Contact: Phineas_Redux@yahoo.com
—OOO—
Description:— Xena and Gabrielle have to reach and infiltrate a heavily guarded island fortress to rescue a prisoner, while circumstances seem to be stacked heavily against them.
Disclaimer :— MCA/Universal/RenPics own all copyrights to everything related to ‘ Xena: Warrior Princess ' and I have no rights to them.
—O—
“It's impregnable!”
“No it ain't. Don't be so defeatist, Gab.” The Warrior Princess pushed a stray lock of dark hair away from her cheek as they stood on the low sandy dune, looking out across the wide bay. “It's only a small island; I've cracked much harder nuts, in my time.”
Gabrielle on the other hand was filled with a sharp, somewhat chilly, foreboding which at the moment tended to overbear the quiet certainty of her companion. The bay was wide, with its northern arm stretching away to their left, slightly blue in the distance; while on their right the opposite arm, mostly high rolling grass-covered sand dunes, was much closer as it pointed out to sea; serving to protect the wide expanse of the calm bay. What took both women's attention, however, was the small island which sat some three cable-length's from the nearest shore. It was a relatively small lump of grayish rock, some four hundred yards long by one hundred yards wide lying low to the sea at all points; but what took up almost all its ground-surface was a huge granite-built fortress, with exterior walls varying between some thirty feet to ninety feet in height—with a tower to one side of the central enclosure rising approximately one hundred and twenty feet over the placid greenish-blue waters of the bay.
This was the Fortress of Dysargan, named after the bay in which it sat, and was presently the HQ of the local warlord Perthinius. A man of low cunning, and even lower carnal and physical pleasures, he was a run-of-the-mill sort of bandit. On this sunny warm morning in May his presence, and the solid bulk of his Fortress, were of interest to the two women warriors for one reason only —somewhere in its cold dank dungeons was imprisoned the daughter of a Satrap who reigned over a region some way to the north. Perthinius, hardly believing his luck in capturing the girl while she was out on a hunting trip near the borders of his own territory a few weeks ago, was now using her to blackmail her father with outrageous demands. The Satrap, at his wits' end and unable to think of any way of assaulting the bandit's island fortress with his own admittedly weak and inexperienced army, had called on the services of Xena; with tears of frustration staining the vellum of the scroll on which he inscribed his worries, fears, and supplications for help.
“We'll never be able t'cross over the water and break into that pile o'rock.” Gabrielle, even with the best will in the world, could see defeat staring her in the face. “The fortress walls come down t'the sea-shore virtually on all sides; the various sections an' buildings are differing heights, with protected gantries along the tops of the walls that run round the entire top of the walls and roofs; there's no easy, or even obvious, entrance-point at sea-level except for the small jetty where the supply ships tie up—an' it's guarded by a whole battalion of bandits day an' night. So, you got'ta plan, baby-cakes?”
“Of course I have a plan,—an' kindly don't call me that offensive name.” The Princess had been fighting her own battle over the last month or so, with Gabrielle determined to keep on calling her by any one of a string of curious and puerile nicknames. Gods, Amazon Queens could be so troublesome when they put their minds to it—especially blonde ones . “D'ya want a break-down on what I intend t'do here?”
“That would be helpful, considering I'll be accompanying you t'save your hide on any number of likely occasions where I'll be needed.” Gabrielle sniffed austerely, and half-turned her head to nearly, but not quite, offer the tall dark warrior by her side a look of imperial disdain. “Well, what're we goin' t'do, then? Swim over in full armour, totin' enough weapons between us t'have stopped Alexander himself in his tracks? Or take all our clothes off, an' swim across in the nude; then defeat the entire garrison by the wonderful sight of our innocent beauty—like Aphrodite rising from the waves? That won't work, y'know.”
“Idiot.”
“Perhaps we might bring all the able-bodied men in that nearby village, half a parasang along the bay there, t'help us as a kind of amateur army.” Gabrielle liked to consider all the possibilities. “They're not armed, an' we don't have arms t'give them; an' there's nowhere near enough boats t'get them all across to the island. Not forgetting that, inexperienced as they are, the bandits'd wipe them all out in the time it takes you to blow your nose, o' mighty Warrior Princess!”
Their vantage-point, during this discussion, was on the flattish crest of a thirty foot high sand dune sparsely covered with knee high grass. From this height they could look out over the sandy beach immediately in front of them, across the water to the fortified island. The village Gabrielle had mentioned was visible in the far distance as a thin white line of low houses, with a few streaks of grey smoke rising here and there from cooking-fires. A number of small fishing boats straggled over the calm surface of the bay; their thin yellowish canvas sails making triangles in the air above their low hulls. The waters of the wide bay shone a deep green-blue in the light from the virtually cloudless blue sky, and the temperature was rising steadily as the morning advanced. It looked as if it were going to be another hot summer day on the Eastern shores of Greece and the Aegean Sea.
“I have considered all the aspects of the situation, thank you.” Xena growled low in her throat; though she knew this would have no effect on the brightly smiling Amazon standing confidently on her right-hand side. “And yeah, this isn't goin' t'be one of those assaults where an army is the best choice. It's gon'na have t'be done quickly, quietly, silently, and in the dark of night. That means the least possible number of attackers—essentially, just you an' me, ducks.”
“Oh yeah? An' don't call me ducks. I ain't an item on the breakfast menu.” Gabrielle curled a perfectly formed lip and shook her short blonde locks. “When we find and release the girl we're after, what then? How do we escape the island? I'll bet you anything you like the girl either can't swim or is so physically, er, disposed she couldn't if she tried. You know these Satrap's daughters; given free range on all the good things in life, an' taught that checkin' their appetites is impolite. I bet she weighs enough t'—”
“Gabrielle! Where's your social conscience? Get a grip.” The warrior sighed heavily, and shook her own head in only partially mock disgust. “We'll use that small liburnian that's tied up at the fortress's jetty each night. It's light enough for us to handle by ourselves, an' with its loss it'll take an appreciable spell till another of Perthinius's boats comes to his rescue. By which time, of course, we'll be long gone; using the horses I hope ya remember t'tie up near the beach for our escape?”
