Firebrand

Anna shook her head. She had no family, and really wasn’t close to anyone in the servants quarters. She’d rather be with the Riders.

“You sure?” When Anna nodded, she continued, “Then I guess you should check the fires where you can, get the others you work with to do the same, and warm up this castle. The people who were frozen need it. And . . .” She looked past Anna into the distance, speaking as if to herself. “And fire was the best defense against those creatures. Should they come again . . .” She shook her head as if remembering herself. “No, they would not dare. Thank you for your help today. It is time I attended to my own duties.” She gave Anna a final smile and squeeze of her shoulder, and strode down the corridor.

Anna watched after her at a loss. What a day! She had been acknowledged by the king and queen, and had even helped Sir Karigan. No, they would not believe it down in the servants quarters. She basked in the fact that Sir Karigan had not introduced her as “the ash girl,” as most people called her, but knew her name and made her job sound important when it had always seemed just lowly drudge work. But today, it had actually helped, and even the king and queen said so.

She shook herself, remembering what Sir Karigan said about attending to duties, and it was time she emulated the Rider and returned to her own work.

AN ESCAPE

Ordinarily, prisoners were held in the block house, but with only a few cells, it was for temporary holding only, for minor infractions such as soldiers drunk on duty. More serious offenders were moved to the city jail, or even transferred to prisons in other provinces. The most serious crimes, of course, were punished with execution.

The old dungeons beneath the castle had been closed up for a century at least, until recent years when Second Empire came to the fore and the king needed to detain those who were captured. A portion of the dungeons had been cleaned up and repaired. They were currently occupied by only one man, and he had to admit that his accommodations were humane, with a clean bunk, fresh water, and decent food. No one beat him on a whim as he would have been in his home province. He was not chained to the wall and forced to sit in his own waste. He was brought reading materials, and the guards were more or less genial, telling him the news of the land and trading jests, even though he was a traitor.

Immerez, the one-handed, one-eyed former captain of the Mirwellian provincial militia, did not know why he still lived. Other traitors had been carted off to the gallows long ago. No one had questioned him since that Rider, the false Mirwellian, in Teligmar, except for the king when he first arrived. If his connection to Grandmother and Second Empire had not been enough to hang him, the part he had played in the coup attempt on King Zachary should have been. And yet, alive he remained. Was it possible the king had forgotten about him? If not, what were they waiting for?

A sudden shout from a guard down the passageway roused Immerez from his bunk. He crossed over to the cell door. The small barred window did not allow him to see much but the opposite wall. He heard footsteps running up stone stairs and more shouting. What in damnation had stirred up the guards?

He strained to listen for clues as to what was going on, but for a very long time he heard nothing. He crossed to the back of the cell where the grate opened at ground level to allow fresh air in, but there was nothing to see except a barrier of snow. He shrugged and sat once again on his bunk. There was no reason anyone would bother to inform him about what was happening, but next time a guard came by to check on him, he’d certainly inquire.

After a while, he began to wonder if a guard would come by. They checked on him at least once an hour, but it felt like much more than an hour had passed. A lot more. Had they finally decided his fate was to perish in his cell without food or water? Not likely. King Zachary was too fair a man to allow such suffering, a weakness to Immerez’s way of thinking. Of course, he’d been trained in the Mirwellian provincial militia, where there was no sense of fairness, and weakness was an invitation for abuse.

When he stood to stretch and pace again, he heard boots pounding down the passageway. Before he could peer out the window, there was the cling of a key ring and the turning of the lock. The door swung open. The guard, Rogan, bustled into the cell. Immerez fell back in surprise.

“Here, put these on.” Rogan threw a bundle of cloth at him and dropped a pair of boots at his feet. “Hurry!”

After a shocked moment, Immerez did not waste any time, and drew on a tunic of Sacoridian black and silver, and then a heavy winter cloak. The boots fit well.

“We’ve been waiting for the right opportunity to get you out,” Rogan said, “and it finally came.” He peered out the door and down the passageway, then beckoned Immerez to follow him.

“Who is ‘we’? What’s happening?” Immerez was not about to worry overmuch about the intentions of someone breaking him out of prison, but he was curious.

“Some sort of . . . I dunno,” Rogan said. “A magical attack or something. But now we can get you outta here. We have horses down in the city.”

Immerez followed his unexpected benefactor up the stairs and into the upper corridor.

“When we reach castle grounds, act just like a regular soldier, right? Everyone else is busy. They won’t even notice us.”

Immerez paused with Rogan at the end of the corridor at a heavy, ironbound door. “Yes, but who are you working with?”

Rogan grinned and pulled down his collar to reveal a tattoo of a dead tree just below his throat. Then he thrust the door open to the wintry world beyond. “Grandmother wants you back.”