Trapped with a Way Out

by Jeffery Martinez

  "Vincent, come back," she whispered. Were it not for the human desperation in her voice at her need for his sanity to return, the tip of his blade would have met its mark in an instant, and so would have his mouth. But she needed him alive, not dead. And the time for his family's vindication was not yet, nor was this the time to indulge a deranged feeling he didn't fully understand.

  Vincent felt his arm relax as her genuine smile captivated him. She was swelling with pride and happiness. It took him a moment to realize that she was relieved and proud of himas he sheathed his sword with reluctance, but compliance. Vincent's hand met hers on his neck and let his thumb furtively stroke her knuckles, quickly departing contact.

  Vincentislav II nodded with condescension, as if he solely put both of them in their rightful place using only his impermeable virtue. "And YOU, Vincent, you mangy scrap of pit-bait, I don't want to see her out of her room for the next week. She has caused enough disruption to our equilibrium, and so have you."

  All he could manage to do was nod —not at Vincentislav II, but at Richard. His eyes were still locked on hers. They slowly walked out of the room, Vincent's hand protectively on the small of her back as they exited gratefully. As the pair walked silently in the night to their respective chambers —they hardly ever had to communicate with words now— Vincent realized something. In that heated moment of limbo where he could have easily slit Vincentislav's throat, could have taken on a few of his officers and then died gladly for it, Vincent realized that he truly loved Richard. Her mere voice curbed his creeping insanity. He must have held her in such a high regard that even his own desires to kill were not fully sated until they passed her consent. He was completely at her mercy, and her at his. She needed him alive on the border to ensure her safety just as much as he needed her to rein him back. Richard was the only thing in the way of his mind unraveling. Unfortunately, that ugly side to him was also Richard's to wield at her leisure, though she did not dare tap into that power source just yet.

  Rodriguez rubbed the stubble of his scruffy chin, anxious with fervent passion to exterminate the new threat within the castle. Predictably, the esoteric letter from the Pope warning him came late, but it hardly mattered now. The Teutonic Knights were now on his territory, and he had one more thing to kill in the name of preserving Christendom. They masqueraded around pretending to uphold Christian Law and Literature, but Rodriguez had known of this notorious Herr Major and his lackeys for some time. The question was: How powerful were they, and were they really appointed to the post at Castle Hunyad for the same reason that the papacy had placed him?

  "Too many unanswered questions," Rodriguez muttered, then swiftly unsheathed three holy daggers from the folds of his cloak and viciously turned around with them pointedly touching Lady Rip's neck.

  She smiled, "Didn't see me coming, did you?"

  Rodriguez remarked at how she did not even flinch over the fact that all three blades were in contact with her skin. They must have tweaked her, or perhaps made her immune. Either way, he found himself snarling as a response.

  "I could answer some ov those tantalizing unanswered qvestions, my Lord," she stated in a low, seductive voice that played with his emotions.

  "Your mere presence gives you away, vile Heathen," he sheathed his blades, but not before nicking her neck on their way back into his robes. To his meek satisfaction, she flinched, though the act didn't leave her in pain. In fact, she looked aroused from his blatant invitation to play. "I know why you have come."

  "Herr Major vas bound to find out, just as the Pope did. The only difference vas that you failed, mein adversary. The Teutonic Knights vill not," Rip sauntered around Rodriguez in a circle, not forgetting to reveal more and more skin during each rotation around.

  Rodriguez followed her eyes, but didn't dare look anywhere else, "Your lot were banned from the Teutonic Knights. You cannot possibly make me believe that an Order as highly respected as the Knights would allow such blasphemous tempering with humanity. What you and yours do is sacrilegious."

  "Perception ist everything, isn't it? Vhy not let the testing und budding science ov what ve've done speak on its own merit?" she whispered in his ear, overcome at the proximity of his thick neck and inner network of arteries.

