Jethallin jerked when she heard a roar echo through the tunnels. Her daughter made a hiccupping noise and started to cry. She soothed the girl while turning to stare at the closed secret door. She frowned as she tossed the strange word she thought she'd heard around in her mind. "Thork?" she whispered aloud.
Jennaca fell silent in her hands and nuzzled into her chest before drifting off to sleep. Jethallin stared down in the darkness, surprised at the infant's behavior.
She turned her attention back to the door and waited. A few more minutes passed before she considered rising and opening the door to get a better idea. It was risky, foolish even, but her entire plan was dangerous. She was relying upon other people to help her, something she did not do. Had Alto and his people gotten captured? Had they screwed up somehow? She frowned and shifted on the floor to stand. Her hand was on the locking lever when she heard the muffled sound of boots striking the stone floor of the dungeon. She wasn't sure if she heard the distant clang of metal on metal or if it was her own imagination playing tricks on her in the dark.
She waited a moment longer to make certain the disturbance had passed. She wondered if it had been guards rushing into the dungeon or maybe Alto's group had left it. Perhaps the man's sister wasn't in the dungeon after all?
Jethallin frowned and set her lantern down on the ground. She reached up and felt along the ceiling until she found the lever. With a breath of air through her nose, she unlocked it and stepped up to open the door. A weak line of flickering light shone under the storeroom's door to the passage beyond. She was able to make out vague shapes in the room but nothing more. Jethallin left the secret passage cracked open behind her so she could escape back down it if need be. She was surprised Jennaca wasn't woken by the sound of her heart hammering in her chest. She swallowed past the dryness in her throat and moved to the door of the small room.
The hallway was empty and the doors at either end were open. Jethallin frowned and crept silently down the passage to the right towards the dungeons. As she got closer to the guard room, she saw the flipped up table and the bodies lying in pools of their own blood. She clenched her stomach, steeling herself against the gore, and stepped into the doorway to get a full appraisal of the room.
Two guards were dead beyond a doubt. Two others lay slumped together on the floor near the far door. The difference she noted right away was the lack of blood, save for a small trickle that looked to be still wet on the forehead of one of them.
Jethallin padded across the room, her bare feet not even whispering across the stone floor of the room. She stopped at the upended table and paused to gather the handful of silver and copper coins that had been strewn about, and then relieved the dead guards of their pouches. She took their daggers and slipped them into the rags she wore, hiding them in pockets she'd arranged for items of value or food she could grab while on the go. She considered their swords and then shook her head. They might bring a few gold but they were too large to hide. That and she had no idea how to use one and if somebody saw her, they'd no doubt expect her to know what to do with it.
She paused by the two guards who lay side by side and studied them. They were still breathing, even if they'd been knocked out, and one was bleeding from where he'd been struck on the head. She glanced at their pouches and then looked away. She survived by being smart, not greedy. She had enough to survive for a few weeks if she could escape now. Why tempt fate?
She turned and was about to retreat to her tunnel when she noticed the door to the prison cells lay open. She frowned and cast a glance at the sleeping guards. She crossed the room and peered down the hallway, but saw nothing save for the two open doors. Jethallin reached into her clothing and pulled one of the daggers free, and then slipped the sheath off it and returned it to the hidden pocket. She slipped down the hall on the balls of her feet, crouched and ready to turn and flee at the first sign of trouble.
She found both rooms empty. She straightened and frowned. She was disappointed but she wasn't sure why. It wasn't like she was going to find the king's treasury in the dungeon. She was about to leave when she caught a hint of something coppery on her nose. She turned and studied the cell on her left. She gasped aloud when she recognized the darker shadow on the stone floor for what it was: a pool of blood.
Jethallin looked down and turned slowly, spotting marks on the floor where whoever was bleeding had moved. Or had been moved, considering the size of the puddle. She turned back to the room and walked into it, picking out the manacles on the floor and the smear marks where people had knelt or walked through the blood.
