“But you two have to be mental to do that,” Rowan said, throwing his hands in the air. “That Prince will be guarded! And using him as a diversion will get someone killed!”
“We clearly have something wrong with us as we are allowing four squires, not knights, to attempt this,” Laster replied scathingly. “I will be the one attempting the capture, while Ross sees to it that Will can get the Ranger out of his chambers. Niet, don’t leave Ross’s side. If the Ranger is weak, he’ll need your assistance in getting away.
Once we are in the courtyard, Ross or I will take the Prince on our horses and scatter in the other direction out of the gate. When we make to escape, we will take our horses from the castle and cut south and west, back toward Alamore. When you break, go north and west with the Ranger. They’ll have to divide, and they won’t be expecting that necessity.”
Will bit down on the inside of his cheek, frowning at the forest floor, brow furrowed. It felt wrong, as though they were sinking to Thornten’s levels, to attempt the capture of a Prince. What did he have to do with any of this? He was new to Thornten’s castles, sent away as a child. He couldn’t be much older than Will himself and they were going to drag him from the castle with a knife at his throat.
A hand settled on his shoulder and Will lifted his gaze to find that Ross was looking down at him, the ice melting from his eyes. “We won’t allow anything to happen to him, Will. It’s to escape.”
“It feels dishonest somehow,” Colin said, voicing Will’s feelings.
“Dishonest?” Rowan gawked at him. “How the blazes is that dishonest? It’s Marl and Tollien who landed us in this mess, them and their little Cutthroats. I think it’s brilliant. I get not liking the Inanimus, but taking the Prince?”
“Yeah, but the Prince, doesn’t have anything to do with this. It’s not his fault that all of this is happening, so why should he be drug into it?” Will insisted.
He let the words hang a moment, noticing Ross’s brow furrow and broke his gaze quickly from the knight. He had voiced his feelings, not just about the Prince of Thornten, but himself. It felt as if they were throwing this unknown Prince into the same position he was in; they were using him, after him, only because of his blood.
“It’s either we do this to escape, or we let them kill the Ranger.” Laster sneered. “You get to pick which evil seems the worse of the two, boy.”
Will nodded. They were right. Leaving the Ranger wasn’t an option. “Fine.”
“Very well.” Ross sighed, running a hand over his jaw. “We will get dressed to ride out then. Again, to avoid the attention, we’ll break into groups. Will, Niet, you mentioned you have Inanimus? See to it that Laster has some of that before we split ways. When you, Will, and me go in, we’ll be wearing Kelkor colors to keep attention off of us. Laster, you’re in charge of-”
“I know,” Laster snapped, scowling. “I’m in charge of your squire and the brat.”
“You let anything happen to either of them and Rockwood and I will see to it you suffer,” Ross warned.
“Would I let something happen to them?” Laster demanded. “Their biggest worry is that I might do something to them myself.”
They packed their camp in silence, the excitement and worry churning in each of them as they scattered the burned wood in the mud, kicked branches over the flat earth where they had slept. In the east, the sun’s light was rising behind the castle, throwing a dark shadow across the city and the hillside. Will couldn’t help but feel that shadow was Marl standing over them, ready to strike, to kill.
***
“Stick close,” Ross snapped as again, Will had to steer Admere sideways to avoid the rattling wheel of a cart. The red horse reached his nose out with interest to sniff the man seated in the cart and Will tightened his reins.
“He’s curious,” Will said, half apologetically.
“He’s a young horse,” Ross growled. “They are either curious or terrified, and I prefer the ones intelligent enough to be inquisitive.”
Will couldn’t argue with that as Niet was having a harder time with his palomino. The horse was prancing, arching his neck, as though the excitement and chatter around them were contagious.
Not that Niet seemed to notice. Will had seen him reach to his side several times to rest his fingers over the bundle of cloaks that Will knew concealed his bow and arrow. Ross’s black and white paint moved through the crowd with his ears pinned, baring his teeth at the few foolish vendors who had tried to slow their party. If the horse wasn’t enough to make the salesmen slink back, Ross’s face, shrouded by the shadow of his cowl, certainly was.
