by Greg Curtis
So his plan was simple. The dungeon consisted of twenty or so cells arranged in a rectangle around the guard's desk. The only door in and out was past the corpulent gaoler at his desk, and it in turn led to a passageway where more guards stood watch. He heard them sometimes yelling down to their gaoler. That was not a safe way of escape. But he could make his own way out. Especially if, as he hoped, some of the realm's other sparks were also locked up with him.
His plan was simply to burrow sideways through the cell walls, going from one to the next and linking all of them up. Then when all the cells were connected and he knew who else he was sharing the dungeon with, he and the others could simply burrow their way out of the cells, through to the underground passages that he knew ran below the castle, and into the sewers. From there it was just a matter of following the river of waste water out of the city to freedom.
Edouard began by focusing his magic into as small and tight a ray as he could, knowing that if he was to melt stone it had to be that way. A flame might have been able to melt entire walls with his magic, but he knew that no flame would ever have been imprisoned in a dungeon with them. Flames were too dangerous. If Simon and his black robed advisor had decided they were a threat they would have just killed them. He wasn't completely sure why they'd allowed him to live. They knew he too had magic that could help him escape. Perhaps they'd considered him too weak to do anything?
He wasn't. And despite the fact that he was no flame, a small ray of searing hot fury was all he needed. A finger of cutting as it was called by some.
He sent it deep into the stone and watched with satisfaction as the stone quickly turned orange and began to melt. Just a little bit, a thin line of lava that started trickling down the stone walls. But that was all he needed and he knew it was working. He was cutting a passage through the walls. Beginning his escape.
It took time, a lot of time, and there were all sorts of things to worry about. There was the light from the magic which he worried might escape his cell through the small barred window in the door and be seen by the gaoler. There was the smoke too, which he worried might start filling the air and choking them all. And then there was the noise which he knew would become quite loud when it came time to push the blocks out of the wall. But as long as the gaoler was sleeping, he hoped that none of that would matter. So he continued cutting and listened for any sound that might indicate that their gaoler had woken.
In time he managed to cut out three sides of square one and a half feet high and the same across, and he began kicking at the stone with his bare feet. He knew there was no point in cutting the bottom line of the square out as the stone would simply sink into the molten rock and reset like glue. He just had to hope that the mortar around the base would be weak enough that it would give way without the rest of the wall supporting it. But fortunately with the other cuts that wasn't such a problem, and little by little he felt the stone giving way. It was trying to reset into solid rock, but because it was so hot that took a little time. Long enough for him to keep pushing at it with his feet and feel it give an inch at a time.
And then in one glorious moment he felt the section of wall he'd cut out give way completely, and between one second and the next it tumbled to the floor of the next door cell with a crash. His heart raced when that happened. The noise was so loud that he was sure it would have woken the gaoler. But when he went to the window in the door to check it was to hear the man still snoring away. Apparently he had a goodly load of ale to sleep off. Maybe he'd even hit the cider judging by the depth of his slumber.
Still, Edouard stayed there by the door for a bit, listening carefully to make certain before returning to the hole he'd made and his chance to meet his neighbour. Then, when he was satisfied it was safe, he poked his head through the hole into the next cell.
“Hello?”
Edouard called out softly, a little worried that the gaoler might hear him. But it wasn't really that likely. Not if he hadn't woken up when the stone had collapsed to the ground. Besides, the door to the cell was solid oak at least three inches thick with only a tiny little barred window in it. The walls of course were stone, a foot thick and more. Sound wouldn't travel far through such barriers. And their gaoler was in a drunken stupor anyway. Still, now that his escape had begun, no matter how painfully slow it might be, he didn't want to get caught. He called again, mostly to make sure it was safe.
There was no response though as the man in the next cell was snoring. Obviously he also was catching some relief from the boredom of sitting in a dark, dank hole waiting for nothing to happen. Still, at least the cell was occupied. He kept worrying that he might be completely alone in the dungeons. He knew he wasn't given the muffled noises he kept hearing from the gaoler outside his cell as he yelled at the other prisoners, but for some reason the fear had remained. Maybe the voices he'd heard weren't really other prisoners? Maybe they were just in his mind? There was something simply terrifying to him about being trapped alone in the darkness. But now he finally had proof that there were others.
Carefully, worried a little that the rest of the stone wall might come down on top of him, Edouard wriggled the rest of his way through to the other side, and to the other prisoner. It was actually easier than he'd thought. He was never the largest of men, and the stone blocks that made up the huge walls were massive. Easily larger than his girth. They were so large in fact that a man couldn't have budged one out of the wall on his own. But a spark with fire in his fingertips could still melt one.
