Midnight Quest

by Honor Raconteur

  He had no bothered to unpack his gear, so it was an easy matter of switching out a few things that he wouldna need, and putting in a few things he thought he might. Then he went and saddled up his second favorite stallion, seeing as his favorite was worn out from three months of campaigning, and turned for the road.

  ~*~*~*~

  Sarvell reached the outskirts of Belthain roughly an hour and a half before dawn. He’d been slowed a bit due to the poor condition of the road. Probably just as well. He couldn’t do much in the wee hours of the morning anyway.

  There remained a lot of preparation that he needed to do this new day, not the least of which was to prepare for a quick escape. If he managed to get her out of that castle as smoothly as he hoped, they’d still need a quick get away. Two fast horses and good travel food that wouldn’t need cooking should do the trick. Sarvell, as a merchant’s son, knew exactly how long it would take to do all of the shopping necessary to prepare for a trip. For travel like this, where he had no fixed destination, it would take more than the usual preparations. He had to balance fast and light travel with preparing for possible situations they might encounter further down the road.

  The logistics of the problem set his temples to throbbing.

  Not willing to try and talk his way past the city guard at this ridiculous hour of the morning—guards were known to be cantankerous in predawn hours on just general principle—he decided to stop and catch a few hours of sleep. From his mounted vantage point, he could see a small clearing off to the side of the road. He aimed for it, weaving his way in and out of the tall shrubs that passed for trees in this part of the country.

  The clearing was apparently often used by travelers, as it had the remains of a fire pit and the scuffed marks left by bedrolls. Sarvell dismounted, loosened the girth of the saddle, and hobbled the stallion’s legs. Dan blew out a weary breath, no doubt glad that his insane rider had finally stopped for the night. Sarvell gave him a pat on the neck, wishing he had some grain on him. Well, the grass here looked edible enough and Dan had never been shy about eating things.

  He made do with just his cloak and curled up on the ground, not particularly worried about being attacked. Dan, as a former warhorse, didn’t like most people and wasn’t shy about letting them know it. He’d keep watch while Sarvell stole a few hours of sleep.

  The ground was pitted with small rocks, wayward twigs, and random dips so it wasn’t exactly comfortable. Despite the minor discomforts, Sarvell quickly fell to sleep. He’d worked a full day and had only gotten two or three hours of sleep before being dragged out of bed. He was more than tired, his body willing to take any chance of reprieve offered.

  It seemed he’d barely closed his eyes before he heard Dan letting out a warning neigh. On sheer instinct he snatched the sword lying beside him and rolled up to his feet, eyes snapping open to find the source of the threat.

  Not ten feet away another man sat calmly on horseback. His stallion pranced in place, wanting to answer the challenge Dan gave, but stayed back because of the silent command on his reins. It took Sarvell two blinks before his eyes could focus well enough to properly look at the rider. He was tall—tall enough to make Sarvell appear a bit short, which was difficult to do. His dark clothes were roughly made with leather and coarse linen and did nothing to hide the obvious strength in his shoulders and legs. There wasn’t enough light to see his face, only the impression of a beard and sharp eyes.

  Sarvell felt his heart lift a bit at the sight in front of him. This man looked unmistakably Ramathan to him. He stepped forward and put a calming hand on Dan’s neck. “Easy, old Dan, easy.”

  The stallion snorted and tossed his head, no doubt irritated that he couldn’t attack the strangers like he wanted to.

  “You’re out at an odd time of the morning,” Sarvell stated. He was fairly sure this was the man he needed to meet, but it never hurt to be cautious.

  “Eh, well, I had a late night visitor that would no leave a man be,” he responded in a voice deep enough to vibrate mountains. “So afore she skelped me, I took to the road. Are you Sarvell Sorpan?”

  “I am,” Sarvell answered with a sigh of relief. “Elahandra did not tell me your full name. In fact, she didn’t give any idea of where to meet up with you.”

