Black Cross

by J. P. Ashman

  Fal and Sav both looked at a laughing Starks, who shrugged and walked past them. He followed the woman who'd set off again down the tunnel, the star stone now in her hand, her swords sheathed at her sides.

  ‘We explained it to Starks beforehand,’ Errolas said. ‘It took quite some time mind, but it is the only reason he didn’t jump as high as you two. Now come on, we need to get going again and catch Correia up.’

  Correia? Fal and Sav thought simultaneously, before setting off after Errolas, all three jogging a few steps to catch up to the two in front.

  Whilst jogging, Sav asked the obvious. ‘Who’s Correia? How come she’s helping us and what in the name of ’morl’s wrinkled scrotum is going on?’ Sav’s curse made Fal grin despite the situation.

  ‘Patience, Sav,’ Errolas said. ‘I’m sure you both have a hundred questions, but they can wait, I assure you. We will stop and rest when Correia says so and we will explain all that needs explaining then, I promise.’

  Fal and Sav acknowledged that and they both stumbled on in the dim light to keep up with Correia, who seemed to navigate the twisting tunnels effortlessly.

  ***

  Archbishop Corlen hadn’t given Sears and Biviano any information, despite the man’s obvious fear, and as much as they’d wanted to, neither guardsman had laid a hand on the Archbishop. They knew there was someone else they needed to question, someone in the inquisition. So, trusting the Archbishop’s fear to stop him from doing anything stupid, Sears and Biviano had followed the man through a small door and down a stone staircase into the depths of the cathedral, a place both men had found fitting for the inquisitors.

  When, however, the Archbishop had led them into a darkened room, slamming and then locking the heavy door behind them, they'd known they'd made a mistake in thinking fear of them alone would have manipulated the cowardly man.

  ‘Ye stupid bastard, Sears,’ Biviano said, as he turned and hammered on the door with the hilt of his sword. ‘Let us out, Corlen, or it’ll only get worse for ye!

  ‘Gods below, it stinks in here.’

  ‘I’m stupid? Why me?’ Sears sheathed his sword and fumbled in the pouches about his belt, trying to find the flint and steel he knew he had.

  ‘Because ye said to follow him, that he’d lead us to the Grand Inquisitor.’

  ‘We both thought he would, ye dick. Wasn’t just me, or would you have thought the puddle of piss would ever risk his fat neck and not do as we asked?’

  A flick of flint on steel and the room was lit briefly. Another and Biviano noticed Sears moving slowly towards the wall to his right. Another and Sears was trying to light a torch on the wall. The next one lit the torch and the room revealed itself in an orange glow.

  ‘Flay me, Sears… what is this place?’ Biviano said, trying to comprehend what the torch was illuminating.

  Sears turned to see what his partner was looking at. The big man drew his short-sword once more, his flint and steel held tightly in his left hand.

  ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘I don’t know, big guy, but part of me hopes so. Look at his arms and legs… they’ve stretched the poor bastard.’

  Through the gloom, they could both make out the elongated form of a naked man, his wrists bound above him and his ankles below. He lay on a large inclined wooden rack, the ropes linked to pulleys at either end.

  ‘Shit! Literally, no wonder this place stinks,’ Sears said, pressing the back of his left hand to his nose.

  ‘Aye and I’m not surprised.’ Biviano moved slowly towards the man on the rack, unable to take his eyes from the beaten and bloodied form. ‘Bring that torch, Sears.’

  Following Biviano, torch in hand after placing the flint and steel in his pouch, Sears lifted it high, its light fully illuminating the man on the rack.

  Biviano recoiled slightly at the scene and for the first time, quickly cast his eyes about the room. ‘It’s a pissin’ torture chamber, Sears.’

  Sears did the same and saw a multitude of devices hanging on hooks, as well as tables littered with filthy and in some cases rusting implements and tools. ‘Bastards,’ he growled. ‘Evil bastards.’

  Biviano nodded. ‘And under the cathedral too, of all places.

  ‘This is where the inquisitors do their work then. And here I was thinking all that was in the past, that the inquisition and the witchunters’ only role now was in hunting arcane magicians and the like. They’re supposed to be here to protect the people, not cut the poor bastards up like the bloody Three, and for what, Sears?’

