then turned and walked toward the village with the others. Björn watched until the captives disappeared in the darkness.
“Those are the last females they will take,” he muttered to himself. “This world will be a much better place when these monsters are gone from it.” He re-entered the castle and continued his careful exploration.
It was early morning when he reached the upper chambers of the inhabited section of the castle. The rooms were lit by sunlight filtering through large windows, in sharp contrast to the lower floors that received no external light and remained in the same darkness both night and day, lighted only by torches placed in wall brackets or carried by patrol squads.
Reaching an area that was richly furnished compared to the Spartan layouts of the rooms he had seen below, he heard voices. He drew into the shadows and waited. The voices came from a chamber beyond where Björn had penetrated. He crept through the outer room to a door at the opposite end. The voices came from within. They were muffled, but Björn determined that there were three men talking. He returned his swords to their scabbards and crouched in front of the door.
Slowly, with efficient movements, he moved the latch, which was locked. Under his slow and precise pressure, the latch opened soundlessly. Applying pressure to the door to open it, he stepped back, drew his swords and kicked the door in. It flew open to reveal three black-robed men, hoods thrown back as they lounged on luxurious chairs in front of a roaring fire. They were tall gaunt men with narrow pinched faces.
As Björn launched himself into the room, they rushed to their feet, scrambling for weapons arranged on a table behind them. Before they could arm themselves, Björn drove a sword through the chest of one and beheaded the second with his other sword. But the third man moved with extraordinary quickness, scooping up a sword as he turned to meet Björn’s attack. He wielded the sword expertly and held Björn at bay long enough to shout an alarm, but he was at a severe disadvantage against the two swirling swords.
Focused tightly on his task despite the potential attack the shout might bring, Björn speared the man’s midsection with one sword, and with the other sheared his head from his shoulders. Then he fled across the room and down the hall, running into a spacious room he had explored earlier. Like a rabbit in its warren, he had established three escape routes. He sped down one of them. He was confident the room would still be unoccupied, but whether it was or not did not matter; this was his preferred escape route.
He slipped quickly behind a large tapestry hiding a large window. He had opened the window when he first checked the room, and now stepped through it, placing his feet carefully on a narrow ledge running along the castle wall outside. He edged along until he reached a sharp corner. Here the ledge ended, but the corner was actually a deep V and the ledge resumed on the other side. Björn eased into the V, bracing himself against the sides with his feet and arms.
Pandemonium broke loose in the castle. Sleeping men were abruptly awakened, and Björn heard them as they spread out searching. Cries of alarm and terror sounded as the searchers discovered bodies. By the time the search sounded more organized, the sun had risen over the far mountains.
Björn was still braced against the walls in the V. An ordinary man’s muscles would have long ago become cramped from the strain, forcing him to give up the effort, but Björn was unaffected.
He heard rooms and corridors being searched and windows and doors being flung open. The searchers became more quiet. Björn assumed they were frustrated from the hours they had spent trying to find him. He heard the leaders barking commands, ordering the men not to overlook any possible hiding place.
The window from which Björn had exited was opened. It remained open for a short time, and he could hear a man breathing heavily. Then the window closed.
Hanging on his precarious perch, Björn reflected on what he had seen in his clandestine survey of the castle. A few men, most probably the priests, lived in luxury. The rest lived in regimented sparse quarters. There had been one large room with no furniture other than a flat rectangular stone slab set on short stone columns. Four chains were anchored to each side of the slab, and a dark red, and in some areas black, substance that Björn recognized as dried blood covered the slab, the column, and the floor around the slab.
Behind the slab, an enormous tapestry covered the entire wall. Painted on the tapestry was a huge face, long and narrow with prominent eyes, nose, mouth, and protruding teeth. In all his travels, Björn had never seen anything so repulsive and hideous. He guessed the tapestry to be ancient because of many creases and cracks in a few places where it appeared to have been rolled up like a rug. He presumed this was the cult’s place of worship, with live sacrifices taking place on the altar, and he could make a good guess as to what type of living creatures were sacrificed there.
Björn estimated that he had killed a few more than forty men in his furtive sortie through the castle. According to the estimate of the man in the village, there were at least two hundred men in the sect. This left considerably more to do.
The search extended to the grounds outside. From his perch, Björn saw small groups of men walking the open spaces, checking the woods carefully, poking spears and sometimes swords into thickets. They found nothing but small animals and birds. He thought it significant that they hunted in groups, none searching individually or even in groups of less than five.
He wondered where Jago was, but he was unconcerned, as Jago would be found when he wanted to be.
Björn thought there was little chance he would be seen. The hunters didn’t look up, and even if they had, he was hidden in shadow, in his dark clothing blending into the castle wall.
The sun grew high in the heavens, and the search dwindled. The men searching the grounds returned to the castle, which grew quiet.
The Northlander contemplated his strategy, specifically his next move. From his years as a mercenary, he knew fear was his major ally. He also was aware that fear was greatest in the dark of night. While the interior of the castle was as dark at night as it was in the day, the night hours would be best for his work.
First he had to find a place to hide for the remainder of the day. While he could remain on the ledge, he didn’t want his muscles to lock up, making him less effective than he knew he would need to be. He could slip back to the window and into the room and remain there, or move into the hall to try to locate a better hiding place. He decided to move into the room and stay behind the heavy drapes, which would shield him completely from anyone entering the room.
His mind made up, Björn moved along the ledge until he reached the window. As he expected, it was locked, but he had prepared for this when he chose this course as a potential retreat. He had snapped off the catch holding the window closed. Now he opened it quietly and, entering the room, closed the window behind him. Then he made himself as comfortable as possible behind the drapes.
Night came early to the valley as the sun dropped behind the high peaks. The blackness of the castle was interrupted by torches set in the walls. Björn slipped out of the room, noting a brightly burning torch stuck in a holder in the wall immediately to the right of the door. He moved away from the light and continuing his silent movements, returned to the lower floors. Sensing the presence of a small group of men ahead of him, he crept over the rough uneven floor.
As he turned a corner, he saw seven men on guard crowded under a flickering torch. They stood in a circle with their backs inward, on guard against an enemy coming from any direction. Their swords faced the floor, but the men’s posture showed they were ready to swing the weapons into action. They were talking, sounding confused about the nature of their enemy. As he listened, Björn determined that they were experienced warriors who had never been bested in all their years of conquest, even by larger groups of armed men. And this was only one man.
Questions buzzed around the small circle. How could this one man be a serious threat? What manner of being was he? Many of their companions had been slain easily. How could one man do this? Why was he doing it?
Björn edged toward them. He moved in fractions of inches, freezing frequently, then moving forward. Like a ghost, he approached unseen.
Time passed.