Paladin's Prize (Age of Heroes, Book 1) (23 page)

“For obvious reasons, darling,” Wrynne said, shaking her head. Everything about the bard had made him rather grumpy. “It’s a
dungeon
.”

“So? I’ve laid siege to worse.”

“Listen to your wife, lad,” Brother Piero urged, his head now draped in a hood of chain mail, his white surcoat pale in the waning twilight. He and two of the other Sons of Might from the chapter house had come along to provide them with some extra hands for their mission.

“You are not going in there, I forbid it,” the stouthearted warrior monk continued. “Not with all the king’s men scouring the land to arrest you. Why make it easy on them? All they’d have to do is back you into a cell and you’re doomed. Don’t let love cloud your common sense. She can do this much more easily than we can, and without bloodshed.”

“Thank you, Brother Piero,” said Wrynne.

He sent her a wink. “You’re welcome, dear.”

“I hate this,” Thaydor mumbled.

“Oh, I’ll be
fine
, husband,” Wrynne said with a chuckle while her large, armor-clad paladin scowled in the direction of the infamous prison. “Trust me. I’ll go in as a humble sister on a charity mission and offer healing to the sick within. When I see the bard, I’ll figure out a way to get near him and then use my
hasten
spell to get him out. It worked to save you once, didn’t it?”

He merely growled.

“And you all must be ready to ride—and probably fight—as soon as we appear,” she instructed. “I’m sure the guards will give chase.”

“But if you do this, then you’ll be a fugitive in earnest like me,” Thaydor said.

“I’m your wife. We face everything from now on together.” She laid a hand gently on his shiny silver breastplate.

At the Bastion, his armor had been restored to its former glory after the Urms’ damage. Hallowsmite hung in his scabbard at his waist, its blade newly sharpened.

“You have to let me help when I am able,” she added. “This is for the best. I’m a lot less recognizable than you. You cannot argue that.”

“Well, you can’t wear your armor, then.” Thaydor’s unhappy gaze flicked over her. “It’ll only rouse their suspicions. And what if they don’t let you take your staff in? They might strip it from you as a possible weapon. If that happens, all this is a waste of time.”

“I’ll just have to sweet-talk them somehow.”

“That’s your plan?” he retorted.

She ignored her scowling husband and turned to the brothers. “I trust you fellows have mastered the
Feed the Hungry
spell?”

“Certainly, mistress,” Brother Piero said with a nod.

“A few nice charity cakes or pies or loaves of some sort would help to get me in the door.” She lifted her arm and started unbuckling the straps of her brushed silver breastplate.

While the three warrior monks proceeded to conjure a variety of tempting edibles that she could offer the prisoners and the guards, Thaydor helped her take off the few pieces of armor, which she had donned at his insistence when they had left the Bastion.

He grumbled over the task all the while. “It should be me going in there. I don’t like you having to lie your way into that place, either, after the Golden Master specifically warned you about dishonesty.”

She looked over her shoulder at him as he undid a strap she couldn’t reach. The oracle had also warned her about not leaving his side. Did this count?

“I know,” she finally said, hiding her uneasiness. “But this is the easiest way. Besides, from the sound of it, the bard hasn’t even committed a crime. I suspect that, given the influence he wields with his art over all the people, high and low, he probably has as many high-placed enemies as you do. Well, almost as many.”

“If you ask me, it’s probably his big mouth that got him into this. Oh, never mind. Just promise me you’ll be careful. I need you, you know.”

“How sweet,” she murmured, turning to him. “Do try not to worry so. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“How can I not worry? Look at that place! You’re my wife! What kind of husband lets his lady enter such a hellhole?”

“One who respects her abilities! Calm down,” Wrynne ordered, losing patience. She was already nervous enough about this, and his misgivings were starting to make her doubt herself. “You know the Daughters of the Rose regularly visit prisons as part of our good works. I’ve done this before—not here, but elsewhere. The point is, when the guards see me, it won’t seem strange to them at all. Your showing up on their doorstep would be another story entirely.”

