SWNOVELS Court of Ice and Ash: Chapter 8
head of a ramshackle table made from boards and stones. The clearing was damp, cold, and concealed the prison wall from view. The quarries were nothing more than a labor mine. Nothing of import was buried in this earth. Good stone for building, but no gold, no copper, no silver for shim. I’d always wanted to know why the kings of Timoran bound Night Folk here. Did hard labor squelch their fury? Or were they tortured out of spite?
Since being in Ruskig, there were enough rumors I could guess kings experimented with fury in the quarries. Through torture and manipulation, they tried to take a gods-given gift for themselves.
Valen had been trapped here once. Younger then, but he’d watched his family be slaughtered. As a Bender, doubtless King Eli tried to take the Night Prince’s fury.
I closed my eyes against the pain he must’ve suffered.
Sweat and death masked the blooming moonvane around us. It turned my stomach in sick knots.
I paced behind the wall of men huddled around the table, leaning forward as Ari spread out a weathered map of the fury quarries. Their bulky shoulders blocked most of my view, but I couldn’t stop moving.
Did I trust the scouts on the ridge well enough to sound an alarm if anything unusual happened at the prison?
Yes. Mattis was one of them. Yes. I could trust them.
No matter how many times I repeated it, I couldn’t stop pacing.
“Berger, tell them what you told me,” Ari said.
A thick man with his beard split in two and tied with the teeth of a wild dog replaced Ari at the head. An Ettan, and a fearsome one at that. I knew little about him other than he was one of Ari’s spies and had knowledge of the inner workings of the quarries.
Berger pointed to a spot on the map. “Three times a day this door opens by the prison serfs and two guards. They keep it concealed by a wall and alcove to protect the natural spring. It is where they gather fresh water.”
“How many serfs?” Ulf asked.
“No more than five. Unarmed. Usually women.”
“That means nothing. Women can be fierce,” Siv said, crossing her arms over her chest.
Berger hardly glanced at her. “The guards will be armed, but they are grunts. And I have doubts they look closely at the faces of the serfs. This, My King, this is where you send them inside.”
Ari’s eyes flicked up from the map to me. He curled his fingers, calling me to his side. I didn’t want to obey, for it made his head too large, but pacing was doing nothing but heating my blood.
“Elise, you will need to cross to this alcove,” Ari said. “You’re willing? Capable? Bored? Tell me your thoughts.”
I followed his finger on the map. The door wasn’t marked, nor the spring. Simply a wall. If Berger was mistaken, we’d be out in the open with no way to get inside. Still, there weren’t a lot of options when sneaking into a guarded quary. “It is a good plan. A good way in.”
“It is,” Berger said. “Inconspicuous.”
“How will you fare at the main gates?” I asked.
Ari grinned and slapped a hand against one of the round shields. “There is always a risk when one is used as the bait, but we will be fine, Kvinna.”
“If you two do your part,” Ulf said with a grunt. “You will be the ones to signal us away.”
“How does it feel, Ulf?” Siv asked snidely. “Knowing your life is in the hands of a Timoran and—what was it you called me—a treacherous witch?”
Ulf narrowed his gaze. “My faith is not in you; it is in King Ari. This is his plan, and I will hold to that.”
“Yes, I am rather impressed with it myself,” Ari said. By now, I was keen enough to recognize he covered disquiet with humor and a witty tongue. His eyes had darkened and gave away his unease. “And even if none of my men feel the same, I hold enough faith in you, Elise and Siverie, for the lot of us.”
“Unless we leave you to be captured. It is a good opportunity to be rid of you, after all.” I said, grinning.
“Very true.” Ari stepped closer and lowered his voice. “But I know you are concerned for the Shade who was taken. I don’t understand it all, but I trust you will not jeopardize him. Besides, I have the key for the bindings he is surely wearing, so I urge you not to leave me to rot. I was not born to be in a prison cell. I’m too intriguing.”
My smirk faded. Now was not the time to speak untruths. “You’re right, I do care. About more than the Shade. I will not betray you.”
“There, you see.” Ari faced his men. “Good enough for me.” Ulf snorted his disapproval, but Frey winked at me as Ari reached for one of the shields. “Make ready, then. We have a gate to breach.”
Siv and I covered in long cloaks and hoods, then waited while a unit of the clan gathered shields and made a box formation.
Ari barked commands to ease into a synchronized forward march. I crouched beside Siv and watched the Agitators lift the shields in a wall on the sides, the front, and overhead. It was an old strategy. One used by Timorans and Ettans alike. Walls of shields and bodies gave a charging unit the chance to advance with few casualties.
With Night Folk using fury to manipulate the senses of nearby guards, they might be unbreakable.
Ari wasn’t the true king, but he was as wise and strategic as any noble I’d known.
The instant they broke the tree line a bellow of horns signaled the warning of the assault. Through limbs and brambles, Ravenspire guards sprinted at the top of the gates, archers tipped arrows over the ledge, and shouts broke the melancholy of the quarries.
“We need to hurry,” Siv said.
Together, we darted through the tall, dry grass toward the gate. The slats weren’t wide enough to slip through, but before we gathered in the forest some of the Agitators had split a post in two, so it could part and open enough for us to slip inside.
