The commander gestured at Luber, and the two guards sprang into action. One pulled the man to his feet, while the other busied himself with the locks round Luber's ankles and wrists. As he was carried out, Luber flashed a worried look at Lucius, who was paying more attention to the movements of the guards, watching for any opportunity to spring a bid for freedom. For he knew he would be next.
It came quicker than he thought. As the guards dragged Luber out of the cell, another pair stepped around the Commander to haul Lucius to his feet. He felt the manacles release his limbs from their pinching grasp, only to be replaced by an iron-like grip that drew his arms behind his back in a well-practised move. Propelled out of the cell, he was dragged bodily along a corridor and down a set of steps that descended further into the fortress. His mind churned as his feet slid along the flagstones, determined not to aid the guards in their labours in any way.
Any thieves captured by the guard would be in for a hellish evening, Lucius knew, but it would be the morning before anything more permanent would take place. Lucius was betting on this, if the Guild had any say on events in the Citadel, and the Vos guard liked a public display to stamp their authority on the citizens of Turnitia. A good hanging or maiming always drew a decent crowd, regardless of who was suffering.
That gave him some time, at least. He guessed the Vos guard and their commander would be inventive during their questioning, but Lucius had taken a beating before and believed he could face up to another one. His worry was how many other thieves had been caught, and how many of them would be quickly broken.
As they stepped out of the staircase and entered another level, Lucius noted that the environment seemed darker, and it took him a few seconds to realise that the torches down here were spaced further apart, creating more shadows; and a far more foreboding atmosphere. All part of the Vos game he decided, an attempt to convince those brought down here that hope was as far away as the day-lit world. The cries and moans from the cells they passed served to add to the atmosphere of impending defeat, a promise of what any prisoner would inevitably face. Lucius guessed that perhaps a dozen men and women were being questioned, though he had no way of knowing whether they were all thieves caught that night.
A painful crack, followed by sustained sobbing caught Lucius' attention as he was dragged past one such cell, and it was followed by a rumble of laughter from within.
Lucius was thrown onto the floor of a nearby cell, this one even smaller than his previous residence. He struck the ground and rolled, but was instantly grabbed again and shoved into the single wooden chair that was bolted to the flagstones. A heavy hand forced him back into the uncomfortable seat while others grabbed at his hands and feet, securing them to iron clasps, holding him immobile. One guard left the cell, while the other stationed himself behind Lucius, out of view but his presence menacingly obvious.
Taking a breath to compose himself, Lucius began to take in his surroundings, inspecting the clasps holding him to his chair, the thickness of the cell door, the space he might have to manoeuvre, should he break free and be forced to fight. His calculations were interrupted by the cell door opening again and another guard entered, followed by Commander Ernst von Minterheim.
"I have little time and less patience," he announced casually, almost seeming bored by this duty. "We already have much of the information we require, and your fellow thieves caught this evening have been most co-operative. I merely require you to confirm some of what they have told us. If your tales support one another, you can all go free come morning. Lie to me, and you will all hang."
Lucius looked up at him with a rueful expression. "I will not co-operate."
The commander gave a nod, and Lucius felt strong hands press down on his shoulders from behind. The guard who had entered the cell with the Commander stepped up and backhanded him with a mailed fist.
His head whipping round with the blow, Lucius gasped with the sudden pain, and he worked his jaw to ensure it was not broken. He glanced back at the Commander, this time with a baleful expression.
"That was just the start of what could be a very long evening for you," von Minterheim said. "Now, what is your name?"
Lucius stared back, saying nothing. Another mailed swipe set his teeth ringing.
"How long have you been with the Hands?"
This time Lucius' silence was met with a blow straight to his face. He felt something in his nose crack under the fist, and his eyes watered.
"Who are the current members of your Council?"
Lucius did not see the next strike coming, and he jerked against the clasps of the chair as the side of his head exploded in pain, causing the whole world to reel, then spin. A hand grasped him under the chin to hold his head upright before another backhanded blow blasted across his face. Hanging his head low, Lucius spat blood down his chest.
"I don't have time for another tight-lipped thief," he heard von Minterheim say, as if from a great distance. "Carry on with him. Let me know if he decides to loosen his tongue."
As light slowly flooded back into Lucius' world, he felt pain. His face felt like it had swollen to twice its normal size and, as he roused himself awake, the movement sent sharp bolts that lanced through his stomach and chest. Duller was the ache from his wrists and ankles, where they had been bruised from the clasps of the chair. Opening his eyes a fraction, he saw that his limbs were bound once again by chained manacles, and he guessed he was back in his cell.
Low voices made him aware he was not alone and, glancing at his cell mates, he saw he was somewhere else entirely. This cell was much larger, and held more than a dozen other thieves, all bound by hand and foot to the walls and floor as was he. Luber was to his right, and the man looked a wreck, with blackened, puffed up eyes and a dried slick of blood running down his chin. Guessing he looked no better himself, Lucius glanced round the other captives, tuning in to their low, hushed conversations.
"It'll be suicide," said one in a hiss.
"Better that than hang," answered another, a thin, reedy man about the same age as Lucius. "I heard von Minterheim say it himself; anyone not making a deal with them is strung up in the courtyard this morning."
