Chapter 4 - Suicide Mission

Quillan Lock

Quillan was half-way up the close to pitch-black cliffside. He started to feel the effort in his muscles, but his grip was still stable - the thimbles worked as intended. He shifted his weight and made an attempt to reach a promising crevice above him with his left paw. He had to do a small jump to be able to reach it, and for a moment he had it - but then a nasty sting shot through one of the paw pads that was pressed against the cliff wall. He yelped and almost lost his grip, but he quickly placed his right paw in the crevice and let the hurting left one go.

"Another godsdamned splinter?" he whispered to himself, and set about using his mouth to remove the offender. After that operation was completed, he strengthened his grip and took a moment of respite. He had learned never to look down, but he carefully looked around him. The barrage of fireworks had died down - luckily, as the flashes could have given him away.

He wondered where Bravi was - half an hour ago was probably the last time he would ever see him. He had told him to pack up his things and make himself scarce; if he was successful tonight, the hotel would surely be searched. Bravi didn't tell him where he would go, something Quillan had urged to keep to himself, in case Quillan got captured. He had no illusions that he would be able to withstand a few rounds of intense interrogation - he didn't like pain, after all.

He resumed his ascent. The way ahead was easier, especially when he reached the walls themselves; there were a lot of handy anchor points - many of them caused by shrapnel from the fighting of two years ago. He was almost at the top, just a few more meters to go.

He had found a place where could put both his feet, and he reached for an ornament on the wall - a stone shield with the symbol of an axe. He grasped the top of the shield and tested its support. Lift me up, shield, Quillan thought as he prepared to climb further. At that moment Quillan felt the heavy ornament come loose, and he quickly let go. The stone that connected his erstwhile handhold to the wall crumbled with a loud grating noise, and gravity denied him a potential way up.

Shit, what now... He grimaced when he heard a crash below him - the stones had hit part of the cliff on the way down.

He raised his eyes up, hoping that the sounds had gone unnoticed. There's no-one on the walls, right Bravi?

As if on cue, a silhouette appeared over the edge of the wall. Quillan instantly hugged the wall as firmly as he could. Oh, you bastard, Bravi. He thought of a few other choice curses for his former ally, while he slowly used a paw to put his fluttering tail between his legs. He kept his eyes on the silhouette - hoping furiously the person on top wasn't an avian; the family of species known for their excellent perception. He wasn't willing to roll a dice on that, so he very carefully unholstered his automatic pistol, switched the setting to semi with his thumb, and aimed upward at the shadowy figure.

The person on top leaned forward a bit more, still peering down, seemingly at a point that was a bit to the right of Quillan. Move, move, move... Quillan continued the mantra until it appeared that the figure was indeed ready to move.

Suddenly, a whistle cut through the air, close. The figure stopped and Quillan knew what was about to come: the dreaded flash. They were both engulfed by red and blue light and the figure, who could now be determined as equine, had no time to react to the dhole on the wall - Quillan had pulled the trigger, the sound of the suppressed weapon drowned out by the crack of fireworks. The equines head slammed back, his body keeled over the crenel he was standing at, and he dropped past Quillan.

He felt a surge of energy course through him - the adrenaline was kicking in - giving him the strength for the last few meters of the climb. It would wear off quickly, so he scrambled to the top and hoisted himself through an opening in battlement.

Once on top of the wall, he no longer had total darkness to cover him; the light of the rings in the sky still found a way through the fog and smoke. He crouched down and looked around - no-one else manned the walls close to him, but he could not see the long stretch of wall behind the keep. Then he looked back down, into the darkness. The starting point of the climb was amidst a thick vegetation - the body of the fallen guard would probably not be found for a while.

He turned back around and leaned against the battlement with his back. He slid down, feeling frail. His right paw started to shake. No, no, not now... he thought, watching the tremble. He reached inside a pocket and pulled out a tiny vial, filled with a syrupy white liquid. He had promised himself he would not do this, but he reneged on the promise without much thought. He uncorked the vial with his teeth and drank its bitter tasting contents.

