Rizain Du Kava. The name resonated with meaning, of hidden secrets. General Karíknof, too. After taxing his brain for several hours, he had finally remembered that Karíknof's head chef was the one who purchased Grüny. The general was to have a feast the next eventide. His stomach churned as he realized Grüny might be on the menu.
Skylar had to escape. He understood that now. If he was to help Grüny. If he would learn of this man, Du Kava, and what he knew, he must escape the Inferno. And he must to do it soon-tonight. The chance to operate with a full stomach and clear mind would not return. His one-time trip from that dark pit would not come again. Death would come for him before any savior, unless he took his salvation into his own hands. But how?
Almost immediately after the ceremony of the mutual sacrifice, Skylar and the other nine slaves had been sent back to the lowers depths, back to their pitiless taskmasters. They returned in time to perform the bulk of a day's work. Skylar laid down on his bed of moldy hay that night fully exhausted but still fortified enough to keep his mind alert. He must escape. Since being dragged back down to the pit, Skylar's brain had not ceased to think of a plan to achieve that purpose.
As far as he knew, only one way existed to get out of the Inferno. He had descended its stairway twice now. Deeper down, another chamber, which slaves and taskmasters streamed in and out of during their work hours, might harbor some secret portal. He doubted it. Though he didn't know what kind of production went on in this lower sector, he saw no reason why it should need special access to the upper region of the castle. A single way in and out meant less chance of anyone stealing away undetected.
No, however he escaped, it would have to involve taking the stairs which had brought him here.
Which exit to take troubled him less than his largest obstacle: the iron bars of his cell. With no implements but his hands and teeth, he possesed no means of breaking free of those bars. He contemplated feigning sickness when the guards came for them in the morning. What would they do with an ill slave? Send him to the infirmary? Doubtful. Dispatch him without blinking an eye and feed his remains to the other slaves, more than likely. Could he escape during working hours, create confusion by spilling one of the crucible's contents onto the floor? His own taskmasters would certainly be distracted by it. The others though...would the confusion spread to them, possibly ensuing in a riot? Then he remembered the lifeless, vacuous state from which he had just awaken. This same spell held the other slaves bound. The spell of extreme fatigue and hunger controlled those men more than any enchantment. They were incapable of rioting. Throw open the gates and let them run free. How many of them would have sense enough to leave? It was too risky.
Why were his wits not about him when they were taken to the kitchen? A stolen knife, a fork even, could have served him now. Regretfully, he had been too consumed with devouring the food to even think about doing so. It amazed him how easily men transformed to beasts-void of thought and reason-when deprived of food and rest.
So, he lay there contemplating his plight, staring up at the ceiling of his dungeon. Only the faint orange glow of a dying torch provided any light. He stared at the iron bars, their crisscross pattern, feeling the lids of his eyes grow heavy with sleep. No. He mustn't fall asleep. Fall asleep, and die, he told himself. He forced his eyes open wider. Think, Skylar. His eyes darted back and forth keeping time with the frantic pace of his thoughts.
Then he noticed something he'd never noticed before. Or if he had, his mind was too leaden to process it. Maybe now his eyes were deceiving him, feeding him false hope. What he saw looked like an extra wide gap between two of the bars, just where cage and stone ceiling met. It looked as if one of the vertical pieces had been cut away or broken free. If this were indeed true, the gap might be wide enough for him to squeeze through.
Slowly lifting his head, Skylar glanced around for any sign of a guard. He knew they must be about somewhere. Whether snoozing at their post or lurking in a dark corner of the dungeon room, he couldn't be sure. Any other night, and he would be fitfully sleeping, unaware of the dark world around him.
He listened. But for the grunts and whines of his cellmates as they slept, all was quiet.
He raised himself onto his hands and knees.
One of the slaves next to him stirred, pawing at the air with one of his hands, before falling still once more.
Freezing, Skylar waited with bated breath until the man seemed fully asleep again. Then he started to work his way toward the corner of the cell where the gap was. One of the slaves lay in the corner, his arms splayed out to the side, face plastered to the floor, mouth hung open. He wasn't about to try his luck stepping over this slave. Instead, he grabbed onto the bars of the cell, placed his feet on the horizontal members, and climbed half-way up.
