The folds of night had finally taken full hold of Borromeo castle. Kyemen had never remembered these corridors to be quite so dark and, he admitted reluctantly to himself, so creepy. He found himself falling into as stealthy a cadence of movement as possible, raised on the balls of his feet, knees slightly bent, padding his way along the floor in a way that he was sure would look quite comical if he saw someone else doing it. The soldiers behind him were making enough noise with their steps to make each fall of their boots sound like the blow of a forge hammer to his heightened ears, accompanied by the bellows of their breathing. A sudden his of a whisper sounded out like whatever red hot metal that was being folded had just been plunged into water to cool.
“Why is it so dark?”
Another voice, older, more grizzled, answered irritably.
“Our cordon turned back the torch lighters when we closed off this wing. Now shut up.”
The passage ahead turned a corner. Being in the lead, Kyemen signaled for a halt and stopped, peering around the bend. Nothing moved. After a few more seconds to make sure, feeling the tension mount in the men behind him, he stepped fully into the corridor, their march resuming.
A door loomed up on his left, the eighth since they had started. Just like the rest, every one of them needed to be checked in case their targets were hiding in one of the rooms, just waiting for an opportunity to sneak past. Waiting for the signal from Kyemen, the lieutenant in charge unlatched the door and flung it open to clear passage for the other three to enter. At the same time, Kyemen used magic to flood the doorway with an intense white light from his open hand, illuminating the room with almost eye-burning brilliance. This current room, it turned out, was a somewhat formal dining hall. As before, Kyemen held the light steady while the lieutenant watched the corridor outside, making sure no one came past. The soldiers had a job that Kyemen himself wouldn’t relish in the slightest; searching under the long trestles and behind tapestries, anywhere that could hide an escaped elven general waiting to leap out and bisect them. Kyemen would have done it himself, but he was the only mage in the group, and everyone agreed that it was much easier with a light. He had at least fit the soldiers with some basic wards, just in case.
This search went just like the last, empty. As a result, his mind wandered, back to the question that had risen foremost on his mind.
What’s her plan?
[/Color]
If there was one thing he had discovered about her in all this time, Icitalia never went long without a plan if she could help it. He could almost imagine how fast her mind was working, here, trapped within the walls of a castle with soldiers slowing driving her on the inside and an angry dragon hovering on the outside. He himself had been in similar situations in his life. He could vividly remember the desperation, the resignation. Of one thing he was certain, she was not the type to simply give up and allow the situation to close in on her and drag her down. She would try something stupid first, something that had very little chance of working and only someone without hope of escaping any other way. The only question was, what? What could she do to get out of this? What options did she have that he wasn’t seeing?
He was so wrapped in his musings that he almost didn’t hear the scramble of armored figures coming from further down the corridor. As soon as it registered, he whirled, swinging the magical light in his hands and banishing the shadows, raising his single long knife…
“We come as friends! Stay your weapons!” The voice sounded young, and strong, just like that of any soldier of the Varden. But there was something else in the voice. Kyemen was convinced that the boy was on the edge of panic. As soon as they stepped into the light, it was easy to see why. It was a Varden soldier, squinting in the light, a sheen of sweat shining on his forehead. He was supporting another man on his shoulder, this one shorter and more slight of form, his face mostly obscured by his helm.
"That devilish elf jumped us. We didn't eve have a chance. Please let us by! He's still alive, but half his neck is gone."
There was no need to ask what happened. As they drew closer, the magelight illuminated a dark stain across most of the top of the second soldier's tunic, spreading who knew how far under his chestplate. Whatever the injury was, it was miracle the man had survived at all.
Kyemen was faced with a dilemma. Even as he opened his mouth to offer to heal the wound, he realized thatif he did he probably wouldn't have enough energy left to fight. He wrestled with his conscience for a moment, but in the end logic won out. He was the only one who could stop Icitalia quickly, and if he did not, many more than just this man would die.
"Lieutenant, let then through." He said quietly, lowering the light and flattening himself against the side of the corridor. The young soldier came past, the relief etched on his face. "Thank you sir, thank you! Be careful yourselves, that elf moved faster than anything I've ever seen." With that, they were gone, safely around the bend in the corridor and on the way to help and freedom. For some reason, Kyemen found himself wishing he could follow, and find out if the man made it. It would be some comfort amid this whole business.
"The room is clear sir." Said one of the soldiers as they finished their sweep. Kyemen nodded, mentally extinguishing the magelight and plunging them back into darkness. They would stand for a few moments to let their eyes adjust, and then start again.
