“I’m locking the door behind us,” Hunter said. “That way we won’t have any unexpected visitors.”
“You can pick locks,” Nessa murmured, mildly impressed.
“That,” he turned and gave her a wink, “and so much more.”
Nessa left him to it and moved further into the room, eyes sweeping from left to right, taking in everything. The far wall was curved slightly inward, and between it and Nessa hung three large candlelit lamps, illuminating the space in muted light. Running down the sides and in the middle of the room was an assortment of low tables, shelves and hangers, all of which held a wide collection of shields, helms, chainmail shirts and tunics, and an impressive array of weapons.
“What do you think?” Hunter asked, coming to stand by Nessa’s elbow.
“I think you’ve taken me to an armoury?”
Hunter nodded happily. “Indeed I have.”
“Why?”
“Why? Why? Because this room holds the greatest things ever.”
“Pointy things and unflattering clothing?”
“Camouflage,” Hunter corrected.
“Right,” Nessa muttered. “Of course.”
Hunter, grinning, moved deeper into the room, searching for something with bright eyes. He approached a line of neatly hung midnight blue tunics and plucked out the smallest one, holding it out to Nessa. She took it and measured it against herself, finding that it appeared to be a reasonably good fit. Looking up, she found that Hunter was holding up a chainmail shirt. He passed it to her, and the weight of it nearly sent her to the ground.
“Put the chainmail over what you’re wearing now,” Hunter instructed, “and then the tunic over that. I’ll go find something that will fit me.” He went to move away but paused, gazing over his shoulder at her warily. “You hanging in there alright?”
Nessa stared at him, surprised that he would ask something like that. The truth was, Nessa wasn’t alright. She was drained beyond measure, exhausted to the core of her being. She was confused, unsure and frightened, weighed down by the knowledge that she was a world away from home and had no idea of how to get back.
Nonetheless, Nessa nodded, murmuring, “I’m fine.”
Hunter looked as if he wanted to press the issue, but he simply dipped his head in acknowledgement, and slipped away between some shelves, off to procure himself some camouflage.
Nessa sighed and dumped her armful of clothing on a nearby table, and began untying the knots holding her backpack together. It slipped away from her shoulder and she set it down carefully, folding back a corner and giving the orb a quick check over, making sure that it wasn’t damaged. It was fine, sitting quite happily in the ratty blanket, glowing softly away. Nessa gave it a stroke, and then covered it back up, lest Hunter should catch a glimpse, deciding that she would find it a proper bag once she had dressed.
Picking up the chainmail shirt, Nessa slipped it over her head and slid her arms through the sleeves, which only reached to her elbows. The weight of it dragged down on her shoulders, and it was an effort not to stoop over like an old woman. The tunic was made from a soft, high quality fabric, and sat lightly over the chainmail, neither too baggy nor too tight. It fell to her knees and had slits in the front and back for ease of movement. Laces tied up the front, and upon the left breast a black rose was finely embroidered, surrounded by tongues of flame. Nessa gently brushed her fingers over it, and as she did so, a faint shiver ran up her spine.
Nessa grabbed her dagger and scooped up the orb, cradling it in the crook of her elbow, the blanket loosely wrapped around it, and went in search of Hunter. Her boots clapped softly on the floor as she worked her way through the tables and shelves, and over to where she could hear him moving around. Nessa felt jittery, her mind repeating one thought over and over: They needed to get out of there. They needed to get far, far away and hide. The thought took over and Nessa’s body filled with the sense that something dreadful was rapidly approaching.
She found Hunter tucked away in a corner, his fingers working at his tunic’s laces. He heard her approach and looked up, a faint grin starting to appear, but which immediately drooped when he caught sight of Nessa’s expression.
“What’s wrong?” Hunter asked, going to her. “You’re as pale as death.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m not sure. I just suddenly have this feeling that something is coming, that we need to leave.” Nessa worried that she sounded crazy, but Hunter didn’t appear to think so.
“We’d best be heading off then,” he said.
