by Cas Peace
Robin’s face suddenly flooded with understanding and the Count snapped again, his pale eyes sparking with fury. “For the Void’s sake, didn’t you know? Hadn’t you worked it out? Rykan had the whole thing set up. The invasion into Albia was purely to force your general into sending her here as ambassador. Rykan was counting on it. For four days he crouched in my house, him and that fat pig, Sonten. Forced me to wait on them hand and bloody foot. Crouched like a bloody great spider, just waiting for her. He’s planning civil war, gentlemen. He’s going to challenge and depose the Hierarch. If he can force Sullyan to surrender her powers, he’ll be the Hierarch’s metaphysical bloody equal!”
He paused, his voice losing some of its strength. “If he wins the throne, he’ll kill the Hierarch, as well as Prince Aron, his Heir and only son. None of the other nobles are strong enough to stop him. Once in power, he’ll rescind the Pact and recommence raiding Albia, targeting any Artesans who oppose him. There’s a rumor he’s got an influential ally, someone who’s been supplying him with funds, although I don’t know the truth of that. I’m not in his inner circle like Sonten, privy to his personal dealings.”
Robin glanced at Taran; this was a serious piece of information that could have far-reaching consequences. His startled expression angered the Count even more.
“If Rykan becomes Hierarch, none of the realms will be safe,” he hissed. “He’s ruthless, ambitious and kills without pity. And for the past two weeks, he’s been stymied by a little chit of a human woman who’s been locked away from her powers. Can you imagine how furious that’s made him? She’s resisted his every move, no matter how violent. If he can’t overcome her bloody-minded stubbornness tonight, he’ll kill her. And if he finally succeeds in ripping her powers from her, she’ll still die.”
He thrust his face close to Robin’s. “Now do you see? Now can we stop wasting time? We have to get her away from here!”
Robin took a deep breath and laid his hand on the Count’s arm. “Alright. I’ll go with you to the cells. The others will go and wait by the dungeon gates and deal with whoever’s guarding them. What then?”
“Then we ride as fast as we can for as long as we can,” snapped Marik. “When Rykan discovers she’s gone, this whole place will be in uproar but he won’t be able to turn out more than a few patrols because of the arrangements for tomorrow. At least that’s one thing in our favor. Now that he’s issued his challenge, he can’t back out. That should make our escape easier.”
“Our?” Robin was plainly still unwilling to trust the Count. “Are you planning on coming with us?”
“Of course I bloody am! Do you think I’m here for my health? Do you think my life would be worth the effort of taking it once Rykan realizes what’s happened? The best I could hope for would be a sword in the guts, but it’s more likely he’d brick me up behind a wall and leave me to rot.”
“Wouldn’t your men defend you?” asked Taran.
The Count shook his head. “If I had men capable of defending me against Rykan I wouldn’t be here now. Even the Duke’s personal bodyguards are greater in number than the few trained swordsmen who are loyal to me. They would make pig-slop of us. Now for pity’s sake come on, we’re wasting what little time we have.”
He strode to the door, opened it and glanced out. With a nod to Taran and Robin, he stepped into the hall. They followed, Robin making sure their disguise was firmly in place.
“Walk behind me,” Marik hissed. “Don’t speak unless you have to.”
He led the way toward the kitchens but turned into another hallway before he got there. There was no one around except a few servants who Marik ignored. As they approached a door at the end of the hall, he said, “I don’t suppose you have any medical knowledge? The last time I saw Sullyan, she was in a very bad way. After two more days of Rykan’s abuse, who knows what state she’ll be in, if she’s still alive.”
Robin went white but replied levelly. “One of our group’s a healer. Shall we take her with us?”
“Wouldn’t do any harm. A woman, though? You Albians are strange. Is she combat trained?”
“No,” said Robin. “She has no weapons skills.”
The Count sighed. “We’d better keep her out of the way when we reach the cells. We’ll be incredibly lucky if my friendly jailer’s on duty tonight.”
He reached the door at the end of the hall and flung it open. It led to the compound directly opposite their campsite. Taran could see that Bull had noticed them immediately for he nudged Cal with his foot. Rienne had her head down as Robin had advised; she seemed to be feigning sleep.
Directed by Robin, Marik strode toward their camp. As he came nearer, he started yelling orders. “On your feet. I need a patrol to collect some injured men. Saddle your horses, you need to leave at once. Take remounts for the wounded.”
As Bull and Cal scrambled to their feet, Robin reached them. In a few terse words, he told them what was happening.
“You,” barked Marik, pointing to Rienne. Startled, she looked up. Taran saw Robin make a covert signal and was relieved when Rienne seemed to understand. “Come with us,” snapped the Count. Robin pointed to Rienne’s medicine bag and she grabbed it as she rose to meet them.