Jethallin shook her head, the smell of blood making her nauseous. She turned to leave, convinced there was nothing more she could do or learn. She paused in the door of the cell and turned around. Her brows came together as she stared at the room. Was there something still in the room that she'd missed?
Jethallin pursed her lips and realized she'd almost spoken aloud. She frowned and shook her head again, dismissing her concerns. She tried to turn away but found she couldn't. She felt like she had to wait. She had to look for whatever it was that she was missing.
Jethallin stepped back into the room and walked around the puddle of blood. She stared down at the discarded chains and then knelt down. She picked them up and moved them, wincing as the metal clinked and scraped across the floor. There was nothing there but bare floor. She frowned and started to turn away when her eyes fell on the dark corner where the walls met each other and the floor.
She reached into the shadowed nook and felt something under her fingers. She dragged it across the floor and picked it up. Opening her fist, she stared at it in the dim light and saw the object was a ring. It was smooth and lacked any ornaments or designs, but in the darkness she couldn't tell what it was made of. It didn't feel like metal, but it was too heavy to be wood.
Jethallin slipped it on her finger without a thought and hurried out of the room. The compulsion to stay was gone. She paused at the guard room long enough to see both guards were still asleep. She considered taking her dagger and finishing the job, but only for a moment before she realized she'd be inviting trouble. What if the guards woke up as she stood over them? Or what if somebody saw her? Then she'd be wanted for more than just a petty theft.
Jethallin turned and moved as fast as she could back up the tunnel and into the storeroom. Alto and his friends were gone. One of them, maybe his sister or maybe one of his other companions, looked to be wounded. There was nothing more she could do. At least not in the palace. Perhaps his other friends could help. Not her, though; she was just a thief and a whore, and not very good at either. She held Jennaca close to her as she locked the secret passage behind her and then tried to pick up her lantern. The dagger in her hand clanged against it, making her gasp in surprise.
Jethallin slipped the knife back in its sheath inside her clothing and tried not to dwell on how the dagger had felt so natural in her hands that she'd forgotten she held it. She picked up the lantern and, with a quick flash of light to orient herself, set off down the tunnel back towards where she would meet up with the dwarf, the wizard, and the man who looked like a boy.
And maybe, along the way, she'd stop and buy a loaf of bread or some stew with her newfound wealth. She hadn't had a decent meal beyond a few scraps in a couple of days.
Chapter 13
"Lady Aleena, you have displayed a rare wisdom," Queen Rosalyn said as the two sat on chairs high on the side of the mountain.
Aleena sipped her wine and set it down before responding. "Not so rare, I think, Your Majesty. In time, your people will come to understand it, and I am happy to put myself at your service showing them by deed and example until then."
"You speak highly of their potential," Rosalyn said as she sampled her water and reached for a slice of apple. "I doubt any of them would have given any thought to giving aid to a fallen enemy so that he might carry word back to his people. Especially after being wounded so badly themselves."
Aleena blus
hed. "General Graak spared no details, I see. It's of no matter. My duty is to serve in the best way that I can. Flesh is weak and Saint Leander knows this, so he grants me the ability to mend it when it's torn so that I may continue to do His will."
Rosalyn studied her while she chewed on the apple. She swallowed it and asked, "Have you always been this self-sacrificing?"
The paladin's smile gave way to a recriminating chuckle. "No, I was a greedy little girl not so long ago. I dreamed of what I knew, finding a man and urging him to secure a good life for us. Raising a family and all of the silly things we dream of when we don't know any better."
Rosalyn's eyes lost their focus as she looked at Aleena. Her lips parted and it wasn't until she nearly lost a bite of her food that she recovered and moved to blot her mouth with a cloth. "Yes, we all grow up with silly notions, don't we?"
"What was yours?" Aleena asked.
Rosalyn took another drink but Aleena saw her cheeks coloring in the morning sun. "Believe it or not, I was once a farmer's daughter," Rosalyn said. She shook her head and sighed. "It seems like a hundred years. I decided I didn't want to just be a cow for some farm boy who would try to breed me for sons to help him raise crops. I wanted more. I wanted a man who would love me. And I wanted to be strong and respected."
