The Gauntlet Thrown

by Cheryl Dyson

  ******

  Toryn trailed Shevyn, who seemed to know exactly where she was going. She ducked into an empty sitting room and continued on into a bedchamber. From there, she slid into an alcove. Toryn paused, but she reached out from the darkness and pulled him in after her. He followed her through the wall and a stone panel slid shut behind them. Who was she, to know the secret places of this castle? Another panel opened into an antechamber, this one occupied. They held still and silent and peered through the cracked opening as a woman puttered about the room, searching for something.

  "Ah, there it is," she said and then snatched up a fan upon the seat of a nearby chair. She exited through a doorway. Shevyn pulled Toryn out of the concealed passage and crossed the room to a second door. The room they entered was unoccupied and opened into another corridor. They followed to another door and Shevyn opened it carefully before heaving a quiet sigh. Toryn smiled in satisfaction. The room was filled with weapons and armor. He could see by a single glance that it was no ordinary soldiers’ armor—this room was for display and safekeeping. Plate armor covered in etching stood in a place of honor. Several others were plated in gold and silver; nearby chain mail was polished to a glossy silver hue. Shields and standards proclaimed victories in battle, some of them scarred and torn. Swords were mounted upon the walls, each of them unique and beautiful. Toryn’s jade-hilted sword and Redwing’s family blade had been tossed upon a table, as if awaiting sorting.

  Toryn lifted his sword and tossed the guard’s plain blade on the table in its stead. He strapped on Redwing’s sword and dagger and then buckled his own sword belt on as well, though he kept his blade in hand. Shevyn walked over to a very thin sword with an etched blade and a strange, pale-colored hilt. After sheathing it and buckling it on, she moved to grasp the hilt of another. This one was a broadsword that she could barely lift. She dragged it over to Toryn and he noticed it had a very plain silver hilt with a well-worn ebony grip.

  "Jace’s?" he guessed. Shevyn nodded.

  He took it and felt much better with three swords than he had with one, even though it was a burden. He swung Jace’s scabbarded blade over his shoulder and looked around the room; he saw a few things of value he was tempted to take, but he restrained himself for lack of time, not to mention the expectation of Redwing’s disapproving glare.

  Footsteps sounded in the hallway and Shevyn flew by Toryn in a panic, but he grabbed her and pulled her behind a large open case that displayed polished horse armor. The footsteps continued past and they stood, staring at each other wildly for a moment.

  "It is time we got out of here," he said and they headed for the door. Suddenly Toryn felt a strange sensation in his mind and knew instinctively that it was not Brydon. Inspiration seized him and rather than fight the intrusion, he cleared his mind and then concentrated on dice.

  Now, he thought, if I throw them with a toss of my wrist just so, I should get seven every time. If I toss them with a backhand flick, I should get doubles. I need to win that money back so I can go find that wench in town again.… Come on, lucky four. The presence moved on, hopefully convinced that Toryn was a common soldier. He blew out his breath in relief. Shevyn tugged at him, her expression alarmed.

  "Reed is looking for us," he explained. She bit her lip with a worried expression. They continued to the door and exited, but a moment later Toryn dashed back in and grabbed up Brydon’s bow and quiver.

  "He would kill me if I left these!" Toryn whispered to Shevyn. They returned the way they had and then hurried down a wide corridor until a guard surprised them.

  "Who are you and what are you doing here?" he demanded, obviously the bullying type.

  Toryn’s sword spun and flashed as he turned and struck the man’s chain mail with a crunching sound. The guard grunted and staggered back. Toryn followed through with a stabbing thrust that cut through the thin links and pierced the guard’s overlarge gut.

  The man tried to scream, but Shevyn was behind him and sliced her thin blade into the man’s unprotected neck. He was dead before the floor caught him. Toryn gaped at her for a moment—he would never have suspected her of ruthlessness. He shook off his surprise and they dragged the man quickly into the nearest room—the library?—before his blood could leave an obvious trail.

