Warlords, Witches and Wolves: A Fantasy Realms Anthology

by Michelle Diener

  He bit down, then held the apple out to her.

  She took it without breaking eye contact.

  Eventually, just as she bit in, he inclined his head.

  “I was. From the age of fourteen.”

  He seemed to be in his mid to late twenties, so she guessed he'd been in the indentured servitude program for almost ten years before he had managed to break free.

  “And the Herald calls your Commander the Turncoat King because he turned on the Kassians during a battle the Chosen were fighting for Kassia?”

  “He did more than that. He got word to the Kassian's enemies the night before the battle that the Chosen would turn on their keepers, to avoid more of his people dying for Kassia than necessary.”

  “Oh.” She thought of it with wonder. A field of warriors the Kassian generals thought were fighting for them turning to strike a blow against them, and the enemy hanging back, their participation unnecessary. “I wish I had seen it.” She truly did.

  Luc's expression was surprised, as if he hadn't expected her enthusiasm.

  “Who were the Chosen supposed to fight?”

  “The Venyatu.”

  “Oh,” she said again, unable to hold back her smile. Carila, her weapons and fight master from a young age, had been Venyatux. She could speak the language fluently, and loved the fighting style. “They must have loved everything about your plan.”

  “Not my plan,” Luc said. “The Commander's plan.”

  Ava gave a solemn nod. “Sorry. The Commander's plan.” She handed the apple back.

  Luc took another bite, and then yawned.

  “What time are we escaping?”

  “Not tonight,” she said. She hadn't missed the stiff way he held himself, or the way some of his cuts had begun to seep through his bandages.

  He tilted his head. “If the opportunity arises, take it. I will find the strength to keep up.”

  She stared at him, then gave a nod. “There will be an opportunity tomorrow at mealtime. If you aren't ready by then, you must tell me. Better to try the day after than try and fail tomorrow.”

  “Better to go as soon as possible than wait for them to come for me or you.”

  She conceded his point with a nod. It was always on her mind, that any delay left her at risk of something worse than another day in the cell.

  “I could have gone today,” she reminded him.

  “I thank you for your generous heart.” He spoke formally, bowing his head.

  Flustered, she stood and set the plate back on the small desk.

  The window high on the wall above her bed was guarded by bars and it faced out of the castle, onto the forest side.

  They had only a few minutes of light left.

  She could only hope it was the last sunset she would ever see from this cell.

  Chapter 2

  She should have gone yesterday when she had the chance.

  Ava stared with dread at the small entourage that filled the annex in front of her cell door.

  They had come mid morning, around the time Banyon usually brought some bread and water for her.

  They were here for Luc.

  He had risen to a crouch from his blanket on the floor at the sound of footsteps approaching, and she slid down the door, out of sight of prying eyes, and gestured for him to lie down.

  He stared at her for a long beat, and then lowered himself, curling in, as if he was in pain, eyes closed.

  Ava slid to the side, then stood, walking to the far corner of her cell and wedging herself into it, as if trying to get as far from Luc as she could.

  There was the rattle of a key at the door and then it banged open.

  Luc didn't flinch, as she did, even though she'd known it was coming.

  His control was spectacular, and then she remembered he'd been a Chosen for maybe as much as ten years, and she knew how hard he had come by that control.

  “Princess.” Juni sneered at her, huddled in her corner. “What are you doing all the way over there?”

  She said nothing.

  “He been like this all night?” Garmand asked Banyon, who was standing behind them again.

  Ava could see two other guards as well, lower in rank than Juni and Garmand, and obviously here to help control Luc.

  “He hasn't moved.” Banyon leaned into the cell to look. “I got Ava to bandage him, seeing as you said he had to live.”

  “He needs a fresh round of them, by the look of things.” Garmand stepped into the cell and looked down at the blood-soaked strips of sheet.

  It looked bad, but Ava had checked a few times in the night, and they had almost all closed up.

  Luc was still hot to the touch though.

  If they did check his wounds under the bandages, they would see the stitching.

  That would be bad.

  Very, very bad.

  She fought the cold chill of panic as Garmand gestured to the other guards, and they crowded into the small space, bent down and hauled Luc up.

  He muttered something unintelligible and lifted his head slightly, then dropped it down again.

  He didn't look at her. That was wise, but she was sorry for it. Their plans were in ruins.

  “We won't get anything out of him in this state,” Garmand said, staring at Luc's limp body hanging between the guards.

  “We can try.” Juni gave a grin. “Let's go, boys.”

  The guards dragged Luc out, struggling with the weight and size of him.

  Ava watched with a growing sense of sickness in the pit of her stomach as he disappeared out of her cell.

  They had come for him far sooner than she'd thought.

  She was still in the corner, holding herself tightly with arms around her waist.

  Juni and Garmand paused in the doorway as they made their way out, and she saw the leer in Juni's expression before he stepped out.

  Alarm flared up in her. He was growing bolder.

