Master of the Books Page 18

  ‘He didn’t,’ said Finn, moving to the window and taking a firm grip on the bar. It came away in his hand. ‘He must have worked it loose then put it back in place once he was through.’

  Nicola stepped up to the window and immediately put her hand to her mouth. ‘It’s so high. Did he have a rope?’

  ‘I doubt the gaoler would’ve given him one. No, he must have climbed across the wall.’

  ‘But if he’d fallen …’ said Nicola, still staring through the window.

  ‘He would have died on the rocks below. He didn’t fall though, did he? He was seen coming out of Lord Menidae’s room.’ Finn paused, obviously reluctant to say it. ‘You don’t think he really did …?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Marcel. ‘He had no reason to kill the wizard. It’s Damon he wants.’

  Talking about Fergus seemed to help Finn keep his mind off the gruesome threat that hung over his own neck. His body hadn’t forgotten though, because he began to move around the cell, unable to stop in one place for more than a few seconds. ‘Do you think he found a way out of Cadell? Gadfly, maybe, if he reached the stables …’

  ‘The guards would have seen Gadfly rise over the walls. Anyway, even if he did get to Gadfly, he couldn’t make her fly.’ Marcel held up the leather pouch that had remained forgotten in his pocket since their last visit to this cell.

  The morning wore on. They watched through the window as the sun climbed higher in the sky, knowing that Finn would be dead by the time it dipped below the horizon again. Marcel did his best to distract the young knight with talk of rescue until he saw that Nicola’s presence close at his side was what Finn needed most.

  He stayed quiet then for a long time, until, just before noon, the sombre silence was disturbed by distant cries from above them.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Nicola.

  The wild shouting came in through the window but also along the narrow passageway, as though the entire keep was in uproar, inside and out. Whatever the cause, it remained well away from the cells, but the screaming from men and women alike was enough to chill the blood of anyone who heard it.

  ‘A rebel attack?’ Marcel suggested.

  ‘No, we’d hear the clash of weapons if it was a battle.’

  Finn was right, there was no sound of steel against steel, although Marcel began to sense something just as menacing as the panic continued on the floors above them. ‘Something heartless and hungry for blood,’ he muttered, ‘and conjured by sorcery, I’m sure of it, like Ismar’s lightning.’

  He concentrated as best he could, but he was too far away and he didn’t trust his own magic enough to extend his senses outside the cell. Whatever was happening on the floors above, it was no threat to them down here, and after ten minutes the worst of the terror subsided. The desperate screams died away, replaced by wails of anguish and grief, as though family and friends had stumbled onto a battlefield after the fighting to find their loved ones.

  ‘It’s gone, the evil, whatever it was,’ said Marcel.

  ‘Gaoler, what happened up there?’ Finn called through the door.

  His plea was ignored and they went back to waiting. Every time a footstep was heard outside in the corridor Nicola jumped and clutched tightly onto Finn’s arm. The sun was on its way towards the horizon now; they would come for him before much longer.

  All too soon, voices started up close to the door. There was no mistake now: someone was talking to the gaoler about the prisoners.

  ‘No, they can’t take you,’ wailed Nicola when Finn stood up to watch the door open.

  ‘Marcel, come and help your sister,’ he said calmly.

  Help her! What could he do if the soldiers took away this man she cared so much about, so she never saw him again? There wasn’t any kind of help for such misery. He remembered how he had felt a year ago when Bea lay dying from an arrow’s wound. He’d begged fate to spare her, fought tears of despair and feared more than anything the emptiness that would hollow out his heart if she had died. Only at such moments do you learn how love has entered your soul.

  All three stood together as the door swung open and the gaoler stepped aside. Waiting in the corridor behind him wasn’t a sergeant-at-arms in charge of an escort party, but a face they knew well.

  ‘Are you sure you want to be alone with the prisoners, General Lorian?’ the gaoler asked.

  ‘Lock the door behind me,’ Damon answered bluntly. ‘I’ll call if I need you.’

  When the gaoler was gone, Damon was indeed alone and unarmed. All he carried in his hands was a sheet of paper, a quill and a pot of ink.

