by R. J. Grieve
The girl, hearing this, renewed her struggles, alarming Iska so much that she had no compunction about what she must do.
Of course, she tried not to swallow, but as it became a choice of either swallowing or suffocating, she was obliged to give in. She glared at her two assailants defiantly for about a minute before her eyelids began to droop. A moment later, she was fast asleep.
“At least we know it works,” whispered Iska. “It will do her no harm to spend the night in her petticoat. Now help me get her dress off.”
Sareth donned Vesarion’s shirt under her dress to make sure the guards did not find it, but when she and Iska were fully attired, Iska raised a caveat.
“Er….Sareth, I don’t mean to be picky but won’t the guards suspect something when they see the tip of your sword sticking out from the back of your dress? Perhaps if you wore the scabbard like a baldric, across your shoulder, it would work.” As she helped her, she chuckled. “That dress was clearly designed for a buxom lass because it’s far too big for you. You have room enough to hide an entire army under it, but at least your sword is now out of sight. Now, let’s go.”
As they approached the outer gate of the compound, each carrying a basket, Iska murmured softly: “Remember, leave the talking to me – and try to make the effort to smile, Sareth. You look as if you are about to commit murder. There’s nothing that more quickly distracts a man than a pretty girl smiling at him.”
Sareth, her heart thumping, pinned a smile to her lips, tightened her grip on the basket and stepped into the pool of light cast by two flaming torches set on either side of the gate.
The sentries stopped their bored pacing when they saw the women approach, but seemed unsuspicious.
“Two of you tonight?” one remarked jocularly. “Those lucky dogs upstairs have all the fun – off duty, wine, food and the company of two pretty lasses! Now that’s what I call a proper way to spend the evening, instead of pounding the cobbles out here.” He then cast a greedy eye over the baskets. “I don’t suppose you have something in there for a poor hungry soul who has still two hours to go before he comes off duty?” he asked plaintively.
His hand was creeping towards the basket until it was abruptly halted by a playful slap from Iska.
“You know you have to wait your turn,” she chided coquettishly, causing Sareth to gulp. “But if you’re good, we’ll keep some for you. Now, we’re late, so we must hurry or there will be complaints from upstairs.”
As they hurried across the parade ground, the guard’s voice echoed after them. “Promises, promises. All I ever seem to get from girls are promises!”
His companion, impressed by his wit, guffawed with laughter.
When they reached the top of the steps and passed through the formidable iron-bound door, Sareth whispered: “We’re in. I had no idea you could be such a flirt!”
“One of my many talents. When you serve the guardsmen, make sure they all get some wine. At least we know they don’t have to take much for it to work. Oh, and keep a bottle back for the two gaolers. They’re not supposed to have any, because they are still on duty, but if I know human nature, they won’t be able to resist. If they refuse to take it, you are going to have to deal with them by other methods.”
“Great,” replied Sareth glumly.
As they passed the door to the armoury, they tested the handle, but as expected, it was securely locked. Once at the top of the stairs, with a quick reassuring glance at one another, they entered the guardroom.
To their surprise and relief, there were only half a dozen guards present. One was engaged in cleaning armour and the rest were playing dice by the fire. They rose to their feet when the two women came in and set the baskets on the table.
“I see it took two of you to carry our supper tonight,” the man industriously polishing a breastplate observed. “If that’s the case, you’ve probably brought too much. As you see, there are only six of us tonight, thanks to the rumpus that went on today. Most of us spent the day running round the city on a wild goose chase – and there are some of us still at it, would you believe? So you find us worn out and few in number this evening.”
“What are you complaining about?” another interjected. “That just means there is more for each of us. Where’s Elia tonight?”
“Taken ill,” replied Iska promptly. “Where do you keep the glasses and plates?”
“In the cupboard. I haven’t seen you two before. Have you just started at the inn? Elia didn’t mention you.”
“Just started today,” Iska replied, handing Sareth some glasses
“Well, all I can say is that the landlord of the White Hart never picked a plain girl yet. What say you stay with us, sweetheart, and share in our banquet?”
Iska laughed. “What? You want to get me sacked on my first day? Shame on you!”
“Pity,” He turned his attention to Sareth, who was pouring out wine. “You’re a fine looking lass – if a bit on the quiet side. But I always say that a quiet woman is a blessing. Take Perrias here, for example, married to a woman who never stops talking. The only place he can get any peace is on duty.”
There was a general laugh at Perrias’s expense and quickly Sareth began handing round the glasses before she attracted any more attention. The food was already being attacked with gusto, but the older man, who had been cleaning the armour, put his hand across his glass to prevent Sareth pouring him any wine.
“Not fond of wine,” he explained. “I’m an ale man, myself. I can’t think why the White Hart didn’t send some, like they usually do.”
Sareth glanced at Iska in something of a quandary, but Iska, with great presence of mind, promptly held out her glass for Sareth to fill, saying boldly: “Then I’ll have his share. The landlord said it was a special wine, normally so expensive that only the wealthy can afford it, but the merchant let him have some at an introductory price, just to try it.” Looking at the recalcitrant guard, she added provocatively: “Seems you are going to waste the only chance you might ever get to live like a rich man.”
