by Mason Thomas
Dax, surveying Hunter’s face, must have come to same conclusion. “Or find me a sword,” he added.
“Fight our way out?” Hunter shook his head. “There’s a hundred or more guards up there.”
Dax fell quiet as he stared at the floor. “There’s been a steady flow of prisoners brought in. Something’s happened.”
“Not important right now.”
“Tell me.”
The tone in Dax’s voice didn’t give Hunter much opportunity to resist. He sighed. “The hideout’s been raided. Someone betrayed its location.” Hunter turned his head away, afraid his eyes would somehow reveal what he knew. From the corner of his vision, he saw Dax’s expression turn dark and dangerous.
“Who made it out?”
“A lot, I think. They were still assessing when I left.”
“Quinnar?”
Hunter’s stomach dropped. The concern in Dax’s voice was obvious. “Yes,” he said in a voice quieter than he intended. “And Zinnuvial and Corrad.” He was tempted to tell Dax that Quinnar had no intention of organizing a rescue, that he was willing to let Dax die down here, but he held his tongue.
Dax didn’t seem to notice Hunter’s shift in tone. “Zefora’s hammer, that’s a relief. He’s too important and knows too much to fall into their hands.” His eyes lifted to the ceiling. “He’d not sustain their interrogation well.”
Did he just imply that Quinnar was weak-willed?
Dax’s eyes narrowed, lips tightening. “We have to get the others out too.”
“My job is to get you out.”
“They come with us or leave me behind.”
Hunter puffed out his cheeks. They didn’t have time for this. “And if I knock you out and drag you out of here?” The look in Dax’s eyes gave him the answer. Dax would never forgive him. He would never willingly leave anyone behind.
He hadn’t left Hunter behind, even when he’d had the opportunity.
Hunter covered his eyes with his palm. “You and your high-minded virtue and honor. Fine. All right. We rescue them too. But it probably means we’ll all get caught and I’ll die in this dungeon too.”
How the fuck was he going to get all the prisoners to that unlocked door unseen?
Dax seemed more stable on his feet, and he stood with his back straighter. His face had hardened into a look of raw fortitude and purpose. The notion of getting everyone out of here had given him renewed strength.
“We need a distraction,” Hunter said. He stepped out of the cell and looked up and down the corridor between the rows of cell doors. He had an idea. A terrible idea. And it was likely to get them all killed as surely as the executioner’s ax. But every minute they delayed narrowed their chances of getting out.
It was time to act and hope for the best.
33
HUNTER MADE his way down the row of cells. He peeked in each window and unlocked the ones that were occupied—which was most of them. He couldn’t do the ones down the first aisle because surely the guard was still there watching. He would have to wait to do those.
He pushed his way into each cell, cringing as each hinge groaned and resisted. Pale torchlight spilled into each tiny room, and each pathetic mass stirred nervously on the ground. He put a finger to his lips. “Quiet now.” He swung each door as wide as it would go and stepped back into the corridor. Each prisoner stared back at him, wide white eyes set in faces covered in grime. He understood their reluctance—he was dressed as a guard.
“Trust me,” he urged.
Some had clearly only been in here a short time—they looked scared but resilient, fight still in their eyes. Others had been forgotten in here for much longer. They were weak and malnourished. Broken. Seeing their cell door left open, life replaced the hopelessness and fear in their eyes, and with help from Hunter, they lifted from the straw-covered floor.
Dax limped out of his own cell to join him.
“Get them moving,” Hunter whispered to him. The stone sitting in his gut seemed to grow. The plan was feeling more ridiculous by the moment. It wasn’t going to work and would likely kill them all.
He moved into an empty cell and used the side of his boot to scrape all the filthy straw into the pile in the corner. Out in the hall, he lifted a tallow candle from its recess in the wall and carried it into the cell. He took several long breaths to build up the nerve.
