“Yes, my lord.”
Lord Raburn’s satisfied footsteps faded away in the distance.
In a moment, Annabeth felt strong hands lifting her off of the cool, hard stone. She bit her lip to hold back a gasp; pain dizzied her. Her mind sought for a clear memory. Had her life never felt dizzy, or was it always like this, tumbled, torn, and screaming pain? It felt as if a lifetime had already passed away in that cell, and now she was returning to it.
Opening her eyes, Annabeth tried to focus. She had to care about what was going on around her. She had to find something beyond herself and the pain, if she were to know anything but this numbness as the last day of her life approached. Walking through the sunlit hallways of Raburn’s castle, she tried to feel the sun’s warmth, the breeze that washed its way through the windows, but to no avail. She felt nothing but the ache and pain and agony of trying to feel something different.
When they reached the stairs, she was surprised to find herself suddenly in Eliot’s arms as he clattered casually down the steps, then set Annabeth on her feet. He dragged her back to her cell and chained one arm to the wall.
The weights pulled and stretched the muscles in her arms, and she closed her eyes as the pain ate her consciousness.
Eliot’s hand traced over her dislocated shoulder that Raburn had set.
Annabeth collapsed. The pain was too much.
“WHAT WERE YOU DOING there? You could have gotten yourself killed!” Song Lark’s angry voice broke him out of his reverie.
“I had to know if she was still alive.”
“Is she?”
Ransom nodded. “But not for long. That dungeon is killing her.”
“Not Annabeth.”
“You don’t know what that place does to her!” Ransom turned to Song Lark, his eyes hot with anger.
“Annabeth can survive anything.”
“Annabeth is not invincible. None of us are invincible.” Then he added under his breath, “I am not invincible.”
“Then what is your plan? Are we going to go get your king?”
Ransom shook his head.
“There isn’t enough time. She won’t last.” Ransom fished around in his boot until he came up with a slip of paper and opened it.
“Just as I expected. Song Lark, I need you to ride to the border and take this directly to King Harold. Tell them Ransom sent you, and that should get you immediate access to the king. Now, guard it with your life.”
“What is it?”
“Plans for Anondorf Castle that Eliot drew up. Battle plans. Now, go.”
“What are you going to do?”
Ransom looked at him.
“Do I want to know what you are going to do?”
Ransom shook his head. “No, you don’t want to know.”
“Godspeed to you.”
“Godspeed to you, Song Lark, and may you ride like the wind.”
In a moment, Song Lark was mounted and off, galloping in the distance. Ransom turned, landing a fist into a tree. He waved his hand in pain. Pulling it back, he blew on it to soothe the burning feeling. He had broken the skin in several places, leaving his hand scratched and bleeding.
“Yes, that will do. I can’t hurt myself too badly.”
Two hours later, a man that few would recognize walked with a slight limp down the trail to the castle.
“Who goes there?” called out the same grumpy voice.
No wonder he is such a grump. I would be too if I was left on gate duty. “Ransom, the bounty hunter. My horse broke a leg, I was wondering...”
The drawbridge lowered and Ransom limped across. Halfway across the courtyard, Eliot intercepted him.
“What do you think you are doing back here so soon?” Eliot asked between gritted and half snarling teeth. “You have a message to deliver.”
“The message will be delivered shortly by a faithful hand that is not my own. I came back for Annabeth.”
“He won’t let her go.”
“No. But maybe you will.”
Eliot’s eyes almost slit shut.
“Give me all the help you can. I intend to run for it.”
Eliot shook his head. “You’re risking your life for her.”
“I gave her my word.”
“Don’t be a fool.”
“Don’t get your head chopped off.”
Lord Raburn’s voice broke into the conversation. “Eliot, is this any way to show our trusted friend how we welcome him?”
“No, my lord. I was just trying to find out why he had returned so soon and so dreadfully empty-handed,” said Eliot, sharply aiming his words at Ransom.
Ransom took no notice, but bowed graciously to Lord Raburn. “My lord. I am sorry to have returned so early, but I have a request to make of you.”
“Yes, and what would that be?”
“As you can see, I am horseless. My own went down and broke his leg. Being a bounty hunter can be...”
“Speak no more; we will furnish you with a horse.”
“You are too kind, sir.”
“It is my pleasure.”
“Would it be possible, while my horse is being saddled up, that I could see Annabeth? Visit her in the dungeon.”
“Are you so eager to break her into your ways?” asked Lord Raburn with a smile.
“The sooner she gets used to the thought of me, the better.”
“Yes you are quite right. Snatchel, show Ransom here the way to the dungeon. The jailor will take him to Annabeth.”
Ransom followed with a seeming blind ease and slight limp, but his mind was already working frantically over every last detail. Was it really possible? Everything had to be perfect.
THE KEYS LAUGHED MOCKINGLY in the lock, and a moment later the door creaked open, complaining of its sudden frequent usage.
“I’ll call you when I am ready. I won’t be long.”
At the sound of Ransom’s voice, pain burst freshly in her heart. Silently, she listened to the words.
“Right,” answered the jailor, as he locked the door.