He hesitated for a heartbeat before holding out his glass to Sareth.
“Oh, all right then. I’ve always felt I was meant for better things.”
Iska held up her glass. “What about a toast, gentlemen?”
She was met with a chorus of agreement. “What shall we drink to?”
The guard who had not wanted any wine, held up his glass. “I say we make a toast to the White Hart for having the prettiest barmaids in the city!”
As all glasses were raised, Iska’s and Sareth’s eyes met in satisfaction. Their victims suspected nothing. The night was warm, their stomachs were full and soon the wine began its work. One by one, they began to nod off. Eyes began to droop. Heads lolled forward, and most of them were soon slumped across the table. One poor young man fell off his chair and hit the floor with a resounding thump – but he didn’t so much as stir.
Looking at her untouched glass approvingly, Sareth said: “A fine vintage indeed.” Picking up a plate of food and two glasses of wine, she headed towards the door. “Now for the moment of truth.”
There was only one gaoler on duty in the large antechamber, sitting behind the table beside the door to the cell. Sareth, her gaze straying to the heavily barred door, felt her heart quicken its pace at the thought of being so close to Vesarion. Assessing the rather flabby individual before her, she was quite confident that if he didn’t co-operate, she could deal with him by other methods.
Iska, more subtle in her approach, set the plate of food and the wine on the table in front of him and smiled winningly.
“Your comrades sent us to give you this. They thought you might be hungry, and to be honest, at the rate they are devouring what we brought, by the time you come off duty there will be nothing left.”
The man lifted the glass with alacrity. “I could do with this. I’m utterly famished,” he explained. “First, running round the city after these strangers, then on duty at the Traitor’s Post �
� a sight, I might add, that I never want to see again, and now on guard duty here! I haven’t had time to have a bite all day.” He jerked his head towards the barred door. “I mean, I don’t know what I’m sitting here for. It’s not like he’s going to get through a locked door, and even if he did, from the look of him he wouldn’t get far. Is that chicken I see?”
Iska watched as he washed his chicken down with a large gulp of wine, but Sareth’s attention had fastened onto something else. For there, sitting on the table, was Vesarion’s silver box. The guard noticed the direction of her gaze.
“Pretty, isn’t it? Probably worth a fortune. Apparently our prisoner is some sort of lord, or something. Prince Mordrian seemed to know who he is, although it meant nothing to me. I’m surprised that greedy lout Ursor didn’t lift it.”
He chatted on for a moment, listened to sympathetically by Iska, until finally his head began to nod. Iska gently lowered him onto the desk and unhooked an enormous bunch of keys from his belt.
Sareth had already cast off the enveloping dress and was buckling her scabbard around the waist of her breeches. She scooped up the little box from the table and put it in her pocket.
“At least we know for certain that he’s here,” she remarked tersely, folding Vesarion’s shirt over her arm. “Now try the keys.”
“We must hurry,” Iska said, feverishly trying different keys in the lock. “Why must they have so many damned keys!”
Sareth had gone back to the door leading to the corridor to keep watch, when the sudden sound of a lock shooting back informed her that Iska had been successful. Crossing to the table, she lifted a lighted candle and in a state of great trepidation, pushed open the door to the cell.
Chapter Twenty-six
Escape
Three stripes of moonlight lay on the floor, but in contrast, this threw the rest of the large cell into inky blackness and at first Sareth could see nothing. Then the feeble light of the candle that she held in one trembling hand, fell on the prisoner. He was lying on his side facing towards her, his wrists chained to the wall by a long, heavy chain. His face was bruised and swollen and the remnants of his shirt clung to him in bloodied rags. Swiftly, Sareth crossed to him and setting the candle on the floor, knelt beside him in concern. He did not stir, or show any signs of life.
“Vesarion?” she called softly.
Still he made no response.
Tears sprang to her eyes. “Vesarion,” she wept softly, “my beloved Vesarion, what have they done to you?”
Iska, leaning anxiously over her shoulder, asked: “Is he breathing?”
Sareth, her heart cold with fear, leaned over him and after a tense pause, said with palpable relief: “Yes, Iska, he’s still breathing but I can get no response from him. I think he has lost consciousness.”
But at that moment, the prisoner’s eyes fluttered open.
Sareth called his name again urgently.
He raised his head a little and looked at her in a dazed manner, as if finding it hard to focus.
“Sareth?” the words came indistinctly between swollen lips. “Sareth? Is that you?”
Gently she clasped his bound hands between both her own. “Yes, Vesarion. Iska and I have come to get you out of here.”
“Iska?” He raised his head a little further and looked up at the worried face peering past Sareth’s shoulder. “Where are Eimer and Bethro?”
“Missing,” replied Iska baldly. “We think they are in hiding somewhere. All I can tell you for certain is that they have not been captured. Stretch your wrists forward and I will see if one of this enormous bunch of keys fits the locks on your bonds.”
While Iska tried key after key, Sareth said rapidly: “We have drugged the guards but more may come along at any moment, so we must hurry.”
“How did you…?”
“….later. That story will keep for again.”
