Shadowdance 05 - A Dance of Ghosts (40 page)

The man glared, and it was enough to confirm to Haern the Stronghold was indeed asleep. Taking in a deep breath, he willed his strength to return. The sessions with Carden had taken a lot out of him, and being deprived of food and water made matters all the worse. Still, if there were to be any hope of escape, it’d be now. Pulling at his shirt, he felt Senke’s pendant to Ashhur, the cold metal tingling to the touch.

You promised to help me when I needed it most,
thought Haern.
Well, I don’t think the need gets much worse than now.

Still, he had to make sure everything was ready. The wall of fire was a few feet to his right, and the guard several feet beyond that. He needed him closer. He needed to be sure.

“You really do seem to hate me,” Haern said. “Not sure what I might have done to earn it. Did I kill a family member?”

“You butchered two of my friends last night,” the guard said, and he took a step closer.

Haern grunted, almost feeling foolish. Hard to remember at times the paladins were just people, fellow classmates who’d worked together to take down a brutal invader to their home. People with twisted values and an eager desire to see him suffering, but still people.

“Did I, now?” Haern said, feeling only the tiniest bit of guilt as he prodded the man further. “Care to give me a hint as to who they were? I mean, it’s all a blur, and I don’t think anyone stood out as having any skill…”

The man turned away, clearly trying to keep his temper in check. Haern gauged the distance. Still not close enough …

“That’s fine; don’t talk to me,” Haern said, eyes closing as if he were tired. “I’m capable of talking enough for the both of us when I feel like it. You know, your kind isn’t much for talking, I’ve noticed. Dying, that you’re good at. Living a lie, serving a mad, imprisoned god, now that you’re
really
good at.”

The man stepped closer to the wall of fire, putting a hand on the stone beyond its reach and leaning closer as he glared.

“You’ll be down here for years,” the young man said. “Decades from now, I will come down here to watch you suffering still. We’ll all take turns breaking you, humiliating you. Do you think your petty little words mean anything compared to that?”

He was inches away from the fire, which cast a purple hue across his skin. If he hoped to make himself look intimidating, it worked, but he also put himself within striking distance.

“My words?” Haern said, pulling the medallion out from his shirt and holding it with both hands. “Not really. But this might mean something.
Ashhur!
”

At his words, a bright light flared from the medallion, rolling in all directions like a wave. Without waiting to see what it did, nor daring to give his guard a chance to react, Haern leaped with all the strength his coiled legs could muster, dropping his hands to ensure they could reach full extension. Under the strength of the light, the wall of fire faded away, and as Haern came leaping through, he twisted and lifted his arms as he slammed right into the guard. Together, they toppled to the ground. The landing jarred his shoulder, but he’d positioned his arms perfectly, wrapping the chain around the young man’s neck. Sword trapped beneath them both, there was nothing he could do as Haern lifted his arms and kicked his legs, tightening the chain, strangling the breath out of the man. Twice he kicked, crushing his windpipe, for when he glanced about, he saw he was in the center of a long hallway … and at the far end of the hallway was another man in armor leaping to his feet.

“Joffrey!” the other man cried. Haern curled back in, bound hands reaching down to the dead man’s belt … and the lone key attached to it. He freed it easily enough, but with the lock facing him, between both his wrists, he had no choice but to put the key into his mouth, then curl up even more so he could insert it. Keenly aware of the charging man, Haern jammed the key, gripped it tightly with his teeth, and then twisted his head one way while turning his wrists the other.

With a pop, they came off, and just in time. Haern rolled to his left, over the body of the dead man, as an enormous sword stabbed into the hard stone floor. His ankles were still shackled together, but with his arms free to move, he reached out and grabbed the handle of the dead man’s blade. Pulling it from the sheath, he flung the weapon into the way as a second strike came crashing in. The blades smacked together, and Haern grimaced at the jolt to his arms. Above him, the guard leaned more of his weight into his sword, trying to crush him. The man’s eyes were wide, lips pulled back to reveal his clenched teeth.

“Try harder,” Haern told him, unable to help himself.

