Fate’s Pawn

They quietly shut the door and, instead of heading in the direction Miles had originally said they should go, they went left, deeper into the quarantined area. Roland instantly felt that something was different in the hospital; something was very wrong. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was sensing. It was like something in the air, almost like a scent he couldn’t quite discern but tickling at his mind nevertheless. He could tell from the look on Keira’s face that she felt it too.

Miles led the way, stopping at a door with a glass pane in it. Keira stepped up and froze as soon as she looked in. She glanced at Miles and a mutual horror seemed to pass between them like static shock. She moved away and motioned for Roland to look.

Inside was a small room with a bed, a small nightstand, and a chair. Dietrich sat on the floor with his back to the bed, his legs splayed and his arms loose at his side. He was so still that for a moment Roland thought he might be dead, but as he watched the dwarf’s chest rose and fell, slow and steady. He was slack-jawed and a runnel of drool had begun to wet his beard. He sat in a puddle that spread from his pants.

Roland felt his hand cover his mouth, his eyes close, and his head turn away. He quickly walled off any further thoughts. He purposely did not think about Raziel and the very real possibility that he was in a similar condition. What was important was to deal with the emotion that had blindsided him at the sight.

The initial shock dissipated and fear moved in to take its place—fear that he and his friends would be in one of these rooms soon, staring mindlessly out the window. He told himself that he would not let that happen, that he had the power to stop it.

As the fear came under control, anger rose up in his chest.

Dietrich was a good man. He helped people, and not just for the money. He did it with genuine concern and kindness for his patients. He did not deserve this.

Roland let the anger seethe for a few moments and then brought it to task. Righteous anger was good fuel for action, but he could not let it control him. If it did, he wouldn’t be able to think quickly or effectively. His anger must serve a purpose—his purpose.

When he opened his eyes again, he was calm, collected, and ready. Keira and Miles both were still dealing with what they’d seen. He saw the fear on Miles’ face and the anger on Keira’s. He knew how both of them felt, but they were out in the open.

“Need to move,” he said quietly but firmly. Keira nodded in agreement.

“I’ve already checked this whole area. We need to go down below. To the basement,” Miles said in an unsteady whisper.

“I thought we were heading up first?” Keira asked. Miles shook his head.

“That was before I saw… that. Above us is the recovery area. They’re not going to be there.”

Miles led them to the stairwell and motioned for them to stay where they were while he checked ahead. It didn’t take long.

“It’s empty.”

That should have been good, but the look on Miles’ face said otherwise. Roland, not wanting to speak let his expression ask what he was thinking. He shook his head after a pause, like he was thinking hard and only barely registered the question.

“I just can’t figure out what’s going on. There should be more guards in here. There’s a lot of really valuable equipment here, even if there aren’t any dangerous patients. And if Alban attacked Dietrich and left him there, someone should have noticed. Unless—” Miles cut himself off and turned his head towards the door. Roland heard it too. Slow, heavy footsteps climbing the stairs.

The next instant Miles was moving, and they followed him. They scurried to the nearest door and slipped inside. Then they waited. They heard the door to the stairwell open and then more of the slow, pounding footsteps. They sounded wrong, out of the normal rhythm for a person walking.

Slowly, carefully, Keira stood, keeping her back flat to the wall beside the door. She looked out, trying to see whatever was out there. Roland saw confusion bloom on her face. She waved for Roland to take her place and look.

The guard was walking slowly, almost mechanically. He moved like he was sleepwalking. The look on his face was dull and lifeless. His jaw hung loose with his lips slightly parted. His eyes were barely open.

Roland moved so that Miles could see. A moment later, he sank back down and shook his head. Roland could see his eyes moving quickly from side to side as he thought, analyzing what he had seen, processing the information, coming up with ways to explain it.

Eventually the footsteps receded. Keira nudged Miles and gave the door a questioning look. Miles pursed his lips and then nodded. He stood and went for the door. After checking in both directions, he motioned for Keira and Roland to follow.

Out in the hall, Roland could hear the guard’s footsteps again, still moving away from them. Miles was at the head of the group and went into the stairwell first. They crept down the stairs, Miles wincing at each creak or echoing footstep.

As they were nearing the first floor landing and heading toward the basement, there came a noise from above. Roland looked up and saw the door they’d come through opening and the guard coming back down. The panic on Miles’ face mirrored the surge of adrenaline that set Roland’s heart racing as they hurried down the stairs. The guard’s footfalls covered some of the noise they made but not all.

At the very bottom of the stairs, Miles started to go for the door, but Keira grabbed his hand, looking up. The guard was too close; there was no way they could get the door open without him hearing something. She pointed to a nook beneath the stairwell that was very dark, hidden from the magic torchlight. The three of them slipped into the shadow and waited.

It was dusty and smelled dank beneath the stairs, and they had to cram together to fit into the darkest corner. Roland thought he felt something brush by his foot and had to force himself to stay still. He desperately hoped the guard would leave the stairwell. But the footsteps kept thudding down.

As he came down the final flight of stairs, he shook some dust loose from above. It fell over their heads, tickling Roland’s nose. The sneeze began building, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He tried holding his breath. He pinched shut his nose. The need grew painful, and he shook slightly, trying to repress the urge. The guard was standing at the door, reaching to open it.

The sneeze squeaked out, and the guard froze. Roland watched the guard from the darkness, silently begging the guard to just leave. If the guard came over, he’d have to be the one to silence him. The image of the boy with the broken neck came again. He remembered how the boy's parents had cried over him, the mother’s screams, his own parents’ faces full of impotent despondence for what he’d done.