She felt him coming near her, his shadow falling over her from the one flickering torch set outside her cell. A moment later, he stood only inches away, his fingers barely daring to touch her cheek.
“Annabeth.” His voice was warm and gentle, as if he had put the sun into words.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to rescue you,” he whispered.Suddenly it felt as if someone had stabbed a burning knife into her heart and left it there—burning, aching, but not taking her life, just letting her exist slowly but surely. She was in so much pain already, she couldn’t help her small outcry. It came bursting to the surface.
HE RAISED HER HEAD. “Look at me, Annabeth. What is it?” He knew her cry was not one of joy, but agonizing pain.
Annabeth turned her face away. A tear trembled down her cheek making a white streak down her dirt-tarnished face.
“Annabeth,” he whispered tenderly.
“Please go,” she answered him, her voice shaking. Her body was weak and her heart was shaking; the last thing she wanted was to have him witness it.
“Beth, I can’t.”
“Please, Ransom, I have been hurt enough. There is nothing you can do. Leave me alone to die.”
“What makes you think that you will die?”
She raised her eyes to meet his, letting the last layer of inner armor fall. Ransom’s heart twisted in his chest.
It was gone. Her desire to live—to fight—had vanished. She was conquered, resigned. There was no spark of life, of challenge—it was only waiting: waiting for death.
“Ransom. I’ve lost everything; I don’t want to lose you, too. Go while you can, and for my sake keep Prince Alfred safe. Please.”
He sighed. “All right. You win.” Leaning close, he pressed a kiss gently to her cheek.
Annabeth let the tears fall. Ransom stepped away, calling the jailor.
As the jailor looked in, he smiled at Annabeth’s tears, then the
wooden door grated shut between them. The keys jangled as if they enjoyed locking people up. Then there was the fatal click of the lock.
Annabeth sagged against the wall. Pain screamed through her body. She could hardly move. Her body tingled and ached; there was nothing to bring her relief. Her limbs were useless. Utterly useless. What good would they be to her even if she did get free? She tried to clench and unclench her fists. Her left responded but her right sent a pain down her arm, up her neck, and through her spine. She couldn’t help the quiet whimper.
Closing her eyes, Annabeth prayed that God would be merciful—that He would take her to be with Him and her beloved mother. She couldn’t stand it here on earth. Everything she loved was being torn from her, tearing her into little pieces. She didn’t want to see everything she had ever loved, cherished, and tried to protect destroyed before her very eyes.
Suddenly, the keys were rattling in the lock again. Annabeth didn’t raise her head. What was the use? Whatever came through that door would bring her more pain. Maybe, this time, it would kill her.
The door opened and someone came over, undoing her chains. The weights dropped to the floor with a crash. She raised her head as her left arm fell limp to her side.
“Ransom?” she looked up at him, barely able to breathe.
He undid her other chain. The weight landed on the stone, pulling the chain rattling after it. Annabeth’s right arm dropped to her side, sending a spasm of pain soaring through her. She wilted, but before she could fall to the floor Ransom had her in his arms.
“What are you doing?” she whispered, resting her head against his strong shoulder, fighting for her own strength and willpower to push Ransom away. She couldn’t even move.
“I am getting you out of here.”
“No,” she whimpered in protest.
“Yes, I am.”
The strength in his voice sent a shiver down her spine.
“Why did you come back?”
“I promised I wouldn’t leave you.”
“My father?” she murmured.
“He’s next, then any other unfortunate prisoners locked within these walls.”
“There aren’t any. He’s killed the rest.” She shuddered in his arms, pain making unconsciousness pull at her vision, sinking it smaller and smaller. The world seemed to rotate within her mind and she rested her head against Ransom’s shoulder.
Ransom lifted Annabeth in his arms and carried her out of the cell. Opening the door to her father’s cell, he saw a surprised man meet his gaze.
“What are you doing with my daughter?”
“Getting both of you out of here. Now come along.”
In minutes they had climbed up the stairs of the dungeon. Ransom stopped to catch his breath and scout out the court yard just outside the door.
His horse stood waiting near at hand. The gate was not far away; the guards were relaxed. There would be a very little time that they would be surprised, but at least they wouldn’t be edgy and instantly arrow-ready.
“Sir, we are going to have to spring three to a saddle. Do you think you are ready to run?”
“I am a soldier. Soldiers are always ready.”
“Good, sir. When I say go, we go.”
The man nodded.
Ransom shifted Annabeth in his arms. Getting her on the saddle would be painful. It was a good thing she had already blacked out.
“Ready?”
“Ready,” was the firm reply.
Dear God, protect us. “Go!” Ransom charged out into the courtyard, placing Annabeth in front of the saddle before mounting himself in a flash. A moment later, he turned and helped Annabeth’s father up behind him.
The first cry of alarm sounded as Ransom dug his heels into the fiery steed that was to be lent to him.
“Close the gate! Pull up the drawbridge!”
But it was too late. They were through and across. A moment later, a hail of arrows rained around their defenseless backs. A second volley of arrows grazed them with nearly lethal accuracy. By the third, they knew they were gaining a healthy distance as the arrows fell wide of their intended target.
