Nemeila took a deep breath and blew the air out through her lips, doubtfully.
“It might work, if there is something to hold on to inside the drain. But you’ll only have one chance at it, if you fall off Sox into the moat, the soldiers on the ramparts will hear the splash.”
“If you can think of a better way, then we’ll do it,” Tyler replied, tetchily, “if not, I’m willing to take the chance.” He gazed at her with raised eyebrows.
For a moment she was silent, then reluctantly nodded. “OK.” As the night air chilled, a mist began to swirl along the bank of the moat; Nemeila wondered if this was a blessing or a curse. She knelt before Amber and fondled his ears. “We are going to try and get inside the castle,” she said, as though he understood every word, “when Tyler is inside, I want you to lead Sox back here into the dark trees where you both will be safe. No matter what happens, you stay there. Do not try to find us in the castle if they lower the drawbridge, the soldiers will kill you and you’ll be no help to us. Do you understand?”
Amber scuffed at her shift with his paw and slurped at her ear. She took this to mean that he did. It was just a pity Tyler couldn’t issue similar instructions to Sox.
‘I still don’t understand why you can’t lift me up to that hole, it’s not too small for me to crawl through,’ Amber gruffed, as he watched his mistress and the boy prepare for their trip.
As much as you can creep with a horse, Tyler crept with Sox towards the water’s edge staying hidden in every shadow they could find. On his back and, holding their feet clear of the water, Tyler guided Sox towards the opening, where he crouched on Sox’s broad back to allow Nemeila to clamber onto his shoulders. Her fingertips were just short of the opening, but as Tyler straightened himself, she found she was able to brace her arms against the sides of the hole and hoist herself up. The inside was slimy and her hands slipped, but as she felt herself slipping backwards, she managed to find a rough piece of stonework that acted as the leverage she needed.
As Tyler watched her feet disappear into darkness, he readied himself to follow. Just as his leg muscles tensed for the jump, Sox drifted away from the wall. For a moment he was thrown off balance, he dropped to his knees and grabbed a handful of mane to save himself from a dunking.
Patting Sox’s neck reassuringly, he guided him back to the opening and prepared to try again. Taking a deep breath and muttering a quick prayer, he measured the distance, bent his knees and sprang upwards. First his fingers, then his arms, sought the opening, whereupon he jammed his elbows against the sides for purchase. For a moment he was at a loss; he didn’t seem able to go forward, didn’t dare fall back. The toes of his boots scuffed against the rough stone, hoping to gain a foothold, which would enable him to boost himself inside, but as Nemeila had found, the sides of the pipe were slime-coated from the many years of water pumping through it. His toes couldn’t find purchase and the only thing preventing a disastrous fall was his arm jammed inside the pipe. Now he was in desperate trouble, for his aching arms were beginning to give up the struggle, he was slowly sliding back towards the reeking waters of the moat. He had visions of the archers’ delight as they fired dozens of arrows into his body, such an easy target as he thrashed around in the water and of Tobyn capturing Nemeila and torturing her, before carrying out his threat to kill her. His elbows were almost free of the opening, not long now. Suddenly he felt his jerkin grabbed from above, stopping his backward slide.
“Well, don’t just hang around, pull yourself up,” a voice urgently whispered.
He kicked out more frenziedly against the wall, until finally he found a toehold and he lunged upward. His clutching fingers struck a piece of stone which he grabbed, then tensing his muscle’s he hauled himself up with every ounce of strength his aching arms could give. With a final grunt, he found himself prone on his stomach inside the pipe, closing his eyes he muttered his thanks to the gods, not forgetting the girl. As he clambered from the pipe, he found the girl before him. Their clothes looked like torn and filthy rags from the climb, and Tyler picked strands of moss from her hair, as he thanked her for risking her life to lean out of the pipe and grab him.
“I had visions of the soldiers using me for target practice, I nearly didn’t make it.”
“That would have been the easy way out,” she said with a smile, “Tobyn might prove to be a much more formidable opponent for me alone, and as you got me into this, I thought I would share him with you.”
“I think I’ll just pop back into the pipe,” he said, half turning, “suddenly the arrows don’t seem so bad after all. Come on, there’s a grating not far ahead, if there’s no-one there, we can crawl through into one of the lower corridors.”
