Against a Wounded Landscape

Chapter 1

Chapter 1The dank walls swallowed the licks of light coming from the guards’ torches. Cracks between the stone blocks had widened over time, allowing anything resembling life to find refuge in their crumbling curves, but nobody noticed the insects skittering to the shadows or the occasional trickle of rainwater slicking a path to the floor. Life in an Enthmore dungeon was a lost memory, not an adventure. Even for the guards.

The unlikely pair sat huddled over a meaningless game of tinato, half of the wooden dice chipped, the other half polished smooth from hours of overuse. Neither gave notice to the occasional grunt that came from a cell or the constant moans emanating from the prisoner at the end. On this most celebrated day in Enthmore, being locked down here with the dregs was as much a punishment as being in the cells with them.

At the top of the stairs, the wooden door creaked open. Aldray, the younger of the two guards and consigned to this assignment today for his lack of seniority, knocked over his stool in his haste to get to the stairs first and help the serving wench carry down the baskets with the prisoners’ food. She was a plain girl, one who disappeared when another was at her side, but here amongst the forgotten and ignored, she found a limelight she wouldn’t otherwise know. She smiled like a practiced coquette when Aldray took the heavier basket from her, bowing her head in gratitude when he swept his arm forward to allow her to descend first.

Aldray bustled around her like a gadfly, drawing his comrade in arms to his lumbered feet. “You should be out there dancin’ like the others.” He passed the basket he carried to the other guard without looking away from her. “Not stuck down here with the likes of us.”

She tittered. “I’m a’right. Someone’s got to see to you boys. Might as well be me.”

“Best get back to the kitchen,” the older guard rumbled. “There’s likely to be a riot at the sight of a girl like you.”

Her skirts swished as she started up the stairs. “If you like, I can bring down some of the sweets that got left. They went a bit mad this year.”

“Or maybe I could pop up for a wee visit,” Aldray offered.

“You can do that?”

He laughed, more bravado than was warranted. “This lot’s not goin’ anywhere.”

The door swung heavily behind her when she left, returning its weight to the mood below. “Your turn for the drunk,” the older guard said.

Aldray groaned. “I thought we were playin’ for him.”

“Game’s not over. The stink’ll only get worse if we wait.”

“I’ll do the rest of the row if you do that one.”

“Sure. You know, I wager that wench of yours would love to hear how you about piss yourself over that one prisoner because of your delicate nose. She might not think you have a nose for her sweets, either.”

“You’re the one who called it a stink.”

“I’m not the one trying to get under her skirt.”

“Fine,” Aldray spat. “But we’re playin’ for two turns off when we get back to the game.”

Snatching the key off the wall, he turned to face the nearest cell. The reek had grown riper with each passing day, wafting into the watch room through the small window set in the door. Whoever had chosen to place their most malodorous prisoner in the closest cell had been an i***t, the prisoner’s size be damned. Carrying him should’ve trumped smelling him.

It worsened as the door cracked open. “Get up,” he barked, but his voice broke as the stench caught in his throat. He coughed once to clear it. “Breakfast.”

The misshapen lump in the corner didn’t move.

“Did you hear me?” He ventured just over the threshold, squinting into the murk. “Time to eat.”

From down the row, another cell opened.

“Well, if you think I’m goin’ to spoon-feed you, you can do without.” Aldray waited for a response. The last thing any guard wanted was for a prisoner to die on his shift. A dead body then became the guard’s responsibility, from disposing of the corpse, getting it out of the dungeons, cleaning out the cell, and contacting whatever family there was. With this one, without even his name to put on their records, that would turn into a week’s worth of extra work.

When nothing happened after a minute, he huffed in exasperation. Setting aside the food, he crooked his arm over his nose to block out the worst of the smell and crossed the cell to nudge at the prisoner’s foot. The blanket shifted to expose the sole of a worn boot, but otherwise, the lump remained immobile.

“Unbelievable,” Aldray muttered. The last few steps to the prisoner’s side were faster, but as he reached to pull the blanket away, a meaty hand shot out and slammed into his throat.

