The Fifth Star - Chapter 6 (1/2) - Out of Time
By Anaris Bell
- 265 reads
His preparations were nearly complete. Considering how long Darius had lived in Lothan, the bag laying on his bed containing all he needed to move on was quite a bit smaller than one might expect. Most of it held no particular value; it was merely more practical to bring it all now than try to do without, and none of it was simply a keepsake – he'd had nothing save the clothing on his back when he'd been taken by the Seers, and even if he'd been allowed time to collect his trinkets, they'd have been confiscated on his arrival at the College. Such potential emotional ties were eliminated rather than risk defiance later, as sure of the permanence of their compulsions as the magi tended to be.
Since his assignment to Lothan, he'd kept mostly to himself and his everyday needs were fulfilled by Harlemont, relieving him of the requirement to purchase much of anything for himself. So the bag contained only the necessities for their escape: a tent, a pair of bedrolls, the food he'd packed earlier, waterskins, a few sets of his favoured black clothing along with one set of Illusionist robes, the gold he possessed, and an assortment of poisons and tinctures. He'd not have bothered with the last, except one never knew when you'd need an antidote, or a poultice for a wound, and the poisons, well – Darius had gone to great lengths to procure some of the rarest known and nigh undetectable substances known to man, and he'd not leave such easily accessible to Harlemont once he was gone.
Only two tasks truly remained to be completed, and then he'd be on his way; getting a horse ready, and of course, stealing Sparrow from the dungeon. It was an exciting prospect, to be sure, but also an incredibly daunting one. It had been a long thirteen years since he had been forced into the Empire's service, but once he regained his freedom, it would not be easily maintained. Harlemont would be more than furious once his treason was discovered and Darius was sure floods of guards and knights would be searching for them at the earliest opportunity. Cities would not be safe for a long time to come, which would complicate resupplying. On top of those worries, he would be solely responsible for Sparrow's well-being, and Darius was far more accustomed to taking lives than protecting them. The uncertainty of the next few hours and beyond had his stomach twisting in anxious knots.
Another problem had presented itself besides, though he had only himself to blame for its creation. He had promised Sparrow an explanation of everything would be forthcoming. But could he actually tell her everything? She may take kindly to him for rescuing her, but what would she think of him once she knew what dark work he had been doing for the Empire? And that was a minor concern compared to the mystery of the connection that joined them. Can she feel it too, he wondered, or have I lost part of my sanity? Maybe I imagined it all this time, creating situations to justify my own actions, or lack thereof? His mind whirled for a moment as he entertained the possibility. No, he shook his head firmly to clear it of such toxic thoughts, no, I couldn't have broken those compulsions on my own… No other reason exists. The only question is, how would she react to such knowledge? If I explain when I first felt that pull, and how I've watched her from a distance for so long, will she thank me for my vigilance? Or will she despise me for it, and leave to travel her own path? All Darius knew for certain was that he dreaded that conversation more resolutely than his planned actions for that eve.
Little free time remained to him now. The guards worked a midnight to noon rotation, and if he were to escape shortly before the changeover, when they were at their least attentive and antsy to be relieved, he had only minutes before he needed to leave his suites. Conscious of the cold he knew would be waiting outdoors and the pitifully thin dress Sparrow had been wearing since her capture, he pulled one of the neatly folded outfits from the pack. He obviously couldn't carry the whole bag to the dungeon without arousing suspicion, so he instead unfolded the articles and worked them underneath his clothing, doing his best to keep the material from protruding in unusual places. He was not a bulky man, and even with the care he put into it, he still looked as if he'd gained several pounds just this afternoon. It will have to do, he thought as he smoothed down his clothes the best he was able, hoping no one would note the difference.
He lifted the pack from the bed and slung it over his shoulders, heading for the exit, but he paused at the threshold to turn about and survey the room for a final time. Even with the items in his pack removed, it looked little different. The vacancy would only be apparent once someone looked in his cabinet, where he stored the medicines, and even then it could be mistaken for simply running low. Most of his clothing was still present, the bed as neatly arranged as it always was; any who happened to look in here after his departure would not raise the alarm on that evidence alone, which could only be to his and Sparrow's benefit.
With a deep breath to steady himself, Darius opened the door and entered the hallway beyond. A guard was present, but he monitored this entire wing of the castle, and he passed by with only a respectful nod in Darius's direction. He made no comment on the state of his dress or the pack upon his back; it was not his place to question an authority so much higher than his own. No turning back, now that I've been seen, he thought as he started towards the stables. He utilized those routes he knew would be least occupied this hour of the evening and passed only a sparse few people whose faces he recognized, but only knew as ones of little import.