Will turned his eyes upwards, craning his head to see the castle towers rising above them with each stride. This was the nearest he had ever been to Thornten’s wall and the fortress, built of solid dark stones. It was stranger and more threatening than before. Ahead, the crowds were pressing tight to squeeze over the bridge that spanned between the city edge and the castle wall.
“Try to not ride too near the edge,” Ross recommended.
“How come?” Will asked, craning to see the edges of the bridge.
Ross chuckled darkly. “A fall from there will break your bones, if that is, you’re lucky. It’s a thirty-foot ditch with stone at the bottom, not a moat.”
On that note, Will stopped trying to see over the sides of the bridge, steering Admere to press nearer to Ross’s large horse and keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead. This was seeming more impossible by the moment.
The stones of the bridge clicked under the horses’ shoes, and Will had to focus all of his energy not to try to peer over the low walls of the bridge, to the drop below. Instead, he tried to see the gates ahead. Immediately he wished he’d chosen to stare at the drop instead. Standing on either side of the gates, grey hoods drawn, were more Cutthroats.
Next to him, Niet swore under his breath. Ross on the other hand merely glowered forward, an almost defiant tilt to his lifted chin. “Don’t look at them long and they won’t notice you. Will, keep your head low. Niet, wash your mouth out.”
Will ducked his face, as much to hide his silent laughter at the affronted expression Niet wore, as to conceal his features. To his relief, the two Cutthroats standing at the gates seemed unfamiliar. Neither had the beady eyes of Draccart nor the haughty mannerisms of The Cutthroat Prince himself.
As they approached the gates, Niet held up a hand, muttering something in Kelkorian and the two Cutthroats nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, Will noticed one of them sneer and spit on the ground in front of Niet’s horse. Niet’s jaw tightened but Will was glad to see he didn’t reach for his sword.
In the courtyard, Will couldn’t help but gape at his surroundings. Where Alamore’s front courtyard was reserved namely for the barn, soldier barracks, and gatehouse, this courtyard was massive. Ahead he could see what was clearly the jousting arena to one side, flanked by two smaller barns and, to the other, a fountain where water poured from the beak of a diving falcon. The gurgle of the water was drown though by the people. So many people. Will twisted in his saddle, seeing if he could glimpse Rowan, Colin, and Laster. It was impossible. Horses of all colors were clustered at hitching rails, ridden by soldiers and Cutthroats.
“Sickening,” Ross huffed.
Will didn’t understand at first but, turning his attention from the fountain, he saw it. There, at the back end of the jousting arena, hidden from his view at first by the nearer of the two barns, was the stage. Three throne-like chairs had been set upon it while to the front, centered for all to see, was a solid dark block of highly polished wood, decorated with ornate gold engravings. Will didn’t understand at first, then comprehension made him want to be sick. That was where they would kill the Ranger, where anyone could see it.
“People really gather to see this?” Will asked, turning to take in the crowds.
“Yes,” Ross growled. “They will have traveled for days when they heard the news that the traitor Prince is to die here. It’s not ever
y day you see a man kill his own brother, let alone a King kill his brother the Prince.”
“What did the Ranger do here to make so many people hate him?” Niet asked, raising his brows.
“They don’t hate him,” Ross said, laughing hoarsely. “They love a scene. There are many who aren’t here because they think it wrong to kill the youngest son of the late King. There are those who even sympathize for the Ranger.”
“So, others might help?” Will asked hopefully.
“No.” Ross shook his head, face darkening. “They won’t help. They might not agree with the death of the Ranger but that doesn’t mean that they value his life more than their own.”
“We should get to the castle,” Niet hissed, pulling their attention from the grisly sight. “We can’t risk going too late or we’ll have the extra guards to contend with.”
“Right.” Ross nodded, swinging from his horse, and reaching into the bundle of cloaks. Will couldn’t help but be impressed with how the knight moved the sword from its hiding place on the horse into the fold of his cloak in a fluid motion that seemed as natural as breathing. It was more of a struggle for Will when he dismounted to extricate the traitor soldier’s blade from his saddle and even more problematic to hide it in his cloak.
