by Adam Carter
He wondered briefly who it was who was coming to attack the baroness, but it did not matter. Whoever it was, it would cause distraction enough for them to escape, and that was all he cared about. If the baroness died in the process, that would simply be a bonus.
“What do we do in the meantime?” Moya asked uncertainly.
“Wait,” Crenshaw said. “And fret.”
“If a tree falls over,” Asperathes said thoughtfully, “and the only man around to hear is crushed by its fall, does it make a sound? I mean, why bother?”
It was going to be a frustrating wait.
CHAPTER THREE
An hour later, they heard a tremendous sound, as though an entire wall had caved in. Crenshaw was not stupid enough to believe that was actually what had happened, but nevertheless he was instantly alert and ready to move. Nearby, Asperathes had stopped fidgeting with whatever it was he was fidgeting with, and even Moya was paying attention. Asperathes was excited, Moya frightened, and Crenshaw admitted he was a great deal of both. There was no sign of Kastra, although Crenshaw was fully prepared to move without him.
Prisoners gathered at the bars, tried to peer out as though they would be able to see whatever was going on in the castle several levels above them. Crenshaw was pleased with their actions, for it meant no one was paying any attention to his little band.
“We could always make our escape with everyone,” Asperathes said quietly. “You know, some of these fellows have been our cellmates for a long time.”
“It’s because I’ve known them so long,” Crenshaw said, “that I have no desire to release them on the world. Besides, if we’re going to have even a chance of getting to daylight, we’re going to need a massive distraction. If the guards are busy rounding up these guys …”
“Or cutting them down,” Asperathes interjected.
“… they won’t notice the four of us slip through,” Crenshaw finished without pause.
The strange sounds intensified and Crenshaw knew a fight when he heard one, even if it was still distant. Whoever was attacking the castle was making a good go of it.
“They’re through to the inner bailey,” Asperathes said. “If they can get the drawbridge down they should be able to storm through the dungeons.”
“Why would they want to come to the dungeons?” Moya asked.
“We don’t know they do,” Crenshaw said. “But nor do we know they won’t. Damn it, where’s that faerie?”
“Are you ready?” Kastra asked, suddenly among them.
Crenshaw tried not to jump. “We’re ready. Where have you … never mind. Karina, you’re up.”
Moya swallowed, her body tensed and she forced herself to put one foot before the other. Crenshaw had a terrible feeling this was all about to go very, very wrong, but this was the first real chance of escape he had known since being thrown into the dungeon and he was hardly going to pass it up.
Kastra said something in a language Crenshaw did not understand, and people turned to look. When they saw Moya heading towards them they stumbled over one another to get out of the way. A few seemed to realise what she was about to do and literally dragged their fellows away, their faces flushed with eagerness.
Moya stopped several feet from the door. Her eyes were fixed upon the lock and Crenshaw knew she was doubting herself. He could see a crackle of energy forming at her fists, clenched tightly by her sides, and silently spurred her on. Someone shouted something, but Kastra silenced him with a bark. The cell had never before been entirely silent, and Crenshaw even held his breath for fear that a single exhalation might put the young sorceress off her task.
Raising one hand, Moya spread her fingers and concentrated. Sweat poured from her brow, matting her hair and dripping from her chin as though her face was the perfect leaf. Her arm was trembling, her resolve faltering, and Crenshaw took a step towards her. Kastra glared at him, but Kastra did not understand people. He recognised power, but with human beings there was a lot more to wielding might than simply having it. Everyone had it within themselves to do amazing things, it was just some people needed more encouragement than others.
Crenshaw placed a hand upon Moya’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. She looked at him and he could see the terror in her eyes. Crenshaw could not cast magic, had no idea what it took out of the wielder, but he had already seen her fire a bolt and knew she had it in her to break the lock.
“I have faith in you,” he told her. They were simple words, but he knew they were precisely what she needed to hear.
Steeling her nerve, Moya took a deep breath, straightened her back, and concentrated. Her arm still shook, but not as intensely as it had, and there was something to her eyes which was even approaching confidence.
And then the cell was illuminated by a sudden flare of energy, followed by the acrid stench of burning metal. Crenshaw stared at what remained of the lock. A dripping ruin of red, molten metal, the lock fell away in large chunks.
For a single instant the silence resumed, and then prisoners ran for the door, swinging it open and charging down the corridor in mad droves, screaming with insanity at their newfound freedom.
Crenshaw placed his arm about Moya and led her to one side, for the crowd would have crushed her without any gratitude in their bid for freedom. “Catch your breath,” he told her. “You’ll need it.”
Moya’s eyes were frantic as she watched everyone piling through the door. Only Asperathes and Kastra were hanging back, and barely two minutes after Moya had blasted the lock they were the only ones left in the cell.
“I’m ready,” she said, surprising Crenshaw with her strength.
“Kastra,” he said, “you lead the way.”