Within minutes he was stepping outdoors into the brisk air, shivering immediately from the magnitude of the change. Winter could be felt in the wind, and it didn't bode well for the season – autumn had only begun a short time ago, and already it felt cold enough for snow to fall. He pulled his cloak tighter about himself in an effort to break the chill but its bite slipped past the cloth with ease. Darius made a beeline for the stables then, stepping just inside the open and waiting door where the oddly comforting smell of horse manure and hay enveloped him.
His eyes sought out the stableboy. It took him a moment, but eventually he located him unconscious atop a bale of hay, a quiet snore crawling out of his gaping mouth. Darius chortled at the sight before making his way over and nudging him awake. The boy's eyes opened ever so slightly to see what had disturbed him, then all at once they practically bulged from his head as he fully escaped the grip of sleep and leapt to his feet, apologies already bubbling forth at great speed.
“I am so sorry milord swear it won't happen again I was just restin' my eyes is all-”
Darius held up a hand to stop the stream of consciousness before the boy gave him a headache. The words cut off as suddenly as they'd started, and he smiled at the child to ease his obvious fear. “It's alright,” he told him, “so think nothing of it. I require a horse readied for an excursion. Can you see to that for me?” He reached into one of his concealed pockets and drew out a gold coin, tossing it underhanded at the boy.
He caught it quickly, snatched from mid-air, and even though Darius could tell he tried not to, a grin spread across his features. The single coin was likely more currency than he'd ever held in his short life. “Yes, sir!” He began to run off down the stable's aisle, but Darius called out to him.
“Strap this onto the beast when it's ready, ay? I'll be back shortly,” he called out, dropping the hefty pack from his back to the dirt floor of the stable. The boy yelled back a confirmation, already lifting a saddle nearly as large as himself from a hook on the wall.
Darius took his leave of the stable and headed back towards the castle, shivering once again at the brisk air. It lent haste to his steps as he rushed to escape the cold, but still he took the long way round to the back entrance through which he'd carried Sparrow into the castle just the night before. His heart beat steadily faster the closer he got to his destination, so by the time he rapped his knuckles on the locked door to the prison, it felt as though he practically vibrated with the tension.
The door to the dungeon opened to grant him access as always, but Darius could sense that something was not quite as it should be. He trusted his instincts, and now as they set the hairs on the back of his neck to rising, he was immediately on edge in response. The jailor held the door open, but after he locked it behind him he turned to Darius, brows furrowed with confusion.
“Here to see her again? Ain't you a bit early?”
“I am,” Darius replied, drawing himself up to his full height, “I've things to do later and would keep her aethribane from wearing off in the meantime. Is there a problem?”
“No, not a problem. 'Cept the lord hisself has already taken her down the hall for a… private session.”
Oh gods, no! Harlemont’s after dark activities were well-known to his guards and servants, but never spoken of. He had a certain proclivity for wine and women, neither of which he handled well. The lord was a terribly violent man once he’d imbibed, and the women he chose to take to his bed often suffered for it. Though he would never permanently scar one of his extremely well-compensated regular lovers, he had no such inhibitions when it came to his favourite treat: a female prisoner of no standing. The guards of the prison knew well enough to keep to themselves when the lord came visiting, and if a certain prisoner happened to die overnight… well, her body would be disposed of quickly, with nary a soul hearing of her again.
Darius simply could not allow that to happen.
As quick as that, he was angry; not merely angry… fury coursed through his entire body like a drug in his veins. Harlemont and the Empire had done so much to him, left him with terrible memories that he'd buried deep within the recesses of his mind lest the simple recollection of them cause him pain. They'd forced him into a situation where he'd caused immeasurable suffering to others, and he carried out their orders with the easy cover that hiding behind the pretense of being controlled provided – but in reality he was just as in charge of his own faculties as anyone else, and he was burdened with guilt so overwhelming it had nearly driven him to end his own life many times over rather than continue to exist as such an awful weapon. Now he had this one small chance at happiness, this ever-shrinking window of opportunity that already they managed to threaten before it could even attempt to come to fruition. It was, to him, completely unacceptable.
Without a second thought, Darius had one of his daggers freed from its sheath and in his hand. He refused to let them win this, and there was no time to replan. The College was too secure to even think of allowing Sparrow to get there first before rescuing her, and now with Harlemont’s interest in her, if he walked away he could not be sure she'd even arrive there. It had to be now.