  “Rialt Axheimer,” he responded. “Fortunately for us both, I had a notion or two of which route you would take.” With a tired grunt, he dropped out of the saddle. “Well, Sarvell Sorpan, be you biding here until the gates are properly open?”

  “That is my plan, yes. Gate guards at this hour are notoriously difficult to get past.”

  “Eh, there be truth. We have a lot of work to do, if we be to rescue the priestess tonight, and I think we be short on time. How about you start a fire, so I can make us a cup, and we can make some plans?”

  Sarvell looked at the bag of tea that Rialt pulled out of his saddlebag and in the back of his mind, a heavenly choir broke out into song. “That sounds like a wonderful idea.”

  Chapter Two

  This wasn’t Sarvell’s first visit to Belthain, so the swarm of guards on practically every city street wasn’t a surprise.

  “The city be crawlin’ with the varlets,” Rialt observed in a distinctly disgruntled tone.

  But apparently it was Rialt’s.

  “The ministers’ policies upset more than just your clan,” Sarvell murmured to him. “It makes the politicians a little nervous if they’re not surrounded by guards.” His focus wasn’t really on his response, but on the city streets. From this rooftop vantage, he could clearly see the route of several patrols. In the nicer sections of town, the guards did not go around in pairs, but singly.

  Rialt was not studying the streets. His eyes were focused on Belthain Castle, narrowed slightly against the setting sun’s rays. “That be a well-fortified castle.”

  Sarvell nodded in grim agreement. “I wish we’d had more time to plan this. Going in with just the two of us and no backup plan sits ill with me.”

  “Eh.” Rialt relaxed back onto his haunches, thoughtfully scratching at his beard. “It be going to be a mite difficult to sneak in.”

  “It will be much easier to just walk in.” Sarvell grinned at his companion when Rialt gave him a dubious look. “No, I’m not talking crazy. Correct me if I’m wrong, but your clan is always on the outs with the ministers for one reason or another.”

  Rialt nodded, a little sourly.

  “So no one would think twice about it if a city guardsman had a chained Ramathan in tow, taking him to the dungeon, right?”

  “We would no catch a second glance,” Rialt said slowly. “You will need a uniform.”

  “I’ll need more than that. I’ve never been inside that castle before. I have no idea where the dungeons are. I need to know the names of the gate guards, their superior, and who’s on shift in the dungeon as well.” Sarvell leaned forward slightly, studying a guardsman as he walked by. He looked about the right size…

  “For such an honest man, you be a bit too handy about the finer details of breaking into a place.”

  Sarvell shot him a look of mock-innocence. “Hey, every boy gets into scrapes growing up.”

  Rialt snorted. “Scrapes, be it?”

  Sarvell decided, for the sake of his dignity, that it was safer not to defend himself. He pointed to the tall guard walking alone. “Him.”

  “Off we be, then.” Rialt rose and started running along the rooftops, crouched low to avoid drawing attention to himself. Sarvell ran at his heels, keeping an eye on their quarry as they moved.

  This late in the evening, most people were home, ignoring anything going on outside their walls. The few pedestrians still on the street were so focused on getting their business done so they could go home, they were oblivious to the two men running along overhead. Their boots against the ceramic tiles sounded very loud in Sarvell’s ears, but it apparently didn’t carry to the street as no one glanced up.

  They changed roofs several times, leaping and
climbing as needed. Rialt went up and down with no apparent effort, which amazed Sarvell considering how big the man was. He moved as if he were half-cat. Sarvell scrambled just to keep up with him, getting a bit winded in the process, if he were honest with himself.

  They shadowed the guard for several moments, waiting for him to turn the corner into a more deserted area. Sarvell started to think they were doomed to shadow the man all the way to the castle when he finally turned into a deserted street.

  It was one of the older, more distinct neighborhoods, so the street lamps were lit. They would have to time this carefully, catching him when he passed through one of the shadier areas on the sidewalk. Both men went two houses ahead, moving cautiously in an effort to muffle their footsteps.

