life,” says the commander. I breathe a sigh of relief. Hralfar is alive. “My uncle will be proud of me.”
“Lord Tyrannus, I’m sure your uncle will have the utmost respect for you when you deliver to him one of the strongest keeps of Gilgal.”
“As well as the head of its keeper.”
“Yes, sire.”
They continue to talk about where and when such a thing will occur. The voices are moving, however, and it’s their positions I pay attention to and not their words.
They are walking down through one of the far tunnels. Slowly their words fade into the hall and begin to disappear. Then I peek out of the hall.
I make it quick, so as not to show myself. I only need to see where the guards are so I can plan accordingly.
One stands on each side of the main gate, which is open and under repairs. The portcullis is in place. Each guard has a sword sheathed at their side and holds a torch lazily, leaning on the wall. Another patrols the balcony on the second level. I will need either to find an amazing distraction or another way around. I opt for the second.
The Keep is deathly quiet. Torches flicker at intervals along the dark hallways, but their dull sound is dim and barely audible, if that. The few guards who patrol the halls are easily avoided. Tygnar obviously wasn’t expecting any kind of counterattack or prison break.
I do eventually make it up to the armory, but it takes me a little longer than I would have liked. A guard stands just outside the armory door, but he’s the only one in the hallway. This is my chance.
I’m standing in a side archway about twenty feet down the hall from the guard. I hear him sigh and he says something inaudible. Then I shuffle my boots loudly on the ground.
“Hm?” he starts. “What?”
I do it again.
“Who’s there?” His sword unsheathes almost soundlessly as he advances. Quickly I duck to the shadowy sides. The guard looks down the empty flickering hall for a moment and then says, “Must have been a rat.” When he turns around, I jump out and slam the hilt of one of my daggers into the back of his head.
He grunts and falls to the ground unconscious, much louder than I had thought it would be. In a panic I pick him up and drag him into the armory, where I take his armor and don it. It’s not until this point that I think that my height might give me away, but I shake off the feelings of doubt and hope that no one will question. I hide the guard in the back, behind a row of tall shields.
The armor is heavier than mine, but it’s a better quality. The helm has an immovable facemask and some sort of crest on top. I take his sword, having left my hammer back at the old fort. I had originally come to the armory for such a disguise, but taking it from a guard works too.
Now to find the dungeons.
I start down the hall from which I had come, going down a flight of stairs and into another hall. “Evening,” says one of the other guards as we pass. I just salute. He double takes, but doesn’t question.
I take a turn to go deeper into the right wing of the Keep. Then I turn around a corner and find a couple of guards sitting at a table in a square room. They appear to be drinking and playing a game of dice. My presence alerts them, but they don’t stand.
“What’s your purpose here?” asks one.
“The prisoners,” I say, advancing to the table.
“What about them?”
My response is simply to slam their heads together. They go unconscious and lie limp on the table. One of them spills his tankard of ale, making it appear as though they both got drunk and fell to sleep.
I continue through the door on the right, and into a long hallway. Doors sit about every five feet, made of iron bars. The walls too are made of iron bars so I can see everything going on in every cell; each one holds three or four men. A stone pillar stands with every door, separating the cells. Torches hang on the pillars. The pattern is repeated on the other side.
I look over as one of the many prisoners says, “What’d you come back for?! Beating him once wasn’t enough?!” I stare at him and notice another