Dax moved in behind him. The freed prisoners were already shuffling out of their cells and working their way down the corridor. He looked down at the pile and then nodded to Hunter. “Do it.”
Hunter dropped the candle into the straw and stepped back.
The fire took immediately. Red and orange ate at the straw in a crackling wave. Noxious black smoke rushed to the low ceiling and spread like rolling storm clouds, the first tendrils clawing out into the corridor. Hunter fed the flames with more straw from other cells and in moments, the tiny cell felt like a kiln.
Hunter handed the keys over to Dax. “In case there’s more.”
“Stay low,” Dax told the others as he shuffled them along.
The roiling black ceiling billowed farther down the corridor, sinking lower. It stung his eyes and coated his throat like acid. Hunter crouched to stay beneath it. This could all go terribly, terribly wrong.
He shuffled back to the entrance, and as he staggered out of the wall of smoke, he exaggerated a fit of coughs and fell against the wall in a dramatic show.
The guard rushed toward him. He threw himself under Hunter’s arm and tried to support him.
“What happened?” the guard asked.
“Don’t know. A candle must have fallen.” He interrupted himself with more choking. “The whole area is in flames.”
The guard dragged him toward the exit, but Hunter resisted and pushed him away. “No. I need to go back.”
“The prisoners?” the guard said. “Forget them, man! They’d be facing the executioner in a day or two anyway.”
“I need to warn the guards on the other side,” Hunter said, breaking loose of the man’s grip. “Get everyone out.”
He shoved the guard into action. The man hesitated at first, staring back at Hunter with wide-eyed indecision, but then staggered into a run, shouting “Fire!” Hunter waited until he was up the short flight of stairs and out of sight before he started unlocking the cell doors in this corridor. One by one, he started grabbing prisoners and dragging them out. There was no time to be gentle.
Huddled in the corner of one of the cells was a figure in rags. She didn’t react when the door opened or to Hunter’s call. She was sprawled limply across the floor, eyes closed. Even in the dim haze, Hunter could see that beneath the dirt and grime that covered every inch of her, the skin was blue.
He scooped her into his arms. She weighed nothing. There was little left of her other than bones and skin. He had no idea if she was still alive—there wasn’t time to check for a pulse. But he was going to get her out regardless. For Uri. Hunter knew instinctively that this was his mother.
Confused and frightened, the prisoners were huddled in the corridor, waiting for direction. “Follow me,” he told them.
The amount of smoke was staggering. He took in as full a breath as he could and dived back into the wall of smoke. When he came back to the corridor with the others, he’d discovered the reason the smoke was much worse than he anticipated. The floor itself was on fire—the years of filth that caked the stone was apparently fuel enough to spread it. It was already out of the cell and lapping up the walls. Some floating ember had set alight the hay that covered the floor in another cell.
It was quickly getting out of control.
With the unconscious woman draped over his shoulder, he hurried everyone past the spreading inferno and followed them. They caught up to Dax, who was leading everyone down the corridor on their hands and knees. Everything was a gray haze, like looking through tinted glass. The black churning ceiling was already halfway down the wall and descending at an alarming rate. They’d all die o
f smoke inhalation if they didn’t act quickly. He moved to the front, set the woman to the ground beside Dax, then rushed off down the corridor. He had to get the guards first.
His lungs burned like acid. And his head was swimming, his vision closing in around at the edges. He couldn’t black out. He wouldn’t let himself.
He followed the zigzag of tunnels as far as they would take him. Two guards were stationed at the end of it. They both covered their mouths as they peered through the haze.
“Fire,” Hunter called as he approached. “Fire!”
“How did this happen?” one of them asked.
“No idea. But it’s bad. Sound the alarm. We need water down here.”
“The prisoners?”
“No hope for them. Go. I’m going to make one more sweep to make sure all the guardsmen are out.”
The two looked at each other.
“Go!” Hunter bellowed at them again.
They flinched, then scrambled out of the tunnel. The way was clear.