"I'd say you achieved all of that," Aleena said. "Maybe your dreams weren't so foolish. I had it in my head as soon as I saw one boy that I was going to make him mine. We'd get married and take over my father's inn one day. We'd have a family and it would be just like what I grew up with."
"Oh? Which boy? Was it Sir Celos?"
Aleena felt the heat in her cheeks push away the chill mountain breeze. "We've talked about him before. Alto. Back when he was nothing more than a farm boy himself."
Rosalyn nodded, her gaze turning to the south and staring over her burgeoning city and the mountain peaks that separated her from the northern reaches of the kingdom. "Pity," she said. "He found the kelgryn princess first."
"Not first," Aleena was quick to say. She bit her tongue and sighed. "But he fell in love with her first, I suppose. All is as it should be. If he hadn't done that, I wouldn't have learned humility and I wouldn't have turned to Saint Leander."
"All because of one boy," Rosalyn mused.
Aleena nodded. "A boy who has become quite an impressive man. A kelgryn noble, one day the jarl of Holgasford. And he killed the dragon that terrorized the north and defeated Sir Gareth."
Rosalyn's eyes narrowed and for a moment looked to glow with a reddish light. Aleena turned to look behind her, at the rising sun, and saw it had fully cleared the mountaintops to the east and was shining directly on them. When she turned back, Rosalyn looked calm and expressionless. She smiled, but the paladin couldn't shake the sudden chill from her bones that had nothing to do with the morning breeze.
"Quite the hero," Rosalyn said. "Has he ever failed rescuing a damsel in distress?"
Aleena smiled as the queen's strange mood left her. "His family was killed," she said. "He wasn't there in time to save them. Well, except for his sister."
"How tragic."
"Heartbreaking," Aleena added. "Such evil should not be allowed to exist. He's sworn to put an end to the Order of the Dragon."
"Fools," Rosalyn snorted.
Aleena stiffened. "Pardon me, Your Majesty?"
"The Order," Rosalyn clarified. "They are fools. To think that they can earn any measure of respect from a being as great as a dragon with subservience."
"Oh, uh, yes, I suppose you're right." Aleena smiled and sipped her wine again.
Ketten, Queen Rosalyn's aide and a former mountain man, cleared his throat from the cave entrance into the mountain. "My queen, I am sorry to interrupt but you have a meeting soon."
Rosalyn sighed and offered Aleena an apologetic smile. She rose up, as did the paladin. "Stay, please," Rosalyn said. "Finish breaking your fast. It seems I underestimated just what it meant to be in charge as a little girl."
Aleena grinned and curtseyed to the ruler until Rosalyn walked back into the mountain. The paladin watched her disappear in the tunnel and continued to stare after her. She turned to glance at the rising sun again and let the warmth fall on her face and fill her heart. She closed her eyes to bask in it and whispered, "Guide me, Saint Leander, and help me understand what you wish of me."
She turned and looked at the cave entrance again and sighed. A fresh prayer came to her lips but a distant sound of a horn blowing distracted her. She turned and saw a caravan of horses riding into the city. They bore a standard that, from a distance, looked to have a blazing sun upon it.
Aleena laughed out loud. Sir Celos had returned! Not only that, but it looked as though he'd brought reinforcements with him. She grinned and rose from her chair. She had to hurry. It wouldn’t do for him to see her in a dress. She needed to greet him in her armor as a proper paladin should!
Chapter 14
Mordrim's eyes fell on his dead friend and saw that one of Snord's arms was stretched above his head. Even though Mordrim had rolled him over, Snord had been reaching for something. But what?
Mordrim looked ahead of the body and saw the grain of dirt ran different. He frowned and stepped closer, and then bit back a chuckle. He had to shift the chest aside a bit more before he found a section of the dirt floor that looked different enough to confirm his suspicions. He glanced up when he heard someone ringing a bell in the front half of the store.
