by Robin Hardy
Impatiently, he drew out a key ring from his belt and unlocked her hands and feet, tossing the chains aside. He threw her up against the rock to kiss her roughly. She struggled, twisted, and scratched, but was no match for him in strength.
Suddenly he yelled and jerked away, grabbing at his pants. As he hopped about, screaming and slapping, Deirdre saw a bulge in the back of his trouser leg. The seriously injured rat had found its way up his leg to vent its rage of pain.
Deirdre leapt to the sconce and seized the torch. When the guard lunged after her, she slammed the torch down on his head. She tore the key ring from his belt, rushed out the door, heaved it shut and bolted it.
She paused in the corridor to grip the torch tighter, shutting the guard’s cries out of her ears. Then she rushed down the passage where she had seen Kam and Colin taken. She ran from door to door, calling their names in a raspy whisper.
A low groan answered her from one cell. She unbolted its door and wrenched it open. But a strange man came out, staring dazedly at her. Hardly hesitating, she drew him after her, whispering, “There are others I must find. Come quickly.”
Thin and hollow-eyed, he took her arm. “My wife and daughter are here somewhere,” he croaked.
“We’ll find them also,” she said, swiftly moving to the next door. She held the torch to the slats and saw Kam’s head bounce up.
Deirdre opened the door for him to stumble out. “Surchataine—!” he began, but startled at the sight of the prisoner behind her.
As she unfastened Kam’s manacles, she quickly explained, “We’re cleaning out the dungeon.” The stranger kept a slight distance from them, as if uncertain whether he should go at all. He then evidently decided he should, but did not draw close enough to hear their whispered conversations.
They found Colin a few doors down. When she freed him, he grinned, “I knew Roman was justified in bringing you.”
They peered through every door of that tunnel for the man’s wife and daughter, but they were not there. Deirdre began to fear that she would not find them, and looking for them was eating up precious time. But the haunted look in the stranger’s eyes shut her mouth to suggesting they not bother.
Back at the intersection of tunnels, Kam anxiously whispered, “Where is the Surchatain?”
“He and Nihl were taken this way,” she said, turning confidently down a passage. But the first cell they opened held a woman. “Mara!” the man rasped, embracing the pale, fragile woman. She twisted in surprise at the newcomers around her. She wore no fetters, as neither had the man.
Deirdre quizzed her, “Where is your daughter? Do you know?”
“Down this way,” she whispered. Before she could say more, the man pressed her face in his shoulder.
The next two cells in the direction Mara had indicated were empty, but the third held Nihl. He stepped out as if he had been expecting them. “Deirdre the Liberator,” he murmured, watching her take off his chains. “Will you always be freeing me?” She grinned up at him and he said, “We must get the Surchatain. He is not in one of these.” He paused to assess the strangers behind Colin, then stalked straight down the passage without the torch, stooping as the roof dropped.
Following, Deirdre stopped at every door to peek through the slats. At one she halted and threw back the door bolt to release a girl a few years younger than herself. The girl looked so astonished to see them that she did not seem inclined to come out until her father reached in and took her. She wore no fetters either.
From there, they cautiously trod through the shrinking passage until they found Nihl at the end, standing over the open trap door. “We need rope,” he said. “We cannot get him out without rope.”
“Roman!” Deirdre gasped, falling on her knees to look into the hole. “Are you down there?” The torch showed him far down at the slimy bottom, shading his eyes as he looked up. “We’re going to get rope to get you out!” she shouted.
“Deirdre!” he exclaimed, weak with relief. “Thank God! Get Nihl. Nihl!” His voice echoed up the pit.
“Surchatain,” Nihl answered, leaning over Deirdre.
“Nihl, I command you to get the others out of this palace immediately. You must not waste time trying to free me. I order you to get them out now!”
“Roman, no!” Deirdre cried as Nihl straightened. “No, we won’t leave you,” she insisted. The Commander took her arm to draw her away as he let the trap door down. “Nihl, no! How could you?” she wept, beating on him. “I order you to get him out!”