“Of course.” The Amazon sniffed coldly at this perceived slight on her organisational capabilities. “Argo, my Tempest, and an anonymous brown pony for the Hostage. We'll be a parasang an' a half away to the north before Perthinius has stepped ashore, in the surf; dried his boots; an' stopped swearing.”
“Oh Gods! Hummph. Let's go.”
—O—
There was, as bad luck would have it, a full moon when darkness fell. Xena considered calling off the operation till the next evening, then thought better of this. After all, as she explained to her side-kick in her best ‘I know what I'm doing' tone, when the iron's hot it's always best to strike immediately. Leave the bandit any room for maneouvre and it was perfectly likely Perthinius might decide to transfer his hostage to some hard to trace or reach land-based stronghold that'd be a thousand times more difficult to penetrate. As Gabrielle snappily retorted, showing she was au fait with the situation, ‘It was now, or never, then!'. Not a particularly happy starting-point for a dangerous mission, she obviously considered—though she merely implied this with a daintily arched eyebrow; which in turn simply made the dark tall Warrior Princess growl deep in her throat again—something like a panther that had long gone past its usual lunch-time, and was now losing patience with the unhelpfulness of the local wildlife.
Their horses had been secured under the protection of a grove of ash trees a little way back from the beach. At the moment the women stood on the soft dry sand by the slope of the protecting dunes, a small pile of essential equipment at their feet. Their boots lay on the sand also, leaving their feet bare for swimming. Xena was giving the last quiet orders for the assault on the distant fortress; now only visible by the faint light from several torches glowing at various points on its ramparts, and on the jetty where the single liburnian lay at anchor.
“We're gon'na have'ta be careful how we swim across.” Xena shrugged unconcernedly. “Better leave our boots behind, here on the sand. Otherwise we'd probably drown in the water—”
“I suppose.” Gabrielle affected to shiver in the cool night air, though she was actually tense with pre-action nervous energy. “Hey! Does that mean we'll be takin' some light clothing t'change into when we reach the island?”
Xena's look of aloof disdain gave all the answer the Amazon could have required.
“Nah.” The Princess sniffed indifferently. “We won't have time. We're gon'na have'ta do this whole thing in wet clothes, when we reach the Fortress. Can you fight in soaked clothes, Gabrielle? Ha, I should kind'a think so. After all, what ya have on at the moment don't exactly amount t'much, anyway. He-He!”
“I can fight men, in any state, wherever an' however, Warrior Princess. Don't worry.” Gabrielle showed her white teeth in an Amazonian snarl. “While the dirty smelly oafs are takin' in the unexpected sight of two of Aphrodite's nymphs rising from the waves, I'll set-to kickin' them in the guts; or more likely somewhere much lower, an' spoilin' their plans for the evening. Bring it on. Hey, never mind me though. What about all that iron-work on your breastplate? If that won't sink you, I don't know what will. An' don't expect me t'dive into the deeps lookin' for your water-logged ass, either.”
Xena, with an all-suffering sneer curling her lips as the Amazon Queen's criticisms echoed in her ears, ostentatiously discarded her heavy armour in preparation for coming events; leaving her tight leather outer jerkin bare of its usual metal accoutrements, dumping the bits and pieces unceremoniously on the sand at her bootless feet.
For a woman warrior who had been through the mill; seen innumerable actions; fought in countless battles; and strode through the world taking everything it could throw at her, Xena was in remarkably fine physical condition still. Standing a full six feet and one inch tall, she exhibited a perfect physique for her size and weight. Wide shoulders, strongly muscled, giving strength equal to the most powerful of men. Arms long and lithe with, when needed, the grip of a great bear. Chest wide and full, concealing lungs that could provide huge amounts of air in one mighty breath. Her back was muscled like a panther, sloping down to a trim waist above legs strong as tree-trunks. Standing now, proud in the pale moonlight; her body quivering with barely suppressed energy, she seemed the very embodiment of a Goddess come down from Olympus intent on her own private impenetrable business. Long black hair concealed her forehead, flowing over her shoulders and well down her back. Blue eyes glinted in the pale light above a mouth set determinedly, lips parting now and then to show white teeth like a tiger's. She stared intently over the intervening waves to the seemingly distant fortress; then turned to gaze at her companion.
Gabrielle, while considerably shorter than her soul-mate, was equally well-built. Her short blonde hair surrounded her head like a cap. Her wide cheeks set off a slim, though strong, chin; and green flashes sparkled in her wide-set eyes. Bodily she was much more lissome than Xena; not so impressively muscled, but hard with no sign of excess fat. Her shoulders, for her size, were strong and wide. Her chest powerful; her waist remarkably slim; making the muscles on her lower chest, above her belly, all the more impressive with their sharp delineation. From behind, her back was muscled like a sailor's; the curve of her spine clearly indented, giving a line of shadow down her back; with legs hard-muscled as columns of ivory, like a statue's, as she stood confidently by her lover—her gaze equally decisive. The two women stood fair, and self-assured as avenging angels.
“Looking good, Princess.” Gabrielle smiled at her partner, as they crossed the short sandy strand to the edge of the calm sea. “Anyone who meets you tonight better watch out for themselves.”
“Ha!” Xena spared time to glance at her lover, standing on her right-hand side as the gentle waves rippled softly around their ankles. “Could say the same about you. Got your sword and sais tied in place? Don't want them slipping out their sheath's an' sinking while we swim over. Where'd I be then, without my back-up t'save my ass!”
