The Sword Of Erren-dar (Book 2) (47 page)

 “Why couldn’t she have been a timid little mouse?” railed
Sareth. “Even with the handkerchief, she’s making too much noise, and for this
to succeed, she must not be found until the morning. I think it’s time to see if
Callis’s potion works. You hold her nose,” she instructed ruthlessly, “and I’ll
pour some down her throat.”

 The girl, hearing this, renewed her struggles, alarming
Iska so much that she had no compunction about what she must do.

 Of course, she tried not to swallow, but as it became a
choice of either swallowing or suffocating, she was obliged to give in. She
glared at her two assailants defiantly for about a minute before her eyelids
began to droop. A moment later, she was fast asleep.

 “At least we know it works,” whispered Iska. “It will do
her no harm to spend the night in her petticoat. Now help me get her dress
off.”

 Sareth donned Vesarion’s shirt under her dress to make sure
the guards did not find it, but when she and Iska were fully attired, Iska
raised a caveat.

 “Er….Sareth, I don’t mean to be picky but won’t the guards
suspect something when they see the tip of your sword sticking out from the
back of your dress?  Perhaps if you wore the scabbard like a baldric, across
your shoulder, it would work.” As she helped her, she chuckled. “That dress was
clearly designed for a buxom lass because it’s far too big for you. You have
room enough to hide an entire army under it, but at least your sword is now out
of sight. Now, let’s go.”

 As they approached the outer gate of the compound, each
carrying a basket, Iska murmured softly: “Remember, leave the talking to me –
and try to make the effort to smile, Sareth. You look as if you are about to
commit murder. There’s nothing that more quickly distracts a man than a pretty
girl smiling at him.”

 Sareth, her heart thumping, pinned a smile to her lips,
tightened her grip on the basket and stepped into the pool of light cast by two
flaming torches set on either side of the gate.

 The sentries stopped their bored pacing when they saw the
women approach, but seemed unsuspicious.

 “Two of you tonight?” one remarked jocularly. “Those lucky
dogs upstairs have all the fun – off duty, wine, food and the company of two
pretty lasses! Now that’s what I call a proper way to spend the evening,
instead of pounding the cobbles out here.” He then cast a greedy eye over the
baskets. “I don’t suppose you have something in there for a poor hungry soul
who has still two hours to go before he comes off duty?” he asked plaintively.

 His hand was creeping towards the basket until it was
abruptly halted by a playful slap from Iska.

 “You know you have to wait your turn,” she chided
coquettishly, causing Sareth to gulp. “But if you’re good, we’ll keep some for
you. Now, we’re late, so we must hurry or there will be complaints from
upstairs.”

 As they hurried across the parade ground, the guard’s voice
echoed after them. “Promises, promises. All I ever seem to get from girls are
promises!”

 His companion, impressed by his wit, guffawed with
laughter.

 When they reached the top of the steps and passed through
the formidable iron-bound door, Sareth whispered: “We’re in. I had no idea you
could be such a flirt!”

 “One of my many talents. When you serve the guardsmen, make
sure they all get some wine. At least we know they don’t have to take much for
it to work. Oh, and keep a bottle back for the two gaolers. They’re not
supposed to have any, because they are still on duty, but if I know human
nature, they won’t be able to resist. If they refuse to take it, you are going
to have to deal with them by other methods.”

 “Great,” replied Sareth glumly.

 As they passed the door to the armoury, they tested the
handle, but as expected, it was securely locked. Once at the top of the stairs,
with a quick reassuring glance at one another, they entered the guardroom.

 To their surprise and relief, there were only half a dozen
guards present. One was engaged in cleaning armour and the rest were playing
dice by the fire. They rose to their feet when the two women came in and set
the baskets on the table.

 “I see it took two of you to carry our supper tonight,” the
man industriously polishing a breastplate observed. “If that’s the case, you’ve
probably brought too much. As you see, there are only six of us tonight, thanks
to the rumpus that went on today. Most of us spent the day running round the
city on a wild goose chase – and there are some of us still at it, would you
believe? So you find us worn out and few in number this evening.”

 “What are you complaining about?” another interjected. “That
just means there is more for each of us. Where’s Elia tonight?”

 “Taken ill,” replied Iska promptly. “Where do you keep the
glasses and plates?”