The guard turned to look at the nook. Roland couldn’t tell if he could see them or not. He took a step in their direction, searching the shadows with dull, doll-like eyes. Was he already dead? Had whatever Alban done destroyed his mind? If he had, if Roland killed him accidentally, would that be a mercy?

Roland shifted, getting ready to leap forward and tackle the guard. Again something brushed the leg of his pants, and a moment later a mouse emerged from the shadows. It scurried toward a hole in the wall on the other side of the room.

The guard’s eyes didn’t change as they caught sight of the mouse. They listlessly tracked its fearful rush across the floor until it came within a few steps. The guard lifted one foot with mechanical grace. His boot came down on the mouse with a wet crunch. Then, as if he had already forgotten the mouse, he turned on his heel and resumed his mechanical march to the basement door, leaving a trail of bloody footprints in his wake.

None of them moved.

“Well, I guess it’s safe to assume that we do not want to draw the attention of any of the guards,” Miles quietly said in the dull tones of shock once the guard was gone.

Roland nodded even though he knew neither of the others could see.

“What now?” he asked into the silence eventually.

“Well, we have to go through that door,” Keira answered. Roland had been thinking the same thing, but he’d hoped for a different answer.

“Think he’s the only one in there?”

“Probably not.”

“Alright,” Roland said, getting to his feet. “Miles, open the door. I’ll rush in. Surprise them. If there’s more than two, stay back. The door will bottleneck them. If there’s only two… distract one.”

He was surprised by the steadiness in his own voice. He didn’t feel steady. He felt like throwing up. Miles went to his left and Keira to his right. He raised his hand, three fingers raised. He locked eyes with Miles and lowered one finger. Miles reached for the door. Roland lowered a second finger. His heart was racing as he lowered the second finger. He sent up a prayer that he wouldn’t kill anyone tonight.

The door swung open and smashed Miles’ hand. He yelped, stumbling back. The guard in the doorway looked at Roland with dead eyes and reached for his sword.

Roland’s hand shot out without thought and hit the guard in the stomach. The guard flew twenty feet and hit the back wall. Guilt hit Roland even harder.

Roland was so fixated on what he’d done that he almost didn’t notice the other two guards coming toward him. One had a sword already drawn and the other a spear. They both marched towards Roland with dull, emotionless faces.

Roland found his body moving. He made no conscious decision. Instinct had taken over.

He dashed left, putting the guard with the spear between himself and the guard with the sword. The spearman had his weapon lowered, ready to skewer Roland. The swordsman seemed torn between attacking Roland or Keira and Miles. Roland knew he couldn’t let that happen; he’d have to go on the offensive.

He took quick steps forward to bait the spearman into overextending, but the guard just watched him with perfect placidity. There was nowhere to go but forward, and Roland’s feet carried him there. The spearman jabbed with deceptive speed, like a snake striking.

Roland’s hand snapped out, reaching for the haft. He felt a wet burst of pain in his hand but caught the spear. He crushed the wood to splinters; the head of the spear fell to the floor. The guard swung the remaining haft like a club.

The wood struck his head with a loud crack that Roland barely felt. Roland struck with an open hand. The guard crumpled with a dent in his helmet.

The swordsman was facing Keira, his back to Roland. Roland ran at the guard without thinking and slipped an arm around the guard’s neck. He was afraid to squeeze for fear the guard’s head would come off like a children’s toy--at least until the guard jabbed his sword at Roland’s face. Roland caught it with his free hand and felt a second flash of pain. He wrenched the sword away from the guard and flung it, keeping his hold on the man’s throat the whole time. He squeezed as delicately as he could and a moment later the guard was limp in his hands.

Roland was terrified, thinking he’d broken the guard’s neck, but he was still breathing. Roland turned to the spearman. There was blood trickling out from under his helmet, but his chest was rising and falling normally.. Roland prayed he hadn’t broken the man’s skull.

A hand wrapped around his ankle and jerked his leg out from under him. Roland fell and felt hands wrap around his neck. He shoved them away, but they quickly grabbed him again. It was the first guard he’d struck. His face was turning a strange shade of reddish purple and his eyes were bloodshot despite their utter serenity.

Miles and Keira dragged the guard off him. He struggled for a moment, but his movements were lethargic and quickly faded. Roland rushed over to the man. The guard was terrifyingly still.

“Oh god no.”

The pit of his stomach dropped out and all the strength went out of his body. He hit the floor. He’d lost control for an instant and that was enough. He’d killed another person.

Miles was at his side, looking at his hands and saying something about bleeding, but Roland couldn’t hear him. All he could see were the man’s eyes, cold, empty, and accusing. Miles was shaking him. His voice sounded scared.

Keira moved next to the man and knelt down. She touched his chest where Roland had hit him. There was a tabard over his breastplate with the circular symbol of Arcas on it.

“Roland, get his breastplate off. You dented it. He can’t breathe,” she said.

It took Roland a moment to register what the words meant. Then he moved so fast he knocked Miles down.

The guard’s breastplate had a leather strap on each shoulder. Roland didn’t bother with undoing them. He just ripped them apart like the straps were taffy. The breastplate came off with a pop, and the guard took a ragged breath.

He didn’t move or seem to wake up, but he was breathing. That was all that mattered in the world to Roland at that moment.

Miles put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Roland, we need to get Raz and Hoeru.”

Roland watched the guard’s chest rise and fall for a few more seconds. Then he nodded and got to his feet. He tried to put his emotions in order to deal with them, but he couldn’t just yet. The only thing to do was let them pass over him, to ride the storm until it calmed enough to let him deal with the damage. For now there was work to do.