As Nihl gazed at her in the wavering torchlight, she could see the agony in his eyes. “I cannot, Surchataine. His order supersedes yours. He knows what he is doing.”
“No,” Deirdre shuddered, clinging to Nihl. “I beg you not to leave him down there. I beg you.”
Nihl took the torch and held her in his other arm, turning to lead them out of the passage. Kam coughed repeatedly and Colin brushed tears from his face, but they retreated from the pit, the rescued family mutely following.
At the intersection of passages they stopped, facing the stairway. Nihl mused, “Somehow, we must get past that door, and—”
“No,” the man said hoarsely. “There is another way. Come with me.”
With no time to spare for debate, they followed as he led them down a wide passageway extending straight out from the stairs. They trooped through this tunnel for several hundred feet, passing intersections and branches. Always the stranger bore to the right.
They came to an apparent end. In the face of the wall before them was a small shuttered door four feet off the ground. The man opened it to reveal a square crawlspace which inclined upward.
He explained to Nihl, “This tunnel leads to a hidden entrance just outside the palace walls. It may be blocked up; it most certainly is watched. But there is no other way we can escape.”
“I will go first,” Nihl said, “the Surchataine behind me.” Deirdre, numb and pale, shifted her blank eyes to him. “Colin, follow her, then you three, and Kam in the rear.” The others lined up as Nihl lowered the torch to the dirt floor and snuffed it out.
Deirdre felt him climb into the hole, then Colin nudged her. With a last moan for Roman, she put up her knees to climb after Nihl. Colin came close behind.
They edged up through the narrow shaft like a column of ants. Clutching handfuls of dirt, they climbed on hands and knees up the sixty-degree incline. Deirdre brushed the side of the shaft and felt a support beam, dangerously splintered from the weight it held. If their way was blocked ahead, the confines of the tunnel made it nearly impossible to back up or turn around. She was assailed by a mocking certainty that they would perish in the escape Roman had ordered.
Farther up the shaft, the air deadened so that they began to gasp for breath. Deirdre felt perspiration trickling down the side of her face. The blackness around her was so dense that she doubted if light alone would ever restore her vision. Once or twice she stopped, unable to move a knee forward. But each time Colin would query, “Deirdre?” and Nihl would reach back to take her hand and pull her along until she would go on her own.
At last Deirdre succumbed to the airless blackness and collapsed. But then the tiniest waft of cool air reached her face. Nihl dragged her up a few more feet where the draft grew stronger. She raised her bobbing head and got up on watery knees.
Nihl stopped, panting. “There is a door here.” He tested it. “It is locked on the other side.”
“Of course,” Deirdre murmured. “We’re trapped. We will die here.”
Nihl did not hear her, or did not respond. He was twisting, attempting to turn around in the narrow tunnel. “Back up,” he grunted.
“What are you doing?” she asked. Rather than answer, somehow he did it. He reversed his position and now lay on his back with his feet against the door. He curled up, placed his arms against the sides of the shaft and directed over his shoulder, “Colin, brace my back.” Colin squeezed up next to Deirdre and they both leaned against Nihl’s solid shoulder
s.
He drew his knees back to his chest, then rammed his heels into the door. It broke open with a resounding crash. Nihl rolled out, braced to fight.
No one was there. Nihl spun around, making sure. He stood in a small dry stream bed thirty feet outside the palace walls. The forest was just a step farther. Deirdre began to climb out of the tunnel mouth, but Nihl motioned her to lie where she was.
Crouching to conceal himself, he surveyed the wall to see if any lookouts had detected the disruption in the night. His eyes moved from bartizan to casern window to tower, but he could discern no movement from these sentry posts.
Surprised but satisfied that their escape had gone unnoticed, Nihl bent to lift Deirdre out of the hole into the fresh night air. As the others came out, Nihl studied the entrance. No wonder the Bloods had not bothered to guard it—it was incredibly well camouflaged. Those exiting the tunnel appeared to be springing up out of solid earth.
When Kam was out, Nihl shut the door, removing the broken, rusty lock. They rearranged the brush over the hole so that it sank back to invisibility. Then they ran for the trees.