 “In the cupboard. I haven’t seen you two before. Have you
just started at the inn? Elia didn’t mention you.”

“Just started today,” Iska replied, handing Sareth some
glasses

 “Well, all I can say is that the landlord of the White Hart
never picked a plain girl yet. What say you stay with us, sweetheart, and share
in our banquet?”

 Iska laughed. “What? You want to get me sacked on my first
day? Shame on you!”

 “Pity,” He turned his attention to Sareth, who was pouring
out wine. “You’re a fine looking lass – if a bit on the quiet side. But I
always say that a quiet woman is a blessing. Take Perrias here, for example,
married to a woman who never stops talking. The only place he can get any peace
is on duty.”

 There was a general laugh at Perrias’s expense and quickly
Sareth began handing round the  glasses before she attracted any more
attention. The food was already being attacked with gusto, but the older man,
who had been cleaning the armour, put his hand across his glass to prevent
Sareth pouring him any wine.

 “Not fond of wine,” he explained. “I’m an ale man, myself.
I can’t think why the White Hart didn’t send some, like they usually do.”

 Sareth glanced at Iska in something of a quandary, but
Iska, with great presence of mind, promptly held out her glass for Sareth to
fill, saying boldly: “Then I’ll have his share. The landlord said it was a
special wine, normally so expensive that only the wealthy can afford it, but
the merchant let him have some at an introductory price, just to try it.”
Looking at the recalcitrant guard, she added provocatively: “Seems you are
going to waste the only chance you might ever get to live like a rich man.”

 He hesitated for a heartbeat before holding out his glass
to Sareth.

 “Oh, all right then. I’ve always felt I was meant for
better things.”

 Iska held up her glass. “What about a toast, gentlemen?”

 She was met with a chorus of agreement. “What shall we
drink to?”

 The guard who had not wanted any wine, held up his glass.
“I say we make a toast to the White Hart for having the prettiest barmaids in
the city!”

 As all glasses were raised, Iska’s and Sareth’s eyes met in
satisfaction. Their victims suspected nothing. The night was warm, their
stomachs were full and soon the wine began its work. One by one, they began to
nod off. Eyes began to droop. Heads lolled forward, and most of them were soon
slumped across the table. One poor young man fell off his chair and hit the
floor with a resounding thump – but he didn’t so much as stir.

 Looking at her untouched glass approvingly, Sareth said: “A
fine vintage indeed.” Picking up a plate of food and two glasses of wine, she
headed towards the door. “Now for the moment of truth.”

There was only one gaoler on duty in the large antechamber, sitting
behind the table beside the door to the cell. Sareth, her gaze straying to the
heavily barred door, felt her heart quicken its pace at the thought of being so
close to Vesarion. Assessing the rather flabby individual before her, she was
quite confident that if he didn’t co-operate, she could deal with him by other methods.

 Iska, more subtle in her approach, set the plate of food
and the wine on the table in front of him and smiled winningly.

 “Your comrades sent us to give you this. They thought you
might be hungry, and to be honest, at the rate they are devouring what we brought,
by the time you come off duty there will be nothing left.”

 The man lifted the glass with alacrity. “I could do with
this. I’m utterly famished,” he explained. “First, running round the city after
these strangers, then on duty at the Traitor’s Post – a sight, I might add,
that I never want to see again, and now on guard duty here! I haven’t had time
to have a bite all day.” He jerked his head towards the barred door. “I mean, I
don’t know what I’m sitting here for. It’s not like he’s going to get through a
locked door, and even if he did, from the look of him he wouldn’t get far. Is
that chicken I see?”

 Iska watched as he washed his chicken down with a large
gulp of wine, but Sareth’s attention had fastened onto something else. For there,
sitting on the table, was Vesarion’s silver box. The guard noticed the
direction of her gaze.

 “Pretty, isn’t it? Probably worth a fortune. Apparently our
prisoner is some sort of lord, or something. Prince Mordrian seemed to know who
he is, although it meant nothing to me. I’m surprised that greedy lout Ursor
didn’t lift it.”

 He chatted on for a moment, listened to sympathetically by
Iska, until finally his head began to nod. Iska gently lowered him onto the
desk and unhooked an enormous bunch of keys from his belt.

 Sareth had already cast off the enveloping dress and was
buckling her scabbard around the waist of her breeches. She scooped up the
little box from the table and put it in her pocket.

