"Castle Eld 2 - All Along the Watchtower" by Ashley R. Wynn

All Along the Watchtower

It was dark. The thief sat beside the wall, curled into a tight ball of fear and anger. It was cold and damp in the dungeon, and Trinh had not a blanket, just the clothes she had been wearing when she was caught. They had taken her dagger, and what little gold she had in her pouch, but they had missed the lock-picking kit in her belt, and the ancient amulet hidden under her tunic. Most importantly, Trinh thought, they had not noticed she was female. 

In Ajira it was illegal for a female to touch a horse, and the penalty was death for the both the woman and the horse.  Both died by a blow to the head from an iron club.  As a horse thief, Trinh would be facing a flogging by the Lord’s son Flamik and paying a hefty fine.  If the fine was not payed within a lunad, Trinh would either be sent to the Royal Salt Mines in Korrim to work as a slave for the rest of her life.  She doubted, however, that she would make it to the mines.  They would probably discover she was a female when they stripped her for the flogging. 

"Hey, boy," called a raspy voice nearby. "Boy."

"What?" Trinh hugged her knees tighter. She was glad she had not cried; she had not noticed anyone else sharing the dungeon with her before.

"Bring me some water."

Trinh could make out a man's figure in the corner from which the voice came.  Her ankle throbbed.

"Get it yourself," she spat out, not wanting to leave the safety and imagined warmth of her position.

The figure sighed. "Look, boy, I would do it myself." She watched the figure move slightly and heard the distinct clink of chains. "But I'm afraid that I can't."

She did not budge.

"Please, boy."

She stood slowly and tried not to limp to the bucket near the heavy wooden door of their cell. She could hear the guard outside snoring, but she could not see him through the barred window.

Good, she thought; she did not really want to draw his attention anyway.

She picked the ladle out of the grubby wooden bucket and slowly carried it across the hay-strewn floor. Only as she neared the corner did her eyes adjust to the darkness, and she could begin to make him out. The prisoner was not as old has he looked, she knew. He had a scar on his left cheek, an old one, and his dark hair was lightly turning gray at the temples. However, he still seemed strong. His blue eyes were soft, almost kind.

He slurped clumsily from the gourd as she held it to his lips. "That's enough, boy, thank you." The man sighed, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back against the wall.  “Any more will make me water sick.”

Trinh moved slowly back to the door, poured the rest of the water back into the bucket and hung the hollowed out gourd on a nail in the weak mortar of the damp wall. Returning to her place, she leaned against the wall before sinking to the floor and gathering her poor cloak around herself for warmth.

"Soon we won't be alone down here, boy. There's going to be a war. Thank the gods they've started it this late in the year. This country is too damned hot in the summer months." The raspy-voiced man moved to a more comfortable position, rattling his chains.

"So you are from the north then," she said from under her hood.

"Yes, boy, I am,” he nodded. “From Kerrigan. You're quick for one so young."

Trinh did not reply. She stared at the filthy floor for a moment, and then shivered, "It's getting colder. It must be dark now."
 

  *     *     *

The next morning two guards slamming through the heavy door and dumping another prisoner in the middle of the room wakened them.

"Here's yer food," barked one of the guards as he dropped a platter of scraps on the floor.

The thief jumped again as they slammed the door closed and turned the key in the ancient lock.

"See, boy, I told you they'd be filling this place up soon." She thought he seemed to be of good cheer for one chained to the wall.

She decided to see if the human heap in the middle of the room was breathing. "Are you okay?" She prodded the bruised and bleeding man. He only moaned. She got a dipper-full of water and emptied it on his face. He sputtered a bit and opened his eyes.

"Are you okay?" she repeated. The skinny man sat up and put a hand to his head. He moaned as Trinh moved to return the dipper to its place on the wall and to soak a scrap of cloth in the water bucket. With the wet rag in hand, Trinh kneeled beside the beaten man and began to clean the blood off his face.

"What are you doing?" He weakly raised a hand to fend her off.

"I'm only trying to help," she replied calmly. "Here." She put the rag in his hand and then moved to where the guard had dropped the platter.

She divided the scraps into three portions, making hers the smallest, and then carried one to the bruised man. "Here, this is probably all we'll get for a while."

"Thank you." He held the wet scrap of cloth on a cut under his eye that was still bleeding.

She took her portion of the food, wrapped it up, and put in her empty pouch. Then she took the last bit of food to the chained warrior.

