Shadow of the Crown Page 4

  Echoing down the hallway came a scream of such agony, she froze. Something in that terrible wail was different; she had just listened to someone utter their last breath. Anna closed her eyes while tears of despair rolled down her cheeks.

  Next, muttering came from down the hallway, and then the crank of some devilish device. This was not the first time the sound had been heard. There would be a break in the torture while they removed the body from the rack, and then...

  The young princess pressed her face to the bars in a vain attempt to see down the corridor, but, like each previous attempt, it was unsuccessful. Moving to the rear of the cell, she collapsed to the floor, her back against the cold stone, staring at what might be her last friend left alive. She bowed her head, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

  A noise caught her attention; not the screaming of tortured souls or the clanking of the rack, but rather the soft footfall of padded feet. She rushed to the bars and looked out of her cell to see the grey wolf. It stared at her, unblinking and then loped down the hall, out of sight. It resembled the same wolf she had seen when Gerald was missing in Weldwyn! It was Gerald; it had to be!

  The sound of the torturer's art drifted once more through the corridor. A guard approached, the jangle of his keys making a distinctive sound. He would often wander up and down the hall, making sure his victims were aware of his presence, but this time a low snarl interrupted his progress, and the guard's footfall ceased.

  A moment later, the wolf reappeared, clutching the arm of the jailer, dragging the body toward her cell. Closer and closer it got until Anna reached through the food door and grabbed the man's belt, pulling it even closer. The key ring was her objective, and she soon had it in hand.

  She struggled to unlock her cell, her numb fingers finding it hard to grip the keys. Finally, the key slid into place and she used all her remaining strength to turn it, relief written all over her face as the door finally swung open.

  She paused to listen for a cry of alarm, but the noise of the attack had been drowned out by the torture down the hallway. She grasped Gerald under the arms and began to pull, but she wasn't strong enough. She needed help, and by the sounds coming from the down the corridor, at least one of her friends was still alive.

  The wolf followed along as she made her way down the hall, past a series of empty cells. At the far end was an immense door, lit from within by a flickering light. It was from here the endless screams emanated. Anna took a deep breath, building the courage to open the door; there was nowhere else she could go.

  Ever so gently she pushed it open, peering around the edge, remaining as quiet as she could. The sight that met her eyes was gut-wrenching, for just inside was a pile of bodies, naked, heaped on top of each other. Levina's sightless face looked back at her; her eyes plucked from her body. It was as if the knight was staring directly into Anna's soul and the princess froze in fear.

  An unbearable scream brought her back, and she poked her head in farther to inspect the rest of the room. A bulky wooden construction lay in the middle, with someone strapped to it, face down. A tall, beefy man, obviously the torturer, bent over the body holding a heated poker, while a shorter thin man stood nearby, watching.

  "She didn't last long," the observer remarked. "You're getting impatient. I called it, that's three shillings you owe me."

  "I should have given her less elixir," the beast of a man confessed. "I think she died."

  "I thought it was supposed to keep them awake?" questioned his partner.

  "It is, but they can still die if they drink too much." He tossed his poker to the floor. "Give me a hand here; we'll toss it with the others, then the real fun will begin."

  His companion smiled, "The Fitzwilliam bitch? I've been waiting for this."

  "Come along, then; these bodies are heavier than they look."

  The two men began unstrapping their latest victim, Dame Abigail. Anna glanced to the side and noticed a wooden pillory with someone locked within. The red hair gave away the occupant's identity immediately; it was Beverly.

  Engrossed in their chore, the men had their backs to the doorway. The wolf glided past Anna, launching itself across the room. The torturer, catching a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye, turned as the beast attacked. Teeth sunk in the arm he used to defend himself, and he fell back onto the rack. The thin man backed up, confused by what was happening.

  Anna ran into the room, grabbed the poker and struck at the short one, the red-hot iron sinking into his head while the torturer struggled with the wolf. Anna pulled the poker free and ran toward the stock calling out the knight's name. Beverly was unresponsive, but Anna spotted the padlock that held the wooden boards in place. She dug in with the end of the poker and pried it upward, the metal snapping as the lock came loose.

