Levrellian stood and guards hauled Alaric and Dietz to their feet. “I am a reasonable man and a king, not a thief. I will not steal, even from criminals.” Alaric doubted that was true but knew better than to say so. “I give you your lives in exchange for the map.”
He beckoned to the man with the black border. “Take them back to their cell,” he commanded.
Alaric gasped despite himself. “You just said you’d give us our lives!” he accused.
“Yes, and you won’t be killed,” the Border Prince snapped. “Now be gone before I change my mind!”
As the guards dragged them away Alaric heard the Border Prince saying to his advisor, “You really think the map is worth all this trouble?”
Alaric was certainly starting to wonder that himself.
* * *
It was dark when Dietz regained consciousness. The guards had taken it upon themselves to beat him and Alaric upon their return to the cell, and that combined with their earlier treatment in the throne room had mercifully allowed Dietz to pass out. Now he slowly, carefully levered himself up from the floor and glanced around. His head was pounding, his vision blurred, his entire body alternately aching and throbbing, and each ragged breath caused sharp stabbing pains through his chest, but at least his limbs felt intact and he still had all his fingers and toes and most of his teeth.
The little cell was quiet, too quiet.
“Alaric?” Dietz whispered. No response. He tried again and this time got a soft groan. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness and finally he made out a huddled shape against the far wall. “Alaric?” The cell was small enough for him to cross it in only two steps, but the exertion had been enough for him to be glad for an excuse to drop to his knees.
The shape shifted as Dietz approached, and by peering closely he could see it was his friend. Alaric looked every bit as bad as Dietz felt and possibly worse.
“At least we’re still alive,” the younger man murmured. He tried to smile and winced instead.
Dietz left his friend and went to examine the cell door. It was solid and heavy, too thick for him to break even when he hadn’t been beaten recently. Nor was there another way out of the room. He leaned his head against the door, trying to think, and heard a faint noise from the other side: a tiny scraping sound, accompanied by a soft, almost musical chirping.
“Glouste?”
The chirping increased in speed and volume until it became his pet’s usual chattering. Then he heard a scrabbling, along with a metallic clinking, and a second later Glouste had slipped through the window bars and was wrapping herself ecstatically around his neck.
“Yes, yes, I missed you too,” Dietz assured her, laughing as she nibbled his ear affectionately. He hadn’t seen her since they’d entered the city and had been worrying about her. She’d managed to hide from the guards they’d travelled with, but was gone before he’d been searched. Apparently she’d followed them here, and she’d been busy since, judging from the key-ring she proudly dropped into his hands.
“Nice,” he told her, scratching her between the ears while he fumbled with the keys. The fourth one opened their cell door.
“How did you—?” Alaric started to ask, sitting up at the sound of the hinges creaking. He laughed when he saw Glouste. “I might have known.” The younger man managed to clamber to his feet unaided and only swayed a few times on the way to the door. “Best not to linger,” he suggested, walking as quickly as he could down the hall. “There’s no telling when the guards might return.”
As it turned out, they needn’t have worried. Upon rounding the corner Alaric almost tripped over one guard. The man was leaning back on a stool, his head and shoulders in the juncture of the walls, an empty tankard on the ground beside him, and he was snoring.
They found three more guards in a room nearby, sitting around a rough wooden table, also asleep.
“Strong ale,” Dietz commented, glancing at the tankards in front of the men. He took the opportunity to search the room, which was clearly a guard station. “Aha!” he said quietly after opening a small chest in the corner. Their boots were in it along with their belt pouches, his club and his jacket and cap. The chest held several other articles of clothing, presumably from other prisoners, but he left those alone.
Dietz turned around, holding his prizes up for Alaric to see, and froze. His friend had his hands around a guard’s waist and was carefully unfastening the man’s belt.
“Got it!” Alaric said after a moment, lifting the belt triumphantly. It was his own and his rapier and dagger still hung from it. The guard had not moved during the process.
They quickly donned their boots, grateful for the footwear. The table held a wineskin, a water skin, a small piece of cheese, a loaf of bread, and a small cask. The cask was empty.
Dietz sniffed at it suspiciously, shrugged and shoved the rest of the provisions into a sack he found on the floor. “Strong stuff,” he commented. Too strong to be mere ale, he thought, but he didn’t say that out loud.
“Time to go,” Alaric said, and Dietz agreed. They saw one more guard, stationed at the front door, also out cold, and Alaric reclaimed his jacket from the man. Then they were outside and moving hastily towards the front gates.
“How are we going to get through that?” Alaric asked as they approached. Six guards were visible around it and several more probably lurked nearby.
“Confidence,” Dietz told him. “Walk like you have a right to leave.” Trying to ignore his injuries he stretched and consciously adopted his usual loose stride, walking towards the gate as if he hadn’t a care in the world. He saw Alaric beside him after a moment, the nobleman reclaiming his customary posture and pace as well. Together they approached the gate.
“Halt!” One of the guards stepped forwards, holding his spear before him, and Dietz stopped obediently just beyond its tip. “Where are you going?”