Her sword was already tied securely in its sheath around her waist, but Gabrielle brought her sais up to waist height, held in her tight grip; the steel catching shards of moonlight as she proffered the weapons for Xena's inspection. They were wrapped around with several leather straps which at the moment hung down loosely. It was her intention, lacking her boots, to tie them round her waist till they reached the Fortress across the expanse of sea.
“Make sure you don't tie ‘em too tightly when you put them on.” The Warrior Princess liked to cover all eventualities. “Though I don't imagine they or your sword'll hinder your stroke too much—for such a short swim, anyway—”
“Huh! Glad you think so.”
“Ready? OK, let's go.”
—O—
The island on which the Fortress sat lay some three hundred yards from the beach. Between it and the sand dunes of the coast, however, the short channel was deep; though there were no strong currents in the bay, which was a help to swimmers. The island actually consisted of a more or less flat outcrop of rock, rising no more than twenty feet or so above the surrounding waves. But its entire surface was taken up with the high defensive walls and buildings of the Fortress itself. This consisted of several thick strong walls; built over the course of a couple of centuries, and so revealing no set plan or design. On the western side the outer wall rose some thirty-five feet; there being only the smallest of rocky platforms, perhaps fifteen feet wide, between its foundation and the sea. The wall was capped, on the side facing the beach, by a line of flat-topped embrasures; on the interior side of which ran a wide walkway for guards and soldiers. On the extreme western extremity the wall rose sheer in a tower around forty feet high, which again was flat-topped; an encircling low wall giving protection to the defending soldiers who might be stationed atop. In the centre of the enclosing ring formed by the outer wall rose the massive bulk of another circular tower; itself reaching nearly sixty-five feet high, and seemingly with a circumference of nearly one hundred and fifty feet.
Facing the beach the outer wall dropped suddenly to a height of twenty feet or so, running along in a straight line, also with embrasures for defensive action. This wall, rising nearly straight from the waters of the bay, stopped about three-quarters of the way along the island. At this juncture, on the eastern end of the low island, and set back around twelve feet or so rose one more massive tower some forty feet in height, whose lower slope was angled out giving an inclined plane of smooth masonry reaching nearly a third of the tower's height—thus making any attempt to scale it from the ground virtually impossible. Altogether the undulating outline of the fortress spoke of immense strength and invulnerability. A studious spectator might imagine a rat—a particularly determined rat—finding a way in; but to an army the stronghold would be impenetrable.
Though the night was calm the sea still undulated with small waves. Nothing of any strength, but enough to wash over the heads and faces of the two swimmers as they made their slow way out into the bay. They were moving in the water purposely quietly in order not to make any heavy splashes, which might be noticed by sharp-eyed sentries. Xena was also holding herself well within her limits in order to let Gabrielle keep up. They often had light-hearted swimming competitions in rivers and lakes on their travels; and while Gabrielle was a steady determined swimmer, she could never hope to match the speed and power of the Warrior Princess at full stretch.
Xena had taken her bearings, before they waded out from the beach to slip silently into the deeper waves; Gabrielle, too, had observed the general direction of the few torches sparkling like tiny lamps at various points along the crenellated tops of the main fortress walls; but now she was intent only on staying as close to Xena as she could. After the first few yards Gabrielle settled down into her ordinary swimming routine, arms spreading wide with each stroke while kicking gently with her feet—finding no difficulty in keeping by Xena's side; though her sword, whose blade was tied by a leather strap round its sheath to her left thigh, began to weigh heavier as the distance from the beach increased.
Their intention was to make landfall on the island near its western extremity. There was a short space of open rock here, where the outer wall of the fortress was set some way back from the water. A hundred and twenty yards along to the east the relatively low wall cut back from the shore to meet the rounded outer casing of the great tower at that end of the island. In this small embrasure lay the main entrance to the Fortress—a high doorway defended by a huge wooden door. From this stretched the jetty, alongside which lay the few light boats and slightly larger liburnian that provided access to the mainland. Also on this length of outer wall, running from the tower along to the western end of the island, were two more doorways. They were both deeply inset in the heavy stonework of the masonry of the high wall; the nearer one to the jetty being bricked up, while the second, closer to the western end of the island, boasted a small wooden door of its own—though firmly closed and, it was taken for granted, locked. This was the destination of the swimmers. It lay between the two main towers, close to the western end of the relatively low wall facing the shore. By a favourable mix of circumstances it was in the shadow of the western tower, while not being in line of sight by the sentries there. Those patrolling along the top of the wall, above the door concealed in its dark embrasure, could not see anyone standing under this deep-set entrance-way. It would make the perfect point of entry, if the two women could open it.
Even with her sword feeling more and more like the stone of Sisyphus as she swam on, it was still with some surprise Gabrielle realised they had nearly reached their goal. Xena paused in her track and put out a hand to clutch the Amazon's shoulder, as they silently trod water; the dark loom of the rocky foreshore of the island visible merely as a dark solid line a few yards in front of them.
“We're there, Gabrielle.” Xena spat a mouthful of seawater out and brought her lips close to her companion's ear. “Get up on the rock quickly. There's no beach, just the bare rock. Be careful not t'cut your feet, an' run over t'the wall as fast as you can. The shadow there'll hide us from the sentries. Come on—now!”
An instant later both women pulled themselves ashore, like silent water-nymphs, and darted for the protection of the blackness under the wall. If any of the sentries high overhead had glanced in their direction at that moment all they would have glimpsed was two fleeting dark forms, moonlight gleaming in silvery lines from their wet limbs, passing over the rocky shore like cloud shadows—and just as seemingly insubstantial. But, luckily, no sentry happened to look that way at the critical moment. In bare seconds the women had reached the safety of the dark embrasure, some three feet deep, in which sat the door to the Fortress.
They paused for a few seconds to get their breath back, then Gabrielle sounded a note of caution.
