by Riley Keene
The leader growled in frustration and lunged forward, knife raised. Ermolt grunted as the jagged metal bit into his shoulder. The weapon was dull and it had only sunk about a rhen into his flesh, but the dullness only made it more painful.
Ermolt slapped the hand holding the weapon, and the hunk of metal flew across the room. He followed up with a straight punch to the man’s nose. The punch sent the leader stumbling back into his regrouping minions as they struggled to their feet.
Sudden movement behind them caught Ermolt’s eye. Elise motioned towards the door, held up both her hands as if they were manacled together, and then immediately scurried out of sight. He could hear her climbing the shelves, likely looking for a good place to hide.
The guards were coming.
Ermolt assumed it wouldn’t be long before either someone came across the guard he’d knocked out, or the man woke up. It was inevitable, really. But he had hoped he’d have a little more warning.
He had no way of escaping now. Elise’s hiding meant they were coming fast. She would likely wait until the guards were dealing with Ermolt before she snuck out and went to keep an eye on Athala while Ermolt was dealing with his punishment.
This fight would be coming to an end one way or the other, but Ermolt wanted to make sure the ending would make a satisfactory tale to regale his mercenary group with later.
Having untangled themselves, the three remaining attackers approached much more warily this time. Being bruised and battered made them more cautious, but also more likely to aim for painful areas. They would try to take him out. Their superior numbers meant that Ermolt couldn’t defend himself completely, but he was confident that they would come out of the fight worse than he would. None of these men had trained at Celnaer Hold.
The prisoner on the far left came in and Ermolt took it for a feint. He turned his head to keep the one on the opposite side in view, but the attack was genuine. The man’s fist connected with Ermolt’s cheekbone, splitting the skin.
From the right came a follow up with a kick but Ermolt caught the attack on his forearm, turning it away from his stomach. The leader rushed in from the middle, grabbing Ermolt’s hair to try and drag him down. Ermolt braced himself against the pull. He winced at the yank against his hair but held strong. In return he lashed out with his fist just below the leader’s armpit, jerking him sideways with a grunt. Ermolt struck out with the heel of his other palm, finding the man’s already flattened nose. The leader’s head snapped back with a spurt of blood and he released his grip on Ermolt’s hair.
Ermolt groaned as the man on his left landed a solid punch in the small of his back, but Ermolt rolled with the blow, shifting his weight with the strike. He whirled and came across hard with his right fist, driving the strike into the center of the prisoner’s chest. The man’s eyes bulged and he fell to his knees, gasping for air.
With a growl, Ermolt turned to the man on his right, directly into a punch to his jaw. There was no rolling with this punch and no absorbing the blow. A sharp shock of pain told him there would be a nasty lump later. Ermolt shook his head to clear it, but the attacker followed up with a kick to the back of Ermolt’s leg. He fell to one knee and the prisoner lashed out with a kick to Ermolt’s face.
His head snapped back from the impact but he kept his wits about him. Barely. The next punch was aimed at Ermolt’s face and he blocked it with his arm. Ermolt turned and punched as hard as he could, directly into the man’s groin. The prisoner only managed to squeak before falling to the ground.
Ermolt rose to his feet, unsteadily. The leader had gotten back to his feet as well. He looked at the rest of his men, broken and beaten on the floor, before scoffing at Ermolt. It was obvious the man was intimidated, but Ermolt could appreciate the air of bravado he was trying to cultivate.
“This isn’t over,” the leader said with a sneer, taking a step back.
Ermolt lunged, grabbing the man by the shoulder. As soon as his grip closed, the door burst open and three guards rushed in, wearing padded armor and wielding carved wooden batons. They rushed down the main aisle just as Ermolt’s elbow crashed across the leader’s face, sending the man spinning to the ground.
The guards didn’t say anything.
There were no requests for explanation, or shouts to surrender.
They just took one look at the beaten bodies around him, and the three guards swarmed him and started battering Ermolt with their weapons. He was brought to his knees quickly, not that it would have taken much. Fighting five in hand-to-hand combat was exhausting.
As they battered him with their batons, Ermolt tucked his head in under his arms and took the abuse. It was just their job, after all. They were just trying to keep the peace.
Once it was clear he was subdued—or else they had become tired of lining his ribs with bruises, Ermolt wasn’t sure which—the guards grabbed him and dragged him from the room, snarling something to him about spending the night in solitary confinement.
Ermolt let himself be pulled along, his head heavy with exhaustion. He looked up once, just to confirm that Elise was with Athala in their cell as they passed. They both looked safe but frightened. He knew they’d be fine. They were new prisoners, in the prison for less than a few bells, and the guards had no idea the three of them ran as a pack. As long as Elise and Athala didn’t do anything stupid, they would likely see him in the morning.
If he hadn’t been so thoroughly beaten, he may have waved goodbye, stupid as that would have been. Instead, he decided to pass out. It seemed like the right thing to do.
Chapter Eighteen
Elise still hadn’t seen any sign of Ermolt by the time she and Athala made their way to the mess hall for breakfast the next morning. In fact, upon waking from a restless night of half sleep, she had suffered a pretty considerable panic attack in realization that Ermolt wasn’t there.