“Tengey,” Dietz replied. “We have business with a wine merchant there.”
Alaric nodded and managed to look impatient, annoyed, and superior, all at the same time.
The guard studied them for a moment. He started to ask a second question when a second guard came running up. “Fire!” the new arrival shouted. “The jailhouse is on fire!”
As one, the guards ran towards the jailhouse, leaving Dietz and Alaric alone by the gate. They didn’t waste time running through it as fast as they could.
“Did you—?” Alaric asked as they limped away from the city walls.
Dietz shook his head. “Did you?” But he knew the answer before his friend denied it. They hadn’t started any fire.
So who had?
“It could be worse,” Alaric pointed out. They had been walking for perhaps an hour, skirting the road when possible. It made for easier walking but also left them open to pursuit. Unfortunately they were in no shape to trek through the wilder parts of the forest.
“No crossbows,” Dietz pointed out sourly.
“At least we have our other weapons back,” Alaric pointed out. He understood his friend’s concern, though. Without those crossbows hunting—not to mention defending themselves—would be a lot more difficult. He knew Dietz particularly regretted the loss of Fastred’s crossbow, both for its usefulness and for sentimental reasons.
“I guess you were right about the mask,” Alaric admitted, wincing as he stretched. “If I’d brought it Levrellian would have it now.”
“As it is, he’s got the map,” Dietz pointed out. He glanced at Alaric in what might have been meant as a glare but was too pained to be more than a look. “Why did you tell him about that?”
“I don’t know,” Alaric admitted. “I did not intend to. The words emerged without my control.” It had been a terrible feeling, those words bubbling up from somewhere deep within, his lips and tongue forming sounds his brain fought desperately to block.
“Didn’t know what you were saying,” Dietz commented, misunderstanding.
“No, I knew,” Alaric replied, feeling a bit
testy after their recent encounter. “I just couldn’t stop it.”
“Well,” Dietz said, “that’s it then. We can’t find this place without a map.”
Alaric studied his friend. “I thought you weren’t keen on finding it to begin with.”
“I wasn’t,” Dietz agreed, “but now I am.” He grinned, wincing as the smile tugged at his split lip and swollen jaw. “Imagine Levrellian’s face if we get there first.”
“That would be worth it,” Alaric agreed.
“But he’s got the map,” Dietz said, “and that’s the only way to find the tomb.”
“True,” Alaric said. Then he grinned, which caused a pained grimace of his own. “But I still have most of it,” he added, enjoying the look of surprise on his friend’s face. “Up here.” He tapped his forehead, wincing as his finger touched a sore spot.
CHAPTER FIVE
“You memorised the map?”
“It wasn’t all that complicated,” Alaric admitted, starting to shrug and thinking better of it. “The map didn’t have much detail, and I have been staring at it for the past month or more.”
“You can redraw it, then?”
“I can, although I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” At Dietz’s puzzled look Alaric explained. “If I draw a new copy it just means someone else could steal it.”
“If you draw it, I can see it,” Dietz replied with a tone that suggested he was being daft. It was a tone he heard all too often.
This time, however, it seemed justified. It hadn’t occurred to him that Dietz would want to see the map as well, and it did make more sense for both of them to have some idea where they were going.
“I’ll redraw it when we stop to rest,” he assured his lanky friend. No one seemed to be pursuing them, but he knew they’d still both feel better with more distance between them and Zenres.
By that night the city was further behind them, although the distance they had covered was pitiful compared to what they could travel on horseback, or even walking when in good health. It would have to do, however. Alaric felt as if his legs were going to turn to dust beneath him, and he was drenched in sweat despite the fact that his mouth felt as dry as a desert under a hot sun.
They chose a campsite less by scouting than by simply collapsing at the first available spot. It wasn’t as if they had much to set up camp with anyway. True, Dietz had flint and tinder in his pouch, and after a few minutes to catch his breath he assembled a small fire for some much-desired warmth, but they had no blankets, no bedrolls, no cook-ware, and nothing to cook on it if they had. It was going to be a long, cold night, followed by several more just like it.
After eating the piece of cheese and the loaf of bread—there was no point rationing it when it would already be barely enough to keep them going tomorrow—Alaric pulled a quill, a small vial of ink, and a blank scrap of parchment from his belt pouch. Apparently the guards had not been impressed with Alaric’s gear because they had shoved it all back into the pouch and left it there.
Meanwhile Dietz was thinking again about their recent escape, and about how easy it had been.
“Too easy,” he said aloud as Alaric drew.
“What’s that?”
“Our escape was too easy,” Dietz repeated. “Why?”
“Just luck, working in our favour for once,” Alaric suggested, still focused on the map he was making from memory.
“That was more than luck,” Dietz countered. “Somebody drugged the guards and then set fire to the jailhouse to cover our escape. Why? Who would want to help us?”
“Perhaps that guard captain took pity on us. He seemed a decent sort,” Alaric suggested.