“What's on the other side of this door, Xena?” Her voice was a quiet whisper; though, to her imagination, it still seemed deafeningly loud. “What if it's a guard-room, filled with soldiers?”
“Gods! A fine time t'think o'that.” The Princess was too intent on her work to take note of such negative talk. “What if it's just an empty corridor leading directly t'the dungeon where the Hostage awaits us? Think positively, for goodness sake. Look, I got Autolycus's keys here. Think this long thin one'll do the trick? Doesn't look as if the lock of this door's much t'worry about.”
Fitting her actions to her words Xena bent over the metal plate of the latch and inserted the picklock. There followed some quiet scrapes and scratches; a few barely audible swear-words; then came a horrendously loud click, and the door swung inwards at Xena's pressure. Half a second later the door was closed once more—with the women on the right, interior, side. Thankfully, it did indeed merely give entrance to a long empty corridor lit by wall torches, which disappeared round a sharp corner to the left some fifteen yards further on.
“We're in.” Xena hissed the words softly, but with a vicious undercurrent of resolve. “Let's go.”
—O—
The corridor's walls were lined with large stones with their facing sides smoothed flat, or nearly so. Every few yards an iron sconce, set just above shoulder level, held a burning torch which lit their way forward. There was a strong smell of burnt oil hanging in the air. As the two women progressed their footfalls seemed to echo loudly along the cavernous passage; but at this juncture they met no-one. A few steps further and the corridor widened enough to allow two people to walk abreast of each other; Gabrielle eagerly taking this opportunity to come up alongside Xena, striding confidently by the Princess's right shoulder.
The corridor had run for some twenty yards without a break, and Gabrielle was beginning to wonder if it was going to bring them out on the other side of the Fortress without ever engaging with any of the inmates, when without warning an almost unnoticed door on the Amazon's right opened to disgorge a soldier in a heavy chainmail vest and round steel helmet. He appeared to have just finished a meal, for he was still licking his lips appreciatively as he stepped out into the passage to confront the women.
Xena was at this point a pace ahead of her companion. Gabrielle, as a result, had to come to a sliding halt to prevent her careering into the tall heavy-set man. He on his part just had enough time to register consternation, with lifted eyebrows, before the Amazon reacted. Gabrielle stepped half a pace back; clenched her right hand into a fist; and brought it forward in a well-timed blow to her opponent's belly, under the lower edge of the chainmail. He gave a low gasp as air exited his lungs, then Gabrielle brought her left knee up in a swift knock-out blow to his crotch. The man's eyes nearly popped out of his head as he sank forward, giving his assailant the chance to bring her right fist down in a short sharp blow to the back of his head, below the edge of his protecting helmet. Another soft gasp was his only rejoinder, before his unconscious body collapsed in a heap: lights-out for the night for one Fortress-defender.
“Nice.” Xena glanced back approvingly, as she continued unconcernedly along the shadowy corridor. “Come on. We should pick up the pace a bit. Our water-clock's running out too quickly all the time, as it is.”
The corridor had been curving slightly to the left for the last ten yards or so; now it suddenly opened out into a square-sided room, with a flat stone ceiling about twelve feet above the flagstoned floor. There were no less than three other exits; two open corridors in the far wall, and a closed wooden door on the left wall. The room was otherwise empty of all furniture or individuals.
“Oh great!” Gabrielle paused, to draw breath and consider the situation. “Which way?”
“That door'll only take us towards the main tower in the west.” Xena nodded as she went over the layout of the Fortress in her mind. “The right-hand corridor in front of us doesn't look encouraging; probably just a way to one of the entrances giving access to an outer wall guard-walkway. This smaller corridor looks like it's got possibilities. Wherever the entrance to the dungeons is, it must be somewhere in the direction this one's headed. Come on.”
“Huh!” Gabrielle snorted as she trotted by Xena's side. “Sounds logical enough; but is it right?”
“Yeah, back me up; why don't ‘cha.” The Princess grunted in her turn, though not put out at all. “Better draw your sword now; there ain't much elbow room in this here passage, it ain't lit very well, an' ya never know who we'll meet in the dark.”
—O—
What they met in the end was another, larger, room; it's curving roof decorated this time with rather delicately cut fan-vaulting; it also housed, sitting at a long wooden table, seven fully armed guards. These, unlike the surprised individual Gabrielle had dealt so summarily with earlier, were sharper on the uptake. With a variety of angry yells and obscenities they all scrambled to their feet, drawing their swords the while. What ensued was a mix of a winter storm, and the kind of maelstrom usually only seen at the Spring opening of a large merchant's premises when the new year's bargains are on offer.
A large brutish oaf, who obviously thought that might was right and applied to his case in particular, ran at Xena with a Boeotian curse and a flailing broadsword. It was the nature of the curse, rather than the feebly presented weapon, which got the Princess's ire up. Feinting to her left, she swayed low to her right, waited for the bulk of her opponent to pass in front of her, then swiveled and knee'd him in the ribcage with all her strength. His sword flew into the air; his steel helmet catapulted backwards, hitting the head of one of his compatriots, putting that man off his own stroke, and then he bent forward in agony as two at least of his ribs gave up the unequal struggle. Xena unfeelingly raised her still bare foot and delivered a kick to his head that sent him out like a star disappearing behind a sudden raincloud. His unmoving bulk thereon took up much-needed space on the floor, hindering the gymnastics of the rest of his detail while they continued trying to defend themselves against this unexpected influx of Harpies.
