“The Governor has given Lady Relador leave to visit with her guardian,” Nehrea announced as she approached the guard table.
“Sign here, Nehrea,” one of the men said, proffering a quill and pointing at a piece of parchment.
Nehrea signed the form, and the two guards by the dungeon’s entrance opened the door. One of the guards led the way into the softly lit hallway lined on either side with doors made of iron bars. The entrance door was shut and locked. Enaya had hoped they would be allowed to enter without an escort. Having an armed guard chaperoning her visit would undoubtedly complicate the escape.
As they walked down the passage, Enaya did her best to discreetly peer into every last cell they passed. She didn’t want to create any reason for their escort to become suspicious, but she was fortunate; the guardsman didn’t seem to sense the possibility of danger as he walked almost casually out front, indifferent to the situation.
Nearly halfway down, Enaya spotted Sim, Farrus and Quinn Gracin in a cell on the right. All three men looked up as she passed, and their eyes nearly popped out of their heads. They jumped to their feet, but Enaya hushed them with a quick finger over her lips.
The guard wasn’t paying attention. She closed her eyes and whispered the words her mother had taught her softly. A truly powerful trival could wield their power without tricks or incantations, but for everyone else, an invocation was necessary. Enaya used a phrase from the old tongue, words handed down through countless generations of her ancestors.
“Outh atherra imar.”
“Life, virtue, love.”
The gentle metallic click she heard in passing was all the indication she needed to know that she had unlocked their cell.
The guard led them to the very end of the hall, where the passage fed into a wide room. Standing torches gave Enaya just enough light to see Givara, head down and seated on the floor, chained to the wall at her hands and feet. Her guardian was in horrible shape. Her left eye was swollen shut, puffed out grossly and purple. A gash, caked with dried blood, split the left side of her lip giving her mouth the impression of a perpetual snarl.
When she raised her head, Enaya could also see a cut on the right side of her forehead, bruised severely and still dripping blood. With her percipience, she could instantly tell that Givara had suffered a serious head injury that required immediate healing. Her heart ached for the pain she knew her friend was enduring.
“May I have a moment alone with my servant?” Enaya basically commanded the guardsman.
“I'm afraid I’m not allowed to leave you alone, my Lady,” he answered sternly.
Enaya looked beyond him and saw Farrus creeping silently down the corridor toward them. She would need to keep his attention occupied to aid Farrus.
“Why? What do you possibly think could happen?” she asked in a huff.
“I have my orders, Lady Relador,” he answered stubbornly.
“The Governor was quite clear with me about this,” she continued. “He said I would be allowed a few minutes alone with my woman. Do I have to inform him that his demands were not met?”
The guardsman was completely unfazed. He looked at Nehrea with rolling eyes and shook his head. “You are welcome to voice your complaints to the Governor, but…”
Farrus grabbed him from behind in a firm choke, riding the man’s back as he drove him to the ground. With his air cut off, the guardsman couldn’t make a call for help. He wrestled and thrashed about, trying desperately to throw off his attacker, but Farrus was too strong and too skilled. It took nearly a minute, but the guardsman finally stopped resisting and went limp on the floor. Farrus held him there for a few moments longer, just to be certain the man was dead, before releasing his hold and standing over his fallen foe. Though Enaya was grateful to see the old soldier, the cold passionless look in his steely gray eyes gave her chills. It occurred to her, in that moment, how little she actually knew about the man. To take a life in a sword duel or with a bow and arrow was a violent act, but choking a man to death with your bare hands took killing a step further. How accustomed was he to serving out death?
She turned to Givara and with a muttered incantation, opened the locks of the chains that bound her to the wall. As Givara began to remove the shackles, Enaya fell to the floor and placed her hands over the wounds on her head. She threw her power for healing into her guardian, gasping at the severity of her head injury. Givara’s brain was badly swollen to the point that Enaya wasn’t even certain how the woman was conscious. It took a few moments, but she was able to effectively heal her friend. Givara would require rest, but for the time being, that would have to wait.
