by Max Irons
Iven rolled his eyes. “You could have just said that.”
Galeron tuned out Lonni and Iven’s bickering and closed his eyes. There had to be a way. Carys’s murder had perplexed everyone because there was only one way in or out of her room: the front door. The same still held true if a man wanted to be stealthy. Entry by the fourth floor wasn’t an option, not with Bolthor’s men watching the doors. If a man didn’t care about stealth, only surprise, how else could he do it?
Secret passageways were unlikely. Those only existed, for the most part, in stories where the bard had talked himself into a corner. Disguises would do no good and take too long. What was his other option? There had to be one.
Galeron opened his eyes and glanced about the corridors. This wasn’t a fortress. It was designed to be a home first, a defensive position second. Homes could be broken into. He turned to the door of the bedchamber and pushed it open. It was empty, save for the skeleton of a four-poster bed. A window on the far side glowed with faint pink.
Sunrise was coming.
Galeron approached the window. Through clear glass, he could see torches lighting a road down below and streaks of pink and blue above. It was also wide enough for a man to fit through.
Madness or brilliance?
His stomach churning, Galeron walked back to Queen Tulia.
“If Carys’s chambers are right below us, does that mean her window is, too?” he asked.
Tulia frowned. “Yes. Why?”
A half-smile emerged. “We’re going to need three long ropes, some really thick and wooden or iron poles, and a couple of your strongest soldiers.”
“Galeron, what are you doing?” asked Lonni, hands on her hips.
Iven grinned. “It’s madness, and I love it!”
Tulia spoke with the legionaries, and one of them departed in a rush. “I take it you have found a solution?”
Galeron scratched his head. “I’m not sure how well it’s going to work.”
“Better than nothing,” said Iven. He put a hand over his stomach. “We’re really high up, aren’t we?”
“Undoubtedly,” Galeron said.
“How far is it to the bottom?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Not so much.”
Lonni frowned. “If we’re climbing on ropes, how are we getting into the floor below? The windows don’t have hinges, do they?”
Galeron shook his head. “No. I’m swinging first and breaking through.”
“On an injured knee?” she asked.
“I’m the only one in armor,” Galeron said. “You and Iven would be cut to shreds.”
“I-I suppose that makes sense,” Lonni said. “I don’t like it.”
The legionaries returned with more of their number, coils of rope, and iron bars. They gathered in the empty bedchamber, and Galeron shattered the window glass with his sword’s pommel. He swept at the edges, clearing away toothy shards, and took a deep breath.
“What are we doing?” asked one of the legionaries.
Galeron pointed to the bars. “We’re tying the ropes to the bars and climbing down to the window below. I need you to keep this anchored and pull us back up if we need it.”
They set to work, twisting ropes and securing them at evenly spaced intervals on the bar.
“Won’t Bolthor and the others notice us outside their window?” asked Lonni.
“I’m hoping they won’t,” said Galeron.
“If they’ve got sense, they’d be watching the door,” said Iven. “There’s no reason for them to be staring out the window.”
One of the legionaries looked at his companions. “Lack of planning,” he mumbled.
“Do you have a better idea?” asked Iven. “Do you do this all the time?”
The legionary bowed his head. “Of course not.”
“Pity,” Iven said. “We could’ve used the advice.”
Galeron checked his knot and swallowed. Tight enough, and the knot was as big as his fist. It wasn’t going anywhere. He turned back to Lonni and Iven.
“The window’s only big enough for one at a time,” he said. “Lonni, once I’ve broken the glass, start climbing.”
Iven frowned. “I’m coming after you, not her. She has no experience in a fight, no—”
“Excuse me? Who saved your neck at Tearlach?” asked Lonni.
Galeron sighed. “She has to go after me. They have mages. We need firelocks. Lonni goes second.”
Iven scowled at him. “My sisters are down there.”
“I know, and you’ll get to them,” Galeron said. “Be patient, and stop stealing my look.”
Iven’s mouth quivered as he suppressed a laugh. “Over the edge, then.”
