Kenn started to giggle, a high-pitched penetrating laugh that seemed at the same time both giddy and sad.
“Oh, Justan if you only knew! If you only knew the power that stands behind him, you would curl up into a little ball on the floor and wait to die.” He saw the look on Justan's face change and his giggle turned into a snarl. “Don't pity me! I knew what I was doing. I had no choice, but I knew what I was doing. He may own me now but at least I live. I live and I have power here. I can change things!”
Justan shook his head.
“You should have seen this place before I came. Master was letting it be run by a mad half-orc. I have made this dungeon better!”
“So is that what you tell yourself? Does it make you feel better about yourself when the screams of tortured men haunt your sleep? Kenn, I do pity you. Perhaps that is why I don't let Fist kill you right now.” Justan gagged the dungeon keeper with cloth ripped from the dead torturer's trousers. With one last look at Kenn, he turned away. “Let’s go.”
Justan cracked open the door to the torture chamber and looked down the corridor. No guards were visible. He motioned for Fist to follow him. They entered the hallway and Justan locked the door behind them. There was no sense in making it any easier for someone to come along and free the Dungeon Keeper.
Justan resisted a compulsion to burst into the torture chambers and set all of the prisoners free. Their best chance of escape was to find a way to sneak out of the dungeon, fighting as little as possible. If they freed the other prisoners, it would be impossible to do so.
At the same time, the thought of leaving all of these people in their misery didn't feel right. He hesitated for a moment, but the practical side of him won out and as Justan crept down the Corridor of Screams, he forced himself to ignore the moans and cries of pain.
Fist sensed his struggle and placed one large hand on Justan’s shoulder to steady him. Justan could feel the ogre’s mind fumbling with the bond. We could not protect them. Fist wasn’t used to mental communication and his lips moved as he sent the thought. We free Tamboor first. Then we decide.
Justan nodded. You’re right. He was glad he wouldn't have to make that decision alone. Tamboor was one of the greatest warriors in the history of the academy. Surely he would know what to do. Justan only hoped that Kenn was wrong and that Tamboor wasn’t completely crazy.
They came to the first intersection in the corridor and made the turn to the right. Justan shuddered. The metallic scent of congealing blood was thick in the air, a stark reminder of the horrors of the night before.
The torches on the walls in this area were spaced farther apart, making it even darker than normal. The ceiling sunk lower in places causing Justan to hunch over as he walked, while Fist was forced to double over quite uncomfortably. To the odd observer, it would seem that the dungeon was sloppily put together. But Justan was sure that Ewzad Vriil knew what he was doing. The wizard had made this place as uncomfortable as possible.
As Justan and Fist quietly padded past rows of cells, the prisoners began to notice them. It was an odd site, a man and an ogre walking without a guard. Not even Ewzad Vriil himself came into the dungeons without a guard. Some of the prisoners stared in astonishment. Some whispered questions, while others reached through the bars and grabbed at them, begging to be freed.
With each person they passed by, Justan became more and more nervous. The calls of the prisoners were getting louder and he knew that at any moment they could bring the guards down on him. Justan's sense of guilt was also growing. Through the bond, he could tell that Fist felt it too.
One particularly strong voice stood out from the rest. “Stop!”
There was authority in that voice and Justan paused despite himself. The speaker had the ragged beard and sunken cheeks indicative of a long imprisonment, but he carried himself with dignity and his eyes shined with restrained vitality. “Sir, I am Captain Demetrius of King Muldroomon's private guard. I demand that you set us free!”
Fist gave his back a nudge, Move on.
But Justan felt compelled to respond to the captain. “I'm sorry. I can't.”
“You have the keys, do you not? I see them.” When Justan started to move on, Captain Demetrius called out again. “Wait! Do you simply expect to sneak out of this place with an ogre at your back? There are too many guards. I have been up there. There is no way you can do it alone. Set us free and you have a chance.”
Justan shook his head. “You are unarmed and weak from your captivity. It would be a slaughter.”
The captain laughed. “So you would leave us instead to die like all of those men last night? If we're not eaten by monsters, the best we can hope for is a slow death in this place. I for one would rather die a short death while taking some of the Duke's men with me. Besides, we outnumber them. Every guard that we kill leaves us with another set of weapons.”
Justan looked at Fist. He's right.
Fist growled and grasped the bars to the captain’s cell. He leaned forward and stared the man in the eye. The captain met his gaze unblinkingly. The moment stretched out between them until Fist turned back to Justan and nodded.
Justan found the key that Kenn had pointed out to him and opened the door. Captain Demetrius stepped out, followed by another man.
“Thank you. You have made the right decision.” Demetrius held out his hand. “The key please?”
“Wait, I need to release a friend. His name is Tamboor. Do you know where he is? He is supposed to be near the end of this corridor.” The captain shook his head in response.
“The Dead One,” Fist added.