They bolted into the forest road, the horse’s load too heavy to dare weaving and leaping through the twisted woods.
“Ransom! Ransom! Halt!” yelled a powerful voice, dangerously close.
“Don’t stop; it’s the captain of the guard,” shouted Annabeth’s father in Ransom’s ear.
“Only him?” asked Ransom, shouting back.
“Yes.”
Ransom pulled back on the reins. In a moment, Eliot pulled up beside him.
“On my horse, sir. If we are to make it, Ransom’s load must be lighter.”
“What?” asked Annabeth’s father.
“I serve King Harold. Now hurry; we are wasting time.”
In a moment he had mounted behind Eliot. Ransom and Eliot urged their horses to the limit.
Chapter 20
Night fell as they crossed the border. The danger of still being pursued relaxed, and they slackened their pace.
Ransom looked down to see if Annabeth was conscious, and for the first time in that long anxious day, her blue eyes met his. With an inward sigh of relief, a smile rose to his lips.
“How are you, my Annabeth?” he whispered, not wanting the others to hear him. For just one moment he wanted her all to himself.
Her eyes were smiling through a heavy film of pain. “I can’t believe you did it,” she whispered, shifting in his arms to lean against his shoulder.
“We are almost to the camp.”
Riding into camp, it felt as if all eyes were turned on them. Annabeth hid her face against Ransom’s doublet. He curved his shoulder, lowering his head close to shadow and protect her face.
Eliot had taken the lead and brought them to a halt before the king’s tent. Ransom watched Eliot help Annabeth’s father get down from the horse, then dismount himself.
“How are you, daughter?” Annabeth’s father asked, taking her hand.
“Much better, thank you father,” she said, trying to squeeze his hand.
Pain went through her arm, but it did not hurt with the dreadful pain of defeat. There was hope in this pain, and not despair.
“I’ll help you get her down, Ransom,” said Eliot, coming to their side.
Ransom shook his head. He wasn’t moving for kings or countries—not if it was going to cause her pain. “I’ll wait till we know where she is supposed to be.”
Just then, King Harold, with Prince Alf, came from the tent.
“Well, well, what have we here?” said King Harold, breaking the silence with a serious expression.
“I always keep my word, sir,” answered Ransom with a nod of his head.
“Yes, I know, but this...this outdoes them all.” He turned to Eliot and for the first time saw Annabeth’s father standing in his shadow.
“Garth, is that you?”
“Your majesty, it is good to see you again.”
King Harold stepped forward and placed his hand on Garth’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you again—though it’s not much better than the last time we were together.”
“Aye, your majesty—at least you weren’t part of this one.”
“Come; King Fredric waits to see you. You must eat with us and tell us all you know. Ransom and Annabeth, come get off your horse and join us.”
“I am afraid that is impossible, sire. Annabeth needs the attention of a physician immediately.”
King Harold stepped forward, peering at her though the darkness.
Suddenly Eliot spoke. “Raburn had her on the rack. I am afraid her right shoulder is dislocated, and there is a wound on her side.”
“You are the one who turned the rack,” said Garth coldly.
“Only because he told me to,” Eliot defended. “I took no pleasure from it, but I had a job to do. If it meant fulfilling my job and saving one more life, I thought it worth it.”
“You put Annabeth on the rack?” asked Pr
ince Alfred, stepping forward, disbelief in his words.
“Yes,” Eliot sighed with discontent over the fact.
“And you thought her life was worth it?”
“If it fulfilled the purpose that I was commissioned for, yes.”
Suddenly, Eliot was on the ground, Prince Alfred standing over him, daring Eliot to stand up and face him.
“Hold on, Prince Alfred. Don’t blame him. I am the one who gave him the order to do whatever it took.” King Harold was holding onto the prince’s right arm, which had knocked Eliot down with a resounding hook.
“But you didn’t twist an innocent girl in the rack,” spat out Alf.
Ransom had a half wish to join Prince Alfred and give his friend a good piece of his mind.
“Leave him, Alf,” whispered Annabeth, her voice hoarse. “That is all over now.”
“If you say so, Annabeth,” sighed Prince Alf, turning and taking her hand.
The night was dark and clouded; Alf sought to pierce it and look into his old playmate’s aching eyes.
Annabeth wearily pulled her eyes shut and leaned into Ransom, holding back a moan. The pain was still strong, but it had lost the overpowering numbness, leaving a dull roar that made her ache everywhere.
King Harold called two pages to his side. “Show Ransom to the girls’ tent, and you, fetch my physician. Bring him to her tent at once. Garth, would you care to join us or will you go with your daughter?”
“I’ll go with my daughter and join you later, if that is all right with you, your majesty.”
“Very good. Your highness?”
“I am going with Annabeth,” he answered flatly, giving Eliot a look that could have killed him.
The servant took the bridle and led them to a nearby tent. Christina’s voice could be heard singing softly inside.
At the sound of the familiar voice, Annabeth opened her eyes to see Alf smiling.
“Christina!” called Alf, making their presence known.
A moment later, that maiden appeared, fresh and pretty with a new dress and a ribbon in her hair. “Yes, Alf, what did you...?” She stopped short at the sight of the others.
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