* * * *

The fight was brief, just as Tanash had planned. The blow to the guard’s windpipe stopped him from crying out, buying Tanash the time he needed to rise and hook his arm around the man’s neck to choke him into unconsciousness. Though his pallet muffled Aldray’s futile kicks, those ceased almost immediately. The stinkbuds Tanash had torn out of the lining of his cloak when they’d locked him in and then hidden in the cracks of the walls near the door had worked better than he’d hoped. Aldray had likely been breathing shallowly through his mouth to try to block out the smells. He’d done half of Tanash’s work for him.

Pushing Aldray into the corner, Tanash stripped away his blades from their scabbards and threw the tattered blanket over his prone body. One dagger, he slipped into his boot. The other, he palmed as he crept behind the open door to listen for the other guard. He would much prefer a sword, but his was hidden with his belongings outside Enthmore’s ramparts. Trying to move around the castle visibly brandishing a weapon—even on this day of celebration—would hinder his quest.

“Aren’t you done yet?”

Tanash pressed to the heavy wood, using the murk to his advantage, as the other guard plodded close. His great height put his gaze higher than the small window in the door, allowing him to track the guard’s progress. As the guard paused inside the threshold, Tanash shoved forward with all his might.

The edge of the door slammed into the guard’s side, knocking him to the ground. Before he could find his feet, Tanash was there, his arm around his throat, squeezing until the body went limp.

Though both guards were now incapacitated, Tanash worked swiftly, binding their wrists and ankles with strips torn from the blanket, gagging them with their socks. He left both men slumped in the corner when he locked the cell behind him, then tossed the keys into the cesspit under the stairs. While he wished he could take one of their uniforms to help blend into the population above, neither was remotely close to his size. He made do by peeling away the worst of the ragged clothing he’d stolen to feign poverty and left behind the dungeon he’d used as a foothold into the citadel.

The corridor was empty when he emerged from the dungeon. Most of the castle’s residents would be in the streets or at the arena, taking part in the dances and exhibitions that were a part of the kingdom’s annual festivities to mark their growing prosperity, a detail Tanash had planned on. He’d picked the fight with the soldier at the pub a week ago, specifically so he would be locked securely in the dungeon on this day. It was his single best opportunity to search the citadel and escape with his prize.

If he got caught, there would be no second chance. One look at him, and the king would know he was a knight of Tasora. Tanash would be executed before the sun fell.

He moved with the stealth of a man half his stature. As he stole through the lower level to reach the center salon, each footfall was light and quick, unheard even by him. He’d never been inside this particular castle, but he’d seen others when he’d accompanied King Cersamor, enough to know that variances were slight.

And he was right. The stairs leading to more private chambers curved up into a balcony overlooking the salon. He took them three by three, then doubled over to keep from being spotted below.

Nobody was up here, either. He had the luxury of pausing at every closed door he found to listen for sounds within.

He stopped at the very last one. Closing his eyes, he blocked out the distant jubilee to focus on the hollow echoes at his ear.

Wood scraped across stone.

The rustle of silk.

A long, drawn out sigh.

As he hoped, the room was occupied. The only question remaining was whether its denizen was friend or foe.

Straightening, Tanash knocked once on the door.

“Yes?”

The voice was male and young. For the first time since breaching Enthmore’s walls, Tanash’s pulse began to accelerate. “Prince Liseny?”

The ensuing silence ravaged his calm. He barely heard the silk whispering again over his roaring blood.

“Who’s there?” The rushed words were sharper and louder, as if their speaker had moved closer to the door. “Why would you call me that?”

“It is your name, is it not?”

“My name, yes, but…” A ragged breath. “If this is another game, tell your king I’m not playing.”

Tanash’s relief was the sweetest nectar on his tongue. “My king is the same as yours, my liege. I come from Tasora. I’m here to take you home.”

“From…” The rest was lost in a choked cry, but then Liseny cleared his throat. “No, you lie. This is another of Awryn’s games.” His footsteps scuffled across the floor. When he spoke again, his voice was faint, audible evidence of a new retreat. “Be gone. I won’t let him make a mockery of me any more than he already has.”

But now that he’d found Liseny, the last thing Tanash would do was leave. Testing the door, he found it locked, but he’d been prepared for that.

“What’re you doing out there?” Liseny called out.

“Can you open it from your side, my liege?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, I can’t.”

“Then please, stay clear.”

