Path of the Crooked Man

Viking allowed the worst possible outcome to flood his mind. He imagined Crusader dead or dying, either from a quick shot or a failed close-quarters encounter. He didn’t know as much about this Butcher as Spartan or the Commandant might, but he knew enough about human nature to know more inhuman things could be done to the young lad. Mutilation came to him; the image of a young man from a peaceful time carved up into a shapeless husk of meat and bone and blood. Stevens followed him, a radio on his belt slapping against his leg. The noise was small, uncompromising of their position. That was good. They had to keep to the shadows, maintain their caution. The enemy was around every corner now on the hunt.

He stopped moving at the sound of voices. He’d heard other voices so far from their own men, and these were the same as those. They were making their way to the great hall, not stopping for anyone or anything. Until the radio on Stevens made a call to report Crusader’s arrival, he had to assume the kid was still out there somewhere. Thankfully for him, Sanders was able to give him some useful information for this task. In the direction of the north wall, somewhere along this very corridor, was a statue depicting a hunched man with a crooked nose. This statue, when the nose was pulled on, slid forward to reveal a tunnel. Sanders said this tunnel was the fastest way to the northern courtyard.

Viking saw the statue in a T-intersection. The hunched man wore a cloak, and his left eye was swollen shut. There was no placard or plaque to denote the figure’s identity. He wondered briefly if Sanders knew anything about him. While Stevens kept an eye out in every direction, Viking climbed onto the statue’s platform and reached for the nose. It hurt to stretch with his wounds, but he grit his teeth and bore the pain. He wrapped his fingers around the cold stone, hissed, then pulled. Unfortunately, he pulled too hard, causing him to fall back painfully onto the floor. Stevens helped him up.

“I thought it was supposed to open,” Stevens said.

“So did I.” Viking looked around. There was no indication the statue moved. No indication a door opened. However, there was one thing. “I felt that nose move.”

“Sir?”

Viking followed Stevens’s gaze. He was looking at a faint scuff on the stone floor. “Come over to this side,” he said.

Stevens did so, placing his hands on the edge of the statue’s platform. The two of them pushed. Viking grit his teeth to keep from screaming. He would need a full medical check when this was all over. The sound of stone against stone filled the hall, and Viking hoped there were no Khardis nearby to hear.

When they were done, there was a small opening behind the statue. They didn’t try to put the statue back in its original position, it would only be a waste of time and energy. Viking pulled out his flashlight. This was a tunnel not used in a long time; cobwebs lined the walls and ceilings, and a thick layer of dust discolored the floor. They ran. They ran through the webs, bending and turning as needed to follow the passage. There were no forking paths or branch-offs to worry about. Muffled gunshots could soon be heard, growing steadily louder the further they went.

The path ended at a wooden wall. No, not a wall, a door. A door made to look like a wall. The giveaway was the metal handle, easy to miss at first glance. Viking took hold of it and pulled. Nothing. He pushed. The door swung open. In front of them was another door. A closet or pantry based on the small space. They squeezed inside, leaving the door to the passage open just in case. Viking carefully opened the closet door a crack, looking into a room with a couple smashed chairs and a broken table. Crouching to not be spotted through the windows, he slipped through the door. Gunfire from outside, but it sounded like it was dying out. He crept up to one of the windows.

However many were there before, only two remained. Both were downed in seconds. Two great doors led from the courtyard to the grounds, and both gave way to an explosion. Khardis came rushing in through the cloud of dust, weapons drawn. They jogged to either side, bordering an invisible path. A man in a nice coat sauntered between the formed ranks. Viking recognized General Salim before his face was visible. The Butcher analyzed the courtyard with a satisfied look. His eyes stopped at a man semi-curled up in a corner. He leisurely walked up to him.

“A valiant attempt,” the Butcher said. “Truly. However, you should have fled like your comrades in the south parts of the castle. But, I guess this is to be expected.” He crouched so he was eye-level with the man. “I see you are a sergeant. Tell me: are you the Spartan?”

“Go fuck yourself,” the man spat. Viking recognized the voice as belonging to Sergeant Mathews.

The Butcher chuckled. “Now that isn’t very polite.” He pulled a knife from his boot. “I know you are not the Viking. So, are you the Spartan?”

Mathews closed his fist with his forefinger and middle finger wrapped over the tip of his thumb. A vulgar gesture in this world.

“Very well.”

Viking went back to the closet under the cover of Mathews’s screams. Stevens said nothing to him.

“You ever been in this part of the castle?”

“No, sir.”

Viking grunted. Was it worth it to head into the corridors here? There was no chance they could stand against the Khardis coming in, not the two of them. After what Spartan told him, and the Berserkers’ prior experience, attempting the usual psychological tactics was probably pointless. The Butcher would not fall so easily to fear. He also wondered why the furniture was busted in this room. Crusader wasn’t out there, so he must have left for the hall. There wasn’t a guarantee they would go down the same way he did, though.

“Find out where Gallager is.”

Stevens nodded, pulling out the radio. “This is Stevens calling Gallager, where are you?”

“I’m out of the library tower,” Gallager answered. “Working my way to the main hall.”

“How well do you know the north end of the castle?”

“Enough to get back.”

Viking held his hand out. Stevens handed him the radio.

“This is Viking. Look for the kid. Tell me when and where you find him.”

“Yes, sir.”

Viking handed the radio back. “Let’s go, before they come inside. We’re taking our chances.”