Gabrielle—being smaller, lighter, more petite, and blonde,—had gained the attention of no less than three adversaries. One was tall; the other two were of average build. Two had swords; the third wielded a mean Scythian dagger. One was a villainous sadistic lout; the other two merely run-of-the-mill thugs. One, through overbearing egotism allied to indubitable stupidity, led the charge alone; the other two, being gifted with a modicum of sense, hung back to see what would happen. Gabrielle ran amok among them, like an avenging demon from one of the lower and more unsociable depths of Tartarus. Taking the first man in her stride, she darted forward, jumped up, and hit the man's chest with immense force with both her bare feet together; thereby knocking all the breath from his body for the conceivable future. Using him as a baseboard, she then threw her legs in the air; performing a backward somersault that returned her, with athletic ease, to terra firma facing her remaining two foes. The left-hand one, who had the dagger, didn't alas seem to have the sharp intellect or reflexes needed if you were going to engage in a knife-fight. The Amazon simply swung a powerful left hook which took him out cleanly and silently; dropping his unconscious body to the floor with no further complaint, to join his still-gasping friend. The third man, leaner meaner and armed for bear with a long-bladed Chalcidean two-edged sword, snarled; baring a set of teeth which, more properly, should have been kept from public consumption. He then made the raw recruit's mistake of raising his weapon high over his head; imagining, no doubt, that he thus presented a vision of terror to his foe. Gabrielle, however, was made of sterner stuff; her Amazon sisters, in their infinitely detailed practice sessions, had given her mastery over this type of airy bluster. She grinned; ducked low; drew her left-hand sai from its temporary sheath at her side with lightning speed; and stuck a couple of inches of the thin blade into the man's leg, just above his right knee.
Although not in any way lethal, it was certainly none-the-less extremely painful—and had the secondary result of bleeding with seemingly wonderful copiousness. The man hastily dropped his fancy sword; crouching down to clutch his injured leg, and scream for someone to help him before he bled to death—not sadly, as Gabrielle well knew, a conclusion that was likely to happen at all quickly; or, indeed, at all. Men, huh!
This left three combatants on their feet, still intent on defending the Fortress from this unexpected attack. One of these was clearly a young recruit, only recently appointed to the ranks of general scum and deadbeats making up the core of the Warlord's army. Not having any experience, judging from his years, in any form of life's adventures—and also certainly not at all proficient with any form of weapon—it was almost sad to see the way he came forward with an outstretched sword; as if defending himself against a particularly large and fearsome cat—while not at all sure the cat wouldn't win. He, unwisely, chose Xena to attack—the cat, of course, won. Xena curled her lip in disdain; knocked the boy's sword aside contemptuously; and sent a closed fist into his face with sledgehammer force. The boy shot backwards, lifted completely off his feet, and crashed to the floor where he took no further part in the proceedings.
Another, more experienced, soldier followed behind him; flailing wildly at the dark-haired Princess with scything sweeps of his sword. He might as well not have bothered. Xena parried his last swing; throwing her sword-blade against his and swinging it to the side with so much force it jerked from the man's hand, clattering across the stone floor. Her left fist buried itself in his midriff and, as he buckled up in agony and raised a disbelieving face to his opponent, she followed with a straight blow to his forehead that sent his unconscious form to the floor in a mass of floundering limbs.
The last man standing, though himself unfortunately too busy to notice this significant fact, was fair-haired overweight already out-of-breath and dancing around energetically waving his short sword like a fly-swatter. He had chosen the blonde Amazon, as being a soft touch, and was just on the verge of discovering his mistake. Taking his cue from the original first man's cursing he started on a long-winded discussion of Gabrielle's ancestors, probable descendants, and general physical characteristics. All very well—and by no means out of place in a variety of circumstances—but definitely de trop in a hand-to-hand swordfight: he had no hope. Gabrielle feinted at his face with her own sword, snarling as she did so; and, having been well instructed by a certain black-haired Valkyrie, when Gabrielle snarled these days she put her whole mind into the deed. The man, horrified, paused and stepped back a pace—obviously the better to consider the fact that discretion being the better part of valour was probably something he ought to take immediate advantage of; but he was too late. Grabbing her chance Gabrielle stepped up close, shot her leg between his, and kicked his left foot from under him. Having calculated, with almost algebraically exact precision, the collapse of his body, Gabrielle merely stood firm as his falling head inexorably came into contact with the immovable object which was her right knee. There was a nasty crunch as something, probably his jaw, broke; and he fell the rest of the way to the cold hard stone floor whilst exhibiting all the sharpened physical reflexes of a sack of turnips. Game over.
—O—
They were already a good distance further on along the next corridor; leaving the site of their battle behind, liberally strewn with the wounded. Now that action had commenced they both knew it was only a matter of time before, the battered groaning bodies of their victims certain to be quickly discovered by some passing soldier, all Hades would break loose in the Fortress.
“Our timetable's out the window, ain't it?”
“Too true.” Xena cast a glance behind her, but didn't slow down as they both raced along the passage. “Our main stratagem's gone for a Sisyphus, an' no mistake.”
“So it's Plan B then.” Gabrielle managed to toss her head in annoyance, even as she kept pace behind her companion. “Which, by the way, is precisely—what?”
“We find the dungeons—” The Warrior Princess could think logically under pressure with the best. “We find the Satrap's daughter; no messing around—we drag her, willing or unwilling, t'the jetty; throw her aboard the damned liburnian—which, I hope, is tied up there as we speak—then we cast-off for the shore, leaving Perthinius an' his scumbags t'spit with rage an' disappointment while we vanish over the horizon.”
“Cocking a snook at him as we go, eh?”
“Yip.” Xena slowed down slightly; feeling Gabrielle come up close behind, putting a hand out to gently grip the Princess's waist to catch her balance. “D'ya have'ta bump into me, girl. Look, here's somethin' interestin'.”
The passageway had widened slightly, to about twice its original width. This change only held sway for twenty feet or so, then the corridor returned to its narrower dimensions, disappearing on ahead. But this wider portion held other noteworthy details, to whet the passing stranger's interest. A table—really, in fact, a bench—with several wooden chairs and stools arranged somewhat haphazardly along its sides, stood to one side. While, on the left-hand side of the passage, a set of stone steps led sharply down into black stygian darkness.