  They found the perfect place to ambush the guardsman. The light was dimmer here, with a narrow alley between both houses that would give them a place to retreat. Sarvell sank into a low crouch and murmured to his companion, “Do you want to snag him, or should I?”

  “I will do it.”

  He hadn’t expected a different answer.

  Taut moments slipped past in silence as they watched their quarry walk unknowingly toward them. He was indeed very close to Sarvell’s size, and even similar in coloring with his sandy blond hair and tanned skin. The Goddess was indeed smiling at them.

  He passed through the circle of lamplight. Sarvell counted it down in his head, five more steps, four, three, two—

  Rialt dropped from the roof’s ledge, the edges of his coat flapping up a bit as he sliced downward. His feet hadn’t even properly touched the ground when he clamped a hand around the startled guardsman’s mouth, wrapped a restraining arm around his chest, and hauled him into the alley. It had all been so smoothly done the guard didn’t look like he knew what had hit him.

  Sarvell dropped quickly down after them, following Rialt as he dragged the man several feet into the alley. He was relieved at this sign of expert prowess. The Ramath Clan was known to be excellent fighters—some people claimed they never had toys as children, just daggers and shields—but rumors weren’t always accurate. He’d doubted that the goddess would send anyone on such a dangerous mission that didn’t have excellent fighting skills, either. Sarvell just didn’t like diving into high risk situations with people he barely knew.

  The guardsman jerked in delayed reaction, eyes wide with sheer panic.

  “Now, now,” Sarvell murmured to him soothingly, “no need to panic. We’re not here to kill you. We just need some information and your uniform.”

  “I be no as nice,” Rialt rumbled in warning near the man’s ear. “You try to alert anyone, and I be breaking your fool neck.”

  Judging from the nervous swallow, the man believed the Ramathan would do just that.

  Rialt slowly took his hand away, allowing the guardsman to speak. The man kept wisely silent, eyes darting between both men.

  “First,” Sarvell asked calmly, “your name.”

  “Adair. Ihan Adair.”

  Just a first rank man, eh? Sarvell hadn’t expected differently since the man was slotted for night patrols. “Who is your supervisor?”

  “Nihan Stamons.”

  “Is he on duty tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  Sarvell kept asking him questions as Rialt methodically stripped the man of his coat, pants, and shirt. By the time that Sarvell had put the full uniform on over his own clothes, he knew the names and basic descriptions of every man on duty tonight that he was likely to meet. He also knew the basic layout of the castle and where he could likely find the priestess.

  The only problem with this whole plan was that the pants were a good inch too long. Well, hopefully it wouldn’t be noticed this late at night. Sarvell looked at Rialt, brow cocked in question. He couldn’t think of anything else they needed to know.

  “Are there any usual troublemakers in this city that get hauled to the castle?”

  “Just a few drunks from the downtown taverns,” the guard responded, uncomfortable now that he wore just his long drawers and undershirt in the chill night air. “They normally are gathered up and taken to the holding cells at Belthain about midnight.”

  Midnight was only a few hours off.

  Sarvell thought the implications through. It would be easier to bring in a “prisoner” along with a group instead of alone. He’d get more questions if they came in alone. Even just the usual drunks being hauled in would do. “If I wanted to get a small cart and horse to haul a prisoner in, where would I get one?”

  It wasn’t just being in his underwear and at the mercy of a Ramathan that made the man uneasy. He could tell, from the questions being asked, that something serious was being planned. Haltingly, he described a stable near the castle that the guards used.

  Rialt, apparently satisfied that they had enough information, cold-clocked the man in the jaw. He crumpled to the ground with only a short moan of pain, slumping to rest in a haphazard sprawl against the bricks.

  “Why the cart?” Rialt inquired.

  “If I had to haul in a Ramathan, by myself, I’d want him safely behind thick iron bars. I certainly wouldn’t try to march him in,” Sarvell explained with a slight shrug. “And these men are more cautious than I.”

  “Hm. Good point.” Rialt drew the cloak’s hood up over his face, trying to hide his distinctive features a bit better. “Then let us go snag a cart.”

