by AC Cobble
But that was a problem for later. Now, they were all safely beneath the span of the bridge, pressed against the tower and only needing to find a way inside. If they attempted to climb up the side of the tower to where the entrance was, they would have the same problem as if they’d simply walked across. Instead, Rew had thought they could climb to the top from where they were and enter there. No one would expect it. The light was growing, though, and he was getting nervous they’d be seen. On this side of the tower, they’d be exposed to Duke Eeron’s soldiers in the keep. He thought he could get around to the backside of the tower and climb up there, but he knew the children wouldn’t make it. If they were going to climb to the top, it would be on a rope he dropped down the keep-facing side of the tower. They’d have to scramble up right beside the bridge, right next to the heavily guarded door, and in full view of the soldiers lining the walls of Duke Eeron’s keep across the way. So, before he started scaling to the top, Rew had another idea.
“Let me see your greatsword,” he said to Raif.
“What?” asked the youth, still pushing gingerly against his bruised side.
“I’ll give it back,” assured Rew.
Frowning, the youth drew the huge sword and, with the help of his sister, passed it to Rew.
Tucking the sharp blade beneath his arm, Rew awkwardly climbed down the side of the tower a dozen paces. There was a window there, and it was pitch black inside.
“What’s in there?” asked the fighter from above.
“The window is covered in iron bars,” said Rew. “It’s a dungeon, but an empty one.”
He tested one of the bars, and then holding onto it, he grasped the hilt of the greatsword with his other hand and slid it inside of the window.
“What are you doing?” worried Raif.
Rew angled the giant blade so that the hilt was inside, positioned between an iron bar and the stone wall, the long length of steel sticking back outside. He gripped the hilt and tugged on it. Nothing happened. He adjusted the hilt, moving it farther inside, improving his leverage.
“Hold on,” said Raif from above him. “What are you doing with my family’s enchanted greatsword?”
Rew tugged, and again, nothing happened.
Muttering curses, he shifted inside farther, reaching as deep as he could into the room, nearly dropping the greatsword before he caught the hilt, and then straining with everything he had as he hung off the side of the tower, only holding on with one hand around a rusty iron bar. Whispering a prayer to the Blessed Mother, he put his weight on the hilt of the blade, leaning back into the open air.
The iron bar snapped.
Only a strong grip on the remaining bar saved Rew from plunging off the side of the tower. Grinning maniacally, Rew worked the greatsword, pressing the steel against the broken bar, and only thinking later how lucky he was that it was the second bar which had broken, and not the one he was holding onto. Working feverishly, Rew snapped off another hunk of rusty iron, and soon, there was a space large enough that he thought even Raif could squeeze through. It’d be tight, though.
“Zaine, come down here and see if you can get inside,” he hissed. “And when you do, keep quiet.”
“I am a thief, you know,” reminded the girl, scaling easily down the side of the tower. She slipped into the room and made her way across the stone floor. When she returned, she whispered, “It’s a cell, but a nicer one than you have back at your ranger station. It has a wooden door but I didn’t try it. There’s no handle on this side, but there is a light out in the hallway. I couldn’t hear anyone.”
“Well, cell or not, it’s a place we can rest safely,” said Rew. He looked up to the others. “Climb down and go inside. Be quiet when you get in. Zaine says there’s light in a hallway outside of the room.”
“Climb down?” asked Cinda, her voice panicked.
She was looking at Rew and the five-hundred paces of open air beneath him. Rew grimaced. Without his experience climbing or Zaine’s natural grace, the others weren’t going to make it.
Anne drew her belt knife, reached up, and sawed through the rope they’d swung over on. When she cut it loose, she said, “Let’s be honest. Whatever happens, we weren’t going to go back that way. Swinging over was a terrible plan, Rew.”
“It worked, didn’t it?” he asked as she and the others tied off the length of rope.
Cinda began climbing, her hands grasping the rope, her boots slipping down the rough stone of the tower wall.
