The Arcanist (24 page)

“Greetings.” He put a hand over the man's mouth just in case as he gently shook him, and it was just as well. The man woke up, panicked, and started struggling furiously. If he'd been able to he would have been shouting as well, attracting the guards' attention.

“Hush!” Edouard hissed as loudly as he dared, worried that the gaoler might hear him. “I'm not here to hurt you.” And then he had to repeat himself a few times for good measure until the man calmed down. But eventually he did, or at least he stopped struggling.

“Good. I'll take my hand away, but please don't alert the guards or we'll both be for the hangman's noose in the morning.” After letting his words sink in he did exactly as he said, and the man didn't call out. He figure that had to be a good thing.

“Edouard?” The man recognised him, and that came as a surprise. But not as great a surprise as that when he suddenly recognised the voice.

“Janus?” It was him all right, but what was he doing in the dungeons? Had he protested the new king's right to rule? It seemed unlikely. Janus wasn't the sort to make trouble. Cynical comments perhaps but not trouble. Especially if his life was on the line. He had to ask.

“After your display the regent decided he'd had enough of all of us. Fergis is in one of the other cells as well, and I thought I heard Gwen's voice as she was carted screaming in here a few days ago.”

“By the Seven!” Edouard was staggered. Not just him but four of the sparks. Or maybe even all of the ones who called Therion home. There were only Prator and Telos left. Like Gwen they lived outside of the city. Prator in the small farming town of Birchdale where he brought rain when it was needed. Telos in the steel mines of Tinton, where he used his gift to bring safe light in the form of enchanted glow stones to the underground passages. But if they'd taken Gwen then surely they could have grabbed the others. And then there was April as well. She had the spark of dominion and Simon knew it. Would he have her locked away somewhere as well?

What was Simon up to? Or more likely, what was that black robed advisor of his up to? Because Edouard was certain that it was that dark robed priest who was behind it. But that he realised was a matter for another day. For today it had to be about escaping the city.

But there was another question that needed to be asked. Both because it confused him and frightened him. It had frightened him in the throne room when he hadn't been able to call his fire to defend himself. “How is he holding them? Fergis could have done what I'm doing. And Gwen could probably start an underground deluge to cut her way out of here.”

“Drugs.” Janus said it as if it was nothing, simply a matter of fact. But it wasn't nothing. To a spark it was everything. The magic even for them was a part of their lives. A part of them. Deadening it was like killing a little bit of them.

“From the smell I'd say it's blood root and green ginseng. It was given to them, to us all on the first day we were thrown in here, the guards forced it on us. And since then it's been administered once more. But not to me because as a healer I'm not considered a threat. And not to you because they thought you were dead.”

“And –?” Edouard didn't want to ask but he had to know.

“It'll wear off in a few more days by my estimate. But the guards will be back before then to feed it to them again. And to you when they realise you're alive and awake.”

“Then we have to be gone before that happens.”

“And before that we need to take a look at your wounds. Your health looks shocking.” Of course Janus would notice that. He was a healer, and he'd probably spotted his third rate attempt at healing himself from the instant he'd woken up. “Get your vest off.”

“We don't -.”

“Now.” Janus wasn't in the mood for excuses. He never was. Reluctantly Edouard lifted the scraps of his vest up and let him see his back. It was a mistake of course. He knew that the instant he heard Janus' sudden indrawn breath.

“The Seven be praised, you made a poor fist of that.”

Of course he had, but still Edouard thought he'd done something right. It still hurt of course, and he couldn't seem to bend without feeling the skin on his back tightening up, but the worst of the fever had passed and the sickening smell of blood and decay was gone. Add to that the fact that he was alive and he wouldn't complain.

“I did what I could.”

“And you nearly killed yourself doing it.” Janus didn't sound impressed. “If I had some vermillion root I'd be making some tea for you, and a salve from the leaves to heal the skin. But as it is I'll just have to do the best I can without it. Lie down and stop talking.”

Edouard did as he was told. He knew from long experience that there was no point in doing anything else when Janus was talking. He never listened and he never took no for an answer. He was even happy to tell the king off when it suited him. The real king that was. Besides, it would be good to not hurt any more.