He tossed the vial over his shoulder, through the embrasure into the abyss behind him. He closed his eyes and waited for the shaking the stop, which only took a moment. He slowly removed the thimbles from his claws, breathed in heavily and opened his eyes again. He stood up, pistol in paw. He pulled the slide of the pistol back and released it, making it snap back in position.

Between him and the Citadel keep was a few meters of courtyard - the ground was about three meters down from where he stood. Two guards came around the corner of the keep, machine guns slung over their shoulders. Quillan observed their movements as they passed underneath him - they were talking heartily in a heavy Damren accent.

"... shi'ton o' booze down in t' tunnels. 'M tellin' ye, they hoggin'.

"Nah mate, stuff's natty; me 'n the boys had a few. Methinks it's from t' war still. Ye know, wossname... Veraxian courage."

"And? Felt braver?"

"Nah, stuff makes ye soberer. Made me wanna wave a white flag."

His companion giggled as they disappeared around the other corner of the keep.

Quillan pictured the blueprint, which was in Bravi's possession still. He was positive his targets were inside the keep, yet their precise location was unknown. It was an educated guess to believe them to be together, likely discussing how to go forward now that independence was won. Quillan had the idea of entering the keep via a window at the top floor, using the sloped roof of the barbican, which was connected to the keep. Alternatively, there was a door on his side of the keep that led directly into the ground floor's main hallway. The side door was closer and more covered, but the hallway could be well guarded. He could see the barbican, but it was some distance away - if there were more guards on the walls behind the keep, or a watchman in a tower who looked the right way at the wrong time...

Lacking a coin to flip, Quillan pointed his gun at the side door. "Eeny," he whispered, and shifted his aim to the barbican - "Meeny, miny, moe, catch, a, bunch, of, maniacs, by, the..." - switching between the two infiltration routes with every word.

"Toes." He looked along the side of his gun at the barbican. Alright then.

He crouch-walked as fast as he could along the wavy wall, trying to keep his footsteps muffled. When he was halfway across, a figure came into view, idling on the hitherto unseen part of the wall beyond the barbican. His heart missed a beat and he froze. But when he noticed the figure was facing away from him he calmed down a bit. He slowed his pace as he approached the top wall section of the gatehouse and crouched down behind it, out of sight from the guard and towers. There were no crenelations here - no barrier to prevent someone from falling.

In the distance he could see the Pavilion. Godsdamn you Bravi, 'no-one on the walls?' I swear... If you've crossed me...

Anger started to bubble up, but he kept himself in check. He'd have nothing to gain...

The wall he was hiding behind was part of a stepped gable - behind it lay the slanted gatehouse roof. He put his gun away and heaved himself up the first few steps, then carefully stepped onto the shingled roof. Some of the shingles started the move below him, so Quillan dropped on all fours and proceeded at a crawl - not only to prevent himself from falling, but also the roof tiles.

He finally reached the keep's exterior, having had to catch only one tile from plummeting to the ground and raising hell. Slightly to the left of him was his way in: one of the darkened windows - part of it above the roof he was standing. He tried to look inside, but he could only see his own piercing reflection. According to the blueprint, the room behind the window was small, but he didn't know its purpose. It could be the restroom - a foe with his pants down would be easily dealt with. He gave the window a gentle push, but it didn't budge. Then he used a thimble on the split between the window frame and the wall to pry it open. He was in luck, the window was unlocked - otherwise he'd have to be more forceful, possibly blowing his cover.

He stuck his head inside the now open window and saw what looked like a storage room: cluttered racks, skewed cupboards and heavy crates occupied the space. There seemed to be no-one inside, so he climbed in and closed the window. He exhaled - something he'd forgotten to do for some time - Made it, he thought, placing a paw on his pounding heart. On one of the racks laid a large coil of rope. He picked it up and set it down it by the window. You never know...

