by Jackson Lear
“Well done.”
“Fuck you.”
I looked to Elizandria. “Thanks.”
“Sorry for the delay. I couldn’t risk getting you out while the vampires were still here but we don’t have much time left.” It seemed as though her faith in me might have softened in the interim hours. “I need you to promise me something. Whatever goes down tonight, you leave my people alone.”
“I will attack anyone who attacks me.”
“Even so: leave my people alone. You know what Kaymor looks like, so focus on him and his ilk if you have to kill someone.”
“Kaymor was on the roof? Looks like a bear, commands the cubs, and wields a stupidly large ax?”
“That’s him. Can you find Miss Kasera Lavarta again?”
“Probably. Who’s the Lord of Everstil?”
Elizandria arched an eyebrow at me. “How do you know about him?”
“I sat down with him half an hour ago and had a heart-to-heart. Who is he and where is he?”
She shifted into a reluctant whisper. “One of Razoz’s underlings. He keeps watch over the ice bridge fifteen miles west of here.”
“Is there anything special about him?”
“I don’t know, but the bridge links two of the noble lands.”
“Two nobles who were here earlier?”
“Yes.”
“Are they still here now?”
She ran through her mental checklist. “No.”
“And each of these nobles have troops with them?”
Then, it clicked. “They have horses. Butchered horses mostly but the ones who still live …”
“Are faster and stronger than regular horses?”
“That’s what I’ve heard. The Lord of Everstil has been poisoning his prisoners for years, twisting them into blooded-slaves. He’s supposed to have been doing it to horses as well, using vampire blood to feed them. It makes them dependent on the vampires, a constant drug that makes the horses bigger and faster. Without it they go into … I don’t remember the word.”
“Withdrawal.”
She nodded. “Like a drinker without a drink. They become useless.”
“So Razoz is going to get his cavalry. Where are they going?”
“If I had to guess? They’ve probably been told to bring Agnarr’s head back to Draegor.”
“Right. Where are my friends being held?”
Elizandria strained her eyes. “You already know where Miss Kasera Lavarta is.”
“The rest of the troops you had up on the roof. They didn’t return to the dungeons with me. Where are they?”
“I don’t know.”
“Take a guess.”
“High up, near the roof.”
“Are they all together?”
“I don’t know.”
“What about our gear?”
She tried to map it out as best she could. “There’s a narrow corridor at the back of the great hall. The cubs – as you call them – took your swords and bows through there. I believe there is a curved staircase heading towards the cellar.”
I held my hand out to Ilmar. “Your dagger, please.”
His whole face contorted, revolted at the suggestion. “No.”
“Then how about your sword?”
Elizandria dug a dagger and its sheath out from her boot. “Here. You need to hurry.”
“Do you have any keys to the rooms I’m about to break into?”
She pulled out a metallic rod and handle wrapped in some thick fabric. “This is the best I could do on such short notice.”
I half expected her to burst out laughing. She didn’t. “A chisel?”
“It’s sharp.”
“I can’t exactly hurry my way through a door with a chisel.”
“Then you better get lucky and find someone carrying a set of keys.”
I tucked the stupid thing into my jacket. “Is there anything else you can help me with? Number of guards? Directions? What to avoid? A guide, even.”
She thought it over for a minute, the burden drawing her features together. “The safest way out is east of here. Head along the coast. Ten miles from Brilskeep is a river. It’ll look narrow but at high tide it doubles in size. A few miles up the river is a village. They have a couple of small boats. You should be able to surprise them and sail back to Orkust.”
“Thank you.”
“Good luck.”
“Yeah. I look forward to seeing Ilmar of Elridge sit on the throne as the next King of Vasslehün.”
Ilmar sneered at me, nursed his bandaged wrist, and drifted into the corridor. Elizandria slinked away as well, checking both sides of the unlit castle, and disappeared into the darkness. I turned Elizandria’s dagger over in my hand. A blade six inches long, half an inch wide. Small guard. Not ideal against foes used to swinging axes.
I mentally placed Zara and a select few prisoners of the vanguard upstairs near the roof. Alysia halfway between me and them. Our gear downstairs in the cellar. The rest of the vanguard outside behind a barricaded door. The sailors we came with in another building entirely. And a noble massacre that wasn’t far away. Most of that information was dependent on Elizandria telling me the truth. Her assistance could easily be at Draegor’s behest, giving him enough of an excuse to slaughter all of us southerners for breaking into or out of his castle, depending on how he spun it.
I examined the lock as best I could, hoping that the rest of the castle would be fitted with a similar mechanism. It appeared to be an enclosed double drop-bar, a tricky bastard reserved for the wealthiest of homes back in Syuss. It meant I had to pry two independent bars up at the same time to unlock it. Even from the inside of the room I couldn’t see the inner workings of the lock. I tried the dagger. No way it would fit through the keyhole. Tried Saskia’s seeing wire. Wasn’t strong enough to lift one bar let alone two. I tested the chisel. A thin sliver of wood came off the three-inch thick door. With any luck I’d find someone with an actual key along the way.