  She stayed where she was when the door closed, waiting until the only sounds beyond the door was the soft shuffle of Banyon's feet, and eventually, even that faded.

  She walked carefully across the cell and leaned against the door, looking out and listening, because surely Banyon would be back with food for her.

  She had to go now.

  Before they found the stitches. She wanted to help Luc, and she would try. But if she couldn't, she still had to go.

  There would be no fourth chance for her.

  She had been told that and she believed it.

  They would throw her off the tower, or hold her under the water of the moat.

  Whatever left no weapon's mark.

  So she would go the very first chance she got.

  A long time passed.

  She was unable to tell anymore how many hours, but it was midday or even later when she was roused from her position sitting against the door by the sound of Banyon's limping gait.

  She shook herself out of her half-doze, adrenalin suddenly spiking now the moment had arrived.

  She lifted into a crouch and moved away from the door before standing, then backed up a little to the middle of the cell so she could get the momentum she needed.

  Then she ran toward the wall beside the door. She propelled herself upward, using the protruding stone at knee height to lift her, and grabbed the thin strip of sheet that was hidden just behind the lintel.

  She couldn't help the thump as she landed back on the ground, but Banyon was slightly deaf now, and she had been counting on him not hearing it.

  She heard her warden sniff and then cough as he approached the door, heard the rattle of the tray on the small table just outside the door and then the clang of the keys.

  She looked up at the stone perched above. She had the ripped and scraped fingers to prove she had eased it out of the wall behind her bed by hand over a period of two weeks.

  If it landed on his head, as she planned, it could kill him.

  She had to put that aside, because he was killing her. Feeding her poi
son. And any moment now, Juni and Garmand would find the stitches.

  She stepped to the left a little as he opened the door, so she would be in his line of sight. The end of the sheet strip was in her hand, hopefully out of his view.

  “Where did they take the prisoner?” she asked as he peered at her, keys still jingling.

  “Question room.” He said it as if she should know what he was talking about.

  “The question room?” She shook her head. “Where's that?”

  “You don't know?” He paused.

  “Never heard of it before now. Never been there.”

  Banyon stared at her through rheumy eyes. “Hope you never do. You don't need anyone to tell you the way. You can hear the screams easy enough. And you wouldn't want to clean up in there when they're done, believe me.” He shivered. “Sometimes, even when no one was down there, you could hear screams and cries for help.”

  He said it grimly, as if he didn't approve, but he worked here, and he kept her prisoner, and he gave her poisoned food. He didn't disapprove enough.

  When he pulled the door open wider, she waited a beat for him to turn and lift the tray and then stepped back as if to give him room to enter.

  He shuffled closer, directly below the lintel, and she took a small step toward him, willing him to edge that little bit closer to her, tray extended.

  She yanked the cotton strip the way she'd practiced many times, with her bedding on the ground below the door to protect the stone and keep its fall silent.

  It struck Banyon at an angle on the side of his head, above his ear, with a sickening thud. He crumpled to the ground in silence, although the tray he was carrying landed with a clatter.

  Ava turned, her gorge rising, her breath coming in fast pants.

  She forced herself to turn back and look.

  Her gaoler lay sprawled across the doorway. She steeled herself. She had her needle worked back into her hair. She also had a few short strands of thread she'd worked out of Luc’s bandages in her pocket, along with a few leftover pieces of fabric. There was nothing else for her here.

  She stepped over him into the annex, avoiding the pool of water from the fallen jug, and then froze, turned back, and crouched beside him.

  He was still breathing, but in shallow, quick inhales and exhales. His keys were clipped to his belt and after a moment of trying to work them loose, she undid the belt itself and pulled them off.

  She also forced herself to check his pockets for anything useful, and found a small knife with a blade that folded on a hinge into a handle made of bone.

  She slipped it into her pocket with the threads and fabric.

  She had thought through her plan over many weeks, and she looked around and then found the bucket and mop that Banyon kept in the corner.

  Her tunic and trousers were already dirty and creased—they hadn't allowed her to bring anything but the clothes on her back with her when they'd put her down here—and now she snatched up the thin cloth she'd seen Banyon use to wipe the table outside her door and pulled it over her short hair like a scarf.

  With mop and bucket in hand, she stepped out into the stairwell she'd only come down once before, and tried to get her bearings.

  The stairs were built in long, oblong stretches, the treads shallow.

  The dungeon was at the very bottom of them—the only way out was up.

  She started to climb, trying to keep her steps light and silent, as much to hear someone coming as to disguise her own presence.

  When she reached the first turn in the stairs, she found they continued up, but there was also a passage that stretched out in front of her.

  There was no screaming that she could hear, to her relief, but she remembered what Banyon had said about the noise. She knew Herron would not have a room where there was a possibility of screaming being heard in the main part of the castle. That would be a little too revealing. Questions might be asked.

  And Herron was seldom ever questioning someone he had permission to.

  If she had been put on the lowest level, then the question room could well be just one floor above.