Once off the ground, he started to work sideways, closer to the spot with the gap. He managed to reach this spot without waking the slave lying just beneath him. Climbing the rest of the way up, he stopped when his head touched the ceiling. Beneath his blistered hands, the iron bars felt rough and biting. He ignored the pain. All that interested him was the chink it the dungeon's armor. It was directly in front of his face now. Unconvinced, he felt around the gap with his hand just to make sure there really was no middle bar.
The bar was truly missing. A fresh wave of hope surged inside him.
The gap was smaller than it had looked from the cell floor. Wide enough for his head to squeeze through. His shoulders and hips? It would be tight, at best. Whatever he had to do, he would make them fit.
Angling his head to the side, he began to poke it through the gap. Other than his ears getting scratched, it went through without difficulty. His head through, he started to work on his shoulders. This proved more challenging than he anticipated. With his shoulders trying to squeeze through the gap, he had virtually no use of his arms. He felt like a plump worm trying to extrude itself through a tiny hole. Except Skylar didn't have the benefit of a smooth, slimy body. He pressed and wriggled the best he could, but it was no good. His shoulders were too wide.
He backed his head out of the gap, and took a few deep breaths, assessing the situation. Perhaps if he got an arm through first he would have more room. Taking his left hand, he reached through the gap as far as he could, almost until his armpit touched the cold iron. Now for his head again. It did not go through so easily this time. With the space occupied by his arm, the gap was appreciably smaller. Not as tight as with his shoulders, though.
Slowly, he forced is head through the gap. He felt the abrasive surface of the bars gouge his skin as his face grated against it. A hot stream of blood trickled down his chin. Ignoring it, he kept pushing. After what felt like hours of struggling, his head finally pushed through. He gasped and panted.. Despite the coldness of the dungeon room, he was now sweating as though he had been running through the Haladrian desert.
One arm and his head free, blood and sweat dripping from his face. If he failed now to get the rest of his body free, he didn't believe he possessed the strength or the willpower to extricate himself again.
So, he pressed on.
The only way to get his right arm through now was with it pinned against the side of his body.
His right shoulder met with heavy resistance. Gritting his teeth against the pain and taking hold of one of the lower bars for leverage with his free hand, he gradually worked his shoulder through. Then his upper arm. The bars scraped against and compressed his chest, his lungs. He held his breath and squirmed forward, until the bottom of his ribcage and elbow were pinned between the bars.
Now his position was awkward. Nearly half-way through, doubled over, one arm pinned, the other only able to grab one of the lower bars, his legs about to lose their footing. He paused to catch his breath. But breathing only made him more uncomfortable.
A sudden noise made him freeze midbreath. It was the unmistakable sound of footfall.
He craned his neck, and discovered a guard walking toward him, lantern in hand. It was all he could do to keep himself from crying out in despair. His chance to escape had come and he had permitted it to slip from his grasp. All was lost.
Then he realized that the guard was not walking swiftly, as you'd expect a guard watching an attempted escape to do. He walked leisurely. Maybe the guard had not yet seen Skylar dangling from the top of the iron cage. Wanting to make himself as unnoticeable as possible, Skylar bent his legs back toward the ceiling and slowly worked his left hand up closer to his body. In the end, nearly his entire weight rested across a single bar. The pain of that bar as it threatened to crack his ribs made his eyes water. Yet he willed himself to remain motionless.
Skylar did not look at the guard again, for fear that the whites of his eyes would betray him. He heard the guard drawing nearer, though. Footstep after footstep, always louder than the first. The lantern light grew brighter. Eventually, the guard entered Skylar's peripheral.
A few more steps and the guard stopped, turned inward toward the cell, and held up his lantern as he peered in.
Skylar checked his breath and prayed the guard would not look up. He also feared the guard would notice a missing slave in the cell. Did the guards count each slave?
