Rowan sprang for the door but he was closer and cut off her escape. The other one, on his feet now, was warily stalking her. Sidestepping to keep from getting between them, she scanned the room for her sword. It was under the bed; the man she’d hit must have kicked it there.
There was a moment of stillness, of weighing the possibilities. The man between her and the door had a scar over his left eyebrow; the smell of their unwashed bodies mingled with the burning oil from the lantern; the light cast the room in an eerie glow from below.
They attacked together. Rowan launched herself at the nearest man – the one she’d cut. He overshot his grip and she struck upwards with her knee. Air whooshed out of his lungs. Her palm connected with his chin and his teeth cracked together as his head snapped back.
She spun as he fell to the floor and threw her dagger at the second man. He ducked and it shot just over his head, burying itself in the wooden door with a loud thud.
Rowan glanced at her sword but it was out of reach. The man had drawn a knife now; was watching her carefully. His companion was unconscious on the floor.
He came swiftly, knife raised. Rowan sidestepped, blocking his thrusting forearm with her elbow. Grabbing his wrist and thumb, she twisted sharply. He cried out and the knife went clattering away. She punched him in the face and he staggered back, blood streaming from his nose. A kick planted in his chest sent him sprawling.
He was quick to get up but Rowan was diving for her sword. Her fingers closed on the hilt and she stripped the leather scabbard, facing her attacker, still on her knees. The man launched himself at her again, a look of desperation on his face.
Then the door crashed open, slamming against the wall with a boom. Torrin bulled into the man shoulder first, carrying him up off his feet to land on the hard floor. He hit him hard with his fist and the man sprawled in unconsciousness.
Torrin took in the room, ready for another fight but the other man was already down. “Are you hurt?”
Rowan climbed to her feet, slowing her breathing. “I’m fine, how did you know?”
“What?” Torrin looked at her and she was aware again of how little she wore.
“How did you know they were here?” Rowan reached for her clothes draped over a chair by the bed and began to dress.
“Oh.” Torrin looked away quickly. He bent down and searched the unconscious man’s pockets. “I heard the sounds of the fight.”
Rowan glanced at the door, which now stood lopsidedly against the wall, one of its hinges completely torn away. Her dagger blade had gone right through the wood. “You heard the fight from your room?”
“I wasn’t in my room.” He was searching the second man now. Rowan realized he was fully dressed; he hadn’t been sleeping.
To avoid thinking about the implications of that, Rowan bent down also to study one of her attackers. The man was unremarkable but filthy. Her adrenaline spent, Rowan straightened and sheathed her sword. “They smell like they haven’t washed in a year.”
Torrin looked up at her from his search, his eyes traveling over her carefully. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
Rowan nodded. This was the last place she would have expected an attack – safe in her room in a guarded keep.
Footsteps sounded behind them. The rest of their companions appeared at the door. Nathel’s face was worried. “Are you alright?”
“Yes I’m fine, Torrin helped.” She waved at the damaged door.
Borlin’s eyebrows rose, he turned to look at Torrin. “Ye did that?” he asked, rapping his knuckles on the thick wood as they filed into the room.
Torrin didn’t answer; his attention was on the men before them.
A young castle guard arrived at the door next, followed by two more of his comrades. They peered in at the scene.
“Summon the captain of the castle guards.” Torrin said to the man.
The guard hesitated. “The captain of the guard is on the city wall, Sir.”
Torrin took an intimidating step towards the man, his voice angry. “I don’t care if he’s on his death bed. A guest of the king has just been assaulted in her room. Get him!”
The guard swallowed and left.
“Bring some rope,” Torrin told the two remaining guards.
They disappeared from the doorway, hastening to follow his order. Nathel picked up the lantern and set it on the table near the balcony. Torrin tossed the contents from the men’s pockets down on the table. Coins glittered in the light, a roll of rough string, a wine cork and a key. Torrin picked the key up and weighed it in the palm of his hand.
He looked at Rowan and passed the key to her. It was quite heavy and large, with a long shank and an ornate end. It was not the sort of item one would expect to find in the pocket of a grubby street tough.
“So these men ’ad help gettin into t’keep,” growled Borlin.
Torrin nodded, his eyes still on the key in Rowan’s hand. The guards returned and bound the unconscious intruders, then the captain of the castle guard came through the door, disheveled and breathless.
“How goes it on the wall?” asked Nathel.
“No siege attempts so far tonight,” he answered. “I was just arriving back at the keep when Jensen found me. What has happened here?”
Rowan stepped forward and handed him the key. “Do you recognize this? Any idea what it unlocks?”
The captain took the key and examined it, leaning over the lantern for better light. “It looks like one of the bailey keys. There is an iron gate in the side of the wall from the square. It is usually guarded but with so few to defend the city walls, men were pulled from that duty to fill in elsewhere.”
The captain pulled a large ring of keys from his pocket and searched through them, when he found the one he was looking for, he held it up to the key Torrin had found. They were identical.
“How many people have keys like that?” Rowan asked with a chill.
The captain looked over the keys at her. “Only a few people, my Lady. You were not hurt, I trust?” He eyed the sheathed sword still in her hand.
