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Legends of Ahn (King's Dark Tidings Book 3)

Page 44

by Kel Kade


  Benni intently watched the wall across the yard for the signal. He thought it was past time, and he was beginning to worry that he had missed it. A white blur was suddenly thrust over the wall. No, it was flying. It appeared to be a small white bird, but as it flapped its tiny wings, he decided it was unlike any bird he had ever seen. It flew to within five feet of him before it abruptly dropped out of the sky, lifeless. It did not hit the roof with a thud as he would have expected of a bird. It crackled, like dried leaves. He squinted at it for a minute before realizing it was not a bird at all. It was a paper construct.

  The bird began to move again, but its movements were awkward, like it was being pulled. It skittered across the rooftop toward the wind turbine, and he realized he was about to lose the strange object to the even stranger rotating blades. Benni quickly glanced around for guards before darting out of his hiding place. He hoped the sentries on the wall were not looking in his direction, but he knew most of them were preoccupied with surveying the larger threats below in the yard and outside the palace grounds. He snatched up the paper bird just before it would have been sucked into the contraption and nearly lost part of his shirt in exchange. He bounded back to his hiding place where he was safe from detection. It was cramped between the cistern and the turbine, but at least he was saved from the afternoon heat. As the turbine sucked air across the water, it became chilled before being swept down into the building. He wondered if this was the intended purpose of the device.

  He unfolded the little bird, sorry to see the fine work destroyed. The parchment held a map and a list of words and numbers. Benni realized this was probably the information Cobb was supposed to have interpreted and relayed to him through the signals. This was not good. Something had obviously happened to Cobb, and Benni had no idea what to do with any of it. His brow broke into a cold sweat, and his heart thudded furiously in his chest. He was not supposed to have this responsibility. Adsden would be furious that someone had messed up his plan, not that it would matter to Benni because he would probably be dead. He could not stay on the roof forever, and escaping unnoticed would be difficult without the assistance that had gotten him there in the first place.

  Benni wiped at his brow and then turned the parchment over to see what was written on the other side. It looked like a hastily scrawled note. He had begun reading lessons only since Adsden had taken him as an apprentice, but one of the first words he had learned was written across the top: B-e-n-n-i. He recognized his name and knew this message was meant for him. He swallowed the bile that threatened to spill from his lips and took a deep breath. Finally, he looked at the letters below his name. After deciphering the first three words, he began to gain confidence. A thrill ran through him. He was reading. He was actually reading, and it was something important—something that could save lives.

  The clink of metal accompanied by thundering footsteps broke through his deep concentration, and he realized he had been quietly muttering the sounds of the letters aloud. He peered through a gap in his shelter to see the guards tromping by at their usual steady pace. Luckily, the sound of their own passing had drowned out his whispers, and he had not been overheard.

  After finishing the four-line message, Benni turned the parchment back over to examine the map. He knew that in Justain criminals were held in a tower until they had served their sentences or were executed. In fact, one of his friends, a young man named Oben, had met his fate in the tower during the past winter. There was no escaping from the tower, except perhaps by plummeting to one’s death. It did not stop people from telling stories about fantastic and sometimes failed attempts at escape, though, which had given rise to commonly used phrases like he took a long flight from the tower, meaning a person did something that resulted in his own death, or he flew from the tower on a wing, meaning that someone had managed to escape a terrible fate or death by pure luck. Benni looked down at folds in the parchment and wondered if someone might be able to create a giant parchment bird to carry him from the tower to safety. He liked the thought of Oben flying on a giant bird.

  In Kaibain, though, the dungeon was in a cavern beneath the palace, one that he had heard tended to flood during periods of high rain. Benni had never desired to visit the tower, and he had even less desire to be trapped underground in the palace dungeon. The others in his party all had jobs, though. They were to create distractions, eliminate guards, and otherwise clear the way for his entrance and exit. Benni was supposed to lead the escapees to freedom via the route given to him by people who were far smarter than he. He had been assured that if all went well, he would not have to fight. They had called his position the hinge—the hinge that connected the two major pieces. He knew, though, that if the hinge broke, the entire mechanism would fail.

  The corridors, guard stations, and patrols were designated by single letters and numbers, so reading the map was not difficult. He had no time dial, though, so he was going to have to figure out at which point in the guard rotation they currently were. The other teams would not be happy about the delay. They had wanted to get the prisoners free and be gone from the palace long before the executions were set to begin. The closer they got to the event, the more people would be around to interfere.

  Once he was reasonably sure he knew what was happening, he stretched his legs and prepared to make a run for the trap door. It lay open, and he hoped that the red team had already taken care of the guards at the bottom of the stairs. If it had been easy to get their people into the dungeons, his position would not have been necessary. As it was, the other teams had to lure the guards away from their posts or take them out as they changed shifts. He knew already of one kink in the plan, and he hoped it would be the only one.

