I reached behind me and gave his yellow hair an affectionate yank. He yelped in mock pain, muttering curses under his breath. “Damn it, I trained as a healer, not a bloody soldier.”
Rygel cleared his throat. “When do you plan this will take place?”
I hesitated, glancing from one to the other. Waiting would have given us more time to fine-tune the plan and work out any potential problems. Nevertheless, we had no choice. Eventually our luck would run out and the Federal troops would discover us here.
“Tonight.”
“Rannon,” Kel’Ratan snapped at one of the warriors, “find two pickaxes and two shovels. And plenty of torches, it’ll be blacker than Brutal’s soul down there. Hide them among the packs. You two,” he pointed at the twins lounging against the wall, “See to the horses, and get them saddled. Witraz,” this to the last warrior, the one with one eye, “see to supplies from the innkeeper. Get ten days’ worth at least. We’ll be leaving the city tonight.”
The warriors saluted, fist to chest, and disappeared out the door, leaving the four of us alone. Then his eyes rested on me and although I was no mind reader, I suddenly knew what he would say next.
“What were you before you became a slave?” he asked.
I hesitated. While lying came as a means of self-defense to slaves, I despised lying to friends. Whatever the Kel’Hallans might be in the end, they were, at least for the moment, counted as friends.
My hesitation caught the attention of Rygel and Ly’Tana and they, too, looked at me expectantly. Waiting.
I shrugged. “My father was the King of Connacht.”
Rygel snorted. In a low voice, but not so low that I did not hear, he muttered, “Delusions of grandeur.”
From the candle of my eye, I saw Ly’Tana eye me sidelong, her fair lips turned down in a faint expression of disappointment. Then her eyes cut away from mine in embarrassment.
Only Kel’Ratan looked at me for a long moment, assessing, then nodded. A nod that told me I said nothing he did not expect.
So they did not believe me, I thought ruefully. What did I expect? They saw only a slave, the lowest of the low. Slaves, as everyone knew, always lied.
* * *
An hour or so after moonrise, I led the way through the silent streets. Over the last few days, the royal soldiers and City Watch had put down the rioters. Brutal’s brothers had either died or fled. An uneasy peace lay over Soudan. Burned-out hulks that had once been buildings gave us shelter from occasional patrols. We wrapped metal bits on the horses in cloth to prevent jingling, the ground between buildings chosen for soft dirt to muffle hoof beats. The battle-trained horses of the Kel’Hallans kept their silence, while Rygel and I smothered an occasional snort from our mounts. Yet, Usa’a’mah, or the perhaps the Kel’Hallan goddess, Nephrotiti, must have been with us, for we arrived at the arena unnoticed and unchallenged.
The moon scudded behind a thick drift of clouds as we dismounted under the cover of a half-burned warehouse about a half block from the slaves’ quarters. Smoke still drifted idly upward, seen faintly against the moonlight, a distant scent upon the light breeze.
Without words and with gestures, Ly’Tana set two young warriors, a pair of young, blond brothers, to stand watch over the horses. The rest of us gathered in the shadows in the lee of a nearby warehouse and looked at the simple wooden structure that held sleeping slaves.
“No guards?” Kel’Ratan asked in a whisper, looking at the dark over dark doorway. I shook my head, not wanting to waste valuable breath and time explaining how few slaves ever tried to escape.
“Wait here till I get the door open,” I hissed.
Sliding from shadow to shadow, I drew my dagger. Regardless of the slaves’ unwillingness to revolt, freemen locked them in every night and allowed them out only at dawn. Jimmying locks was not a part of a gladiator’s education, unfortunately. It took me a few breathless moments to open the door and ease it open, conscious of potential squeaks. Like the Federation itself, the hinges were well oiled and opened without a sound.
I turned to motion for Rygel, only to find him at my shoulder the moment I opened the door. Damn and blast his arrogance, I thought, dampening my anger. As this was hardly the time or place to scold him, I merely stood aside to let him cross the threshold before me. He stepped in as silent as any shadow, his hands coming together in a gesture resembling prayer. As I waited, I looked around for any hint of danger, any sign we had been seen. Nothing stirred but the mild breeze, bringing with it the nasty scent of a nearby tannery and the stables and all-inclusive odor of smoke. We all knew the soldiers were no doubt in place already, waiting for the Kel’Hallans to begin their hopeless charge, day or night. One hint of our presence a mere block away would bring them running.