“No she wasn’t.” There was still anger in Torrin’s voice. “But she could have been. I want to know who that key belongs to.” He eyed the two unconscious men now being dragged from the room. “They got it from someone.”
The captain nodded. “I will look into it immediately, Commander Torrin. The intruders will be interrogated when they wake up. If you will excuse me, I must inform the king.”
The rest of the companions gathered around as he left. “Any guesses as to who sent them?” asked Nathel darkly.
Before anyone could answer, Arynilas called to them from the small balcony. When they looked over the railing they found a rope tied to the bottom of one of the stone pillars. It hung down to the balcony below.
“Been tied from above, that ’as,” said Borlin, squatting down for a better look.
“Someone went to a lot of trouble to set this up,” said Nathel.
“From now on I want one of us with Rowan all the time,” said Torrin quietly. “If there are enemies in the keep with access to these rooms, they could very well try again.”
“Hathunor not leave Rowan,” growled the Raken, hunkering down in a corner of the room.
Torrin nodded. “Good.”
“Did they say anything to you, Rowan?” Dalemar asked.
Rowan shook her head. “Only that they were to take me alive.”
“What were their exact words?” he asked intently.
Rowan thought for a moment, then she remembered. “One said I had an engagement elsewhere that I couldn’t miss.”
“An engagement?”
“Yes.”
“The Summoner,” whispered Torrin, looking at Rowan with concern.
Rowan touched Dalemar’s sleeve; she needed to think about something else. “Have you had any luck in the library?”
The Rith shook his head. “Not yet, but Craius the archivist has quite a collection of ancient scrolls. They are kept locked
away because of their delicate condition. I am hoping that there will be a reference to the Slayer and the Wyoraith. But I will need time to search.”
“I’ll come and help you tomorrow – the more eyes the better.” She wanted something to do, anything; she would not sit quietly and wait for them to come for her again.
The Interrogation
Torrin followed Captain Rienns of the castle guard down through the many levels of the citadel. Rowan walked behind him with the others. Their expressions were grave – little had been said since the attack. The temperature cooled and the air became heavy with moisture below ground level. The corridors narrowed and the ceilings lowered
They made their way through several locked grates with Captain Rienns’s keys rattling and clanging against the iron. Torrin glanced at Rowan as they waited at the final grate into a guardroom. She looked calm and collected. Nothing to betray the violence of the night before, save the intense look on her face.
Two young guards stood up quickly from their game of dice as the captain entered. A corridor set with locked heavy iron doors stretched into the darkness. The cells beyond were silent.
Rienns opened the door to a small interrogation room. The captain motioned Torrin and Rowan into the room with him – it not large enough for everyone. When Hathunor made to follow Rowan, Torrin put a hand on the giant’s forearm. “Wait a few moments before you come in, my friend.”
Torrin entered behind Rowan. He took a deep breath, his chest and throat tight with anger.
These two men had tried to take her.
He held no illusions about Rowan’s ability to handle them on her own but the implications of an abduction attempted inside Pellaris keep had a cold knot of apprehension growing in his belly to counter the heat of his rage.
Rienns carried a torch into the small room and placed it in a bracket by the door. The two men who had attacked Rowan were revealed in the guttering light. They sat tied to their chairs, hoods covering their faces. Torrin gritted his teeth and took another breath – they needed answers not retribution. The latter would come when they found out who had given them the key.
Torrin strode forward and pulled the hood from one of the captives. It was the man Torrin had slammed into. Blinking in the sudden light, the prisoner looked around warily, his gaze lingering on Rowan.
Captain Rienns pulled the hood from the other man. Both men had bruised faces, split lips; dried blood smeared their skin. Rienns had not been gentle with his interrogation.
Torrin leaned over the first prisoner. He let his wrath suffuse his expression and held the key out before the man’s face, inches from his nose. “Where did you get this?”
Fear crawled across his face and the man opened his mouth to speak, but then shut it again, his teeth clicking together.
“Someone gave this to you so you could get into the keep, I want to know who.” Torrin put menace into his voice.
The man looked at the key, but said nothing. Torrin glanced at Rienns.
The Captain shrugged. “We could get nothing out of them. They have refused to even give their names.”
Torrin turned back to the door, raised his voice. “Hathunor!”
The iron door swung inward, squealing, and the huge Raken’s form filled it. He had to duck to get through and when he stood up inside the room his spiked crest brushed the stone ceiling.
Hathunor growled a low rumble and bared his sharp fangs, his red eyes burning. Torrin looked back down at the man in the chair and watched his eyes grow round as marbles; watched the blood drain from his face.
“Do you know who this is?” Torrin asked quietly.
The man’s eyes rolled back to Torrin. His breathing was laboured, coming in short gasps.
“This is a very good friend of the woman you tried to abduct last night. The last man who tried to harm her had his arms ripped from their sockets. Very unpleasant sight.” Torrin smiled grimly, certain it could happen.
The prisoner glanced at Rowan again. She stood with arms folded across her chest, a frown on her face. Hathunor loomed behind her like a mountain.