Rew chose not to hear what the noblewoman was calling him under her breath. He hung outside of the window and helped her in. Anne came next, and the look she gave him spoke volumes more than Cinda’s muttered curses. Raif was silent, barely fitting through the tight gap, the broken iron bar taking a hunk of skin off of him as he wriggled inside.
Clambering in, Rew looked to where Anne was crouched beside the fighter, putting her hands on him to heal the bleeding scrape and his bruised ribs.
“Easier getting in than getting out of these, eh?” Rew asked. The others turned and looked at him blankly. He added, “Remember when you were broken out of my jail cell, Raif? You got shredded down to the bone. I, ah… Never mind.”
Zaine put a hand on his arm. “We made it inside, Ranger, but perhaps wait a bit before the jokes?”
21
The room was a cell, no doubt about it, but it was a rather nice one. There was a four-poster bed piled with linens and a table with one chair pulled up to it, presumably where the occupant of the cell could enjoy their meals and pen missives to relatives begging they comply with whatever extortion the duke was attempting. There was a ragged, stuffed lounging chair, a tiny bookshelf filled with tattered tomes, a candle, and a thankfully empty chamber pot. The room was made for a high-profile prisoner, and to Rew’s eye, it had been freshened recently as if in anticipation of a new arrival. The Investiture swept Vaeldon in waves giant and small.
The party was exhausted from their midnight journey across the bottom of the bridge, but the idea of resting for long in the cell was foolhardy. Rew checked the door, and while it was firmly shut, it was not locked. There was no door handle on the interior, but when he wedged his fingers beneath the gap at the floor, he found with some effort he could tug the heavy slab of wood and iron open.
Zaine, crouched beside him and whispered, “What if there are guards on the other side?”
Rew shrugged but did not respond.
He waved everyone back over to the window, and in low tones, they discussed what to do. The tower appeared to be what Zaine’s reconnaissance had uncovered, a luxurious prison. They didn’t know what else could be inside the imposing edifice or how many prisoners may be kept there. They didn’t know if there were a few guards or several companies. Duke Eeron could have half a dozen spellcasters monitoring the place, for all they knew. Alsayer, Vyar Grund, anyone could be lurking in the hallways. The danger was evident, but it wasn’t going to be any less no matter what plan they came up with. The only thing to do was venture out slowly and quietly and try to scout as much of the place as they could without alerting any of the guards. Once they were spotted, it was going to get messy.
“I’ll go first, followed by Zaine,” said Rew. “I’ll try to take down anyone we see. Zaine, only use your arrows if I’ve missed and you know you’ve got a shot. The steel tip of an arrow against stone will ring like a bell. Raif, I’m sorry to say it, but stealth is not your style. Wait until we’ve lost any hope of concealment. Then, you know what to do. Be careful in tight quarters with that greatsword. With little room and in the heat of combat, you could hit us as easily as the enemy. Don’t hesitate to use the hilt to batter a man if you don’t have room for a swing. Cinda, do not engage unless we’re going to die otherwise. I’m certain that somehow, Duke Eeron has protected this tower against high magic. Otherwise, practitioners could be portaling in and out at will and the place would be worthless as a prison. The moment you release your power, we’ll have everyone in Duke Eeron’s emplo
y on our heels. You should also expect glamours, wards, and other ways to misdirect your casting. We know they’ve prepared, but we don’t know how.”
Cinda nodded, her lips pressed tightly together, fire in her eyes. Raif held his greatsword in front of him, prepared for a fight, but he didn’t object to Rew’s instructions, either. The boy had left his barony to rescue his father, and now that they were on the cusp, he would do anything to accomplish it. Maintaining stealth was common sense, and the youth wasn’t going to argue about his own abilities when it came to keeping quiet. Rew glanced at Anne but did not offer her any instruction. She’d stay behind them, and if someone went down, she’d be ready to assist.