“Hah! Dungeons—d'you think?” Gabrielle could make an assumption, based on unconnected facts, just as well as anybody else.
“Hope so—‘cause we're goin' down.” Xena took a firmer grip of her sword; glanced at the Amazon by her side; and grinned widely in her trademark snarl. “Whoever we meet, bounce their heads off the corridor walls—I ain't in a mood for conversation. Let's go.”
The flight of steps was actually shorter than they imagined; giving access to a wide room-like space only some twenty-five steps lower down. This place seemed to be a holding area for, over on the right-hand side, another passageway led off somewhere. On the left side were several solid-looking wooden doors, framed in stone archways, with barred squares in their top halves—all firmly shut and locked. There were wide heavy flagstones on the floor, and another long table sat to one side. This was laden with various items of apparel; some hand weapons; and several pewter plates and flagons. Seated around it, also, were four greasy looking individuals exhibiting all the hallmarks of jailers: dark leather jackets and leggings; thick boots; swords at their sides; and faces expressing all the cheerful traits of their occupation; cold hard evil leers, smirks, and deeply-ingrained malevolent savagery. On the sudden arrival in their midst of the two still dripping-wet women, obviously armed for action and clearly dead-set on finding such, the men rose slowly and suspiciously as one; each putting a provisional hand on their weapon of choice as they did so.
“Hallo boys.” Xena liked to be polite when meeting strangers. “Are we goin' t'do this quietly an' handsomely—or do I have'ta beat out what passes for your brains? Where's the Satrap's daughter.”
“I'm in here.” This cry came from the interior of the second doorway along, on the far side of the room; clearly in the tones, loud and strong, of a pissed-off Lady of Quality and bravado. “Kick their balls, then get me the Hades out'ta here, an' make it snappy.”
“Looks like you're extraneous to our purposes after all, lads.” Gabrielle stepped away from her companion, as she eyed the couple she'd earmarked for her own. “Xena, I've got the oily black-haired lout, an' the fat bozo. Let's do it.”
The Warrior Princess nodded in approval of Gabrielle's suggestion; but this was lost in the general confusion as the men, having finally fingered their visitors as being bona-fide uninvited gate-crashers, dashed forward in a widely spaced group—obviously intent on taking down the women by sudden brute force alone. The first to engage were those two opposing Xena herself. One was an averagely tall man of a somewhat beefy build. He came at the Princess waving a short sword in a motion more melodramatic than professional; which, of course, was his undoing. Thinking he could easily disembowel his female opponent with one swipe he made his play. Xena, in response, jumped in the air high over the swinging blade and as she came to earth extended her left leg in a straight kick which made solid contact with the soldier's chest. Even though her feet were bare the impetus was still enough to throw the man backwards. By the time Xena had regained her balance he'd already hit the hard unforgiving stone floor; the back of his head giving a delightful crack as it connected with the granite, after which he was well and truly out of competition—in fact, when he finally did recover his wits he never could remember what had happened; his last memory being of pulling on his boots earlier that morning as he rose from the fleapit he called his bed!
Xena's second adversary was squat, thick-set, and jerky in his favoured modus operandi. His weapon was a short-bladed dagger, which he thrust backwards and forwards towards Xena's midriff, as if expecting her to be over-awed and scared by these threatening maneouvres. Instead of which she unexpectedly jumped up close, grabbing his arm above the wrist holding the dagger. There followed a loud crack after which he collapsed with a scream, clutching a broken arm; he too then took no further part in operations.
On Gabrielle's side, her fat opponent was first to make contact. Appraising the short blonde woman in his sick way, he had already developed a smirking grin; as of reprising what he was going to do afterwards to his soon-to-be prisoner. What happened instead was that the Amazon, easily able to read his slimy mind, snarled in disgust; literally spat unexpectedly in his eye; and, as he backed off a pace in surprise, delivered the haft ends of both her sais in powerful thrusts to what passed for the out-of-condition brute's waistline. She immediately followed this with a right uppercut to his chin which snapped his head backwards in a most satisfactory manner. He fell to earth like a pole-axed mule; where he thereafter merely commenced to take up space in a motionless manner. The second thug intent on taking out a small lightly-built woman came to regret his decision even faster than any of his other henchmen. His sword, which was of a long-bladed Germanic variety, told against him. Gabrielle merely caught its blade expertly between the curved short side-blades of her sais; jerked it aside; then, with pre-conceived intent and Amazonian malice aforethought, gave him a kick between the legs with her own bare foot delivered with all her strength. He didn't even pause to scream or groan, but simply fell to his knees, then to the floor; where he spent the next agonising candle-mark of his pathetic life groaning in pain, clutching what had till then been his most prized set of possessions. Anyway, he was well out of the present game and no mistake.
“Hey! What'cha doin' out there? Get a bloody move on.” The Lady in the cell was obviously losing patience. “I got'ta damned flea-bitten Warlord t'castrate. Open this goddamned door, an' be quick about it!”
“A woman who knows her own mind.” Xena grinned savagely. “I like her!”
Gabrielle had gravitated towards the far side of the wide room so was, necessarily, close to the locked cell-door in question. Xena took the set of Autolycus's keys from her waistbelt and threw them to her cohort. The Amazon bent over the lock and in seconds had the door swinging wide, allowing the cell's occupant to stride forward into the dim light. Her presence came as something of a shock to both her rescuers. Standing a couple of inches taller than Gabrielle, the woman had long red hair sweeping over her neck in rich waves. Her features were sharp and clear-cut, with a high forehead; eyes of a dark chestnut brown; and her figure that of an athlete. She was dressed in a short skirt which showed her legs to the well-muscled thighs; and her arms, bare to the shoulders in the tight leather high-necked waistcoat she wore, were equally strong. She stepped in front of Gabrielle and Xena with confidence, and a wide grin showing beautiful white teeth.