He was so close, Skylar could have reached down and grabbed the guard's greasy hair. If he had a cudgel, he could have struck the guard in the side of the head.
The guard took his time inspecting the cell. Skylar gritted his teeth against the biting pain in his ribs. Part of him didn't care what happened to him, so long as he was free of the bars. Maybe he could fall on the guard and knock him unconscious.
At last, the guard turned and slowly walked away. Skylar listened intently to the footsteps, counting until he couldn't hear them anymore. He finally decided to risk moving again. His ribs simply refused to bear his weight any longer.
Writhing and pulling with renewed intensity, he worked his way through the gap. Within minutes, his right arm pulled free, and he started lowering himself down. It was tricky getting himself righted so that he didn't have to finish climbing down upside-down. But once he did, his whole body sighed with relief. He dropped quietly to the floor.
For several minutes he didn't move. His body demanded rest. He could have fallen asleep right there on the floor, with his head propped against the iron bars. It would happen if he didn't make himself move again. He lifted himself from the floor. Hunching low, he dashed toward the next cell. His unshod feet crossed the distance with only a whisper of a sound. There was still a guard nearby, maybe more. Silence was his ally. Peering through the bars, he spied the guard who had stood within an arm's length of him wandering from cell to cell, his back still turned to Skylar.
Sweeping the room with his eyes, and finding no trace of other guards, he made a dash for the next cell. Pausing only momentarily to check on his unobservant guard, he raced to the next. Then the next. The guard still unaware. Two more cells. The stairwell entrance beckoned to him, standing openmouthed a few meters away.
Glancing hurriedly in all directions, and finding it clear, he darted straight for the stairway. He slipped into the welcoming embrace of its almost complete darkness, and ascended the stairs. Though the darkness slowed his going, and made him stub his toes more than once, he felt relieved that no torchlight illuminated his way. No torch, no guard.
The staircase wound around and around. With his mind frantic to escape, he felt like it was taking much too long. He began to worry that he'd somehow taken the wrong stairwell. Was there another he didn't notice? He shook away the fear. It didn't matter. It led up, away from the Inferno. That's all he cared about.
At last, he reached the door separating the stairwell from the rest of the castle, nearly smacking it with his face. Feeling with his hands, he located the door's pull and tugged it forcefully. It didn't budge. The door was locked.
Of course, it was locked. He chided himself for thinking someone would be so foolish as to leave it gaping wide open, as a curtesy to any slave who might attempt escape.
For several minutes he simply stood there in the complete darkness, feeling utterly hopeless. What could he do? He could not go back. He could not go forward. If he stayed where he was, it would only be a matter of time before he was discovered. The impasse threatened to overwhelm him. A desire to cast himself onto the stone steps and give up filled him. What more could he do than he'd already done? Where was the victory that his father promised good would always hold over evil?
He was on the verge of succumbing to these feeling, as well as bodily fatigue, when he detected a faint rasping sound, followed by the squeal of rusty metal. A fresh surge of adrenaline snapped is entire body into alertness. The sound had come from the door. Someone was opening it from the other side. In that moment he determined to fight whoever stepped through that portal. He didn't care how big, or how loaded with weapons, that person might be. This was his only chance to escape. His only chance of survival.
Crouching on the steps, he waited. He knew he must act quickly, seize the only advantage he might have: surprise.
A vertical line of sallow light suddenly split the darkness asunder. Slowly, the line grew wider. Features on the stone wall became visible, the outline of the door fully pronounced.
Skylar waited with bated breath. As yet he couldn't see the future victim of his attack.
The door opened wider.
Skylar readied himself to pounce.
The door opened wider.
He could see a hand holding a tallow candle.
Almost...
An arm, just past the elbow could now be seen.
Just another second...
Seemingly of their own accord, his muscles engaged, his body sprang forward, and he rammed into the figure in the portal. Both he and the figure toppled to the floor. A strangled cry reached his ears. He raises his fist to strike. And then stopped.
The face staring up at him, the terrified eyes...belonged to a girl.
