by Tracy Falbe
He paused mid stride toward the castle and looked quickly over his shoulder like he had heard something. They had reached an elevation that overlooked most of the river town. Frost glistened on slate roofs and steeples, and thatched roofs hunkered like shaggy cattle on a cold day. His eyes scrutinized the shadows, knowing the fext was somewhere.
When they reached the gate, a grumpy guard snarled a warning about warlocks afoot and snapped shut the little window he had spoken through.
Tobias shrugged, hoping that the firm denial would excuse him from further action. Thal’s stern look crushed that hope. He drew his falchion and banged hard on the timber door with its handle.
“Open up. I’m here on business that concerns the Duke,” Thal announced.
The window popped open again, and some lantern light spilled out. “What’s that?” the guard asked.
Tobias stepped into the little sphere of light and cleared his throat. “I’m a lawyer. I possess full privilege to come and go from the castle. My business concerns a petition that offered ransom to Duke Osmount in exchange for a man in custody. I suggest you allow me to proceed or you’ll be costing the Duke a handsome sum.”
“Who’s with you?” the guard asked.
Thal stepped into the light and said, “I’m an agent sent by the del Sangoro family. I’ve just arrived at the city and must confirm the identity of the prisoner before making payment. His father is desperately worried over his wrongful confinement, and I’d not wait even an hour to ensure his safety.”
Thal stayed calm during the long pause and was rewarded with the grating sound of the postern door being hauled open.
“You know your way,” the guard said to the lawyer as they entered.
When he turned to bar the door again, Mileko slipped close to him with ghostly ease. He dabbed his gloved finger into a small jar and smeared a dark streak upon the back of the man’s neck. The guard flinched as if tickled, but Mileko was already several steps away.
“The Duke will appreciate your vigilance,” Mileko said.
“Doubt that,” the man muttered and stretched out on his bench.
As the trio rushed across the courtyard, Mileko whispered, “He’ll dream strangely and lack clear memories of this encounter.”
“Very good,” Thal said.
The guard’s utter failure to serve his function perturbed Tobias. Unable to think of any way to escape his abductors, he took them first to the offices where administrative business for the prisoners took place. The dark and unoccupied rooms appeared cheery in comparison to the odious depths beneath them where the accused waited in windowless sorrow.
“I’ll need some light,” Tobias grumbled, and Mileko lit a lamp with a taper from a hallway sconce.
Thal and Mileko stood over the lawyer as he went through some documents. The paper edges trembled in his nervous grip. Tobias forced some steadiness into his hand as he prepared to write the record of Valentino’s execution. He had started it several days earlier and only needed to enter a date.
“It needs the justice minister’s signature,” he warned.
“Forge it,” Thal said bluntly.
“I really can’t--” he protested until the point of Mileko’s knife pricked the back of his neck. Imagining himself as some pompous minister, Tobias authorized the record with a flourish.
“Anyone could detect this as a forgery,” Tobias complained.
“Just make sure no one takes an interest in it,” Thal said.
Tobias blew on the ink and then slid the document into the folio that contained the record of Valentino’s case.
“Now to collect our friend,” Thal announced, and they departed for the dungeon.
Stubs of tallow candles smoked rancidly along the damp wall of the corridor that sloped downward. An eery silence thick with repellent unhappiness guarded the place as surely as iron bars.
They reached an antechamber where the gaolers took their leisure, such as it was. Coals in a fireplace gave off a faint glow across a floor littered with grimy rushes. The kettle on a cooking rack held the congealed remains of a greasy stew, and the body odor of the two burly men snoring on cots raised an additional barrier.
Tobias lifted a hand to block his nostrils. A guard shifted on his cot, snorted, and went back to sleep.
“No need to wake these fellows,” Thal whispered and nudged Tobias.
The lawyer looked at the iron lattice door that blocked the entrance to the dungeon. A great ring of keys hung on the wall next to the door.
“I’ve never been to his cell,” Tobias said. “I don’t know where he is.”