Torrin tossed the key up and caught it. “Rowan can control him; keep him from tearing your spine out through your belly, if you tell us who gave this to you.”
Gaze flicking toward the giant Raken, the man shook his head, more a convulsion. “There is nothing you can do that will be w-worse than him.”
Torrin leaned forward, his leathers creaking. “Who?”
The prisoner licked split lips. “He will kill me.”
Torrin frowned and pointed up at Hathunor. “He will kill you now if you do not answer my question. Now or later, it’s up to you. Choose.”
Suddenly the prisoner convulsed against the ropes, retching. The air rattled in his throat.
Torrin stood back. Something was wrong with him – a seizure perhaps.
Dalemar was there, squeezing past Torrin, packing the already tight space. He bent down, examining the man closely. Captain Rienns leaned around to watch what was happening.
Dalemar laid a hand on the man’s chest, pulled it back sharply. “There is a compulsion spell on this man, a very powerful one!”
He placed his hand on the prisoner’s chest again where it began to glow softly blue. The prisoner jerked more violently, his head thrashing back and forth. Spittle flew from his mouth. Captain Rienns moved to hold him still but Dalemar shook his head. “Please do not touch him.”
The Rith removed his hand after a moment. “It is too complex, I have very little experience with this kind of spell and I cannot see all of it.”
Slowly, the man’s thrashing subsided until finally he was still, sitting limp in the chair, his head hanging.
“Even if he wanted to tell us, he could not. It would kill him for trying.” Dalemar crossed his arms over his chest and frowned down at the captive, one finger tapping his chin.
Captain Rienns watched the Rith with interest. Dalemar turned and looked up at Hathunor.
“Would you care to try something, my friend? It shouldn’t take a lot of strength, but a considerably lighter and more sophisticated touch than I posses as yet.”
Hathunor nodded his massive head and stepped around Rowan.
“It looks much like an intricate net covering him. I could not see all of it but it is simply a matter of loosening a few strands here and there to allow him to speak.”
Hathunor and Dalemar moved to flank the prisoner and the Rith reached up to touch the Saa Raken on the arm. Hathunor stood for a moment in concentration, then brought a massive clawed hand gently down on the man’s drooping head. The captive gasped in a ragged breath and threw his head back. With Hathunor’s enormous hand covering his face, all Torrin could see was his open mouth and pink tongue. After a moment the Raken removed his hand and the man blinked at them in a daze.
Torrin waited for the prisoner’s eyes to focus once more and then stepped forward again. “Who sent you here? Who has bound you to his will?”
The man swallowed and looked up at Hathunor again. “He comes into my dreams. He gives me orders.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “He does terrible things and I wake up feeling like I’m dying.”
“Who,” asked Torrin insistently. “Who does these things?”
The man opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. He worked his jaw and his lips moved, peeling back over yellow-stained teeth. Veins popped out along his forehead and his face slowly turned purple and then blue.
Hathunor suddenly reached out a massive arm and grabbed Torrin, pulling him back away from the thrashing man. The other prisoner began to wail horribly, a high pitched keen filled with animal fear and pain. Torrin wanted to clap his hands over his ears.
Hathunor placed himself in front of the man, blocking Torrin’s view. Rowan, just behind the Raken, was cringing at the inhuman sound with her eyes squeezed shut.
A blinding light flashed outward. The huge Saa Raken was silhouetted against the brilliance.
The force of the blas
t threw Rowan against Torrin. He had time only to wrap his arms around her before they were hurled against the wall. The back of Torrin’s head struck stone. His vision burst into a multitude of tiny white pinpoints. Rowan’s weight forced the air from his lungs and he barely registered Dalemar and Rienns as they too were flung back into the walls. Hathunor was the only one unmoved. Torrin slid slowly down the wall, landing heavily. Rowan, still clutched in his arms, was unconscious, her head on his shoulder.
With the last of his strength, Torrin rolled them both over and placed Rowan between himself and the wall. Then all faded into blackness.
Something moved in his arms, pushing. “Torrin!” Rowan’s voice? He cracked opened his eyes and groaned as pain blossomed at the back of his skull. He was still curled around Rowan and she was struggling to shift his arms and extricate herself.
Hathunor appeared above them, his fierce face concerned. Torrin released Rowan and rolled over. Had he been burnt? He touched the skin of his face; it was undamaged. Hathunor hauled them both to their feet. The pounding in Torrin’s head increased blindingly. He bent over, placing his hands on his knees. Slowly the pain eased and Torrin stood up to inspect the small room. Scorch marks along the walls and ceiling attested to the heat. Dalemar was stirring and getting to his feet with Hathunor’s help but Captain Rienns lay sprawled against the door, unmoving. The two prisoners were still in their chairs, heads back, blood seeping from ears and noses.
A shuddering breath wrenched the captive they had been interrogating. Torrin took a quick step toward the man. Grasping the captive’s head, he lifted it so his airway was less restricted. The man gazed up at him in search of redemption. His lips moved but no sound came out. Torrin brought his ear down close and heard the faintest whisper on the prisoner’s last breath. “Lok Myrr.”
Messenger from Myris Dar (The Stone Guardians Book 1) Page 34
