Carl coughed. He stuck his finger in his ear and waggled it about but detected no blockages.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “could you repeat that?”
The dwarf fixed Carl with what seemed to be a glare, though the lenses over his eyes obscured the true expression.
“Luunchpael Bukzemwynch,” the dwarf grated out.
Carl woke to find his faced pressed against a roughly-hewn wooden table. When he lifted his head he was dismayed to find that his cheek had been resting in something sticky. He rubbed at it with his sleeve in distaste while trying to work out where he was. He had long since given up on coming to with all his recent memories intact. His brief slumbers were so deep and unforgiving that they often temporarily wiped out whole hours of his life. He had discovered that the best way to deal with waking was not to dig through dream-shattered, misorganized memories, but to rely on his sharp senses to orient himself and his quick reflexes to get him out of any trouble he might be in.
Just as Helmar was almost there at the gate, just as he had almost crossed the courtyard and escaped, he stepped on something with his right foot and it upset his delicate balance. The thing went skittering off through the gate. Carl wobbled on Helmar’s shoulder. Helmar desperately struggled to get his foot under him, but it was to no avail. Everything seemed to move with sickening slowness. He tossed his sword ahead of him, hoping he wouldn’t impale himself or Carl on it as he fell. Carl’s feet hit the ground first, whipping the burglar off Helmar’s shoulder like a ragdoll. The twist in the momentum sent Helmar himself spinning. Something cracked the side of his head hard enough to send stars across his eyes, and he tumbled onto his back and rolled a few feet.
Helmar hadn’t thought it was possible, but he sped up slightly. He was starting to get dizzy from the endless slight curve of the stairway as it swept around the wall of the tower. But he kept the wall on his left and continued to run. The single-room levels rushed by on his right, illuminated briefly by Carl’s fading torchlight. It was hard running with a broadsword in his right hand, and he knew that if he fell he would probably impale himself, but he couldn’t drop it. If the beast behind him caught up, it would be all he had left.
Suddenly the chain jerked with a snap, tightening and then relaxing. Helmar jumped, and so did Carl. From somewhere within the pile of smoldering furniture there was a sudden movement. A wardrobe jumped. A table jumped. A chair fell off the table. Still the origin of the movement and the terminus of the chain, which Helmar took to be one and the same, was not visible. The warrior decided not to wait till it was. He began to move toward the door as quietly, calmly, and quickly as he could.
This is it, Helmar, Helmar said to himself. The door was sturdily built, with no keyhole, just a latch. The boards were old and dry, and looked as hard as rock. Helmar took a deep breath, let it out. Then he lifted the latch carefully with his left hand and pushed the door open as he stepped through.
The room atop the tower was a single space, with a single window. There was a single lit brazier by the window, and a single man standing over the flames with his back to the door. Innumerable objects, such as chests, tables, bookcases, and wardrobes, crowded the edges of the room, crouching in the shadows.
Up through the levels of the tower they went, moving faster now. Darkness fled before the torchlight and Helmar’s bright sword. Continue reading
The next room was dark too. And the next. And the next. There were four rooms on the ground floor of the tower, quartering it, and each was dark and empty. In the fourth was an unrailed stone staircase leading up to the next level. The room above seemed dark as well.
When they saw the staircase Helmar and Carl exchanged a glance. Then they proceeded up the staircase tight together, Helmar in the lead with sword ready, Carl just behind with the torch raised high. The torch cleared the second floor just as Helmar’s head did, and he saw an empty room, with a dark doorway. It might have been slightly smaller than the one below it, but otherwise it was identical.
Climbing the rest of the stairs and gathering at the doorway they repeated the cautious approach they had used to explore the rooms on the first floor. Continue reading
The stars had come out, and in the shadow of the tower it was already getting too dark to see. Helmar put his hand on Carl’s shoulder and shook the burglar. Carl’s head wobbled back and forth where it rested against the wall, but other than that there was no reaction.
“Dragon balls!” said Helmar, rather more loudly than he meant to. He froze and listened for any sound from within the tower. There was none that he could detect. Reaching into the ground-floor room he grabbed the latch and pulled the door quietly shut. Then he cursed again, under his breath this time. Carl snored, and slowly slid down the wall into a more comfortable position. As he slid he bounced a bit with the friction that is inherent in sliding down a rough stone wall, but he still remained asleep.
Helmar stood outside the gate, his fists on his hips, his head thrown back, his feet set wide. He’d left the moth-eaten peasant’s blanket on the hillside and taken a few minutes to strap on the metal plates of his armor. He’d given the armor and his sword a careful inspection, the blade a lick of the whetstone. He was ready. He made a mental note to pick up the blanket on his way back to the town — there was no sense in wasting a good wool blanket.