  "Because you train MONSTERS! ABOMINATIONS! DEMON SPAWN! I don't care what you call them! They are the un-living incarnate of Death Himself!" Rodriguez whirled on his heels and jutted all six of his holy daggers in her general direction, three in each finger-space like knuckle claws. She dodged them expertly.

  Rip was weak with laughter when she finally replied, "Oh, you are exhilarating, my Lord, but ve really must pass this foreplay. Celibacy dos not suit you, und I could use some vild entertainment tonight." She provoked him further by leaning onto him back-to-back and moaning in delight at the prospect of potent pleasure from such forbidden fruit.

  He flinched as he felt her lewd pose against his regrettably thin cloak, but easily, surprisingly, managed to expel the thought from his mind. No, he was far stronger than temptation; than carnal lust; than the weak and detrimental love for another imperfect being. The only pure love was that of God. This monstrosity would not have her way with him or his plan, and she certainly would not succeed in retrieving what she had come to obtain.

  Rodriguez peeled Rip from himself and shook his head, "Your otherwise lethal persuasion and womanly wiles do not affect me, my Lady," he paused for dramatic effect, "There will come a day when you will answer for all of the heinous crimes you have committed, and I swear to you that on that day your power will wilt and your faith in monsters will be your undoing, for the next time you see me it will be down the blade of my sword."

  She clapped delightedly at the thought, "Your patience does you credit. I look forvard to our next meeting. Perhaps it vill truly be one-on-one." Rip winked and curtsied, taking her leave, but not before sensing Rodriguez's chest deflate unceremoniously as she turned her back.

  "LIAR!" Ladislaus threw Zargo across the operation table with renewed strength he found exhilarating, pinning the aged man down and reaching for his hidden dagger, "Let's see which humor will pour out of your veins for remaining silent. Phlegm, perhaps?"

  "No! Wait!" Zargo huffed and grabbed at Ladislaus's hands, wildly kicking and pushing away.

  "Did you think you would successfully evade Justice? Did you think you could philander with impunity without the consequences of what you've done hanging above you like the Sword of Damocles?" Ladislaus reached for his dagger and pressed onto Zargo's throat.

  "To tell you this would start a war between two irreconcilable parties!"

  The Lord jerked him higher against the wall, "Yes, and with war comes crime. But it would be a greater crime to do nothing! To say nothing! Now tell me the truth, old man, or I will—"

  "Or what? God will—" Zargo inhaled a shaken breath.

  "Apothecary," Ladislaus growled, "If God has issues, it will not be with what I've done. It'll be with what I'm about to do…" he raised the dagger above the old man's neck theatrically, causing Zargo to throw up his hands in defeat.

  "Alright!" the apothecary shook his head vigorously, "Y-you must understand, I was not there! I lent the book out that week!" he began to choke as the nobleman's grip collapsed his airway.

  Ladislaus bared his teeth in a snarl as he lifted the man up into a sitting position with his clenched hand, choking Zargo even more by the gravity of the old man's own weight. With all the strength Ladislaus could muster, which was failing, he held his grip as his hands began to shake—with anger or exertion, he didn't know.

  "On the off chance that you are not lying to save your hide, do you remember to whom you lent it?" Ladislaus asked, still pinning the struggling man but lifting his hand for a moment to allow him air.

  "L-Lord…Lord…" Zargo hacked and tried to cover his mouth.

  Ladislaus disgustedly let go with a shove, watching the apothecary collapse in a heap on the stone table and cough profusely. The nobleman stood the
re for a moment, considering if he should mark the man with his knife. This lay-about was the only bulwark in the way of him discerning the truth about what happened to his family. If it meant a few deaths along the way, Ladislaus knew he did not have the inhibition within to stop himself. If Zargo was the man who was, by refraining to come forward, withholding judgment from the rightful criminals, the men who had nearly destroyed Ladislaus's lineage, then it did not matter to Ladislaus what the costs would take. He would find the truth, and he would find it now. Punishment had been delayed long enough.

