Chapter 20 Unfortunate Guests #2
Driven by curiosity, Dane had followed the tunnel’s length.
It was so dark, he’d assumed it would lead to a dead end—the remnants of some abandoned project from long ago.
However, to his surprise, after some time walking, he saw light ahead.
And so, he kept walking, drawn toward it, following the light of day that breached through the tunnels.
He’d emerged from underground, welcoming the sunlight warming his skin.
But Dane had little time to take in his surroundings.
A sudden, brutal kick struck the back of his knees, sending him crashing to the ground.
He grunted in pain when his knees slammed hard against the earth.
As his vision adjusted to the daylight, he found himself encircled by armored men, their swords drawn and pointed directly at his neck.
Beyond them, he caught a glimpse of the walls of Bryniard from an angle he had never seen before.
How did I cross the walls? he’d asked himself.
So many questions invaded his thoughts at once.
One of the soldiers pressed his sword, drawing a drop of blood from his neck, and at that moment, all questions were silenced.
All Dane could think about was his little girl, Freyah.
He thought about his wife and how she would have to raise their daughter alone.
He thought of his tavern, a dream he had come so close to realizing that now seemed impossible to see through.
“A tavern?” a man had asked just when another one was about to slit Dane’s throat open.
That was when Dane realized he had been speaking his fears aloud. He swallowed and gave a small nod as the soldiers stepped back, parting to allow a figure to approach the center. A commander, Dane noted.
“Tell me about it,” the man had demanded.
And so Dane did. He told him about his business and the tavern he’d dreamed of his entire life.
He spoke with the passion of a man who had poured every ounce of himself into that dream, even as swords remained drawn around him.
The man whom he would come to know as General Johnson was undeniably a threat, yet his politeness and imposing presence confounded Dane into a lifetime deal with the Iron Claws.
In exchange for his life and protection from the threat of the monsters Dane feared could invade Bryniard through the tunnels, he had agreed to provide a monthly export of ale to the Iron Claws for the rest of his life.
Dane had vowed to keep the tunnel a secret and to let no one cross to the other side.
When his daughter told him she needed to leave Bryniard, Dane had begged her to stay.
Not because he knew the Iron Claws would come for his life but because he knew the kind of man that stood on the path his daughter would cross.
He couldn’t convince her, of course, and now a general that seemed even more ruthless than the previous one stood in his tavern.
A swift motion from the general broke Dane from his stupor. Ranier slapped the sheet of paper with the faces of his fugitives down on the wooden surface of the counter. He leaned in closer, his eyes fixed on the person across from him, waiting for his reaction.
“I have the feeling you might know who these women are.”
Ranier had been aware of the secret deal his predecessor had made with the tavern owner.
His squad had benefited from the deal greatly; without General Johnson’s arrangement, the Iron Claws would never have been allowed to drink ale.
The Crown explicitly forbade the soldiers of this battalion from consuming alcohol because it could slow their reflexes.
Since then, the shipment had been transported to an isolated base outside Golheim and away from royal eyes.
Ranier didn’t like keeping secrets from the king and queen, but he couldn’t bring himself to make his first act as general a ban on the very thing that kept his squad’s morale high. So, he went along with it.
He stared at Dane, waiting for his response.
“At this age, one can hardly remember all the faces that cross their paths. I’m sure you can understand that, General,” Dane said the last word in a way that could have been read as mockery.
“I did not think two beautiful women such as these would have been so easily forgotten. Especially in a place as reserved as Bryniard.”
“What can I say? I only have eyes for mine,” Dane answered, his hands now gripping the paper with his daughter’s face on it with such uncontrollable rage that it did him no favor hiding the truth from Ranier.
“There’s no reason for our interaction here to be anything but amicable, Dane, considering your long contribution to my squad. That is… if you cooperate.”
“I’ve never seen these women before.”
The general unsheathed his sword, playfully touching the hilt in a not very subtle threat. “It would be best for you to start speaking honestly from now on, Dane. Did you let them cross the tunnels?”
“Why should I be, when I can see honesty is a quality you are lacking in yourself?”
A growl erupted from Ranier’s throat, making Keilan take two steps back in instinct. Dane didn’t even flinch. A voice gentle as a summer breeze echoed from the back of the place. As it got closer, Ranier noticed for the first time a glimpse of panic spark in the old man’s hazel eyes.
“Honey, we’re heading to the market. Would you like—” Mrs. Weller’s words were interrupted when her eyes lay on the bearded, armed stranger hovering over her husband.
The woman’s balance faltered, but the little girl in her arms didn’t. She stared at him with narrowed eyes, sticking her tongue out in defiance. A vicious, small thing, apparently.
Ranier’s smile grew wider. There was no better way to retrieve information than to make people watch their loved ones in danger. He envisioned himself cutting off that small tongue as he would his assistant’s.
“You did not mention you had such a beautiful family, my dear friend, Dane.” Rainier’s chin could be very well dripping with poison, like the snake he was.
“Who is this, Dane?” Freyah’s mother asked, her hands on her husband’s shoulder.
“A friend,” he said, although the sword on the general’s hands did not give the idea that he came for a cold pint. “Don’t worry about me, my love. You should go. I’ll meet you later at home.”
