by Kim Bowman
“Wine, my friend.” Ronan nodded toward the barrels in the back of the wagon. “For his lordship. Only the best. A gift from our clansmen.”
The two guards conversed about their entry before replying, “Visitors must leave their weapons at the gate. Do you carry weapons, Archaeans?”
Ronan’s brow narrowed. Looking to Gavin he asked, “Gavin, do we carry any weapons?”
Gavin rubbed his chin in feigned thought. “I might have a blade here somewhere.” He rose from the bench seat and jumped down. Searching the inside of his cloak he produced a dagger. “Ah, here it is.” Gavin tossed it to the ground in front of the guards.
Ronan descended from the wagon and dropped his own daggers. “It seems I carry some as well.”
Gavin pat his arms, searching for the small knife he kept hidden beneath his armguard. “Oh! Here’s another.” He relinquished it to the growing pile. “Almost forgot about that one,” he told the guard closest to him.
Ronan pulled a short sword from its hiding place — behind his back — hidden by the ragged cloak. It, too, joined its companions in the increasing pile of weapons. “Any more I may have forgotten?” he asked Gavin.
“I have one more, I believe.” Gavin also withdrew a short sword and handed it to one of the guards. “Hold this for me, would you?”
The dumbfounded guard took the outstretched sword by the hilt.
Gavin removed his cloak, revealing his broadsword. He withdrew its great length from the scabbard and gave it to the other guard. “Last one, I’m pretty sure of it. Say, Aiden, you have any weapons back there?”
Aiden procured a dagger from his side and tossed it to Gavin.
He caught it with ease. “Cheers, mate.” Gavin raised the dagger in thanks. Aiden hoisted his flagon in return before taking a long swig. “Oh, this one’s a beauty. Have a look.” In a split second, the blade sliced though the air, slashing the throat of the closest guard.
With yet another hidden weapon, Ronan dispatched the remaining guard. The Engel’s bewildered face stared up at him from the ground.
“Nicely done,” Gavin complimented, retrieving his weapons.
“Aye, well played.” Ronan tossed Aiden his dagger. “That was good fun, aye?”
“The most fun I’ve had all day.” Securing the last of his weapons, Gavin donned his cloak and climbed up into the wagon.
“Much more fun than a bloody resurrection, I’ll say. Aiden, give me a hand, would you?” With Aiden’s help, the Engel guards were heaved into the back of the wagon and covered with hay. “Sorry about the mess, Brynn.” Ronan apologized, climbing back into the driver’s seat.
“Quite all right,” she told him.
The wagon rolled to a stop in an abandoned corner of the courtyard. Commoners went about their daily business, ignoring the seemingly ordinary cart of ale. Ronan and Gavin jumped from the seat, conversing of their plan while Aiden tossed the flagon and helped Brynn from the hay. He covered her with his own cloak, hiding her face with the hood.
“You should stay out of sight, my lady,” Aiden spoke, picking a stray piece of straw from her hair. “I will find a safe place for you to hide.”
“You need not speak so formally, Aiden, and I’m coming with you.” Brynn held firm.
His fierce blue eyes flickered over her features. “You are the wife of my clan brother. I am sworn to protect you at all costs.”
Brynn managed a weak smile. “I will be the safest with you, then, aye?”
“I am to find your boy.” Aiden protested.
“Talon won’t know you. He will not go with you, but he will come with me.”
“You are in no shape to be running through the stronghold.”
“And I am sure you will keep me safe.” The corners of her mouth twitched. Brynn knew she had won the argument.
Aiden’s mouth formed a slight frown, and he bit his bottom lip. “Stay close.” He clasped her forearm, keeping her steady.
When they were sure no one was watching, Ronan and Gavin approached the doors in a contrived panic, telling the guards they had seen a man with a weapon near the wall. The guards followed willingly… to their deaths. The bodies were dumped in a nearby building, leaving the Archaeans free to enter the stronghold undetected. Brynn and Aiden slipped inside, while Gavin set to work in the courtyard confusing its occupants.