The captain’s eyes widened. “Ah yes, I know of him. From what I understand, he is down a bit further. Please lend me the key now. The quicker we act, the better prepared we will be to make our assault.”
Justan didn't want to give the keys up.
“I'll open the doors.” He started on the next cell and looked up at the ogre. “Go on. Let me know when you find him.” Fist nodded and continued down the corridor.
Justan opened doors and prisoners began milling about in the corridor. Captain Demetrius did his best to take charge. He gathered the freed prisoners together and bade them to keep quiet. If they were to escape, they needed to work together. Evidently the other prisoners had heard of him and most of them listened, but there were some who ignored the King's man and padded down the corridor on their own.
“You know that the guards are going to find out about this soon,” Justan remarked.
The captain shrugged. “What will be will be.”
Fist paused, letting several freed prisoners flood past him and into a side passageway. He could see the end of the corridor ahead and knew that Tamboor's cell had to be nearby. The thought had barely passed through Fist's mind when a hand sprung from the bars of the cell next to him, wrenching his neck. Luckily for the ogre, his neck was thickly muscled and Tamboor's grip, though painful, was not enough to kill him.
“Tamboor!” Fist coughed “It’s me!” The grip on his throat eased. He looked through the bars into a set of fierce burning eyes. Justan, he's here. Open this one.
Justan hurried over with the keys. With a sharp clang, the lock released. Before Justan could grasp the handle, the door was pushed open from within.
Tamboor was a legend at the BattleSchool. When Justan was a child, his father had told him many tales of adventures that they had enjoyed together. The High council had put the two warriors together as a team for several years as they climbed up the ranks in the Sword Wielders Guild. Though Faldon was the more famous of the two, Tamboor was considered by many to be the better fighter.
Justan had only met Tamboor once, years before as the man retired from the BattleAcademy with much fanfare. Justan remembered the man as confident and jovial, exuding strength and giving off an air of excitement.
Very little of the man Justan remembered remained in the figure that walked out from the cell now. The muscles that showed through his ragged clothing were remarka
bly fit for a prisoner, but his confident stance was gone, replaced by an almost feral crouch. His skin was pale and his face seemed drawn, almost leeched of humanity. His eyes glowed with fierce intensity.
Justan stuck out his hand. “Tamboor, I don't know if you remember me. I am Justan, son of Faldon the Fierce.”
Tamboor's eyes seemed to bore into him. “Give me a sword.”
Without thinking, Justan held out the thick short sword that had belonged to the torturer. Tamboor snatched it from him without so much as a thank you and strode away.
“Tamboor, wait!” Fist called and hurried after him, his bulk filling the narrow corridor.
“Where is he going?” Justan wondered aloud.
“To kill them.” A sickly voice said.
Justan twirled around to see a man stagger out of the darkness of Tamboor's cell and lean against the wooden door for support. He was pale and emaciated.
“To kill who?” Justan asked.
“All of them: The beasts that tortured and killed his family, the wizard who led them, and the entire army of monsters that invaded our town. He will hunt them down and kill them all. I intend to help him.” The man slumped to the floor and began to cough uncontrollably.
Once the racking coughs ceased, Justan helped the man to his feet. He seemed light as a feather, nearly insubstantial. As the man drew a shuddering breath, Justan noticed blood at the corners of his lips. This man was barely alive.
“You know Tamboor well?” Justan asked.
“I have known him for a long time. We went to the BattleAcademy together. I was the one to convince him to retire to Jack's Rest.” He looked at Justan with sad eyes. “I feel some responsibility for what happened to him and his family.”
Justan didn’t know what to say to the man. He felt sorry for the prisoner, but there was nothing he could do. He needed to leave. He sensed Fist getting further away. Tamboor wasn’t stopping and Fist was following him.
“I’m sorry, sir. I must go.”
“Wait! Take me with you,” the man gasped. “I must help him.”
“I can’t.” Justan turned to leave.
“If that is real, why hide it?” The man asked.
“What?” Justan looked back to see the man holding up a strip of leather. He lifted his hands in surprise. The glove on his right hand was gone. It had been cut off. Justan was quick to cover the warrior rune with his other hand, but the damage was done. One of the prisoners had noticed the rune and a gasp rippled through the crowd as the information was passed on. Justan felt their eyes on him.
Captain Demetrius was quick to his side. “Sir, I am sorry. I have taken charge here. If I had known, I wouldn’t have done so.”
“No, no. It’s okay, really.” Justan backed away. This was exactly the kind of attention he had been avoiding. He could sense Fist moving further away.
The captain shook his head. “I must insist, sir.”
“Uh, no.” Justan’s mind churned. “You must take charge of these people, Captain. I have an urgent mission of my own I must accomplish. Rescue the others. That is the best way you can help.”
The crowd of prisoners mumbled in disappointment.
“I see.” The captain nodded reluctantly. “If I may ask, Sir, what is your name? We would be honored to know the name of the warrior who has saved us.”