Half-crouching they sloshed along the waterway until they came to the overhead grating. Tyler listened until he was sure the corridor was empty, lifted the grating and set it aside, and having pulled himself out, he extended his hand to help Nemeila. “The dungeons are quite a way from here,” he murmured, “and smelling as we do, I think we should change our clothes. If I remember, there’s a room at the far end where they keep all the clean linen and uniforms.” Tiptoeing hurriedly towards the door, Tyler listened with his ear against the wooden panelling and hearing nothing, lifted the latch. In one corner a pitcher of water and a bowl stood on a rickety table. “I’ll turn my back while you wash and change your clothing,” he said, gallantly. “Then you can do the same for me.” They left the room looking like servants, a maid and steward. They passed a young girl carrying a pile of blankets, who took no notice of them other than a brief nod of acknowledgement. Tyler smiled to himself, thinking if she had come across them dressed in their original clothes, she might have raised the alarm. His sword was the only thing that had been hard to disguise, but he had wrapped it in a sheet and now carried it across his arms like a bundle of cloth. As they moved deeper into the castle, there were more people about, and to reach the lower East Wing staircase leading to the dungeons would mean walking amongst them. Tyler ushered Nemeila to one side. “If we’re stopped, or questioned, we’ll be in a lot of trouble. Having been away from the castle for such a long time, I don’t know who’s in charge of the staff any more.”
“Well, we’ve managed to get this far without being challenged, we’ll have to risk it,” Nemeila said. Her reassuring smile did not quite calm his nerves. Boldly, they stepped from the safety of the quiet corridor into a long vaulted chamber where a number of soldiers were drinking round a roaring fire. “Here. You girl, come here and throw more logs onto the fire. And you boy, fetch us more ale.” The soldiers laughed uproariously at some no doubt rude joke, as Tyler turned in their direction. He quickly scanned their faces, hoping they were unknown to him and vice versa. He would have to put the bundle of cloth down, thereby revealing the sword. Whatever he did would lead to a confrontation. Suddenly a voice hailed the raucous soldiers from across the room. “Find someone else to stoke your fire; these two are already late in serving his Royal Highness. Quick march you two, or I will personally have you flogged.” Tyler looked at Nemeila then looked for the owner of the voice at the far end of the room, and for a moment couldn’t allow himself to believe who was standing in the doorway. The soldiers muttered mutinously amongst themselves as they reached for their own logs and ale, while Nemeila and Tyler hurried gratefully towards the stern face that had issued the order. “Do you know there’s a warrant out for your head?” hissed the man, once they were out of sight of the soldiers, cuffing Tyler lightly round the ear. “Brand. By the gods it’s good to see you,” Tyler ducked the playful blow, whilst holding out his hand to his friend. “I think you have just signed your own execution in helping us back there.” He brought Nemeila forward. “This is Brand, he and I were good friends when I worked in the stables. Brand, this is Nemi, she and I are going to try and free Parlan from the dungeons.”
“Of all the idiots I have known, you must be the most stupid,” said Brand, shaking his head. “Since his recapture, Tobyn has him
watched day and night; there must be at least six soldiers on duty. Even knowing how good you are with a sword, you will never get past them without the alarm being raised. What on earth made you come back?” “Parlan is my friend,” frowned Tyler. “Who else is there to help him?” “He had many friends,” said Brand, “but one word out of place and Kaleb signed their death warrant and had them beheaded. All the soldiers and staff were vetted and the sensible ones swore their allegiance to the new crown, you will find none who are sympathetic to Parlan’s cause.” “Will you help us?” asked Tyler. “Risk your own life? If Kaleb is crowned, the land will be forced into war with its neighbours. No-one will be safe; every man will be recruited to fight, leaving every woman and child helpless, you know what will happen if battle-crazed men descend upon villages inhabited solely by women and the very young and old.” “What are you going to do if you manage to free the prince?” “Face Tobyn,” Nemeila spoke for the first time. She studied the man Tyler called friend, trying to read his thoughts. It was a face that conveyed trust and loyalty, and at this moment, they needed all the help they could get. “Rather you than me,” said Brand, blowing out his breath. “He is the only man I am afraid of, apart from the axe-man. He’s enough to give you nightmares in the daytime. I will gather a few loyal friends together and we’ll try to create a diversion. That’s the best I can do. I’ll escort you to the lower East Wing, and if you’re challenged again, I can at least order you to hurry about your business.”
Fortunately, they met no more opposition, and Brand left at the top of the stairs leading down to the dungeons.
