Azurite (Daughter of the Mountain Book 1) (36 page)

“He will come, but only if we convince him that once this war is over, Evangeline will no longer be in power.  I think Ambrose was on to something when he suggested we put Zora on the throne, and I think the Sovereign Alliance will help us assure that happens.” 

Brutus looked down at his hands again and began twisting the ring he always wore on his index finger.  “Death and murder are a part of battle,” he said, “so whose to say a Queen cannot succumb to it as well.”  He peeked up at Talan.   “How are we going to release Arvil?” 

“It will be easiest if I do it,” Talan determined.  “I’ll be spending a lot of time down in the mines preparing the detonations, so it will be easy to take a detour over to the prison.  All of the Guard is being called away to bulk up the border, so the inmates will likely be left unguarded.  At least temporarily.” 

Brutus didn’t say anything for a while.  He continued to rotate the ring on his finger engraved with six small diamonds arranged in a circle that represented his rank as General.  Finally, he stopped.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked Talan.  “You’ve found favor in the Queen’s eye. I just want you to know what you are getting yourself into.  It’s bloody near impossible to contain the Queen’s wrath once it’s unleashed.  Now that you know the truth about Ambrose…”

“I’m sure about all of this,” Talan responded confidently.  “And like you said, the Queen trusts me.  I have no intention of betraying the responsibilities she’s given me.”  Brutus’s worried expression slightly softened at Talan’s promise.

“Now,” Talan said to the General, “enough talk about committing treason. We have a war to win.”

Chapter 21

             
Talan had never visited the isolated dungeons built underneath Mizra’s main level before; there was never a reason for him to.  Yet he knew about their existence and had an idea of their location based on its proximity to the miner’s entrance located at the back of the fortress.  Therefore, the young man ghosted quietly about Mizra’s corridors as he traveled to the dungeons in secret, slinking into shadows and avoiding facial recognition when he passed a group of servants going about their business. 

The fortress was eerily quiet for a midmorning with only the padding of his feet along the stone floor to remind him he was still moving along.  His prediction regarding the absence of Samarian Guards inside Mizra had proven correct.  The man only encountered two corporals, fully garbed in battle armor, on their way to meet up with the remainder of the recruited army being mustered in the city by Vincent.  Even the servants were mellow and subdued.  Although Queen Evangeline hadn’t yet revealed to the Samarian citizens their impending plight, all the people of Mizra knew something was brewing, and it quelled their spirits.

After his meeting with Brutus, Talan had called on Salem, his assistant down in the mines, to have the youth begin altering his fire powder amalgam to the specifications laid forth by the Queen.  Salem had been helping him with the experimentation of the fire powder since its inception, and he was the only person other than Talan who knew how to use it.  Following his meeting with Arvil in the dungeons, Talan was going to meet up with Salem to finish the changes to the fire powder as was needed.

By now, Talan had traveled several stories below Mizra’s ground level, down four flights of winding stairs that ran into a steep, declining path.  The small flaming torch he held in front of him hardly broke through the impregnable darkness of the caverns, but he pushed forward until the ground finally leveled out and he could see a faint light at the end of the arched hallway he was traveling through.  The ceiling of the dungeons seemed to press down on him, and the air was wet and musty, as if all the moisture from the gushing underground springs had been deposited into this one small space, growing moldy and rank over time. 

As Talan drew closer to the dungeons, he noticed a Samarian Guard sat slumped against the wall with his chin tucked into his chest.  Small snores came from the man’s mouth as he dozed peacefully in the dimness.  Talan stealthily maneuvered over to him, not sure how deep his sleep was, till he was towering over the motionless man who reeked of sour ale.  A wineskin was grasped firmly in his hand, evidence of his obvious state of intoxication.  Talan nudged the man’s foot to observe exactly how drunk this Guard was and was pleased when his extremity just fell limply to the side.

Talan bit his lip uncertainly as he looked around.  Cells lined both sides of the narrow corridor that ran so far back Talan couldn’t tell where it ended.  The ceiling seemed to drop lower the deeper he went into the mountain until he almost had to walk stooped over.  Flame lights hung from iron fixtures built into the ceiling, but the fire’s weak light still left the interior of the cells bathed in darkness. 

“Arvil?” Talan called out in a hoarse whisper as he peeped into the first set of cells.  “Arvil, are you here?” 

