Erich's Plea: Book One of the Witchcraft Wars Page 4

a second and he would be able to make his strike.

  Slade could feel the tremors in his legs; his breathing was still labored and painful. He would have to finish this human guard off quickly if it were to happen at all, and judging by the sneer on the man’s ugly face he knew well just how weakened Slade actually was.

  It seemed to Slade that the world had slowed down, that everything was moving in slow motion. When the guard began to move his whip Slade felt as though he had all the time in the world to react. Bringing up his own whip Slade swept the leather thong low to the ground, catching and curling around the ankles of the guard causing him to stumble and fall. One of the other prisoners, a dwarf Slade didn’t recognize, jumped on the human’s back and grabbing the guard’s dagger slit his throat in one smooth motion.

  Looking around him Slade saw the entire wheel room was in utter confusion. Groups of guards were pouring into the room and were being mobbed and brought down by the desperate prisoners. The creature called Trunk had single-handedly dispatched three more of the guards.

  Yet there were almost as many prisoners lying dead as there were guards. Slade, the adrenalin still pumping through his body providing him with strength he had not dreamt he possessed, began edging his way through the fray towards Trunk. Reaching Trunk’s side Slade put out his hands, palms down, in the universal gesture of friendship. Wulfstan, followed by a group of five of the healthiest appearing prisoners, ran towards them.

  “We’ve got to get out of here quick,” Wulfstan yelled over the noise, “Maybe your big friend could help us break down those doors,” Wulfstan pointed at the two wooden doors in the northern wall. Slade believed the doors Wulfstan had indicated would be the quickest way out of the prison.

  “Good idea,” Slade started to reply but his voice was cut off by the ear-splitting noise of the alarm. Trunk screamed loudly, heard even above the klaxon sound of the alarm, sounding as if he were in extreme pain. Immediately the giant creature turned and ran to the back of the room towards the stairs.

  “Follow him,” Slade yelled to Wulfstan, pointing to Trunk.

  “Are you crazy? The way out is here…” Wulfstan shouted back pointing again to the double wooden doors.

  Although he hated to do it, Slade used the only weapon he had.

  “Follow your orders soldier!” he commanded. For a split second Wulfstan was shocked, Slade could see the surprise on his face, but then he spun around and together with Slade followed the fleeing Trunk.

  None of the prisoners who had been working alongside Wulfstan upstairs had followed Slade and Wulfstan as they raced after the ogre-troll. The other prisoners had scrambled instead for the main doors, believing that offered the best promise of escape and possible safety. Slade prayed he had made the right decision in pursuing Trunk and was not condemning himself and Wulfstan to what would surely be a slow and protracted death if they were caught.

  For such a large creature, Trunk moved surprisingly fast, loping along on his long legs so that Slade and Wulfstan lost sight of the ogre-troll almost immediately. His trail, however, was easy to follow; the bodies of two guards who had confronted Trunk lay dead at the foot of the stairs. The corridor they were in ran for roughly one hundred feet, with several other corridors branching off it and was very dimly lit. At least here, underground, it was quieter than on the main floor. Apart from a few distant screams and the faintly heard ringing of the alarm little else could be heard.

  The two men began to walk cautiously down the corridor, Wulfstan automatically moving slightly in front. At the first branch, Wulfstan peered into the corridor, but the lack of light made it difficult for him to see more than a few feet. Turning back towards Slade Wulfstan shook his head. It was unlikely Trunk had gone in that direction; the narrow hall appeared to be completely deserted.

  They continued further down the main corridor. After approximately fifteen feet, they came across another guard, his neck neatly broken. At least now they knew they were heading in the right direction. Slade paused briefly to catch his breath, leaning heavily against the smooth stone, as Wulfstan continued ahead.

  A sudden noise behind him caused Slade to spin around, the purloined whip still clutched in his hand. The noise was only a fellow prisoner; apparently the only one who had followed them back down into the subterranean maze of the underground torture chambers. The prisoner was quite short, coming barely to Slade’s shoulder, slightly built with untidy medium brown hair and clouded chocolate brown eyes.