“Listen out for a ruckus; hopefully it will draw some of the soldiers away from their station. They all like a good fight, especially watching us lower orders beating each other to a pulp.”
Nemeila and Tyler sought the covering shadows of an alcove and waited. It wasn’t long before they heard raised voices and crockery being smashed.
Five men and two girls came into sight, their angry exchanges echoing in the confined space of the corridor.
“That’s my girl you’re trying to chat up,” shouted one man.
“So what,” sneered another. “If she wants to go out with me that’s up to her.”
From below their line of vision, footsteps were heard clumping up the stone risers. “Come on, let’s see what’s happening up there,” urged a gruff voice.
A soldier’s head appeared, followed by the rest of his body. “What’s all this noise about?”
Two of the servants started to scuffle, the first punch was thrown, and then all five men set about each other, with the two girls appearing to try to separate them.
“Come and have a look at this,” shouted the soldier gleefully, to his comrades below.
Tyler seized his chance. He stepped out of his hiding place and brought the butt of his sword down on the man’s head. The soldier fell unconscious onto the unwelcoming stones. A second guard appeared and roused the scrapping servants to greater violence; Tyler floored him. He dragged his body next to his comrade’s, in the alcove. That left the odds a little better, if Brand was right and six soldiers were on guard duty. Two more soldiers clattered up the risers, but this time Tyler couldn’t take them by surprise. He drew his sword and faced them square on. The guards were not proficient swordsmen, although they would undoubtedly kill Tyler given the chance. They both started towards him, but Tyler stood his ground and engaged the first blade.
“Summon help,” ordered one soldier to his comrade, “they are trying to free the prisoner.”
The second man turned to run for reinforcements, but the men fighting stopped flailing their fists at each other and punched him instead. The result was another unconscious soldier.
“I don’t want to kill you,” said Tyler, “put up your weapon and yield.”
“The only way down those steps is over my dead body,” jeered the soldier, “I’ve eaten twice your size for breakfast.”
He lunged awkwardly at Tyler with his blade, Tyler stepped back and deflected the clumsy blow, then seeing his chance, kicked the man between the legs. With a grunted curse, the man collapsed, whereupon one of the servants knocked him cold. Now there were four bodies heaped in the shadows.
“Thanks,” Tyler clapped the man on the shoulder. “This alcove is getting a bit full now. It doesn’t look as though the others are planning to investigate, we will have to go down to them.”
Brand grinned. “In for the odd coin, in for a sack of gold pieces, when those men wake up, we’re as good as hanged anyway. Follow us; the men down there will not be expecting us to take the fight to them.”
He placed an arm round the two girls and whispered instructions to them. They broke away from him suddenly and took off, screaming as they fled downwards.
“Help us, for pity’s sake, help us,” they cried out.
At the bottom of the staircase they rounded a corner, and rushed panting and apparently terrified up to the remaining two guards. “Help us. We are being chased by some men who tried to rip our clothes.” With a smile that was more unsettling than comforting, the men gathered the girls to them and held them close. “Let them try now,” said one of the men. As a braying mob, Brand and his friends followed by Tyler and Nemeila, ran down the stone risers and rounded the corner of the narrow corridor. They rushed the two soldiers before they could release the girls and unsheathe their swords. Tyler removed the dungeon keys from one of their belts, and crossed to the wooden door of Parlan’s cell. As Tyler pushed open the heavy wooden door, Parlan’s face lit up with a blazing fire of relief. “Tyler! How did you get past the guards? I thought this time there would be no escape.” The two lads who had, many years ago, sworn friendship and loyalty to each other embraced without embarrassment. “We had to dispose of them,” he said, hurriedly adding, “but we didn’t kill them,” as he saw Parlan’s eyes widen with shock. “Come my Lord, we must hurry. If Tobyn gets word that you have escaped, before we can get out of the castle, then all will be lost.”
Tobyn had indeed heard. Or, more to the point felt the presence of another being with his strange powers close by. He left his quarters in the lower depths of the castle, heading straight for Prince Kaleb’s rooms. “Sire,” he said, bursting into the room unannounced, “your brother is about to be freed from his cell. I strongly advise that you order the soldiers to intercept him before he reaches these upper levels.”
“Who would dare to go against my express command and enter the East Wing cells?” Kaleb demanded.
“The stable boy, Tyler Marten; the one your father allowed your brother to play with as a child. There is a girl with him, who means to kill you so that she and her boyfriend can put your father’s murderer on the throne.”