  ‘I dunno, I really don’t. But there’s no way there’s enough arcane magic about Wesson for them to need a room like this, to ever need any of this. Hunt ’em down and execute the evil shites aye, but torturing people, and for what, information? We didn’t know this was here, Biviano, so who the hell knows who the inquisitors are taking and torturing? ’Cause I sure as hell doubt Captain Prior does, let alone the Constable of Wesson?’

  The man on the rack groaned suddenly, and both men sucked in a breath

  ‘He’s alive.’ Biviano breathed the words out as a whisper, sheathing his sword quickly and moving so he could lean over the man’s face. Sears followed suit and held the torch over them both.

  The man’s eyes slowly opened and when he saw the two men above him, those eyes widened and his whole body stiffened; he cried out in pain.

  ‘No, don’t move,’ Biviano said. ‘We’re here to get ye out; City Guard.’

  The man was breathing hard, his thinly covered ribcage rapidly rising and falling as his bloodshot eyes remained wide with fear.

  ‘Hold still,’ Biviano said, ‘we’re going to cut ye free, but it’s gonna hurt.’

  Biviano moved to the ropes above and cut them with the bollock dagger from his belt. The man cried out as his arms slid helplessly to his sides. His whole body slumped down the rack and his legs folded awkwardly.

  Moving quickly, Biviano cut the ropes attached to the man’s swollen ankles.

  ‘He’s passed out,’ Sears said.

  Biviano looked to his friend. ‘We need to get his arms and legs popped in, before he wakes then.’

  Sears nodded and jammed the torch so it stood upright on the top of the rack.

  Both men moved into position, their stomachs turning at the frailty of the man they now handled. They – from experience – shoved hard, pushing one arm back in before moving to the next to do the same. Both of them were surprised, but thankful the pain hadn’t brought the man around.

  After doing both arms, they struggled, but managed to do the same with both legs.

  ‘He needs water,’ Biviano said, looking about for a jug or bowl.

  Sears had moved off, searching the tables. He pushed implements of torture over as he did, his anger rising as he saw more and more methods the inquisitors used to inflict pain on their victims.

  ‘Pissin’ cowards!’ Sears threw a hollow box with a large screw passing through it into the wall on the other side of the room and kicked a large sack of salt over with force, scattering the granules across the dark floor.

  ‘I know, I know,’ Biviano said, moving to calm the big man whilst cringing inside at the cruel use the salt was surely intended for.

  ‘Stay back for gods’ sake,’ Sears said, his breathing fast and his fists clenching over and over.

  ‘Sears, ye need to calm yerself, it’s me, just me. We can help this guy and be ready for when they come in, since the stupid bastard Archbishop locked us in with our weapons.’

  Sears pushed over a tall man-sized chest, which opened to reveal metal spikes on the inside. The torches’ light reflected off the ones that weren’t caked in dried blood.

  ‘Who thinks this shit up?’ Sears shouted, as he kicked the spiked chest’s door closed. He looked up then and saw a barrel in the corner nearest him. Moving swiftly to it, he dragged it into the dim light, water sloshing down its side as he did so. He dipped his finger in and brought it to his lips. ‘Water!’

  ‘Great, let’
s get it over,’ Biviano said, moving to help shift the heavy barrel to the rack.

  Once there, they both cupped their hands and poured the cold liquid over the blood-stained skin of the man, half expecting it to wake him, but again he remained unconscious.

  Biviano grabbed a rag from nearby and mopped the man’s brow, before working down his body, trying to clean him up as best he could. Why, he wasn’t sure, it just seemed like the right thing to do.

  ‘I hate to think what he’s been through,’ he said, gently scrubbing at the swollen knees of the man.

  ‘Well think it, man.’ Sears kept his voice low as he paced the room, his sword drawn again. ‘Think it and think on it good, for when those bastards come through that door, I’m gonna rip ’em limb from fucking limb.’