“Are you all right, Brynn?” Aiden paused on the staircase, waiting for her to catch up.
She let out a breath and removed her palm from her side. A smear of blood covered her skin. “I’m fine.” She wiped her hands on her gown and continued up the stairs. They entered a long corridor with doors lining each side. “Which door do we try?”
Aiden peeked around a corner. “He is not here,” he told her. “No guards. Let us try the next one.” They snuck down the corridor only to find another staircase leading to the next level of the stronghold. Halfway up, Aiden pushed Brynn against the wall with his arm. “Listen,” he whispered. “Engels.” He removed his bow from his shoulder before making his way up the stairs.
In the middle of the corridor, two Engels guarded a single door. They argued over something incoherent before one left his post and exited to the stairs opposite Aiden. Crouching to one side, Aiden drew his bow, releasing an arrow. The guard clutched his chest before crumpling to the floor, dead. Aiden motioned for Brynn to follow as he made his way. He tested the handle — locked.
“The guard,” Brynn suggested.
Aiden searched the man’s belt, finding a set of keys. With the very first key, the lock clicked. Bow ready, he nodded at Brynn to open the door. She turned the latch then moved to allow Aiden entry. He burst through the door, searching for resistance, but instead found a startled nursemaid.
The old woman rose from her chair, steadying herself on the armrest. She didn’t move, only stared at the warrior before her. Aiden stepped further into the room, seeking Talon. “Brynn, ask her if your boy is here. I do not speak the Engel words as well as you.”
Brynn entered the room.
The woman’s eyes narrowed and she took a shaky step forward. “My girl, is that you?”
Brynn eyed the white hair and the frail frame of the woman, trying to place her in memory. And then it dawned on her, the woman she remembered was of dark coloration then with a hearty laugh and a mother’s warmth. “Magda?”
“Oh, it is you, my sweet girl. Come and give this old woman one last happy memory before she dies. Come closer so that I may see you.”
Brynn rushed to her Magda’s side, cradling her face in her hands. “Have you seen my son, Magda?”
“He is there.” She pointed to a bed tucked in the corner of the room. “He sleeps.”
Brynn rushed to the bed, dropping to her knees. Snuggled deep in blankets, Talon slept peacefully. She kissed his forehead, rousing him. The boy rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
“You must stay for a visit, my girl. We have so much to talk about.” Magda lowered herself to her chair and resumed her mending.
“I’m so sorry, Magda, but I cannot stay.” Brynn hugged Talon to her chest, not wanting to release him.
“Brynn, we must go. The absent guards are bound to be noticed.” Aiden kept watch in the threshold.
“Where is Da?” Talon asked, squirming from his mother’s arms.
“He is here, Talon, and I’m going to find him. You need to go with my friend, Aiden, all right? He is going to take you to safety.” Brynn kissed him once more before ushering him to Aiden. “Please make sure you get him out. I need to find Marek.”
“I must go with you,” Aiden told her.
“I need to find him, Aiden. They will not be expecting me, as they believe me dead. They will be searching for you. Take him.” Brynn thrust Talon’s hand into Aiden’s.
“Very well, but take this.” Aiden drew his dagger and handed her the hilt. “You know how to use it?”
“Aye, the pointed end goes first. Now go!” Aiden slung Talon over his shoulder and on to his back befor
e exiting to the corridor. Brynn turned to Magda. “I must leave. They hold my husband, and I must find him. I will die without him.” Her thoughts briefly turned to her seeping wounds.
“The warrior from the north? He is your husband?”
Brynn nodded.
“They keep a man chained below. I have heard his screams. Go find your warrior, girl. There is a passage behind the red tapestry on the lower floor. It will take you to him, but I must warn you. The lord’s council meets in the study in the very same corridor.”
Brynn returned to the woman to give her one final hug goodbye. “Thank you, Magda.”
