Now, lure the guard into your cell and we will steal his keys. You are stronger than I if he resists.
Bjorn no longer questioned the sorcerer’s commands. As if he were a knight who had pledged fealty to this peculiar baron, he climbed to his feet and felt a new freedom in his ankles and wrists. Revenge tainted his blood and he wanted nothing more than to seek out Holt and slit his traitorous throat.
Later.
He had to appear weak, he had to appear as if he needed assistance, he had to worry the simpleton sentry. Grabbing a handful of the foul rushes on the floor, he shoved them into his mouth. Straw and hair, dirt and all manner of grime and refuse clogged his throat, and as he coughed it up, he began to retch violently, his body racking against the putrid matter.
“Hey—what?” The guard glanced up.
Bjorn kept coughing, spitting, and vomiting.
“Oh, ye gods, what’s ’appened to ye?” Disgust and worry edged the jailer’s words. He climbed off his fat rump and grabbed his keys, as well as a candle for light. “Don’t ye be dyin’ on me, ye hear? Sir ’olt, ’e wouldn’t like it if ye did somethin’ as infernally stupid as leavin’ this life.” Keys jangling, he opened the cell door and slipped through, slamming the heavy bars into place behind him. “ ’Ere now, what’s got into ye?”
Bjorn waited until the man was near, then he grabbed with both hands the manacles that had bound him, and with a quick lunge, forced the sentry backward. The candle dropped, hot wax sprayed on Bjorn’s legs, and the soggy rushes on the floor caught flame, only to sputter out.
“Hey! Wha—?” the startled jailer yelled as links of chain wrapped around his thick throat. Using his weight, Bjorn jammed his heavy body against the wall of bars that separated his cell from that of the stranger.
Coughing, choking, swearing, and stumbling backward, the guard kicked forward, attempting to wound Bjorn between his legs, but Bjorn, finding some sort of sweet justice, only tightened the noose. The guard wound his meaty fingers around the steel coil cutting off his wind, but Bjorn pressed harder until the man was backed against the bars, and the stranger wrapped his own manacles around one of the jailer’s legs, looping the chain through the bars and clamping on the other cuff to his free leg.
“Hold him,” he ordered. With deft fingers, he tore a strip of cloth from his tunic and forced it into the guard’s gaping mouth. Only when the man sagged against the bars, his legs wobbling, did Bjorn release him and snap his manacles over the man’s thick wrists. The jailer-turned-prisoner struggled, shaking his head and throwing himself against his bonds, but to no avail. Bjorn grabbed his keys, sword, and dagger, then hurried through the door, unlocked the stranger’s cell, and ran toward the stairs, nearly knocking over Lady Cayley, who was hastening soundlessly down the steps.
“You’re free?” she cried, stepping backward, surprised.
“Aye. Let’s go.”
“But how—?” she asked as she squinted into the darkness.
“Later, woman!” Bjorn insisted. “Now hush.”
“He’s right. Come quietly,” the sorcerer agreed.
Bjorn grumbled, “I don’t know why we need her!”
“Trust me. She is on our side.”
He felt, rather than saw, the woman’s back stiffen. “You doubt my integrity?”
“Nay, lady, only your ability.” Bjorn had no time for a woman—a rich, pampered daughter of the baron—getting in his way.
“Even though I risked my life to come down to the dungeon to save you, even though you are a common outlaw, you doubt me?” she said, her voice filled with indignation.
A woman would only slow him down, but Bjorn would not question the sorcerer, not when the man had healed his wounds and shown him how to gain his freedom. Now, if only he could sneak into Holt’s room and—
Enough! We must flee the castle before we’re discovered! Trust this woman; she needs us as much as we need her.
The cripple, even with his limp, was swift enough, and Cayley led the way to the stables, where no guard lingered. Inside, the horses snorted and rustled when they sensed the intruders. But each animal quieted as the magician touched its coarse winter coat. ’Twas too dark to see much, but Bjorn found his stallion and Cormick’s fleet mare for the woman while the sorcerer untied a quick horse to claim as his own. No bridles were in evidence, but Bjorn cut lengths of rope with the jailer’s knife. He fashioned the twine into halters with reins, and soon they were leading their steeds out of the stables and into the moonlight.
Don’t worry about the guards, the strange one intoned without words. I shall handle them.
The horses’ hooves rang through the bailey as they approached the main gate. Bjorn thought ’twould be easy enough to lure the guards from their posts and pounce on them, but he sensed that the magician had another plan.
Be ready!
The sorcerer rode his horse into the middle of the bailey and threw his head back to howl like a dog at the moon.
“Wait!” Bjorn commanded. “Do not—”
But the deed was already accomplished, and men were beginning to awaken and shout.