Ranier placed his hand on his chest as if hurt by the man’s words. “I don’t think you are in a position to demand who comes and goes now, Dane. Not when I would very much enjoy getting to know your wife and your little girl better,” he said, squeezing Dhalia’s cheeks.
Dane’s hand moved on its own, ripping the general’s hand from the girl’s face.
The tip of his sword flew to Mr. Weller’s neck, the pressure against his skin on the verge of drawing blood.
“I’ve got to say, I admire your bravery, Dane.
You would have been a good addition to my battalion many years ago, but as you are on the other side of this sword, your actions turn your bravery into stupidity. ”
Mrs. Weller’s whole body trembled as the life of her husband lay in the hands of a degenerate man. She forced the girl’s face to her chest to prevent Dhalia from witnessing the scene.
“Let them go, and I will help you,” Freyah’s father murmured.
“That is indeed a wise decision, my friend.” Ranier turned his sword toward the woman and the child, not close enough to touch them, only to threaten. “It was a pleasure to meet you. Hopefully, for you, we won’t see each other again.” He winked.
Mrs. Weller ran with the girl in her arms, even as fear tried to freeze her in place, hoping she would see her husband again.
“No more bullshit, Dane. I am not usually this patient.”
Dane’s eyes drifted once again to his daughter’s face on the crumpled poster. “Why are you after them?”
Ranier climbed the counter effortlessly, landing beside Dane. “Oh, for Heldraine’s sake, Dane. Tell me who they are and where they are going, and we’ll leave.”
Dane closed his eyes, thinking about his daughter and her generous heart. He thought of Alissa and the child he loved as a granddaughter. Dane would rather die than point this man anywhere in their direction. He had cowered before these men in the past; this time, he would not.
“I will never tell you.”
Ranier sighed, annoyed. He kicked Dane’s leg, forcing him to the floor. “In a second, when the pain is too overwhelming for your weak body, make sure to remember this was your fault,” he growled as his sword cut through the air, chopping off Dane’s left hand.
To the general’s surprise, the amputation did not have the effect he desired because the whimper he had heard came from Keilan, not from the man whose blood gushed out in an abundant current. The fact that Dane remained still only made him madder.
Heavy footsteps thundered inside when all five of his soldiers returned to the tavern. Ranier hadn’t even noticed he had been questioning the man for almost an hour.
“If you do not have any information to give me, go back out there and make those people talk!” he roared without shooting his men a second glance.
“We do have relevant information, sir,” one of the Iron Claws stated.
The general could not stop the slightest flinch of embarrassment from his face, thinking he had been the only one incapable of gathering information from the Brynardians.
“Their names are Alissa Kriegen and Freyah Weller.”
“Weller, huh?” Ranier asked, a satisfied smile appeared on his lips as Dane’s eyes shut in defeat. “Would it have hurt to tell me she is your daughter, Dane?” he asked, piercing the tip of his sword on Dane’s thigh.
Still, Dane did not react; grief was too heavy to even imagine this ruthless man heading toward his girls.
“The testimonies of the interrogated citizens are consistent. They all claim the women are on Ishlor, which is, apparently, some sort of willing isolation from society. None of them seems to be aware of their departure or have any information on their whereabouts,” the soldier continued.
Ranier Uldor knelt beside Freyah’s father, yanking the man’s head back by his hair. He clenched his teeth when he spoke again. “Where are they, Dane?”
Dane’s reply was a defiant spit in the general’s face. Ranier wiped it away with the back of his hand, his expression hard.
“Keilan,” he snapped. “I need reinforcements in Bryniard. Send at least twenty more men for wall duty and another twenty for interrogations. Every person in this wretched place must be questioned. Tear the whole place apart if necessary. We must find out where these women are headed. If they’re as stubborn as this one,” he said, kicking Mr. Weller’s right leg, “this town will have a lot more graves by the time we’re done. ”
Keilan was taking notes of each of his general’s words.
“Deploy Iron Claws in every city of Heldraine to conduct interrogations. We need to determine whether Bryniard’s information has been compromised and the impact of their escape on our endeavors.
I want active communication with our spies for any sightings of Alissa Kriegen, Freyah Weller, and Eldric Van Myr. We must track their every move!”
The general turned to face his men, a fierce determination in his eyes.
“No one must know what happened here, gentlemen. This is the most crucial and classified mission of your lives—the fate of our kingdom rests in our hands. I trust you to uphold the integrity of the realm we vowed to protect. Do not let me down.”
His nod served as a dismissal for everyone except Keilan. Observing that Dane’s head was still held in the general’s furious grip, Keilan ventured, "Perhaps we should leave now, sir." It was an attempt to spare the tavern owner’s life—one that would prove futile.
“You broke the deal, Dane. You let them out.” Ranier shook his head. “Don’t you worry, I’ll say hello to your daughter for you,” he said at last, driving his sword into the man’s stomach.
Dane’s body fell on the floor of the tavern he had dedicated his entire life to building, his eyes once again drifting to Freyah’s portrait. Before life finally escaped his body, he had one final wish: to see his daughter again someday.
The general stepped over the lifeless body and cleaned his blade with a rag by the counter so casually that no one could tell he had just taken the life of a good man.
Keilan’s eyes were shut in sorrow for a life taken with such disregard. He didn’t even notice his general approach until he felt a tap on his shoulder. He could not have predicted Ranier’s words before heading back to the tunnels.
“Turns out you are keeping your tongue, boy.”