Keeping an eye on Athala was a full-time job. That was why the Wizard’s Tower hired both a Conscript and a Mercenary. And while Elise was sure they weren’t going to be thrilled to hear that Athala ended up in Auernheim, at least she was still with her protectors.
But then Ermolt had to go and be a hero. Elise wondered if the man he saved would even care about the sacrifice the barbarian made in order to save him. In the grand scheme of things, it was unlikely, but if Ydia had any influence on the compassion of thieves and cheaters, perhaps he could help them get out of here in exchange for Ermolt saving his life.
When the bell for breakfast was finally rung and prisoners started to mill into the hallways to make their way towards the mess hall, Elise gently woke Athala and helped the wizard out of bed. By the time they started down the hall, the crowds had thinned out considerably and so Elise followed the noise of the gathered prisoners rather than any one particular person.
The mess hall itself was a wide room filled with rows of short tables with benches attached. Each one looked like it could hold six people, but there were so many of them that there were a multitude of open seats.
Elise led Athala to the back of the room and the two women fetched a tray of food each from the slop line. They then found an empty table to eat at along the wall, farthest from the entrance they’d come in.
The long wooden table they sat at had equally long benches attached, almost as if they were carved from one piece. They were heavy, too. Elise wasn’t surprised. This place was run poorly, and the guards may have been extraordinarily incompetent, but there was a surprising lack of readily available improvised weaponry.
The food they were able to get from the slop line was about what Elise expected. There was a gray mush that was ostensibly “gravy” along with some lumps of overcooked dough that passed for biscuits. The only good thing was a single red apple, which was surprisingly fresh and crisp.
Elise dug into her meal, the adventures of the day before—as well as the skipped supper—leaving her ravenous. Athala, however, picked at hers. The wizard was looking around everywhere at once, and Elise frowned.
“I know. I just thought they would have had him back by now,” Athala said as poked at the gravy with a biscuit. Her look of disgust at how the mush rolled off the doughy surface almost made Elise snort with laughter. It was like water off an oily hand. “I assume they took him to a solitary room, but what if he doesn’t make it back for breakfast?”
“I’m not sure what the procedures are like around here, but they didn’t seem to worry too much about us missing supper last night.” Elise stared at her apple a moment before taking another bite. “At any rate, they might have fed him already. It sounded like they were taking him off to a solitary cell, and so maybe they’re just keeping him there for a day. They can’t starve a prisoner.”
“Are you sure? I just mean it’s different in here,” Athala said. “I haven’t done extensive reading about prison environments, but what little I have read has focused on the social structure that arises in places like this. It doesn’t paint a pretty picture for those who interrupt prisoner-led justice.”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Elise said. She really wasn’t sure, though. Ermolt was the type of person who could see a thousand battles and be barely winded, but there was a difference between battles and the beating she’d witnessed last night. Elise frowned and set her apple core aside. She looked instead at the gravy and biscuits in front of her. Her stomach rolled, either in reaction to the greasy slop or her unease, and so she picked the core back up, looking intently for other places where she could nibble off something edible.
“The gravy really isn’t that bad,” Athala said. “Just a little flavorless. It’s likely just a vegetable stock and some milled flour.”
“We haven’t even been charged yet,” Elise said, ignoring Athala. “If they don’t know when he’s leaving, they have to go easy on him, right? Can’t have him get released looking like he took a ride strapped to the axle of a trade caravan if the magistrate lets him out in the afternoon.”
“You’re not wrong,” a man said, taking a seat at the far end of the table. He took pains to sit as far away from the pair as possible and did everything he could to not look at them. “But, you see, it might be more complicated than that.”
“Are you talking to us?” Athala asked, trying to lean over into his field of view.
“Can you at least pretend to act like you don’t want half of the prison hating you?” he said, rolling his eyes. “You’re new here, so I get that you don’t know a whole lot about how it works. But I have a bit of a reputation, as you witnessed last night.”
“Oh. It’s you,” Elise said before she turned and looked at Athala. “The man from last night. The one Ermolt saved. Detlev, was it?”
“I don’t know, why are you asking me?”
“Well, at least now I know who’s in charge here,” Detlev chuckled. “You just listen then, kid. Adults are talking.”
“I’d appreciate if you didn’t talk to her that way,” Elise said, an edge to her tone as she looked off over Athala’s shoulder. She didn’t turn to acknowledge Detlev, and she could see his appreciative smile out of the corner of her eye. “She may not be fast on the pickup, but she is my friend.”
“Sorry, nothing personal. Just trying to show my thanks without getting you mixed up in any of my current, er, games.”
“Alright, so what do you have to tell us? I assume you have information?”
“Your friend will be released in a few minutes.” He nodded towards a door at the near side of the mess hall. “They always let them out right when the cooks stop serving, so that they go hungry until the next meal.”
“Well, I feel a bit better about not finishing my breakfast now.” Elise looked down at the mess of gravy with a grimace.
“He’s also not likely to be in good shape,” Detlev said, tearing his biscuits into tiny pieces. He dropped the biscuits into the gravy piece by piece, letting them soak up the oily substance.
