Emperor of Ansalon v-3 Page 5

  Without thinking-perhaps it was the weakness that suddenly permeated his legs-he dropped to one knee before her and removed his helm. He bowed his head, seeking to hide the deep scar on his chin and neck. For the first time he felt its true grotesqueness. Reverently he knelt, consumed by ecstacy tinged with a kind of terror. Who was she? It didn't matter.

  "Rise, warrior, and approach me."

  He shivered, her voice piercing him with exquisite joy, and slowly he stood. His legs still felt wobbly beneath him, but he was pleased that he could walk steadily, tak shy;ing three firm steps. Daring to look at her, he finally let his eyes absorb the beauty that had already suffused his spirit. He no longer cared about the deep, disfiguring scar on his face.

  Then, for the first time, he noticed the cruel iron collar that encircled her neck. Outrage exploded as he saw the heavy, dark chain, the sturdy bracket bolted to the wall beside the bed. His voice choked with anguish, he could utter no words to express his grief at this indignity.

  Her body was long, he noticed-certainly she would stand as tall as he. Her face formed a perfect oval of sculpted allure, with high cheekbones framing black eyes that seemed to smolder with promise … or danger. Her cheeks tapered to a strong chin. Lips like the dark crimson of a royal robe parted slightly, glistening from the moisture that, he imagined, was left by her darting tongue. Her neck was long and supple, angling gently into narrow shoulders and a straight back. A gossamer gown of blue silk did little to conceal the full outlines of her breasts, her trim hips, or her long, graceful legs.

  Only her feet altered slightly the image of his imagina shy;tion. In his mind they should have been tiny, and clad in immaculate slippers of some suitably ornamental mater shy;ial. Yet she was barefoot, and the skin of her toes was cracked and calloused.

  Her captors had not allowed her the decency of foot shy;wear. Fury formed a film across his vision, and his hands clenched unknowingly into fists as he imagined the vengeance he would wreak in her name. But then she smiled, and all thoughts of violence and bloodshed van shy;ished from his mind.

  "You have come for me … I thank you," she said, and her words were the silken tones of music that had nearly held him spellbound before. There was no hint of ques shy;tion in her words-she knew why he was here.

  "What-what is your command, Lady?"

  "Take me from this place, warrior!" The weakness in his legs disappeared, replaced by a steely determination that-almost-told him that he could slash his way through an army of ogres.

  "Yes-that's why I've come. How many ogres are there in the tower, do you know?" he asked.

  "I suspect there are several score-perhaps half a hun shy;dred."

  "I thought so, too," he agreed. Crossing to the win shy;dow, he peered from the opening, suppressing a sense of vertigo as the extreme height of his vantage opened before him. There would be ho escape that way-the tower wall plunged downward for hundreds of feet, and then it met the mountainside itself, which was nearly as steep. Even the darkness couldn't conceal the vast scope of the fall.

  "Do they know you're in the tower?" she asked softly.

  "No-we have that going for us, at least." He gestured miserably to the chain and iron collar. "But how do we get you out of that?"

  She sighed, and sank back on the bed. "Oberon is a cautious lord-it will not be easy."

  "Do you know Oberon?"

  There was a bitter tint to her smile. "Would that I didn't," she replied. "But it is Oberon who keeps me here, like this." She gestured to their surroundings.

  For the first time Ariakas noticed the true splendor of the lady's apartment. Soft draperies lined the walls. Deep, plush couches and gleaming tables of marble and teak rested on the floor. Indeed, except for the iron collar and chain, he might have entered the formal chambers of some countess, even a princess or queen.

  Sight of that confining chain brought raw hatred to Ariakas's heart. He wanted to meet Oberon, to plunge his sword into the villain's breast with a sneer of tri shy;umph on his face. And even that, Ariakas knew, would be insufficient to right this grievous wrong.

  "With your permission …" He reached for the chain, and the lady nodded. Seizing it in his powerful fists, he first tried to bend the links, and then to pull the bracket from the wall. Though the veins stood out on his fore shy;head and a film of red crept across his vision, he could not so much as bend the solid metal.