 “At least we know for certain that he’s here,” she remarked
tersely, folding Vesarion’s shirt over her arm. “Now try the keys.”

 “We must hurry,” Iska said, feverishly trying different
keys in the lock. “Why must they have so many damned keys!”

 Sareth had gone back to the door leading to the corridor to
keep watch, when the sudden sound of a lock shooting back informed her that
Iska had been successful. Crossing to the table, she lifted a lighted candle
and in a state of great trepidation, pushed open the door to the cell.

 Three stripes of moonlight lay on the floor, but in
contrast, this threw the rest of the large cell into inky blackness and at
first Sareth could see nothing. Then the feeble light of the candle that she
held in one trembling hand, fell on the prisoner. He was lying on his side
facing towards her, his wrists chained to the wall by a long, heavy chain. His
face was bruised and swollen and the remnants of his shirt clung to him in
bloodied rags. Swiftly, Sareth crossed to him and setting the candle on the
floor, knelt beside him in concern. He did not stir, or show any signs of life.

 “Vesarion?” she called softly.

 Still he made no response.

 Tears sprang to her eyes. “Vesarion,” she wept softly, “my
beloved Vesarion, what have they done to you?”

 Iska, leaning anxiously over her shoulder, asked: “Is he
breathing?”

 Sareth, her heart cold with fear, leaned over him and after
a tense pause, said with palpable relief: “Yes, Iska, he’s still breathing but
I can get no response from him. I think he has lost consciousness.”

 But at that moment, the prisoner’s eyes fluttered open.

 Sareth called his name again urgently.

 He raised his head a little and looked at her in a dazed
manner, as if finding it hard to focus.

 “Sareth?” the words came indistinctly between swollen lips.
“Sareth? Is that you?”

 Gently she clasped his bound hands between both her own.
“Yes, Vesarion. Iska and I have come to get you out of here.”

 “Iska?” He raised his head a little further and looked up
at the worried face peering past Sareth’s shoulder. “Where are Eimer and
Bethro?”

 “Missing,” replied Iska baldly. “We think they are in
hiding somewhere. All I can tell you for certain is that they have not been
captured. Stretch your wrists forward and I will see if one of this enormous
bunch of keys fits the locks on your bonds.”

 While Iska tried key after key, Sareth said rapidly: “We
have drugged the guards but more may come along at any moment, so we must
hurry.”

 “How did you…?”

 “….later. That story will keep for again.”

 As he spoke, Vesarion with an effort, sat up and brought
his wrists further forward to help Iska, causing the chain to rattle ominously
through the ring sunk in the wall. As he did so he turned slightly and for the
first time, his two rescuers saw his back.

 Even in the weak light of the little candle, what they saw
caused Iska to gasp and Sareth to cry out in horror. The torn shirt revealed a
mass of raw wounds and congealed blood.

 “We must help him, Iska,” Sareth cried, pierced to the very
heart by what she saw.

 But Iska, in a tearing hurry, was frantically trying key
after key unsuccessfully in the lock.

 “We have no time to treat his injuries now,” she said
rapidly, refusing to be distracted from her task. “We must get him away from
here and out of the city before more guards arrive and discover their comrades
out cold on the floor –
ah! Success!”
The chains fell away and with a
gasp of relief, Vesarion freed his hands from the irons. Carefully, propping a
shoulder under each arm, the two women helped him to his feet. With the most
tender care, they removed the tattered remnants of his shirt and helped him don
the new one they had brought. Despite their consideration, it was an acutely
painful experience for him, and although he made no complaint, he had to stop
for a moment to take a few deep breaths to steady himself.

 Slowly, they made their way out of the cell into the large
outer chamber where the guard slept on in oblivion.

 “We have to get you down the stairs and into the old
armoury where Gorm is waiting to open the entrance to a storm drain,” Sareth
advised Vesarion. “Do you think you could manage to crawl a short distance
along it?”

 “Yes,” was all he replied and she realised that he was
fighting to keep hold of consciousness. But they had only taken a few paces
across the room, when the door leading to the corridor burst open with such
force that it slammed back against the wall. A burly man stood in the doorway carrying
a naked sword in his hand.

 For a frozen instant, they stared in disbelief at him, for
the escape party, with varying degrees of fear and loathing, recognised the man
who now barred their way to freedom.