  ~*~*~*~

  They waited in the shadows, crouched at the bottom of the main thoroughfare, staying out of sight until the town drunks made an appearance. Sarvell used the time to carefully study what he could see of the castle. Belthain rested on top of the largest hill in the area, with only one main road leading up to it. The structure itself had been built with a dark grey stone, giving it an even more formidable look. Around the castle on every other side were large boulders of every possible shape, forming a rocky barrier. Only the truly desperate would try to scale the hill from that direction.

  All along the tops of the castle walls there were men walking in patrols, scanning for possible threats. There were two towers by the front gate, giving an even better vantage for a watch.

  “Well guarded,” Rialt observed calmly. He sat cross-legged in his iron cage, iron cuffs on his wrists that were carefully set to where he could shake them off in a moment if he needed to.

  “Very well guarded,” Sarvell agreed. The quiet of the night wrapped around them. With a wooden bench under him, reins in his hands, and the smell of leather and horse in his nose, Sarvell felt strangely comfortable. He’d been in this position many times in his life, and it was so familiar that despite the circumstances, he found himself at ease. He kept his eyes trained on the castle, tracking people as much out of habit as anything. It didn’t keep his mind from clicking away on a different matter. “Did Elahandra say anything to you about why the priestess was locked away?”

  “No.”

  That was not very enlightening. Sarvell darted a look at him. Rialt sat nearly hunched in on himself in order to fit inside the short, narrow confines of the cage. Far from making him look defeated, the position instead conveyed irritation. Actually, Rialt had acted like a man faced with an unpleasant duty since the moment they had met. Sarvell gathered the impression that the Ramathan had been dragged kicking and screaming into this, and was very unhappy about the whole situation.

  There was nothing that Sarvell could do about the other man’s attitude. Rialt had still done everything necessary without complaint. It was clear he had a professional enough attitude to not let his personal opinion interfere with the mission at hand. As long as it stayed that way, Sarvell decided he wouldn’t say anything to the man.

  “I hear our drunks.” Rialt inclined his head toward the main road.

  It took a few moments—Rialt’s hearing was apparently better than his—before he heard it, too. The sound of drunken demands too slurred to make out, yells, cries and exasperated orders from the guards to shut up. Yes, that would be their drunks, right
on time.

  Sarvell snapped the reins against the gelding’s back, urging the horse into motion, which he did with a tired huff. They moved placidly along the side street, coming up behind the cart holding the drunks and lingering a good ten paces back.

  They clopped along, the drunks getting louder and more insulting the closer they got to the castle. Some of the insults were rather creative. Sarvell, despite his nerves, found himself smiling at some of the wittier expletives.

  It took nearly a quarter of an hour to ride up to the main gate. There were two guards standing on either side of the portcullis, spears in hand, bored expression on their faces. They gave only a cursory glance to the drunks, a slightly more curious look at the Ramathan “prisoner” as they passed them, but made no challenge. Sarvell heaved a covert sigh of relief as they passed the outer walls.

  Belthain Castle’s inner courtyard was very similar in design to his home clan’s castle, so it held no surprises. Fortunately. There was the usual guards’ barracks on one side, holding cells for prisoners on the other, as well as a single well, stable and smithy crowded in. A clear courtyard stood in the center with the main doors to the castle beyond that. They gathered quick glances from the guards, but most were focused on the drunks as they were unloaded. With their sodden heads and uncoordinated limbs, the drunks were tripping over everyone and everything, calling out blandishments as they did. It was quite the show. Sarvell couldn’t have asked for a better diversion.

  He pulled the cart around to the far side of the holding cells, near the stables, and hopped lightly off the seat and to the ground. As he came around, an officer frowned and started for them. “You there! What’s this?”

  “Nihan Manalo, sir, Third Division,” Sarvell lied glibly. “We caught this Ramathan out on the edge of the city, skulking about. He wouldn’t state his purpose and put up a bit of a fight when we tried to press him. Sahan Stanger said I was to put him in the dungeons for holding until we can figure it out.”