  Freed from her imprisonment, Beverly fell backwards, collapsing to the floor with a groan. Anna came up beside her, slapping her face, desperately trying to get her to wake up.

  The red-headed knight shook her head, "Highness? Is that you?"

  "We have to get out of here, Beverly, we have to hurry."

  With the help of the princess, Beverly staggered to her feet. Behind them, the wolf bit into the torturer's arm, his screams now replacing those of his victims. A table full of instruments sat nearby, and the knight reached over and grabbed a knife, then stumbled over to the rack.

  The massive man had managed to throw off the wolf, sending it sailing through the air when Beverly stepped forward and drove the blade through their tormentor's chest. He looked down at the knife, buried to the hilt, while blood gushed from his mouth and then he fell backwards, onto the rack.

  Beverly staggered, barely able to stand, her body weak from the effort.

  "Bastard!" she yelled. "He killed all of them, wouldn't let them pass out."

  "What do you mean?" cried Anna. "How could he do that?"

  "He had some sort of drink he gave them. It kept them awake while he tortured them. It was horrific." She turned back towards Anna, "We have to get you out of here, Highness."

  "Wait, we have to help Gerald," she pleaded.

  "Gerald? Where is he?"

  "He's in my cell. He's unconscious; I couldn't move him, he's too heavy."

  Beverly rushed back to the table. "It's here somewhere; I saw him using it. Here it is." She pulled forth a small metal flask and shook it beside her ear. "It doesn't have much left. Let's hope it works for Gerald. Show me where he is."

  Anna led her back down the hallway to where her old friend lay. The knight tipped the contents of the flask down his throat, and a moment later he sputtered awake.

  "Anna?" he croaked.

  "I'm here, Gerald, and Beverly, too. We have to get out of here. Can you walk?"

  He nodded, and Beverly helped him to his feet.

  "Where do we go?" asked Anna. "I don't know where we are."

  "I do," said Beverly. "We're in the dungeons below the Palace. They exit through the barracks. If we can make it to the courtyard, we can escape through the sewers."

  "But we'll never make it through the barracks. There's bound to be lots of soldiers up there, and we haven't any weapons."

  Beverly looked at Anna and smiled grimly. "We have all the weapons we'll need, Highness. They stripped us of all our equipment after they brought us down here. There's a room the other side of the torture chamber chocked full of our gear.

  "Then we'll make them pay for this," uttered Anna.

  "No, Highness, not today. We're going to get you to safety. We'll make them pay eventually, but I swore an oath to protect you, and that's what I'm going to do. I won't have all those brave knights die, only for you to throw your life away."

  "But where shall we go? Henry controls the kingdom."

  "Then we'll leave the kingdom. Maybe we can go to the Darkwood or ask the Dwarves for help, but we'll worry about that later. Right now, we have to get you out of this dungeon."

  "You have to get her out of here," said Gerald, looking directly at Beverly. "Leave me, I'll just slow you down."

  "That's not going to happen," said Anna. "We're in this together, you and I. We started this friendship years ago at Uxley Hall, I won't let it end this way."

  He grasped her hands, "The future of the kingdom is at stake, Anna. Right now, you are the most important person in the land. I'm just a burned out old warrior who'll slow you down."

  "NO," she declared, "you're my friend, and I won't leave you here. Either we both get out, or we die here, together."

  He looked at Beverly for sympathy, but none was forthcoming.

  "I know better than to argue with the princess," she said. "We lost you at Bodden when you were wounded. I won't let us lose you again."

  "Fine," grumbled Gerald, "I see I'm outnumbered." He staggered out of the cell, using the walls to steady himself, looking up and down the corridor. "Which way do we go?"

  Anna smiled as the old fire began to burn in Gerald once more. "This way," she said.

  They made their way back to the torture chamber and soon found the armoury. Beverly was happy to see her armour and sword, though her hammer was missing. Anna helped Gerald pull his old chainmail shirt over his head and then strapped on her Dwarf blade. She partially drew it, examining the masterful workmanship. "I'm surprised they didn't take this," she said.