 Ursor was the first to recover his wits. Sword poised,
black eyes cruel, he advanced further into the room.

 “What is this?” he asked, with all the confidence of
someone who feels they are totally in control of a situation. “A prisoner
attempting to escape? And with help, too, I see. I find a guardroom full of
guards who mysteriously will not waken and it does not take much to work out what
is going on. What I didn’t expect  is that the perpetrators of this bold rescue
attempt are merely two girls. You might even have got away with it, had I not
come back when I did. Indeed, you would not have seen me this evening at all, were
it not for the fact that I suddenly remembered that the prisoner’s expensive
silver box had been left behind.”

 His eyes had been probing the room during this speech,
noting the unconscious guard and checking for further accomplices. On finding
none, his eyes finally returned to the group of three and at that moment his
gaze fastened on Iska.

 “
You!
” he spat, making the words sound like a curse.
“You! I might have guessed as much! The Prince’s little bastard sister up to
her eyes in the plot to betray her country. So you’ve been helping these people
all along. No wonder they have eluded capture so easily, but now your schemes
have gone awry and all you have achieved is to deliver yet another conspirator
into our hands.”  He grinned with loathsome satisfaction at Sareth before
returning to Iska. “Prince Mordrian will be delighted. It is with the greatest
of pleasure that I will deliver his treacherous little sister into his hands,
for which the Prince will, without doubt, reward me in a manner that would beggar
a king’s ransom. He has been waiting a very long time to rid himself of you.
Personally I can’t see why you irritate him so much, after all, what are you
but a street rat? But to him you are like a burr under the saddle and he is
itching to be rid of you. My master does not take kindly to those who defy him,
and if I know the Prince, I suspect that once he gets his hands on you, you
will be wishing for death a very long time before it comes. All in all, this is
very satisfactory. The prisoner will keep his appointment with the gallows in
the morning and the Prince gets to exact his long overdue revenge. And as for you?”
his eyes fastened lasciviously on Sareth and he eyed her up and down in a
manner none of them cared for. “You will provide me with some entertainment
before I hand you over to the Prince. I think he will not care that the goods
are a trifle damaged. “

 Sareth, her arm still round Vesarion, felt him stiffen at
the words, but before he could speak, she released her hold upon him and
stepped forward.

 Iska, catching sight of her, once more barely recognised
her, for all kindness and humanity had drained from her face leaving it hard as
stone.  From out of that resolute countenance, bored two grey eyes as cold as
granite.

 “Not one of your plans will ever be fulfilled,” she said in
a hard, tight voice, “for you will never leave this room alive.”

 He looked surprised for an instant, as if it had not
occurred to him that anyone would challenge him, then looking at his opponent
contemptuously, he threw back his head and laughed.

 “And who is going to stop me?
You
, little girl?”

 Smoothly, with a certain practiced air that should have
warned him, Sareth unsheathed her sword and drew herself up to her full height,
which put her eyes on exactly the same level as his.

 Iska’s heart gave a sudden lurch of alarm, as she realised
that Sareth was proposing to take on this powerful man.

 Rapidly, Sareth had been assessing him. She noted the broad
shoulders and bunched arm muscles but she also noted the roll of fat bulging
over his belt. ‘Strong but slow’ was her conclusion. ‘Not overly clever, but
still dangerous.’

 “Yes,” she replied evenly. “I will stop you. You beat and
tortured a man who is so far above you that you are not even fit to breathe the
same air that he does. You inflicted terrible pain and suffering upon him, and
what is more, you enjoyed it, and now you are going to pay for that with your
life.”

 She said the words with such utter conviction, that for a
moment his eyes narrowed in suspicion, but soon he was laughing again.

 “I am going to have some fun with you,” he remarked, in
gleeful anticipation. “Once I have knocked that toy out of your hand, I will do
with you as I please.”

  He glanced derisively at the prisoner, grimly holding on
to Iska for support. “Then
he
will hang and that treacherous vixen who
helped you, will follow him in due course.”

 He drew breath to say more, clearly savouring the moment,
but he never got the chance. Sareth had made up her mind what she must do and
was not about to give him the advantage of playing by the rules. While he was
still laughing, with lightning speed, she attacked. His arrogance had left him
vulnerable, and her speed was such, that before he could react, her sword shot out
and sliced through his upper arm.