"Thank you, boy," he said as she settled the platter in his lap. He could eat with the heavy iron shackles on his wrists, but the solid piece of metal made it impossible to hold the dipper to his own mouth.

She picked up the water bucket to bring it closer to the chained man. She paused near the injured man and offered him the gourd, full of water.

"My but you're a helpful wench," he said sarcastically, as if to insult a boy, but Trin felt her stomach lurching nonetheless.

She shook it off. "You're the jester, aren't you?" Trinh carried the water to the chained man.

"Yes. An unemployed jester now," he grimaced and rubbed his head.

"I guess that makes you nobody's fool, huh?"

He chuckled, "Yes, I guess it does, stable boy."

"What did you do? Tell a bad joke?"

The chained man grinned as he sipped the water from the gourd she held to his lips.

"Not as bad as the one you just made.  But you could say that, yes." The fool nodded, his yellow hair falling into his face. "What did you do, stable boy?"

"I stole Flamik's horse."

"The big black one? That was you?" He laughed. "Where did you hide it?"

She just shook her head and sipped from the dipper.

"Say, boy, how are you going to feed that horse while you're in here?" Kerrigan asked.

"He'll not starve," she reassured them.

"How did you get caught?" asked the fool.

"He twisted his ankle and fell," Kerrigan said and looked at him. “See him limping?”

Trinh grimaced and nodded. "Something like that."

"And your story, sir, let me guess it. You are Sir Brian of Kerrigan, and you just wandered out of the storm and onto the wrong doorstep," the fool said.

"Yes," said the chained man. "On my way to Trevallis, and I wandered upon a castle full of traitors," the Kerrigan shook his head.

"Not all of us are traitors," the thief quickly interjected.

The jester nodded, "There are a few who are more loyal to our king than our lord. Which is why we are in here." He rubbed his jaw.

"Trinh," there was a loud whisper at the door of their large cell. The girl jumped up and was at the door as quickly as possible.

She could hear the guard snoring. "Dalwyn."

"I can't get you out this way," said the small voice on the other side of the door. "The Viddlythi host arrived this morning.  Lord Teryl’s been in council all day with the Red Priests.  I'm getting out- going back to Lorinth before things get out of hand..." The voice froze as the guard mumbled and turned in his sleep.

"Quickly, now," the voice was urgent now and quieter. "Under the next cell is a tunnel that leads to the catacombs beneath the castle. It's part of the ruins of the old castle, really, but it's a way out. You'll have to get in the next cell though."

"That's no problem," said Trinh.

"I didn't think it would be for you, my friend."

"Thank you, Dalwyn. I hope to see you in Lorinth. Can you leave some arms and supplies at the..."

"Get away from that door," the guard growled. Dalwyn flashed a quick glance and nodded.

"Tell Mother," Trinh called after the retreating kitchen boy.

"Shut up, horse thief." The guard struck the iron bars on the window with an empty tankard.  He helped himself to wine warming over a brazier.  It was cold duty down in the depths of the castle.  He had been sleeping too deeply to catch the scullion and give him a good beating.  Taking a deep draught of the warming wine, the guard resolved to be more alert.

Trinh had reated to the corner where the knight and the jester were.

"It has begun then." Kerrigan looked angry. "And I can not fight from down here." He rattled his chains in disgust. He had not heard the end of Dalwyn's message.

“There must be some kind of way out of here.” The young man in bloodstained motley glanced up as Trinh joined them.

"Relax," said the thief. "We're leaving soon."

He looked up from examining his wounds. "How?" he asked.

"The catacombs beneath. We just have to get into the next cell to access the tunnel." She removed her cape.

The knight lifted his chains, "What about these, boy?"

Trinh took off her belt and turned it over in her hands. She unlaced a bit of it and withdrew some small metal tools.

"Those are no problem," she assured him. She looked up at the injured jester. "Fool, go see if the guard is asleep again."

He moved for the door. "My name’s Tearani, stable boy."

The thief looked at him again and nodded. Tearani peered out the small window.

Trinh worked on the shackles around Kerrigan’s ankles and it clicked open in her hands. Then she set to work on the heavy piece of iron around his wrists.

Tearani came back to them. "He's sleeping like a bear. How are we going to do this?"

The heavy lock hit the floor solidly, followed shortly after by the iron shackles.