“Are there many cells?” Mileko inquired.
“I think so,” Tobias said.
Mileko moved soundlessly to the door and examined its lock. Thal joined him and lifted the keys from their hook. Their slight jingle prompted a guard to sit up, and Thal quickly returned them to their place and stepped innocently away.
Tobias swallowed his alarm and assumed his normal demeanor of authority. “Roger! Wake up,” he said.
The gaoler flopped out of bed. His loose breeches fell almost to his knees before he caught them.
“Master Dorn?” he said, confused. His colleague continued to sleep despite the eruption of conversation.
“These men are agents sent to pay a ransom for del Sangoro. They must see that he lives. Take us to his cell,” Tobias said.
Roger fastened his codpiece and rubbed his eyes. Being the uninquisitive lackey of inquisitors, he simply fell into doing the lawyer’s bidding. He glanced over Thal and Mileko, but his grizzled face gave no hint as to what opinion he formed about the strangers, if any.
He plucked the ring of keys into his thick fist and found by feel the key to the first door.
“You should do this every time,” Roger said to Tobias. “Save us the trouble of moving him.”
“He is troublesome,” Tobias agreed nervously.
The lock clanked heavily as Roger turned the large key. The gaoler suggested that they light a couple torches from the pile on a shelf. Thal fetched two and lit them off the coals. He gave one to Roger who took the lead. Mileko followed him, and Thal prodded Tobias forward. The torchlight crawled on the black stone walls like maggots in the halls of Hell.
******
Valentino fingered the chain links like they were the rosary of the damned. He stared into the darkness, contemplating his death. He had already tried to wind the chain around his neck and lean forward, but the pitiful attempt at suicide only proved his helplessness. Hunkered against the cold wall, he resented the defiant spark inside him that drove him to loosen the chain and breathe.
He supposed that Dorn was right. He should confess and end his suffering.
Tiny claws clicked along the floor, and Valentino felt the rat crawl up his leg. The animal perched on his bent knee, and Valentino reached blindly to pet its body. Whiskers snuffled against his fingers, and then the rat walked up his arm to his shoulder.
Valentino continued to pet the rat. He could not tell how long the creature had been visiting him, but he remembered their first encounter. The intimate intrusion into his desperate solitude had snapped him out of a miserable stupor. The rat had investigated his face as he lay drooling on the floor. Tickling whiskers had inquired so gently upon his cheek. The pity of a dungeon rat had reminded him that he was alive and recalled him to sanity.
Valentino was certain that it was the same rat who visited him regularly. He appreciated this friendly ambassador of a reviled race. The rat came by every evening for a cuddle. Valentino wondered if it visited all of the prisoners or just him. He saved the rat a few crumbs of food from his infrequent dinners. No one had come by with a hunk of burnt moldy bread tonight, but the rat was forgiving on the days when Valentino had nothing. He supposed that the rat ate far more often than he did, judging from his plump belly.
Valentino flinched when the rat squeaked and leaped away. He heard the claws scrape hastily as the animal squeezed through some invisible ho
le and was gone.
The abrupt flight gave Valentino the impression that something had frightened the rodent, but he could not imagine what would do that. The little fellows traveled these stony bowels with impunity.
Then footsteps far down the corridor penetrated his hearing, and demonic paranoia swept over him. They’re coming for me, he thought, overcome by his prisoner’s premonition. He assumed hatefully that his insensitive lawyer had broken his word and decided to conclude his business with Valentino before the holidays.
They were closer now, and their steps differed from the pair of shambling knuckle-draggers who normally manhandled him. His tenacious devotion to struggling must have prompted them to bring help.
I’ll need to fight harder than ever, he decided, resolved to die fighting before they strapped him to some contraption of torment.
Torchlight flew under the door like shards of glass. He hissed and looked away. He took a few deep breaths, begging his body to give up the last of his strength for a final battle. He almost felt relief that the end was at hand. He promised himself that the castle servants would talk about this fight for a while. Big mess to scrub off the cobbles.
