Taelord still hadn’t found Rehs. Unfortunately, he had no chance to escape to search for him – the sky was full of kyrie. Most of them were soldiers, streaming in from the keep. They wouldn’t hesitate to cut down Taelord if he tried to fly or run.
A few Volcarrens had risen up to intercept them, but the Imperials in the back – the ones with crossbows – had unleashed a hail of bolts against them, dropping them. All things considered, it was safer on the ground for now. The soldiers wouldn’t fire into the crowd, for fear of hitting their own allies in the back.
That wouldn’t last forever, though. Utgar had arrived, and his axe was definitely having an effect, but more and more soldiers kept coming. Taelord had had no idea there were this many in Helsng. Eventually, the crowd would be surrounded, and then the spear-kyrie could simply stop advancing, and let the crossbows finish the work.
Meanwhile, the throng was pinning Utgar, preventing him from backing up. He stumbled, going down to one knee, and the rebels surged forward by instinct, enveloping him despite the spears. Taelord darted forwards with several others, and they hauled Utgar to his feet.
He was bleeding from a jagged cut along his right calf, and his right arm was dripping blood, hanging useless and quivering by his side. He gripped his axe in his left hand, but he staggered as he stood.
“The keep,” he hissed through the pain. His eyes searched those about him, most of whom were farmers, and focused on Taelord – the only Volcarren nearby. He grimaced. “Make for the keep,” he said. “It will be empty.”
Taelord understood. All the soldiers were here, trying to contain the situation. The keep would be relatively unguarded. He didn’t see what good that would do though. The keep was a death trap, with no way out. But he supposed it would be better than fighting out in the open, where they would soon be surrounded.
Several of those nearby heard Utgar’s words, and began shouting it on all sides. “To the keep! To the keep!”
“To the keep!” Einar echoed, emerging from the frontlines, somehow unscathed, though his blades were positively streaming with blood now. He turned aside a spear aimed for him and stabbed his saber straight through the small gap between the soldier’s wings, causing him to stagger back and drop his spear. “Fly! To the keep!”
His words seemed to cut through the crowd. They looked up, realized what he was saying, and leapt upwards. A volley of bolts flew into them, and dropped many, but it wasn’t enough. The rebels took to the air, Taelord and Utgar with them, a great seething mass of bodies, wings, and weapons, and charged west, towards the keep.
The Imperials didn’t pursue. Taelord guessed their advantage was on the ground, where they could hold a position and strike with their spears. They followed through the streets below, occasionally stopping to fire a stray bolt into the rebels, but they didn’t take to the air, and were soon left behind.
There was a handful of soldiers guarding the entrance to the keep. Some Vel dropped onto them before they even looked up, cutting them down with carved Taklay spines. The other rebels landed and surged into the keep, Utgar swept up in their midst. His injuries were distracting, but manageable.
From the outside, the keep was a half-dome, built straight into the side of the mountain. It was constructed from massive stone blocks, and Utgar could see the other side of those blocks as they entered the dark interior. He judged the walls to be at least two feet thick.
Immediately facing them was a wall, constructed out of similar blocks. Looking up, Utgar saw that it was also shaped like the keep – a dome within a dome. An inner wall.
He found Vydar by his side. “The Wellspring,” he said with difficulty, the pain in his leg burning. “It must be at the very center of the keep. We need to find a way… an entrance into the inner section.”
Vydar nodded, shouted some orders to his Vel, and the rebels began moving along the inner wall, searching for a way in.
It was dark in the keep, and as Utgar had hoped, almost entirely empty. Nearly every soldier had left, leaving only the occasional straggler, all of whom were dealt with quickly by Vel or Volcarrens.
Utgar glanced at the farmers near him as they moved. Many were injured, gripping their sides, arms, or legs. The dim light, cast only by lanterns on the wall and braziers on the floor, marked their injuries in high relief, making shallow wounds look deep, and red blood seem black.
The keep seemed much larger than Utgar had thought it was. Sounds reach them, echoes from the entrance: the Imperials had arrived.