There was no answer, only the scream of deafening silence.  He continued along the shrinking hallway, waving his torch in front of the grimy bars to see the emptiness inside.  Twice he encountered prisoners whose eyes peered back at him, glowing like a cat caught unexpectedly in the light.  They repositioned themselves on their lice infested beds and threw curses in Talan’s direction about being awoken.  Samaria wasn’t known as a country that harbored prisoners for a long time.  Defilers of the law were usually dealt with immediately and fairly, the worst offenders being sentenced to death immediately after being convicted. 

About ten cells down, Talan could make out the crumpled form of another inmate hovering in the corner.  His heart skipped a beat.

“Arvil?” Talan asked hopefully.  He placed a hand on the thick iron bars covered in decades of rust and squinted into the darkness.  Suddenly, the image of a ragged Arvil Pennington appeared before him behind the bars.  He was covered in filth from head to toe, and a month’s worth of facial hair covered his mousy face.  His small frame seemed thinner, and he looked at Talan with the same sickly yellow eyes that Brutus had.  The small man stank of vile body odor and putrefying chamber pots left rotting somewhere in the cell.

“Talan?” he whispered in a scratchy voice, as if he hadn’t spoken in years.  “Is it really you?”  He shook his head and rubbed his eyes as if he was seeing a ghost.  “What are you doing here?  How did you know where I was?”

              “There is no time for a hundred questions, my friend,” Talan replied hastily, glancing back at the snoozing Guard.  “I am simply here to release you.  The Nomans are on their way to invade Samaria, and the Queen has lost her bloody head.  We need your help, desperately.”  Arvil grasped the bars invading the space between the two men and wrapped his hands around them.

              “Has…has Brutus been released as well?” he questioned timidly, unsure of how much Talan knew about what had gone on between the other advisors.

              “Aye,” Talan confirmed.  “I don’t know when exactly, but it appears as though the Queen has returned him to his former position, probably because she needs him to fight more than she needs to forgive him for conspiring with you and Master Cornwell.”

Talan quickly addressed Arvil’s confusion by recounting all the events that had transpired during his term of imprisonment, including Talan’s collusion with Brutus to have him run to Chancellor Leonardo Santini in order to seek additional support.

              “So you know about Ambrose then?” Arvil asked cautiously.  Talan nodded gravely and watched as tears suddenly pooled in the disloyal advisor’s eyes, both for the death of his friend and for his own betrayal towards him.

              “He was right, you know, about everything,” Arvil muttered.  “He tried to warn the Queen about dealing with tyrants, but she wouldn’t listen.  And now…” His voice trailed off as he brought the heels of his hands to his face.  “And now look at the position we’re in.”  Talan took this opportunity to take advantage of Arvil’s feelings of regret.

              “So you’ll do it then?” he asked.  “Ride to Rienne and seek out Leonardo’s aid?”  Arvil nodded behind his hands.

              “How much time do I have?” he asked.

              “Two days.  Maybe less if you’re persuasive enough.  The Queen estimates four days before the Nomans reach the valley, considering how much time it takes an army of such numbers to march through the mountains.  Plus, she’d already got the Guard bulked up along the border who can hold them back temporarily.”

              “I’ll do it,” he answered weakly, “For Ambrose.  Plus, I want to be as far away from here as possible when those blasted Nomans step foot onto our land.”  He wrinkled his face in disgust.  “They are downright blood hungry savages.” 

              Talan frowned to himself. 
Always a spineless coward,
he thought bleakly
, not even brave enough to stand up for your country and fight for what is right.  Hopefully you’ll be able to complete this one task successfully; the future of Samaria depends on it.  

              “Do you have a plan on getting me out of here,” Arvil asked, “because the keys are kept by the Guards, and I’d try to avoid waking the drunkard over there.”  He nodded towards the Guard still slumped against the wall. “He’s more apt than he appears.” 

Talan smiled cunningly at the wiry man who now had his dirty face pressed up against the bars, examining Talan’s person for any evidence of a tool to break him free from his prison.

              “Are you bound?” Talan inquired.  Arvil shook his head and held up his wrists to show that he was no longer shackled to the wall in chains. 

“Good,” he replied in relief.  “Now, turn around and hunch over against the back wall.  Face away from me, and make sure your head and ears are covered.  This is going to be loud.”  Even in the dimness of light, it looked as though Arvil’s complexion paled a little more, but he nodded mutely and did as instructed.

