The expanding edge of the floating berg had reduced the open water by half when the grating screech sounded a third time, so close Silurian yelled out in fright.
Along the northern edge of the floe, a massive serpent’s head broke the water’s surface, its beady, black eyes looking right at him. It screeched again, a forked tongue licking at the ice. Its giant maw, spacious enough to accommodate a full-grown man, was lined with a double row of jagged teeth longer than his sword. It rose higher into the air and then disappeared beneath the ice. Long, serpentine segments, ridged with dinnerplate-sized scales, lined the top of its snakelike body—its coils undulated in great arcs as its body flowed below the sheet of ice.
Melody, still deep in her trance, was oblivious to everything around her. The leading edge of the ice closed in on Grimward.
The sheet of ice lurched. Silurian lost his grip on her robes and fell onto his back. Before he could stand, the floe bucked again. Giant cracks jagged toward them from the mainland’s edge.
He crawled back to Melody, looking in horror at her feet. They had to get off the ice at once. He doubted the precarious ice bridge could withstand any more blows from the serpent. He tried to pull her from her boots, but the ice was tight against her lower shins.
Her voice rose in pitch. The leading edge crunched as it grated along Grimward’s shoreline.
He desperately needed to free her feet, but as he looked up he saw her swoon. Releasing the hold on her staff, she fell over like a tree.
Silurian wrapped his arms around her legs to prevent her weight from snapping her shins where they disappeared into the ice. He laid her down as gently as possible, all the while scanning the top of the ice flow behind them, wondering where the serpent would break through.
He pulled out his dagger and feverishly chipped at the ice imprisoning her feet. The ice was so hard, his heart sank. He didn’t have time to free her.
The ice lurched once, then twice. A great section heaved into the air less than twenty feet away. The serpent’s head breached the ice’s surface and looked about. Spotting them, it emitted a deafening screech. With a huge splash, it disappeared from view.
Dungeon Keepers
Tarl descended the curving flight of steps into the dungeons below Gritian, with a torch in hand. What’s that slag doing down there? “Jer. Answer me when I call you.” He hated breaking in new guards. It always meant more work.
A metal hinge squealed. It didn’t sound like a food slot. More like a cell door. Tarl picked up his pace. That slag better not be forcing himself on the women. They were told to wait until High Warlord Uzziah had formally condemned the old man’s group.
Tarl stepped off the bottom step and looked down the long, dimly lit corridor lined with iron doors. How he loved the dank smell of the dungeons, the sweetness of rusting steel mixed with the heady aroma of stale dirt.
Other than the fact that there was no sign of Jer, nothing looked out of place. The cellblock was quiet. It generally remained that way. Once in a while they would house a lunatic, but they had ways of dealing with their ilk. A loss of one’s teeth, and even their tongue if they persisted with their nonsense, saw to that.
He couldn’t wait until they were given the nod to deal with that deranged giant the Enervator had brought in a few days ago. As much as he looked forward to that confrontation, he knew it wouldn’t go off without collateral damage. If it was up to him, he would fill the sack of shit full of crossbow quarrels and be done with it.
“Jer. For the love of your sweet mother’s teats, stop messing about. Where are you?” He grabbed the handle on the cell door to his left and gave it a cursory push. It was locked tight. He turned to check the door on his right, but stopped. In the shadows clinging to the bottom of the walls farther down the corridor, he spotted something odd. He squinted but couldn’t tell what it was from this distance.
“What the…” he mumbled and slowly strode toward the object.
He bent down to inspect it. It was a leather glove. What is that slacker up to? He has a lot of nerve pulling something like this on my watch, ‘cuz sure as hell it’ll come back on me.
Tarl stood up and checked the two doors on either side of the glove. Both locked. He remained still and listened. Nothing. He looked back toward the distant stairwell—the corridor was empty. The slag must be at the well. If he has one of those women with him, I’ll feed him his manhood.
Fuming, Tarl stormed down the passageway toward the door at its far end. The storeroom where the well was located, rank with iron tasting water.
He made a point of checking each door as he went. Most of them gave way, but he already knew them to be empty. He double checked the door where the auburn-haired archer was held, fully expecting to find it unlocked. It wasn’t.