The keys made their ghoulish wind chime noise. Valentino struggled to look at the light slicing under the door, desperate to make his eyes remember sight. The door swung open. Torchlight blazed across his vision, but he got to his knees and haggardly gathered himself into an attack stance.
Squinting at the dark outlines of men, he saw one come toward the door quickly. Roger caught him across the chest. Valentino recognized his keeper’s voice when he said, “Watch it! He a feisty rat.”
“Stand aside,” a man insisted and rushed into the cell.
Valentino lunged as soon as the man entered the periphery of his chains. He meant to punch the man’s throat and throw him to the floor, but a forearm as solid as a Roman column prevented the connection. The man’s other arm swung around and snatched Valentino behind the back. He pulled him close in a hug. The startling embrace could not be resisted.
“It’s Thal. I’ve come for you,” the man said into his ear.
He was too stunned to speak. His weary wits battled to take in what had happened. The chance that he was dreaming deliriously while a rat dined on his earlobe loomed too high for even a gambling man to defy.
Thal loosened his hug. “You took a good swing at me old friend,” he said.
The perfect shiny teeth of a grin penetrated his narrow vision. “Thal,” he whispered, astonished by the possibility.
“It’s him,” Thal announced to the others in the hall. “Let’s get these chains off him.”
“No, no, no,” Roger protested. Chains did not come off without explicit orders from someone important clutching a paper that he could not read.
“Let me explain,” Mileko said in a gentle voice. He stepped close to the gaoler and quickly brushed a gloved hand across the man’s face.
“Hey now,” the gaoler protested.
“A spider was on your face,” Mileko explained.
The gaoler grimaced. “Oh, thanks,” he said, disturbed by the notion. He brushed a finger over where Mileko had touched him. He felt a stickiness somewhat different than his normal griminess. He frowned as he rubbed the substance between his fingers.
Thal came out of the cell and put a hand on Roger’s thick shoulder. “Everything’s in order. Our business is legitimate,” he said.
Roger frowned. Something seemed amiss. Keeping prisoners locked up was not a complex task, but he suddenly felt unable to think through simple details. The shifting torchlight slowed, and the colors of the flames brightened.
“You’ve done your job well,” Mileko added soothingly. “We’re here to ease your burden.”
Roger nodded slowly, welcoming the stranger’s sympathy. No one ever cared about the workload heaped upon poor Roger’s big shoulders.
Thal figured that Mileko had everything in hand with the gaoler. He noticed that Tobias had slipped a few steps down the hall. The lawyer tried to scramble away as Thal descended on him.
Seizing his arm, Thal shook him like an annoyed parent catching a mischievous child. “Tobias, think not of betraying me,” he said and escorted the lawyer into the cell where he could keep an eye on him. Mileko continued to speak reassuringly to the gaoler, who was now leaning against the wall.
Thal set a torch on the floor and took out the hammer and chisel that he had brought. He examined the manacles on Valentino’s wrists. The Condottiere held his arms aloft with speechless curiosity, afraid that if he pestered the apparition before him with questions then the hope of escape really would evaporate into the dreamworld.
Thal wedged the chisel into a groove over the bolt and struck it sharply. Valentino gritted his teeth as the force rattled his bones, but the bolt snapped. Thal pried the manacle away from flesh marred by oozing scabs.
He made short work of the second manacle, and Valentino gratefully massaged his tender flesh on both wrists as if pondering a divine miracle.
Thal put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Can you walk?” he asked.
Valentino met Thal’s eyes with a fierce look. “Yes,” he said resolutely and then squinted at Tobias. He surged past Thal and locked onto the lawyer’s neck.
Thal intervened swiftly and separated the men. Tobias cowered gratefully behind Thal’s broad shoulder.
“Don’t blame him, Valentino. There’s much for him to do that will redeem him in your eyes yet,” Thal said.
Valentino growled lightly, but the sudden onset of freedom allowed him to regain a handhold on rational thought. Tobias was not the source of his trouble, only an administrator of the consequences.