  "I was a prisoner in a dungeon cell before Oberon brought me here. I know that he keeps a master key ring there, in the catacombs below," the lady offered. "The chief warden-he's a big brute of an ogre-keeps it on his belt. You'll usually find him sleeping on a bench right outside the main guard room."

  Ariakas sank on the bed, heavy with despair. "Below the castle? I am willing, but I must warn you the chances of my capture are great."

  "There's another way. Often Oberon visits me by the secret stairway, avoiding the main part of the castle. It's concealed in the outer wall, and will take you all the way down."

  New hope infused the warrior. He rose to his feet eagerly. "Where-where is this passage?"

  She pointed to a heavy curtain of pale blue velvet. "Draw that aside. Then push on one of those stones above your head-as high as you can reach."

  He soon found the catch-stone, and a panel of wall soundlessly slid sideways to reveal a small landing and a tight, narrow stairway curving downward to the left. His sword held before him, he turned toward the concealed passage.

  Then, in a moment of decision, he turned and crossed back to the bed, kneeling again beside her. The lady's face invited him, only a few inches away. Her lips were still parted slightly, shining with excitement or desire.

  Without hesitation, he seized her and kissed her. She melted into his arms, and met his mouth with a fiery force of her own, a force that set the blood to racing in his veins. Even his scar was forgotten.

  A fierce grin lit his face as he turned back to the secret door. He felt that he could face any adversary, any chal shy;lenge, if only to win the chance to hold her again.

  Chapter 5

  Ferros Windchisel

  Reaching upward, Ariakas again found the catch-stone for the door. When he released it the portal slipped quietly shut behind him-and plunged the entire landing into utter darkness.

  His sword sheathed, Ariakas felt for the top step with his foot while he balanced with his hands against the walls. Finding the edge of the landing, he took a step downward, and another. The stairs circled through a regu shy;lar spiral, so he soon found that he could move fairly rapidly even through the darkness. He knew that if he came to a missing step or some other obstacle, he ran the risk of injury, but he couldn't bear the thought of the lady remaining a prisoner any longer than absolutely necessary.

  For a long time the stairs circled steadily downward. Ariakas noticed several narrow, slitted windows that served to admit such gleams of starlight as spilled from the night sky. Nevertheless, as his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, he found that even this dim illumination gave him the ability to speed his descent.

  After some time he came to another small landing. A quick investigation showed him a concealed door lead shy;ing into the interior of the keep. He decided to risk open shy;ing the portal to learn all he could about their prospective escape route.

  True to his suspicions, the door opened into one of the huge, column-studded rooms that lay below the lady's chamber. Quickly he closed the door and started down shy;ward again. He passed several other landings, mentally ticking off the floors, and then he stopped to open another door.

  This time the portal slid aside to reveal a masking tapestry. Ariakas was about to pull the curtain aside when he heard the muted grumbling of ogre voices. Cautiously, he peered around the edge of the cloth. He had reached the small room containing the drawbridge machinery. Two ogres stood beside a tall window, where the great winch-chain fed outward to the bridge. The main door to the room still hung ajar, only a few paces from the secret entrance. Ariakas grimaced in thought
; certainly these two guards created an obstacle.

  He silently continued down the stairway, passing sev shy;eral more levels, until his memory told him he had reached the main entry hall of the tower. Where Ariakas had left two ogres bickering at the gate, he now heard raucous sounds of ogre merriment, ranging from bel shy;lowed curses to hearty, stone-shaking laughter. Quite a party, it seemed, had developed around the main gates.

  He turned away from the ribald ogres and descended farther, through several long spirals with no sign of any alcove or landing. The passage now was completely dark, and-frustrated by the enforced slowness of his pace-Ariakas felt a need for caution. He groped with his toe for each step, all the while keeping hands on the side walls to ensure balance.

  Finally he felt a space to his right, and at the same time the air took on a dank, claustrophobic character that told him he had entered a region some distance underground. Feeling his way out of the stairwell, he moved carefully along a narrow corridor. The passageway abruptly veered to the right, and a faint glimmer of light rounded a corner before him. The intensity of the illumination rose and fell as if it came from a flickering torch. Impatient, Ariakas forced himself to remain still and listen.