Hunter doubled back. “Hurry,” he called to them as he lifted the Mazentian woman from the floor and repositioned her over his shoulder. “We don’t have much time.”
They emerged from the gray haze like specters. One after another. Hunter guessed maybe twenty in all. How in the hell was he going to get this many people safely out of the castle?
Stairs twisted upward and fed into a corridor. Even here, the smoke was present—less thick but clinging to the ceiling in a roiling charcoal wave. It was finding its way upward. But it was now easier to breathe. Hunter’s lungs gulped in the fresher air, which sent him into a real coughing fit. Everyone in the chain behind him did the same. Some were sobbing.
They scurried down the corridor. Hunter led the way. He could hear shouts bouncing off the walls in the distance. The alarm had been raised. Soon a parade of soldiers would be spilling down at them to contain the blaze. He had to get them all somewhere out of the traffic flow.
The tunnel was different here. Less grim and forbidding. Hunter could feel they were under the castle proper now. He could almost feel the weight of it over him. A new smell cut through the acrid smell of smoke.
Cooking. He could smell roasted meat.
He followed his nose through a tangle of passageways and the smell grew stronger. More shouting chased them. The barking of orders. Military style. And he heard the rapid pounding of boots on stone.
He pressed onward, his heart punching him from inside. How long would it take for those guards to douse the flames and realize the cells were empty?
One of the prisoners cried out and collapsed. An elderly man. He grazed the wall and landed hard. Others scrambled to lift him from the floor, while he groaned piteously and clutched at his upper arm. The incident seemed to choke off their momentum. Everyone seemed to wait to see if the man was okay.
“Keep moving,” Hunter barked. He was going to find a way out of this.
Someone put the old man’s arm around his neck and dragged him into motion again. Hunter kept a hard pace, and they stuck with him. He glanced back, looking for Dax, but he had taken the rear to keep people moving. He was too far back in the crowd for Hunter to see him.
He rounded a lazy corner, and firelight painted the tunnel wall up ahead. The smell of cooking was stronger yet, along with other savory smells. Holding out his palm behind him, he slowed his pace and crept closer. The corridor ended at a door left ajar, and warm light and kitchen heat pushed through the opening. He sensed nothing through the opening—no movement, no sounds—so he gently swung his arm outward to push the door open farther.
No one anywhere. Produce was abandoned on the table in midpreparation, and something steamed and bubbled over the sides of a mammoth kettle hanging from a hook over the stove.
Dax appeared behind him.
“They’ve cleared out,” Hunter whispered.
“No one would want to be trapped down here if it somehow spread,” Dax replied. “It’s our chance to get everyone to ground level. While everyone is occupied with the fire.”
Hunter glanced back at the pathetic band behind them. Soot-covered and dressed in rags. They were huddled together, silent and morose. “We can’t take them through the castle like this, Dax.”
“And we can’t stay here. This will be the first place they sweep.”
“The door in the wall to the north. You know it?”
“The postern door,” Dax replied with a nod. “It is rarely used and always guarded.”
“Well, I took out the guard and unlocked it. We just need to get everyone there. And it’s a short distance from a stairwell.”
Dax’s lips pressed into a line. “Still risky. We’d likely be seen.”
Hunter snapped his fingers. “The laundry. Where I climbed up.”
Dax stared at Hunter incredulously. “That’s how you got in?”
“Not important. Listen, if word of the fire has sent everyone to the surface, then the laundry area is likely abandoned too. They can all clean up quick and change into clothes that are a little less dungeon couture.”
“Then flee the castle with everyone else.” Dax nodded his endorsement of the plan.
Yet, Hunter didn’t recognize where he was. In his search of the bowels of the castle, he’d somehow missed this area. “I don’t know how to get to the laundry from here.”
“Follow me,” Dax said.
Of course. In his days of being a scout, he would have spent time here in the castle, reporting what he’d learned. He would know his way around.
