The Siege: Part 1

“Move, scum.” The jailer shoves a shackled Dellen. The jailer wears a large leather apron that covers the front of his torso. His back is exposed to all the filth and grime down in the dungeons. His back is the same color of his black leggings.

“Who are you calling, scum? When was the last time you bathed?” Dellen spat back, getting into the jailer’s face the best he can. He’s large for a dwarf, with a long brown beard almost reaching the ground. He lifts it up to keep it from dragging in the sludge they’re walking in that covers the stone floor. He’s still in his mail from storming the castle. All of his other men were killed or ran away. They took his plate armor away to melt it down and use it to make larger plate for the humans.

“Back off, little man or Crog crush skull.” The jailer holds up a large fist.

“Crog, is it? I will remember your name as I kill you.” Dellen smiles, turning back around. They walk down the corridor, jail cells line the walls. Most of them are empty but there are some occupied by elves, humans and dwarves.

They reach the end of the corridor to the largest cell in here. Inside is a tall elf sitting on the cold stone floor. He lifts his head to the sound of Dellen shuffling his feet down the corridor. He sees who’s coming and drops his head back down to his knees.

“Crog, I have a question for you.”

Crog looks at him with a raised eyebrow and squinty eyes. “What?” The slow jailer responds.

“When you threatened to smash my skull in, were you going to use your fist or a mace?”

“Crog doesn’t need mace, Crog use hands.” Crog lifts both of his massive hands in the air.

“I’m a seasoned veteran in the field of combat. Do you really think you could smash me with your hands?

Crog looks at him for a moment. He’s slightly puzzled as to what’s going on. “Mace in armory at front of dungeon. Crog, would go back and get it.”

“Excellent. Do you have a key for it?”

“Crog, has key to everything in dungeon.” Crog boasts puffing up his chest patting the keys attached to his belt.

“That’s what I thought.” Dellen moves with a blinding pace for having shackles on his feet as well as his hands. The quick jingling of the chains brings the elf’s head up once again. Dellen kicks Crog in the back of the knee dropping him to the ground.  Dellen jumps on his back, wrapping his chains around the throat of the jailer, sealing off his air ways. Crog can’t even scream for help. He scratches at his throat trying to loosen the chains. His face is turning purple but Dellen only pulls harder on the chains.

Dellen can hear his neck snap from the pressure of the chains. Crog’s body goes limp immediately. Dellen lets go of his grip pushing Crog off to the side. He grabs the keys from his belt fumbling around trying to find the ones to his shackles.

“You shouldn’t have come, Dellen.” The elf walks to the cell bars. “It’s suicide.”

“But you trying to take the castle at the dead of night wasn’t, my king?”

“Never said it wasn’t. I had a chance to end this siege without bloodshed. You know I had to take it.”

Dellen lets out a hardy laugh. “I know you did, my king. That’s why I fight on your side and not Frederick’s. He’s swift to pass judgment and violence.”

“Please don’t call me that. We’ve known each other way too long for formality, besides you could carry the same title if I were not here.” He laughs.

“I know, but it’s not the dwarves turn to lead, or the humans, it’s the elves. So in my book, you are the only one that should have that title. Did he challenge you to single combat?”

“Not yet. I think he’s waiting for me to become weak from the dungeons. Now, let’s get out of here before we’re caught, again.”

 “I am at your service my ki-, I mean Grandle.” Dellen finds the key that unlocks the cell holding Grandle after a couple of tries. “Help me get this filth into the cell.” Dellen drags the jailor in by his feet. Grandle grabs his arms lifting him up, making it easier. They lock the cell door with Crog inside.

“Let’s free the others.”

“Good idea, we can use their help to escape.” Dellen opens up the cell closet to him. The captives get up, some needing more help than others. “Come with us if you want a chance to fight for your lives.”

“It beats sitting in here waiting for the inevitable.” An old man gets up from the floor. “I shall fight or die by your side, my king.” The old man doesn’t appear to have been in here long and still looks fairly fit. His clothes would indicate those of a beggar but are clean.

Dellen looks at Grandle with a wary look, Grandle nods at him and moves on. They unlock the cell doors as they make their way down the corridor to the entrance. It opens to a small room with only a table and a few chairs sitting around it. It’s dimly lit with a few torches attached to the walls next to a small wooden door. The stairs are directly in front of the corridor leading up to the castle and courtyard.  

There are two humans sitting in the chairs talking when Dellen walks out of the corridor. They stand up drawing their swords ready to attack. Dellen holds up his hands walking out. He puts his back to the wall sliding along it. The men are confused watching him walk past them, keeping their eyes and swords on him.

“Halt.” One of them finally says. Dellen stops at the stairs and sits down.

“I was wondering when one of you would say that.” He smiles. “Aren’t you going to arrest me again?” He holds up his hands ready for shackling. Grandle slips in from the corridor. He steps behind one of them, snapping his neck with a quick twist. He grabs the sword before it falls to the ground. He feeds it through the other man’s back, its point coming out his chest. Dellen stands up grabbing the sword from him before he drops.  

Dellen takes the keys off of his own belt for the dungeon armory. He unlocks the door behind the table. The hinges wine in protest as he pushes the door open. He grabs a torch from the wall so he can see inside. The armory is no larger than the room with the table. He sees weapon racks lining each wall and a small one in the middle of the room.

He walks in grabbing weapons and handing them to those he has freed. Short swords, knives, maces and axes are handed out. All close quarter combat. The armory here is designed for combat in the corridor and staircase, not in the open.

There are more weapons than bodies, so the more experienced fighters get multiple weapons. There’s no armor to be found so what they are wearing will be their only defense. The dead guards have been stripped of their studded leather. The remaining torch is grabbed as well.

“Head up the stairs to the gate.” Dellen orders.

“Are our men waiting outside?”

“No, this is a rescue mission, not an assault.”

“You heard the man, to the gate we go.”

“Wait, m’lord.” The old man speaks up. “There’s another way with less fighting.”

“How do you know this?” Dellen steps in front of him.

“I’m a thief and a beggar, it’s what I do.”

Dellen and Grandle look at each other. Grandle gives him a quick nod. “What’s your name beggar?”

“It’s Derrick, if it pleases, m’lord.”

“Well Derrick, where is it?”

“Through the kitchens. We can make it into their slop pit and out the castle walls. It’s not the cleanest escape but most of the men will survive.”

“Fine. You lead the way and I will be right behind you. Just so you know” Dellen pulls a blade from his belt. “You lead us into a trap and this will find a home in your back.” Derrick’s eyes grow large and he swallows the lump in his throat.

“It’s no trap.”

“Shall we go then?” Dellen points to the stairs with his blade before placing it back into his belt. Derrick takes the lead with Dellen right behind him. Grandle follows, with the others close behind.