“Dry.” He muttered his surprise to himself as he discovered the cell next door was quite a lot dryer than his. He'd developed a bad habit of talking to himself over however many days or weeks he'd been locked away in this place. Worse yet he held conversations with himself, a sure sign that all was not well with his mind. But still a dungeon cell without water running down the walls was cause for a little surprise, so he told himself. Maybe even to the point of talking to himself.
On the other side Edouard quickly found his feet, and with his eyes adjusted to the perpetual gloom of the dungeon, he could make out his neighbour. Lying on a pile of loose straw – he actually had straw – he was a man of somewhat rounder proportions than was considered fashionable. That quite likely accounted for the snoring. He was also heavily bearded, and – as Edouard crept closer and finally managed to make out at least a little of his face – of advancing years.
“Greetings.” He put a hand over the man's mouth just in case as he gently shook him, and it was just as well. The man woke up, panicked, and started struggling furiously. If he'd been able to he would have been shouting as well, attracting the guards' attention.
“Hush!” Edouard hissed as loudly as he dared, worried that the gaoler might hear him. “I'm not here to hurt you.” And then he had to repeat himself a few times for good measure until the man calmed down. But eventually he did, or at least he stopped struggling.
“Good. I'll take my hand away, but please don't alert the guards or we'll both be for the hangman's noose in the morning.” After letting his words sink in he did exactly as he said, and the man didn't call out. He figure that had to be a good thing.
“Edouard?” The man recognised him, and that came as a surprise. But not as great a surprise as that when he suddenly recognised the voice.
“Janus?” It was him all right, but what was he doing in the dungeons? Had he protested the new king's right to rule? It seemed unlikely. Janus wasn't the sort to make trouble. Cynical comments perhaps but not trouble. Especially if his life was on the line. He had to ask.
“After your display the regent decided he'd had enough of all of us. Fergis is in one of the other cells as well, and I thought I heard Gwen's voice as she was carted screaming in here a few days ago.”
“By the Seven!” Edouard was staggered. Not just him but four of the sparks. Or maybe even all of the ones who called Therion home. There were only Prator and Telos left. Like Gwen they lived outside of the city. Prator in the small farming tow
n of Birchdale where he brought rain when it was needed. Telos in the steel mines of Tinton, where he used his gift to bring safe light in the form of enchanted glow stones to the underground passages. But if they'd taken Gwen then surely they could have grabbed the others. And then there was April as well. She had the spark of dominion and Simon knew it. Would he have her locked away somewhere as well?
What was Simon up to? Or more likely, what was that black robed advisor of his up to? Because Edouard was certain that it was that dark robed priest who was behind it. But that he realised was a matter for another day. For today it had to be about escaping the city.
But there was another question that needed to be asked. Both because it confused him and frightened him. It had frightened him in the throne room when he hadn't been able to call his fire to defend himself. “How is he holding them? Fergis could have done what I'm doing. And Gwen could probably start an underground deluge to cut her way out of here.”
“Drugs.” Janus said it as if it was nothing, simply a matter of fact. But it wasn't nothing. To a spark it was everything. The magic even for them was a part of their lives. A part of them. Deadening it was like killing a little bit of them.
“From the smell I'd say it's blood root and green ginseng. It was given to them, to us all on the first day we were thrown in here, the guards forced it on us. And since then it's been administered once more. But not to me because as a healer I'm not considered a threat. And not to you because they thought you were dead.”
“And –?” Edouard didn't want to ask but he had to know.
“It'll wear off in a few more days by my estimate. But the guards will be back before then to feed it to them again. And to you when they realise you're alive and awake.”
“Then we have to be gone before that happens.”
“And before that we need to take a look at your wounds. Your health looks shocking.” Of course Janus would notice that. He was a healer, and he'd probably spotted his third rate attempt at healing himself from the instant he'd woken up. “Get your vest off.”
“We don't -.”
“Now.” Janus wasn't in the mood for excuses. He never was. Reluctantly Edouard lifted the scraps of his vest up and let him see his back. It was a mistake of course. He knew that the instant he heard Janus' sudden indrawn breath.
“The Seven be praised, you made a poor fist of that.”
Of course he had, but still Edouard thought he'd done something right. It still hurt of course, and he couldn't seem to bend without feeling the skin on his back tightening up, but the worst of the fever had passed and the sickening smell of blood and decay was gone. Add to that the fact that he was alive and he wouldn't complain.
“I did what I could.”
“And you nearly killed yourself doing it.” Janus didn't sound impressed. “If I had some vermillion root I'd be making some tea for you, and a salve from the leaves to heal the skin. But as it is I'll just have to do the best I can without it. Lie down and stop talking.”
Edouard did as he was told. He knew from long experience that there was no point in doing anything else when Janus was talking. He never listened and he never took no for an answer. He was even happy to tell the king off when it suited him. The real king that was. Besides, it would be good to not hurt any more.
