Maiden's Saber

by Marion Faith St. James

  I glance to the men preparing the wheel for its return to the axel. They appear well, and nothing has happened to them.

  “Maiden—what magic did you work? I saw your hands moving and weaving a spell. Those soldiers seem normal and unhindered in their work?”

  “Tis true my large friend; my magic was not directed to those soldiers. It was the carriage itself that I enchanted. I have tripled the weight of the metal cage. It will take more men than they have here to lift it from its resting place. I vowed we would not try to escape. Never did I put my word about not working magic.”

  I laugh at the thought of what will happen once the soldiers try to lift up the carriage in order to put the wheel back on. “My lady, your humor is delightful to behold.”

  I lean closer to Natsha and Dian telling them of what our sister Amari has done to the soldier's efforts to repair the wagon. They both cover their mouths to hide the giggles and smiles.

  Gunsalus calls the other soldiers not guarding us to form up along the side of the wagon. The carriage sits down on the hub of the missing wheel. “Lift, so the wheel can be mounted and pinned.” he commands.

  Six men grab the bottom rail of the carriage and tug with all their might. The prison cart with the dense metal bars does not move an inch. The men's faces turn red from the sheer exertion.

  “Put your backs into it weaklings!” Gunsalus yells at his men.

  After several minutes of trying to lift the cart off the ground, the soldiers gathered around the wagon release their hold and fall to the dirt—exhausted.

  “You men,” he says to those guarding us. “Leave the prisoners and cut down some stout trees to use as levers to lift this heavy wagon. As the Maiden gave her word, she and her companions would stay put. I will hold her to that oath.”

  Amari looks up at the face of Gunsalus. “I have given our promise once. You need not challenge it again, nor do I need to repeat it.”

  Gunsalus can see she is not angry, just stating a fact.

  Our sentries sheathed their swords and stand by the wagon with the rest. Two of their number remove axes from the pack horses and disappear into the woods.

  We relax upon the ground and watch the activity. Dian and Natsha are in idle conversation while Gareth is stretched out on the grass asleep. He snores until Natsha gives him a nudge with her foot. He just rolls over and away from the annoying boot.

  Within the hour, the soldiers return lugging a pair of ten foot long tree trunks cleaned of all its branches.

  Amari moves her hands in another set of complex gestures while reciting some ancient and forgotten language. She smiles at her handy work and winks at the other women.

  Natsha slides over to Gareth and slaps him on the shoulder. “Wake up sleepy; the show is about to start.”

  The big man rubs his eyes. Rolls over on his back and sits up.

  The men working on the wagon place one of the logs along the length of the wagon as a fulcrum and the other perpendicular across the first one as the lever. Several of the men grab hold of the log.

  Gunsalus is overseeing the work while glancing back at the prisoners to reassure they are still there. “All together now men—lift.

  Knowing that the wagon is heavy from their previous failed attempts, the soldiers push down on the log lever and exert their combined strength at once. The result…the wagon flips over on its side. The metal cage rattling against the supports which hold it affixed to the carriage.

  Natsha looks at me curiously.

  I smirk and say. “A small sack of potatoes would be heavier than that carriage is right now.”

  Gareth could not contain himself as he roars with laughter.

  Several of the soldiers glare back at him.

  Amari says to Dian and Natsha. “It is time for me to put the world back in order before Gunsalus and his men get wise to my dealings.” Concealing my movements and voice, I recite a few age-old words and pass of my hands in the air as if praying. “I have returned the wagon to its true weight. It now weighs what it should before I worked by first spell to make it heavy.” She says to Dian and Natsha; Gareth is still laughing at the expense of the soldiers, but not as hard as before.

  Gunsalus gives us a sideways look, but I pay him no mind as if we were not interested in his problems.

  He walks over to where I sit. “I do not know how; but I sense you have something to do with our luck on this journey.”

  He stares at me for a few moments and then goes back to direct his men in righting the carriage.