Kastra was already at the door, taking care not to touch the bars on his way out. Crenshaw followed with Moya, Asperathes bringing up the rear. In the large cells all about them, fellow prisoners were crying for release, reaching through the bars, unable to get close enough to snag an arm or sleeve. The corridors of the dungeon had been designed that way; otherwise warders would be dragged against the bars and throttled to death. Crenshaw held his arm protectively about Moya, keeping her head down, refusing to meet the pleas with his own eyes. No doubt some of the prisoners did not deserve to be in the cell, but others were murderers or worse. Besides, any prisoner they released would be cut down by the guards sooner or later, so he could not see it fair to release them to their deaths.
They reached the end of the corridor and found themselves at a stairwell. In their haste to get away, prisoners had taken the stairs leading both up and down, but it was up that Crenshaw and his party needed to go. The castle was formed of many areas, and the dungeon was sectioned off from all other wings, kept contained by a large iron portcullis and drawbridge. Should they be able to lower the drawbridge and raise the portcullis, they would still have the guards to deal with, and the run through the rest of the castle, but that they were out of their cell was reason to be hopeful.
As he walked up the stairs, Crenshaw could not help but think about how this was the first action he had taken as a free man in far too many years. Even if he was to be hacked to pieces by guards before he even reached the next level, at least he had died free.
Someone appeared ahead of them and Crenshaw wished he had a weapon, but a blazing light engulfed the guard, who was incinerated without so much as a whimper. All that remained of him was a charred silhouette against the wall and the vague sickly smell of burning meat.
Crenshaw looked at Kastra in shock. “If you have that kind of magic,” he said, “why have we never escaped before?”
“We’re only out because some idiot guard made a mistake with throwing the girl in with us. Me? They knew I was a faerie, and they knew my magic couldn’t work on iron. So long as they never allowed me out of that cell, they knew I couldn’t do anything.”
“They never let you out? Not even to eat?”
“Eat?” Kastra looked confused. “Oh, yes, I know what that is.”
Crenshaw d
ecided if it was going to be one of those types of discussions, it could wait until they had all been massacred. “Don’t let me hold us up.”
Kastra resumed climbing the stairs, the others following with slightly lighter hearts now they realised they were partnered with such raw magic.
They ran up three floors without pause and Crenshaw had the impression Kastra knew where they were going. As they left the stairwell, it was to the sight of carnage. They were in an open area, some form of great hall Crenshaw would have guessed, which had several doorways leading off to various parts of the castle. About a hundred prisoners were forcing their way through the hall, pressing against a regiment of the baroness’s finest soldiers. The prisoners’ numbers were greater, but Crenshaw could see a formation to the soldiers, and easily identified their officers.
“We don’t want to go in there,” he said. “We’ll be massacred.”
“It’s the only way through to the exit,” Kastra said.
“Maybe we could talk our way out,” Moya suggested.
“Talk?” Crenshaw said. “Your noble airs and graces don’t count for anything in here, Princess.”
“Why am I a princess all of a sudden?”
Crenshaw knew he had spoken only in the heat of the moment, but he did not take the time to apologise. They may have come from entirely different walks of life but they were all sinking in the same mire.
“Which doorway do we need to go through?” Asperathes asked. Kastra motioned to one at the far end and the apepkith grimaced. “We’ll never make it that far. We’ll dart in one of the closer ones and work our way around.”
“That’s not ideal,” Kastra said.
“Nor’s being killed in here,” Crenshaw said. “Asp, lead the way.”
“No,” Kastra said. “We need to be at the main drawbridge when the heroes arrive.”
“Arrive?” Crenshaw asked. “You mean they’re not here yet?”
“They’ve been firing barrages into the castle walls,” Kastra explained, “to cause confusion.”
“Excuse me,” Moya said, “but how does he know any of this?”
“He’s psychic,” Crenshaw said, “obviously. Asp, go.”
Asperathes slung into the hall, the others on his heels. They were instantly enveloped by the mass of bodies pushing forward. The foul smell of blood filled the air, but it was the groans of the dying that Crenshaw found difficult to bear. As a soldier, he knew well the horrors of battle, and had long feared the day when he would be the one lying half-dead, in need of someone courageous enough to haul him off the field of death.
He heard a yelp and saw Moya being dragged farther into the mass of prisoners. An order sounded from an officer and two dozen crossbows released their loads into the crowd. Men and women fell screaming, their fellows trampled them and the soldiers reloaded even as others fought with blades to protect them while they did so.
“Come on,” Asperathes urged from the doorway; Kastra had already gone through and was no doubt half a mile away by then. “Crenshaw, come on.”
But Moya was still struggling, trying to move against the tide and getting nowhere. Someone barged into her with his shoulder and she went flying, almost falling entirely. If she did that, Crenshaw knew she would not get up again.
“Crenshaw,” Asperathes hissed.
Figuring he had wasted enough time struggling with his conscience, Crenshaw launched himself towards the young woman and grabbed her by the arm. She slipped on something and he steadied her, yanking her as he ran towards Asperathes. She was out of breath and looking very pale as he veritably threw her through the doorway and stumbled after her. Asperathes wasted no time in giving his opinion on anything and was already running after Kastra.
