Dragon Heartstone > Chapter 27–Prisoners

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The stench of stale ale and unwashed bodies permeated the narrow, wood-paneled inn corridor. A rusted door hinge squealed as Larah was thrust into a small, dim room reeking of mildew and desperation. Coronados dumped her onto a coarse woolen bed, its rough fabric scratching against her skin. Her wrists burned where thick hemp ropes bit into her flesh, each movement sending sharp pain through her muscles. She twisted, testing her bonds, but the knots were intricate and unyielding.

Coronados chuckled from behind her. “That won’t do you any good, little thing. I’m an expert at tying knots. You have to be if you have one of these.” She turned to look, and he waved his hook.

“What do you want with me? I have nothing.”

“Ah,” Coronados replied. “But you’re wrong.” He reached over and lifted her chin. “You’ll fetch a pretty penny on the slave market.”

Heartbeat pounding in her ears, she snarled, “Ignis lingua [Mouth flame].” Flame shot out of her mouth and enveloped his arm. The sudden heat sizzled fabric, filling the room with acrid smoke.

Something heavy and metallic struck the top of her head. Blinding pain exploded behind her eyes. Water splashed on the floor as a sizzle sailed through the air. She opened her eyes as Coronados leaped on her with a short dark cord in his hand. Thrashing her head from side to side, she fought his efforts to put the rope over her head. She lunged upward as it slipped over her ears, but the room swam momentarily as the loop slipped around her neck.

Her mind dug for a forbidden spell. “Finis Vit—” The rope constricted where it dug into her flesh and burned like molten iron. Each breath became a struggle, her throat constricting.  “Get it off, get it off,” she rasped.

Coronado rolled off the bed and stared warily, eyes wide and face flushed. “Well, that should take care of your tricks for now.” He pulled a knife and flipped her over.

Between gasps, she sobbed. Death was preferable to this torment. The bonds holding her wrists together gave way. She immediately grabbed the cord, but again, pain shot through her neck and into her fingertips. Struggling for breath, she rolled onto her back. “What did you put on me?”

He glared with malice in his eyes. “A Witch’s Noose. It’ll negate your magic. You won’t be casting any of your nasty spells as long as you wear it. Better yet, you won’t be able to remove it without my permission.”

“Bastard,” Larah moaned, as her throat still throbbed. Coronados grinned, but it suddenly disappeared off his face.

As she wondered about the sudden change of mood, something wet trickled across her forehead. She reached up and touched it. Pulling her fingers away, she found them covered with blood. “You scratched me with that hook of yours.”

“Well, that’s what happens when you try to light someone on fire,” Coronados groused. He grabbed a washcloth, dipped it in water, and attempted to dress her wound.

Instead, she snatched it out of his hand and treated it herself.

He frowned. “I can’t sell you looking like that.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” she spat back at him.

“No matter,” he replied, nonplussed. “You’ll heal. In the meantime, you’ll get to enjoy my company.”

“What makes you think I won’t run away when you fall asleep.”

“Who says I need to worry?” he said, with too comfortable a smile. He stood and flung the door open. “Go ahead. Try.”

Larah stared for a moment. Then, despite the warning from her mind, she shot up from the bed and raced out of the room. Her neck exploded in red-hot agony. She fell to the floor, writhing in pain, hands digging at the cord.

Coronados stood over her, a predator’s smile playing across his lips. “Some chains,” he murmured, “can’t be seen. The noose won’t let you get more than a few feet away from me. Come back when you’re ready.” He disappeared back inside.

She rolled over, clawed her way upright, and stumbled over to the bed. “That was a dirty trick.”

“Should I have warned you?” he asked with a smirk. “Perhaps, but you probably would not have believed me anyway, so it is for the best.”

She glared at him. “I could try to kill you.”

He looked at her directly, “You could try. If you succeed, you’ll be stuck with that noose around your neck forever, and if you fail, I will punish you.”

“How?” she asked.

He grinned in a way that sent shivers down her spine.

* * *

The ceiling of his cell looked like it was alive, or so Vig imagined, since it was honeycombed with cracks and spiders. He was familiar with it by now, having studied it since being dragged from the ambush site. The stupid horse dumped him on his head, and the next thing he knew, he was here. Thank goodness dwarves had hard heads. Otherwise, he might be in a shallow grave. Noises came from the door but refused to look in that direction. The barred window was too high for him to see through anyway, and besides, the guards did nothing but ask if he liked rat flesh because that was all he was going to get to eat.

The barred window opened. “Pssst,” came a sound.

Vig looked up and saw a hand extending through the bars, motioning him closer. Jumping to his feet, he ran over.

“It’s Ulrich. I’m going to open the door,” a deep voice whispered. With several clicks, it swung open.