Once he finally had managed it, he straightened to find the other two were waiting on him. Niet was barely suppressing a wolfish smirk, which Will tried to ignore.
“We’ll tie our horses here,” Ross growled, jerking his head toward the nearest rail. “Laster will move my horse when we’re out of sight to where he needs to be, Rowan and Colin will collect your two. For speed, make sure that you get on Niet’s horse with him, Will. The Ranger can get Admere out of here, that horse will look after him. Then, Will, you’re getting on a horse with Rowan as he’s the smallest and Naja’s big enough to handle you both at speed.”
“I know,” Will mumbled. How many times had they gone over the plan and Ross still felt it necessary to tell them again? Still, it was better than the brooding attitude the knight had had that morning.
No soldiers tried to stop them, not bothering to notice them more than to throw sneers at the three people in Kelkor cloaks of sea green. Twice more guards spat in their direction and Will couldn’t help wondering how the Kelkor soldiers that were truly there with Marl hadn’t snapped and started fighting. If they were anything like short tempered Serena, that was a miracle. Each time someone sidestepped and whispered about them to a companion, Will could see Niet’s fingers tighten over the handle of the bow he carried now at his side.
It was too simple, Will knew. Too simple that they were able to stride between guards that flanked tall double doors, carved with a bronze falcon on each, and stride into the open air of a grand entry hall. Will tried to not let his attention wander, half jogging to keep up with Ross and Niet. Niet seemed just as in awe as he did but Ross, his face set and eyes blazing, didn’t even pause to take in their surroundings. Instead, he led them to the stairs that rose to the left of the hall, taking them two at a time, Will and Niet scrambling to keep up.
At the top, Ross led them through the second door on the landing, into a narrow passage. They passed through door after door, twisting and turning through corridors in a spiderweb that Will quickly lost track of. Left, left, right, another left, up a flight of steps here, pause to glance around them there, down passage after passage until they were pushing through another door, one that looked ancient, forgotten in its frame, the hinges groaning when Ross shoved his shoulder into it.
Cool air rushed over their faces and Will gulped in the freeing relief of escaping the castle as they stepped onto what seemed to be a narrow balcony, with two other doors leading off of it.
“This is above his chamber,” Ross said, turning to Will and Niet and pulling his hood from his face. “Now, how do we do this?”
“Hold up, I’ll get us set on the rope. You help Will make sure he’s ready,” said Niet, dropping the bag from his shoulder and kneeling on the ground as he began to rummage through. Will glanced toward the edge of the balcony and his stomach churned.
“You going to be okay doing this?”
Will turned to see Ross was watching him with a worried look in his dark eyes, brow furrowed. He nodded, trying to make himself seem more assured than he was. “As Niet said, I’ve already done it before in a way. This won’t be bad.”
Ross grunted, clearly unconvinced, but seemed to decide it worthless to press the point. “Sword attached right?”
“I think so,” Will said, checking the buckle on the sheath again.
“Do you have the lockpicks?”
Will pressed a hand to his chest, where he could feel the small leather pouch of tools pressing into his skin. “Got it.”
“Right then, just take it slow with those. It’ll be a simple enough lock on manacles. If we’re lucky, he’s just tied up. You get in there and make sure you and the Ranger can get out fast, is that understood? Soon as you are in, Niet and I will start counting. If you’re longer than ten minutes, we’re coming to find you.”
“I know.”
“Good. Niet, how’s the rope coming along?”
“I’ve got it ready now,” Niet said, testing the knots again as he stood, surveying his handy work. “We just need to lower him and soon as you tug on that rope, we’ll start pulling up the Ranger then you.”
“Great,” Will said and winced at the squeak in his voice. The prospect of lowering down the side of an enemy castle floors above stone cobbles, in broad daylight, made him regret the meager breakfast he’d eaten. It might very well fall on a passerby.