Kaleb was consumed with fear and rage at the thought of his death by his brother’s hand, meaning he would undoubtedly claim the throne. The fact that he already ruled the land in all but title, meant he was no longer considered the second born but was revered as the king, which he officially would be as soon as the coronation took place. He cursed every hour of every day left before his sixteenth birthday, despising his mother for not giving birth to him a few weeks earlier.
“Where are they now?” he demanded.
Tobyn’s eyes fluttered closed as he sought the girl. “They are still in the lower levels, yet to escape the inner sanctum of the castle.”
Kaleb flung open the door, yelling for the guard.
“The traitorous prisoner, my brother, is escaping. Take as many men as you need and recapture him, and all those with him. Fail and you will not see the dawn.”
The guard bowed deeply, before racing off in terror to raise the alarm.
Parlan turned to the five servants and two housemaids as he exited the dank and gloomy cell. They dipped their heads in respect.
“I will not forget what you have done,” promised Parlan, “risking your lives to save me.”
He snatched a sword from one of the guards, and with Tyler at his side, raced up the narrow
staircase to the landing. “Quickly, this way,” urged Parlan. “I know where we can hide while we decide what to do.”
As they were about to enter a section of corridor to their right, a troop of soldiers hastened towards them. They turned to run, but more soldiers appeared at their back, blocking their escape route.
“Stand between us,” Parlan shoved Nemeila none too gently into place, “Tyler and I will try to hold them off.”
Nemeila realised there were too many soldiers converging on them, even the best swordsmen in the world could not hope to stand against such odds. She clasped her fingers round the amulet on her arm, desperately willing the stones to life.
She felt a surge of pulsating heat as their powers energised. The stones began to sing and she both felt and heard them as they began to blend in harmony. A glow of pure white light seeped out from her clenched fingers, growing larger and brighter until it engulfed all three of them. From outside the pulsating effervescent light, she heard screams of agony as the burning energy seared the soldiers’ eyes, swords and daggers clattered to the stones as the men clawed at their eyes and tried to protect their faces.
“Quickly, my lord,” she yanked Parlan’s sleeve, “their blindness will not last long.”
Parlan studied the girl at his side, speechlessly, as all three raced past the staggering, groaning men. They didn’t attempt to stop the fleeing fugitives, mainly because they didn’t see them pass.
Parlan halted mid-way along a deserted corridor, where dropping to his knees he began counting the rows of stones in the wall. Seven rows up; third stone in from the left. He pressed the whole of his body weight against it, for a moment nothing happened, and then as Tyler added his weight it began to slide inwards. Soon a gaping hole was revealed, where a whole section of wall had moved aside on grating hinges.
“Inside,” ordered Parlan.
Hidden in the darkness, they shoved the wall back into place, the narrow passage as black as night now that no flickering lantern light filtered in from the corridor. Parlan felt blindly along the wall until his fingers touched a wall sconce, and then groped around for the flint and striker he knew lay directly beneath it. “Neat hiding place,” approved Nemeila. “Are we safe here?” “The man, who showed me this place, when I was a small child, is dead now. He told me no one else knows of its existence. I think we will be safe for a while, unless Tobyn can see through walls.” Nemeila knew Tobyn had the power to penetrate her mind, and wondered if he could locate them through her. She decided not to mention this for the moment, if they were discovered, hopefully she could call upon her own and the amulet’s powers again. “Was it you who made the soldiers blind?” Parlan asked, examining Nemeila in the light from the sconce, trying to sense the truth in her eyes. Nemeila looked askance: “My Lord! How on earth would I do something like that? Maybe one of Tobyn’s spells backfired. I managed to see through the curtain of light and saw the soldiers cradling their faces and clawing their eyes, and took the chance that we might escape.” “Well, whatever,” said Parlan, unconvinced. “We have escaped - the dungeons at least, but what now? I swore that I would kill the sorcerer, he killed my father and, I suspect, my mother too. I cannot rest until I have fulfilled my promise to my beloved parents.” “That might be a little more difficult than you imagine,” said Nemeila. “There are only two ways in which he can be killed; one is by severing his head from his body, and he would never allow anyone to get that close with a sword in his hand. The other is by using his sorcery against him.” “Then I fear I will probably die,” shrugged Parlan, “for I cannot match his art of conjury, but I won’t die without a fight.”
The Wolf and the Sorceress Page 17