For a moment Skylar remained frozen, looking at her, not knowing how to process this unexpected visitor. The girl looked so frightened and pathetic, he couldn't think of doing anything to harm her. She cowered like one who was accustomed to being hit.
Skylar scrambled to his to get off of the girl, and offered her his hand. She shied away from it.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he whispered hurriedly.
Still, she wouldn't take his hand. Instead, he picked up the toppled candle and held it out for her to take. Hesitantly, she reached for it and took it in her trembling hand. Then she stood, still acting as though she expected to be struck at any moment. When she stood, Skylar realized that the girl must be near his same age, possibly older. But her cowering, subservient demeanor, made her seem younger.
The girl had dark hair and a frail figure. She dressed simply. He guessed she was a servant girl.
"I'm not going to hurt your," Skylar repeated. "Just please do not tell anyone you saw me. I must get out of here in order to help my friends...if it's not too late."
The girl shook her head violently.
"I-I won't t-tell," she squeaked out.
"Thank you," he said, then turned make his escape down the dark passage.
"Wait," she called out.
He paused.
"The s-slave today," she stammered, "I need to know..."
"He was older than me," said Skylar, believing that she wanted to know about the slave who had been senselessly killed. "Twenty-four, I'd guess. Quite tall. Curly brown hair."
A wave of relief flooded the girl's face.
Not waiting for a reply, he turned and quietly dashed away. He wondered if the girl would give him away. He suspected she wouldn't. Not so much to help him, but to avoid getting into trouble herself.
Backtracking as best he could remember the way he had been brought into the castle, he soon found himself slipping out into the same stableyard. The thick night air felt frigid. An involuntary shiver seized his body. Despite the cold, his heart gladdened at the reprieve from the dank, stale air of the castle dungeon.
The stableyard appeared deserted. Still, this was not the time for him to grow careless. Keeping close to the inner castle walls, where the shadows lay thickest, he made his way toward the stableyard gate. The gate was closed and locked. This minor obstacle did not deter him. The gate and stableyard walls were not designed to withstand infiltration, but rather to keep the animals, carts, and carriages from theft. He scaled the low wall with little difficulty, and dropped down onto the other side.
Now the only impediment that stood between him and freedom was the outer wall. He knew attempting to scale it would prove futile. Perhaps if he had a cord and grappling hook. Even if he had these and managed to reach the top, he would still have to face the bottomless chasm on the other side. No, the only way out was through the outer gates and across the bridge.
With light steps he made is way toward the gate, where he had no doubt at least one sentry would stand on duty. A torch glowed and flickered near a guard house just within the gates. Skylar flattened himself against the wall and slowly moved along it. The corner column, where the wall opened for the gate jutted out a few centimeters. It partially shielded him from view of anyone looking down the length of the wall. The shadows, heavy from the contrasting torchlight gave him the most comfort. Still, he wished for darker clothes.
Reaching the column, he paused and trained his ears in the direction of the guard house. For several minutes he remained motionless. Not a sound but the faint rush of the water far below reached his ears.
At last, he ventured a glance around the corner. Through the open guard house door he saw the sentry slumped in a chair, his face angled directly at Skylar. With a jerk, Skylar flattened himself back against the wall.
Had the guard seen him? He paused and listened intently. Still no sound. Surely the sentry must have seen him. Unless he was distracted or...asleep. Skylar had not actually seen the man's eyes. Shadows covered his face.
He decided to try another glance. This time he did not immediately pull back. Despite the nerve-wracking endeavor, he held his gaze on the sentry. The sentry didn't move. Skylar waited longer. Minutes. No movement.
Breathing a little easier, Skylar moved quietly out from around the column. The sentry must be asleep. He approached the guard house. If an alternate entry for the sentries existed next to the main gate, it would be accessible through the guard house. He hoped the sentry was a sound sleeper. As yet, he heard no snoring.
He drew closer. The man looked like a stampede of paquas wouldn't wake him. Then Skylar noticed the blood trickling down the man's neck.
Suddenly a rough hand muffled Skylar's mouth and held him tight.