First signaling the others that it was time to move, Hunter and Dax skirted along the wall of the kitchens. Their ears strained the silence for any sign that someone had lingered behind to keep their soup from burning. The kitchen was a vast complex of interconnected rooms like the inside of a hive. Hunter wove through the tables and stacks of laden bushels at a crouch to find his way back to the corridor he remembered from earlier.
Dax held out his arm to bring him to a stop, then broke off and slipped into a side storage room lined with rows of barrels. Dax stood one of the barrels up and pried out the wooden stopper. He stuck his nose in and whiffed—and his whole body flinched.
He looked up at Hunter and grinned. “Spirits. Good spirits.”
“A little early to toast to our success,” Hunter replied dryly.
Dax ignored him and dashed off around the corner out of sight. He returned a few moments later with a shovel full of hot coals. “We could use an added distraction,” he said and poured the hot coals on top of the barrel.
Hunter stepped back. “Whoa. What the fuck? Are you trying kill us?”
“It’ll take time for the coals to burn through the wood.”
“How long?”
Dax made a casual shrug. “Not sure. But we won’t want to be around.”
That was an understatement. He passed his eye over all the barrels in storage. This was going to cause one hell of a distraction.
Hunter fell in at Dax’s heels, the others hobbling behind him, as he led them down several corridors. The bowels of the castle were abandoned, but the eerie sounds of distant chaos echoed around them, and the biting smell of ash and smoke was everywhere. Dax pushed through a door—Hunter followed, and immediately recognized where they were. How’d he missed this door before? He knew the way from here. When they arrived at the laundry room, Dax poked his head in. “Seems clear.”
They shooed everyone inside. Staggering weakly and still coughing, the group shuffled in and began digging through the piles of garments for something to wear.
Hunter gently placed the Mazentian woman on a soft pile. In the better light, he could see her injuries. The skin of her back was covered in half-healed lacerations that were clearly infected. Yellow pus seeped from the sores. He pressed two fingers against her neck. He thought he felt something push weakly against his fingertips but couldn’t tell for certain. If she was alive, it was only barely.
He could feel Dax’s eyes him. His gaze shifted back a
nd forth from Hunter to the woman.
With a sigh, Hunter straightened again, hands on his hips. He looked at the others preparing to leave, then out into the corridor. When he glanced over at Dax, he was staring back up at him with a knotted brow.
“You’re an idiot for coming after me,” Dax said.
“You’re welcome.”
“How’d you do it?”
“Still not important,” Hunter replied. “Look, I can’t believe I’m actually going to say this. We should do more. Since we’re here.”
A strange look entered Dax’s eyes. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I have this sweet uniform on. We should put it to good use.”
“Hunter—”
“We can put a stop to it. Right now.”
Dax scoffed. “You’ve done enough.” There was a thread of sadness in his voice. The sound of guilt or regret. “Like you said, this isn’t your fight.”
Hunter looked down at his feet. “Somehow, I think it became mine. Not only because of what they did her. That’s part of it. But also for what they did to her reputation. Her character. She was a good person, Dax, and had a fierce integrity, and it kills me that people think she became some kind of monster. I can’t allow them to continue to destroy what was best about her. That’s why I need to do this.”
And for Dax. He didn’t want to admit it out loud, but that was also why he needed to do it. Because this was his fight.
Dax shook his head. “No. Someone has to lead them to the postern door.”
“I can do it,” came a voice. They both turned to see the woman Hunter had witnessed earlier being dragged to the guard house. She’d found a simple tan shift and blue headband, and had already quickly and efficiently outfitted herself.
Hunter and Dax stared back at her.
“Think I’m not capable?” she asked with a raised brow. “I know where the door is. I can lead us all there easy enough. Whatever you two have planned to stop this madness, do it.”
Dax’s brow was tight above the bridge of his nose while he considered her. “Don’t move as one group,” he told her. “Spread out. And head to the door only a few at a time.”