#
Galeron had never been more grateful for his gloves. The rope’s coarse fibers dug into his exposed fingers as he descended the side of the palace, but the leather wrappings kept his palms safe. He stared at the wall, walking himself down one backwards step at a time, determined to ignore the legionaries staring at him from above and the great drop below. Heights were Iven’s greatest fear, but Galeron didn’t like them either.
Muscles shook in his arms. The amorin masked some of the pain, but a burning sensation seeped through. He walked his hands down the rope, grip iron-clad each. Nerve-straining to think that his life rested on the strength of one hand at a time. How much further? The ceilings weren’t that high in the palace living chambers, and Iven’s sisters lay only one floor below. Surely, he was almost there.
He took his next step, and a lightning bolt of agony ripped through his knee. His leg buckled, and he slammed against the wall with a dull thud. His fingers slipped on the rope, and he dropped. Galeron scrabbled for the rope and wrapped it around his other hand, braking to a bone-jarring stop. His shoulder lurched and twisted. Galeron dangled by one hand over empty air. Enough light seeped over the horizon to illuminate the ground.
His vision spun, and a lightheaded sensation swept over him.
That was a long way down.
Galeron shuddered and shut his eyes, but that only made it worse. The dizziness increased, and he opened his eyes again. As he twisted, he spotted the vague outline of a window inlet just below him. Almost there.
He took a deep breath, held it for a few moments, and then exhaled. Had to focus. He repeated the process several times until the dizziness faded. It’s almost over.
Galeron reached his other hand up and took hold of the rope. He pulled his feet back under him, abdomen quivering with the strain. His knee still ached, but the intensity died down with each passing moment. Had to finish, and fast. Once the amorin wore off, he’d be useless. Walking himself down slowly, Galeron stopped when a boot heel tilted into emptiness. There was the window.
Here came the most difficult part. He had to jump out, slide down, and swing forward to crash through. All without getting cut to shreds or falling to my death. Simple.
It could be done. It would be done.
Galeron unwrapped his arm from the rope, gripping it with just his hands, and bent his knees. Loose grip, then tighten fast. He’d done it before, though his days in the Njal Mountains felt like someone else’s life. His muscles would remember. They had to.
He jumped. A swooping sensation tried to pull his stomach through his navel, and the rope slid through his hands. Wait. Wait. His hands latched onto the rope. Descent stopped, and he swung forward. Galeron pulled his legs up, angling his heels at the window.
Impact. A sharp pain up both legs. His vision spun. Metal clattered on stone, women screamed, and Dianna’s face flashed before his eyes as he was jerked to his feet.
Galeron lashed out, and his elbow connected with something solid. A man yelled, and Galeron whipped around, black sword leaping from its sheathe. His blade collided with an upraised arm ending in a stump. A mangled face, riddled with old scars and shaved to stubble, leered at him from black robes.
“I was waiting for you to arrive,” he growled.
Ty
pical. He’d been hoping for Teuthras. At least swords worked on him.
“You’ve gotten uglier since I last saw you,” Galeron said, angling his blade to keep him at bay.
“I’m going to enjoy this,” he said. “No damsel to save you this time.”
Galeron swept the room. No one else but them and the Porter sisters. Good. The door was still closed, but that wouldn’t last too much longer. Someone would have heard the crash.
Concentration. The key to disrupting an earth mage, but how to do it? Lonni would arrive soon, but it would take her longer. She didn’t have any experience with rope climbing.
Galeron kicked out and drove the earth mage back. He stumbled, but regained his balance. Interesting. He could stand up to a sword strike, but not a kick. Could his invulnerability have something to do with—
He dodged a fist and circled around him. Why would that be? How could he easily ignore a blade but not something so basic as a kick? Galeron blocked another strike with his sword, stepping back as he did so. What was the secret behind the armor?
Armor!
Perhaps, like plate armor, an earth mage’s power couldn’t handle wider surface area. His sword was always useless against plate, and for the longest time, he’d carried a war ax with a sharp, heavy point to deal with armored foes. Would magic operate on the same principles? Galeron parried again, his mind flying through possibilities. Why shouldn’t it? As Iven and others insisted, magic was only a bending of the natural order, not a complete break or subversion.