“You’re right that the guards would go easy on him if there was a chance you were going to be leaving anytime soon. But if you haven’t been charged already—another thing they like to interrupt meals with—it’s likely you aren’t a simple prisoner. Someone wants something from you, and they’ll hold you until they get it.” He stirred his biscuit-gravy mixture, poking the fragments of bread underneath the surface of the gray mush.
“If whoever wants you here doesn’t intend to let you live,” he paused, licking the gravy off his finger, “well, then you won’t.”
A commotion across the room towards the door Detlev had mentioned drew Elise’s attention. Prisoners parted as two guards emerged from that side hallway, dragging between them a barely-conscious Ermolt. A third guard trailed behind, baton in hand.
Ermolt’s arms were visibly covered in bruises, and his face looked lumpy and raw. One eye was swollen shut. He leaned heavily on the guards that were helping him walk. Elise felt tense all over. He hadn’t looked that bad last night, and a lot of these wounds were fresh. Her instincts screamed for to avenge him.
Athala looked concerned for a moment and then followed Elise’s glare. She quickly turned back around and reached out to put a hand on Elise’s clenched fist. Elise took a breath and murmured a prayer to Ydia for calm and control. She was thankful for Athala’s simple reminder that such rash behavior was what got Ermolt into this situation, and it was unlikely to help get him out any sooner.
“Impressive,” Detlev said, a hint of smugness in his voice. “Either you have more self-control than I figured you for, or you don’t care for him half as much as I thought you did.”
“What do we do?” Elise growled, ignoring the comment. She tried to smooth the enraged scowl that threatened to engulf her expression.
“Well, I’m not sure who ‘we’ is in this scenario,” Detlev chuckled, his light attitude only stoking Elise’s anger. “But stay calm and don’t argue. Considering the condition he’s in right now, it’s unlikely that they’ll hesitate to do the same to either of you two.”
The guards paused for a moment and then, upon spotting Elise and Athala, started dragging Ermolt their way.
“Oh. Um, that’s not a good sign,” Detlev said. “It’s never good when they recognize you. Just remember—be calm. Don’t fight. The best case scenario from fighting is you cause a riot, and that never goes the way you plan. Trust me.”
Detlev returned to slurping up his meal before the guards arrived at the table. They practically threw the beaten Ermolt to the floor, and then stepped past him towards Athala.
“Come on, prisoner. You’re next. Let’s go.” One of them gestured with her hand. “You don’t want to know what happens if we have to ask twice.”
“Um, what?” Elise looked confused. “What do you want with her?”
“Use your imagination,” said one of the male guards. He placed a hand on the table, leaning down uncomfortably close to Athala. He let his eyes roam over her body slowly, and the guard on the other side of her put his foot up on the bench right next to her hip, his leg holding her in place when she tried to lean away.
Elise shot a glance to the third guard. The woman’s grave expression told Elise that, regardless of any distaste she had for such behavior, the situation was out of her hands, despite her apparent position of authority over the other guards.
“Someone important wants to have a little talk,” the female guard said. “I recommend you come willingly. These men have some very strict instructions for what should be done if I have to ask a second time.”
“Take your time,” one of the pair said to Athala. “She’s really patient. Trust me. Would I lie?” He made an exaggerated and disgusting show of licking his lips slowly.
Athala looked to Elise, terror plain on her face. Elise fought her own internal struggle—against anger instead of fear—but pushed it down. Anger was not a helpful emotion here.
“Do what they say, Athala,”
Elise said in a calm voice. Her heart broke to say the words, but there was no other choice. If Athala fought, bad things would happen. At the very least, she could still protect her friend by encouraging her to cooperate. “Just comply with what they say and stay calm. Stay safe.” She looked between the two guards, marking their faces in her memory. “If they harm you without cause, we’ll take care of it when Ermolt recovers.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” the other male guard shot back. “Maybe you’re next on his list. I hope you are. You look like the type that would make us ask twice.”
“Um, I-I’ll go with you.” Athala’s voice wavered, but she managed to make it to her feet without touching either of the two guards crowding her. “I don’t want any trouble.”
“A safe choice. I suggest you keep that mentality in mind when you talk to the boss.” The guards straightened and they each placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Stay safe, Athala,” Elise repeated. “Whatever their boss wants from you isn’t as important to us as you are.”
“Let’s go.” The female guard started to lead the way back and the other two roughly shoved Athala ahead of them. Other prisoners parted, giving them wide berth, as they led Athala back to the door they’d emerged from with Ermolt.
“Well, that could have gone a lot worse.” Detlev remarked, leaning back from the table. He started to untuck his shirt. “You handled her well. I really thought she was going to try to bolt. That wouldn’t have gone well for her. Or you. Or your other friend.” He reached under his shirt and winced as he peeled a parcel off of his torso with the sound of parting adhesive.
Elise stood up to help Ermolt up. She tried to get him onto his feet, but when his one good eye rolled back in his head she settled for seating him down next to her. Elise pushed her breakfast tray in front of him. “Eat. You’re going to need your strength. I don’t have anything to patch you up with.”