  ‘I will, Sears, I promise.’ Although I don’t know what scares me more, the thought of what they did to this poor man, or the thought of yer voice lowering like that; the thought of ye going berserk…

  ***

  About an hour passed before the group entered what looked like a natural cavern. Errolas, who'd been handed his star stone again, shone it around the cavern, revealing a large heap of loose rubble a few feet away from the group. The beam of light broke on the pile of strange stones; shards of light cascaded up and across the high ceiling, which now resembled a clear night sky filled with stars.

  Errolas gently rested the stone on a large, flat rock so the beam maintained the dazzling shower of light. Within seconds the room brightened with a spectacular show of illuminated crystal specs on a ceiling as high as Tyndurris, which carried on ahead of the group for at least as far again as the cavern was tall.

  Sav whistled appreciatively and Fal turned to face his friend, adding his agreement before realising Sav was whistling at Correia, who was just a few paces away and bending down to tighten the leather thongs of her black riding boots. Fal nudged Sav to silence him, but couldn’t help admiring the woman’s figure himself, until she turned to look their way. Both men swiftly cast their gaze up to the impressive ceiling.

  ‘Hence the name star stone,’ Errolas said, as he walked over and sat opposite Fal and Sav.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ Fal said, as his eyes became accustomed to the new light, allowing him to fully appreciate the spectacular scene.

  Starks found a place to sit next to Fal. ‘That it sure is.’

  Correia walked a little further down the cavern, seemingly oblivious to the star stone’s effects and the cavern’s natural beauty.

  ‘Do you think she needs help with whatever it is she’s doing over there?’ Sav asked, peering across at her.

  ‘She’s fine,’ Errolas said, glancing briefly at Fal to acknowledge the smirk on his face.

  ‘Now I think it’s time for some answers, Errolas, if you would?’ Fal leant forward in anticipation.

  Starks spoke up before Errolas could, the young crossbowman asking the elf if they were safe in the cavern. Errolas assured them they were, for the time being at least, and then explained what had happened leading up to their dramatic prison break.

  After leaving Fal and Sav, Errolas had been asked to advise on Wesson’s tragic situation. Errolas, the King and his advisers, had discussed options for several hours. Lord Yewdale, however, had been sent from the room to direct Wesson’s quarantine, and to stop him attacking Archbishop Corlen, who'd been suggesting all kinds of useless options which had enraged the Lord High Constable and, it seemed, Errolas.

  ‘It’s not often an elf gets so angry,’ Errolas said, ‘not through discussion and debate alone, but that man, that ignorant so-called holy man is insufferable.’

  Sav laughed. He clearly agreed with the elf, but had to be stopped by Fal before he began his usual tirade about the Samorlian Church.

  Correia had joined them by this point. She sat quietly listening, whilst chewing on what looked and smelt like some kind of dried meat.

  Errolas continued by telling his friends that Lord Severun had told the council all he knew about the arcane scroll he’d used, which he'd bought from a merchant called Peneur Ineson.

  ‘That same merchant,’ Errolas said, ‘was found murdered in his home by the City Guard a few days ago. No wounds or cause of death had been found, but naturally, after hearing that, Corlen accused Lord Severun of the murder.’

  ‘I hate that man,’ Sav said, and Fal nodded.

  Errolas took a deep breath, paused and then offered a sympathetic smile before continuing. ‘Well… to everyone’s surprise, Lord Severun admitted it.’

  ‘No…’ Fal protested. ‘I know most of this is down to Lord Severun, but not murder? Did he give an explanation?’

  ‘He didn’t,’ Errolas said, shaking his head. ‘Apparently, if we can believe what he said, which I think we can, he remembers carrying out the murder using a spell from the scroll.’ Fal shook his head in disbelief as Errolas continued to explain what he’d heard. ‘Severun told us the scroll containing the shadow-distribution spell also contained some other arcane spells. Alas, he could not for the life of him remember travelling to the merchant’s house, or why he'd carried out the crime, just that he had. Lord Strickland believed it to be the scroll protecting itself through Lord Severun, which has been previously documented regarding some magical items, but of that we cannot be sure.’

  ‘That’s creepy,’ Starks said, and he shuddered at the thought of the scroll controlling such a powerful wizard.

  That’s an understatement, lad. Fal rubbed his face as he tried to digest the shocking revelation.

  ‘Then it could’ve been the scroll,’ Sav said, ‘not Lord Severun who released the plague?’