In the pit, Roman crouched, breathlessly staring straight ahead. Suddenly he relaxed and breathed, “They’re out. Thank you, Father. Thank you.” Then he dropped his head and wept.
Chapter 6
The scouting party, now numbering seven, stopped in the murky forest to collect themselves. Deirdre grasped the arm of the man who had led them out of the labyrinth. “Who are you? Where do you live?” She could see only his shadowy figure.
He answered, “I am Graydon. Does the name mean anything to you?”
She shook her head, responding, “No.”
“I am the brother of the man who sits on the throne and calls himself Tremelaine.”
Deirdre did not reply for astonishment. He continued, “These with me are my wife Mara and my daughter Magdel. What we have to tell you would keep us here till morning, and I must first show you how to escape. Come.” He took a step, gesturing.
But Deirdre put a hand on Nihl’s shoulder, close beside her, and whispered, “What do you think?”
He paused a beat, then said, “We should see what he has to show us.”
Deirdre told Graydon, “We will see what you have to show us.”
“Then come,” he urged, agitated.
They followed him through the black trees. Deirdre, still shaking, held on to Nihl with her left hand and Colin with her right, wondering now why she had so stubbornly demanded to come on this trip.
When they emerged from the forest they stayed near the trees, which sheltered them from the revealing moonlight. Fifty yards ahead was the city wall, guards patrolling atop it. “We’re still within the wall?” Deirdre murmured, confused.
“Yes,” whispered Graydon. “These woods are the Surchatain’s hunting grounds. Getting out of the city will be difficult, but it can be done. Straight ahead, where the moon shadow of the tallest tree points to the wall, there is a hidden breach at the base of the wall. You must slip through one at a time as the guards pass each other directly overhead—they cannot see you then. Outside, the shadow of the wall will hide you as you move along it, out of sight. Go quickly now.”
“No,” Nihl said bluntly, and Graydon became very still. “We will not leave Corona without the Surchatain. I have fulfilled his command, but now we must rescue him,” Nihl said. Deirdre gratefully squeezed his hand.
“I thought I heard you use that title in the dungeon. What province are you from?” frowned Graydon.
“Lystra,” answered Deirdre.
“Then the one in the pit is Surchatain Roman?” Graydon exclaimed.
“Yes,” Deirdre said uneasily.
“Oh, woe, woe,” moaned Graydon. “What Tremelaine will do to him is unspeakable!”
Deirdre swayed on her feet. Nihl put his arm around her and said, “I do not believe Tremelaine knows he is the Surchatain.”
“No?” queried Graydon. “Perhaps there is hope, then. If you will not leave without him, we must find a place for you to stay—and I think I know where—with others who are in danger from Tremelaine. Then we can get you all out of the city at once. Come now.” He took a path along the edge of the trees back to the heart of the city, the Lystrans following warily.
They wove down into the city streets, skulking in the shadows of the buildings as they watched for Bloods. Graydon took them down a side street and stopped at the rear door of a shop. He knocked a tattoo on the door. After a few moments, Deirdre heard a slight rustle within. Patiently, Graydon knocked again.
A peephole in the door slid open, then a muffled exclamation was heard. A scraping bolt was drawn back and the door opened. The seven slipped inside.
“Lord Graydon!” whispered a man holding a candle. “I had thought never to see you again! And Mara—Magdel—” he greeted them urgently. “Who are these?” he asked in some alarm, lifting the candle. Deirdre noted he was dressed like a tailor, though rumpled, as if he had dressed in haste. He was a slight, wispy man with a scared expression she soon accepted as habitual.
“Orvis,” Graydon said wearily, “we need a hiding place. Go ask Vida to bring meat and drink.” Graydon was moving over to a table, which he lifted and set aside with Nihl’s help. After tossing a floor covering to one side, Graydon bent to pry up a trap door in the wooden planking. As he swung down to a ladder, Orvis handed him another candle. The others descended after him.
Below, the party found themselves in a fifteen-by-twenty-foot food cellar, lined with shelves holding stone jars and stuffed gunnysacks. As Graydon sat right down on the floor, the Lystrans did also.
