Scriber (39 page)

Bryndine opened her mouth to respond, but just then we both heard something—footsteps on the stairs.
The guards must have heard us.
The thought scared me, though I recognized how ridiculous that was. I was going to burn tomorrow, yet I was worried about being punished by an angry gaoler.

Bryndine raised a finger to her lips as the footsteps grew louder; in the hallway now, coming towards us. A figure came into view—a man draped in a long black cloak, his face obscured by a deep hood and deeper shadows cast by the torches lining the hall. He stopped in front of my cell and drew back his hood.

It was not a guard.

“Hello, Korus,” I said. “Come to gloat?” I was not surprised to see him; he had never been magnanimous in victory. He could hardly have let me die without some final comment.

Korus narrowed his eyes in annoyance. “Quiet, Lark.”

“Please, tell me how much better… wait, what are you doing?”

He had pulled a ring of keys from his pocket, and now he took a long iron key in hand and inserted it into the lock. “What do you think? I’m freeing you.” He scowled as though the very idea was distasteful to him.

“I can see that, but
why
?”

He actually looked insulted at that. “Do you really think that little of me? I remember my oaths. I don’t intend to let another Forgetting happen.”

“You spoke against us at the trial.”

“Should I have taken your side and been thrown in here with you? A lot of good that would have done.” He rolled his eyes. “This is why I never liked you, Lark. Illias handed you your sponsorship; you never understood the game I had to play to earn my pin. Sometimes you have to say what people want to hear. If you had ever learned that, you might have been more cooperative at the trial, instead of antagonizing the King. You would have been hung immediately if I hadn’t suggested the public burning.” Pulling open the cell door, he looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “Are you coming?”

“I suppose your company is preferable to burning to death,” I said, but I peered down the hall in both directions before stepping out, half-suspecting to see a guard waiting just out of sight.

Korus snorted in amusement at my show of distrust. “This isn’t a trap, Lark. Much as I would like to see you beaten for trying to escape, that isn’t why I’m here.” He turned away from me to unlock Bryndine’s cell, and I stared at his back. It went against everything I thought I knew about the man, but I was starting to believe him.
We just may get out of here alive
, I realized.

Bryndine backed away from the bars and eyed Korus intently. “Where do you intend to take us?” she asked. “The guards will not let us walk out of here.”

The lock clicked and Korus opened the door for her. “To Lord Elarryd,” he answered. “The guards will not be a problem.”

At the mention of her father, Bryndine’s guard dropped, and she ducked out of the cell. “My father is well? Is my mother with him?”

“They are both safe, hidden in the Underground. We have been using the tunnels to get around the city.” He gestured for us to follow. “Quickly. We still have to free your friends.”

When we reached the stairs, Korus paused to pull his hood back over his face. “The others are on the lower level, but they are not the only prisoners there. Do not say my name where it might be heard. No one can know I was here.” He started down the stairway.

“The guards must have seen you at the entrance, though,” I said. “Won’t it be obvious that you freed us?”

Korus shook his head. “They don’t know I am here. I did not pass that way. Quiet now, Lark. The less attention we draw the better.”

His response raised half a hundred more questions, but I followed him down the stairs in silence. When we reached the bottom, Korus led us into a small guard chamber just before the cells. It was little more than a place to sit for whoever was on duty, a bare white room with a small table and two chairs. A worn brown rug lay on the floor beneath the table, doing precisely nothing to make the chamber cosier.

“Wait here,” Korus said. “I will get the others. Best no one sees you.”

Bryndine frowned. “Where are the guards? There should be someone here.”

Korus grinned. “I’m afraid I may have confused their schedule somewhat. There is a double shift of men upstairs, and this level has been sadly neglected. But they will sort things out before long.”

“Go, then,” I said, nudging him towards the door. “I’d very much like to not be here when they come.”

When Korus was gone, Bryndine turned to me, and I recognized the worried lines around her eyes immediately. “Can we trust him, Scriber?”

I spread my hands. “I wouldn’t have said so a few hours ago, but if this is a trick, I don’t know what he could possibly gain from it.”