Sim and Quinn Gracin must have approached while she was working on Givara because when she turned from her task, they were standing over her, each man looking at the former queen with equally grave concern.
“Is she alright?” Sim asked.
“For now. She will need to rest at some point, but there’s no time for that.” Enaya stood and looked into the eyes of each of her companions. She could see that each of the three men had sustained injuries though none were severe enough to worry over. “How did they get you?” she directed her question at Farrus.
The grisled former guardsman had eyes only for Givara. He looked upon her with palpable tenderness. Without looking away from her, he answered, “They sent some men and a trival for us. Trapped us in the stable back at the inn. Nearly tore the thing down on our heads to take us in.”
“Who's this?” Sim asked, pointing in the direction of Nehrea.
“This is Nehrea,” Enaya told the group. Was Sim appraising her? There was nothing subtle about the way he was leering at the scantily clad woman. “She helped me get into the dungeon.”
She burned a mean glare at Sim who didn’t seem to notice. His eyes continued to drink in the seductive form of Nehrea who became aware of his attention and smiled demurely. Enaya placed her fists on her hips and tapped her foot impatiently until he looked at her.
“Are you finished leering?” she upbraided him.
“How are we getting out of here?” he asked without even a hint of modesty.
“I don’t know,” she answered looking around for help. “They locked the door behind us when we came in.”
“How many guards are there?” Farrus asked. He knelt down and took the dead guardsman’s sword.
“There are three more guards and a trival out there. And that’s just on the other side of the door. We still have to get up to ground level and get out of the palace,” Enaya told him.
Farrus thought for a moment. “Did you see our weapons or boots anywhere?”
She nodded, “Out there with the guards.”
“Alright. I think we’ve only got one chance.” Farrus grimaced at the dead guardsman at his feet. “They’ll be expecting to see him. Obviously that’s not going to happen, so there isn’t much hope of them opening the door for us.” He pointed at Quinn. “Time to see what you can do.”
Quinn had been quietly watching Givara, but stood up straighter when Farrus called him out. “What do you need of me?”
“Can you blow in that wall like they did to us back at the stable?”
Quinn nodded confidently.
“Good. Quinn brings that wall down on them. Then we’ll rush the room. If any of them are still conscious I’ll take care of them. We get our weapons and boots and make for the front door.”
“Actually, I think there’s a way out from the guard’s room,” Nehrea said. They all looked at her. “I’ve never used it, but I’m pretty sure there’s a door to the outside of the palace down a corridor through that room.”
“Once Quinn blows in that wall, we won’t have a whole lot of time,” Farrus cautioned her. “Are you sure there’s a way out?”
She shook her head and looked down sadly. “I’ve only heard. I’ve never actually seen it. The Governor has a network of spies that are said to use the door.”
“Let’s try it Farrus,” Sim said. He smirked and added wit
h a forced air of bravado, as though his words were meant to impress the young woman. “If there isn’t a door there, I’ll make one.”
Enaya didn’t like the sudden change in Sim’s demeanor. It was almost as if the fool man were looking for excuses to brag. Worse still, Nehrea seemed to be enjoying it. Her sleepy, seductive eyes watched him closely. If they managed to make it out of the palace in one piece, Enaya knew that she would have to keep a close eye on them.
“Our options are very few. If we blast out the door, the whole palace will know something has happened. Cantor will send every last palace guard down here. He won’t risk anything ruining the political play he’s trying to make. Can’t we just unlock the door quietly and take the room?” She hoped they could find a sensible solution, but time was running out.
Farrus shook his head. “They’ll be waiting by the door. Once they suspect something is wrong, our opportunity will be lost. Their trival can take on Quinn, and I’d have to take on three prepared men with weapons by myself.”
“Sim can use his power to help,” Enaya pointed out.
“No, he needs his gem,” Farrus told her.
“I can take them without a sword,” Sim boasted, punching a fist into his open hand.