  ‘What was all the noise earlier today?’ Finn asked.

  ‘A taurine.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ snapped Marcel. ‘The taurine’s a creature of legend, half bull, half man. I’ve seen pictures in Lord Alwyn’s books, but they don’t really exist.’

  ‘They do if a sorcerer is skilled in transmogrification, it seems,’ Damon replied. ‘Ismar sent it, no doubt. It used a rope to scale the walls and killed any of my soldiers brave enough to stand against it. No arrow could pierce its hide, nothing would stop it. It raged through the keep, smashing doors open no matter how well barred they were. Finally, it reached the Gilded Hall where half the court were hiding, the snivelling cowards. One or two of the lords showed some courage and paid with their lives, while the rest fled, leaving the king alone. By the time I got there with my best fighters, the taurine had torn him to pieces.’

  ‘You mean King Osward is dead!’ said Finn.

  ‘Aren’t you pleased to hear it, Sir Finton? He ordered your execution this morning, after all. Now that he’s gone, you have a reprieve … of sorts.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means you won’t die before sundown as the dead king ordered.’

  ‘But I’m to die anyway, is that right?’

  Damon couldn’t resist a cruel smile. ‘Tomorrow, but you have a job to do first,’ he said, holding up the paper and the ink. ‘You’re going to write a confession.’

  ‘I haven’t done anything wrong.’

  ‘You let the boy out of this cell last night so he could kill Lord Menidae. Without the wizard’s powers to defend it, the city was vulnerable to magic and Ismar was able to send the taurine to kill King Osward. That’s why you did it.’

  ‘You know I had nothing to do with Lord Menidae’s death,’ Finn protested. ‘I was here near the cells in case you tried to kill Fergus.’

  ‘That’s not what you’ll write on this paper. You’ll detail the entire plot, confessing your own guilt. Do as I say and these two will be on their way back to Pelham by the time you die. Refuse and they’ll go with you to meet the executioner.’

  Marcel saw the resignation in Finn’s face. ‘Don’t do it,’ he said. ‘If you write a confession, you’re just making it easy for him to kill you.’

  ‘He’s going to have me killed anyway, Marcel. At least this way you two can return to your father. If Fergus managed to get out of Cadell, maybe he’ll make it safely to Elster as well. It’s the price I have to pay, and your father would expect me to pay it.’

  ‘No, he’d find another way,’ Nicola insisted. She grabbed at the quill Damon was offering to Finn, but Damon was too quick for her and snatched it out of her grasp.

  ‘Nicola, there’s no other way,’ Finn said in a voice that was at once as hard as flint and as soft as a kiss.

  The girl threw herself into the corner of the cell, too distraught even to cry. Finn accepted the quill and the ink and finally the single page Damon had brought with him. The cell fell silent except for the busy scratching of the nib across the paper. All too soon it was done.

  ‘Gaoler, I’m finished here,’ Damon called as he took the paper from Finn’s hand.

  ‘I don’t want to go, I want to stay here in the cell,’ said Nicola.

  Damon broke into a laugh. ‘So you shall. Keep a good watch on them,’ he said to the gaoler. ‘You don’t want to deny the exe
cutioner his victims.’

  ‘Victims?’ the gaoler said in surprise. ‘King Osward’s orders were for just the young knight to die.’

  ‘King Osward is dead,’ said Damon as he stepped into the passageway. ‘I’m in charge of Cadell now and tomorrow morning I want to see all three of those heads dangling from the battlements.’

  CHAPTER 18

  Beneath the Citadel

  AFTER THE LAZY SOLDIER had stopped a proper search of the tunnels, Fergus had settled into his hideaway beneath the keep, glad to be alive after such a perilous escape. He’d wedged his back against the cold wall and dozed through the rest of that first night. Despite the darkness and his aching hand, he awoke to the joy of freedom, which stayed with him until his stomach began to make enquiries about breakfast.

  Since there was no light he couldn’t tell night from day, but he judged it to be well into the afternoon when the hunger overcame his fear of being discovered and he began to search the tunnels for something to eat. If they led to storage rooms as he’d first suspected then … But they didn’t.