  Trying to keep the sound of his steps to a minimum, he ran for the trap door. Just as he was closing in on the dark recess, a set of guards rounded a corner. He dropped into the hole without looking, crashing into the steps before tumbling uncontrollably down the stone staircase. He crumpled to a halt at the bottom and bit into an already bloodied lip to keep from groaning. He inhaled and exhaled in short bursts as scorching pain rippled up and down his body, the sensation so new and intense that he was not sure what was injured. When his head stopped spinning and his stomach was under control, he began testing each part of his body, starting at the toes. He finally decided that nothing was seriously broken, but he would certainly be covered in bruises the next day. He got to his feet but nearly buckled to the floor again when he put his weight down on his right foot.

  Panic began to swell in his chest again. He was already behind schedule, and he had been wrong about the guards. He had thought they were in the third rotation of the second circuit, but since those guards had appeared unexpectedly, he now knew they were already into the third circuit. That meant he had less than two circuits to get the prisoners out of the dungeon so they could take advantage of the gap in the guards’ schedule.

  Slowly, he lowered his foot to the ground and tested his weight again. The pain was severe, but he would have to deal with it. He needed to get to the cells. The corridor was dark, the natural cavern floor had not been smoothed, and as he got farther from the wind turbine, the air became damp and musty. He checked for guards at the next turn and then limped toward his destination. When he was about halfway down the passage, he heard the jingling of the guards’ buckles from down the corridor behind him. He could not yet see them, which meant they probably could not see him either. He glanced around for a place to hide but found nothing. Spikes of pain shot up his leg as he forced his injured ankle to take too much of his weight too quickly. Still, the guards were closing on him at a steady pace. Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around him and a hand covered his mouth as he was yanked into a dark recess that he had not seen.

  “Sshhh,” the man hissed into his ear.

  Neither moved as the guards approached. Benni did not even breath until they had passed beyond the torchlight. The assailant’s grip loosened, and Benni reeled away into the passage. The hooded man
stepped out of the alcove behind him, raised a finger to his lips, and then slithered after the guards on silent feet. Benni swallowed hard. He had recognized the man from the meetings he had attended with Adsden. It was Briesh, a master assassin of the Black Hall. Benni was glad they were on the same side—for the time being.

  He limped and shuffled the rest of the way, careful to avoid the guards who were still patrolling the corridors. He had taken the long way around to the cells because that was what the map and note had indicated he needed to do to avoid the patrols, and it had been right for the most part. When he got there, three guards were in the walk taunting the prisoners. These guards were not supposed to be there, though. They should have been cleared out before he got there. Nothing ever went to plan, he thought.

  Benni could never take down three men on his own, and he considered turning around and trying to get out of the palace on his own at that point. People were depending on him, though. It was an odd feeling. For most of his life, he had only to think about himself, since starvation was a real possibility if he did otherwise. Benni had no desire to leave those people to die, but neither did he know them. Truly, he did not wish to let Adsden and Attica down. He did not want to let the Raven down. He had a feeling he was about to take a long flight from the tower himself. He waited for the men to leave, but it became apparent that they had nothing better to do than taunt and snicker at people who were about to die.

  With anger stirring in his gut, Benni wished more than ever that he could be like the Raven, like Adsden or Briesh. He wanted to kill those men, and he wanted them to know it was coming. The prisoners were suffering from torture, starvation, and fear, yet these guards found humor in their terror. Some of the male prisoners held women as they cried, some of the women held their men while they cried, and Benni felt like crying because there was nothing he could to stop it. Then he decided to do something stupid.

  He pulled his belt knife from its sheath and held it in a reverse grip hidden along his forearm. He limped forward with determination, hoping that anger simmered in his eyes. He was already through the door of the cell block before the guards noticed, so busy were they in their jeering.

  “Hey! Who are you?” the tallest guard said.

  “I was sent down to give you a message.”

  “A’right, give it, then, an’ get outta here,” said a guard with a ginger beard.

  Benni strode straight up to the guard with the ginger beard and lunged with his dagger. He was pretty good with daggers. At least he had thought he was. It did not work out the way he had hoped. These men were not street thugs. The ginger dodged his strike and knocked Benni’s arm away. The next thing Benni knew, he was staring at the planks of the ceiling. His eyes widened in alarm, and he rolled to the side just as a heavy boot came down where his head had been. His jaw throbbed, and he fell into the bars of a cell to the side as he tried to regain his feet. Someone reached out from the cell grabbing at his shirt, and he struggled to knock the hands away. The guards laughed, and Benni spun as he managed to free himself. The third guard grabbed him by the tunic, and Benni brought his knee up into the man’s groin. The guard released him as he doubled over, and Benni remembered enough of his training to bring his elbow down on the back of the man’s head. The guard fell, smashing his face into the ground, but Benni’s victory was short-lived. He was yanked backward just as he felt a sharp, searing pain beneath his ribs. He called out, and stars twinkled in his eyes.

  Then he was falling. Benni knelt on his hands and knees as he struggled to breathe. He could hear a commotion around him. A man’s shout was cut short, metal clashed with metal, and then silence. Benni gasped as silence and darkness closed in on him. Then a rough hand pounded on his back. His head was yanked upward by the hair, and his disjointed gaze beheld cold, grey eyes. The mouth moved. The face was speaking to him. Benni blinked, and then he felt a hard slap to his face. The sounds that had previously eluded him suddenly snapped back with crisp clarity.