“You came back for me,” Moya said, her chest heaving with the stress of the situation.
“Couldn’t rightly leave you there,” Crenshaw said.
“Because you think I’m a princess?”
“Because you’re an ally in this place. And we might need you again to blast open a door or two.”
He did not know why he said this to her, but had spent so many years building up barriers and not allowing his emotions to show that he put it down to this. Moya had seemed about ready to accept him, perhaps even like him, but at his words her eyes hardened. He did not need her friendship anyway, he told himself, and if she hated him perhaps it might spur her onto not getting herself into any more scrapes.
She was running ahead of him before he could say another word, and Crenshaw realised it was he who was now bringing up the rear.
They ran through stone corridors, the sounds of battle and death never far away. They passed few bodies, however, which told Crenshaw there would not be many soldiers in the area. Asperathes led them through so many twisting, turning corridors that Crenshaw wondered how he could ever have remembered any of them, wondered further still whether Kastra had already escaped, but suddenly the snake man stopped and Crenshaw could see they had reached an opening of some sort.
Stepping out of the corridor, his heart almost collapsed when he saw they were standing in a small enclosed area, much like the royal box at a theatre, and that beneath them there stretched a great space, beyond which was the portcullis and drawbridge. If they could only get those open, they would be able to slip into the castle proper and from there work their way to the outside world.
Freedom was so very nearly in their grasp.
“Over there,” Asperathes said softly, and Crenshaw followed his gaze. Kastra was already working his way to the ground, although since the portcullis was made of iron Crenshaw did not know what he expected to do. If they were going to raise the thing, they would have to do so manually.
“We need to find the winch,” he said.
“I see it,” Asperathes said, and then so too did Crenshaw. There was an iron chain coming from the top of the portcullis, which travelled through a ring on the ceiling and directly onto a winch opposite the drawbridge. It was at roughly the same height as the box in which Crenshaw and the others were standing, and he reasoned he might be able to jump most of the way and hang like a monkey for the rest.
“Stay here,” he told Asperathes. “And if anything happens to me make sure Karina gets out safely.”
“I do believe you actually care about someone,” Asperathes said.
“Better than caring about you, Asp.”
The snake man clapped him on the back and offered the soldier his hand. Crenshaw took it and clutched it tightly. “Just try not to get yourself killed, old bean,” Asperathes said. “I wouldn’t like to have to take care of your woman for the rest of my life.”
“She’s not my woman.”
“My mistake. What with all the who was claiming whom back in the cell, I must have got lost.”
Crenshaw grinned. Asperathes was a good friend, which was an odd thing to say about a convicted killer, but Crenshaw had done his own share of bad things in his time. “No parting farewell?” he asked Moya.
She still looked terrified, still looked angry, but now she also looked a little confused.
“Don’t worry about it,” Crenshaw said. “Save the farewells for when I get back.” That, he decided as he set off, was bound to confuse her more.
Standing at the edge of the platform, Crenshaw once again judged the distance to the winch and came to the decision that he really didn’t want to make the jump. The sounds of soldiers shouting deeper in the castle made his mind up for him and taking a deep breath he stepped back a few paces and then made a run for the edge. Throwing himself across the gulf did not feel as bad as he thought it might, although as he began to fall he knew he had missed his mark terribly.
Scrabbling with his hands, his fingers could find no purchase and he slid slowly to the floor, landing in an untidy heap beside Kastra. The faerie looked at him in confusion, while above Moya gasped in fear and Asperathes buried his head in his hands.
“What are you doing?” Kastra asked him.
“I was trying to
reach the winch,” Crenshaw said, getting back to his feet.
“Oh.” Kastra turned back to resume staring at the door.
“Why,” Crenshaw asked, “what are you doing?”
“Awaiting salvation.”
A shout told Crenshaw the baroness’s soldiers were closer than he wanted. “You’re awaiting death, is what you are, Kastra.”
“Very soon our saviours shall come through this entrance and we shall go free.”
“They’re going to have a fine time doing that with the drawbridge raised.”
“They’ll find a way.”
“Right.” Crenshaw looked up to his other two companions and offered them an expressive shrug.
“You do not have faith in anything, do you?” Kastra asked with a sigh.
“I have faith in my sword.”
“Which you haven’t seen in years.”
“And I have faith in my comrades.”
“Which you haven’t seen in years.”
“And I have faith in myself.”
“Do you?” Kastra asked, genuinely curious. “It is my observation that human beings seldom have faith in themselves. They wallow in self-pity, blow their minds with drugs, alcohol and carnal delights. They lie and they cheat and when they can they swindle. They make war on their own species, commit heinous acts of outrage upon anyone foolish enough to trust them and think themselves superior to all other life forms, even the intelligent ones.” He paused. “Especially the intelligent ones.”
“You done?”
Kastra shrugged. “Faeries are what we are. I am what you see and nothing more.”
“I wish you’d put some clothes on so I wouldn’t have to see quite so much of you.”
“Did I forget to mention humans are also incredibly vain?”