The ladder creaked as down it came a beefy woman in nightdress and bonnet. “It is you, my lord!” she gasped. Graydon jumped up and spoke in her ear. She nodded, glancing sidelong at the Lystrans. From above, Orvis handed down to her a basket with victuals and a jug. “Mara! You look starved!” Vida declared, setting the basket in front of her. Mara smiled gratefully as she reached for the bread.
Orvis joined them, tentatively eyeing the scouting party while they passed the basket and helped themselves from other jars in the cellar. Graydon swallowed his mouthful and said, “Orvis—Vida—these good people freed us from prison. They come from Lystra, though why I do not know.”
With bread in one hand and a jar of jam in the other, Deirdre said, “I am Surchataine Deirdre. This is Commander Nihl, the Second Kam, and Captain Colin. My husband, Surchatain Roman, remains in that prison. He came in response to a plea from Polontis to quash the threat your new ruler is becoming.” Orvis and Vida stared open-mouthed. “Now tell me what he has been doing to this city,” demanded Deirdre.
Graydon sighed as if wondering where to begin. “Polontis has reason to be concerned. Tremelaine is fashioning Corona into a war state. His goal is the unification of the Continent under himself, and I fear he will accomplish it.”
“How can he, by gathering an army from Corona?” Nihl asked incredulously. “There are not nearly enough fighting men.”
Graydon shook his head. “He does not need many men. He has other re-sources.” At Nihl’s plainly skeptical look, Graydon explained, “He has learned to tap the powers of the beyond.”
There was a chilly silence. “You mean, he is a sorcerer,” said Deirdre.
“Of the most dreaded and powerful kind. Even I could not stop him,” Graydon said heavily.
Deirdre’s eyes widened and she and Nihl glanced at each other. “Are you a sorcerer?” she asked warily.
“I was,” Graydon answered, “but am not now, nor had I always been. Up until nine months ago, Galen—that was his name before he changed it—Galen and I ran a glassblowing shop here in Corona. Then one evening he came in with an old book he had found lying in the street. It was full of interesting little spells and runes. We tried one or two at the beginning of the book—simple love potions and rainmaking, that’s all—but how surprised we were to discover that they worked!
“At once, it became a contes
t between us to see who could work the stronger spells. It was—how can I describe the feeling of power? To know secret things, to have wonderful visions and sensations pouring through my body—to grow stronger and stronger and feel that nothing was beyond me—” he cut short, speechless in rapture, then saw that his audience was gaping at him.
Remembering himself, he continued in a more subdued manner, “We progressed rapidly through the book, learning to inflict diseases on our enemies, make objects move of their own, and even conjure up the dead. That is how Galen met and grew enamored of Tremaine, whom he emulates, as you must have noticed.
“There was one last spell that eluded us, however: how to make the powers of darkness obey our command. That is where the real power lies. We both knew it. We wrestled continually to gain mastery of it before the other.
“Galen gained it first—I still do not know how. But one day he walked triumphantly into my house and commanded, ‘Take him up and show him who is lord!’ I felt myself thrown up into the air and bounced like a puppet on strings. From that moment on, not even the smallest spell had any power on my lips.
“Then, he swiftly took control of Corona and changed his name. He seized me and my family and put us into prison to play with as he wished. But he concentrated on gathering an army with the help of the dark powers. Once he is ready, I assure you no power on earth will be able to withstand him.”
Here Graydon paused, considering something that had just occurred to him. “Recently, though, he has been agitated. He knows that somehow the Surchatain of Lystra is a threat to him. But now, with your ruler in his grasp, Tremelaine will do away with him and progress to his goal.”
Kam interjected, “You don’t know Roman. He was sent by God to get rid of this madman, and he goes in the power of the Almighty.”
Graydon bit his lip. “The last I saw of your Surchatain, he was helplessly trapped in the pit of the dungeon.”
This no one could argue. After a disheartened silence, Deirdre asked, “What is Tremelaine doing to the people here? What is the meaning of the symbols on the shopfronts?” Roman was not the only one who had noticed them.