She nodded. “I had the same thought. We have no choice but to go along with him and hope we are right, I suppose, but I would feel better if I had my sword.”

“So would I,” I said.

It felt like hours before Korus crept back into the room, though it must have been only minutes. Sylla was the first through the door behind him, surveying the room with a suspicious frown. Only when she saw Bryndine did she allow herself to relax, as though letting out a breath she had been holding for hours. “Bryn. They said… I thought…” She swallowed and looked away, wiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand. I did not often feel sympathy for Sylla, but I did then—it must have been torture for her, knowing Bryndine was in danger and being unable to help.

“Dennon!” A red-haired blur pushed by Sylla and leapt at me, pulling me into a tight embrace. Deanyn’s voice caught in her throat as she whispered, “We thought you were dead.”

I was unaccustomed to being greeted so affectionately, especially by women, and I tried to mask my awkwardness with humor. “I made you a promise. I was scared of what you might do to me if I didn’t survive.”

She laughed into my chest, and I hesitated only briefly before wrapping my arms around her. I had assumed I would never see her again; it surprised me just how pleased I was to be wrong.

After a moment, she released me and stepped back, looking me over to ensure that I was unharmed. Then, without any warning, she punched me hard in the shoulder. “I don’t like worrying, Scriber. Don’t do that again.”

Rubbing my shoulder, I feigned an indignant scowl. “I assume you are speaking of my being taken against my will and sentenced to death?”

“Yes. That.” She grinned, and I noticed for the first time how lovely she was when she did. Even in the dim torchlight her eyes sparkled with humor, bright and blue, striking in contrast against the red of her hair. I realized I was staring only when she quirked an eyebrow upward, and I yanked my gaze away, embarrassed.

Looking beyond Deanyn towards the door, I saw Orya and Wynne standing just inside; there was no one else behind them. Apparently the Burnt had not captured many—only the women who had been near when Bryndine and I were taken. Wynne smiled at me when my eyes landed upon her, and it was a relief to see that she was all right. I had worried that she or Deanyn might have been hurt defending me.

Orya tipped her head in the direction of the stairs. “Let’s go. Glad to see you ain’t dead and all, but if we don’t move, we’ll be back in those cells before long. I don’t much like bein’ locked up.”

Bryndine stepped towards the door. “Orya is right. We have little time.”

Korus raised a hand to stop her. “We leave through here.”

Bryndine raised an eyebrow, but waited as he pushed aside the small table that sat in the middle of the room, then knelt and lifted the edge of the threadbare brown rug. Beneath, the outline of a wooden trapdoor was clearly visible. The confusion faded from Bryndine’s eyes. “The Underground. That is how you got in without being seen.”

“I have never heard of a passage under the White Cells,” said Wynne.

Korus’ mouth turned up into the smug smile I knew well, and he said, “You weren’t meant to. It is used for prisoners who must be jailed in secret, for political reasons. Only the King and his chief advisors knew of it. And the Justices, of course. But the King remembers nothing of late, and the Justices have joined with Lord Elarryd. None of our enemies know it exists.” He pushed back the rug and pulled the wooden door open. “Come—we don’t want to be found here.”

One by one, we descended into the subterranean darkness of the Underground.

* * *

Most of the Underground was a maze of half-ruined cellars and earthen tunnels, but eventually Korus led us into a different sort of chamber altogether. Clean and relatively intact, it was furnished with several wooden chairs and a number of Army cots, and lanterns in every corner provided ample light to see by. Crates and supplies were piled against the wall to my left, and a man with a Scriber’s pin on his collar seemed to be taking an inventory. There were others too, more than a dozen men and women working at various tasks and speaking in low voices. Some wore Scriber’s pins, others Army browns, and more than a few wore plain clothes, with no identifying color or sigil. A pair of Justices in their white cloaks stood before a door on the far right side of the room.

All eyes turned to us as we entered, and several hands went instinctively to sword hilts, but when they saw Korus, most returned to their work and their conversations.

“What is this place?” I asked.

“A black market hiding hole,” said Korus. “The smugglers know the Underground better than anyone. They have been lending us their expertise.”