The man pulled back to swing again, but Haern was faster. Kicking his feet to give his upper body an upward motion, he thrust his sword with his arm extended to the limit. The tip of his sword slipped into the man’s belly, and the sudden pain froze the man in mid-swing. Turning the sword to open the wound further, Haern dropped back to the ground as the man staggered backward. Calmly, Haern let go of the sword, found the key he’d dropped, and removed the shackles from his ankles. Meanwhile, the wounded man rushed to the door of the dungeon at the far end of the hall, both hands clutching his bleeding wound to staunch the flow.

Picking up the sword, Haern broke out into a run, closing the distance between them. Around the man’s neck whipped his blade, and then a single cut dropped him to the ground. Hovering over the body, Haern took in a deep breath and checked his surroundings. The hall appeared to have a total of ten cells, each with an open face at the end, presumably for the same black fire to seal in any prisoners as they had with Haern. Other than Haern’s cell, which still burned with the black-violet flame, the others appeared empty. Down one way, he saw the hall come to an abrupt end at a stone wall, while in the other direction, it ended at a larger opening, plus a wooden door heavily reinforced and barred with iron.

Glancing down at the pendant to Ashhur still dangling from the chain around his neck, Haern lifted it to his lips and kissed it.

“Thanks, Del,” he whispered, tucking it back underneath his shirt.

Jogging down the hallway, he reached the door. In the opening around it were two tables, and on one he saw a pitcher, which he grabbed and greedily drank the water within. That done, he set it aside, scanning around him. On the other table, in a haphazard pile, were his belongings. Taking his cloak, he wrapped it about his shoulders, then grabbed his belt. Checking his swords, he saw they were recently sharpened, and he shuddered. He had a feeling that in a few days’ time, if not that following morning, those blades would have been used on him. Last, he put on his hood, felt its comforting shadow envelop his features.

Much better,
he thought. Now came the one last tricky part: getting through the supposedly locked and barred door of the dungeon. Already fingering his lockpicks, he approached the door, searching for any sort of keyhole. There was none. Wincing, Haern began to feel across it, wondering if there might be a hidden lever somewhere, maybe a weakened spot of wood he could pry into. Laughter from the other side bolted Haern back to a stand. He peered into the small circular window near the top, which had three bars preventing anything larger than a finger from slipping through. Shaking his head at him from the other side was his father.

“I’m starting to think my rescuing you was unnecessary,” he said.

“Just open the damn door.”

Still chuckling, Thren vanished from the window. Haern heard something heavy scraping against the other side, followed by a thud. After a rattle of keys, the door swung open, revealing Thren with his swords and the bodies of two young paladins on either side of the dungeon entrance. Behind him was a set of stairs leading higher into the Stronghold.

“Follow me,” Thren said. “We don’t have much time before people start noticing the bodies.”

There was only one way to go, which was straight up the stairs before them. They curved sharply around, and after only a dozen steps or so, Thren stopped and motioned for Haern to be quiet.

“The entrance is just ahead,” he said. “I’ve killed the guards there, fools still convinced they had to be afraid of what’s outside instead of what’s in. The door’s been trapped, though, and will sound off an alarm spell the moment it opens.”

“How do you know?” Haern asked.

“Do you think this is the first building I’ve broken into that was warded by wizards?” his father asked.

Haern shrugged. Fair enough.

“How do we get out?” he asked instead.

“The third floor; there’s another exit to the hidden shaft along the interior. If we move fast enough, we should be out before anyone realizes you’re missing.”

Haern nodded.

“Lead the way,” he said.

Thren turned and dashed up the remaining few steps. They emerged on the first floor of the Stronghold, a room clearly built with defense in mind. A stone barricade was erected just before the large double doors, forcing anyone entering to veer left or right. On either side were perches so men could attack from high ground, and around the corners was another spiked barricade with crossbows permanently bolted to it. A pile of bolts lay on either side, waiting for use. Beside the doors, Haern caught sight of two more young men who lay slumped beside it.

“Come on,” Thren whispered. Beside them was another doorway leading to the stairs, and they rushed up them. Haern caught a glimpse of the second floor before they continued up the winding stairs, this a room of wealth and luxury, red carpets and gold trim everywhere. As they passed, Haern swore he heard men carrying on a conversation. He paused only momentarily to ensure they were not alarmed, and ahead of him, Thren beckoned Haern to hurry.