As he spoke, Vesarion with an effort, sat up and brought his wrists further forward to help Iska, causing the chain to rattle ominously through the ring sunk in the wall. As he did so he turned slightly and for the first time, his two rescuers saw his back.
Even in the weak light of the little candle, what they saw caused Iska to gasp and Sareth to cry out in horror. The torn shirt revealed a mass of raw wounds and congealed blood.
“We must help him, Iska,” Sareth cried, pierced to the very heart by what she saw.
But Iska, in a tearing hurry, was frantically trying key after key unsuccessfully in the lock.
“We have no time to treat his injuries now,” she said rapidly, refusing to be distracted from her task. “We must get him away from here and out of the city before more guards arrive and discover their comrades out cold on the floor – ah! Success!” The chains fell away and with a gasp of relief, Vesarion freed his hands from the irons. Carefully, propping a shoulder under each arm, the two women helped him to his feet. With the most tender care, they removed the tattered remnants of his shirt and helped him don the new one they had brought. Despite their consideration, it was an acutely painful experience for him, and although he made no complaint, he had to stop for a moment to take a few deep breaths to steady himself.
Slowly, they made their way out of the cell into the large outer chamber where the guard slept on in oblivion.
“We have to get you down the stairs and into the old armoury where Gorm is waiting to open the entrance to a storm drain,” Sareth advised Vesarion. “Do you think you could manage to crawl a short distance along it?”
“Yes,” was all he replied and she realised that he was fighting to keep hold of consciousness. But they had only taken a few paces across the room, when the door leading to the corridor burst open with such force that it slammed back against the wall. A burly man stood in the doorway carrying a naked sword in his hand.
For a frozen instant, they stared in disbelief at him, for the escape party, with varying degrees of fear and loathing, recognised the man who now barred their way to freedom.
Ursor was the first to recover his wits. Sword poised, black eyes cruel, he advanced further into the room.
“What is this?” he asked, with all the confidence of someone who feels they are totally in control of a situation. “A prisoner attempting to escape? And with help, too, I see. I find a guardroom full of guards who mysteriously will not waken and it does not take much to work out what is going on. What I didn’t expect is that the perpetrators of this bold rescue attempt are merely two girls. You might even have got away with it, had I not come back when I did. Indeed, you would not have seen me this evening at all, were it not for the fact that I suddenly remembered that the prisoner’s expensive silver box had been left behind.”
His eyes had been probing the room during this speech, noting the unconscious guard and checking for further accomplices. On finding none, his eyes finally returned to the group of three and at that moment his gaze fastened on Iska.
“You!” he spat, making the words sound like a curse. “You! I might have guessed as much! The Prince’s little bastard sister up to her eyes in the plot to betray her country. So you’ve been helping these people all along. No wonder they have eluded capture so easily, but now your schemes have gone awry and all you have achieved is to deliver yet another conspirator into our hands.” He grinned with loathsome satisfaction at Sareth before returning to Iska. “Prince Mordrian will be delighted. It is with the greatest of pleasure that I will deliver his treacherous little sister into his hands, for which the Prince will, without doubt, reward me in a manner that would beggar a king’s ransom. He has been waiting a very long time to rid himself of you. Personally I can’t see why you irritate him so much, after all, what are you but a street rat? But to him you are like a burr under the saddle and he is itching to be rid of you. My master does not take kindly to those who defy him, and if I know the Prince, I suspect that once he gets his hands on you, you will be wishing for death a very long time before it comes. All in all, this is very satisfactory. The prisoner will
keep his appointment with the gallows in the morning and the Prince gets to exact his long overdue revenge. And as for you?” his eyes fastened lasciviously on Sareth and he eyed her up and down in a manner none of them cared for. “You will provide me with some entertainment before I hand you over to the Prince. I think he will not care that the goods are a trifle damaged. “
Sareth, her arm still round Vesarion, felt him stiffen at the words, but before he could speak, she released her hold upon him and stepped forward.
Iska, catching sight of her, once more barely recognised her, for all kindness and humanity had drained from her face leaving it hard as stone. From out of that resolute countenance, bored two grey eyes as cold as granite.
“Not one of your plans will ever be fulfilled,” she said in a hard, tight voice, “for you will never leave this room alive.”
He looked surprised for an instant, as if it had not occurred to him that anyone would challenge him, then looking at his opponent contemptuously, he threw back his head and laughed.
“And who is going to stop me? You, little girl?”
Smoothly, with a certain practiced air that should have warned him, Sareth unsheathed her sword and drew herself up to her full height, which put her eyes on exactly the same level as his.
Iska’s heart gave a sudden lurch of alarm, as she realised that Sareth was proposing to take on this powerful man.
Rapidly, Sareth had been assessing him. She noted the broad shoulders and bunched arm muscles but she also noted the roll of fat bulging over his belt. ‘Strong but slow’ was her conclusion. ‘Not overly clever, but still dangerous.’
“Yes,” she replied evenly. “I will stop you. You beat and tortured a man who is so far above you that you are not even fit to breathe the same air that he does. You inflicted terrible pain and suffering upon him, and what is more, you enjoyed it, and now you are going to pay for that with your life.”
