Messenger of the Dark Prophet (The Bowl of Souls: Book Two) (56 page)

“You know that the guards are going to find out about this soon,” Justan remarked.

The captain shrugged. “What will be will
be.
”

Fist paused, letting several freed prisoners flood past him and into a side passageway. He could see the end of the corridor ahead and knew that Tamboor's cell had to be nearby. The thought had barely passed through Fist's mind when a hand sprung from the bars of the cell next to him, wrenching his neck. Luckily for the ogre, his neck was thickly muscled and Tamboor's grip, though painful, was not enough to kill him.

“Tamboor!”
Fist coughed “It’s me!” The grip on his throat eased. He looked through the bars into a set of fierce burning eyes.
Justan, he's here. Open this one
.

Justan hurried over with the keys. With a sharp clang, the lock released. Before Justan could grasp the handle, the door was pushed open from within.

Tamboor was a legend at the
Battle
School
. When Justan was a child, his father had told him many tales of adventures that they had enjoyed together.  The High council had put the two warriors together as a team for several years as they climbed up the ranks in the Sword Wielders Guild. Though Faldon was the more famous of the two, Tamboor was considered by many to be the better fighter.

Justan had only met Tamboor once, years before as the man retired from the
Battle
Academy
with much fanfare. Justan remembered the man as confident and jovial, exuding strength and giving off an air of excitement.

Very little of the man Justan remembered remained in the figure that walked out from the cell now. The muscles that showed through his ragged clothing were remarkably fit for a prisoner, but his confident stance was gone, replaced by an almost feral crouch. His skin was pale and his face seemed drawn, almost leeched of humanity. His eyes glowed with fierce intensity.

Justan stuck out his hand. “Tamboor, I don't know if you remember me. I am Justan, son of Faldon the Fierce.”

Tamboor's eyes seemed to bore into him. “Give me a sword.”

Without thinking, Justan held out the thick short sword that had belonged to the torturer. Tamboor snatched it from him without so much as a thank you and strode away.

“Tamboor, wait!” Fist called and hurried after him, his bulk filling the narrow corridor.

“Where is he going?” Justan wondered aloud.

“To kill them.”
A sickly voice said.

Justan twirled around to see a man stagger out of the darkness of Tamboor's cell and lean against the wooden door for
support
. He was pale and emaciated.

“To kill who?”
Justan asked.

“All of them: The beasts that tortured and killed his family, the wizard who led them, and the entire army of monsters that invaded our town. He will hunt them down and kill them all. I intend to help him.” The man slumped to the floor and began to cough uncontrollably.

Once the racking coughs ceased, Justan helped the man to his feet. He seemed light as a feather, nearly insubstantial. As the man drew a shuddering breath, Justan noticed blood at the corners of his lips. This man was barely alive.

“You know Tamboor well?” Justan asked.

“I have known him for a long time. We went to the
Battle
Academy
together. I was the one to convince him to retire to Jack's Rest.” He looked at Justan with sad eyes. “I feel some responsibility for what happened to him and his family.”

Justan didn’t know what to say to the man. He felt sorry for the prisoner, but there was nothing he could do. He needed to leave. He sensed Fist getting further away. Tamboor wasn’t stopping and Fist was following him.

“I’m sorry, sir. I must go.”

“Wait! Take me with you,” the man gasped. “I must help him.”

“I can’t.” Justan turned to leave.

“If that is real, why hide it?” The man asked.

“What?” Justan looked back to see the man holding up a strip of leather. He lifted his hands in surprise. The glove on his right hand was gone. It had been cut off. Justan was quick to cover the warrior rune with his other hand, but the damage was done. One of the prisoners had noticed the rune and a gasp rippled through the crowd as the information was passed on. Justan felt their eyes on him.

Captain Demetrius was quick to his side. “Sir, I am sorry. I have taken charge here. If I had known, I wouldn’t have done so.”

“No, no. It’s okay, really.” Justan backed away. This was exactly the kind of attention he had been avoiding. He could sense Fist moving further away.

The captain shook his head. “I must insist, sir.”

“Uh, no.”
Justan’s mind churned. “You must take charge of these people, Captain. I have an urgent mission of my own I must accomplish. Rescue the others. That is the best way you can help.”

The crowd of prisoners mumbled in disappointment.

“I see.” The captain nodded reluctantly. “If I may ask, Sir, what is your name? We would be honored to know the name of the warrior who has saved us.”

Justan gulped. He felt as if just by letting these people see his rune, he had deceived them. Most of these prisoners were sure to die in attempting their escape and the thought that a named warrior had been the one to save them would give them false hope. But he saw the look of desperation in their eyes and he couldn’t make himself deny it. Perhaps that hope was something that they needed. Justan raised his fist in the air so that as many as possible could see the rune in the gloom of torchlight.

“I am Edge.” He said, trying to force confidence into his voice without speaking too loud. The crowd rippled as the information was passed down the corridor. “This man, Captain Demetrius has my confidence. He will lead you to freedom.”

He handed the keys over to the Captain and lowered his voice. “I must leave now. You are their only chance for freedom. Lead them well.”