Justan gulped. He felt as if just by letting these people see his rune, he had deceived them. Most of these prisoners were sure to die in attempting their escape and the thought that a named warrior had been the one to save them would give them false hope. But he saw the look of desperation in their eyes and he couldn’t make himself deny it. Perhaps that hope was something that they needed. Justan raised his fist in the air so that as many as possible could see the rune in the gloom of torchlight.
“I am Edge.” He said, trying to force confidence into his voice without speaking too loud. The crowd rippled as the information was passed down the corridor. “This man, Captain Demetrius has my confidence. He will lead you to freedom.”
He handed the keys over to the Captain and lowered his voice. “I must leave now. You are their only chance for freedom. Lead them well.”
As he left the crowd behind, Justan felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Well done,” the sickly man said.
Justan frowned. “How did you take that glove off without my knowing?”
“There is more to me than you see here.” The man smiled and a tiny blade appeared in his fingers. With a nimbleness that seemed impossible for such a sick man, he rolled the blade over his knuckles and made it disappear. “Take me with you. If you are truly who you say you are, you’ll help me.”
“Being named doesn’t require me to-.” Justan sighed in frustration. “I can’t. I’m sorry, but you’ll just slow me down.” Justan shrugged the man’s hand off his shoulder and walked away.
“But surely the son of Faldon the Fierce wouldn’t miss the opportunity to repay an old debt of his father’s.” The man coughed. “I heard you tell Tamboor who you are.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Petyr. I saved your father’s life many times.”
“I’ve never heard of you.” Justan continued to walk away, but the man shuffled after him.
“In my prime I was known as Sneaky Pete.”
Justan stopped. That was a name he had heard before. Sneaky Pete was the leader of the Assassin’s Guild when Faldon had first joined the Council. If he was Sneaky Pete, it was very possible that he had saved Faldon’s life.
“Tamboor and Fist are far up the corridor right now. I need to hurry and I can’t carry you.” The man was thin and frail, but Justan hadn’t had a good meal in a long time. Even with the stamina given him by Gwyrtha, Justan didn’t see how he would be able to do it.
“Look at me. I am light and you are strong. I will be useful, I promise.”
“Very well.” Reluctantly, Justan wrapped Petyr’s arms around his neck and hoisted him onto his back. “But if you slow me down too much I will have to leave you behind.”
Justan hurried down the corridor he had seen Fist take. The sickly man truly didn’t weigh too much and to Justan’s surprise, he didn’t feel any discomfort, even while hunching over in the low ceilinged dungeon corridors. He sent his thoughts ahead.
Fist. Where are you?
We need your keys, the ogre responded. They had been turned around in several different passages because of locked doors. Tamboor was getting angrier every passing moment that went by without being able to kill an enemy.
Justan wondered why they had not run into any guards yet. Just then, Petyr interrupted his thoughts.
“Quick! To the side!” the man whispered. Justan ducked down a side corridor and Petyr climbed down from his back.
Moments later Justan saw torchlight coming from the passage they had been traveling and he heard the heavy stomp of booted feet. Petyr raised one finger to indicate that there was only one guard approaching. Justan pulled his sword and pressed himself against the wall. To his surprise, Petyr stepped in front of him.
The assassin reached down to his waistband and pulled out a long silver cord. The guard came into view. He was a big, ugly looking man with an enormous wart on the side of his nose. The guard kept a steady pace but didn’t seem to be in any particular hurry. He obviously didn’t know of the prisoners’ escape.
The guard passed by without noticing the two escapees. Petyr slipped in the corridor behind him. The assassin’s next move was so swift that Justan barely saw the flash of silver in the air before the guard’s head fell off. The body crashed to the floor soundlessly.
Petyr collapsed as well in a series of deep ripping coughs that sent Justan to the assassin’s side in concern.
“Petyr, are you okay?” Justan grimaced at his own question. It was obvious that the assassin wasn’t okay. “I mean, what’s wrong?”
Petyr wiped his mouth with the back of his hand leaving a smear of blood on his knuckles. “It’s a wasting
disease. Even the mages at the academy couldn’t help. I had hoped the mountain air would help and it did. I lived far longer than they said I would. But this place has killed me.”
“Surely we could get you out and find some help. I’m on my way to find a master wizard. Perhaps he could help you.”
The assassin smiled weakly. “Perhaps. But the important thing is that I help Tamboor.” He gestured to the dead guard. “At least I am still useful.”
Justan was about to agree, but he froze as the sounds of battle echoed from the corridor ahead. Evidently the prisoners had finally encountered some guards. He sent probing thoughts ahead. Fist and Tamboor had heard the sounds as well. They were headed towards the fight.
Quickly he checked the guard’s body and found a serviceable sword to replace the one Tamboor had taken. He also found a set of keys, which was a relief. He had worried that by giving Captain Demetrius his set of keys he had also given away his chance of escape.
Messenger of the Dark Prophet (The Bowl of Souls: Book Two) Page 39