  "They likely didn't get around to it and why would they," said Beverly. "They must have taken it for a child's blade."

  "I have an idea," said Anna. "I know where we can hide once we get out of here. Before we exit the city, I mean."

  "Where?" asked Beverly.

  "Herdwin," she replied.

  "Where's that?"

  "It's not a where, it's a who. Herdwin is a Dwarf weaponsmith, a friend of Gerald's. He made this sword
. I'm sure he'd help us."

  "And you know where to find this Herdwin?"

  "I do," said Anna, "in the merchant district. But we'd have to move at nighttime, or we may be recognized."

  "Oh, I don't know," mused Beverly, "a red-haired woman, an old man and a young lady. Don't you see them everywhere?"

  "Can we get out of here," mumbled Gerald, "before I bleed to death?"

  "Yes, of course," said Anna. "Follow me."

  "What about the wolf?" asked Beverly.

  "He's gone now that Gerald's awake, just like in Loranguard," explained Anna. "We need to get moving. Lead on."

  Beverly took them through a second corridor on the other side of the torture chamber, which paralleled the first. It ended at a set of stairs that led upward.

  "I remember this from when I was brought here," said Beverly. "These stairs come up beneath the barracks."

  "Shouldn't there be more soldiers here?" asked Gerald. "It seems very lightly guarded."

  "I suspect," offered Anna, "that Henry doesn't want to advertise the fact that he's got me locked up. He's still hoping to convince me to support him."

  "That makes sense," added Beverly, "but there's bound to be lots of soldiers in the barracks."

  "What time of day is it?" asked Gerald. "I've lost track."

  "There's no way to tell," said Anna. "I suspect they would have fed us once a day at dinner time. That being said, it's likely the middle of the night."

  "Let's hope so," added Beverly. "We need the darkness to mask our escape."

  "How do you want to proceed?" asked Gerald.

  It was Anna that made the decision, "I think Beverly should go first. In her armour, she's less likely to stand out. She'll wave us through if it's safe."

  They proceeded up the stairs, coming to a solid wooden door. Beverly pressed her ear to it and listened.

  "I can hear voices," she whispered. "It sounds like someone's arguing over a game of cards, at least two people."

  "Let me go first," said Gerald. "It's dark, and they're less likely to recognize me."

  "Are you sure you're up to it?" asked Anna. "Your wounds..."

  "They're painful, but I can move. I think I have a better chance of getting close to them. Beverly, you charge in if anything goes wrong."

  Beverly was about to disagree, but Gerald opened the door, forestalling any further discussion. They were looking into a common room, the bottom floor of one of the barracks, where tables were scattered about, but only one was occupied. Four men, wearing quilted jackets, were swilling wine and playing cards; two of them argued over the rules as Gerald entered.

  "I say that a king of cups beats the queen of swords," a bald-headed man disputed.

  His companion, a dark-haired man with a bushy beard protested, his words slurred by his drink, "And I say all swords are high, I called it when we started."

  Gerald moved slowly toward them. At least one, the shortest, was dropping his head, the drink having got the better of him. The fourth, however, a tall, lanky individual, looked wide awake and Gerald silently cursed as the man looked directly at him.

  "Tell me, sir," the tall one said, in a friendly tone, "do swords trump cups?"

  Gerald hadn't the slightest idea. He had always found cards too annoying, preferring instead, the tossing of dice. Thinking it unwise to show his ignorance, he decided to bluff. "It depends," he said, "are you playing with Shrewesdale rules or do you prefer the Wincaster variant?"

  The two arguing men stopped squabbling to focus their attention on the newcomer.

  "What's the difference?" asked the bushy-bearded fellow.

  "In the Shrewesdale rules, the cups are more powerful."

  "Why would they do that?" asked the tall man.

  "Well," added Gerald, "it's a well-known fact that the Earl of Shrewesdale likes his wine, so naturally cups are high. On the other hand, in Wincaster the king rules and everyone knows the Order of the Sword reigns supreme."