The bolt was too sophisticated for him to pick, though such cunning wasn’t his specialty. Stepping back, he assessed the rounded edges of the doorway with a shrewd eye, then scratched at the iron flaking from the hinge plate. Not recently forged but strong enough. He pulled out the smaller of the two daggers he’d stolen and chipped out the polished wood that surrounded the upper plate. With the narrower top, it would be the first to absorb force.

Time was of the essence. He gave up hollowing out the wood sooner than he might otherwise and replaced the dagger in his boot. Retreating as far against the opposite wall as he could get, Tanash smashed his heel above the lock.

The door cracked but remained in place. The echo it created down the corridor sent a frisson of alarm down Tanash’s spine, but he stayed focused on the same spot and slammed into it again and again.

On the fourth blow, the hinge snapped. On the fifth, the lock went.

He opened the door into an elegant bedchamber, ornate tapestries in gold and black lining the walls, thick furs in a heap next to the four-poster bed to expose their silk sheets. For all its opulence, it was as much of a cell as the dungeon had been. The wide iron bars in the crown of windows proved that.

At the foot of the bed, a young man clad in a muslin tunic and black breeches stood with his slim fingers curled around a small brass pot, poised to throw it at the slightest provocation. Piercing blue eyes gaped at Tanash, fringed in thick black lashes, made brighter by pale skin he doubted had ever seen much of the sun. His brown hair was shorn to his scalp, but the harshness was offset by the soft, pouty mouth, almost too feminine for someone whose sinewy biceps could be seen through his shirt. Never had Tanash seen such a striking creature, male or female. For a moment, he forgot why he was there.

“Who are you?”

The nervous query snapped him from his fugue, and he immediately dropped to a single knee and bowed his head. “Sir Tanash of Tasora, my liege. I mean only to return you to your father.”

“How—” His voice cracked, and he coughed once. “What is that horrific smell?”

Tanash had been surrounded by the stinkbuds for so long, he barely noticed how it continued to cling to his flesh. “I can explain later. Once we’re free of these walls. Here.” Reaching inside his tunic, he ripped away the badge he’d brought to prove his fealty and held it out in an upturned palm. “So you may see that I speak the truth. But we must be quick if we wish to gain some ground before they discover either of our absences. I swear, my liege, I will answer any question you might have once the threat is behind us.”

“You’re truly here to take me home?”

“Yes. Or die trying.”

At Liseny’s slight cry, Tanash glanced up to see him crumple to the edge of the bed, the pot falling forgotten from his hand. Tanash threw himself forward to catch it before it rang across the stone floor and alerted anyone nearby, realizing only after he rose again that he’d probably made more noise breaking in the door.

Liseny was oblivious to his efforts, his eyes liquid and unfocused.

“My liege,” Tanash said, but when Liseny didn’t respond, he dared to reach out, shake his shoulder, and tried, “Liseny. We must be quick.”

Liseny looked up at that. He was obviously unaccustomed to any signs of respect. Tanash made a mental note to be more liberal with the use of his proper name until Liseny came to better grips with his true station.

“Do you have a plan?” Liseny asked.

“I would never have come unprepared. Do you have a cloak? And another pair of shoes.”

“What about clothes? Food?”

“Unnecessary for now. Once we’re off the isle—”

“You have a boat?”

Tanash gritted his teeth to stem his mounting frustration. “Please. The sooner we leave—”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

As Liseny darted to a wardrobe in the corner, Tanash gathered as many small trinkets of value that he could find. He would never be able to sell them here, but back in Tasora, they could be melted down or used for whatever the king wished. Normally, he considered looting beneath him, but this was an entirely unique situation. Fifteen years ago, King Awryn had stolen Tasora’s most prized possession, leaving the kingdom in a disarray it never truly recovered from. A few baubles were scarcely worth the anguish he had wrought.

If Tanash had his way, the only real restitution would be Awryn’s head on a pike.

He finished to find Liseny regarding him with wide, solemn eyes. A dark cloak was draped over his shoulders, a bulky bag strapped to his waist, while in his hands, he held out a folded piece of thick wool.

“It’ll be too small, but it will help mask the smell,” Liseny said.

Tanash took it with a grateful nod. “Are you ready?”

He caught the delicate bob of Liseny’s throat as he swallowed. “I will follow you anywhere.”