Hunter turned and picked up something, passing it to her, and Nessa saw that it was a leather messenger bag, old and battered, but still in good condition. She placed the orb inside, blanket and all, and set the strap on her shoulder, eager to be going. As they made their way back over to the door, Nessa buckled the flap shut, ensuring that her precious treasure couldn’t be knocked out.
Placing his ear against the door, Hunter listened to what was outside. He removed the lock picks from a hidden pocket and inserted them into the key hole, swiftly unlocking the door.
“Once we leave here, keep close to me,” Hunter said. “We’ll be going to the left, across the bailey, heading over to where the old kitchens used to be in the castle.”
Nessa nodded, even though she didn’t have the faintest idea of what a bailey was.
Hunter opened the door, poking his head out briefly, and grabbing her hand, he pulled her along as he dashed out. The door fell shut behind them, but Hunter made no move to re-lock it, instead turning to the left, and with Nessa close at his heels, walked through the gateway.
The courtyard they entered was larger than the previous one and contained a lot more activity. Brightness spilled from the windows of the towering castle, casting a monochromatic rainbow of long shadows and beams of light on the ground. Braziers had also been stationed throughout the yard, adding more illumination, and jutting out from the outer wall were more armouries, their wide doors flung open, showing men inside arming themselves to the teeth.
Nessa swallowed nervously, her movements stiff and jerky. She felt incredibly visible, and she worried that she stuck out like a sore thumb.
“Relax,” Hunter whispered. “Act like you’re meant to be here.”
Too visible, her mind whispered to her. Someone will notice us.
Nessa frowned, mumbling under her breath, “Belong here. Act like you belong here.” The problem was, Nessa certainly didn’t belong there in any possible way. Nonetheless, she held her head high and tried desperately to move like the soldiers, confident and strong. Nessa wasn’t entirely sure she pulled it off convincingly, but Hunter whispered encouragement anyway, spurring her on.
Hunter led Nessa through the courtyard, striding straight through the very centre, yet somehow avoiding most of the activity. He angled them towards a base of a tower, and as they grew closer, Nessa saw that hidden away in a nook was a small, unassuming door.
Their destination.
Once again, armed with his lock picks, Hunter began tinkering with the lock. As he did so, Nessa kept an eye on the courtyard, making sure that no one noticed what they were doing. Her eyes landed on the gateway, now a fair distance away, and she saw a figure move within its shadows.
Nessa’s blood turned to ice.
Whoever they were, were too far away for Nessa to identify, but the feeling of dread arose as she watched them enter the armoury. She was about to voice her concern to Hunter when she heard the lock click open, sounding more beautiful than a chorus of singing angels, and a lot more welcome at present. On squeaking hinges, the door swung back.
A rush of warm air brushed softly against their faces in greeting, and an empty hallway stretched out before them, lit by glass lanterns hanging down from the ceiling at intervals. The air was warm but limp, giving the hallway a dead, timeless feel to it, as if people rarely ventured there.
Hunter pulled the door shut behind them, sealing them in, and with a touch to Nessa’s elbow,
urged her down the corridor. It was narrow and filled with many twists and turns, making it impossible to tell how far they journeyed into the belly of the castle. When they rounded yet another corner, the hallway came to an abrupt end, a large door blocking the way.
“Well,” Hunter said, frowning. “That wasn’t there before.”
Nessa looked between him and the door.
Large and wooden, it sealed the end of the hallway, stopping them from going any further. Hunter grabbed his picks and aimed them at the key hole, only to find that there wasn’t one. He paused, looking over his shoulder at Nessa, his bafflement clear.
“That makes this difficult.”
“Is it actually locked?” Nessa wondered. “It makes sense that if it doesn’t have a lock, then it can’t actually be locked.”
“That’s a good point.” Hunter pocketed the un-required picks and raised a hand, intending to push the door open. His hand went clear through the wood, disappearing into it.