“Quickly!” Einar called from somewhere up ahead. “If we can find the door to the inner section, we can seal them out!”
And us in, Utgar thought. But that didn’t matter. There was only one way this was going to end now: with him unsealing the Wellspring and demanding the Empire’s surrender. Well, so be it. He should have done that from the beginning. It had been foolish to try and negotiate with the Empire. They couldn’t be trusted.
After traveling what felt like the entire perimeter of the keep, they found a heavy door set in the inner wall. It was open, guarded by four soldiers who managed to wound a single Vel before being dispatched.
“Close the doors,” Einar called as they filed inside. “Quickly.”
They could hear the echoes of armored feet getting louder. The Empire was near.
Closing the doors proved impossible, however. Utgar guessed they must be shut by some mechanism, because even with every farmer and Volcarren straining against them, they didn’t budge.
“Leave them!” he called as the sounds of the approaching soldiers grew louder. “Make for the Wellspring; there will be a door there!” It was only logical – the Empire would have sealed the Wellspring with more than magic.
The space they were now in was open, the side of the mountain rising up behind them. Set against it, in what seemed to be a natural cave, was a small replica of the keep: a dome only a few kyrie high, but wide enough to fit at least fifty side by side.
The stones which made it up were chipped and scarred. They looked far older than the rest of the keep. Fires dotted the outside perimeter of the wall, braziers arranged in a pattern around it, illuminating the dark rock from below. In the very middle of the wall, a thick door was surrounded by a grand carved stone entrance, the slabs chiseled with reliefs and glyphs Utgar didn’t recognize.
No mechanism guarded this door. It was sealed, but the farmers crashed against it, and it opened, two halves folding inward. Utgar could hear the Imperials – they were through the inner wall.
“Stop them!” came the cries. “Don’t let them reach the Wellspring!”
They all rushed inside the Wellspring chamber, Utgar bringing up the rear. He caught a glimpse of Taelord dashing in with the others, carrying a broadsword. And then the door slammed behind them, closed by rebels on either side.
The bolt had been broken of course when they forced their way in, but the farmers and Volcarrens pressed against it, a crowd of at least fifty, all pushing against each other.
Utgar turned. The ceiling was low, and the domed walls curved, sweeping up sharply from the rock floor and flowing together at the top. There were lights: strange lanterns set in regular alcoves along the walls. Their light didn’t flicker or dim. It was steady and unchanging, and shone a brilliant white-blue. Utgar had never seen such things before. He approached one, staring at it, the steady light illuminating him. Was this archkyrie magic?
He turned towards the center of the room. It sloped gently downwards, made of stone like the rest of the keep, until it simply vanished, forming a deep, black hole. That hole, as well as part of the sloping floor leading to it, was covered with water. The Wellspring.
It didn’t look magical. It looked like normal water, though it seemed too still, too undisturbed to be entirely natural. Utgar approached it, and saw that it was perfectly clear. He could see the stones below it, and the point where they fell away, forming a great circular pit. That pit led to nothing but blackness. He reached out his hand towards the water’s edge, and was unsurprised to feel it run into a barrier.
There was nothing there but air, but he could feel it clearly: something quite solid kept him from the Wellspring. It felt slippery, but had no temperature, as though it were made of the air itself.
There was an almighty thud from the door. The soldiers had arrived. The farmers braced against the door. Another thud. Utgar could hear wood starting to crack.
He glanced at Vydar, who had approached.
“Time to turn the tide,” the Vel leader said, his eyes glinting in the darkness.
Utgar nodded, sighing. There was no other way.
He pulled from around his neck the small vial containing a few precious drops of Wellspring water. Only enough for a moment’s burst of power. Only enough to unseal a Wellspring.
He pulled the stopper from the vial, and tipped the water into his mouth. Aside from tasting cool and clean, it was no different than normal water. And Utgar felt no different. Except…
There was a tingling in his leg and his arm. Without looking, he knew his injuries were healing. He reached out his hand, felt it pass through the barrier around the Wellspring, and scooped up a handful of water at his feet.
“To a new Valhalla,” he said grimly, nodding to Vydar.
And then he drank.