A few moments later he felt the healing warmth of Janus' magic sinking deep into his flesh and despite his best intentions he almost fell asleep as he lay there. Janus' gift was a powerful one. It always surprised him how someone with such wondrous magic at their fingertips could be so abrasive and have such an acerbic wit. The humour of the Seven perhaps.
Still, it gave him an opportunity to ask about the other matters that had troubled him since his thoughts had returned to the world. How had his magic been stopped in the throne room? There had been no drugs fed to him there. How had his brother claimed the throne? What right had he claimed? And who was Vesar? The answers he got were few, and they weren't good.
Janus believed that somewhere in the throne room someone had laid a stone of quiet. All of the sparks had been powerless there, and that was the only thing he could think of that could do such a thing. Edouard agreed though he couldn't imagine any spellcaster using such a thing. It would have robbed Vesar of his magic as well.
As for Simon's claim, it was a fraud. He had presented a writ of succession as his evidence, but none of the nobles who had witnessed it were still alive. The thing was certainly a forgery as were the signatures placed upon it. As to the black robed advisor Janus wouldn't say. He had some theories but he claimed he didn't want to speak of them in here. Not in the darkness. What that meant Edouard didn't know. But he didn't like the sound of it.
But that was fair since Janus didn't like the sound of his voice either, and he kept telling him to be quiet as he worked. In the end Edouard did just that. It wasn't really a choice with Janus.
Five and then ten and maybe even more long minutes passed like that as Edouard lay there like a confused moon calf. But finally Janus pronounced him done, and he felt the better for it. Much better. But he did not have time to bask in his healing. Not then and maybe not for a long time to come. It was time to begin work. One cell down and maybe twenty more to go.
Edouard crossed to the other side of the cell, took a deep breath and sent his fire streaming once more into the stone wall while Janus stood watch. It was going to be a long day.
Chapter Twenty Two
“Bastards!”
Edouard cursed quietly to himself as he heard the commotion outside his cell and knew that their gaoler was receiving visitors. Other guards who he doubted were there simply for their own pleasure. The gaoler never had visitors, which was why he felt so comfortable drinking. There was never anyone there to see him. Of course there was only one reason why the soldiers would be visiting.
Janus had said that once a week the guards came to drug the sparks with their concoction, and also that that time was fast approaching once more. Edouard had the worrying thought that that time had arrived. And it was the very worst time it could have come. Just when their plan was exposed for all to see but they weren't yet free.
The holes between the cells had all been cut, and the twenty one other prisoners were now able to wander freely between them with Edouard and Janus. That was for the good, especially when Janus was able to lend his healing to those who needed it. Many did. Edouard wasn't the only one to have been put in the stocks and whipped that night, and six more of Simon's victims were sharing the same dungeon as him. Actually it was eight more, but two of them had died and their bodies hadn't been removed. Still, from what he had been told by the others, a great many more people had been flogged in the throne room that day, several of them to death. The seven of them were only a fraction of the total. He wondered how many more were filling other cells in other dungeons, without the benefit of a healer. And without any hope of rescue.
The passageways couldn't be seen at least. Not from the outside. After all, all the light in the dungeon came from the torches in the central area and none of the cells had so much as a candle. The only light they got was through the tiny little barred windows in the doors, and that wasn't enough to see anything by. Not for anyone who hadn't been stuck for many days in the gloom with them. But if the guards opened the door and came in that would change fast. And to feed the prisoners their drugs they would have to do just that. Then the game would be up.
And even if by some miracle it wasn't, the escape tunnel wasn't finished. It was only about ten feet long, and he had no idea how much further he'd have to dig to reach the underground passages. Gwen had said it wasn't far. Even with her spark diminished she could sense the running water and guide his hand. But to finish it he had to have his magic, and now that the gaoler knew he was awake again, he was sure he would be down for a dose of the drugs. He couldn't afford to eat the drugged food. If he did their escape was over and he would be stuck here forever.
And he wasn't going to stay here no matter what.<
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Quietly Edouard crept over to the window and peered out into the main part of the prison, hoping to see what was going on. Then when he did he wished that he hadn't. Their gaoler was on his feet, something he hadn't been doing a lot for many long hours, and coming down the passageway behind him were three guards carrying a small barrel. Edouard's heart sank as he knew that the drugged food had arrived.
“Why now?” He silently cursed the misfortune the Seven had bestowed upon them. It was simply so unfair.
But unfair or not it was happening and it had to be dealt with.
The guards finally stepped completely into view and his heart sank a little further. These weren't more overweight and unfit rejects like their Gaoler. They were trim and athletic, and they wore their uniforms well. He had no doubt that they knew how to use their swords, while all he had was his fire. He could probably kill them if he caught them by surprise, but not before warning was given. And that warning would bring a great many more soldiers running. He couldn't beat them all. But what was the alternative? He prepared his fire and waited, nervously.