He put his hands on his hips. He couldn’t remember checking the other archer’s cell door at the bottom of the steps. He ran his tongue between the few teeth he had left and his upper lip, debating whether to walk all the way back and make sure. He smiled to himself. If he was to get it on with one of the prisoners, she’d be the one he chose—all tall and lanky like. Ach, I’ll check it on me way out.
He continued down the hallway, checking each cell. The cell containing the giant was a few more down on his left. His hackles rose for no reason. The cells leading to the big man’s were all empty, but he waved his torch inside each one anyway.
Outside the giant’s cell, he paused and listened. All was quiet. A cross corridor lay beyond. His breathing was heavy, his anxiety rising in conjunction with his anger. There were so many cells to check down the side corridors. Wait until I gets me hands on him. I’ll strangle the bastard.
He looked back up the passageway. He could barely make out the stairwell. He reconsidered his decision not to go back and ensure that he had checked the brunette’s cell. He might be doing all this extra work for nothing. He fumed. If that slag is doing her, I’ll sodomize him with me torch.
He gritted his teeth and absently pushed on the giant’s door, fully expecting it to resist his touch. It didn’t.
The door squealed on its hinges. It took his mind a second to fathom the revelation of that action. The pretty face of the brunette archer stared back at him, confusing him even further. Before he had time to do more than gape, terror froze him as an enraged giant stepped forth from the cell’s shadows and grabbed him by the neck.
He left his feet as he was pulled into the cell. He flailed out with his torch but he had no idea whether he hit anything or not. Cartilage popped in his neck as it collapsed and broke in the giant’s hands. The last thing he saw as his dying body jolted upon the dank cell floor was Jer’s vacant eyes staring back at him.
“Great work,” Larina said. She bent down and groped about Tarl’s waist. With a flourish, she located a rusty dagger tucked in his belt, and pulled a set of heavy keys free. “Yes. Got them. Grab his sword.”
Olmar wiped his hands on his filthy jerkin. He pulled Tarl’s sword free, and spat on his corpse, “I tell’d ya not to mess with Pops.”
Larina called him from the corridor. “Come on. You find Pops while I spring Sadie.”
Olmar didn’t have to be told twice. He stooped low to step free of his prison cell, but stopped. “Me cap.” He ducked back in to fetch his worn, leather hat, before slipping into the hallway and lumbering toward the intersection. He looked up and down the side halls, unsure which way to go first. He roared, “Alhena? Where are ya, Pops?”
Outside of Sadyra’s cell, Larina shouted almost as loud, “Midge, keep it down. You’ll alert the whole damned militia.”
Olmar disappeared down the right passageway.
Larina grinned, and fumbled with the dozens of keys. What a Lunkhead. She tried half a dozen keys before Sadyra’s lock turned. Pushing the door open, she gave her friend a quick hug, noting Sadyra’s blood encrusted scalp and fat lip. “You okay to walk?”
Sadyra stepped into the corridor, her storm grey eyes dark with anger—very unlike her usual,
jovial self. Larina was well aware of Sadyra’s temper. It took a great deal to trigger it, but once she went off, Sadyra was hell in boots. Larina pitied any hapless guard who crossed her path.
Olmar’s voice called out Alhena’s name.
“Come on, we better find Pops before Lunkhead lets the whole town know we’re free,” Larina said, and sprinted down the hall. Stopping at the intersection, she spotted Olmar halfway down the side tunnel, throwing open empty cell doors, their squealing and subsequent banging reverberating throughout the cellblock. “Lunkhead. Do it quietly!” Her voice rose at the end.
She turned to follow Sadyra down the opposite tunnel, checking one side while Sadyra checked the other. Every door was unlocked.
The sound of someone hammering on a cell door spun them about. Barely visible, at the far end of the tunnel, Olmar smote a door with his boots.
Larina rolled her eyes at Sadyra and the two of them ran to their overzealous friend. Every door they passed down the right tunnel sat ajar, except the one Olmar kicked at.
“’e’s to be in ‘ere. Hurry, ‘e’s not makin’ a sound,” Olmar pleaded and stepped back to allow Larina access to the door.