Rygel’s hand on mine gave me the all clear. I chittered, imitating a rat, the signal that would bring Ly’Tana, Kel’Ratan and the remaining five warriors. I followed Rygel, making room for the others as they crossed through the doorway. I eased it shut behind them and relocked it.
“Now where?” Rygel asked, his voice low but audible.
I glanced over the cots filled with sleeping slaves, their snores reassuring me that the spell had harmed none. Since my already sharp eyes had long adjusted to the dark, the even darker building gave me little difficulty. “This way.”
Leading the way around the cots past the hearth, I heard someone stumble over a piece of furniture and a muffled curse. I froze, my breath caught, waiting to see if a slave woke to give the alarm. Naught happened and I began to breathe again. The door to the cellars lay behind the tiny slave kitchen and proved unlocked.
“Now we need a torch,” I whispered.
Ly’Tana took one from the one-eyed warrior, Witran or Witor or somesuch, and passed it to me. Before I could take a flint and light it, the flame whooshed into life of its own accord. Startled, I nearly dropped it. Its light showed me Rygel, grinning sheepishly.
“Warn a fellow,” I muttered, cross.
As I descended the creaky stairs, I felt grateful for Rygel’s sleeping spell, for surely the slaves would have wakened to what sounded like a herd of horses descending. However, what would that compare to the sound of the wall coming down? I chuckled to myself.
“What are you laughing at?
I did not answer. Rather, I shook my head at Rygel’s question and led the way down. After ten risers, the stairs ended at a small wooden landing, turned left and descended again. Rats scurried away from the light, their sleek gray bodies and plump naked tails creating wavering shadows on the packed dirt floor. Wooden shelves lined three walls, the remains of broken tables, chairs and crockery littered the place. I pointed with my torch toward the wall to the far right of us, a dusty, dull red color. A few sagging shelves held the slaves’ cherished possessions.
“That one.”
The others followed me as I crossed the cellar to the brick wall about five meters high and six wide. Kel’Ratan leaned close and by the torch’s light examined the mortar. He gave the wall a testing shove. The wall didn’t budge.
“I’m thinking this wall will be stronger than you anticipated,” he commented dryly, glancing sidelong at me. I grinned faintly.
“Your Highness.” I handed the torch to Ly’Tana.
After carefully setting the personal items on the floor, I ripped down the boards and tossed them out of the way.
With a gesture, I asked Kel’Ratan to stand back. He did so. Rygel, too, hastily removed himself from my path. Taking a few steps back, I drew a deep breath, lowered my head, and charged.
I hit the wall with my shoulder, my every ounce of my heavy weight behind the rush. The shock reverberated throughout my entire body like a thunderbolt. In a flash, I thought the redheaded warrior was right—the wall was stronger than I thought. Yet, the bricks quavered, a shiver running through them like a breeze through spring leaves. Then they tumbled down in a cascade before I could step back safely, knocking into my shins and crushing my feet. Cursing
in pain, I jumped backward. The bricks continued to fall, creating a small pile and a cloud of noxious choking red dust.
Chapter 12
A Tale of Two Twins
“He was a bull in a past life,” Rygel commented dryly, waving dust away from his face. “He still has many bullish qualities to him.”
Stifling a chuckle, I watched Wolf scowl dangerously at Rygel, and then lose the effect with an enormous sneeze. How this unlikely pair ever became such close friends was beyond my comprehension. The heavy dust forced a cough from me, smothering my amusement, yet Wolf looked at me as though he knew very well I laughed at his predicament. He rubbed his shoulder and flexed his arm, muttering under his breath.
“Could that noise have been heard above in the street?” Kel’Ratan asked, ever the practical one.
Wolf shrugged. “If it was we’ll know soon enough.”