With a man like Vort, he’d never have considered it. Vort had enough muscle mass and size to physically dominate him without magic, but this man…this man was different. Smaller in stature and almost the same weight as Galeron, it just might work.
Galeron sheathed his sword and slid into an old boxer stance, fists up and weight on the balls of his feet. The earth mage snorted.
“You think you can take me without a weapon?” He chuckled. “I must’ve hit you too hard last time.”
Galeron smiled. He couldn’t beat him to a pulp in short order, but he could hold him off until Lonni got down. Blocking with his arms would be a bad idea. His punches would still carry all the striking power of a large mallet. Speed and quickness were the watchwords.
He bounced around the earth mage, catching sight of Dianna and Phoebe huddled on the bed and out of the way. Galeron ducked a blow, feinted with his left, and drove his right fist into the earth mage’s stomach. A whoof of air escaped his lungs, and he staggered back. Galeron landed two more blows to the sternum before backing up, avoiding the next lunge.
Galeron slid into a rhythm. Jab, punch, duck. Jab, punch, duck. With only one hand, his opponent had limited moves and seemed to have no experience fighting hand to hand. He fell for the pattern every time. It was too easy, but the earth mage didn’t show any signs of wearing down. Sweat dripped off Galeron’s nose, but his opponent looked as fresh as he had in the beginning.
Maybe this wasn’t working after all. Lonni, where are you?
Heart racing in his ears, Galeron dodged another punch, and a knee plunged into his stomach. Air rushed from his lungs, and he doubled over and hit the ground. Hot bile gurgled in the back of his throat.
“Hubris is such a poor quality, isn’t it?” said the mage.
Crack!
Galeron rolled over. The earth mage clutched at a spurting hole in his chest before he crumpled to the ground, a few rattling gasps escaping before he lay still. Galeron looked over at the window. Lonni, one hand on the rope and the other clutching a smoking pistolette.
“Took you long enough,” Galeron gasped.
She glared at him and jumped down into the room. “I’ve been there for a while, but you kept moving around. There was no clear shot.”
Galeron got to his feet as she reloaded the weapon. “Let’s—”
The door burst open, and in rushed Kolvein, Teuthras, and Bolthor. Galeron spun on his heel, drawing his sword and putting himself between them and the women.
“You!” Kolvein snarled.
That was the best he had to say? “Me,” Galeron grunted.
“You’re too late, informer,” Kolvein said. “It doesn’t matter what happens now. I’ve won.”
Galeron raised his sword parallel with his face. “You’re trapped, and you call it victory?”
Bolthor cast Kolvein a sidelong glance. “What do you mean?”
Lonni stepped alongside Galeron, a pistolette in each hand. “It only takes one shot. Who wants to die?”
Kolvein’s gaze darted from Lonni, to Galeron, and then to Bolthor. Strained wrinkles lined his forehead and emerged at the edges of his eyes. He was stuck, and he knew it. Galeron’s stomach tightened. Kolvein had plotted himself into a corner, but cornered animals never went down easy.
Teuthras’s hands burst into flame, and he and Lonni locked gazes.
One wrong move, and the whole room might dissolve into chaos.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
No one moved for a few minutes. Galeron watched Kolvein’s face contort as he jumped through mental hoops. All the while, Bolthor grew more and more agitated. He twitched and kept looking around the room. Lonni and Teuthras never wavered in their staring.
“What now?” he asked Kolvein.
“I’m thinking,” Kolvein growled. “If the wench tries to shoot, Teuthras will roast her alive.”
“Possibly us with her,” Bolthor said. “In case you hadn’t noticed, control isn’t his specialty.”
“If you have a plan, say something.”
“We finish them. Firelocks aren’t accurate, and she can’t hurt me with them,” Bolthor said.
“Why should I risk getting shot myself?” asked Kolvein.
“It was your plan.”