“But the sisters rarely go alone,” he pointed out.

“I am honestly going to throttle you! Are you trying to make me lose my nerve?”

He just looked at her, and, the dear man, she could see the genuine distress in his eyes. “Of course not.”

Marriage and a couple of days of lovemaking before they’d had to leave had only strengthened their bond and deepened their engrossment in each other. If their love was merely a side effect of the
Kiss of Life
spell, it still showed no signs of wearing off.

“Don’t you believe in me?” she asked.

“I do. I just…want to keep you safe.”

“Listen,” she said softly, “I’ll let you in on a little secret that should make you feel better about this. I
know
I’m not going to die in there, because the oracle informed me I have a destiny to fulfill further off in time.”

“Wait, what? You didn’t tell me! Destiny? What did she prophesy about you?”

“I’m not allowed to say.”

“Oh.” He paused, brow furrowed. “Was it good or bad, at least?”

“Good. Very good. Now give me a kiss for luck, because I’m doing this. I have to go.”

He bent down and brushed a quick kiss to her lips, though the scowl never left his face. She couldn’t help but smile dotingly. He was so amusing, her Clank.

“This should do,” Piero said, nodding at the stack of a dozen pies the men had created out of thin air.

“Excellent.” Pulling up the hood of her gray cloak, she rested her staff lengthwise across her shoulders like a yoke, then told them to tie one of the cloth bundles of stacked pies on each end.

“Are you sure it’s not too heavy for you?” her new husband asked once they did so.

“Thaydor!” she said in exasperation.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Go.”

With that, Wrynne left their hiding place and walked the mile up the dusty road. The hulking dungeon loomed before her, looking even more ominous as darkness descended. Her heart pounded, butterflies tickled in her stomach, and she felt very alone, but she refused to cower. The bundles of food swung gently with her every stride.

It was somewhat reassuring to know that Thaydor and the others were watching over her with bows drawn to cover her if there was any sign of trouble, but she was soon out of range.

At last, she reached the brooding stone barbican at the dungeon’s entrance, where the outer portcullis was raised. Half a dozen guards were already waiting for her there with narrowed eyes and bristling stances.

They had seen her coming. A few took no interest, leaning casually here and there around the gatehouse, but she had seen a couple of them watching her approach for the past few minutes.

It was too dark for them to tell from a distance who or what she was, so their wariness was understandable. When she stepped into the edge of their torches’ glow, however, they relaxed. One little woman on her own was clearly not enough to worry six big, armed men.

“Greetings in the name of Father Ilios,” she called, loud enough for them all to hear as she walked up to the mouth of the building.

“Mistress,” one of them greeted her warily.

They allowed her to step past the raised outer portcullis under the archway and into the torch-lit shelter of the squat stone building that guarded the dungeon’s entrance.

“What brings you out alone at this hour, lady?”

She let out a large sigh. “The hour of my arrival was by accident, believe me. Getting here took longer than I thought.” She set her burden down with a weary smile. “I’ve come to offer the consolation of our god to the prisoners within.”

The guard’s skeptical glance flicked to her packages. “What’s in the bundles?”

“A donation of food from our chapter house.”

“Captain?” the guard called to his superior, who then joined them.

A lean, swarthy man in his thirties, the captain was distinguished by the brown leather armor shaped to his chest, with plain pewter rivets on his epaulets marking his rank. He looked her over with a businesslike nod. “You one of them Rose ladies?”

“Yes, sir.” She lifted her chin and showed him the necklace around her throat, proof of her affiliation.

He seemed satisfied, though suspicion of everyone and everything seemed bred into him after dealing with criminals all day. “We don’t see much of your kind around here.”

She nodded. “That’s why I was sent. We realize we’ve been neglecting your establishment for too long. I was chosen to be sent here because I am also a healer. If I can be of service to any of your prisoners—or yourselves—please allow me to honor the Father by sharing the gift he has bestowed upon me with any of your people who are seriously injured or ill.”