She looked pale and Taran didn’t like the idea of leaving her inside the compound. He had no choice though, and took his horse’s reins from Cal. They led their mounts, as well as Robin’s and Rienne’s, into the center of the compound. Quickly, they mounted.
“Guards, open the gates,” yelled Marik. The gate guards had changed, the ones Robin had insulted were nowhere in sight. Still, they hesitated. Marik, clearly nervous, used his fear to good effect, threatening them with dire consequences should his Grace the Duke learn they had delayed the arrival of more troops. They finally did as Marik bid, although Taran saw suspicion in their eyes.
He, Bull and Cal cantered through the gates, swiftly moving up the road toward the trees.
Rienne stood at Robin’s side, apprehension flooding through her. She trusted the Captain, but the sight of Taran, and especially Cal, disappearing out of sight as if they had abandoned her made her heart hammer with fear. She had no idea where they were going or who the man with Robin was. All she could do was follow his lead, she had no other choice.
“Don’t just stand there man, shut those gates.” The barked order made Rienne jump. The lean man whirled on her, snapping, “Come.”
She felt Robin’s hand on her shoulder and the touch reassured her. Allowing him to urge her, she followed the other man as he led them back to the door he’d come through. Once inside the palace, he shut the door firmly. Then he gave a great shuddering sigh and leaned against the wall. His long face was pale, his eyes closed.
Roughly, Robin grasped his arm. “Good grief man, don’t give way now. We’ve only just started.” The thin man pushed away from the wall and ran a trembling hand over his sweaty face.
Swiftly, Robin introduced him and told Rienne what was going to happen. She blanched on hearing their fears for Sullyan but remained silent, trusting Robin. The Captain shoved Marik to start him moving again, and they followed him down the hallway.
Marik led them to another doorway that opened to reveal a dark stairwell. There were no torches along its length but they could dimly see the bottom step by a light somewhere below. Marik shut the door behind them and they stood still, waiting for their eyes to adjust.
“This is where it gets tricky,” said the Count. “I have no good reason to be here, this stair leads only to the dungeons. If we see anyone, I’ll be hard pressed to explain myself. I don’t think there will be anyone here except the guard, but it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared.” He turned to Rienne. “Do you have a dagger or something on you?”
“No, I don’t,” said Rienne. “I save lives, I don’t take them.”
The Count flapped his hand. “A fine sentiment in peacetime, my dear, but hardly appropriate now. If we’re to help Sullyan, you should at least be prepared to defend yourself.”
“Here, Rienne, take my knife,” said Robin, slipping the foot-long blade out of its sheath. “The Count’s right, it’s a last resort.”
She took the weapon, holding it awkwardly away from her. The Count sighed and began descending the steps.
When they reached the bottom, he looked cautiously down the hallway that stretched for perhaps a hundred yards before it turned. It was lit only at the far end and it was deserted. Glancing at Robin, Marik soundlessly drew his sword and held it before him. After a moment’s hesitation, Robin did the same. Motioning for silence, the Count led them toward the torchlight. Rienne was last, casting nervous glances over her shoulder.
They reached a right-angled bend in the hall and the Count risked a look around it. With a sour expression, he turned to Robin. “No luck. It’s not Calder on duty.”
“How far away is he?” whispered Robin.
“About twenty yards. He’s sitting at a table in front of the gate leading to the cells. We need to get the keys, both to enter the gate itself and also to unlock the cell. The door through the palace wall is at the far end of the cells, through another locked gate.”
“What does Rykan do with soldiers who disobey orders?” asked Robin.
The Count looked startled at this change of tack. “Has them flogged and thrown in the cells. Why?”
“Right,” said the Captain, ignoring him. “Rienne, you wait here.” He handed his sword to the Count and took back his dagger from Rienne. Holding it behind his back, wrists crossed as if they were bound, the dagger was hidden from view. Then he nudged the Count sharply with his foot. “Come on man, you’re about to deliver a flogging.”
Rienne saw comprehension in the thin man’s eyes. Abruptly, he shoved Robin in the back, sending him stumbling into the corridor. Rienne stifled a gasp as she heard the jailer rush to his feet. She peeked around the wall, her heart jumping into her throat.
“Get along, you,” snarled the Count, pricking Robin in the back with his sword. “Jailer, one more for the cells. This man’s due a flogging for disobedience and I intend to administer the punishment myself. Perhaps a flayed back and a night down here will make him realize where his duty lies.” He pushed Robin on with the flat of his blade.
The jailer barely looked at Robin. “Can’t keep your men under control, can you, Count? That’s the third one this week.”
“And there will be more if they don’t shape up,” snapped Marik. “I’ve had to leave a perfectly good banquet to deal with this so I’d like to get on with it.”