Sylla raised an eyebrow. “You’re working with criminals?”

“As it happens, I just now freed several.” Korus glanced over his shoulder at her with a smirk. “We are working with whoever will help us. The black market, it seems, has suffered since King Syrid’s isolation of the city.” Nodding towards the door on the far side of the room, he resumed his stride. “This way.”

The Justices at the door let us by with a bow, and Korus led us into the chamber where Elarryd Errynson waited.

This room too was well lit, and a round table sat at its center. Leaning over that table, the Lord Chancellor sat in close discussion with four others. I recognized his wife Branwyn immediately. Beside them sat the High Justice, a bald man with a craggy face who I knew only by his white cloak and the silver circlet around his forehead. A red-corded Army Lieutenant who I didn’t know and a Scriber who I might have filled the other chairs; after a closer look I recognized the Scriber as Tenille’s husband, Vance.

Korus cleared his throat to announce our presence, and Branwyn Errynson was the first to look up. When she saw Bryndine, her hand flew up to cover her mouth. “Bryndine—” Her voice choked off and she rushed forward to embrace her daughter. She looked like some tiny elfin creature from the tales of the First Forest with Bryndine’s huge arms folded around her, but it was a moving display all the same.

Lord Elarryd stepped around the table to join his family, clasping Bryndine’s shoulder. “It is good to see you safe, Bryn,” he said.

The High Justice ran a hand over his bald head and glowered at us. “We haven’t time for pleasantries, my Lord.”

“I am aware of our situation, Tevon,” said the Lord Chancellor, casting an annoyed glance at the man. “I’m sorry, Bryn, but he is right; there are matters we must discuss before you can rest.”

Bryndine nodded. “You wish to know what we have found about the Burnt.”

“And how Ralsten fares outside the walls. I have sent men out to aid him, but it is harder for him to get information back—we must move constantly to avoid discovery.”

“They are hard pressed, Father,” said Bryndine. “Ralsten has too few men and too little supplies, and he was not trained to take on so much responsibility. An officer pinned in Warfare might be able to do more, but even then I do not think they could hold for much longer. A week, maybe, if the Burnt continue to toy with them. If they decide to bring their full strength to bear, the camp will fall in hours.”

Elarryd pinched the bridge of his nose, reminding me for a moment of his brother. “I feared as much.”

“How did all of this happen?” Bryndine asked. “When we left, it seemed Uran was going to be dismissed, and now he is the King’s closest councillor.”

“I know less than you do of the true reasons, I imagine, but the events themselves were simple enough. When Syrid told Uran of his dismissal, the lad asked to speak privately with him. After that, Syrid was not himself. Uran never left his side, and he would not hear my council.” Elarryd gestured at Korus. “Scriber Korus was the one who first realized that it might be the same sorcery you left to investigate. I did not believe it at first, not until the rebels attacked and Syrid barred the gates.”

The High Justice frowned, his face a mask of grim lines. “We named him a Promise-breaker for that. He named us traitors and rebel sympathizers. Dozens of my men were executed.”

“He kills all who oppose him, under the guise of executing traitors,” said Elarryd. “Scribers too—he has not yet risked declaring them all rebels, for fear of the Academy’s retribution, but any who speak against him…” Guilt twisted the Lord Chancellor’s features, and his wife laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I tried to stop it, but Syrid would not listen. It was then that I knew he was no longer my brother. When he summoned me to his chambers to speak privately, I fled to avoid falling under the same spell. The Justices sought me out, and we have been opposing Syrid as best we can since.”

“You did the right thing, Lord Elarryd,” I said. “If you had gone to him, you would be a tool of the Burnt now.”

“It is sorcery, then? What have you learned of it?”

“Some,” I said. “Not enough.” As briefly as I could without missing the important details, I related everything I had found in Fyrril’s books, and Bryndine told of the attacks we had survived and the magicks we had seen on our journey.

There was a deep sorrow in Lord Elarryd’s eyes when we finished our tale. “There is no saving Syrid, then?”

“I am afraid not,” I said.

Lady Branwyn took her husband’s hand. “You could not have stopped it, my love.”