Bending, he started tossing loose bricks to the side, clearing the tunnel entrance. With more fortitude toward Wolf’s casual demeanor than I thought was in his nature, Kel’Ratan took a pick and chopped at the remaining wall. While the hole was more than big enough for people to walk through, Bar would not be able to get past. The rest of the wall had to come down. I, too, grabbed a pick to join him, gesturing for the others to help Wolf. However, before I could, Rygel gently took the tool from my hands.
“Your Highness shouldn’t dirty your hands,” he said.
In spite of the kind smile he gave me, his amber eyes glinted with a hard edge. As though behind the smile hid a sharp hatred, a contempt and malice toward me. While I realized I made a huge mistake in taking him hostage, he offered a friendly and cheerful demeanor toward the men in my party. His hatred was for me alone.
Puzzled and confused, I surrendered the pick with no argument. As he began to knock bricks down with short savage blows, I considered what his hate might mean. I desperately needed him to heal Bar. Perhaps afterwards, could I send him away? I promised him sanctuary in Kel’Halla and ten thousand gold crowns, nor could I renege on that promise. Yet, was I headed for trouble because of it? Sometimes, damn and blast it, honor could be a real nuisance.
I caught Wolf watching me watch Rygel as he worked. He immediately looked away, back to his brick busting, but not before I caught the ghost of a wink. Now what did that mean? That he knew my every thought? That he knew his blood brother hated me and felt the same? That he knew his blood brother hated me and supported me anyhow? Damn and blast him. He should bloody know trust was earned, never given, and a wolf should be suspicious of everything.
I sniffed. I turned my back on him to find and light the other torches we brought with us. Planting them where they cast light on the work, I walked down the tunnel to explore with the last one in my hand.
“Ly’Tana, be careful, damn it,” Kel’Ratan said as I walked away. “Stay in sight.”
“Don’t be such an old woman,” I snapped.
I ignored his grumbling, wending my way around fallen rocks. I went several rods down the tunnel, noting that Bar could traverse this with little difficulty. He might lose a few wing feathers, I thought, but should come through just fine.
Seeing movement along the floor near the wall, I paused and lifted the torch toward it. Two large rats moved sluggishly away from the light. What in the Lady’s name could rats eat down here? I wondered. Their very strange motions caught my interest and I bent low to see better. I jerked back in horror, a scream caught in my throat before it could erupt and bring Kel’Ratan down on me.
Blessed Lady, they had no eyes!
I bent closer, my first fright drifting away as I observed their harmlessness. Bigger than most rats I’ve seen, they looked normal except their lack of eyes. Somehow, trapped down here centuries ago, the ancestors of these rodents must have lost their sight due to the utter blackness. What use are eyes if one could not see in the dark anyway? Now their descendants were simply born without the need for eyes.
“Ly’Tana?” Kel’Ratan’s voice broke through my fascination for blind rats and I looked up. All work had stopped as all of them stared down the tunnel at me. No doubt, Kel’Ratan thought I was in danger from sightless rodents. I flapped my hand at him in irritation and continued my short trek down the tunnel.
I found the far wall within moments. Caressing the cool bricks with my fingers, I pondered what we might find in the arena above. Bar is up there, waiting for me.
Looking back, the torches and the workers lit by them appeared tiny and indistinct. Yet, the distance between us was not great. Only the utter dark between gave that illusion.
Under the firelight, eight men labored to move bricks while a ninth figure leaned against the cellar wall. Kael again. He watched me approach, a half-smile resting on his handsome face. I sighed. Would he never rest in peace and let me live in peace? Damn bloody ghosts. I scowled at him, but he returned me a mild half-salute and blatantly ignored my irritation.
Despite Rygel’s disquieting emotions earlier, I directed my first question to him. “Can you put the gladiators to sleep through yonder wall?”
He paused in clearing remaining bricks from the dusty mortar that held them. “If I don’t, the noise of the wall coming down will wake them.”
“Let’s hope your powers work as well as your belaboring of the obvious,” Kel’Ratan commented, brushing brick dust off his hands.
“I never belabor the obvious,” Rygel huffed, indignant.
“The noise may not just wake the gladiators, but bring down the soldiers upon our heads. Can you muffle the sound?”