Sadyra ran back to the intersection to keep watch.
“Come on, come on,” Olmar urged.
Larina tried key after key, but none of them worked. She tried them all again, sweat beading on her forehead. If she couldn’t get the door open, Olmar was likely to start pounding again and all of this would be for nothing, if they weren’t too late already.
She let out a screech of frustration and threw the keys to the ground. She rummaged through the lining of her tunic and found the shank.
It felt like forever, but suddenly the lock turned in her hand. It was all she could do to not be trampled by Olmar as he bent low and peered into the gloom. The smell of vomit, feces, and urine had them both gagging. Larina pulled a torch free of a nearby sconce and shone it into the vile smelling cell.
Huddled in the back corner, lying in the fetal position, lay Alhena. His strange white eyes were open, staring at nothing. Her breath caught in her throat.
Olmar dropped the sword and threw himself to his knees beside the old man. “Pops? Alhena?”
Alhena didn’t move.
The giant’s pathetic voice brought tears to Larina’s eyes. She placed a hand on Olmar’s huge shoulder to comfort him.
Alhena blinked.
“’e’s alive!” He looked up at Larina, his own eyes glassy, a great smile splitting his filthy face. “Ya see that, Rina? ‘e’s alive, ‘e is.”
Larina nodded, unable to force words past the lump in her throat.
As gentle as a summer breeze, Olmar lifted Alhena from the dirt and cradled his frail body to his chest. Larina stepped into the hallway, not knowing how to assist him.
Olmar stooped low to exit the cell, his concentration devoted to not crushing the old messenger within his arms while he squeezed through the cell door.
Alhena never moved. His arms and legs hung limp in Olmar’s grasp; his stare, vacant.
“What’s wrong with him, Rina? We have to get Pops to a healer.”
Larina looked into Alhena’s haunting eyes. He seemed to be in a trance. At least he was alive, if just barely. “We need to get free of this place before we do anything.”
She grabbed the discarded sword and turned to start back, but stopped. “Where’s Sadie?”
Sadyra had been keeping watch at the intersection. She wasn’t there now.
“Sadie?” Larina called out as loud as she dared. She light-footed her way to the corner and peered down the main corridor, but immediately pulled back. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”
Olmar clumped up to her, Alhena’s limbs waving to and fro in his embrace. The giant’s brows knitted together. “You see her?”
“Shhh, you lunkhead. There’s two turnkeys coming up the tunnel carrying crossbows,” Larina informed him, but she immediately regretted doing so. If he went off now, the guards would call down reinforcements. She put a finger to her lips and looked back down their side tunnel. There was no escape that way. She looked across the intersection, remembering that passageway came to a dead end. Her eyes went wide. Olmar’s cell! No one had bothered to pull the door shut. When the turnkeys passed it, they would see the bodies.
The scrape of the guards’ boots sounded closer. Their muted voices drifted down the tunnel. At least they didn’t sound like they were suspicious of anything yet.
As they neared, Larina made out their words.
“Should we check on the big dummy?”
“Just leave him. He’ll only start throwing himself against the door.”
“Ya, you’re right. If Jibrael hears, he’ll make us go in and shut him up.”
“Ya, no thanks. What he needs is a good clout in the chops.”
“Who, Jibrael?”
The guards laughed at that.
Larina shook her head. It never ceased to amaze her how brave people were when the person they made fun of wasn’t around. She swallowed. The guard’s footsteps sounded like they were almost on top of them.
Olmar put Alhena down. Larina handed him Tarl’s sword, silently cautioning him to wait. As big as Olmar was, he was no match for a crossbow quarrel. They would have to surprise them.
The guard’s footsteps stopped. They had to be at Olmar’s vacated cell.
Larina crouched low, with Tarl’s dagger in hand, and hazarded a peek. Sure enough, the guards were studying the door to Olmar’s cell. By some miracle, it was closed.
The taller guard put a shushing finger to his lips, and they continued walking toward the intersection.
Larina ducked behind the wall, motioning with her hands for Olmar to get ready. They were going to have to win their way free. If Alhena’s condition was any indication of how they would be treated, she’d rather die fighting.