A few moments later he felt the healing warmth of Janus' magic sinking deep into his flesh and despite his best intentions he almost fell asleep as he lay there. Janus' gift was a powerful one. It always surprised him how someone with such wondrous magic at their fingertips could be so abrasive and have such an acerbic wit. The humour of the Seven perhaps.

Still, it gave him an opportunity to ask about the other matters that had troubled him since his thoughts had returned to the world. How had his magic been stopped in the throne room? There had been no drugs fed to him there. How had his brother claimed the throne? What right had he claimed? And who was Vesar? The answers he got were few, and they weren't good.

Janus believed that somewhere in the throne room someone had laid a stone of quiet. All of the sparks had been powerless there, and that was the only thing he could think of that could do such a thing. Edouard agreed though he couldn't imagine any spellcaster using such a thing. It would have robbed Vesar of his magic as well.

As for Simon's claim, it was a fraud. He had presented a writ of succession as his evidence, but none of the nobles who had witnessed it were still alive. The thing was certainly a forgery as were the signatures placed upon it. As to the black robed advisor Janus wouldn't say. He had some theories but he claimed he didn't want to speak of them in here. Not in the darkness. What that meant Edouard didn't know. But he didn't like the sound of it.

But that was fair since Janus didn't like the sound of his voice either, and he kept telling him to be quiet as he worked. In the end Edouard did just that. It wasn't really a choice with Janus.

Five and then ten and maybe even more long minutes passed like that as Edouard lay there like a confused moon calf. But finally Janus pronounced him done, and he felt the better for it. Much better. But he did not have time to bask in his healing. Not then and maybe not for a long time to come. It was time to begin work. One cell down and maybe twenty more to go.

Edouard crossed to the other side of the cell, took a deep breath and sent his fire streaming once more into the stone wall while Janus stood watch. It was going to be a long day.

Chapter Twenty Two

“Bastards!”

Edouard cursed quietly to himself as he heard the commotion outside his cell and knew that their gaoler was receiving visitors. Other guards who he doubted were there simply for their own pleasure. The gaoler never had visitors, which was why he felt so comfortable drinking. There was never anyone there to see him. Of course there was only one reason why the soldiers would be visiting.

Janus had said that once a week the guards came to drug the sparks with their concoction, and also that that time was fast approaching once more. Edouard had the worrying thought that that time had arrived. And it was the very worst time it could have come. Just when their plan was exposed for all to see but they weren't yet free.

The holes between the cells had all been cut, and the twenty one other prisoners were now able to wander freely between them with Edouard and Janus. That was for the good, especially when Janus was able to lend his healing to those who needed it. Many did. Edouard wasn't the only one to have been put in the stocks and whipped that night, and six more of Simon's victims were sharing the same dungeon as him. Actually it was eight more, but two of them had died and their bodies hadn't been removed. Still, from what he had been told by the others, a great many more people had been flogged in the throne room that day, several of them to death. The seven of them were only a fraction of the total. He wondered how many more were filling other cells in other dungeons, without the benefit of a healer. And without any hope of rescue.

The passageways couldn't be seen at least. Not from the outside. After all, all the light in the dungeon came from the torches in the central area and none of the cells had so much as a candle. The only light they got was through the tiny little barred windows in the doors, and that wasn't enough to see anything by. Not for anyone who hadn't been stuck for many days in the gloom with them. But if the guards opened the door and came in that would change fast. And to feed the prisoners their drugs they would have to do just that. Then the game would be up.

And even if by some miracle it wasn't, the escape tunnel wasn't finished. It was only about ten feet long, and he had no idea how much further he'd have to dig to reach the underground passages. Gwen had said it wasn't far. Even with her spark diminished she could sense the running water and guide his hand. But to finish it he had to have his magic, and now that the gaoler knew he was awake again, he was sure he would be down for a dose of the drugs. He couldn't afford to eat the drugged food. If he did their escape was over and he would be stuck here forever.

And he wasn't going to stay here no matter what.