I noticed Wolf cease his labor and straighten. Yet, he did not look to Rygel for his answer as the others did, but instead he watched me. Lady’s Blood, but he was too handsome for his own damn good. I discovered I liked, too much, that look in his eyes, the warm expression a man had when he eyed a woman who interested him. Heat rushed into my cheeks. I turned my face away, hiding my blush, suddenly finding the exchange between Rygel and Kel’Ratan fascinating.
“We don’t have much choice, now do we?”
“Remember, old son,” Kel’Ratan said. “It’s your skinny ass on the line here, too. I daresay Brutal will be ecstatic if his boys brought him your head on a platter.”
“No soldier is fast enough to kill me.”
Kel’Ratan rolled his eyes. “Dream on.”
“No worries.” Rygel smiled smugly. “I’m the best there is.”
Kel’Ratan snorted. “No small ego you’re toting around, eh?”
“What’s the use in having one if you don’t get to take it out and polish it now and then?”
* * *
Wolf did not exactly snort and paw dirt over his shoulders, but Rygel’s comment about bulls was not so far wrong. I watched his expression still as his eyes took on a tight, focused intensity I had seen bulls use before they charged. He took a couple of running steps and slammed his right shoulder into the wall at the far end of the tunnel we just traversed. Once more, the bricks tumbled down in a cloud of noisome dust. However, not a sound followed. I glanced at Rygel, but the only indication he used magic was narrowed eyes as he watched Wolf break the stone barrier.
With plenty of practice and teamwork, the broken wall soon became a large pile of dusty and splintered bricks. I tried to gauge the time. Perhaps an hour had passed since we first arrived at the slaves’ hut. Dawn was not far off and we needed to get Bar out and be gone before the sun rose.
“That should do it,” Kel’Ratan said, setting aside his pick.
Another set of creaky wooden stairs led upward to a heavy oak door. It opened easily. Wolf, followed closely by Rygel, stepped into the chamber beyond, his hand on his sword hilt. They both paused, peering into the darkness beyond the light of the torches. The rest of my warriors gathered at my back; I could hear and feel them tensing for battle, loosening swords in scabbards, nocking arrows to bowstrings.
“The slaves’ barracks are just down there,” Wolf said with a jerk of his head, his voice low. “If they heard the wall com
e down, we’d know it by now.”
Trying and failing to keep the eagerness from my own voice, I asked, “Where would the arena be?”
He looked down at me, his face in shadow and somehow sinister, only his eyes reflecting the light of the fire he held. “Not far.”
Wolf led the way out of the chamber to a right-hand passage. I followed immediately, with Kel’Ratan at my shoulder, the others trailing behind. The place smelled musty and hung with dusty cobwebs, as if seldom used, but Wolf seemed to know exactly where to go. Within fifty strides, he swung open a heavy wooden door studded with iron. This room contained a few lit torches, one at each corner of the wide expanse, dimly illuminating the rows upon rows of sleeping slaves.
Wolf shot a warning glance over his shoulder, a reminder I read clearly: do not harm them. They lay upon narrow cots, thin blankets covering some, most content with nothing on them save their loincloths under the summer night warmth. Masculine snores disturbed the quiet, one nearby tossing fretfully and muttering in his sleep.
“They won’t wake?” I murmured to Rygel, whom I found at my left shoulder.
He shook his head. “Not till dawn. The spell merely prevents them from hearing or sensing what they shouldn’t.”
Despite Rygel’s assurances, Wolf crept silently down the aisle between the rows of sleeping men, as if he did not quite want to place his trust in the wizard’s spell. I found myself imitating him, my knowledge of the magic at war with my instincts. I noticed my warriors did the same. Only Rygel sauntered casually as though walking a busy street in broad daylight.
The door at the far end creaked ominously when Wolf pulled it to and he froze, half crouching, his hand on his sword. Head cocked, as if listening, he scarcely seemed to breathe. I glanced uneasily over my shoulder at the slaves. As I watched, one rolled over, his snores rasping unpleasantly.
“Let’s go,” Kel’Ratan hissed. “We’re behind schedule.”
Without acknowledging the curt order, Wolf slid eel-like around the doorway. I followed his action, but could never imitate the sheer grace and power of his movement. Not a little envious, I peered around his broad back to well-lit training arena.
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