  Toryn glanced around nervously and Shevyn unbuckled the man’s armor. He watched in puzzlement for a moment and then quickly assisted her. Shortly, Toryn was outfitted in the fine black leather of Ven-Kerrick, missing only the chain mail. The breastplate was too large for him, as was the rest of it, but the black cloak covered the flaws in the armor and disclosed no bloodstains. Shevyn carried Brydon’s bow and quiver. Jace’s sword was still slung over Toryn’s shoulder so only the hilt peeked above the collar of the cloak. He left Brydon’s sword and dagger buckled around his waist. His own sword he kept in hand. They departed the library and Shevyn marched behind him.

  They walked openly down the marble steps to the entry hall, which was remarkably free of sentries, as those were probably rushing around the castle hunting them. They continued on, but before they entered the kitchens, Shevyn urged him to sheathe his sword. She moved in close to him and snuggled her head against his chest before pulling her hair down over her face. Toryn was rather surprised, feeling her softness and her arm around his waist, but she gestured him forward imperiously and then he understood.

  He put his arm around her shoulder and pushed into the kitchen. Servants scurried to and fro preparing the midday meal, ordered about by a burly matron wielding a ladle. Toryn spotted the open doorway at the rear of the long room.

  Two guardsmen could be seen beyond the door. Toryn pulled Shevyn toward a sturdy table upon which rested several loaves of steaming bread. He reached for one greedily and found his hand blocked by the ladle. He looked into the steely eyes of the matron.

  "No soldiers in my kitchen!" she barked. Toryn gave the woman his most charming smile.

  "I was hoping to share some of your magnificent cooking with my lady," he said glibly.

  The woman took in Shevyn’s shabby appearance and snorted. "Lady, is she? Trollop, you mean! I’ll have none of the likes of you in here, either! Bad enough to have that bastard’s thieving soldiers tramping through here taking food and abusing my folk without dragging harlots in, as well!"

  The two guards near the door peered into the room, but the matron ranted on, "Be off with you! If I was a younger woman—" Her tirade halted suddenly as Shevyn reached out and laid a small hand on her arm. Shevyn raised her head and stared at the woman imploringly. The matron sucked in a breath, a prodigious feat that increased her already enormous bust-size.

  "Adona save us all," Toryn heard the woman breathe and then she turned her steely gaze on the soldiers at the door.

  "And you!" she bellowed loudly, "Are you lurking about for food, also? I’ll teach you to befoul my kitchen with your stinking presence!" She picked up a nearby iron pot and hurled it at the men. It bounced unerringly off the helm of one with a loud gong that set the man reeling for a moment.

  "Hey now!" the other cried. "Stop that, you crazy wench!" Another pot whizzed by his head and he ducked back. The woman brandished a large skillet and looked at Toryn, who threw up his arm.

  "Nay!" he shouted. "Keep your mealy bread! We’re going!" He and Shevyn ducked and ran for the door. The skillet clanged off the floor behind them. They hurried past the first soldier, who ignored them. His eyes were set on the kitchen mistress with deadly intent. The second soldier was in the doorway and they pushed past him, followed by the sound of shattering glass.

  "Hey!" the second one called as they reached the black and white cobblestones of the inner courtyard, "We are all supposed to be watching for the escaped prisoners!"

  "I’m off duty!" Toryn yelled back without turning or breaking stride. "You watch for them!" He glanced back over his shoulder in time to see a pewter mug bounce off the man’s shoulder. The soldier cursed and entered the kitchen, following his angry partner.


  Shevyn slowed and then led Toryn at an unhurried pace across the courtyard. The few people about gave them a cursory glance and a wide berth. They made it to the stables unremarked-upon and Toryn sent the stable boy on a fictitious errand before he and Shevyn climbed quickly into the loft. Amazed that they had made it out unscathed, Toryn watched the castle anxiously for any sign of Redwing or the others.