Thal tossed his cloak over Valentino’s shoulders. “Wear this. It’s cold out tonight,” he said.
He retrieved the torch and followed the men out of the cell. Tobias looked back. With Thal’s cloak off, he saw the lustrous wolf fur across his shoulders. Each hair glistened in the torchlight like spirits rising from haunted tombstones. Tobias imagined the unseen powers of forests and mountains where his feet had never traveled. Superstitious awe overtook his thoughts as Thal herded him down the corridor like a sheep separated from the herd.
Mileko told Roger to lock the cell, and the gaoler turned the key unconcerned about whether anyone occupied it. The magician had to lend the gaoler some support as he navigated the corridor. Back at the antechamber, Mileko guided the man onto his straw bed. He stared at the ceiling as if thoroughly distracted by the most engaging daydream.
Mileko checked on the other guard, who remained snoring on his cot. He wiped a liberal dose of his sticky potion onto his neck. The man shifted but did not wake.
The group snuffed out their torches and slipped through the dark building until they reached the courtyard. While they had been in the austere foundations of the dungeon, snow had descended on the Danube Valley. Fluffy flakes glided downward through the moonlight. Valentino clutched the cloak as the frosty air hit his face. He was shaking all over, but he inhaled the fresh air greedily, hoping to purge the reek of confinement from his nostrils. The feathery flakes pecked his pale cheeks like angels’ kisses.
They kept to the shadows as much as possible while heading for the postern gate where they had entered. The guard who they had encountered previously sat cross legged in a corner facing the wall. He touched the stone wall as if looking for a hidden compartment. He turned toward the men entering the room but did nothing more.
Thal opened the door and ushered Valentino out. Mileko made sure that Tobias continued with them in compliant silence.
The high view of the snow-dusted town beckoned Valentino toward freedom. He would never take for granted again his access to the outside world. He surged forward eagerly, but his stiff legs cramped. Feebly he hobbled until Thal took him around the shoulders and propelled the stumbling escapee forward. They rushed down the winding lane like rats that had successfully snatched an aged cheese from a feast table.
“How di
d you know about me?” Valentino asked, finally ready to understand the facts of his rescue.
“Carmelita told me of your plight,” Thal said.
“Carmelita,” Valentino moaned.
Thal understood the man’s misery over the hardships of his wife. “She’s safe at my father’s castle. She’ll have all she needs when your baby comes,” Thal told him and witnessed how the good news redeemed his friend from many long days of despair.
******
Johan anticipated the return of his master and was waiting to open the door when the group arrived at the lawyer’s residence. Thal swept inside with his friend. Mileko prodded Tobias inside and locked the door. He pointed toward the corner where Dunherd slept and told Tobias to join his servant. Tobias dragged himself to the corner compliantly. Exhaustion overruled his desire to protest, and he settled into a heap by his manservant. He stole Dunherd’s blanket and shut his eyes.
Altea danced down the stairs, thrilled by Thal’s swift and successful return. “Valentino!” she cried happily and rushed to him.
The Condottiere was leaning against a wall, dazed by his extraction from Hell. Months in prison made the sight of a woman especially startling.
“Good to see you, sweet lady,” he said, and Altea could not help but like his smooth Italian accent.
“We’ll get you cleaned up,” she said.
“Let me tend him.” Sarputeen’s rich voice rolled out of the shadows. He emerged into the lamplight bearing a wooden goblet.
Valentino looked at the elderly newcomer, whose presence brought stillness to the room. The whisper of snowflakes against the eaves invited peace into his tortured heart.
“This is my father, Lord Sarputeen,” Thal said quietly.
Sarputeen extended the goblet to Valentino. “I have purified this melted snow. Drink,” he said.
Valentino accepted it reverently. He could not remember his last drink of clean water. His deprivation had denied him tears for weeks now.
He drank. At first he sipped and then quaffed the cold water until it was gone. As the water descended into his stomach, he could feel the sediment of his confinement lifting away from his spirit like frost burnt off by bright sun.