  The light before him continued to brighten and dim, though he could hear no sound of flame. Gradually, however, he discerned a deep, rhythmic noise. The sound resembled a low growl, drawn out for a long time before it ceased. Then, after a similar interval, the growl came again…. Snoring! The depth of the tone suggested a large nose and deep, resonant chest. It didn't take much imagination for Ariakas to picture an ogre guard slumbering beside the torch, just out of his sight. Could this be the chief warden the lady had described?

  Gradually he became aware of other features of his surroundings. The corridor before him was narrow, but not so tight as the stairwell. Darkened niches stood at regular intervals along the walls, and in them stood the doors of countless cells. Apparently only one guard kept watch, and not very well at that.

  Creeping forward/Ariakas encountered something the dim light had not revealed: a cluster of rubble on the floor, through which his foot scuffed loudly. The noise echoed like thunder through the dungeon hallway, but Ariakas heard no disruption in the vast snoring. Care shy;fully, he worked his way along the hall. A few steps car shy;ried him past several heavy cell doors to an intersection with the side corridor.

  Around the corner, an obese ogre slumbered on a long wooden bench, a torch in a wall sconce flickering and flaming above him. Beyond another row of shadowy cells, the corridor ended in an open door, and another flight of stairs led upward.

  He took a step around the corner, taking care to move as silently as possibly. He would have to tiptoe right up to the ogre to get the keys, but he was willing to take that chance.

  "Ssssst! Hey, you out there!"

  The whispered voice froze his feet to their tracks. Whipping his head around, he saw no sign of anyone in the corridor with him.

  "Help me-I need your help!"

  Again the words, which might have emerged from the ether for as much as Ariakas could discern their source. Angrily he stepped back around the corner, out of the slumbering ogre's line of sight.

  "Who is that?" he hissed.

  "In here," replied the whispering voice-more a croak, now that Ariakas listened carefully. It seemed to emerge from the cell door he had just passed.

  "What do you want?" he demanded.

  "Water … need water," came the voice.

  "I can't help you," Ariakas replied. "Be silent!"

  "Help me-or I'll make more noise than you can believe."

  Seething, Ariakas looked at the door to the cell. The portal was solid iron, with a small hatch over a narrow opening-barely space enough to slide in a cup or a bowl. Pressing his face to the opening, he saw nothing more than darkness beyond.

  "Who are you?" he demanded again. The prisoner was obviously an enemy of the ogres, but that was no guarantee Ariakas would find him to be a friend.

  "My name is Ferros Windchisel-and all I ask is a cup of water!"

  The name sounded dwarven. Ariakas had fought and drunk beside dwarves, and he respected their prowess in both categories, but had never befriended one. Nor did he have any intention of doing so now.

  "You seek to gain this water by threat?" hissed Aria shy;kas. "What good is it to you to reveal my presence here?"

  "No good to me," replied Ferros conversationally. "But even less so to you. Call it a threat if you will-I call it a reasonable price to pay for my silence."

  "Where is this water?"

  "The guard keeps a bucket beside his bench-but be careful. He's a light sleeper."

  Ariakas didn't like the suggestion or the threat, but one thing he remembered about dwarves was their gods-cursed stubbornness. He had no doubt that Ferros Wind-chisel would make quite a racket if he refused his request.

  "I'll get your damned water," he snapped.

  "Come in and get my cup, then," rasped the dwarf.

  Surprised, Ariakas tested the cell door. It was bolted on the outside, but not locked. At first he thought it a careless arrangement, but when he pressed the bolt aside and entered the cell, he saw that the ogres were taking no chances.

  A thin reflection of torchlight spilled through the door, revealing a short, bearded figure sitting against the far wall of the small cell. Ferros Windchisel reached out, the movement making a pronounced rattle. He was chained by the neck to a solid bracket in the wall-a situation identical to that of the lady, save for the bleak surround shy;ings.

  "Thanks, friend," said the dwarf, extending a filthy tin cup toward the warrior.

  "How do you know I won't kill you right now to make my job easier?" demanded Ariakas.