Vig popped through it and stepped over the crumpled forms of the guards, both of whom had their throats slashed. He looked up at Ulrich, dressed in a guard uniform.

“Nice work,” Vig whispered. “How did you find me?”

“There aren’t many dwarves in the dungeon,” Ulrich replied. “We haven’t much time. Follow me.” Together, they made their way up several back stairs and into a dark alleyway. “Stay with me. We have to move fast to get you out of the city.”

Vig grabbed his shoulder. “I can’t go without Larah.”

Ulrich shook his head, “You can’t stay. As a dwarf, you will draw attention to yourself. Besides, the Grand Council has its thugs combing the streets. You will be very sorry if they get their hands on you.”

“Okay, you convinced me. But I will try to get help wherever I can find it.”

“Please do,” Ulrich said. “These are dark times for my people.”

Vig nodded.

Ulrich turned and loped quickly across the street into the shadows of the city’s outer wall. Poor Vig followed as fast as his short legs would move. They squatted in the shadows, scanning the area around the gate. “There are too many guards. We will have to go over the top.”

Vig groaned. “I was afraid you would say that. Where’s the nearest tower?”

“This way,” Ulrich replied, and he started moving slowly in a crouched position, away from the gate, toward a small building set next to the outer wall. A barred door stared down at them. Ulrich tried the handle but found it locked. He dug into a tunic, produced a skeleton key, and put it into the lock, but despite several tries, the key would not turn.

“Filth! They must have changed the locks.”

“Step aside, son,” Vig replied, gently pushing Ulrich aside. Reaching inside his tunic, he pulled a small leather-bound pouch and laid it on his leg. Short, stubby fingers passed over, selected several long, very thin metallic instruments, and inserted them into the keyhole. With small, precise movements, he moved the tools around, and with a loud click, the door popped open.

Ulrich patted him on the back. “That was impressive. Where did you learn that?”

“You would be amazed to what extent people try to protect their liquor. Over time, I’ve learned to unlock just about anything.”

He stepped through and let Ulrich pass up a twisting set of stairs, which wound up the castle wall. They climbed, their breath echoing in the cold, drafty tower staircase for several minutes. Finally, they reached the top of the stairs. A door opened onto the parapet of the curtain wall. Ulrich flattened against the frame and peeked around the corner. After examining the catwalks running along the crenulated edge of the wall, he quickly uncoiled some rope from his shoulder and unspooled about ten feet. “Take this end, tie it to your belt, and I’ll lower you over the edge.”

“Is there no other way of doing this?”

“What’s the matter? You are afraid of heights?”

“No, just falling from them. Dwarves don’t bounce very well.”

Ulrich smiled. “Nor do humans, but this is the only way if you want to be outside the city walls. It’s anyone’s guess when the city gates will re-open to let people out again.”

Vig finished tying off the end and glanced out the doorway. “No one is looking.” He took off at a run and slipped over the edge of the wall, letting the rope play out behind him. The wind whipped past for a moment, and the ground sailed upward. The cord went taut with a sudden, sickening twang, jerking him backward, heavily against the wall. The rough stone scraped his hands and face, and the tension on the rope left him dangling in the night breeze. He grabbed the rope and gave it two yanks. It began to slide initially, and then he dropped a few feet at a time. He pulled his feet in and planted them on the wall’s surface, walking backward as quickly as possible. Glancing over his shoulder, he noted that he had made it halfway to the ground. Yet, there were twenty feet to go. The rope went still, and he waited. It jiggled and swayed but still did not move. He reached up and gave the cord another yank, waited a few seconds, and gave it another.

Looking up, he saw someone looking over the top of the wall. He dared not call out, for the noise would alert the guards to his presence. To his surprise, a shout drifted toward him, and he looked up again to see something falling toward him, growing larger by the second. He quickly flattened against the wall as the shape flew past, the breeze tugging at his clothes. A metallic thump rose from the ground. He turned and looked down to see a large form sprawled out, helmet askew, and blood surrounding it. He looked up to see Ulrich giving him a thumbs-up sign. Soon, the rope began moving again, and his feet touched the ground within moments. Untying the rope, he gave it three yanks, and it quickly slid up the wall again. In a rush, he ran over to the dead guard, grabbed a short sword off the body, and waved up to Ulrich.

Ulrich returned the gesture and disappeared off the wall.

Shouts rang out from nearby towers, and lamp lights appeared along the parapets, throwing beams of light chaotically around the battlements and out into the darkness at the foot of the wall. But Vig knew it was too late as he disappeared into the shadows, legs pumping frantically. A small patch of trees stood near the north road ahead of him. For all the times he had wished otherwise, he silently begged for a horse to ride.