As he left the crowd behind, Justan felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Well done,” the sickly man said.

Justan frowned. “How did you take that glove off without my knowing?”

“There is more to me than you see here.” The man smiled and a tiny blade appeared in his fingers. With a nimbleness that seemed impossible for such a sick man, he rolled the blade over his knuckles and made it disappear. “Take me with you.
If you are truly who you say you are, you’ll help me.”

 “Being named doesn’t require me to-.” Justan sighed in frustration. “I can’t. I’m sorry, but you’ll just slow me down.” Justan shrugged the man’s hand off his shoulder and walked away.

“But surely the son of Faldon the Fierce wouldn’t miss the opportunity to repay an old debt of his father’s.” The man coughed. “I heard you tell Tamboor who you are.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is
Petyr
. I saved your father’s life many times.”

“I’ve never heard of you.” Justan continued to walk away, but the man shuffled after him.

“In my prime I was known as Sneaky Pete.”

Justan stopped. That was a name he had heard before. Sneaky Pete was the leader of the Assassin’s Guild when Faldon had first joined the Council. If he was Sneaky Pete, it was very possible that he had saved Faldon’s life.

“Tamboor and Fist are far up the corridor right now. I need to hurry and I can’t carry you.” The man was thin and frail, but Justan hadn’t had a good meal in a long time. Even with the stamina given him by Gwyrtha, Justan didn’t see how he would be able to do it.

“Look at me. I am light and you are strong. I will be useful, I promise.”

“Very well.”
Reluctantly, Justan wrapped
Petyr’s
arms around his neck and hoisted him onto his back. “But if you slow me down too much I will have to leave you behind.”

Justan hurried down the corridor he had seen Fist take. The sickly man truly didn’t weigh too much and to Justan’s surprise, he didn’t feel any discomfort, even while hunching over in the low
ceilinged
dungeon corridors. He sent his thoughts ahead.

Fist.
Where are you?

We need your keys,
the ogre responded. They had been turned around in several different passages because of locked doors. Tamboor was getting angrier every passing moment that went by without being able to kill an enemy.

Justan wondered why they had not run into any guards yet. Just then,
Petyr
interrupted his thoughts.

“Quick! To the side!” the man whispered. Justan ducked down a side corridor and
Petyr
climbed down from his back.

Moments later Justan saw torchlight coming from the passage they had been traveling and he heard the heavy stomp of booted feet.
Petyr
raised one finger to indicate that there was only one guard approaching. Justan pulled his sword and pressed himself against the wall. To his surprise,
Petyr
stepped in front of him.

The assassin reached down to his waistband and pulled out a long silver cord. The guard came into view. He was a big, ugly looking man with an enormous wart on the side of his nose. The guard kept a steady pace but didn’t seem to be in any particular hurry. He obviously didn’t know of the prisoners’ escape.

The guard passed by without noticing the two escapees.
Petyr
slipped in the corridor behind him. The assassin’s next move was so swift that Justan barely saw the flash of silver in the air before the guard’s head fell off. The body crashed to the floor soundlessly.

 
Petyr
collapsed as well in a series of deep ripping coughs that sent Justan to the assassin’s side in concern.

“
Petyr
, are you okay?” Justan grimaced at his own question. It was obvious that the assassin wasn’t okay. “I mean, what’s wrong?”

Petyr
wiped his mouth with the back of his hand leaving a smear of blood on his knuckles. “It’s a wasting disease. Even the mages at the academy couldn’t help. I had hoped the mountain air would help and it did. I lived far longer than they said I would. But this place has killed me.”

“Surely we could get you out and find some help. I’m on my way to find a master wizard. Perhaps he could help you.”

The assassin smiled weakly.
“Perhaps.
But the important thing is that I help Tamboor.” He gestured to the dead guard. “At least I am still useful.”

Justan was about to agree, but he froze as the sounds of battle echoed from the corridor ahead. Evidently the prisoners had finally encountered some guards. He sent probing thoughts ahead. Fist and Tamboor had heard the sounds as well. They were headed towards the fight.

Quickly he checked the guard’s body and found a serviceable sword to replace the one Tamboor had taken. He also found a set of keys, which was a relief. He had worried that by giving Captain Demetrius his set of keys he had also given away his chance of escape.

Chapter Thirty Seven

Multicolored light steamed through the large stained glass windows that surrounded the duke’s dining hall. The table was set lavishly with steaming dishes on silver platters and servants scurried back and forth tending to their master's whims.

“Dear, sweet Elise.
Thank you for joining me at my afternoon meal.” Ewzad Vriil crooned. The princess nodded politely in response. “Oh, but I must apologize for the last few days. I have been quite busy with the affairs of my dukedom and haven’t had much time to spend with you. I trust that you haven’t grown too bored. I hope not, no-no.”

“Of course not, Ewzad.
I have enjoyed myself in your library,” the Princess lied. When Ewzad had invited her to spend lunch with him earlier that morning she had felt a mixture of relief and irritation. In truth she had spent the last several days bored to her wits end.