  Correia shook her head. ‘I think not.’ It was the first words she’d said since they'd entered the cavern.

  ‘Why not?’ Fal asked, a little sharper than he'd intended. He was annoyed she so flatly shot the possibility down.

  ‘Because,’ she continued, ‘despite some arcane magic being known to protect itself… to actively release a plague, or influence a powerful mage to do so? No, you’d have to have the will and stupidity to do that yourself—’

  ‘As far as you know?’ Starks said in a surprisingly venomous tone. ‘We’ll never be able to ask him now though, will we?’

  Errolas broke the awkward silence that followed, and continued his tale. He told the group that after Corlen’s outbursts towards Severun, King Barrison had lost his temper and ordered the Archbishop out of his sight until further notice. It hadn’t been until Corlen had stormed from the room however, that Correia had entered the chamber.

  Fal and Sav turned to Correia. Sat under the seemingly star-filled sky of the cavern, they awaited an explanation.

  ‘I guess it’s time for an introduction, good elf. Will you do me the honours?’

  ‘My pleasure,’ Errolas said. ‘Fal, Sav… Starks you have already been introduced, but not formally. This is your King’s Spymaster, Correia Burr.’

  Sav stood and saluted the woman and the other two followed suit.

  ‘It’s a pleasure, gentlemen, now take a seat,’ she said, a rare but beautiful smile gracing her face and betraying her stern visage.

  ‘The pleasure is ours. We owe you our lives,’ Fal said, realising their situation must have been dire indeed for her to feel the need to break them out of the King’s own prison.

  ‘I wouldn’t have said that.’ Errolas smiled. ‘Neither of you were in any immediate danger, certainly not from the magistrates anyway. You were to be released in a couple of days with a stern warning and ten lashes each, not that that is pleasant, but there were other dangers lurking in your shadows and we needed you both out, and more importantly, we needed you with us for our mission.’

  Fal and Sav looked confused and both mouthed the word “mission” at the same time.

  Before another word was said, the companions tensed as a faint but distinctive sound of stone knocking on stone came from the tunnels they'd just left. Starks moved to pick up his crossbow resting next to him, but Errolas rai
sed his hand to stay the young soldier. The elf rose to his feet without a sound, Correia following his move almost as silently.

  The knocking grew louder and Errolas motioned for them all to stand, placing one finger to his lips so they would do so quietly.

  Correia pointed to the far end of the cavern and began pacing slowly in that direction. Errolas moved to recover the star stone and Fal, Sav and Starks followed Correia as quietly as possible. All three wondered who or what was making the noise, and why the other two weren’t drawing their weapons.

  The light dimmed again as the star stone was moved from its place on the rock, and the star-like lights on the cavern ceiling died slowly away, making it again hard to navigate the loose stones and rocks underfoot.

  The knocking continued and then another, almost identical sound came from the corner of the cavern close to where they'd been.

  Starks stumbled forward then and collided with Sav who cried out in pain as he fell and hit his elbow on a rock, a string of curses flowing effortlessly from his lips.

  Both knocking sounds stopped dead and Correia shouted one word.

  ‘Run!’

  Chapter 22: Pursued

  The Castellan of Wesson’s prison was young and fairly inexperienced considering his position within the city. He'd been brought up far from Wesson; his parents, the local Baron and baroness of a farming community, had raised him as a devout Samorlian. At twelve years old, he was accepted as another lord’s squire. At nineteen years, he'd successfully saved his liege lord’s life in a terrible fire, a fire which left the older man severely burnt, but alive. The older man’s command had been Wesson Prison, but due to the terrible injuries he'd suffered, the post had been passed on in genuine gratitude – along with the approval of the King – to the young squire, who was knighted and appointed the prison’s Castellan.

  That had happened less than three years previously. Since then, the running of the prison had continued in its historically efficient manner… until the escape of two prisoners, alas.

  The Castellan’s muscles grew tense as he stood outside the very cell that had held the prisoners in question. He felt the icy stare of a fellow Samorlian, one whom he'd always hoped he would never have the misfortune of meeting. For this man, as well as his companions, brought fear and doubt to the minds of anyone whom they questioned.