He moved over to the storage room's oaken door and put an ear against it. Seems quiet, he thought as he drew his weapon again and held it at hip height. He pushed against the handleless door, which opened effortlessly and soundlessly. Quillan imagined it would creak - it seemed like something that should happen in these scenarios - but he realized most of the interior would have been recently reconstructed.

True to the blueprint, a tight corridor lay beyond. Quillan quietly stepped onto the laminated floor and the door behind him fell shut with a dim thud. He looked around and saw that the door perfectly blended in with the stuccoed walls.

Further to his left was round window that providing most of the light and to the right the hallway gradually became darker. He saw a red light shining out of a junction - the location of a staircase, he knew. If he'd go down it one floor, there would be an entrance to a large chamber. His gut told him that was where he needed to go.

He crept towards the lit-up junction. Tick. Beyond it lay blackness. He passed doors and end tables - it would have been in total silence if it were not for a small marble pendulum clock that perched atop one of the tables, accompanying his heartbeat with a rhythmic tick, tick, tick...

Quillan wanted to smash it.

He peeked around the corner of the junction, weapon first. At the end was a stone spiral staircase behind a barred gate. Tick. The gate was closed, padlocked chains keeping it locked. He could try and shoot the lock, or try the other staircase that should be a bit further down the hall. Tick. Wanted to preserve his limited ammunition, Quillan went to find it. He took a few steps - tick.

He was thunderstruck. A distorted shape contrasted itself with the blackness behind it. It looked like someone leaning forwards.

It caught Quillan by surprise, but he quickly regained his composure and took aim at the shade. A statue? In the middle of the hallway? Is it holding something?

Tick.

Suddenly the shape became alive - it slid across the hallway at Quillan with great speed and a jarring noise.

Quillan gasped and reflectively fired, but the bullet ricocheted off the thing with a twang.

Before it could be on him, Quillan dived into the junction. He felt a gust of wind fly by.

Everything was quiet again - Quillan quickly jumped back on his feet and looked at his inert attacker around the corner. It was indeed a statue - a mythical, hairless, creature made out of metal - couching a lance. The design of it made for a perfect fit in the hallway; there was space left on the sides so that the tables would not get hit. It was facing him again, but Quillan noticed that the statue was a mirrored on the opposite side.

"Wha...?" said a perplexed Quillan under his breath. He couldn't believe he was almost impaled by a garish booby trap. The encounter left him with many questions: was someone alerted to his presence? Were there more traps? Why such an elaborate trap on the top floor? It appeared a prank; a practical joke created by some twisted tinkerer with too much time on his hands.

He still wanted to check out the other stairs, but now he was mindful of the floor, believing there to be pressure plates that triggered the statue. If he stayed very close to the walls, the statue would miss him if it decided to go for a round two.

He made a run for it, in the hope of reaching the other junction before he could be chased again. He looked over his shoulder - the statue remained still. He slowed down somewhat and kept to the left, with his paw on the wall. He had passed the point where the statue originally stood and continued on into the darkness, one arm in front to prevent himself from bumping into objects. Something seemed off; it took him a moment to realise, but his touch had not detected any doors. The blueprint told him of many smaller rooms. Maybe they have hidden entrances?

His eyes started to adjust to the dark, and what he saw - or couldn't see - sank his hope. He crossed to the other side and ran his paw along the right wall. Where is it? Quillan thought, they changed the layout didn't they...

He had no choice but to turn back and break the lock on the stairwell gate. He went, his gait hasty - the murderous statue on the other end was sharply contoured against the round window.

He was close to the junction when he heard the rattling of chains; people were coming up the stairs - the light of a torch shot through the red dim.

Quillan pressed himself against the wall on the side of the opening and readied his weapon. Two pair footsteps approached.