Mordrim dug his fingers into the loose dirt and felt a catch inside. He pulled on it and released, but nothing happened. He scowled and stepped forward onto the irregular section of dirt floor to look for a second release. As soon as his weight was on the square patch of floor, it lowered into the ground.
Mordrim windmilled his arms to keep his balance and then when he saw the ground below, he hopped off the descending platform. The dwarf looked around and saw that he was in another underground tunnel.
When he turned back, he saw the platform rising back up silently. The warrior clenched his fist in victory and grinned behind his wiry beard. He saw the spring-loaded mechanism beneath it that pushed it back up and admired the crafty shopkeeper’s skill. Then the platform met the ceiling and what little light he had was gone.
Mordrim cursed under his breath and turned about in the dark. He hadn't even studied the tunnel yet. Was he alone? He fumbled into his pouch and pulled out his tinderbox. He knelt down on the floor and, by touch alone, pulled out some wood shavings and bits of dried grass and then began to strike his flint and steel together.
The dwarf stopped when he heard some dirt shifting and falling from the ceiling next to him. He waited, hoping the latch would lock the hidden platform back into place when it rose back up. A few more pieces of dirt fell in front of him. But the platform stayed up.
Mordrim turned away after waiting several minutes and located his small pile of tinder. He struck the stone against the rough piece of steel three times more before a spark caught in the shavings and blossomed into a tiny flame.
Mordrim looked up and around, taking in everything he could while the flame burned. It wasn't a hallway, as he'd originally thought, but a narrow storeroom. He saw shelves built along one wall and a cupboard and rack storing some of Snord's personal effects on the other. At the other end of the room from him, he could just make out a door.
The flame grew as it spread into the tinder, making the room brighter. He had only seconds until it was gone and he had little tinder to spare for a second fire. Mordrim saw a lantern on one of the shelves and grabbed it. His breath came easier when he felt the oil slosh inside of it.
Risking it all, Mordrim set the lantern on the floor and dumped the rest of his wood shavings onto his nearly extinct fire. It flared back up and he grabbed one of the longest slivers of wood he had. He forced his thick fingers into the lantern and bit his lip to ward off the flames licking his fingers. The light grew as the wick in the lantern took. He snatched his hand out and dropped the flaming stub of
a twig on the ground. The warrior shook his hand and sucked on his fingers as though it would take the burn out of them.
As the flame on the wick held and grew, Mordrim turned and studied the room in more detail. The dark shapes on the racks proved to be Snord's personal effects. Mordrim moved closer and set the lantern down before he reached out and ran his fingers over the steel plates hooked onto a chain shirt. The armor looked heavy and cumbersome, too much for a human by far. For a dwarf, it looked cozy and safe. Mordrim found himself smiling.
"Your armor will go to good use, Snord," Mordrim promised his fallen friend. He glanced up at the ceiling overhead and added, "I'll be sure to give you a funeral pyre worthy of your sacrifice."
The dwarven warrior donned the armor and secured it across his shoulders and belly. He strapped on the greaves and pulled them tight, and then pulled the thick gloves with plates sewn into the backs of their fingers and hands on. Mordrim left Snord's axe and sword; he had his own weapons already.
Inside the cabinet, Mordrim found a handful of bottles with strange liquids inside of them. No two were the same and they all had a peculiar, and different, odor to them. "Potions," the dwarf muttered before he took the steel flasks and tucked them into his pouch and the new pack he took from the deceased.
Mordrim nodded and turned back to the spare oil flasks that had been placed on the shelf next to the lantern. He tested it was topped off before he moved back to the platform and studied the workings beneath it. He saw the counterweights and lock and, after a few careful tests, he reset the weights and released the lock on it, and then stood with his hammer in one hand and a flask of oil in the other. It dropped down. The platform lowered smoothly and slowly.
"The dwarf's only just dead!" Mordrim heard someone say through the new opening in the ceiling. "There's no other way out. Whoever did this can't have gone far!"
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