              Talan also turned around and placed his dwindling torch into a metal sconce on the wall.  He began rummaging through his pockets, looking for his lightweight paper fuse.  The fuse was filled with one of his own designs of fire powder, which was more concentrated yet less explosive than the ones he used to break through large spaces in the mines obstructed by rock.  As Talan was preparing his fuse, he unexpectedly felt an angry grip on the tender space between his neck and collarbone.  A hand squeezed painfully, digging its fingernails into Talan’s shoulder.

              “Wha’ doya think you’re doin?” A gruff voice spoke out behind him, and the acerbic stench of old ale wafted into Talan’s nostrils.  Talan stood frozen in his spot as the prison guard’s grip on him hardened.  “I’s think it be a good idea if ya answer,” the man slurred. 

Talan quickly stuffed the fuse back into his pocket and turned around to address the drunken soldier, but the Guard impatiently shoved him as hard as he could, sending the young advisor tumbling into the wall before him.  Talan put out his hands to halt his momentum before he cracked open his skull.  Pain seared through his left wrist when it made contact with the wall, causing him to yelp in pain.  He fearfully looked over his shoulder, his heart pounding, to see the Guard quick on his heels, looking like he was going to pummel him to death with his meaty arms. 

“Look, I can explain!” Talan tried to reason.  “Just calm down, and let’s talk this out.” 

But his pleas did nothing to slow the drunken soldier’s procession towards him.  Without thinking, Talan clinched his hand into a fist, waited till the Guard was right up on him, then turned around and swung a massive uppercut directly underneath the his chin with all the strength he had. 

              The man’s head whipped back, and his neck made an unnatural cracking sound as he stumbled backwards a couple of steps.  But the trained Samarian Guard was quick to recuperate.  He shook his head, growled underneath his breath then lunged at Talan with a massive swing of his arm.  Talan darted to his left then thrust his heel into the side of the man’s knee, causing him to buckle. With the Guard in a state of disarray, Talan advanced on him, ignoring the pain in his left wrist, then boxed him in the temples with his fists.  The Guard stopped, looked at him with lazy, inebriated eyes, then crumpled to the floor unconscious.

              “Holy Divinity,” Talan said breathlessly while cradling his throbbing wrist in his other arm.  “I’ve never hit anyone in my life!”  He glanced down at the man by his feet feeling a bit guilty, but quickly shrugged it off.

              “Arvil, are you still in position?” Talan asked, followed by a muffled confirmation from inside the cell. 

With Arvil’s safety under control, Talan reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the paper fuse tapered at the end.  He grasped the lock to the cell and slid the pointy end of the fuse into the key slot.  He pulled out a sulfur match and swept it across his tinderbox, causing a bright flame to ignite on the end of it.  Talan lite the fuse, and the paper immediately took to the flame.  Talan ran down a couple of paces away from Arvil’s cell, hunkered over with his hands covering his ears, and waited for the explosion to come. 

The vibrations and noise from the blast erupted all around him.  It shook the underground space like a small earthquake, and dust and rock rained down from the ceiling.  Those couple of seconds seemed like an eternity, but when it was done, Talan stood up and waved his hands in front of his face to make a visible path before him through the floating debris.  When he got back to Arvil’s cell, the rusted iron door was blown clear through, and it hung bent and damaged on its hinges.  The lock was nowhere to be seen.  Arvil appeared through the smoke and dust like a ghostly apparition, surprise written all over his face.

“C’mon,” Talan said grabbing the small man by the elbow.  “We got to move quickly.  There’s a horse for you and supplies waiting at Hazy Creek Trail.”  They had made it to the first archway of the narrow hallway when Arvil stopped him.

“How are you going to explain my breakout to the Samarian Guard?  They are bound to find out sooner or later, and you’re the only one comfortable with using fire powder.  It won’t be hard to figure out.”  Talan gave his fellow advisor a devilish smile.

“Don’t worry, I’ve thought this though.  We are going to be having detonations all over the Anion caves the next couple of days.  Whose to say a little mishap can’t happen right underneath Mizra itself.”

Arvil glanced behind him to the blacked-out Guard lying on the floor and to the lonely prisoners moping chastised in their cells.  He walked back over the Guard and began to rummage deeply into the folds underneath his tunic before finally pulling out a large chain with two keys fastened to the end of it.  He removed one key and stuck the other in his shirt pocket.

“Just make sure you get everyone out. 
Before
you blow up anything else,” Arvil said as he pushed the key at Talan.  “I don’t want to feel even the slightest bit responsible for any more lives lost.”  Talan looped his index finger through one of the spaces between the thick chain links and watched the key sway for a moment in his vision.