  "I hadn't thought of that," replied the dwarf. "I sup shy;pose you could do that before I could make too much noise." He reflected ruefully on the prospect, his dark eyes glaring reflectively up at the large human.

  "Ah-to the Abyss with it!" grunted Ariakas, even more irritated. He reached out and snatched the cup from the dwarf's hand. Quietly he left the cell, turned the corner, and shielded his eyes from the direct torch shy;light. Stealthily approaching the slumbering ogre, he saw the bucket of water, half-full, beside the stout bench. The beast slumbered unsuspectingly as Ariakas dipped the cup through the film atop the liquid, scooping out a drink for the dwarf.

  Hastily retracing his steps, he stalked into the cell and extended the cup. "Here you are-and make no mistake! If you don't stick to our bargain, I'll get back here before the ogres catch me. You'll die before me!"

  "Bargain?" The dwarf, whose face was streaked with grime, managed to look mildly perplexed. "Oh, you mean not to wake the guard?"

  "What else would I mean?" growled Ariakas.

  Ferros took a deep drink and looked sheepish. "Actu shy;ally, I exaggerated about the guard being a light sleeper. That slug could nap through an earthquake and never miss a snore-you didn't have anything to worry about from me."

  The first flush of Ariakas's rage was replaced by an astonishing desire to laugh. He shook his head in mute surprise.

  "I don't suppose I could get you to spring this lock?" inquired Ferros hopefully. "The key's on the big ring he wears at his belt. My Hylar cousins would be grateful."

  "No." Ariakas shook his head. "The last thing I need's a hue and cry getting started over an escaped prisoner. Sorry, dwarf."

  Surprising himself, Ariakas actually did feel sorry for the dwarf. There was something very capable, even important, about Ferros Windchisel that struck a chord of sympathy in the man. Still, it was not enough to over shy;rule his own objectives of rescue and escape.

  Ferros slumped backward, apparently not surprised. "I suppose you're here about the lady?" he ventured.

  Ariakas felt a shock. "What do you know about the lady?" he barked.

  "Lots of fellows like you have come through here. Some of 'em died right down the hall from here, after the Painmaster finished his stuff."

  "A
nd yet it would seem that none has succeeded in rescuing her," Ariakas pressed.

  "Well, no-if that's how you look at it."

  The warrior didn't waste time pondering the dwarf's unusual phrasing. "How many ogres and human war shy;riors are there in this tower?" Ariakas asked.

  "Ogres?" Ferros shrugged. "Too many, that's all I know. I've only seen one human, though. He was wear shy;ing a breastplate a lot like yours."

  "No humans, then," Ariakas noted grimly, half to him shy;self. Then, with a rekindling of his anger, he remembered Oberon.

  He turned to go. As a last thought, he spoke to the dwarf from the entrance to the cell. "I'll leave the catch on your door released. If you can get that collar off your neck, then I wish you good luck."

  "Farewell-for now," said the dwarf cheerfully as Ari shy;akas pulled the portal shut. True to his word, the warrior drew the catch-bolt slightly short of its socket. He didn't think that the dwarf could manage to escape, and this way the position of the bolt was so subtly altered that he suspected the guard would notice nothing amiss when next he brought Ferros Windchisel his water or food. Ariakas didn't speculate as to how long that might be.

  The guarding ogre slumbered in blissful ignorance as the human crept past. Ariakas thought for a moment of slicing the great, blubber-ringed neck, but he quickly dis shy;carded the idea. All he needed was the ogre's replace shy;ment tromping down the steps to discover his cohort in a pool of fresh blood. No, he would take his chances with one more ogre in the tower.

  The key ring hung from a clip at the ogre's huge belt. Dozens of metal keys arced around the heavy circlet of iron, but the warrior was elated to see that they were supported by a thin strip of leather. A quick flick of his dagger brought the keys into Ariakas's hand, without a disturbance in the slumbering ogre's snores.

  Hefting the ring, careful to avoid jangling, Ariakas turned back into the dungeon. He crept silently past Fer-ros Windchisel's cell, through the corridor, and back to the foot of the secret stairway.