  From time to time he heard faint noises echoing through the maze of passageways and occasionally he could pick out a human voice. If more soldiers had been sent to search for him, they were as lazy as the first. What he did hear, frequently, was the scurrying of rats. There were plenty down here. One had brushed against his hand earlier as he felt his way forward. He shuddered at the memory. If only he had a torch, but then the light would give him away as surely as if he’d started singing at the top of his voice. Later, he slept with his back against the hard stone for another night, a dry mouth now adding its complaints to those of his empty stomach.

  When he woke after that second sleep, he had only one aim: to find food and water before this refuge became his tomb. He widened his search, careful at every turn to stay deep in the tunnels, away from the roughly cut stairs that led upwards into the keep. He’d moved a long way from his first hiding place when the unmistakable murmur of voices reached his ears. Soldiers! A search party! He pressed his hands against the rock, feeling his way back along the passage, but stopped when his palms picked up an odd sensation … a sharp thud vibrating through the rock, followed quickly by another, and soon after another.

  Fergus turned back in the direction of the muffled voices. He waited, straining his ears for the slightest sound. Five minutes passed. The voices hadn’t come any closer. Perhaps it wasn’t a troop of soldiers sent to find him, but workmen digging more tunnels through the rock.

  Workmen needed food, didn’t they? Although his mind remained cautious, the rest of his body was more daring. He soon found himself drawn along the passage until he saw the first dancing light of a torch playing along the walls and the dull thuds he’d felt through the rock became the sharp impact of steel on stone.

  He moved closer still, until a peek round a corner let him see a man’s back. He could tell from the grunts and curses that there were four men at least, taking turns with a pick. He wasn’t here to count them though. He dared another look but didn’t see any food left conveniently unattended for him to steal. Only one passage led to the digging and if he went any further along it he would certainly be seen. After twenty minutes he backed away in frustration. The men must go back up into the keep at nightfall to eat and sleep. He settled himself to wait in a side tunnel until they were gone and he could search their work site for scraps they might have cast aside.

  Hunger was playing cruel tricks on him now. He thought he smelled bread. Hey, wait a minute, he almost said aloud, he could smell bread. Rousing himself, he let his nose direct his feet until he caught the last hints of a light disappearing deeper into the tunnels beneath the keep. Someone was bringing food to the workmen he’d spied earlier. He followed the light with no plan in mind, just the wild hope that he’d get something to eat.

  The digging stopped when the workmen saw the light coming along the tunnel. ‘Is that you, Eustace?’ one of them called.

  ‘Sergeant Eustace to you lot,’ growled the visitor.

  Unseen by any of the men, Fergus settled into the same place he’d stopped before, stealing a look when he dared.

  ‘How much longer?’ asked the sergeant.

  ‘We broke through just now — a hole the size of your fist. You can see the daylight for yourself.’

  ‘Good,’ the sergeant said. ‘There’s a bonus for you in gold once the hole is big enough for a man to walk through.’

  This news brought a murmur of approval from the weary voices and they each began to guess how long before they’d claim the reward. A couple thought that very day, the rest a day longer. Fergus heard every word and realised that one of the voices seemed familiar. That was odd. He put the thought aside to concentrate on what they’d said. They were breaking through the rock to the outside. That seemed strange, too. When he’d first fled into the tunnels, he was on the northern side of the rocky hill that supported the citadel. Now, though, he was pretty sure he was on the eastern side, towards the ocean. Why would King Osward order a tunnel dug out to a place the rebels could reach as easily as his own soldiers?

  The visitor left the men to their meal and went to inspect the digging. ‘Make sure it’s wide enough,’ he ordered. ‘No use if men in armour can’t fit through without getting jammed.’

  Men in armour! That was the answer then. Osward’s soldiers were planning a surprise. When the rebels began their assault on the city walls, a brave band of Cadell’s men were going to slip out through this opening, make their way along the water’s edge and attack them from the side. Brilliant. Fergus forgot his hunger for a moment as he marvelled at the audacious tactic. If not for his broken hand, he’d join them and fight his first real battle.