  After a few minutes, the cart is returned to its four wheels. They had the foresight to put the missing wheel back on the axel and pin it while the carriage was still on its side.

  After the wagon is back on its wheels, the driver takes a few turns up and down the road to make sure the wheel will stay on this time. We are loaded back aboard, and the lock is once more in place.

  It takes an additional three more days of traveling through the countryside before we see King Borin’s Castle at the fringes of the land of Aventine.

  The guarded pass into the mountains is narrow. The driver, had trouble keeping the prison carriage going straight as several times the wagon scraped the walls of rock on either side.

  Gunsalus dispatched one of his men to go ahead and announce their coming. High up on the battlements leading into the canyon and on the top of the gate top are hundreds of archers—weapons raised and threatening. After showing the commander of the gate the orders from the king, we are allowed to pass.

  It took a full half day after passing through the gate before they exited the canyon. There were as many archers and soldiers on the inside of the gateway protecting the mountain kingdoms as there were at its approach.

  Following a well-worn road, we left the only entrance into and out of Aventine behind us. For many decades, the portal was protected in this manner. Before the posting, the hundreds of archers and guards, all sorts of invasions by the Horde and others seeking treasures and slaves, used this channel to come and go.

  On the journey, we were only allowed out at night to sleep on the cold earth. The guards stood watch over us as we slept. Food was supplied by whatever the soldiers could bring down with their bows. Only Amari did not eat the meat of the kill. She drank water from a brook and picked some berries off a Molog bush. Other than that—she did not eat.

  In an effort to obtain some food for the Maiden, Gareth wanted to spear fish in a stream along the way. The soldiers would not let him have a spear to use.

  The soldier’s laughed when he waded into the brook and tried to catch one with just his hands. The slippery water denizens always got away.

  Gareth leaving the stream without a catch confronts the guards. “The day will come when your smiles and taunts will be the last thing you do. I will use the spear you did not afford me, to skewer you like a pig.”

  As we drew closer to what will be our prison, Gareth can see the castle with its mighty parapets built into a sheer rock mountain wall. To one side, it overlooked a shallow valley.

  Our caged wagon pulls up and stops at the closed gate. Massive wooden doors forty hands high with cast iron hinges and rivets bar our advance. Above on the catwalks, a man in full armor yells down. “State your business?”

  Gunsalus steps back from the gate so those above can see him. He gives the salute of a King’s man. “It is I Gunsalus Ailmi, Captain of the Fifteen. I bear mandates from the King to deliver my prisoners to the dungeon warden. I carry documents with the king's seal verifying my orders.”

  “I know of you Gunsalus,” the sentry shouts back. “Enter and be welcomed.”

  Those in the wagon hear metal scraping on wood, as great locking bars are pulled, so the bulky gates can be withdrawn. Once the large portal is opened, the driver snaps the reins across the horses’ backs. The prison carriage jerks forward and enters the castle grounds.

  Several of the inhabitants stop what they are doing and watch the new arrivals. The transport is backed up to a barred en
closure with sharpened spikes pointed inwards. The paddock is a little larger than the carriage Amari and the others have been traveling in for the last four days.

  A crowd of the curious has gathered around the carriage. They keep a good distance away and do not interfere with the transfer from carriage to dungeon entrance.

  There are hushed whispers and questioning talk. Who are the people that have so many guarding them when they entered?

  One man with a puffed chest and finery befitting royalty asked aloud if these are slaves to be sold on the morrow.

  A shout precedes an armored soldier descending a stairway from the parapets above. “Hail Gunsalus, I am Dello; Sargent of the Guard at this hour’s watch. Who have you brought me requiring to be in the dungeons below?”

  I pull the folded document from my tunic and hand it to Dello. “These are my orders from his majesty. Given to me by way of the court magistrate, to secure and delivery this man and two women,” as he points to Gareth, Amari and Natsha.