  “Boy,” said the gruff voice. “Boy, you snap out of it or I’m gonna leave you here.”

  Benni coughed and then sucked in a deep breath. His back ached, but with each breath he regained some of his senses. “I-I’m ’ere. I’m ’ere, don’t leave me.”

  Briesh hummed under his breath as he dropped Benni’s head. “Hmm, I shoulda just let you die for your stupidity. What were you thinking, taking on three men by yourself?”

  “They weren’t s’posed to be ’ere,” Benni said.

  “So you thought you’d take them on your own,” Briesh said.

  “I killed men before,” Benni snapped.

  “Get up,” the assassin said. “We need to get these people outta here.”

  Benni started to straighten, but his back screamed in pain. “My back hurts. What happened?”

  “You got stabbed,” Briesh said as he took the key ring from the tall guard’s belt. “Your heart’s still beating, and you ain’t got blood pouring from your mouth, so you’ll probably live if you get to a healer. That means you gotta get outta here, so move it.” Briesh took out a knife, used it to cut away one of the guard’s pant legs, and then cut it again into wide strips.

  “What are you doing?” Benni asked.

  Briesh came toward him, and Benni instinctually backed away.

  “Stop moving, you idiot. You got stabbed. Why do I gotta repeat myself? Now, come here so I can bandage it, or you’ll bleed to death.”

  Benni allowed the master assassin to wrap the bandage about his torso as he spied the curious, pleading faces peering through the bars. They were all silent now, probably worried that words might dash their hopes. They were strange looking people. The women wore gowns that had once been worth more money than Benni had seen in his entire lifetime, but now they were filthy, stained, and torn. By their appearances alone, he could not tell how they were any better than the street whores. Worse, in fact. The men’s breeches and blouses were equally worn, and most of them had disposed of their fancy doublets. Their clothes hung loosely, and their eyes appeared dark in their hollow faces.

  Briesh finished his wrap with a painful tug and then handed Benni the keys. “Go, finish your job. I’ll make sure the way is clear.” Then the assassin was looking at the map Benni had kept in his pocket.

  “How did you—”

  “Go,” Briesh said, checking his time dial. “You got about five minutes to get everyone out.”

  “Wait,” Benni pleaded, “you gotta stay and help me.”

  “Look, Boy, saving people ain’t my job. It’s yours.” Then he was gone.

  Benni turned with keys in hand and, in that moment, witnessed sparks igniting in the prisoners’ eyes. “C-Count Jebai,” he said. “Where’s Count Jebai?”

  “Here,” a man rasped from a few cells down, and a thin arm reached out from between the bars.

  “Hey, what about us!” another man called, and others joined the chorus.

  “Quiet!” Benni shouted as loudly as he dared. “I’ll get to you, but I gotta do this in order. That’s what I was told, and that’s what I’m gonna do. If you start hollerin’ none of us’ll be gettin’ out.” Benni had no idea how many he would be able to save, but he would make sure the Raven’s priorities were met.

  Benni shuffled to the cell, which somehow smelled worse than the rest of the dungeon, and then flipped through the keys until he found the one marked with the same rune that was on the cell door. Before slipping the key into the lock, he peered into the dark recess. The man who had called out stood a few paces back clutching a woman of similar age. Their raggedy finery was all that hinted at their former stations. Both had pale faces with sunken cheeks and dark eyes, and the man had practically been swallowed by unruly facial hair. Four other people shared the cell with them, one of whom had not bothered to rise with the hope of freedom.

  He nodded to the prone form. “What about him?”

  Count Jebai glanced back and said, “He died a few days ago.”

  “That explains the sm
ell,” Benni muttered. “A’right, ’ere’s what’s gonna happen. I know most of you are nobles and the sort, but you’re gonna have to follow my orders if ya wanna get outta here. We got a plan, and if you all go doin’ your own thing, you’re gonna mess up the plan. Got it?”

  The prisoners nodded, and Benni braced himself for the rush as the cell door creaked open, but no one moved. Lady Jebai looked up at her husband. Finally, they plodded toward the exit, and Benni could not tell which of them was holding up the other. Once they and the other three had vacated the cell, they stood staring at him. Benni wondered if they were using all their remaining energy just to continue standing.

  Benni softened his voice and said, “Lord Jebai, I been told to get your help in identifyin’ the others on the list.” He glanced around the cells and said a little louder, “We’ll get everyone,”—then looking back to the count—“but we gotta be sure we get these.”

  The count took the list and asked, “Why me?” He cleared his throat and said a little louder, “There are several others of higher station. Why am I at the top?”

  Benni shrugged and then regretted the minor motion. His back burned fiercely, and he was glad he could not see the bandage that was probably soaked in blood. “I didn’t make the list. What about this one?” he asked.

  “He is a mage. They keep them locked in there,” the count said, pointing to a stone door covered in runes. “It would take several powerful mages to breach the ward, and they are also chained in special shackles that mute their powers. Do you have a plan to get them out?”

 

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