  She hesitated for a moment, the keys she had taken from Banyon a heavy weight in her pocket. Her fingers tightened on the mop.

  She smiled suddenly to herself. Who was she fooling?

  She was going to look for him.

  She would take the warlord with her, if she could.

  Chapter 3

  He hurt.

  Luc cracked his eyes open a little, keeping his head down, and tested the strength of the ropes tying him to the chair.

  They rubbed against his already raw skin and he felt a trickle of blood run down his wrist.

  The room was empty.

  Well, he thought it was empty, but he couldn't see behind him. He'd been raised in the hell that was a Chosen camp, where they would play games like making you think you were alone all the time. Then let you know—painfully—that you were not.

  It meant you could never lower your guard.

  He had exceptional hearing, and exceptional eyesight, gifts from his mother and her people, and he heard the light, quick steps coming down the passage toward him long before they slowed to a stop at his door.

  He tensed, still unsure there wasn't someone sitting absolutely still behind him. There were people like that. People who even those with almost magically-heightened senses like himself couldn't detect.

  People from Lustre and even Kassia. And Grimwalt.

  The footsteps were those of a woman or a young boy, and he was surprised when he heard the faint chime of keys and the scratch of iron turning in a lock.

  He dropped the pretence of unconsciousness and looked up as the door opened. He actually gaped as Ava stepped in, awkwardly holding the keys and a bucket and mop.

  She looked around the room as she closed the door behind her, and he relaxed when she focused back on him without any cry of alarm at someone being in the room with him.

  “You have the strength to run?” she whispered, her gaze going to the bruises on his face and then lingering on the black mottling on his chest and sides.

  He nodded as she shoved the keys into a pocket, carefully put the bucket and mop down so they didn't clatter, and then brought out a small knife.

  “Don't know how sharp it is.” She crouched beside him and he was left staring at the dirty rag she'd tied over her head.

  He felt her slide the small blade between his wrist and the rope, pulling it toward her.

  The fibers give easily.

  “Very sharp.” His voice cracked as he spoke. He wondered where she'd got it. She hadn't had it before, he was sure of that.

  She gave a final tug and the rope dropped to the ground. He flexed his hand as the blood rushed back and Ava shuffled around him to work on his other wrist.

  Then she was crouched at his feet, sawing at the rope around his ankles.

  He stumbled up when they went slack, putting a hand on Ava's shoulder for balance.

  “How badly did they hurt you?” She was looking up at him from the ground, face tipped up as she spoke, and he saw the calm, the competence in her expression.

  This was a formidable person he was dealing with.

  “Ribs and face,” he said, giving her the respect he would to his seconds in the army he'd created. The truth just was. It was how you used the information that counted.

  “They didn't take off your bandages?” Her gaze was on the strips she had tied around him yesterday. “Check how you were healing?”

  He shook his head. “Why would they?”

  She shrugged as she stood, pocketing the knife and then gathering up the bucket and mop. The rag on her head had slipped a little and her golden brown hair stuck out, hair he'd been fascinated by since he'd met her—the soft look of it, the short spikes, had mesmerised him.

  If her guards had cut it to humiliate her, they had failed. She looked as beautiful and fey as a Grimwalter could. The short hair only offset her sharp chin and her big br
own eyes.

  She held the bucket and mop like armor, and leaned against the door to listen.

  There was no one coming.

  She glanced at him, and he nodded before they both stepped out.

  Ava turned and locked the door.

  He approved. It was better to leave it as it had been. It would confuse whoever came for him next. Make them wonder if someone else in authority had taken him.

  Before they could choose a direction, the sound of laughter drifted down from the stairwell.

  They both froze, pivoted, and looked down the gloomy passage that ran past the question room into darkness.

  “What's down that way?” Luc whispered.

  “I don't know. I've never been here before.”

  The laughter became louder, and Luc could hear Juni's voice. They were looking forward to whatever they had planned for him.

  “They're here for me.”

  She gave a snort. “Really?”

  Despite the situation, he grinned at her, then started moving into the gloom to find a hiding place.

  He noticed the deep recess in the wall straight away.

  “In here.”

  She hesitated, then moved, and he crowded her into the space, so they were both pressed up against the cold stone wall.

  They were only just in time.

  He heard the jangle of keys and then the scrape of a key in the lock and the slam of the door against the wall.

  “Shit.” Luc didn't recognize the voice that swore so meaningfully. “How do we explain that?”

  “Relax. Maybe Garmand took him up to the general.” That was Juni.

  “What do you mean? Why would he send us down here to interrogate the prisoner if he'd already taken him somewhere else?”

  “Garmand didn't send us down here. This was my idea. I thought a little more questioning might shake something loose.”

  There was a moment of silence. “This wasn't sanctioned and now we get here and the prisoner is gone? Who's going to believe we didn't kill him and hid his body to cover for ourselves?”

  “We walk away. No one knows we're down here. We just go back up.” Juni sounded nervous for the first time since Luc had met him.