Quietly Edouard crept over to the window and peered out into the main part of the prison, hoping to see what was going on. Then when he did he wished that he hadn't. Their gaoler was on his feet, something he hadn't been doing a lot for many long hours, and coming down the passageway behind him were three guards carrying a small barrel. Edouard's heart sank as he knew that the drugged food had arrived.

“Why now?” He silently cursed the misfortune the Seven had bestowed upon them. It was simply so unfair.

But unfair or not it was happening and it had to be dealt with.

The guards finally stepped completely into view and his heart sank a little further. These weren't more overweight and unfit rejects like their Gaoler. They were trim and  athletic, and they wore their uniforms well. He had no doubt that they knew how to use their swords, while all he had was his fire. He could probably kill them if he caught them by surprise, but not before warning was given. And that warning would bring a great many more soldiers running. He couldn't beat them all. But what was the alternative? He prepared his fire and waited, nervously.

There seemed to be little hope until they did the one thing he hadn't expected of well-trained soldiers. They demanded a drink.

That surprised him. When they'd wandered down the distant passageway their conversation had been full of invective for the gaoler. They'd called him fat and lazy, which he was. And they told him he was a disgrace to his armour, which was also true. But suddenly when they stepped into the dungeon's antechamber and saw the goblets in front of them they stopped in front of the ancient ale stained desk and demanded that the gaoler fill the goblets. Why they did it he didn't know. Maybe it was the only chance they had to drink while on duty. Maybe it was the Seven finally granting them some hope. But why they did it didn't matter. Only the fact that they were stupid enough to do it did.

“Janus!” As quick as he could Edouard dived for the passage between their cells, wriggled his way through and crawled out on the other side to stand beside the healer.

“Your magic. Use it to make them more susceptible to the ale's effects. A lot more.”

It was a lot to ask of the healer. Normally he worked his magic from either touch or very close distance and they were at least thirty feet away. But he knew Janus could do it. One of the magics he was routinely called upon to cast was that of sobering up those who were too drunk to stand. Usually because they had something urgent that they needed to do. And he did it simply by making them more resistant to the effect of the ale.

“What? I can't do that!” Naturally the healer didn't want to. It ran against his personal code. But now was not the time for that.

“Just do it or spend the rest of your life in here!” Edouard hissed at him, and something of the urgency in his voice managed to convince the healer of the need.

“All right. I'll try.”

Janus stood at the door to his cell, face at the small barred window, and concentrated, and instantly Edouard felt Janus’ magic being loosed. What he didn't know was whether it was working or not. There was only one window in the cell and Janus' head was filling it. So he quickly wriggled his way back to his own cell and found his own window.

Outside in the antechamber he could see the three guards drinking at least. And they seemed to be enjoying it. Slamming down their goblets on the desk again and again and demanding that the gaoler refill them. They were determined, but they didn't look particularly drunk. He just hoped that it was only a matter of time.

Normally when Janus removed the effects of ale from a person it took a few minutes to work. But with three of them and the gaoler to work his will upon, and across a greater range, it might take a little longer. At least Edouard hoped that that was all it was. In some of the other cells further away he could just make out the faces of other prisoners, also watching the drinking soldiers. He doubted that any of them knew what Janus was trying. They were just looking because it was something to do instead of sitting in their cold stone cells staring at the walls.

The long minutes stretched by as the guards kept drinking and demanding more, and the gaoler moaned constantly about the way they were consuming all his ale. They ignored him of course. And at least while they were knocking back his skeins of ale they weren't force feeding their drugs to him and the others. They had hope.

But they had another problem. Even if this worked and the soldiers were left unconscious on the floor, their sergeant would soon enough come down to check on them. Then the whole cycle would start again. They had to be ready for that too.

“Fill it you poxy arse!” One of the guards smashed down his wooden goblet on the oak desk and Edouard knew a moment of hope. He wasn't drunk, not yet, but he was on his way, becoming garrulous and aggressive like many of the patrons at most inns in the evenings. But he needed them to be drunker than that. He needed them completely in their cups. He silently willed Janus to continue his work and sent a prayer to the Seven as well. Just in case they were listening.