  He motions to Dian sitting there. “The other woman is someone we caught when the net was cast for this lot. We thought it best to bring her along. The king wishes no harm to befall any of them. A woman of great importance will arrive in a week’s time to present the charges against them in person.

  Suffice to say, the charges levied against these three are treason against the king’s rule. I must warn you that witchery and spells surround that tall one in white. She has the gift to heal. With my own eyes have I seen her close the wounds on the big man, and one of my own men.”

  Walking over to the pack horse, I pull on a knotted cord that releases the bundle containing the weapons of the prisoners.

  The pack drops to the ground with the banging of metal and leather.

  “Be warned Dello. The weapons of these prisoners are surrounded by magic. Do not touch the bare metal of those blades. Wrap them in cloth first; do not let flesh touch the steel. I already have one man with flesh and sinew cooked from his bones. He merely brushed a hand against a sword hilt.”

  “I hear your warnings Gunsalus and they are noted. I remember the olden days when magic and sorcery were everywhere; both good and evil.” Dello holds a hand out to Gunsalus, “the key if you will.”

  The captain puts the key to the carriage cage onto the castle guard’s palm. Turning to one of his own men, Dello hands him the key and tells him to move the prisoners to the dungeon.

  He summons another to take the weapons to the armory. He passes on Gunsalus’ instructions on wrapping the swords first with heavy cloth. “Put these cursed swords and bows in the old section of the armory. Bar the door and post a guard.”

  Both soldiers nod their heads they understood and carry out his orders.

  The prison carriage is unlocked. Under the prodding of a dozen spears, the four prisoners are brought out from the cramped cage. After it is unbolted, they are pushed through the iron access gate and through another portal.

  Narrow stone steps go down into darkness. A sentinel grabs a torch from just inside of the door and leads the way. Four guards to the front and six at the rear mark the procession into the dark and foul smell to the dungeons below.

  Before going through the portal Amari sees Gunsalus watching them. She smiles and makes a mystic sign in his direction.

  A shiver goes through his body, and a feeling this may not be the last time he sees her or those she calls friends.

  He turns to go, but her enchanting vision fills his mind as he looks upon her again. She is already out of sight as the large steel door closes. Gunsalus knows all too well the pain and suffering that can be dealt from those men who oversee the prisoners.

  He feels a little remorseful that he handed over one fair such as the Maiden to those rogues. My thoughts of her being within the dungeon and all the evil that comes with it are quickly dispatched.

  She is a witch who can easily defend herself. I probably need to feel pity for the guards who watch over them. Woe unto those that roam below the ground, as I already put forth a warning that these prisoners are not to be harmed on the King’s command.

  He walks away to tend to his men. They must find quarters and food. The last four days of watching their prisoners and always on guard has tired him and his soldiers.

  The vision of the Maiden flows into my musings again. Shaking my head, I think. “She may have cast a spell on me, as I cannot cease my thoughts of her.

  Chapter 7 - The Treasure of the Dungeon

  The damp corridor with rough stone steps under foot is long, as it descends into the bowels of the earth. Besides the muffled footsteps, the only sound is of water dripping down the walls or an occasional shriek from a rat as it scurries out of our way.

  Over our heads, a fine gray haze hangs in the air trapped by the low ceiling of the narrow tunnel. The source of the vapor is burning hemp torches, which line the stone walls. Spaced at irregular intervals, the torches light the path of those passing from above to below, as day goes into night.

  Wrapped with heavy cloth and soaked with animal fat and tree sap the vapors choke those who are unprepared for the sting in their lungs. The guards at our backs hurry us along. Without fresh air, the sputtering torches not only illuminate our path—the crackling flames spew a vapor that can kill if one were breathe it for too long; an added measure to hinder anyone trying to escape this place.

  The ceiling over their heads will not allow Gareth to stand tall. He must walk stooped as the rock above continually brushes his head. Always the warrior, he constantly scans the sides of the corridor and the path before them.