  Within a few minutes, Zargo had composed himself and sat back up, although his skin was abnormally gray—the color to that of rotting fruit—and he flinched at Ladislaus's every move.

  Taking a full and much-needed breath in, Zargo shook his head. "You would not believe it, even if I told you."

  Circling impatiently and convincing himself not to stab his only witness, Ladislaus flexed his armed hand to delay it from cramping as long as possible, "Try me, old man. Keep in mind that if I am less than satisfied I will report you to my father as the culprit, or kill you myself."

  Zargo closed his eyes as he swallowed, "Lord Ulrich…"

  Ladislaus's jagged scowl grated into the apothecary. "Which."

  Zargo hesitated, which caused Ladislaus to advance toward him, weapon raised once more.

  "BOTH! Both Lord Ulrich of Eczying and Lord Ulrich, Princely Count of Celje."

  Ladislaus nodded, finally overcome with exhaustion as his body crumpled inward from fatigue and sagged against the back wall for support. His face and shape suddenly looked haggard, as if it had just performed something incredibly taxing. He felt his breath uncontrollably gasp and release air, noting as Zargo realized it was all a façade. Most of it was. The anger was still pumping through Ladislaus in the form of adrenaline, but his body was wracked with pain and nausea from overexertion. The Lord smiled as Zargo pieced it together and realized it had been some sort of test. The only apprehension on the apothecary's face now belonged to the question of whether he had passed or failed whatever the test was.

  "M-my Lord?"

  Ladislaus gripped the wall and hoisted his tall stature back up to its normal height, "You are safe, Zargo. I spoke with Costel as well. You two will present your information to my father tonight, and not a moment later."

  "My Lord, I might be killed for providing such information," Zargo nervously wringed his hands together.

  Instead of frothing at the mouth and tearing the apothecary with his bare hands, Ladislaus felt overcome with tranquility. "Would it matter?"

  "Wha—?"

  Ladislaus pushed off the wall and grabbed Zargo by the collar, yet inner peace still ruled over his mind. He was focused now; very focused. "By withholding such a heinous act of treason, you have equated yourself to the very criminals who committed the crime. You have failed this family by allowing them to get away. I would gladly see you be the headsman's morning appointment, but you are our only apothecary. You can repent such betrayal by telling my father what you saw. By God and all my family's power and influence in the Kingdom of Hungary, you will do this."

  "Y-yes, my Lord. I promise. I-I give you my word," the old man's voice sunk in submission. His body sagged even lower than his companion did. Zargo let his head fall into his hands with muted despair.

  Ladislaus released his strained grip and his eyes softened for a moment, remembering his first lucid thoughts, "You know, I heard everything. I heard you fretting over me as you applied all manner of poultices to me. Yes, that's right. I would have moments where I could hear what people were saying, and your comforting conversations with me helped preserve my sanity. I surely would have died, had you not tended to me with the care that you did."

  "I barely kept you alive," Zargo lifted his head up and faintly smiled, "Even I prayed and prayed you would return. I didn't want to leave your fate up to chance. Perhaps God smiled on my wishes that day and decided to spare you."

  There was a long wistful pause before Ladislaus answered. "Whether God's hand was engaged or not, it was your actions that spared me. It was not a deity who bandaged me, who fed me soft meals, who kept me hydrated, who changed my bedding and cleaned me…it was you."

  "We did have to come up with unconventional ways to accomplish those…" Zargo mused with a bitter laugh, "Your mother had a cow when she saw us feeding you with a glass tube down your throat to get to your stomach, God forbid you aspirate and choke on the sludge and die. You could hardly breathe on your own, much less be conscious to masticate food! Ha! And she thought that faith alone would bring you back. People need sustenance, woman." Mockery was well within his tone, but the noble could hardly blame him. "We men of science know it ultimately takes more than a prayer to bring someone back from the brink, and Death had a firm hand on your shoulder, boy."

  "And you helped me shrug it off, and for that I am forever in your debt," Ladislaus patted the aged man on the shoulder, "And, getting to the matter at hand, I will be in the room with you, affirming everything you say, if that helps."