  The sergeant kicked at the loose stones around his feet and said, ‘Be sure to carry this rubble back into those tunnels I saw branching off to the side. When our men come through, we don’t want them tripping over it on their way up into the keep.’

  At first, Fergus thought he’d misunderstood. Up into the keep. Had he really heard those words? But they were too fresh in his mind to deny. This tunnel wasn’t meant for soldiers charging down from the citadel, but in from the outside. What had he uncovered here? Who were these men? Did anyone up in the citadel even know they were here, except for the grim-voiced sergeant?

  His mind reeling, Fergus finally recalled where he’d heard that voice before: it was the ‘lazy’ soldier. He hadn’t stopped the search because he couldn’t be bothered; he’d done it to make sure the digging remained a secret.

  The sergeant was saying his goodbyes. Fergus quickly backed away, only to step on the tail of a rat, which squeaked in protest.

  ‘What’s that?’ the sergeant said.

  ‘Just a rat,’ one of the workers answered. ‘We hear ‘em all the time.’

  The sergeant was more cautious, however, and before Fergus could escape far enough into the darkness, the shout came from behind him: ‘There’s someone in the tunnel, listening to us. Quick, stop him, or we’re all done for.’

  Fergus was fast, but these men were hardened soldiers and, more important still, they were desperate. To add to his problems, they had a light and he didn’t. He had to grope ahead with his one good hand and this slowed him down. They were on his heels in no time.

  If he couldn’t outpace them then he must turn and fight. Now! he shouted in his head and taking the enchanted sword in his left hand he swivelled his body in the cramped confines of the tunnel, just in time to deflect a vicious swipe of a pickaxe. Sparks exploded from the steel and only Tilwith’s magic stopped the sheer force of the blow wrenching the weapon from his hands.

  Fergus was outnumbered, five men against a boy, but as he staggered backwards, struggling to stay on his feet, he saw that only one of them could fight him at a time. The first had come armed only with the pickaxe and in the narrow space it was cumbersome. Even using his left hand, Fergus was at an advantage and he used it ruthlessly, thrusting deftly at the man’s hands be
fore he could swing the pick again.

  ‘Agh, the little rogue’s cut me.’

  ‘Here, let me at him,’ said the next in line, but the awkward way he tried to climb over the injured man would have made Fergus laugh if he hadn’t been fighting for his life. The new assailant was left facing backwards for an instant, and before he could turn and begin the fight he received a rude poke in the bottom with the enchanted sword. It wasn’t a mortal wound but enough to spill blood through the seat of his pants.

  The tunnel exploded with the worst swearing Fergus had ever heard, but there was now a man on his knees with a hand clutched to his backside and behind him another nursing an injured hand. Fergus took off into the darkness and this time the men couldn’t chase him, not at first anyway.

  ‘I have to warn them up in the citadel,’ he said out loud, and there was only one way.

  Staying ahead of the light and using the map of the tunnels that had gradually built up in his head, he climbed darkened steps, ran, then climbed again until light from different torches reflected onto the wall around him. He hurried up through the same stairwell that had given him entry into the tunnels, only to find a startled girl staring at him in disbelief.

  ‘It’s him, the escaped prisoner!’ she shouted, and dropping a bundle of laundry at her feet, she backed away, screeching for help.

  Moments later two guards pounded down the steps and circled warily around him. Fergus tossed his sword onto the ground. ‘Take me to the king. I have important news.’

  ‘The king is dead,’ said one of the soldiers. ‘General Lorian is in charge now and he wants you dead.’

  ‘A dozen gold coins,’ said the other. ‘Come on, let’s finish him before anyone else gets here and wants a share of the reward.’

  Fergus backed away, each step taking him further from the sword he’d foolishly dropped in surrender. ‘You don’t understand, there are men down in those —’

  He didn’t have time to finish as the first of the soldiers lunged at him with the tip of his sword. Only his deft reflexes saved Fergus from instant death. He wouldn’t be so lucky a second time. One soldier was circling around to his side, while the other blocked any escape towards the corridor. He was done for.