"That's much better. Thank you, boy," the gravel-voiced man smiled and stood. He rubbed his wrists, "Why didn’t you think of that before?  If you can unlock that door without waking him, the guard should be no problem."

Trinh nodded and moved to the door. The guard snored and growled in his sleep. She kneeled and tucked her hair behind her ears, displaying dirty cheeks. She looked at the lock a moment and then set to work as quietly as possible. She held her breath as she prodded the lock with her tools, and it popped open with a metallic clink. She froze and listened for the guard. He was still snoring. Trinh sighed with relief, quickly stashed her tools, and put her belt and cape back on.

Kerrigan held the water bucket in his hands and signaled for Tearani to open the door as the thief stepped out of the way. The knight moved quickly and smashed the emptied bucket over the sleeping guard's head. He did not wake up, only grunted and slumped further forwards until he fell out of his chair.

"That was easy enough," said Tearani as he jerked a set of keys from the unconscious guard's belt. Kerrigan took his sword as the jester unlocked the next cell. "Let's go," he swung the door open. The cell was empty.

"Look under the hay for some kind of door. Hurry." Trinh spoke urgently, quietly as she locked the door behind them.

They scratched through the hay and Kerrigan came up with the door. "Here it is," the gravel-voiced man said and lifted the door open.

They looked down into the hole.

"Dark," said Tearani.

"Quickly, boy, grab the torches."

They only lit one of the torches as they dropped through the hole in the floor.

"Which way?" Kerrigan asked.

Trinh pointed to a series of scratches on the wall. "This way," she pulled her hood up and went down the hall with the torch. They followed close behind, Kerrigan ready with the guard's sword. Tearani carried the extra torches.

The passage narrowed and ceiling lowered before they reached the end of the tunnel. They came upon another chamber. It was cold and musty. There were three passageways leading away from the chamber including the one they had entered. The tunnel, chamber, and passageways were hewn from the rock of the mountain.

"Which way?" asked the joker, looking for scratches in the wall. There weren't any.

The thief was quiet for a moment as she examined the two portals.

"Left," she said and started forwards.

"How do you know?" Kerrigan asked. "I'd rather be up there locked up than lost down here in the dark."

Trinh pointed to a small pile of rocks just in front of the left passage.

"Someone was here before us. Probably Dalwyn. He knows this castle better than Teryl."

"The kitchen boy?" asked Tearani.

"Yes. His family has worked in this castle for generations."

The knight adjusted his grip on the guard’s sword.

They made their way carefully through the catacombs.  The twists and turns and passages were a complete maze.  There were stairs that they took up and others they descended.  Any doubts Kerrigan and Tearani might have had about Trinh’s ablility to lead them out safely lessened as she explained along the course of their journey. "The castle stood strong for hundreds of years before it was burned and demolished during a war. The old stones from the original castle were used to rebuild this castle more than a hundred years ago. I don't know why they left the catacombs accessible unless there's another escape route for the family. I doubt Teryl even knows the entrance, though," Trinh said.

Kerrigan looked at her, meager torchlight casting flickering shadows across her wide nose and forehead. "Why wouldn't he? It's his castle isn't it?"

"Not his family's," she glanced over her shoulder at him. "The family that built the original castle and this one was an old one. Unfortunately, they all died out because of the plague. Teryl's grandfather married the last daughter of the family. She escaped the plague because she'd been sent somewhere to be a lady in waiting to some other lord or something."

The jester snorted, "Did you have history lessons with Flamik?"

The thief looked at him and frowned.  “No, I just listen is all."

They turned a corner and saw a crack of light ahead. 

Kerrigan let out a sigh of relief. "Finally."

They were using their last torch.  It took a few moments for Trinh to find the trigger that opened a narrow space that debouched onto Ajira’s midden heap.  The light had seemed bright from the dark tunnel with only the guttering torch for competition.  However, once outside the Watchtower’s walls, the day was grey and rainy.

Though Erdrick’s Watchtower was well garrisoned, none of Lord Teryl’s watchmen along the walls took notice of three more pesants entering the streets from the midden heap.  A limping boy, a man in filthy motley, and a hunched greybeard disappeared into the crowded streets of a city preparing for war.  Peasants from outlying villiages streamed into Ajira, seeking the protection of the city’s walls.  Outside the walls, the Viddlythi encampment stretched for at least a league on the southwestern plain, red and black tents sprung up like foul mushrooms.