The person who turned the corner - a fluorescent reptile who wielded the flashlight and used it to steady his gun - got shot through one of his big eyes when he revealed himself. He fell to the floor, lifeless - gun and flashlight slipping from his fingers - as the remaining pair of feet scuffled towards the edge of the wall.

Eager to seize the initiative, in split-second grit Quillan madly dashed around the corner and grabbed his opponent's pistol before it could be pointed at him. Simultaneously, he tried to aim his own more unwieldy firearm at the panther who faced him.

The panther was quick to react - he swung with claws extended and Quillan yelped as a stinging pain in his arm made him drop his weapon; he countered with a strike at his foe's head.

That was nimbly dodged by the guard, who tried to rake Quillan's other arm that was preventing the use of his gun. Quillan's scratched arm shot up and blocked it, whilst trying to twist the gun out of the guard's grip.

They wrestled for control of the weapon, but Quillan got forced back. He was loath to admit that his enemy had him beat in the strength department. Four paws were locked in a furious tugging match, one that Quillan couldn't hold up for much longer.

As he got pushed, he tripped over the sprawled body of the dead reptile and he fell backwards, dragging the guard with him.

He came to the ground with an "Oof," one of his arms held protectively aloft. It dazed the guard as he fell into it, but just for a moment - the guard poised himself by going to one knee. His foe was a mere second away from wresting the gun free, so Quillan rolled to the side and brought down the guard's paw into the side of the end table that the gun was hovering over.

The panther hissed and let go of the gun, which landed on the table.

Suddenly, the guard had him by his throat: Quillan could feel the claws digging into his neck. Unable to turn his head, he flailed at the tabletop, hoping to grab the fallen gun.

"This... is f'r... Cotli," rasped the guard with great effort.

Quillan started to get seriously choked - stars darted in and out of his vision, the guard looking nightmarish in the red light with his bared teeth.

His fingers locked around the grip of the pistol, and he whipped it into the side of the guard's head, hitting him in the temple with an iron barrel. The guard rolled off him and hit the floor face down, where he remained motionless.

Quillan wheezed and massaged his throat. He stood up on shaky legs, using the table as support. He looked at his knocked-out opponent, thinking: Too close... Black bastard nearly had me.

The panther abruptly rose, strenuously, in his paw was Cotli's gun. It startled Quillan, who figured he must have landed on it. The guard turned to face Quillan, and it seemed that he was briefly unaware that he was holding a gun. Quillan weapon knee-jerked into motion, and he held it out in front of him with a tremble.

Click

His wide eyes darted at the weapon, and back up at the guard, who started taking aim. Quillan threw the jammed weapon at him, making the guard flinch, and in the brief opening that presented itself Quillan propelled himself into him.

The guard was shoved backward, into the statue's sharp lance. He shrieked as the medieval implement bore through him - the tip burst out at his chest. He looked down in disbelieve, blood welling up in his mouth and the exit wound. His limbs slacked, and he was no more.

Quillan ogled the macabre scene before him; in the dramatic light of the flashlight, which lay on the floor pointing at the statue, it reminded him of a painting from an old master. One that portrayed a more gruesome scene from a Cambrian holy book.

He looked away while he reached in his pocket. What he felt was wetness; his only remaining vial had cracked and the liquid within had seeped out. He knew he was still under the influence of the previous intake, but he could nonetheless use one now.

With grim determination he scurried to retrieve his own automatic pistol and continued onward through the now open grate and into the stairwell. One floor down was a nook, in which a heavy oaken door stood. This is it, Quillan thought. No, this should be it...

Quillan was no longer certain of anything, it increasingly felt to him like a mission he was not meant to complete with his life preserved; guards on the walls and well trained ones inside, absurd booby traps, and a blueprint that was inaccurate. And no more juice.

He switched the fire rate setting on his weapon to automatic and hoped he still had the element of surprise, or at least a quark of surprise. He took a deep breath, and burst through the door.