Some of the guards paid no attention, already digging into the food, but the first one still looked skeptical.

“Why would you want to come to a godforsaken place like this, pretty thing like you?”

“My god commands it,” she replied.

He shrugged. “Why?”

“The Creator loves all his children, even those who have sinned badly enough to end up here. My order operates our prison ministry because Father Ilios wishes those here to know they have not been forgotten. They can always repent, and He will still take them back.”

The impatient flick of his eyebrows told her she had already bored him with such talk. “I prefer Fonja, myself. No offense.”

I’ll bet you do
, she thought.
If you call going to a brothel a religion.

The temple prostitutes, both male and female, promised they could help believers obtain their desires through the use of sex magick.

“None taken,” she said pleasantly.

“Right. Well, we’ll still have to search you.”

“I understand.” She raised her hands and waited. “But I advise you to not make free with my person, or the god who protects me at all times may roast you where you stand.”

And if he doesn’t, my husband will probably cut you in half.

The captain merely smirked, ignoring both her warning and the rascally grins of his men. They watched him in lewd humor as he bent to skim his hands down her sides. Thankfully, however, he merely did his duty and did not insult her.

“Go to the warden’s office and tell him she’s unarmed,” he confirmed to the others over his shoulder. “So, you really are a healer, eh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Maybe you could show us. Fix Gorland’s broken finger?”

“I’d be glad to,” she said, well aware he was asking her to prove her status before they’d let her in.

“Gorland, get over here!”

Wrynne then got her first inkling of the true unpleasantness of the job she had set for herself. A large, lumbering prison guard came over to his captain. He had dull-witted eyes and a homely, brutish face, and though he was no threat to her, she sensed the cruel streak in him.

Somehow she forced a smile, hiding her distaste. “Let me see it.”

Gorland held up his right hand and stretched out his fingers. The pinkie was obviously broken.

“Oh, that’s nasty. What happened?”

He grunted. “Eh, busted it keeping some son of a bitch in line.”

“Language, man!” the captain exclaimed. “She’s a bloody nun!”

Not exactly
, Wrynne thought as luscious memories of last night with Thaydor flashed in her mind.

She cleared her throat and let them believe whatever they liked. But if the guard had come out with a broken finger, she wondered how much worse the prisoner might have fared. She hoped it hadn’t been the bard.

“Well, this will only take a moment, then you’ll be right as rain.”
And ready to bash more prisoners with that fist.
“Close your eyes and try to clear your mind.”

The big oaf glanced worriedly at his superior.

“Do it. We’ll watch her,” the captain said.

Gorland obeyed and shut his eyes. No doubt it made him jumpy to do so, given the nature of his post.

Wrynne cupped her right hand a few inches above the man’s broken finger. It was swollen to twice its proper size and crooked at a wrong angle. Nervous as she was, it took her a little longer than usual to find the serenity in her core. But at last, she settled down into her gift and concentrated until she felt the Light flowing through her.

“Ow!” Gorland mumbled in surprise as the bone shifted into place of its own accord and began knitting itself back together. His eyes popped open. “Hey! That actually feels better!” He lifted his hand up and wiggled his fingers. “How about that!”

He laughed aloud, and his mates seemed impressed, nodding to one another.

Wrynne smiled. The demonstration was enough to get her in.

“We’ll watch these packages for you, mistress,” the other guards said, hording the baked goods on their rough wooden table while the captain rang a bell to summon the warden.

“Save some of that for me!” Gorland hurried over to join his mates, taking a large chunk of pie that the men were already tearing apart.

“That was supposed to be for the prisoners,” she chided gently.

“Oh, we’ll make sure they get some,” one lied through a mouthful of saffron cake. Fortunately, they were all so excited about the unexpected treats that they never even thought about her walking staff.

The warden joined them then and listened while the captain apprised him of the situation. Older and more grizzled than the others, the warden was a small man but seemed exceedingly tough—short, stocky, and balding, with a patch over one eye. He wore leather armor like the captain’s.