Or at least, they would have. Just as the magelight faded, there came the sounds of shouting echoing from further down the corridor. The soldiers needed no second bidding, thinking their comrades had found the enemy. Kyemen heard them break into a run and disapear. Frowning, he did not follow.
What's wrong?[/Color] Asked Sierthra, contacting him for the first time since the search began. It was comforting, knowing that she was still aware of what he was doing, eeven if they still disagreed on what had to be done.
I'm not sure. How look things from your end?
Plenty of activity on the grounds, but they have not been out here.[/Color]
Kyemen nodded, frown deepening. If she said it, then the only way they could have been outside was if they had become invisible, a spell for which he was certain Icitalia did not have enough energy. So then what was making him so nervous that they were getting away?
But my question still stands, what's wrong?
I don't know, something about this whole situation. What am I missing? I know she has to be trying something, I just don't know what it could possibly be. The only way out of here is if she could just walk right past us...[/Color] ...Just like that man supporting his wounded comrade had just now.
The realization made Kyemen's stomach drop sickeningly.
Oh, a pox on it! Sierthra, do you recognize this man?[/Color] He sent her a memory image of only a moment ago:
The young soldier came past, the relief etched on his face. "Thank you sir, thank you!"There was a flash of recognition and anger from her mind, and he knew that he had been right.
Kyemen, that was the man in the courtyard. He got her out of her cell.[/Color]
She didn't need to finish. Kyemen was already running.
. . .
He sprinted full out back up the corridor, hurriedly uttering the spell to place a small animated werelight hovering above he head as he went, providing a dull green illumination on the path ahead. If someone wanted to jump on him now, that was just too bad. That was the least of his worries.
A moment later, the walls fell away on either side, leading him into a large hall. He had been through here on the way in, and he didn't need to look around to know that it was long and pillared, with one end's stone ceiling work being repaired with a set of timber scaffolding. What immediately drew his gaze was the shadowed figure about twenty feet ahead of him, seemingly just standing there, as if waiting for him. As the illumination of the hovering werelight reached the figure, he could see that it was indeed the wouned soldier, but with one rather miraculous difference. He was now standing unassisted and assuming a ready guard with his sword, despite having a grievous neck wound.
Kyemen opened his mouth to issue a challenge, but it struck him that he was completely at a loss as to what to say. Luckily, he didn't need to. At that moment, there came a sound halfway between a ring and a hiss somewhere to his right. He whirled instinctively toward it just in time to see a man jumping at him, some kind of cunninggly contrived blade sprouting from the sleeve of his stolen mail shirt, close enough that Kyemen could see straight into his silver-gray eyes.
With no weapons in hand, Kyemen acted with the one weapon that he could. He barely caught the man's bladed right arm as it descended with surprising speed toward his neck, pivoting and turning to redirect the force of the blow, then continuing with a thrust of his left hand even as he summoned the magic.
"Thrysta vindr!"
Unable to avoid the ball of compressed wind from less than an arm's length away, the assassin was hit full on, sending him sailing through the air with a cry of alarm. He crashed through the base support beams of one of the scaffolds on the other side of the room, back slamming into the stone pillar behind. He bounced to the floor in a limp, boneless heap even as the scaffolding collapsed on top of him.
Kyemen lowered his hand slowly, letting the magic fade back to its normal place. It was too bad; he hadn't intended to kill the man, although neither had he been in the mood to deal with one of the king's pet assassins. This was between Icitalia and himself, and no one else would get in the way.
It sickened and angered him that Icitalia would spend his life like that, so casually, like a well-forged blade that she could just throw at her enemies as a distraction. It reminded him yet again why she needed to die.
As a distraction...[/color]
He ducked quickly, a sword blade cleaving the air where his neck had been. He twisted out of the way as the weapon came down at him, responding with a snap kick at the head of his enemy. She managed to dodge the attack, but it gave him enough time to dance out of reach of her next attack, ripping his sword from his back and assuming a ready stance.
She recovered quickly, attacking with a fierce slash that he met with a rising parry, bringing their faces close. She had discarded the helm she had been using for disguise, her now unruly blond hair almost irridescent in the green magelight, an expression of rage twisting her bloody and sweat-lined face.
"You didn't have to do that." He said angrily, exerting his strength and forcing her back with a shove of his blade. "You didn't have to use him. You know you can't win this. Not anymore. You almost had your escape, but now it's time to stop."
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