Before the man could so much as speak, the dagger plunged deep into his chest. The solid thud was clearly audible as the hilt made contact with his ribcage, then a wordless sound of shock escaped the jailor, his eyes widening with terror. It was a face Darius had seen more times than he could count. But this was a kill borne of necessity, not hatred, and an assassin knew a man's composition like nothing else – he slid the blade free almost as quickly as it had entered, stepping aside as the artery he'd severed released the man's lifeblood in an arcing fountain. He would bleed out in seconds; the method was as quick a death as he could give, if not entirely painless.
Though it meant nothing to a corpse, Darius apologized quietly as the body crumpled to the floor. He reached down, took hold of the key about his neck, and broke the chain that bound it to his person with a hard snap. He wasted no time once it was in hand, wiping his dagger on an inner fold of his cloak before sheathing it and dashing down the hall towards the interrogation room at its far end. The prisoners who were awake looked on. They did not say a word as they craned their necks to see what had become of the jailor, perhaps fearing the same fate would befall them were they to acknowledge aloud what they had seen.
Heart thundering faster than it had in years, Darius slid the key into the lock. Please, don't let me be too late, he prayed internally as he turned it and pushed on the tremendously thick door, dreading what he would find within.
Most of the room's equipment had been moved against the walls, the variety of torture instruments pushed aside for Harlemont’s simplistic purposes. Sparrow at that moment was being restrained by the guard the lord had brought to assist him, stark naked and struggling in vain against the muscled arms that held her. Harlemont stood by the table that had been left in the room's centre, his eyes gleaming with an excitement that matched the bulge in his trousers. All this Darius observed in the blink of an eye, but the opening of the door had captured the attention of Harlemont and his guard and their eyes moved to him.
“Darius!” Harlemont greeted him, waving an arm in invitation to him. “Time for the wench's medicine, is it? Come on over.”
Sparrow stopped struggling when Darius's name reached her. She turned her head the best she could, and he could see so much fear in her features it near broke his heart. Splashes of red adorned her body, with finger-shaped trails of blood smeared by exploring hands, and he sought out the source – a dozen lacerations, perhaps more, marred her belly, legs and arms, sharp lines oozing that scarlet liquid which so incited the lord's lust. To her credit, she did not cry out for him, smart enough even in the face of such horror to hold her tongue.
His face a mask of indifference, Darius strode over to Harlemont as if there was nothing at all amiss, that this woman meant nothing more than any of the others who had come before her. He took a place at his side, arms crossed as they both looked upon her.
“She's an exceptional one, is she not?” Harlemont asked casually, like he was discussing a painted canvas rather than an injured and terrified woman. “Little scrawnier than I'd like, though.”
Darius grunted noncommitally, not wishing to give anything away. He had to wait for his best opening to take out the guard, but he held Sparrow with a knife in one hand. If he didn't act with perfect timing, he could lose her, and then what would the point of all this be? Meanwhile, Harlemont had begun to tug on the lacing of his pants, a sign that didn't bode well for how much time remained to him.
“Go on then, give her the 'bane. I'm eager to get started,” the lord prompted him when Darius made no move to do what he assumed he had come here for.
Darius crossed the gap between them, and stopped to stand directly in front of Sparrow. It was clear by the confusion writ in her features that she was unsure if he had betrayed her and was about to join Harlemont in his activities, or if the plan to extract her from this place was still ongoing. He made a show of reaching inside his cloak and fumbling for several long seconds as if he couldn't locate the herbs. In fact, he hadn't brought them at all. Once the guard's eyes were momentarily fixed on Harlemont, he made his move. With a quick and subtle wink to warn Sparrow, Darius withdrew his hand from his cloak, again bearing his dagger instead of aethribane. His other darted out quick as a striking snake and grabbed hold of the guard's arm, fiercely twisting it to one side to disarm him. The guard howled with surprise and pain and his weapon clattered to the floor – at the same time reflexively releasing his detainee to cradle his now-broken wrist as she bolted away from him and Harlemont.
“What in the hell do you think you're doing?!” the lord screeched at Darius, but while his face was near purple with rage, he made no move to stop him, his cowardice leading him to back away from the threat instead as Darius had anticipated.
Before making any reply, Darius moved again, thrusting the blade mercilessly through the guard's eyesocket. Sparrow screamed from the other side of the room, punctuating the act. He let the body crumple to the floor without moving to retrieve the dagger; he had no intention of killing Harlemont, and he had other weapons on his person besides if the situation ended up demanding that task. He turned slowly to face his former master, and the shiver of pleasure that ran through him at the plain apprehension the lord displayed was welcome and not at all shocking; finally, after all this time he was able to act against him without fear of immediate execution.
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