~~~~
Ronan cleared the first floor without finding a trace of Marek. He encountered several Archaean slave girls who didn’t bat an eyelash at seeing an Archaean warrior in the stronghold, but he didn’t see a single Engel worth exposing himself for. He headed to the stairwell, intent on searching the second level. Hearing footsteps, Ronan pressed his back against the wall, keeping to the shadows. His fingers wrapped around his sword, ready for attack. A familiar face rounded the corner. Gavin. Grabbing him by his armor, Ronan hauled him into the shadows. “What the hell are you doing in here? You were supposed to be in the courtyard. I could have been an Engel and you would be dead right now!”
“They show no interest in us outside the walls, and you need me in here, to find Marek.” Gavin removed Ronan’s grip from his brigantine. “Two sword arms are better than one.”
“I hate it when you’re right, Gavin.”
“Be thankful ’tis not that often.” Gavin approached the stairwell first, sword drawn. His feet fell soft on the stone steps as he ventured up two at a time. Nearing the top, he spotted the dark shadow of a woman hiding in the threshold. She turned to face him. She gripped a weapon, poised for attack. “Brynn?”
She sighed in relief. “There is a passage behind that tapestry,” she told him, pointing down the corridor. “Marek might be at the bottom of it. However, the Engels gather in the study just across the way. I cannot reach it without being seen.”
Gavin and Ronan conversed in hushed tones, devising a quick plan. When finished, Ronan placed his palm on Brynn’s shoulder. “No worries, Brynn. When the timing is right, get to the passage. Under no circumstances do you enter the study.”
The two Archaean warriors hesitated just outside the open study door. Inside, several Engels conversed over battle strategies and war tactics. They counted at least five voices, but wouldn’t be sure of the count until they entered the room, Ronan first.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen!” he greeted, sauntering into the study.
The voices hushed at the unexpected interruption.
“I’m terribly sorry to disturb you, but I seem to be missing one of my men. Have any of you seen him, by chance? Tall like me, golden hair… foul mouth when angry?”
The Engels looked at one another, unwilling to answer.
Gavin paced the room, eyeing the furniture and decorations, feigning interest in the Engel fabrications that covered the previous Archaean tapestries. “I think we have enough to work with in here,” he told Ronan in his native tongue.
Ronan insisted again. “One of you must tell me where he is, or you will all die.”
“The gods piss on you!” spat one of the Engels, rising from his chair near a desk.
“Gavin, kill him.”
Before the others could take in what was happening, Gavin singled out the man and tore a gaping wound through his abdomen with his broadsword. The Engel slumped to the floor, landing in a pile of guts and blood. The others backed away, seeking escape through the door, but the Archaeans had them cornered. Gavin surveyed the ceiling. “Get me that rope if you wouldn’t mind, Ronan.”
“My pleasure,” Ronan replied, using his blade to free the ceiling chandelier. It crashed to the floor below, and Ronan severed the binding rope then tossed the length to Gavin.
“Come on, all together now.” Gavin clapped his hands as if he were herding sheep into a corner. “Do not fear, Engels, all you need to do is tell me where my man is and you can all go about your merry way.” After tossing one end of the rope to Ronan, he cinched the thick binds around the remaining men, twisting it around each of their arms, lining them up back to back. When the rope was secure, Gavin perused the documents on the desk. There were maps, detailed outlines, and descriptions of the Archaean territories, and more importantly, correspondence letters from Lord Westmore to his Engel benefactors. “Where is this Lord Westmore?” Gavin asked the restrained men.
“Probably killing your friend right now,” one of them answered.
Gavin frowned, turning to Ronan. “We cannot have that now, can we?”
“Certainly not,” Ronan answered. “Pass me that lamp, would you?”
“This?” Gavin picked up the table lamp, but dropped it on the desk. The oil spilled from the round pot, seeping into the documents on the desk. “My apologies, take this one.” Gavin picked up another lamp from the desk and tossed it to Ronan, who backed away from the throw, letting the lamp crash to the floor near the group of Engels.
“Ahh, there is another lamp, just over there.” Ronan crossed the room to a small table, picking up the lit lamp. The radiant heat burned his palms and he flung it to the floor, cursing it.