With Rew and Zaine beside the door, Raif put his fingers underneath of it and pulled, slowly working it open. The hinges creaked, sounding like the wail of a wraith in the small, stone-walled room, but from outside in the hallway, they heard no shouts of alarm or running feet. As soon as it was open far enough, Rew put his hand on the edge and helped Raif, wincing at the squeal of metal on metal as the rarely used hinges rubbed together.
They stopped when the door was halfway open. Zaine poked her head out and then turned to Rew and shrugged. The ranger padded into the corridor, his soft, leather boots making no sound on the stone.
The hallway was lit at both ends by flickering lanterns. The interior wall was bare stone, the exterior dotted with heavy wooden doors, all of them shut. More prison cells, guessed Rew. As quiet as a falling snow, Rew and Zaine stalked down the corridor while the others clustered in the entrance of the cell.
The ranger and the thief listened at half a dozen doors, hearing nothing from inside of them, before deciding this part of the prison must be empty. It was ready, though, for new occupants. Someone had lit the lanterns, and they must have done so expecting the rooms to be used. Through a few doorways that had been left cracked open, Rew saw that other cells were arranged much like the one they’d entered.
Peering around the corner of the hall, he saw an opening on the interior that he guessed led to a stairwell. It seemed the outside of the tower was rooms—prison cells—and the stairs rose through the core of it. There’d be no avoiding that stairwell.
Rew waved for the others to wait, and then, he and Zaine scouted the rest of the floor they were on. They found nothing, and Rew risked opening a few doors. At the far corner, he found something different and quickly closed the door before Zaine or anyone else saw what was inside.
A wooden table in the center of that room was set on a swivel so it could be stood upright. There were manacles on the top and bottom of the table that could be adjusted for the height of a person. A rack hung on one wall, adorned with iron and steel implements that had only one, grim purpose. Knives and pliers. Scourges and vices. Pincers and tongs. An unlit brazier occupied a corner with a stand of pokers beside it. Rew could smell blood and the sickly sweet stench of burnt flesh in the room. While it seemed none of the prison cells on the floor were currently in use, the torture chamber hadn’t been vacant for very long.
Rew and Zaine returned to find the others and led them to the stairs. There was one floor above them that might hold prisoners, and above that was the main level where the bridge connected the tower to the keep. There were certain to be soldiers on that floor.
Rew offered a hope to the Blessed Mother that they would find Baron Fedgley on the next level, and then another hope that once they found him, they could make their way out of the tower unnoticed.
The next floor, though, was unlike the one they’d entered through. As Rew crouched in the stairwell looking over the top step, he saw it was completely open. It was a common room for the soldiers who guarded the place. From the stairwell, they could hear a low murmur of conversation. Two speakers, he thought, and he could see a rack of weapons near the stairs that held halberds and short swords. Beside it was another rack with pieces of armor and miscellaneous equipment for the guards. Most of the hooks on the rack were empty, as if the guards had taken their armaments when they came on duty.
Zaine pointed up and raised an eyebrow.
Rew shook his head. Only two men were speaking. If they balked at confronting two soldiers, they were never going to rescue Baron Fedgley, and while it appeared to be a common room for the guards, there was no telling what was on the other side of the stairwell. They had to clear this floor before proceeding. Rew reached down and drew his two knives from his boots. He flipped them to hold the weapons by the blade.
Zaine slung her bow over her shoulder and drew her daggers as well. She gripped them tightly, her face taut but her hands steady.
Stepping carefully, silently, Rew emerged from the stairs. To either side of him, he saw tables and chairs where men might sit during their break, eating a meal or playing a game of cards. The conversation they overheard was happening on the opposite side of the stairwell. The men were discussing the weather. Rew fought back a snort and skulked through the room. He paused at the corner of the wall, gave Zaine a look, and then darted around it.