“Thanks. Kind'a expected something like this, though maybe a bit sooner.” She took in both her champions with a slightly off-hand, though still grateful, nod of thanks; then turned to the important matter. “Oh well, so where's Perthinius? Still suppurating in that decadent Persian style throne-room in the West Tower he likes so much? Well, we'll soon see about that. Oh goody! Look, a German sword—my favourite type. Won't take long t'separate him from his manhood with this. Come on, follow me—I know the way.”
“Hey! Just hold it, Lady.” Xena had to step forward and grab the passing ex-prisoner's arm to stop her disappearing entirely down one of the nearby shadowy corridors. “We got'ta schedule t'adhere to here, y'know. There's a boat outside waiting for us, an' we can't waste time in idle personal revenges. What'd he do, anyway?”
“Oh, nothing much, when y'get right down to it, I suppose.” The woman sneered in distaste, nonetheless, at nasty memories. “Just kind'a tried to, er, impose himself on me a coupl'a times. But I wasn't havin' any of it. The second time I kicked him where it matters I think he began t'get the message I didn't really care for him. He had me incarcerated in that miserable cell for three days—till I cooled down a little; then warmed up to his proposals—so he said. Ha! Some hope. I'll have his scrawny balls, and his miserable manhood, see if I don't. Let's move, we're wasting time.”
“Hey! Hey!” Xena came over all decisive. She knew when a positive attitude was needed, and that time was clearly now. “We got'ta get away from this damned hole as quick as we can. The place is impregnated with scores, maybe hundreds, of the most worthless dead-beat characters ever t'wear uniforms. Getting' even can wait a while. We make our escape; you return t'your everlovin' father; he organises a really powerful army; then comes back here an' wipes Perthinius off the face of the Earth. Works for me. What d'ya say. Only make it snappy.”
“Yeah, an' remember, if you decide t'go all out for his bits an' pieces Xena and I'll still be makin' our way t'the boat an' safety—while you do your thing on your own.” Gabrielle, in her persona as Amazon Queen, could be as determined as any Warrior Princess. “Decision time, baby.”
“Oh shit! OK, let's go find this damned ship.” The woman gave up with a miserable shrug of her shoulders; in no way resembling the graceful vote of thanks her rescuers might have been expecting—but Life is like that, as both Gabrielle and Xena had long since come to realise. “I could do with a breath of fresh air, anyway. Which way?”
—O—
The cold night air, when it struck the three sweating women on their faces as they exited the main gateway of the Fortress, felt like clear fresh snowflakes caressing their hot skin. They had met no-one in any of the three further corridors they had passed swiftly through on the route to safety; most of the regular inmates seeming to have been congregated towards the Western end of the Fortress complex. But luck like this couldn't last, and Xena was itching to feel the boards of the liburnian's deck under her bare feet.
The jetty was a substantial wooden-decked affair, built on massive wooden piles; but had seen better days and was beginning to warp, through years of inattention. Although there may have been any number of soldiers on guard-duty up on the walkways running along behind the tops of the high exterior walls there was little chance of them having much of an oversight of what transpired on the jetty, because of the way the walls curved away on both sides at this point. On the jetty itself, however, things were different, as the three women found out within seconds of appearing there.
It ran for about fifty feet out into the sea, directly away from the island Fortress. On the left side a couple of small fishing boats, with masts lowered and no sign of oars, lay tied up. On the right side, towards the end of the jetty, lay the sleek lines of the liburnian. Its single mast soaring twenty-five feet or so into the dark sky, and the holes for the oars clearly visible all along the forty foot length of its port bulwark. It seemed, from Xena's quick glance, to be in good shape with fast lines—or at least, so she fervently hoped. However, the snake in the wood-pile was provided by the group of sailors and soldiers now visible idly chatting amongst themselves in the moonlight and wan glow of several torches, who were congregated near the jetty's end.
“Listen Lady, if ya really know how t'use that pig-sticker, now's the time.” Xena's rapid glance at Gabrielle reassured her the Amazon was also armed and ready. “We ain't got no more than a few breath's before about the whole of Perthinius's army comes out that gateway behind us, roaring for our blood. So we knock these bozo's off the wharf; jump aboard; an' Gab an' I'll get the old tub heading out t'sea quicker'n Aphrodite can say ‘ Oh look, pink silk negligee's! ” Got it?”
“Yeah, I'm with you.” The Lady nodded in reply, then indicated their potential foes. “Here they come. I don't think they're happy.”
“Great Hephaistos! Here we go again.” Gabrielle wielded her sword in a couple of easy swings, testing its weight and balance. “Bring it on!”
It was difficult, in the darkness, to estimate just how many opponents the women were up against. But there was no time to stand and stare, for the men came on with a general roar of anger; possibly because some had recognised the Lady and were determined to go for any reward that might be on offer for her re-capture. Just so the greatest dreams of mice and men come to naught. The jetty, though in a deteriorating condition, was all of some four yards in width—giving everyone more than enough room for actions and counter-actions. All three women made contact with a foe at the same instant, and what followed was your actual disorganised but brutal melee.
Though wildly out-numbering the women the group of soldiers and sea-men were the one's actually at a disadvantage. While full of brutish energy and an instinctive viciousness, they had no organised plan of attack: whereas Xena and Gabrielle were focussed; full of the drive to reach the liburnian; and determined to achieve their goal against all odds whatever.