From around the wall, Rienne saw the jailer turn and approach the gate. It was a wrought iron affair of tall bars, criss-crossed with strengtheners and secured with a very substantial lock. She heard the jangle of keys and, while he was searching for the right one, Robin sprang on him. Wrenching back the jailer’s chin, he rammed the dagger up through the back of his head and into the brain. With his other hand clamped firmly over the jailer’s mouth, there was no sound.
The demon slumped in Robin’s arms and he pulled out the dagger. There was surprisingly little blood, thought Rienne. She shivered. Until now, she hadn’t thought of any of her new friends as killers but it suddenly dawned on her that Robin was exactly that; a trained and deadly killer. And by association, it followed that Sullyan, small and delicate though she seemed, was a killer too. Rienne felt sick.
Marik darted forward, grabbed the keys and after some hurried fumbling, unlocked the great gate. Robin dragged the jailer inside and flung the body into the nearest unoccupied cell. He slammed the door shut and stood, breathing heavily.
Rienne ran through at Marik’s beckon and he closed the iron gate behind her. It wouldn’t conceal what they had done, thought Rienne, but it would slow any pursuit.
“Which cell?” urged Robin, taking back his sword and sheathing the bloody dagger.
“The one with the silver lock,” replied Marik, pointing to a door a few feet away.
“Spellsilver?” asked Robin. The Count nodded. “Not taking any chances, was he?”
Robin sprinted down the line of cells until he reached the one Marik had indicated. His hiss of pain and anger brought Rienne running. “Quickly man, the key,” he snapped. “I can’t touch this thing.”
“Well, it won’t be easy for me, you know,” said the Count, fumbling with the keys. “I don’t have much power, it’s true, but what I have will react.” His shaking fingers couldn’t cope with the effects of the spellsilver key and he dropped it.
“Oh, for goodness sake,” said Rienne. “Let me.”
“Hurry!” urged Robin.
Rienne scrabbled for the tiny key on the floor but when she grasped it, she nearly dropped it again. Unaccountably, all her strength had suddenly ebbed away. Robin hissed in frustration. “Bull was right,” he said, “you must be empathic or it wouldn’t affect you. Can you open the lock?”
“I’ll have to,” she said, gritting her teeth. She kept her eyes on the lock, trying desperately not to look inside the cell. Her fingers were shaking but eventually, she got the key in the lock. To her horror she was unable to turn it. “I can’t do it,” she wailed.
Robin made a strangled noise. He was staring in at the cell and what he saw there had clearly distressed him. Tears filled his eyes.
“Use the end of your knife.” Marik’s voice cut through Rienne’s stasis. She jumped and Robin handed her the dagger. As she slid its slim point through the small hole in the key’s head, she tried to ignore the blood covering the blade. With the knife as a lever, she managed to turn the key and spring the lock.
Robin wrenched open the door and they rushed into the cell. What Rienne saw there brought her up short, her heart pounding at her ribs. Robin went down on one knee beside the figure on the floor, a sob on his lips. If not for the glorious tawny hair, matted and dirty, Rienne wouldn’t have recognized the broken body.
Sullyan lay on her left side, her face half-buried in filthy straw. Her hands were cruelly drawn behind her back and fastened with silver manacles from which ran a chain attached to a ring in the wall. She was naked, her wretchedly thin body covered in contusions, scratches, wounds, old blood and gore. Rienne could also see horrible welts on her back where someone had wielded a whip with great force.
Her face, what could be seen of it, was bruised and scratched, and puffy under the eyes. There was a nasty-looking area just below her right breast where someone had delivered a good kick, driving in a few ribs. As Robin gently moved back her hair to see her face better, Rienne caught the gleam of a silver collar around her neck, and the raw skin beneath.
Robin’s voice contained a note of panic. “Rienne, is she alive?”
Jolted out of her dismay, Rienne kneeled down. The flesh, where it was not black with bruise or brown with dried blood, looked gray. She pressed her trembling fingers to the jugular beneath the jaw and was relieved to feel, after a few agonized moments, a faint, thready pulse.
“Just,” she said. “But only just.”
“Marik, how are we going to get these off her?” Robin indicated the manacles.
“We’re not.” Marik’s voice sounded odd and Robin stared at him. Rienne clearly felt his sudden suspicion but Marik waved it off. “Just break the chain,” he snapped. “Even if you could get the spellsilver off her, it wouldn’t be a good idea. Think what would happen if she woke up and started expending power. With the treatment she’s had over the past couple of weeks, do you think she’d hold back from destroying whatever she could reach? And I wouldn’t bet much on her sanity after being locked away like this, either. Spellsilver’s funny stuff, it plays with your mind.”
Rienne felt Robin’s surge of anger. “Are you saying that if we get her out of here, if she survives what he’s done to her, she might be insane?”
The Count hung his head. “She certainly wasn’t sane the last time I spoke to her. She only had stubbornness, hope and faith. And two days ago, the hope and faith had gone. Stubbornness was all she had left.”