“Let’s get a move on,” Ross ordered, clapping his hands together. “We haven’t all day.”
They did so, Will sliding into the rope harness and standing stalk still as Niet adjusted ropes and triple checked his knots. His nod of approval felt more of a death sentence, but Will turned away, hoping Ross wouldn’t see his face and order a stop to their plan.
Moving to the wall, the air rushed from his lungs. Dizzying distance fell beneath him, empty space that swallowed his heart. The climb to the sickroom felt like child’s play compared to this drop.
Niet’s hand gripped his shoulder in a bracing way, the wind whipping around them. “Should be a memorable event, eh?”
“Yeah, you could call it that,” Will said, laughing hoarsely. “Memorable, deadly, what’s the difference?”
Feeling Ross’s uncertainty was the drive he needed to place both hands on the wall and lift himself, so his legs dangled over the drop. The rope around him tightened, Niet and Ross stepping into position, ready to lower him the four floors to the Ranger’s window.
Taking another deep breath, Will closed his eyes and turned, pushing himself backwards down the wall. He didn’t open his eyes again until he could feel the rope clinging behind his legs and against his back, a presence that told him he wasn’t falling to crash onto the cobbles. At least, not yet.
He stared at the dark stone in front of him, reminding himself not to look down and kicked off the stone again. The rope lowered several feet. Again, and again, he kicked off the wall, forcing himself to stare straight ahead, both hands gripping the rope in front of him, until he was passing a set of windows, then another, then a third set.
The next one. He would need to be going through the next one. He reached out his fingers soon as he saw the window rushing up to greet him and grabbed the sill. The rope jerked, stopping suddenly and twisting, turning him so that for a moment he faced the open drop. He swallowed his scream and waited for his weight to turn back to the narrow window, peering inside.
He was looking into what seemed to be a grand bed chamber. From what he could see from his vantage, the room was empty, no fire burning in the hearth, the foot of an untouched bed, dust collecting across an ornate rug.
Grabbing the windowsill more firmly this time, he pulled himself through, swearing under his breath as he struggled to get the sword hilt through the opening, before lowe
ring himself to the floor as silently as he could. Holding his breath, he moved to slip the rope from his body and, relieved for the solid floor under his boots. As soon as he’d stepped from the rope, he let it drop to the rug with a dull thud and turned, taking in his surroundings.
As it had seemed on the outside, he was in a bedroom though now that he stood in it, he wasn’t sure grand was the right word. It seemed forgotten. The grey bedding with gold threads was faded, a layer of dust resting over the pillows and floors. Across from the bed, the wardrobe was wide open, the rail inside of it torn at an angle, clothing heaped on the floor around it as though someone had cleared it as best, they could in a hurry. Grime clung to a mirror on one wall, making Will’s reflection seem more ghost than human.
Two doors led from the room. The one to his left was ajar, revealing a once fine bathing chamber with stone floors and a copper wash basin while the other door, in the wall in front of him, was closed.
He crossed the room and reached for the sealed door, heart rattling in his mouth. As his fingers closed on it, ready to rip it open, a voice seemed to whisper in his own head. “Don’t be an idiot, boy.” What would the Ranger say if he ever found out that Will had been so careless as to barge into an unknown room in Thornten? For all he knew, Marl might be in there. He stopped, leaning forward, his ears straining to hear.
At first, he could hear nothing but, pressing his ear tighter to the door, he froze. There. The rasp of breath. Someone in pain. That might be the Ranger. He gripped the door handle tighter. If they had hurt the Ranger, if they had done something terrible to him…what if he couldn’t stand or was delirious and didn’t recognize Will? Why hadn’t he thought of these things before agreeing this was a good idea? Stupid!
The click boots over wood floor made Will stiffen. Someone was walking across the room beyond. The footfalls stopped and there was a thud followed by a grunt of pain.
“Sorry to rouse you.”
Will froze, recognizing the sneering voice and felt anger flare to mingle with the panic.
The Cutthroat Prince (William of Alamore Series Book 2) Page 39