"So, which of us made a deal?" a woman's voice asked, her tone one of guarded suspicion.
"Not me," said the thin man, who Lucius now recognised as a counterfeiter called Aeron. "Can't imagine anyone would."
"Oh, come on. There's, what, fourteen, fifteen…" she said, counting the bodies surrounding her. "Sixteen thieves here. You certain no one spoke?"
"Not really a problem for us right now," Lucius heard himself mumble.
"Hey, Lucius is awake," the original voice said. "What was that you said?"
Lucius worked his mouth for a few seconds, trying to find some moisture while ignoring the pain of moving his lips.
"Whether one or more of us answered any of the guard's questions is rather academic," he said. "It does us no good or harm while we are locked up here — and if we hang this morning, it won't matter to us either way."
A mumble of agreement spread round the cell. Aeron spoke up again.
"There are some who think an escape attempt is pointless, that we'll just be caught and killed that much quicker."
Seeing one man lower his head to avoid Aeron's pointed stare, Lucius tried to give a confident smile, but his lips only partially co-operated. "Would anyone here rather they met their end at the end of a noose than while fighting for their lives?"
He was met with silence.
"Thought not."
"So, it just remains for us to get ourselves free," said the woman. Lucius gave her a quick look but while he thought he had seen her in the guildhouse from time to time, he could not remember her name. As battered and bruised as the rest of them, he was impressed that her eyes still shone with the light of defiance.
Rattling her chains, the woman nodded to her manacles. "Anyone manage to get themselves free of these?"
Inwardly, Lucius sighed. He was not ready to un
leash his magic with all the thieves as witnesses, however simple it might be for him. Even with the Hands under assault from both the Vos guard and the Guild, it was too dangerous. Looking around the cell for an answer, he was conscious of Luber moaning next to him, and was surprised to realise that the man was chuckling. Others watched the man as he gave a bloodied grin then produced a small hooked bar of metal from his swollen lips. A lockpick.
"Nice going, Luber," the woman said. "But how are you going to reach your chains?"
"Well, Natalia," he said. "There's a little trick I learned growing up in Vosburg. You might want to look away…"
Lucius saw her sneer at that, then followed her gaze as her eyes widened in shock. Next to him, Luber's face had turned into a grimace as he strained his right hand against the manacles that clasped his wrist. He watched as the man flattened his fingers, then brought his thumb down into his palm, before he pulled, shuddering with the effort.
The thieves winced collectively as a dull, wet snap reached their ears, and Luber grunted from the pain. Incredulously, Lucius stared as Luber simply drew his hand back through the manacles. Gingerly, he took the lockpick from his mouth and began prodding at the restraint around his left hand.
Waiting with baited breath, the thieves watched as Luber, with obvious pain and difficulty, probed the locking mechanism of the manacles, the action made harder tenfold with the broken joint of his thumb. He twisted the pick, and they all strained to hear the click of the mechanism unlocking, but instead heard Luber grunt again in pain as his hand spasmed slightly, and the pick fell from the lock, dangling only by a fraction of an inch of its hooked end. Lucius saw the woman jerk against her chains involuntarily, perhaps thinking she could catch the pick from across the cell, but Luber's reactions were up to the task. Giving a pained but wry smile at his audience, he scooped the pick up, and re-seated it back in the lock.
"God's teeth, Luber," someone muttered. "Could do this quicker myself."
"And could you break your own wrist first?" the woman asked caustically, only to be met with silence.
Moving slower and more deliberately this time, Luber continued his probing, then gave another grunt.
"Got it," he whispered, and hushed words of encouragement swept around the cell as they all heard a tiny click. With a shrugging motion, Luber discarded the open manacles and set to work on those chaining his feet.
Eyes began to flicker towards the cell door, as the thieves collectively prayed that the guard would not return before Luber's work was done, but luck remained on their side. He quickly disposed of the restraints tying his feet and then, shakily, stood, grinning in his new found freedom. A quiet cough brought him back to the job in hand, and he set to work on another man Lucius recognised as his partner. Once another set of manacles lay useless on the floor, the newly freed thief produced his own lockpick from inside a boot, and together he and Luber shuffled around the cell, releasing their comrades.
Even before the last thief was released, Lucius was by the cell door, inspecting its lock. He was joined by the woman.
"No craftsmanship here," she said. Noting Lucius' quizzical gaze, she gestured at the lock. "Why build a cell whose door gives access to the lock on the inside? Especially one designed to hold thieves. All that money from Vos to build the Citadel, but no finesse in its application."
"Lucky for us," he said. "I'm Lucius."
She took his extended hand. "Grayling. I've seen you around. Rumour has it you can fight." In response, he shrugged. "There'll be plenty of fighting soon," she continued. "Let's hope you are as good as your reputation. Luber, you finished there? We need this door open."
It was Luber's partner who answered her summons and, as he went to work, Grayling ordered the thieves into pairs, and Lucius was faintly surprised at the ease at which they accepted her leadership.