They both yelped and Nessa sprang forward, catching Hunter’s wrist and pulling it back. The door gave no resistance, releasing his hand without a fight. Taken by surprise, they fell back and toppled to the floor, landing in a startled heap.
Hunter rubbed his wrist in contemplation, staring at the door, and then jumped to his feet, laughing.
“It’s an illusion,” Hunter said, giving Nessa a hand up.
“What?”
“The door, it’s an illusion, an image. It’s not real. That’s why my hand passes right through it.” Hunter reached out again, demonstrating. His hand disappeared up to his wrist, looking to be embedded in solid wood. “Someone must have put it here as a deterrent.” He grinned. “A bloody brilliant idea, if I do say so myself.”
Hunter took Nessa’s hand and leaped forward, pulling her with him through the illusion. It rippled around their passing, not unlike water. Nessa tried to wrap her mind around the fact that the door was nothing more than an apparition, for every ridge of the wood’s grain could be seen, and their shadows stood neatly against it, their forms blocking the dancing torch light.
On the other side of the illusion, the sight of an identical hallway greeted them, empty save for themselves and the lanterns. A scowl grew on Hunter’s face as he stepped forward, searching for something.
Nessa trailed after him. “What are you looking for?”
“Somewhere around here should be a door. However, it seems to have vanished.”
“Doors don’t just up and move.”
“No,” Hunter agreed, “but they can be covered up and hidden.”
“Another illusion?”
“Another illusion,” confirmed Hunter.
“So, I suppose that if we run our hands over the wall, and the door is under an illusion, then our hands will sink into it.”
Hunter looked at her appraisingly. “Oh, I do like you.”
“Excellent. Now, go forth and find.”
Hunter nodded and turned, striding down the hallway, hand against the wall. He paused just a few yards away and shot Nessa a feral grin over his shoulder.
“I think I have something,” he sang.
Nessa joined him and saw that his hand had sunk into the wall slightly, the illusion covering his palm, as if he had placed it into a plate of dark water. Hunter slid his hand down and across, the illusion rippling in its wake for a second as he searched for the door handle. He found it, and with his trusty lock picks, soon had the door open.
As soon as the door swung back, the illusion shattered, breaking apart in a symphony of dancing lights, revealing the doorway and what lay beyond. Heavy shadows clung to the walls and stairs, concealing all but the first few feet in inky darkness.
Nessa shifted uneasily.
“Ready?” he asked.
Nessa looked at him, nodding, and saw that he had plucked one of the lanterns from its chain, holding it up ready to light the way. She smiled, waving him forward. “After you.”
With eagerness in his step, Hunter started down the stairs. Nessa stuck close to his heels, pausing only to shut the door behind them, for all the good it would do since the illusion concealing it was gone.
The darkness was smothering, battling against the lantern’s meagre light. The steps were steep and narrow, worn smooth by years of use from once upon a time. The air was dry and dusty, and Nessa was forced to muffle a sneeze on more than one occasion.
Deeper into the bowels of Ironguard they went, the stairs becoming more worn and broken, the air colder and more unpleasant. Finally, when Nessa was shivering, the stairs came to an end and she found herself standing in a long room that was caught in the ravages of time and disuse. Watery moonlight filtered in through a small, dirty window that was set high in the far wall, mixing with that from Hunter’s stolen lantern.
A kitchen was revealed, trapped in the refuge of its last days in use.
Cooking pots and pans glinted dully, stacked atop each other on long, wooden counters. A large, ash filled fireplace sat to their right, a heavy cauldron hanging from a hook in the centre, and tall shelves dominated the wall beneath the window, covered in glass jars filled with unidentifiable contents.
“Where are we?” Nessa asked, her voice echoing.
“A few years ago, before Ironguard became a major military outpost, this was the castle’s main kitchen,” Hunter explained. “Then they built an entire wing of kitchens to meet the soldiers demands, and this room was put out of use, which so happens to make escaping a whole lot easier without it being filled with maids and cooks.” Hunter looked over at Nessa, grinning like an excited child. “There’s a secret tunnel behind the fireplace.”