“Maybe. But I’m not putting your life at risk that way. You’re too important,” Farrus cautioned.
“Where’s his gem?” Enaya asked, noticing for the first time that he wasn’t wearing the necklace.
“I stuffed it into my boot before they took us,” Sim told her. “I can only hope that they didn’t find it.”
There was nothing about their apparent plan that Enaya liked. Their chances of escaping the palace were low, but even if they managed, escaping the city would be nearly impossible. All of their eyes looked to her for guidance. She needed to be confident, even if she had no assurances to give. Leadership was her mantle. It was time to act.
“Lead the way Quinn Gracin,” she commanded.
Quinn nodded proudly and led the group down the hall. Farrus walked a step behind Quinn with Sim and Enaya in the middle and Givara and Nehrea in back. Enaya could feel her hands shaking and gripped them into fists. She hated the unknown. This was a situation that she couldn’t control or manipulate. A quick glance at the look of determination in Sim’s green eyes gave her a fleeting feeling of reassurance. If nothing else, she thought, at least I’m not trapped in that bedroom.
A guard stood behind the locked door at the end of the passage, watching for their approach. Before he could react and call out an alarm, Quinn called on his power. With a sound like a firing cannon, the iron door blasted inward throwing the guard back beneath its weight. Huge chunks of granite around the door imploded, sending thick clouds of dust into the room and hallway.
Farrus didn’t waste any time. He charged into the dust cloud, sword drawn, disappearing from view as he engaged the guards in the room. Quinn ran in behind him, and all Enaya could hear was the sound of clanging swords and the strangled grunts of men fighting for their lives.
Sim ran in next, and she hurried after him. As she entered the room, with the dust only just beginning to settle, she saw Farrus kneeling on the floor next to two bodies, grimacing and holding his side. It was difficult to be certain, but it looked as though he’d taken a strike in his lower abdomen. Quinn faced the black cloaked trival, who stood with a feverish look of excitement and terror, in front of the hallway Nehrea had mentioned.
Before Enaya could react she was thrown roughly back against the wall, nearly blacking out from the impact. She looked around slowly and saw Quinn beside her, trying to get to his feet. Sim had been fishing around with the boots before, but now he stood between her and the trival. She could see the terrallium chain dangling from his right hand. He had his gem.
A wave of wind pushed her and Quinn back against the wall, but Sim stood his ground. With his teeth gritted and an angry grunt, he threw his hands out. The wind relented, and the trival cried out as she was thrown backward down the corridor.
Enaya took the opportunity to rush to Farrus’ aid. The old soldier was laying down on his side, clutching at a blood soaked wound with his eyes tightly shut in a painful grimace. She pried his hands away, though he resisted mightily, and threw her power into his wound. The gash had cut directly into his kidney, and it was bleeding profusely. If she had waited any longer, Farrus would likely have died.
A blast of flames poured out of the hallway, nearly singing the hairs on Enaya’s head. Sim met the fire with a wall of water that erupted in front of him, extinguishing the blaze in a hiss of steam. Then he forced the water like a torrential wave down the corridor toward the trival. She didn’t react quickly enough and was taken with the current deep into the annals of the passage. Sim looked quickly at Enaya to gain a measure of reassurance that she had the situation with Farrus under control, then headed off down the hallway after the trival.
“Will he live?” Givara asked, leaning over her shoulder to gauge the seriousness of the injury.
Enaya ignored the question as she worked to repair the damaged kidney and close his wound. Farrus made several cries of pain and protest, his body convulsing violently as she slowly sealed the cut in his kidney. Givara fell to her feet and took his hands in hers. It seemed to ease his reaction, and for the rest of the healing, he bore his pain with more restraint.
When she finished, Enaya looked up into Givara’s eyes and nodded to let her friend know that the task was finished. Farrus would be weak for a time, but he would live. Unfortunately, his need for rest would complicate their escape, slowing them down.