I ran one palm down the beams until a board slipped out of place, and my hand shot through the hole. “Siv, here.”
I held up the board and Siv went in first. Two watch towers at our backs were empty. Ari’s distraction had pulled the guards away as planned. With no eyes on us, we sprinted for the spring wall.
At the corner of the prison, shadows from torches gave away approaching ravens. My legs ached. The mud swallowed my boots.
Reach the wall.
We had no other choice. I pushed harder, faster, feet sliding on the refuse of the quarries. Shadows grew. Shouts rang in my ears. At the final step, I lunged behind the wall and hit hard enough the jolt shot down my spine.
I didn’t breathe.
A unit of ravens appeared in the very spot we’d been with blades raised, racing for the front gates.
My knees wanted to give out, but I forced each step. The wall created a type of alleyway that sloped toward the trickle of water. I removed my dagger, held up a hand for Siv, and together we crept toward the sound.
Women in plain wool skirts kneeled at the edge of a clear pool. They filled wooden buckets, one hummed a sad tune, and no one noticed our approach.
My breath locked in my chest, and as I released it, I hooked an arm around the neck of the nearest serf. Before she could make a sound, I clapped a hand over her mouth. The others let out shrieks until Siv pointed her bow at them, one by one.
“Do not speak a word,” I hissed against the woman’s ear. “Two of you must give us your skirts and pails, then run for the north gate. there is an opening. In the trees you shall find your folk, Ettans. Be free with us, or you may scream for your guards, and we will kill you.”
The woman trembled beneath my grip.
“Anyone wish to scream?” Siv asked, low and dark, her arrow aimed at the four remaining serfs.
No one moved. They hardly breathed.
“I’ll take my hand away,” I told the woman in my grip. “But I leave the point of my blade in your back. Undress. Quickly.”
Siv gathered another serf who was near her own height. The woman whimpered, but obeyed. We hurried to swap our robes with their skirts.
“You other three will lead us to your guards. Remain with us and you will be free this night as well.”
One serf nodded with more conviction. A bit of light returned to her dark eyes as I turned to the two we’d traded with, and shoved them in the direction of the broken fence post. I gathered the abandoned pails the moment the iron door slammed against the stone wall.
“Get a move on it,” said a tall, brutish sort of raven. He hocked a brown glob at one of the serf’s feet, then gnawed on a frayed twig. A hunger in his gaze brought a bit of bile to my mouth.
Ulf guessed right. The guards never glanced at our faces; their lust was pointed elsewhere. Just as well, neither guard recognized two of their serfs hid rune paint underneath dirt smudges and ash.
Inside the quarry prison, the air was heady with mold and rot. But the hum of fury shot a thrill in my heart. How many Night Folk were locked away in here? Releasing more would be a good strategy Ari ought to consider if he ever planned to take Castle Ravenspire.
“Go.” A guard shoved me from behind. I stumbled up a set of stairs, spilling some of the water. He gripped my hair and wrenched my neck back. “Sloppy little whore. Now you’ve gone and made a mess.”
The guard tightened his grip, forced me to my knees, and pressed my face a hairsbreadth away from the puddle.
“Lick it up.”
“Knut,” the second guard said. “There is no time. The gates.”
Knut seemed to care little about the front gates. His fingers tangled deeper into my braid. My jaw tightened. My fingers walked down the length of my waist, reaching for the dagger sheathed to my leg.
The raven’s hot breath touched my neck. “I said lick it up. Like a dog.”
The tips of my fingers brushed against the pommel of the dagger, but all at once something heavy smashed against the side of the guard’s head. He grunted and fell over.
Siv wound up her bucket again, aiming at the cursing second guard. I ripped the dagger from its sheath. Heart racing, hand trembling, I thrust the point through the ribs of the raven.
He gasped, and swung at me, trying to grab my braid. Trying to grab anything.
I shuddered and tightened my grip on the dagger. Inadept at killing, I froze, stunned in sick and disbelief. Like the last time I took a life.
Blood dripped onto my hand. When the guard fell, I fell with him.
He suffered. The wound killed him slowly. I could not take the sound of his rattling breath, his uttered prayers any longer. I clenched my eyes tightly and pressed the dagger in deeper until it all stopped.
“Elise.” Siv scooped me under the arms and pulled me away.
My body shook. This was for Halvar. For the throne. If I could not keep my wits in a fight, then I had no business being here.
I dragged a few deep breaths through my nose, then found my step again. With the burn of bile in my throat, I pulled the dagger free, and wiped the blood on my skirts. The other serfs hardly grimaced at the blood, and surrounded the man Siv had pummeled with her bucket to pick his pockets of shim.
“The lower cells,” Siv shouted, pressing her knife to the throat of one serf. “Where are they?”
The girl gulped and pointed down a narrow passageway. “There. At the bend there is a door, take it and the stairs will lead you down. But there is no way out down there.”
“Yes,” Siv said, withdrawing her blade. “We know. If you wish to be free, go out where we came and run to the trees.”
The three women gave a single look at the unmoving guards and paused for a mere breath before they ran back to the spring door.
“Elise,” Siv said as she rested a hand on my arm. “We press forward.”
For Halvar. For the throne. For Valen.
I nodded. “Forward.”