  Zargo's demeanor lightened as life came back into his eyes, "Oh. That would take the world's weight off of my shoulders. Thank you."

  "For the man who saved my life, it is the least I can do," Ladislaus made his way to the door and paused, "Out of curiosity, where is the ledger that holds all accounts of the whereabouts of your books? We should confirm that both Lord Ulrichs were the culprits."

  Zargo slid off of the table, wobbling as he made his way across the room and to a drawer at his desk. Shuffling and ruffling through a few more papers, he smiled and brought out an incredibly dull-looking and unassuming small book that was tattered around the edges. Worn and inconspicuous, Ladislaus inwardly laughed; just like its owner…very clever.

  "Here," the apothecary set it on the round wooden table corresponding to his desk and flipped through the pages, stopping at two signatures and sidestepping out of the way when Ladislaus surged forward to the evidence.

  The noble perused the page with rapt interest, eyes scattering across each individuals' penmanship. To Zargo's fright, Ladislaus's face suddenly lowered into a glower.

  "It cannot be…"

  "What is it, my Lord?"

  Ladislaus forcefully unclenched his fists, blurting out in barely controlled rage, "This is the penmanship of Lord Rodriguez. I recognize it." He looked into Zargo's eyes with disbelief, repeating the name as if it would solidify in his mind, "Lord Rodriguez…"

  "Lord Rodriguez?" Zargo gasped in both disbelief and curiosity, "What would he want with my book?"

  This question breathed life into a new and treasonous idea Ladislaus hardly desired to ponder, but faced with the evidence and his observation, he had little choice. Wrapping his arms around each article, he charged out of the room to his advisor's chambers without closing the door, leaving it open much like leaving Zargo's eerie question unanswered.

  Smoothing out and covering the blood from his new tattered courier clothes, a small child-like figure clung to the shadows of the early evening light within the stronghold walls. His large eyes peered around every corner as he slinked down stairs and through corridors. Though his youthful face helped him in evading the guards' suspicion, he was anything but young. His mission was presented to him, and he would fulfill it.

  Finally approaching his destination, he sharpened up and walked with purpose to the two sentinels standing watch at a door.

  "Pardon, but my Lady Richard has received another letter from her father. I am here to deliver it."

  One guard motioned to take the letter, "I'll hand it to her promptly."

  The boy hesitated, "I'm sorry, but my orders from Lord Vincentislaus II were to hand it to her in person."

  Both men exchanged a glance of mistrust that the boy easily sensed, but he could not risk the guards investigating his lie.

  "Lord Vincentislaus II is currently in a meeting with his private war council. Should you interrupt now to question why he sent me, you will
not only incur the wrath of his Lordship, but that of Lady Richard as well," the boy stated outright in a bold bluff.

  The older of the two grunted in disapproval but nodded, letting the courier in.

  A waft of perfume and scented greenery accosted his nostrils as he saw flowers on a table in the middle of the room and candles lit to the right in the one window box that provided light. Richard sat agitated in her seat next to the tiny bed with her small hands folded neatly in her lap. Her eyes focused sharply at the boy and narrowed.

  "Where is my usual page and courier?" she snapped at him.

  He licked his lips, consciously trying to erase any evidence, "They had a run-in with some of the hounds returning from the warfront. I'm told their trained bites are…fatal."

  She groaned, "All too true. I do not know why Lord Vincentislaus has need of them. He insists on using every method possible that does not involve fighting with honor, the coward."

  He covered a smirk, "Perhaps it is because he does not have the men to fight honorably. Human fatality within a thinly united army is something to be avoided, no?"

  Richard's face morphed from hatred to understanding, to intrigue, "You don't speak as you look. Who are you?"

  He shrugged plainly, "A way out."

  Richard scoffed, gesturing to her surroundings, "By ALL means, sweep me away from my dungeon of punishment. Carry me out in your strong arms and we'll ride off into the sunset together."