orchestrated by the Collective. Whatever the
reason, the result was the same. King Kale was slowly dying and no
matter how much the healers prayed he was not getting better.
The king’s rapidly diminishing health was a
troubling subject, but there was another rumor going through the
servants’ quarters that was of particular interest to one old man.
Sane was back and he was being held in the castle’s dungeon, but
what made this return something to talk about was that for the
first time in months both of the castle’s collared magicians were
under the same roof even if said roof was by itself larger than a
small village.
Baryn had achieved an uneasy balance between
fulfilling his duties as a humble servant of the Axebeard family
during the day, skulking about the palace at night, and checking in
on his unexpected charge when he could. This schedule left very
little time for sleep, but sacrifices had to be made and in this
case the luxury of resting would have to wait.
A guard passed at the far end of the hall. He
would make his way back around in four minutes and another guard
would pass by in half that time. Baryn slipped into the shadows and
followed the guard down the corridor from a safe distance. He
passed a flight of stairs that could be used as a back entrance to
the western wing where most of the nobility lived without a second
thought.
There were better people for this kind of
work. He could think of two off the top of his head that were more
inclined to the arts of moving unseen and hiding in plain sight,
but neither of them was here. He missed them terribly, but it would
not be long before he would see them again. First, he had a promise
to keep.
Baryn turned a corner into a dark hallway.
This was the dangerous part, because there was nowhere to hide if
someone was to unexpectedly come down this way and there was no
reason to be going down the hall except for one: to enter the
dungeon.
The door was locked at all times and at least
one guard was posted in an antechamber on the other side. The old
retainer pulled a key from a pocket on his servant-grey vest and
inserted it into the lock with great care. Even a sound as small as
a tumbler sliding into place would echo in the deathly silent
corridor. The key turned effortlessly and the door swung open
smoothly indicating that the dungeons were visited often enough to
require regular upkeep.
Baryn followed a flight of stairs down into
the antechamber. It was well lit with sconces going down the hall.
At the far end the antechamber opened up just before another door.
Baryn could make out the edge of a table at the opposite end where
the guard would likely be sitting. There were no shadows to hide in
here. He would have to take a more direct approach to handling the
guard. As he got closer, he could tell there was a pair of dungeon
keepers sitting at a table drinking and arguing over whose wife was
the bigger nag. Both men believed that their own wife should hold
the less than lofty title, allowing Baryn to get far down the hall
before he needed to act.
“Sleep,” Baryn whispered as he felt the magic
flow from his lips and pass into the cell guards. Their heads hit
the table in unison with a pair of gratifying thuds. A quick search
of the men’s uniforms granted Baryn a set of keys to the
dungeon.
The cells were damp and cold and the lighting
was poor, but it took little effort to find the sorcerer’s cell. He
was held separately from the more common criminals in a cell all
his own. He expected this, but Baryn was not prepared for the sight
before him. He remembered Sane as being someone who held himself
with a self-assured attitude and quiet power, but this creature
before him was a disheveled mess. This Sane was covered in dirt and
laid on the floor wrapped in his tattered cloak for warmth. His
skin hung from his bones from malnutrition and there were bruises
on his face and hands… and he wore a patch over one eye.
“What have they done to you?”
reason, the result was the same. King Kale was slowly dying and no
matter how much the healers prayed he was not getting better.
The king’s rapidly diminishing health was a
troubling subject, but there was another rumor going through the
servants’ quarters that was of particular interest to one old man.
Sane was back and he was being held in the castle’s dungeon, but
what made this return something to talk about was that for the
first time in months both of the castle’s collared magicians were
under the same roof even if said roof was by itself larger than a
small village.
Baryn had achieved an uneasy balance between
fulfilling his duties as a humble servant of the Axebeard family
during the day, skulking about the palace at night, and checking in
on his unexpected charge when he could. This schedule left very
little time for sleep, but sacrifices had to be made and in this
case the luxury of resting would have to wait.
A guard passed at the far end of the hall. He
would make his way back around in four minutes and another guard
would pass by in half that time. Baryn slipped into the shadows and
followed the guard down the corridor from a safe distance. He
passed a flight of stairs that could be used as a back entrance to
the western wing where most of the nobility lived without a second
thought.
There were better people for this kind of
work. He could think of two off the top of his head that were more
inclined to the arts of moving unseen and hiding in plain sight,
but neither of them was here. He missed them terribly, but it would
not be long before he would see them again. First, he had a promise
to keep.
Baryn turned a corner into a dark hallway.
This was the dangerous part, because there was nowhere to hide if
someone was to unexpectedly come down this way and there was no
reason to be going down the hall except for one: to enter the
dungeon.
The door was locked at all times and at least
one guard was posted in an antechamber on the other side. The old
retainer pulled a key from a pocket on his servant-grey vest and
inserted it into the lock with great care. Even a sound as small as
a tumbler sliding into place would echo in the deathly silent
corridor. The key turned effortlessly and the door swung open
smoothly indicating that the dungeons were visited often enough to
require regular upkeep.
Baryn followed a flight of stairs down into
the antechamber. It was well lit with sconces going down the hall.
At the far end the antechamber opened up just before another door.
Baryn could make out the edge of a table at the opposite end where
the guard would likely be sitting. There were no shadows to hide in
here. He would have to take a more direct approach to handling the
guard. As he got closer, he could tell there was a pair of dungeon
keepers sitting at a table drinking and arguing over whose wife was
the bigger nag. Both men believed that their own wife should hold
the less than lofty title, allowing Baryn to get far down the hall
before he needed to act.
“Sleep,” Baryn whispered as he felt the magic
flow from his lips and pass into the cell guards. Their heads hit
the table in unison with a pair of gratifying thuds. A quick search
of the men’s uniforms granted Baryn a set of keys to the
dungeon.
The cells were damp and cold and the lighting
was poor, but it took little effort to find the sorcerer’s cell. He
was held separately from the more common criminals in a cell all
his own. He expected this, but Baryn was not prepared for the sight
before him. He remembered Sane as being someone who held himself
with a self-assured attitude and quiet power, but this creature
before him was a disheveled mess. This Sane was covered in dirt and
laid on the floor wrapped in his tattered cloak for warmth. His
skin hung from his bones from malnutrition and there were bruises
on his face and hands… and he wore a patch over one eye.
“What have they done to you?”
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