  Sizing up the newcomer Slade quickly decided the man had either not been a prisoner for very long or had not yet been subjected to Diablis’s inventive tortures. The stranger’s linen pants and tunic seemed nearly new and Slade could not see any visible lash marks or bruises. Slade smiled briefly at the young human and lowered his whip as Wulfstan backtracked towards them.

  Wulfstan, easily the fittest of all of them, whispered to Slade and the newcomer to follow behind him closely and silently as he continued to move throughout the shadowy prison corridors. The next corridor branch turned north and had burning torches spaced intermittently all the way down allowing Wulfstan to see the fallen bodies of two more guards.

  With a small shrug, Wulfstan motioned for Slade and the stranger to follow him down the corridor. Wulfstan wondered why they were wasting time tracking down this half-ogre when they should be working at getting out of the prison. He had, however, spent his entire adult life in service to Saxenburg’s royal family and was not about to disobey a direct order now, even if it came from someone who had abdicated his right to the throne.

  This corridor had doorways leading to four separate rooms; two on the left side of the corridor and two on the right. At the second doorway three more of the guards lay dead. Peering around the corner into the room, Wulfstan was so horrified by what he saw that he nearly vomited.

  It was a large rectangular room, roughly twenty feet wide by thirty feet long. The room had obviously been used as a torture chamber; there was dried blood, waste and what appeared to be bits of skin and flesh spattered all over the tables and the floors and the stink was overpowering. Bizarre implements Wulfstan had never seen before hung on the rough stone walls, their purpose horrifically obvious.

  Six long, low tables stood in the centre of the room. Each table had iron shackles at the top and bottom, evidently used to tie the unfortunate victim in place. Wulfstan had not seen this room, or any like it, during his time in Diablis prison. Now, seeing it for the first time, Wulfstan thanked whatever gods might be listening that he had been spared this fate.

  Looking around Wulfstan spied a small door that he had not immediately noticed. In the far corner of the room, the door was made from stone instead of wood, making it barely distinguishable from the surrounding stone walls. Moving cautiously, with Slade and the other, still unnamed man, Wulfstan walked towards the door. Lying dead on the floor in the middle of the room was the strangest creature Wulfstan had ever seen, dead or alive.

  Tall and thin the thing had a strange, tentacled head and a gaping maw of a mouth. It was dressed in elaborate robes, similar to wizards’ robes and looked like something from a nightmare. Wulfstan could only stare and wonder what manner of creature this was; and what on earth was it was doing in Diablis prison’s torture chambers?

  “There’s magic here, strong magic,” the skinny stranger whispered with a touch of awe in his voice, “I don’t know what that thing is but I don’t like how this feels…” his voice trailed off. Slade looked at the dead creature and, like Wulfstan, wondered what it could possibly be.

  “How do you know there’s magic here?” Slade asked the small man.

  “I'm a wizard; I can smell it, beyond that door. Very powerful magic. I don’t know whether we should even go in there, but I know you will.”

  The wizard looked calmly at Slade, smiling just a little. Wulfstan watched the two of them; he did not like magic, did not understand it and, although he would ra
ther have died than admit it to anyone else, he was also a little afraid of magic. His duty however seemed clear; he must open the door and enter the room first. Although, as he reached for the door Wulfstan was no longer sure what his duty was, after all Slade had relinquished his place in the royal line. Steeling himself against whatever he might find Wulfstan went to open the door, but as he did so Slade reached out a hand and stopped him.

  “Better let me do this, my friend, you two wait here.” Slade said.

  Slade had expected the stone door to be heavy and hard to open but it swung open easily at his touch. Inside was a small chamber, just large enough for the long, low table in the centre with about two feet of space all around. The room was brilliantly lit, obviously from a spell, as there were no torches in evidence. Trunk stood next to the table looking down at the man strapped there.

  The man was human and seemed young. He would be almost Slade’s height when standing and powerfully built with shiny black hair and very pale skin. His eyes were closed and his breathing appeared shallow. Slade felt unaccountably cold, as if he stood in an arctic breeze. The chill seemed to emanate from the man on the table, coming off him in waves. Trunk looked up at Slade and then back to the helpless