“Well, damn it, Ronan, we seem to be running out of lamps. Light a few candles, would you?”
“Pass me that torch, dear brother?” Ronan pointed at the wall behind Gavin. It burned with a steady flame.
Gavin removed the torch from the sconce and flung it at the oil-soaked desk. It landed among the papers and books, setting them ablaze. “There.”
“You idiot,” scolded Ronan. “You were supposed to throw it over there!” Picking up the torch by its handle, Ronan pitched it at the wooden floor, slick with oil. The fire spread the length of the spill, licking at the wooden legs of chairs, steadily making its way to the bound Engels. They shuffled together in a panic, backing from the fire, but couldn’t escape its clutches.
“Goodbye, gentlemen.” Ronan waved before bolting to the door on Gavin’s heels. “Sorry we couldn’t stay for tea.” Ronan heaved the door closed.
~~~~
Darkness surrounded her, but Brynn found her way one step at a time, ever closer to Marek. She dragged her fingers over the moist walls of the stairwell, steadying herself. The dank smell of mildew and stale blood filled her nostrils. She was heading to the prison cells. A muffled scream made her heart race, and she stumbled on the stair, falling to her backside. She slid down several steps before recovering. Righting herself, she followed the sound of the scream.
Rounding a corner, light from a wall sconce flooded her eyes and she shaded them until she adjusted to the brightness. Muffled voices echoed off the walls as she pressed onward. A dull pain from her side radiated across her middle, and she covered the area with her palm. She needed to hurry; she didn’t have much time left.
A threatening voice rumbled through the corridor, followed by a laugh and a grunt. She continued until the voices were clear. She stopped before a door. Peeking through the crack, she spied the back of a large Engel man.
“Is that the best you can do?” said a slurred voice from within.
Marek! Frantic, she searched for a shield, anything she could use to protect herself while entering. She found nothing, not even a scrap of wood. Deciding to rely on the element of surprise, she clutched her dagger, practicing a few thrusts. Saying a quick prayer to the first god she could think of, Brynn tiptoed to the door and widened the crack just enough to slip through.
The Engel’s back faced her, protected by a thick leather vest. She would never have the strength to penetrate it, so she took aim for his neck. But as she raised the dagger to strike, the Engel moved, revealing her form to Marek.
His bloodied face sunk to an ashen shade of pale and his eyes grew wide, as if he stared at a walking corpse. Marek choked back a scream, alerting the Engel to a presence within the cell. The Engel turned.
Brynn lunged at Marek. He hung from a beam, his wrists clasped in irons. His feet dangled above the floor. His chest was bare and mottled with dirt, bruises, and oozing wounds. Fresh blood was smeared over dried blood. A gash just above his temple flowed down his chin.
“Are you a spirit that stands before me?”
“No,” she said, stepping closer. “I stand before you flesh and bone.”
Marek shook his head. “It cannot be. You are dead. I held you in my arms when you took your last breath.”
“We do not have the time for me to explain, but you must believe me. I am alive.”
“I don’t know what kind of enchantment this is, but you are not my wife.”
“Dead or alive, it does not matter. I am still your wife. We must hurry.” Brynn glanced at the ceiling. A thin, velvety smoke flowed through the cracks of the wooden floorboards above. “How do I get you down?”
“The key — the guard carries it. Are you a white walker, then?”
“No, ’tis me.” She left his side, returning to the Engel. Searching his belt, she found a key ring and unhooked it. With hands that shook too much, she fumbled with the mass of different keys. “Which one is it?”
“Just try them all.” Smoke continued to fill the small cell.
Brynn stretched toward the beam but could not reach the lock. A short sob followed a whimper as a cold fear consumed her. She wasn’t tall enough to free him. “I cannot reach it,” she cried. In the midst of her effort, she lost her grip on the iron ring and it fell to the rushes below.
“Calm down, love, we have plenty of time.” A few hot ashes trickled from above, settling on his shoulders.
Brynn fell to her knees, feeling for the keys. Her fingers touched the cool metal, and she snatched them up. “I must find something to stand on.”