Two men were sitting at a table, sipping steaming mugs, the remains of a meal on the table in front of them. Rew flung his dagger at one, switched hands with the second dagger, and met the eyes of a startled soldier.
“Who—“
Rew tossed his second blade and smiled grimly as the sharp steel thunked into the man’s throat.
The first man toppled backward, his chair clattering on the stone floor. The second man stared at Rew, his mouth open as if to scream, but only a strangled gurgle emerged, followed by a shower of blood as the man coughed. He slumped forward, his forehead thumping onto the table.
They waited for an alarm or shout, worried someone had heard the falling chair, but there was no reaction from above, and the rest of the room was empty. The party followed Rew and Zaine around the corner and stared, wide-eyed, at the dead soldiers.
Rew collected his knives then turned, peering at the items in the room, hoping for a clue, but there was nothing that pointed to where Baron Fedgley might be held, though it was obvious the tower supported a lot of guards. There were chairs for a dozen of them to sit at once, and presumably if that many were sitting, there were just as many on duty.
Grimacing, Rew went back to the stairwell and started up again. This time, he crouched down on the stairs. Peeking over the top step, he saw a huge door that led from the tower to the bridge and the keep. The double-height door was reinforced and barred with three bolts as thick as his arm. Had they attempted to storm the place, there was no way they would have gotten through that. Worse, there were more than a dozen guards loitering around, some chatting in small groups, others pacing around looking bored.
There was a table to one side of the door with a fat ledger open on top of it. A sealed jar of ink and a quill were beside the ledger, but at the moment, no one was at the table. As Rew watched, one of the guards called out, “They’re opening the gate at the keep. Looks like a visitor.”
The man was peering through an iron-barred window beside the door. He waved to his companions. Several of the guards started wrestling with the huge bolts, sliding them out of the heavy brackets with difficulty so that they could open the door.
Rew glanced back down the stairwell, wondering if the two men he’d just killed were the ones in charge of the ledger. It could be where they kept a log of their prisoners and their guests. Rew looked at the backs of the dozen guards opening the door and then gestured for Anne and the younglings to go up the stairs.
Whether or not the two men below would be expected to greet a new arrival, they weren’t going to have a better chance than now to ascend the stairs with the guards all facing the door. If they could, Rew wanted to find Baron Fedgley before they had to deal with a mass of guards coming after them. If it came to it, they could use the baron’s help. Quietly, Rew climbed the stairs, Zaine tight on his heels. Less quietly, Raif started up in a rustle of steel and leather.
Zaine rolled her eyes at Rew, and he held his breath, lurking at the
bend in the stairwell, hoping the sound of the scraping metal bolts in the door and the guards’ own clattering armor would cover the stomp of Raif’s boots and the scrape of his steel.
“It’s the girl again,” called one of the guards. “Coming to see the baron.”
“Pfah,” muttered another voice. “She’s been coming every day for weeks. The man’s not going to crack for her. Give Jonas a bit of time downstairs with the pincers, and he’ll pull the baron into line. The duke is wasting his time with this deception, if you ask me.”
“The duke needs the baron,” argued another soldier. “Jonas could break the man, but that’s not what is needed. The duke is smart. Arcanist Salwart is smart. They both know the girl is the way to the baron’s heart. She’s how they’ll get the man working for them, and he’ll be glad of it.”
Forgoing stealth for speed, the party scrambled up the stairs, knowing that in seconds, the guards would turn and could not possibly miss the five of them standing in the middle of the passageway.
Rew rushed up to the next floor and nearly barreled into a man who was standing in the opening of a room. With no time to think, Rew swung a crisp uppercut and caught the startled soldier on the chin. The man’s eyes went dark like a candle that had been snuffed out, and Rew surged forward, catching the body and slowing its descent to the floor.
“Did you just—“ began another soldier.
Rew, still crouched over the first man, ripped a knife from his boot and flung it at the second man.
The blade caught the soldier square in the eye. He toppled back, slumping against the wall.