  The guards walking behind the warriors have spears leveled at the prisoners’ backs. There is no room to fight or raise an arm. Even if one held a mighty sword to fill one’s hand. It is colder the deeper into the ground they travel, but Gareth’s body still puts forth fluid soaking his tunic in sweat. The closed and confining space weighs heavy on his thoughts.

  Amari senses Gareth need to be free of this place and out in the open air. “Patience my brother, do not let the limits of this place close in on your mind. Neither the earth will fall in on our heads nor are we any closer to the fires of Hades.

  He smiles at her intuition of knowing how he hates to be under the earth and in semi-darkness. “Give me an open field and a sword in my hand.” He whispers to the Maiden.

  Amari and her companions reach the end of the long damp and dark corridor. Barring their way appears to be a large wooden door. Light is filtering through the slits and cracks in the wood.

  A spear point passes between Natsha and Gareth. One of the guards uses it to rap on the door.

  From the other side can be heard. “Who wishes to enter this place of pain?”

  “It is Esley,” says one of the men behind us. “Open this door and be quick about it you old fool.”

  Heavy bars can be heard sliding through metal rings. The large barrier swings outward pushing Amari and the others away from the entrance. One of the guard’s spear accidently pricks the sensitive skin on Natsha’s back. She gives a slight moan.

  Gareth turns to her. Seeing the guard did not care for the wellness of a lady lashes out at him with his large right fist. His rock-hard knuckles hit the guard upon the nose. The force of the blow drives the bone underneath into the brain of the man who drew blood from Natsha. The guard’s spear drops to the floor. His lifeless body follows.

  The other guards take a step back—spears pointed and threatening at Gareth.

  Natsha grabs his arm and tries to pull him back from certain death.

  Amari puts her hand on Gareth’s other arm. “It is ok my sword brother. The wound on Natsha is slight and will heal quickly. Even in this foul place.”

  She reaches up to his face. Touching his forehead with soft hands, she says. I care for you all, but it is your well-being, I worry about most. You take too much on yourself for my virtue and the others safety. I am afraid one of these times death will be your reward. Know this my friend and brother. We will have our day and
win free from this place of shadows and death.

  Gareth lowers his hands and unclenches his fists. He stands there waiting for the thrust of a spear to his body after killing the guard.

  The other soldiers do nothing in retaliation. Instead, push the warriors through the now open portal.

  “I am not to meat for their spears,” Gareth says to his companions.

  Natsha enters the dungeon first, followed by Dian, Amari and finally Gareth. Just inside the door waiting, is an aged man.

  The gatekeeper looks at them with an evil grin upon a wrinkled and diseased face. One eye is closed, and hastily done stitches have sewn up the socket. His clothes are in tatters. His arms are covered with sores, and his deformed feet are bare and black. The smell of rot and sickness surround that ghastly man. His body is bent with age. He has spent too much time away from the sun.

  After the prisoners pass through, he goes out the door and slams it shut. A key can be heard turning the lock.

  Gareth puts his shoulder against the closed barrier and gives it a shove. It does not move an inch; they are completely alone in the depths of the earth. On the other side of the door, is the sound of the soldiers lugging away the guard Gareth killed with one blow; the dragging noise slowly fades.

  They all turn to survey their new surroundings. There is a surprising amount of light filtering down from above them. The source is several square openings in the ceiling of this confined underground chamber. “No need for death-dealing torches here.” Dian remarks to the others.

  Chiseled stones set tight upon each other form gapless walls. Huge columns that must support part of the castle above are adorned with serpents and dragons. The snake-like bodies wrap four courses about each of the pillars. The heads of these great snakes are menacing to look at with large teeth and piercing eyes.

  A smooth and flat stone floor is underfoot. Those that have been imprisoned here must have paced for years—wearing down the surface.

  Natsha roams about the large below ground chamber. Touching walls and columns; tapping on the stone floor with leathered boot. Sniffing the air and listening. She spies a barred door on the other side of room, which does not yield under her pressure to open it.