The third floor was a barracks for the youngest members of the Stronghold. Occupying nearly all of the twelve beds in the single open room were boys, some old as twelve, most younger than ten. They all slept; at least, it seemed like they did. Taking a deep breath, Haern hoped his stay in the prison hadn’t cost him the coordination to move through such a room without noise.

Wordlessly, Thren pointed out their objective: an ornate painting of the Stronghold, the canvas kept in an enormous silver frame secured to the wall.

Stay silent,
Thren mouthed, and Haern glanced to the children. If they woke, if they made a noise, then most likely, the children would die. Thren would let none witness their escape. No matter their future allegiance, no matter the dogma of hatred being drilled into them, the idea still made Haern sick to his stomach.

I will,
he mouthed back.
Now lead.

The beds were to either side of the room, and through the center, Thren walked, crouched over and quiet as a hunting animal in the forest. If he made any noise, it was easily drowned out by the breathing and snoring of the children. After meditating for a moment to force his body to calm down after the battle in the dungeon, Haern followed. The floor was sturdy wood, and unlike other rooms, it had no carpet, an annoyance not lost on Haern. Still, it seemed resistant to his steps, and so long as he moved slowly, there appeared no danger of a creak. The bigger worry was the children. If just one woke needing to relieve himself or shift into a more comfortable position …

It seemed the two worried over the wrong thing. Thren had just reached the painting, and Haern the center of the room, when shouts came from downstairs. They were muffled, distant, but the alarms wouldn’t take long to travel up the stairs. Knowing the time for caution was over, Haern quickened his steps, crossing the room at a blistering pace as his father tugged on a corner of the painting, then slid it to the side. The movement made the tiniest of creaks, but the creaks were nothing compared to the growing shouts of alarm.

Move!
Thren mouthed before diving into the slender gap revealed behind the painting.

The children were stirring in their beds. No time left, Haern sprinted the last few steps and then leaped feetfirst into the gap. As he slid, he turned, grabbed the corner of the painting, and yanked it shut.

Total darkness bathed him, and letting out a relieved sigh, Haern began to scoot down what appeared to be a slender stone chute. He’d passed by several openings on his climb up, and he figured he was in one of them.

“The tunnel ends abruptly,” Thren said from further down, his voice startling in the quiet. “Make haste, but don’t be careless.”

“Noted,” Haern muttered as from the other side of the painting he heard a ruckus growing.

The chute wasn’t long, and at its end, Haern found his father waiting for him.

“Ready?” he asked.

“I am,” Haern said. “But I’m going first.”

Instead of arguing, Thren merely laughed and shifted aside so Haern had room. Reaching out to his right, he felt one of the rungs, grabbed it tight. It felt so similar to when his father had first sent him tumbling down, but if Thren desired to kill him, there were certainly far better ways than breaking into the Stronghold to do it.

Swinging onto the ladder, he began climbing down, rung after rung, as he listened to the Stronghold continue its search for the escaping intruders on the other side of the stones.

“We had little to go on regarding your fate,” Thren said as they descended. “I felt they would not kill you if you were captured, nor let you die easily. I’m glad my assumptions were not wrong.”

“What of my little fall you sent me on?” Haern asked, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

“Clearly, you survived,” Thren said. “Spare me your tantrum.”

That was it, then? His betrayal was nothing to concern him, his frustrations mere tantrums of a child? Haern rolled his eyes in the darkness. Why had he ever believed it might be otherwise?

When his foot felt no more rungs beneath, Haern took in a deep breath and then leaped blindly to the other side. Sure enough, he rolled into the tunnel he’d come from, and on his stomach, he crawled into the narrowing space. Ignoring the scrapes to his elbows and the cuts to his outfit as he rushed along, he did his best to dismiss the contradiction of his father betraying him on their way in, yet risking his life coming back to rescue him from the dungeon. He reached the end, found the hidden door above him. With only a moment to brace himself, he pushed it open and pulled himself out.