The gaoler did as he was told, probably because he knew he wasn't the one in charge anymore. Undoubtedly he hated it, and in the torchlight Edouard could see what looked like an angry scowl covering his dirty, sweaty face, but he wasn't willing to risk a fight. The chances were that he'd lose and then be punished for it as well. No officer would take the word of a disgrace over that of three proper soldiers. And there were worse duties a guard could be given. But he was also looking at his supply of ale, at his skeins slowly emptying and by the look of his face in the torchlight, thinking about it. He likely didn't earn a lot and this was costing him too many coppers. Maybe somewhere behind those bloodshot eyes a fight was actually brewing.

That was a worry. Edouard needed the guards to stay peaceful for at least a little while longer as they drank. But even as he worried about it he saw one of the other soldiers take a tiny little misstep and knew another surge of hope. Janus' magic was working. Either that or the man really couldn't hold his ale.

From then on it was a matter of waiting. The soldiers took their third and fourth goblets of the weak ale and demanded more, and slowly started acting as if they were on their twentieth. Slurring their words little by little, losing their balance and becoming louder by the goblet.

By the fifth round one of them was suddenly no longer able to stand and as he collapsed to the ground the others took the chance to laugh at him. It didn't seem to occur to them that it was too soon. Not even to the gaoler who it seemed was also slowly falling under the spell.

Laughter burst out as they downed their sixth, and then a round of abuse at their sergeant who it seemed was harsh with them. Little did they realise that he was going to be much harsher with them shortly. That laughter became louder with their next drink and one of them actually burst into song. A crude ballad about an innkeeper’s daughter that would never be heard in a respectable house. A few minutes later he too was unable to keep his feet, but that didn't stop him singing. Neither did the fact that he obviously didn't know the words and kept repeating himself.

In time he was joined on the floor by the others and eventually the singing stopped to be replaced by mumbling and then snoring. It was what Edouard had been waiting for.

Quickly he sent his fire into the metal lock that secured his door and seconds later it swung open and he was free. But only free to wander the antechamber. Still, it was a giddying moment as for the first time in ages he could walk more than three paces in any direction. Unfortunately there was only one direction he needed to go and it wasn't the passageway out of the dungeon. That way led to death. His path only took him as far as the prostrate guards and the small barrel of drugged food they'd brought with them.

The barrel was his first target as he swiftly emptied its contents into the sewer grate behind the gaoler's desk. Then, once it was empty he set about grabbing the gaoler's secret stash of hard cider that he hid under the helmet he kept behind his chair. After that it was simply a matter of grabbing each soldier in turn and pouring as much of it as he could down their throats. Not easy when they were sleeping, but if he held their heads up as he did it it seemed to work and they swallowed rather than choking on it. He wanted them to sleep as long as possible.

Of course all the while he did that the other prisoners were calling to him. They were demanding that he let them out of their cells and he had to remind them that that wasn't the plan. If they escaped that way they'd reach the end of the passageway beyond the dungeon and then swiftly run into more guards. The underground sewers were still their only way out of this place. Naturally they didn't want to hear that – nor did he want to say it – but it had to be. It was lucky that none of them were thinking clearly or they would have realised that they could have crawled through the tunnels to his cell and then out the door.

Soon the skein of cider was gone, and he knew the four of them were not going to be waking up any time soon. Between what they'd drunk and what Janus had done to them they would likely sleep for a good day. But their sergeant would find them long before that happened. And when he did they had to be ready with the second part of the plan. With the story they had to tell.

It was a simple story. The sergeant would come, find them drunk and unconscious, and then see the empty barrel sitting on the desk. He would assume Edouard hoped, that they had done their duty, fed the drug to the three sparks and then set about drinking. But of course since they weren't going to be able to tell him anything for some time to come, he might well ask the prisoners. If he did that was the story they had to tell. And they had to tell it convincingly. Fortunately among their number they had a couple of traders. People who were good at selling a story. He had confidence in them. He had to have that confidence.

The last thing Edouard had to do though was the hardest. He had to return to his cell, shut the door behind him and then use his fire to melt the lock so that it couldn't be opened. So that it seemed he was still locked up.