The footsteps approached the intersection.
Larina and Olmar crouched with blades held ready, poised to spring out.
A set of hinges squealed down the main corridor. The footfalls stopped.
Larina poked her head out. Olmar’s door had swung inward. The guards had spun about, their crossbows trained on the gaping hole.
To Larina’s surprise, Sadyra stepped out from Olmar’s cell, offering the guards a demure smile. Before they had time to react, she raised her eyebrows and said, “Gentlemen, meet Olmar.”
Both men frowned. They had but a fleeting moment to appreciate their peril.
Olmar clamped his huge hands against the outside of their heads and smashed their skulls together with a resounding crack. As the guards slumped to the floor, one of the crossbows discharged.
Sadyra instinctively ducked and screeched. Had the bolt’s aim not have been thrown off, she wouldn’t have been able to avoid its flight. It ricocheted off the stone ceiling and clattered down the hallway.
Larina and Sadyra searched the unconscious men, relieving them of their sword belts, and quivers. They located two more daggers and a set of six throwing knives. Larina tossed Olmar Tarl’s knife.
Sadyra tightened the skinnier man’s sword belt around her thin waist. There was no way the other man’s belt was going to circumnavigate Olmar’s girth. Larina took it and draped it over her shoulder. It was much too wide for her thin waist.
Olmar slipped around the corner and reappeared with Alhena’s limp body in his arms. He nodded for them to get moving.
Ascending the long stairwell as quietly as Olmar’s progress would allow, Larina worried that the crossbow guards were not the two guards usually stationed at the top of the steps.
Halfway up the spiralling passage, they stopped. Cast by the faint light of the occasional sconce burning along the stairwell, a robed shadow flitted on the circular wall, descending toward them with a curved blade in hand.
There was nowhere for Olmar to put Alhena down so he backed down a few steps as Sadyra and Larina put their backs to the inside curve of the rock wall, aiming their crossbows a
t the space where whoever descended must come.
At the sight of the billowing red robes, Sadyra almost discharged her weapon. She assumed it was High Bishop Uzziah, but it was the peppered goatee of Vice Chambermaster Solomon’s face that gaped in surprise.
“How did you…?” Solomon started to ask. “No matter. Don’t tell me. I was on my way to come get you.”
“To do what, exactly? Chop us up?” Sadyra asked, not lowering her crossbow.
“Huh?” He lowered his scimitar. “No. To get you out of here. When I noticed that the guards at the top of the stairs weren’t at their post, I had no idea what to expect.”
“Why would you release us? You don’t even know us.” Larina stepped into the middle of the stairwell, her crossbow aimed at Solomon’s head.
Solomon nodded to the unconscious messenger as Olmar came up the steps. “I know Alhena. Quite well actually. What they did to him isn’t right.”
Olmar growled, readjusting his grip on Alhena’s limp form. “When I find out who did it, I’ll be shovin’ ‘is ‘ead up ‘is arse, that’s sure.”
Larina was thankful Olmar’s hands were full. They would be hard-pressed to prevent Olmar from throttling the chamberman.
Solomon offered the giant a knowing smile. “We don’t have time for this. If someone else discovers the guards missing, you won’t be going anywhere.”
Sadyra’s eyes found Larina’s.
Larina raised her eyebrows in a noncommittal response.
“Okay, Vice Chambermaster Io, you lead the way,” Sadyra said, making a quick decision. “You have two crossbows trained on your back. If this is a trick, you’ll get a bolt in the back of the head, you hear me?”
Solomon’s grave look confirmed that he did. He pulled aside the front of his robes, the movement almost earning him a quarrel in the chest, but he simply slid his scimitar into its sheath, turned and started up the stairwell.
The top step rounded into view. They were in luck. No one else had noticed the guard’s disappearance yet.
Solomon went first, stopping and listening for a moment. He placed a palm out to keep the others still, before stepping into the passageway. He looked right, toward the quarters housing the militia, and then left toward the fork in the passageway near the healers’ chambers, the intersection lost in distant shadows. He nodded to Sadyra, the only one visible on the stairs.
The Wizard of the North Page 17
