Liberty - Escape from Rel Mord

They had said nothing as they beat him senseless, but they did not have to say anything. Kyros knew why he had been hauled from his bed in the early hours of the morning and beaten to unconsciousness. The last person he saw told him all - Zladarov Halstus.

As he sucked in his cheeks, trying to get some spit into his mouth, he tasted nothing but blood. His face was swollen badly and every inch of his body ached. His left eye was so badly swollen as to be closed, and it took him some time to get to his bare feet without falling over. He was still in his nightshirt, which was dark red in patches from his own blood.

He was in a stinking dungeon, without any windows, in the darkest recesses of some castle or gaol, no doubt. As he slowly checked himself over, he found hope. They had made a foolish mistake, undoubtedly from ignorance at his newfound profession. He kissed his holy symbol and sat down again to pray.

Captain Halstus's gloating smile said it all, and he stepped out from behind his desk to confront Kyros as he was carried in by the two guards. He could walk fine, but leaned his full weight onto the men as though his legs were unsteady. He stumbled as they entered the room, almost sending the three of them to the floor, but the guards held him after a few staggering steps.

"Greetings, spy! You honestly did not think I would forget you, Sablefist?" Halstus said as he came closer. "I am not likely to, after you led my men to the slaughter in that ambush you arranged for us, am I?"

Kyros glanced momentarily at the scar below the Captain's left brow which he had, disguised as a Nyrondese scout, given him as the ambush began. He could feel the guards' discomfort and tiredness at having to bear his weight.

"You will never know how much I regret those days!" Kyros said, honestly.

Halstus's face darkened and he stepped closer to Kyros, menacingly.

"I am not likely to believe that from the treacherous coward who gave me this!" he growled, pointing to his scar. "I am only sorry that you do not look so badly beaten as I had hoped. We will have to remedy that."

It was time.

"Olidamarra forgive me for what I am about to do," he muttered to himself, "but I will not hang for my past."

"What did you say, wretch?" Halstus demanded, stepping up to Kyros's face.

"I said," Kyros said, lifting his face up to stare Halstus in the eyes, "have another one to match it!"

For a split second, Kyros saw from the look on Halstus's face that he understood what was about to happen. But it was too late!

In a blur that left the guards standing, Kyros struck him full in the face with the dagger he had taken from the guard as he 'stumbled' entering the room. The blade bounced off his right cheekbone and up across his eye and forehead before the Captain could shield himself. Kyros did not wait to see the injuries, as he quickly turned, pushing one guard to the floor and running to the door as the other stood there, stunned at what had occurred. As he ran out, slamming the door behind him, he heard Halstus scream.

Along the corridor and to the left he ran, onto the spiral staircase he had seen on his way up. He did not like the option he had chosen for escape, but it was his only hope of getting out of the castle. He ran up, his body still aching despite the healing spells he had cast, hearing a commotion below as he reached the end of the stairs. Opening the heavy wooden door there, he stepped out onto the the tower's roof.

Rel Mord lay before him, and he instantly knew where he was - Gaston Keep, on the outer wall of the city. And as he stared behind him and below, looking at the huge moat that surrounded the city, fed by the Duntide River, he knew that unfortunately his plan had succeeded and it was time to do it.

As he jumped off the battlements of the round tower, he heard guards clattering up the stairs behind him. His stomach lurched as he dropped, and it seemed to be an eternity in falling. Then there was the cold shock of hitting the water, confusion as he was swept downstream, and he struggled with all his might to surface for air.

For over a week he had been scavenging on the outskirts of the Celadon, sometimes sneaking in to pilfer food and other necessities from the village of Dunmalcolm, near to Woodwych.

He had come there, travelling down the Duntide after stealing a rowing boat at Sterford, as he knew he would get help. Fearran Wolff, Lord of Woodwych, was a friend of his, and would never refuse or betray him. A succesful adventurer and respected Captain of the King's Light Horse, Wolff was well known in Rel Mord, and a hero of the common people for his exploits in the Bone March.

What was not well know was that three years beforehand he had united the Rel Mord thieves guilds, then at war with each other, into a strong council that had now expanded to control the guilds in Innspa, Oldred, Beetu and Woodwych, of course. They operated publicly as a 'gentleman's club' in the richer Westerhold area, the 'Order of the Twilight Star', and had many Nyrondese nobles, officers and other gentry were members of the exclusive club. As they wined and dined, unknown to them, upstairs the criminal decisions of almost an entire nation were being made.

He would not let him down.

As usual, Kyros waited by the forest's edge, near to the ruined vitrified fort of strange, black roc, about a mile from the village. The fort was eerie, and so far as he knew of this area nobody knew who had inhabited it, or when. But Sectram, Wolff's castellan and guildmaster of Woodwych, had told him to wait there.

That night, as dusk turned to dark, he was relieved to see the agreed signal - a lit lantern at the front gate. He waited ten minutes until the light failed, then crept up the hill to the gate, keeping to the shadows. Picking up the lantern, he entered the fort, heading for single black column in the centre of the fort where the messenger was to wait. Sure enough, he was there.

"Kyros, my friend!" the man said in hushed tones, pulling down his cloak's hood as he approached.

It was Wolff himself!

They grasped hands in greeting, then Wolff led him silently out of the fort, to the forest, albeit to the north this time. There, two fine horses awaited them, and he could see one was packed with his belongings. Wolff was renowned for the strange breed of horses he kept - three-times winners of the Rel Mord challenge race, the first with him as rider, he would not sell or breed the 'Rasgael' horses for anything.

They mounted, and rode along a forest track where, in a clearing they came upon a shuttered-up house, of surprisingly new construction. They dismounted, and led the horses to a stable at the rear, before entering by the locked rear door. Locking it behind them, Wolff beckoned Kyros into the living room.

He lit two lanterns, then fetched a decanter and goblets from a bureau, sitting on a comfortable couch. Kyros could see the place was expensively decorated.

"My summer home," he explained, pouring their drinks. He was not speaking quietly, and seemed totally at ease.

Kyros downed his brandy - after a week in the forest he needed it. He did not ask Wolff where he had obtained Keoish Blue - he did not need to!

"Are we safe?" he asked as he sat down his goblet.

"My men have secured the area," he said, pouring more brandy into Kyros's goblet. "They've been on us since the fort. Nobody will trouble us here. Why, Count Patrick himself hid here when there was a plot to kill him."

Kyros hadn't seen or heard any sign of persons following them, but he would not have expected such from the men Wolff trusted. He loved the irony of Wolff's deep friendship with Patrick, the King's oldest brother. Patrick was in charge of Nyrondese intelligence, and he had to wonder whether the Count knew of Wolff's involvements.

"All your equipment from your house, plus some money, is on the horse. Alenna recovered them before the soldiers raided it again. Take Kaidaw, the horse, and you'd better ride him to the other side of the Flanaess my friend, there is a large reward for your head!"

Kyros was stunned - take one of Wolff's horses? Wolff must have known what he was thinking from his expression.

"So long as you do not sell him, or breed of him, he is yours," he said, smiling. "It was him that I won the race on, and I would charge you to take the best of care with his upkeep, for I have a feeling that you will need his speed and strength in the coming months.

"Stay here tonight, my friend. Tomorrow at dusk, set off for Leukish where you will find a friend of mine at the Blue Griffon Inn. He goes by the name of Thorne - just tell him I sent you and he will let you stay there a few days. After that, you are on your own."