Sim came back down the hall with a grim look on his face. Enaya had seen a similar expression from him before - the day he had first killed a man. She knew at once that the trival was dead.
“There’s a door at the end. I think it will lead us outside,” he announced to the room.
The sound of guards coming down the stairs began to fill the air. By the sheer volume of the echoing voices and clattering chain mail, it was possible the entire palace guard was set upon them.
“Help him up,” Enaya implored Sim and Givara.
Farrus groaned with the effort of standing, but bore his pain with a soldier’s resolve. Enaya pointed to the route of their escape.
“Hurry!” she cried.
Everyone moved for the corridor except Quinn. He faced the stairwell and raised his hands up then clapped them together. The walls surrounding the end of the stairwell tore apart, falling together in large boulders to form a blockade at the entrance to the guard's room. If the palace guards planned to engage them now, they would need to find another way around. Quinn had bought them some time, but they still had to flee through the city.
With Quinn behind her, Enaya raced down the corridor after the rest of the party. The passage was thin and dimly lit with non-symmetrical walls and jagged edges, leaving the impression that it was cut by some escaping prisoner. It turned twice before leading to a solid iron door, thick, sturdy and without windows. Just as she caught up to the group, Sim blasted the door out, sending it flying into a grass courtyard that Enaya recognized from the window of her quarters in the palace. They were on the back end of the building.
At the opposite end of the courtyard was a ten foot granite wall that enclosed the garden from the city beyond. Once they made it past that wall, they could get lost among the alleys and side streets of Nal’Dahara. It was fleeting, but Enaya was beginning to feel a thin ray of hope.
*******************************************************************
Governor Cantor stood frozen in the doorway of his bedroom, with the look of a panicked, unstable man. The blast that had shaken the palace floors only a moment before had stopped him in his tracks. He stared ahead uncomfortably, seemingly at a loss for how to respond to the incident. Prianhe impatiently watched him call out the door to some unseen guards before he made an effort to compose himself and answer his summons.
“My Lord, Prianhe,” he said, trying to force confiden
ce into his shaky voice, “how may I assist you?”
“What was that sound? Is the palace under attack?” Prianhe asked, watching the man’s eyes. He had met Cantor several times and found the man to be a loathsome weasel -- a sniveling, pretentious bootlicker.
“Nothing to worry about, my Lord, I assure you,” he attempted to say calmly. His voice was trembling, and sweat was beading on his forehead.
“I want an explanation, Governor,” Prianhe demanded. He didn’t like stepping into situations with unknown variables.
“I have a few prisoners who I believe may be attempting an escape, but I must assure you, we have the situation under control.”
“Are they firing cannons down there?” Prianhe asked.
“No, no, my Lord,” Cantor replied nervously. “One is a recently captured trival. But we have our own trivals on hand to deal with the situation. I’m certain the prisoner has already been taken into custody.”
“Trival’s are the domain of the Imperial Army. Has the local contingent been notified?” Something about the man smelled wrong. Not quite a lie, but an omission perhaps?
“We’ve only just captured him this morning. We haven’t yet had an opportunity to call on Commander Corsia.”
Prianhe eyed the Governor coldly. There was nothing redeeming about the man. He had wild political ambitions, and that made him dangerous. Men like Errick Cantor would always tell you what you wanted to hear, especially when the truth was condemning. Prianhe didn’t get involved in politics. His job was to obey the will of his master. But he could tell when a man was hiding something.
“Did you receive the communication that was sent from Carleton?” he asked.
“I’ve heard nothing my Lord. Our Great King contacted me only last night and gave strict orders to assist you in any way that I am able.” Cantor puffed out his chest at the mention of Desirmor’s command.
“I’m hunting four criminals that escaped from Carleton on a stolen trevloc and were said to have landed in Perth. My sources believe they landed near Wyndham, possibly a few days ago, and have continued on foot. I have reliable information that they are heading to your city, so I will need all of your men on high alert.”
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