I checked the corridor. The only source of light came from an open arrow slit at each end, the dim moonlight piercing through the narrow opening. Some chatter from down the left hand side came from the staircase below. Upbeat chatter at that. Friends talking, drinking, whatever. I returned to the window. Loken, Saskia, and Lindum were staring up at me. Lindum heard everything. I sent Loken a signal. 1: Z. 2: V. 3: A. 4: You.
He gave no indication of approval or dismissal. He simply glared, his life now in my hands. I peeled back into the dark corridor of the unknown castle and slipped away, curious to see who would find me first.
Chapter Thirteen
More than ever, I needed to keep my wits about me. Anyone hiding in the dark corridor would sense my movement, my overall shape passing over the faint light from the arrow slit behind me. All they had to do was wait until I drew closer. I trailed my fingers across the rough stone wall to guide me. Counted the doorways along my way. Checked each of the keyholes to see if anyone was inside. The fifth door yielded results. Light. I squeezed Saskia’s seeing wire through the keyhole. Someone dressed well enough to be considered a noble was passed out on his bed, a cup of wine sitting on the table next to the flickering lamp.
I lingered, my heart thumping wildly in my chest, bracing myself for another one of life’s stupid decisions. The noble remained still, one hand resting on his belly. I tried the handle. Locked. Half relieved, half disappointed. I gave him a solid ten seconds to see if his belly rose from a deep breath. Couldn’t tell. The layers of clothing up here made it difficult to figure out. I moved on.
A helix staircase. Went up. Paused at the top as a couple of cubs talked freely amongst themselves, one carrying a glowing bulb as they moved easily from one end of the corridor to the other. No indication that they were aware of a trap or impending massacre. I kept my dagger pointing out, just in case. Kept going up.
My view from the top-most arrow slit gave me a dizzying sense of dread. Three hundred feet down onto uneven rock. I had been prepar
ed to jump that far? The strength in my legs shook just from the thought.
I returned to the rooftop stairwell. Checked the surrounding keyholes. No light came from any of them. Whispers came from the fifth room to the south. Isparian voices. Opposite side of the corridor: someone speaking in Telucian. Female. She sniffed back a sob and spoke again. Zara. No one else seemed to be in there with her.
I got to work slicing away the tough wood surrounding the lock. One sliver across, one sliver down, a notch here and there, twisting, squeezing, doing everything as quietly as possible to chisel my way through a door in almost perfect darkness. I lost my patience a few times and had to take some deep breaths to regain my composure, knowing that I probably had to do this twice more to free the rest of the vanguard and Alysia. Hopefully the chisel would hold up.
Boots. Nearby. I scrambled away, darting around the corridor and holding still. The bear and two cubs emerged with a set of candles. Stopped at the vanguard’s door. Unlocked it with sickening ease. Went inside. Chains rattled. Locks clicked open.
“Where are you taking him?” came Jarmella’s voice.
No answer. The bear returned, yanking one of the hooded vanguard along behind him, followed by the two cubs again.
I was tempted. Believe me, I was tempted. A dagger and a chisel. The bear unawares. Keys at his belt and three weapons easy to pick up. But I was a solid fifteen yards away and if the cub dropped the candles we would be fighting in total darkness. Less of a problem if I wanted to kill everyone in front of me, more of a problem if I was trying to save one of Kasera’s people from a wayward strike.
I considered a spell. Launch the bear towards me. Stab him in the throat. That would still leave two cubs fifteen yards away with the ability to shout. Perhaps launch their prisoner towards me? Too high of a chance he would be injured on the landing.
I waited too long. The cubs locked the door. The bear pulled their prisoner away, down the stairs, returning the corridor to darkness. I needed a moment for my night vision to return. Annoyed at losing my chance of finding an opening I crept back to Zara’s door. Continued working the chisel by touch alone.
At the count of two hundred I paused, returned to the southern end of the corridor and remained by the arrow slit. I had a reasonable view of the courtyard down below and our dungeon next to it. I had a chance to massage my hands after gripping the chisel a little too tight.
Another hundred seconds passed. The bear and his hooded prisoner emerged. He was thrown back into the dungeon with Loken and the others. No other prisoners were taken. Door locked and barred. The bear returned to the castle. So far no blood bath, but it was coming.
I wrestled with that fucking door for longer than I cared for, but at long last I managed to break through that stupid piece of shit, it swinging open with ease while the lock remained in place. Zara rose. Could barely see who it was.
“It’s me.”
“Oh shit. How long do we have?”
“No idea. Are you okay?”
“Fine.” She crept into the corridor. I stared back at Zara’s unusually short hair. “I know. Assholes tossed my wig off the side of the castle.”
“Did you have any tools hidden in there?”
“Lock picks and the like. They weren’t happy to find those.”
“You still got out of your manacles.”
“I don’t hide everything in my hair. How did you get in?”
I held up the chisel.
“It sounded like rats gnawing at my door for ages. Where’s everyone else?”
“Loken and the others? In the dungeon. Jarmella and a few others? That door there.”
“And Miss Kasera?”
“Third floor. Western corner. There’s going to be a massacre.”
“No kidding.”
“And we’re the distraction. Take this.” I gave her Elizandria’s dagger and got to work on the next door. “Did anyone say anything useful to you?”