Galeron kept his face blank, but he frowned inwardly. Delktians, especially those on a mission, didn’t have much sense of self-preservation. The goal always came first. With the Porter sisters in the room, and only him and Lonni standing in their way, what was he waiting for? Lonni’s weapons were more accurate than he knew, but even she couldn’t hit two targets at the same time. She’d have to choose one.
He’s waiting for Iven.
Of course. Why ignite the dust barrel if Iven wasn’t there to be caught in the fire? He had to do something, and quickly. Iven would be slower than him or Lonni, but it still didn’t create much time. His mind whizzed through possibilities.
He could try and close the distance, killing Kolvein before he could react. Lonni would still have to choose a target, likely Teuthras, and that left Bolthor open to interfere. Bad idea. Perhaps he could signal Lonni to shoot first, but there was no way to communicate, and, given how intently she and Teuthras stared at each other, alerting one would trigger the other. No luck.
Think, Galeron, think!
There had to be a way to…he bit his lip and tried not to laugh. He could almost hear Lonni berating him, “You’re an informer, so start acting like one.”
His sword couldn’t save them, but maybe his mouth could.
“Bolthor, have you ever met a Delktian before Kolvein?” asked Galeron.
Bolthor glared at him. “What does it matter? His coin spends just the same.”
Galeron shrugged. “True enough, but I thought we’d all learned something about Delktians during the war.”
“Be quiet, paladin,” growled Kolvein.
“What?” asked Bolthor.
“Delktians don’t think like we do,” Galeron said. “You and I, we’re both sell-swords, scratching out a living.” Careful. Don’t oversell. “I’m not saying we’re friends, but the only reason we’re enemies is because of who hired us.”
“Bolthor, kill him,” snarled Kolvein.
“He’s going to die anyway,” Bolthor said. “I want to know what he’s got to say.”
Galeron mentally grinned. Maybe his training hadn’t been forgotten. “During the wars, I was an informer for Broton. I spied and tracked a lot of Delktian movements. I learne
d about them. They put the good of the kingdom before their own lives. It’s who they are as a people. They serve Delktas first and themselves second. You’d know. You fought against them. Their tenacity makes sense with that knowledge, doesn’t it?”
Bolthor frowned. “Go on.”
“Dying for their homeland is ingrained in them. It’s one of the reasons why they were so fierce.” Galeron lowered his sword, resting the tip on the floor. “Tell me, do you know the plan for your escape?”
“We’re using the Porter sisters as leverage to secure our release,” said Bolthor.
Galeron nodded. “What demands have you made, then?”
“Kolvein’s the one who handles that,” Bolthor said, narrowing his eyes and looking at him.
Galeron raised his eyebrows. “You don’t say? Kolvein, what have you asked for in return for the Porter sisters’ release?”
Kolvein blinked. “I’ve asked for safe conduct out of the city, horses, and a week’s worth of rations.”
“That’s a lot to demand for a pair of condemned criminals,” Galeron said.
“What are you talking about?” Bolthor asked, turning so he could see both Kolvein and Galeron.
“He’s not told you, then?” Galeron gave a deep frown. “Early yesterday morning, after the Fallen Ones’ Ball, Kolvein had them arrested and convicted of forging their brother’s signature on documents. In fact, it was Kolvein himself who ordered they be executed for their crimes at sunrise today.”
“Explain this,” growled Bolthor.
“He’s lying,” said Kolvein, whose gaze hadn’t left Galeron. “Fabrications. He said it himself. He used to be an informer. This is what he does.”
Galeron took a breath. Got you now. “I was an informer, but you can go ask at the barricade. The way rumor spreads, any legionary is going to know the story. Draw your own conclusion, but given Kolvein’s choice to execute the Porter sisters, well…”
“You would believe the word of a Broton?” asked Kolvein. “His king ordered your princess murdered.”
“Strange, though,” Galeron said. “Carys was the very youngest of Balen’s children. What is the motive for her death? What does it gain Broton? While we speak of that, did you ever ponder why Kolvein ordered Teuthras to burn the crypt, or why I was down there?”