"When you leave, take your chances to go left or right down the corridor — either is as good as the other, and it will mean we are not all cooped up in one place if the guard see us. Find weapons if you can, but don't take risks. The goal is to get out of this cursed place. Go for the roof or the ground floor, as you like. Find a route out of this tower and then past the walls — that will be the difficult bit. Better to go over than through, but if some of us are found, it may cause enough distraction for the others. Once out…" here she paused, as the enormity of what they were attempting struck home. "Split up and make your way back to the guildhouse. Standard procedures. Make sure you are not followed, and make wide detours. Understood?"
She was answered by nods and grunts.
"Lucius, you come with me," she said, barely looking him in the eye.
A loud click froze the thieves as the lock of the cell door was forced by Luber's partner. He looked back at Grayling who nodded. Pulling Lucius to one side, she opened the door open a crack and, seeing no movement, swung it open fully. She darted her head outside, looking up and down the open corridor.
"You two," she said, gesturing at a pair of thieves. "Go!"
The two men sprang up and, with just a second's hesitation, darted left. The next pair called by Grayling went right. As the thieves funnelled out, Lucius began to fidget, feeling that the guards could return any moment, trapping him in the cell while the other thieves made their bid for freedom. As the last pair left, Grayling looked up at him.
"Ready?"
Without waiting for a reply, she peered out of the corridor once more, then trotted left, her soft boots making no noise on the flagstones. They passed other cells, and Lucius briefly entertained the idea of releasing all the prisoners held in this tower, but realised that such a mob would as likely get themselves killed as escape, and that the odds were stacked against the thieves as it was.
At the first junction, Grayling cocked her head, then pointed right, and as they made their way down shadowy, torch-lit passages, they caught the occasional snatch of raised voices and the unmistakable clash of metal on metal. Some of the thieves had already been found, and were now fighting for their lives.
An alcove revealed a spiral stone staircase leading both up and down, and Grayling began to vault upwards, aiming for the pinnacle of the tower. However, the stairs stopped short at least one level, forcing them back into twisting corridors. Always one pace behind her, Lucius stopped short when Grayling held up a hand.
"Guard coming," she whispered. "Get him looking at you."
With no other words, she skipped to the left, nestling herself within the shadows of a support buttress that stood proud of the passageway's walls. An instant later, Lucius heard booted feet and the clink of mail from ahead, and realised Grayling's hearing was far more acute than his own. A second later, an armoured guard rounded a corner a few yards down the corridor, coming to a dead halt when he saw Lucius standing in his path.
They stared at one another for a brief instant, the guard surprised at the sight of an intruder, Lucius' mind fumbling for something to say.
He held up both hands. "I surrender."
Frowning now, the guard jogged down the corridor, arm outstretched to seize Lucius, but his motion was arrested by Grayling's foot. Catching the guard off balance, she snaked from the shadows, tripping him with an easy movement, then following his body down with her own. Throwing his helmet aside, one blow to the back of his neck rendered the guard unconscious.
Moving quickly, Grayling tugged at the guard's belt, freeing his weapons. The sword she passed to Lucius, while she grabbed a dagger for herself.
"Sure you don't want the sword?" Lucius asked, surprised she had taken the smaller weapon. She gave him a disparaging look.
"You men are always so worried about size."
Her smile might have been meant purely in jest, but it retained such a look of viciousness that Lucius found himself swallowing involuntarily. Grayling glanced over her shoulder, looking down the corridor.
"Grab that and pull it into the shadows," she said, indicating the motionless guard. "I'll scout ahead."
As quietly as h
e could, Lucius dragged the guard next to the buttress Grayling had used to ambush him, deeply aware of the grating sound the man's mail made on the stone floor. He tried lifting and shuffling the man as best he could, but it was a dead weight, and he kept flicking glances up and down the passageway, expecting to see half the Vos army bearing down upon him.
By the time he had finished, Grayling had returned, and he noted a triumphant look in her eyes.
"I know how we are getting out of here," she said. "But there is a problem. Come."
Pacing down the corridor behind her, Lucius followed Grayling past two junctions in the maze like arrangement of the tower. They came to a half open door, from which he heard the voices of several men. Following her gesture, he looked inside.
Lucius saw the problem immediately. Four more guards were inside, in various states of unreadiness. Two were reclined on cots, propped up against the far wall as they spoke with their colleagues, while the other pair were seated at a table, evidently finishing off their evening meal. Only one was fully armoured, his helmet lying discarded on the table, while another wore only his mail coat. The two on the cots wore only leather under-tunics, their mail hung from crosspieces on one side of the room. Quickly scanning the room for weapons, Lucius saw a wooden rack against the far wall in which rested a variety of swords, maces and daggers.
Grayling nudged him in the side, and he followed her eyes to a corner of the barracks. A ladder rose from the floor to a large trapdoor in the ceiling.
"To the roof," she mouthed.
Lucius frowned at her and jerked his head to the guards. Despite having the advantage of surprise, he was not sure they could defeat all of the men inside before they could launch a highly effective counterattack. If it were just him, with both armour and magic as his allies, he would be confident. However, he had nothing but the sword Grayling had managed to recover for him, and he did not fancy her chances at all, fighting well-trained soldiers with only a dagger.
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