“No.”
“What about a ghost?”
She didn’t answer.
“Who did you see?”
“No one.”
“Bullshit. I saw someone pretending to be my father. Who was yours?”
“Tell me more about this massacre.”
“According to Elizandria the whole castle is about to erupt into a free-for-all. Everyone hates everyone, no one trusts anyone, few want the alliance with the vampires, fewer still want Agnarr on the throne or Ispar backing one of their nobles, so the best guess right now is that there is going to be an all-round slaughter and someone else will sit on the throne by this time tomorrow.”
“And how do we fit in?” asked Zara.
“Easy. We get the blame, which means they are going to have to act fast. Whoever wins will be able to unite the nobles with their hatred of the southerners.”
A split in the wood formed. I pried it open as best I could, chiseled away whatever stubbornly refused to break. Finally wrenched the lock free, allowing the door to swing open.
The room was pitch black. Splotches of color crossed my eyes, my ears tingling with the shuffles from all directions.
“Jarmella?” asked Zara.
“Over here.”
“Keep talking so I can find you.”
Jarmella did so, reciting “I’m over here,” several times until Zara bumped into her.
“Who else is here?” I asked.
“Vyfred, Ivar, Otario, and Aedalis.”
“Odalis and Leif are back in the dungeon,” I said. “Who did they just take away?”
“Berik,” said Jarmella. Mage. Twenty years old. Tall. Wide hips. Sizeable ass. Thighs like tree trunks and a quick-witted retort that was faster than a belt across the face. She had darker than usual skin coupled with bedazzling green eyes. That practically made her a witch in anyone’s book; a kink for some, reviled by others. “I expected you to be dead by now.”
“I expected to die before reaching twenty. Were Magnus and Arvid up here as well?”
“They’ve been swapping us around since we were brought up here. We’ve each been taken downstairs in a hood, doused in freezing water and forced to drink that blood wine. I saw them both but I don’t know where they are now.”
Zara cracked the first lock.
“Thank you,” said Jarmella. “What’s the plan?”
“We’re getting out of Brilskeep right now,” I said. “Violently if we have to but I’d prefer to avoid that. After we get you lot out we’re freeing Miss Kasera together. Then we’re going for our weapons. I believe they are hiding behind the great hall and down the stairs. If we can do all of that quietly we will lower everyone else’s equipment through one of the dungeon murder holes to arm the rest of the vanguard. Then we free them, the sailors, hijack the ship we came in on, and sail out of here.”
I was met with a round of silence.
“There’s no way we can do all of that without violence,” said Jarmella.
“Were you all kidnapped on imperial land and taken hostage by a known enemy? Someone who has orchestrated deadly raids against imperial citizens and soldiers? Were you all deprived of food and water and had your lives threatened with being pushed off the side of the castle?”
Zara cracked another manacle.
“I can’t have anyone hesitate. Not tonight. You each need to be able to save all of our lives by doing whatever is necessary. Right now ‘necessary’ is being as sneaky as fuck so that no one even knows we’ve escaped. I hope it stays that way but if it doesn’t then I expect each of you to grab the first weapon you find and ram it into the face of anyone who’s trying to kill us.”
The last manacle broke free.
I was hoping to hear some agreement from at least one of them. “Zara?”
“Ready. Keep your chisel handy.”
We reached the third floor. Alysia’s. Candle light stretched across one wall. Two cubs stood at the far end. I signaled behind to Zara. Swapped places. She signaled in return: Go around.
Either way it
looked like we would be noticed by them if we made a move, but at least from the other stairwell we would be closer to the attack, giving them less chance to fire off a spell.
Zara signaled the move to the vanguard. Down one flight of stairs, along the corridor, then up the other side. Zara and I led the way, tiptoeing down every step with our fingers tracing the wall to guide us through the darkness.
I peered out into the corridor. More light. Someone else down the far end. A mercenary. Maybe sixteen years old. Fidgeting. On edge. A nervous lookout waiting for a signal that was long past overdue.
We didn’t have long.
Zara tapped me on the shoulder.
A clatter of bowls and a food tray struck the stone floor nearby. A scream curdled through the castle. Female. High-pitched.
The mercenary sprang to the side. Sword drawn. Ready to attack.
I ran down the stairs, charged along the corridor, bounced off a wall and around the corner, and found a maid backing away from me, shaking with fright, cowering, whimpering. We were in the great hall. In front of us was a slaughter of dead bodies.
Chapter Fourteen
Cries ricocheted through the castle corridors. Thumps of leather boots tore through every room. Bellows in a northern tongue to gather the troops, seal the exits, and close the city.
The maid shrieked as she ran from me, no doubt shouting: “The great hall! They’re in the great hall!”
Unarmed men and women lay dead at my feet. Some with obvious sword wounds to the chest and neck. Blood was still spilling from their throats. Zara pushed past me. Checked a couple of the faces. Pulled their eyelids up with her thumb. Sniffed their mouths. Our crate of wine lay open, the bottles uncorked and on the table, the goblets still reasonably full. One of the bottles rolled to a crash on the stone floor.