  "There, you see?" said the bushy-bearded man, "I told you. We're all Knights of the Sword, so swords are trump." He sat back down, a smile of satisfaction on his face.

  "Glad to be of help," said Gerald. "Now, if you'll excuse me, we have a prisoner transfer coming up. I don't want to interrupt your game any more than we have already."

  "Nobody told us about a transfer," challenged the thin man.

  "It was a last moment decision; you know how Valmar is."

  The mention of the marshal-general's name brought the desired effect, and the man appeared satisfied.

  "Very well," offered the more sober knight. "Do you need some help?"

  "Managing a prisoner? I don't think so. I have a knight with me; I'm sure we can handle her."

  "Oh, a woman?" slurred the drunken man. "Anyone of import?"

  "One of the female knights," offered Gerald. "She's wanted at the Palace for some...special questioning."

  "I'm sure she is," the man spat out, laughing at his own words. "You'd best get going then; you don't want to keep them waiting at the Palace."

  "Yes, of course," added Gerald.

  He returned to the door, opening it to reveal Beverly and Anna. Having listened at the door, Beverly had donned a helmet and was holding Anna roughly by the arm.

  "Come along, then," bid Gerald, and Beverly pushed the princess forward.

  There was only mild interest from the card players as the trio made their way past the table. They were almost at the exit when the sober man spoke up. He had watched them as the cards were dealt and now, instead of looking at his cards, he was staring at Anna.

  "What's that on her waist?" he called out.

  Gerald cursed. In their haste, they had forgotten to remove Anna's sword. He stepped up to the man, his hand on the hilt of his weapon. "Pardon?" he said, buying time.

  "I said-"

  The words were permanently silenced when, in one smooth motion, Gerald drew his sword, slicing it across the knight's neck. It cut his throat, and the man's eyes bulged in incomprehension as he toppled from his chair.

  The rest of the group were suddenly scrambling. The drunken man staggered to his feet, but Beverly's blade sunk into his chest, felling him like a tree. The bald-headed knight fell backwards over his chair in his attempt to gain some distance from his attacker, giving Anna the time she needed to dart forward and pierce his stomach with her Dwarven sword. He groaned, grasping the wound as she withdrew the blade, blood gushing through his fingers as he tried in vain to stem the flow. He rolled to the side and lay clutching his wound as Anna struck again, this time finishing him off.

  The last man had backed up and now raised his hands as if in surrender. Beverly was about to strike but held her sword at his throat.

  "Sir Preston," she said. "It's been a long time since we were both inducted into the order."

  The knight's face showed surprise at her voice, "Dame Beverly? I heard you were dead."

  "Far from it," she responded. "I have no quarrel with you, Sir Preston. Give me your word that you will not raise the alarm and I will let you live."

  "I swear it," the knight vowed, "as Saxnor is my witness."

  "Can we trust him?" asked Gerald.

  "I believe so," said Beverly. "He has always been a man of his word."

  "Then let us be gone from here," said Gerald.

  "Farewell, Sir Preston," said Beverly. "Fortune is with you this day."

  Gerald opened the outer door to reveal the courtyard. He peered out into the darkness, allowing his eyes to adjust. "How do you know him?" he asked as Beverly came up beside him.

  "We were inducted into the Order of the Sword at the same ceremony. He was knighted for fighting Norlanders."

  "What can you see, Gerald?" interrupted Anna.

  "Not much, it's very dark."

  "You'll never get out the gate," called out Sir Preston. "There'll be guards on it."

  "Do you have a better idea?" asked Gerald.

  "Yes, there's a drain behind the well. Do you remember it, Beverly?"

  "I do," remarked Beverly. "Without it, the practice ground would flood out every time it rains."

  "Is it big enough to get through?" asked Gerald.

  "It'll be a tight squeeze in this armour," said Beverly, "but it drops into a larger drain. We should be able to follow it out of the Palace grounds."

  "I'll go first," said Beverly. "Scabbard your weapons, we don't want to draw attention."