He ushered her over to the fireplace, which looked like a gaping mouth, the cauldron dangling down like the thing at the back of a person’s throat. A mound of black ash, riddled with clumps of coal and semi-burned logs, covered the hearth. The light from the lantern shone dully on the flame licked tiles.
Hunter bent under the mantle and moved to the back of the fireplace, his boots kicking up little clouds of ash in his wake. He set the lantern down and inspected the tiles in front of him closely. Nessa took a step to the side, observing what he was doing from over his shoulder. Whilst his back was to her and his attention was elsewhere, Nessa’s hand drifted down to her massager bag, feeling the smooth curve of the orb through the leather.
Hunter tinkered around at the back of the fireplace for a few minutes, his fingers scrambling along an invisible seam. With a sound of frustration, he abruptly turned and stalked past Nessa, annoyance on his face.
Nessa stayed where she was, watching with bemusement as he moved around the kitchen, opening and closing several drawers and cabinets before he found what he was searching for.
“A soup ladle?” exclaimed Nessa. “What do you want a ladle for?”
“What wouldn’t I want a soup ladle for?”
“You’re mad,” she decided. “Utterly and completely mad.”
Hunter grinned as he darted past her, ducking beneath the mantle and going to the back of the fireplace again, soup ladle in hand. He positioned the end of the handle in a grove that ran beside a line of tiles, sliding it up and down, trying to wedge it in.
Nessa watched his antics for a second, then said, “If you’re trying to pry the damn thing open, then why not just use your sword? It’s sharper and a lot more robust.”
“Because,” Hunter said, grunting, “if I were to do that, I would blunt the edge. Besides, my ladle is working spectacularly well.” The sound of grinding stone punctuated his words, and Hunter stepped to the side, letting Nessa see what he had done.
At the back of the fireplace was a crack measuring an inch or so wide.
“Come have a look,” said Hunter, waving her forward.
Nessa, fascinated, went over and peered through the slit, curious as to what might be on the other side. All she could see was darkness. However, judging by the light breeze that brushed against her face, Nessa could tell that the void was a deep one.
Hunter nodded. “It’s a secret tunnel.” He stepped closer, his shoulder brushing against hers, and grabbed the edge of the crack, pulling with all his might. It held steady for a moment, and then, with a grinding moan, slowly slid to the side, creating an opening just big enough for the two of them.
The tunnel awaited.
Nessa stared at the small, narrow entrance, and at the bottomless darkness that stretched out before them, so complete that the lantern did little to brighten any respectable distance.
“Where does it lead?” Nessa asked.
“It curves down into the rock outcrop that the castle is built atop,” Hunter explained. “Then it joins onto a series of old mining tunnels that run under the castle and the city. Once we’re in those, I reckon we can wait for the searches to calm down and then make our way over to somewhere safe.”
He spoke with such confidence, such ease, that Nessa was sure that he knew what he was doing and that he had experience doing it. Nessa wondered, though, about how successful he had been. Whether or not he had escaped by this route before, he had still ended up back in Ironguard, only for the cycle to start again. She was tempted to ask Hunter if he had actually managed to escape before, but she wasn’t entirely sure if she wanted to know the answer, in all honesty. Instead, Nessa enquired about the ‘somewhere safe.’
“Still trying to figure that one out,” Hunter confessed. “But don’t worry, I’ll find us a place out of harms way. You can trust me on that. It’s a promise. And I always keep my promises.”
There was only one problem with that. Nessa didn’t trust him, not completely, not yet. Perhaps not ever. From past experiences, Nessa had learnt the hard way that it was best to rely on no one but yourself. That way, you could only be disappointed in your own actions, and not those of others.
But while Nessa didn’t fully trust Hunter, she did need him. From that came a sense of faith in him. After all, he had come back for her, hadn’t he? He had come back and was helping her out of the castle, even though it would have been quicker and easier if he had done it alone, leaving her behind.
House of Fear and Freedom (The Wyrd Sequence Book 1) Page 7