A seaman, wielding some sort of anonymous seafaring implement made of teak, made a rush at Gabrielle. She ducked sideways, stuck a leg out, and sniggered under her breath as, a moment later, the man careered off the jetty, splashing hearteningly in the water below. Xena took out an opponent who was armed with a dagger by the simple expedient of doing a short dance in front of him which completely threw him, before slashing her sword down on his arm, slicing open a nasty bloody wound above his wrist. Screaming in fear and dropping his weapon he disappeared to the side, never to be seen again. The Lady meanwhile, confronted by a large man in a disgustingly dirty shirt and leggings laying wildly about him with a short sword, moved away from a passing blow then darted her own weapon forward with that ease, strength, and aim, only shown by the most experienced of sword-fighters. At least a hand-span of her blade disappeared into his chest, just below the collar-bone, and with a gurgling gasp he collapsed on the planking of the jetty.
As they fought, the women were inexorably moving forward all the time along the jetty. Therefore, before they fully realised what had happened, the remaining defenders of the boat found themselves no longer attacking but instead fighting a rear-guard action. As a result their bravado and swagger quickly began to fade as it became apparent they were now simply in a fight for their lives. There seemed to be a core of about four soldiers, but the rest, maybe another four, were sailors. Sailors who weren't directly in the Warlord's pay, and therefore no doubt felt dying for him was above and beyond the call of duty. With a few cries of defeat and anguish they retreated from the fight, to jump back to the safety of their boat. What was left was a sad remnant of the original force of assailants. Even though battle-hardened as they were, these men could now see defeat staring them in the face; with still no sign of reinforcements arriving from the main Fortress gateway. This instilled a note of hesitation in the men, which was their undoing. Recognising the state of affairs, all three women dashed forward with snarling howls.
Gabrielle, confronted by a bearded and repulsive man about six feet high with a long-bladed sword, jumped forward; crouched down, and stabbed a sai into his right leg below the knee while using her sword to thrust up into his lower belly. Slipping quickly backward, and regaining her feet, she followed up with another thrust to his chest, before stepping back out of range of his now undirected lashing blows. He swayed to a halt; looked uncomprehendingly at the blonde woman in front of him for a brief moment; then fell to the planking with a mighty thud—next stop, Tartarus.
Another soldier, apparently under the illusion that he stood a chance, came straight for the Warrior Princess with his sword-blade glinting evilly in the moonlight. His first move was an attempt to take her right arm off with one blow. He never had the chance for a second. Xena's sword came down on the side of his neck with relentless force. There was a curious moment when his head seemed to be turning sideways in a strange manner; then a fountain of blood splashed out across the jetty's planks. Incapable of any further defence; in fact, actually dead on his feet, his body suddenly lost all co-ordination, like a puppet whose strings had been cut—which was pretty much the case—then he fell away over the edge of the jetty, to send another splash of water up as his cold dead body hit the waves below.
The Lady, meanwhile, was herself still in the thick of things. The two remaining men attacked her together—but they were now aware of the fate of their compatriots, and as a result were rapidly losing any wish to continue the battle. Half-hearted as was their attack, the Lady took only a few seconds to disable the man on her left by cutting through his defensive sword play with implacable power. Having knocked his sword aside she sliced her own weapon, wielded two-handedly, across his chest with all the strength in her arms. For an instant she saw the stark snow-white gleam of several of his exposed ribs showing through the resulting long raw-edged wound, before he collapsed backwards to disappear with a splash into the deep to join his comrades before him. This left only one surviving soldier; who clearly pretty much recognised this substantial fact about his present position. To keep this situation in an ongoing state he took the only course remaining to anyone of any sense—he screamed in fear; dropped his sword like a hot brick; and, in one single leap, jumped overboard to swim for his life—if, indeed, he could swim! The jetty, and boat, had been taken.
—O—
The sailors who had sought refuge aboard their own ship rapidly came forward, on the appearance of their female, but obviously oh-so-dangerous conquerors, to acknowledge defeat; loudly proclaim they'd never had any real allegiance to the damnable Warlord in the Fortress; and that they were completely at the command of their new passengers—where did they wish to go? Athens, Samothrace, Lesbos, anywhere you like, ma'am!
Xena merely sufficed with ordering the sail set, and the boat pushed off from the jetty, using the long oars, with as much expediency as the crew of some twelve frightened men could muster. All went surprisingly well, and they were comfortably out in the channel before Gabrielle finally reported untold masses of soldiers swarming through the quickly diminishing Fortress's main gateway; covering the abandoned jetty like a black blanket, though far too late in doing so for any remaining chance of successfully capturing their erstwhile attackers.
“Those two fishing boats aren't going t'do them any good, Xena.” The blonde Amazon sniggered girlishly as she turned to her two companions standing at the liburnian's bow. “I did like you said, and dropped a couple of those loose stones they use for ballast, that were piled at the end of the jetty, into each of them. Went right through their bottoms, I think. Anyway, they've both sunk at their moorings, Ha-Ha! What now?”
“Oh, just a slight change of plan, Gabs.” The Warrior Princess was looking back at the scene of their success with a wide grin. “We go ashore; then bring our horses aboard here. There's plenty of room for them, on this wide deck, on the short voyage it'll take to reach the Lady's region, an' her anxious father. Much quicker, an' safer than riding there.”
“Got'cha. Sounds good t'me.” Gabrielle nodded approval, not forgetting to spare one of her own bright grins for the Lady by her side. “Won't Papa just be over-joyed when you re-appear at his side?”
“Damn better be.” The Lady sniffed, seemingly less than fully gratified by this proposed paternal outcome to her adventures. “First thing he's gon'na explain is just how those imbeciles he sent as my bodyguard managed t'get themselves knocked down by a bunch of dirty scum in the pay of that miserable object that calls itself a Warlord. Then dear Papa better get an army together—an' quick. I got matters of import t'settle with that bastard Warlord, an' I don't aim t'wait till my hair's gone white t'do so, either! Can this boat sail any faster?”
Gabrielle looked at Xena; Xena looked at Gabrielle; then both shrugged silently, and made quiet moves to imperceptibly, but definitely, distance themselves from their new acquaintance. It looked as if it was going to be a long voyage for all concerned, after all.
The End.