“Not that decent,” Dietz argued, “and it wouldn’t be worth the risk for him.” He shuddered as he remembered the tall man behind the throne, Strykssen, and his obvious enthusiasm when Levrellian had mentioned the torture. He could only imagine what they did to traitors. “Why would it be worth the risk for anyone?”
“I don’t know,” Alaric admitted. He set down his quill and looked up. “What matters is that someone did decide to take the risk, and thanks to them we’re free again. It could have been far worse.”
Dietz couldn’t argue with that, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling there was more to it than mere generosity. Someone had helped them escape for a reason. The question was why?
“There!” Alaric scratched one final mark with his quill, and then carefully wiped the tip clean and returned it to his belt pouch, along with the stoppered vial. Dietz stepped over to inspect the piece of parchment over the younger man’s shoulder.
Alaric had indeed redrawn the map. A few of the marks were missing, perhaps, and some of the lines seemed… different, somehow.
“Are you sure those are right?” Dietz asked, gesturing towards a handful of long, wavy lines that intersected one another at various points. “I don’t remember those from the original.”
Alaric frowned. “I’m sure they were there,” he insisted. “I can still picture it clearly.”
Dietz shrugged. He would have said the lines were something new, but Alaric did have an impressive memory for maps and history, and he was the one who had been staring at the thing all those nights. Perhaps those marks had simply been too faint to notice on casual inspection and Alaric had drawn them in darker because he had found them on the original and so remembered them clearly.
“What are they?” he asked after a minute.
“Roads, I think,” Alaric replied, “trails of some sort.” He brightened. “They may be paths that lead to the tomb!”
“We still have no idea where it is,” Dietz couldn’t help but point out as they both studied the parchment together.
“I know,” Alaric said, “but at least we have this as a guide again.” He rolled the parchment up carefully and stuck it inside his jacket for safekeeping. “If nothing else, we hold to our original plan—head towards the Blood River and hope something along the way strikes a chord.”
“Find the nearest town and buy fresh supplies,” Dietz suggested, stretching out on a patch of ground with more grass and fewer twigs and rocks. He considered taking off his jacket and bundling it behind his head, but the fire he’d built was small and the nights were chilly. He was better off wearing the garment than sleeping on it.
“Definitely,” Alaric agreed, also bedding down as best he could. “Horses, blankets, bedrolls, and we’ll be as good as before.”
“You still have money?” Dietz asked. He was surprised that the guards had left that as well.
“Not as such, no,” Alaric admitted. “They took my coin, but I do still have this.” He held up something small and round that gleamed in the firelight, and after a second Dietz recognised it. It was the ring Alaric had taken from that fallen wolf rider. “It was buried in my pouch, beneath the ink.”
“Good thing,” Dietz said, settling down and closing his eyes. Glouste took the opportunity to move around to the front, curling up across his chest and neck like a massive red-brown beard. “Don’t think we’d get much for that sack, or our boots.”
“Oh, I have great faith in your bargaining ability, my friend,” Alaric replied sleepily. “You could get us two horses for one old sock if you had to.”
Dietz spared himself the need to reply by falling asleep.
It was four more days before they reached any sort of settlement, and that was only a sturdy farmstead nestling among its fields. Many of their bruises had faded to a dull purple, and walking only brought aches rather than sharp pains. Breathing was still a chore and both men had to be careful not to draw breath too quickly or too deeply, but they were getting better. Dietz had rigged snares with bootlaces and twigs and caught them a brace of hares the second night, which had gone a long way to making them both feel considerably better. Even so it was morning when they spotted the farmstead and almost dusk before they reached it.
Alaric told the suspicious farmers they had been waylaid and robbed. Their bruises and lack of any belongings
supported the story, and the farmer let them stay the night in his barn. He gave them directions and a few crusts to eat, and a loaf of bread and rind of cheese in a sack the next morning. Alaric and Dietz left quickly, determined not to outstay their tentative welcome.
Three days later they reached what the farmer had assured them was the Howling River. Their bruises had faded considerably, and if people did not look too closely the discoloration would not be noticed. They were also moving more smoothly, the pains in the limbs fading to aches and the aches to memories. The food from the farm was gone but it had done its work well and Alaric felt almost fully recovered.
Of course, none of that helped with the problem of finding the tomb.
“It’s no use!” Alaric shouted one night, tossing the parchment from him. It fluttered, caught by a light breeze, and wafted towards their fire—only Dietz’s quick dive saved it from incineration. “I’ve no idea where we’re going!” Alaric continued petulantly, although he was relieved his little tantrum had not cost them this second map.
“Blood River,” Dietz replied, handing the parchment back to him.
“Yes, yes,” Alaric said testily, “but what then?” He held the map up so Dietz could see it as well. “The river is here,” he said, jabbing at the map with one finger, “and the tomb is here,” another jab. “But what does that mean? We have no sense of scale here. The blasted thing could be right beside the water or halfway across the Dark Lands!”
[Daemon Gates 02] - Night of the Daemon Page 6
