange black armor and four Sardic mercenaries with bows strung. Despite the warning afforded by Lutharis' assault on the door, the men looked unready for a fight. Aiming over Lutharis' shoulder as the big man rushed inside, Aranthir fired both barrels in both pistols into the knight's chest. The shots struck true but ricocheted away with no effect on him, though one bounced off the stone wall of the chamber and found its way into the neck of another sentry, who went down without a word.

Aranthir discarded the expended pistols without care and drew his jeweled longsword. Aigon, Pairas, and the others rushed into the gatehouse door to join the assault. The knight lumbered forward, drawing a broad-bladed longsword engraved with ancient runes in the fuller. Runes in the fuller of Aranthir's own longsword flashed gold and then blood red in response. The massive knight's eldritch eyes flamed underneath the black iron helm, swirling hypnotic patterns in their red depths. Aranthir averted his eyes from their entrancing movements and lunged to attack.

The knight parried his strike and Aranthir felt the force of the parry ring through his arm and shoulder. His foe towered over and uttered an arcane word of command. The runed longsword in his hand sheathed itself in flame. Aranthir could feel the heat of the fires as the blade struck at him again and silently thanked the gods that he was able to dodge aside in time.

Beside him, Lutharis buried his tabar in the throat of a sentry, spraying blood across the wooden floor. Aigon fired a pistol into the chest of a third sentry and the fourth cast aside his bow and side to run for the door. He made it four steps before Pairas wrenched the man from his feet and stabbed him under the arm with a long dagger. The man thrashed and screamed, but could not break Pairas' grip and he succumbed to four more thrusts of the blade.

Now only the knight stood against them, surrounded in the center of the room but still standing tall with a burning blade in his hand. Aranthir and the others paced around him, looking for an opening to descend on the knight like wolves.

"Aigon, open the gate," Aranthir commanded, and Aigon obeyed after a slight pause. The young man grabbed hold of the heavy winch and began to turn. Beneath them, they could both hear and feel the rattling of thick iron chains as the gates slowly inched open. The knight cocked his head at them and Aranthir could hear a low hiss emanating from the knight's helm.

Pairas's man Okoba stepped forward, aiming a pistol at the knight's head. Before he could fire, it rounded on him and slashed his sword, aiming to sever his arm at the elbow. Always quick on his toes, Okoba darted away in time to save his arm, though the blade set his sleeve aflame. Now that the knight's back was turned, Aranthir darted forward and, holding his sword in a half-sword grip, plunged the point into a seam between the cuirass and pauldron.

But the knight rounded on him before he could strike home, and batted Aranthir's sword point away. Lutharis and Pairas closed in as well, aiming to strike their own blows. Pairas' sword clanged off the knight's armor while Lutharis' tabar strike was caught at the wrist. The knight heaved Lutharis backwards, hurling him into Aigon as he turned the winch. The two of them collapsed to the floor with a pained cry, while Pairas flailed his burning arm about as she tried to put it out.

Aranthir reversed the grip on his longsword, swinging the hilt as a club. The blow struck the knight in the shoulder, denting the armor where it struck, but the knight came on undeterred. He thrust his burning blade at Aranthir, only for the agile half-elf to dart aside, but then a great gauntleted first slammed into Aranthir's chest and knocked him to the floor.

Aranthir was saved from a follow-up thrust by one of Pairas' men, who stabbed at the knight's chest with his sword. The swordpoint did no harm, apart from the horrid screeching as it scraped across the black iron plating, but the attack distracted the knight long enough for Aranthir to gather himself.

His longsword lay just out of his reach, so instead Aranthir drew the black iron dagger and stabbed into a chink in the knight's leg armor. The narrow point found a gap in the armor and Aranthir drove it in until he heard it strike iron on the other side. The knight did not cry out but turned its terrible gaze back to him.

When it did, Okoba fired his pistol into its helm. The knight jerked its head forward in shock at the iron rang around it. Lutharis came charging in, tabar raised. He smashed the axehead into the knight's helm and caved in a large dent. Disoriented by the blows, knight dropped its burning sword and staggered forward a step, but the dagger in its leg tripped it up and, with a great crash, the iron giant fell to the floor.

Aranthir was on it before it could recover. He tore the dagger from its leg and stabbed through the terrible creature's eyeslits. It hissed at him like an animal and a massive black gauntlet seized him about the neck. He feared it would crush the life from him, but Lutharis appeared behind him and brought his tabar down on the dying knight's armored wrist. The armor cracked under the blow, and the grip loosened. Aranthir pulled out his dagger, trailing a trail of thick black blood, and he stabbed into the other eye. The hiss turned into a guttural scream and the knight kicked furiously, battering its armored feet against the floor.

Okoba stepped over, leveling a pair of pistols at the dying knight. Aranthir held the knight's helm in place while Okoba touched his pistols to the helm and fired. There was a was roar of smoke and fire, and the knight at last lay still.