 He leaped back with a curse and just managed to parry a
second lunge in the very nick of time.

 A patch of red blossomed on his white shirt. He looked at
it as if he could not believe what he was seeing, and came within a hair’s
breadth of being wounded again when another thrust came his way with the speed
of a striking snake. Desperately, he leaped backwards and the tip of Sareth’s
blade merely grazed him. A roar of rage issued from him.

 “You are going to regret that!” he bellowed and picking up
a wooden chair easily in one hand, flung it at her with all his might.

 Sareth shot downwards, ducking under the missile. It flew
over her head and crashed against the wall, splintering into a dozen pieces.

 “This is making too much noise,” said Iska worriedly.

 Vesarion tried to disentangle himself from her hold. “Let
go of me, Iska,” he said, his words a little slurred. “I must help her.”

 But she clung on even tighter. “No. You are in no condition
to help anyone, besides, I don’t think she needs any help. She’s running rings
around him. Look!”

 Sareth was indeed taking full advantage of her superior
speed. Remembering everything Parrick and Vesarion had taught her, she was
being elusive. Darting forward to attack and then leaping back out of range
again, aggravatingly slippery. The large room was by now ringing to the sound
of weapons and the occasional crash of furniture as Ursor vented his
frustration. Again and again he tried to pin her down, so that he could exert
his greater strength against her, but she was a will-o-the-wisp. Flashing her
blade beneath his, she wounded him again on the thigh and avoiding his
bull-like charge, leaped onto a chair and thence onto the table, dancing nimbly
over the prone body of the guard. Ursor was by now in the same state of impotent
rage as a bear attacked by hornets. He was roaring incoherently with wrath at
the thought that he could be treated this way by a mere woman. Many times he
brought his blade down with stunning force only to be met with no resistance at
all, for she had changed positions at the very last moment. Not for an instant
did she stop moving. Sometimes she attacked from one side, sometimes the other.
 He directed one of his many charges against her, hunching his shoulders
aggressively, but with impeccable timing, she neatly sidestepped him and sliced
her blade across his back as he went past. This time, however, was different -
he recovered his poise much more speedily. He spun round and their swords
crossed. Quickly, he began to slide his blade downwards to cross the hilts.

 “Disengage,” whispered Vesarion urgently. “
Disengage!
”

 As if she had heard him, she did just that, and leaving her
opponent unbalanced by the sudden withdrawal of opposition, stepped back and
with eyes blazing, deliberately slashed him across the face with the tip of her
sword, splitting his cheek open from ear to nose.

 “That is for what you did to Vesarion,” she spat.

 But what her opponent lacked in intelligence, he made up
for in stamina and he was by no means done for.

 “This is going on too long,” muttered Vesarion.

 “I do not want Sareth to have his death on her conscience,”
unexpectedly said Iska.

 But Vesarion overrode her. “She must finish him, Iska,
otherwise he will tell your brother what he knows. Now, let go of me,” he
commanded in a voice that brooked no opposition.

 Ursor was injured in many places and was running with
blood. Moreover he was suffering not only pain, but the novel sensation of  humiliation,
yet he was far from beaten. Realising that what he was doing was not working, he
suppressed his rage and started to scheme relentlessly to trap Sareth. He began
to herd her toward a tight corner between the desk and the door of the cell,
where he could use his great strength to pin her.

 Iska could see the sheen of perspiration on Sareth’s
forehead, her intense concentration as she tried to anticipate every move, but
present also was just the tiniest suggestion of fear in her eyes.

 Sareth made to duck past him as she had done many times
before, but this time he was too quick for her. His sword shot forward and he
trapped her against the table. She wriggled free but he had left her nowhere to
go but a narrow corner behind the door where all her advantage had gone. His
cheek was running with blood, giving him a ghastly, mask-like appearance but he
still managed to smile gloatingly as he raised his sword. Then he noticed her
eyes flick past him, and he heard a voice behind him call his name. Casting a
swift glance over his shoulder, he saw Vesarion, gripping the sword belonging
to the drugged guard.  Ursor correctly identified that the greater threat came
from behind and began to spin round - but he was not quick enough. Vesarion,
summoning up his last few dregs of strength, grasped the hilt in both hands and
drawing the sword back to its full extent, drove it hard into his tormentor’s
belly.