Part 25 (1/2)
”How?”
”By rising tonight instead of tomorrow.”
Brock's gaze narrowed. ”You b.l.o.o.d.y schemer. You planned this all along...fis.h.i.+ng for a traitor among us.”
Duncan met the other man's gaze. ”There was always a chance one of the weaker men might break...but I did not expect it from the strong ones.” His voice dropped to a hoa.r.s.e rasp. ”I did not expect it from Bruce.”
A grim silence settled over the tunnel.
Brock's voice was a low growl. ”You shouldn't have saved that one.”
Clovis murmured, ”Perhaps he's dead, killed by Grack,” but his words held no conviction.
Brock flexed his arms, cracking his knuckles. ”If I find him alive, I'll break his bones for bread.”
Duncan nodded. ”Let justice be served. Either way, tonight we rise.”
The big man grinned. ”We'll take Grack as he climbs the ladder, smas.h.i.+ng his thick skull with his own mace.”
”But don't tarry. The sooner you release the other prisoners, the better chance you'll have. Numbers are key.”
Brock scowled. ”You talk as if you won't be with us.”
”I won't. I've thought of another surprise for our jailors.”
”What?” Suspicion laced the big man's voice.
”I'll ride the bucket-chain to the surface and attack from there.”
Brock stared, ”The bucket chain!”
Clovis hissed. ”You're mad! You don't even know what's up there!”
”He's right, cat-man,” Brock glared, ”You'll die before ever reaching the top.”
Duncan said, ”Has anyone ever tried?”
Brock looked at Clovis, but neither had an answer.
”Just as I thought. I'll take the risk.”
Brock drilled him with his stare. ”Why?”
”Because I know a young woman who'd council that surprise can turn the tide of any battle.”
”A woman, eh?” Brock grinned. ”Now I know why you're so stubborn to survive. Is she worth fighting for, cat-man?”
Duncan thought of Kath, his voice fervent. ”More than worth it.”
The big man barked a laugh. ”Then we best get you free of this h.e.l.lhole.”
Duncan lifted his hands, iron chains dangling from his wrists. ”First the shackles.”
A somber mood settled over the men. They all knew the price. Broken shackles ensured a cruel death at the hands of the torturers. Brock met his gaze. ”Once your chains are struck there's no turning back.”
Duncan shrugged. ”Tell Grack I died in a cave-in.”
”You're certain?”
Duncan nodded. ”I'll need both hands to climb the bucket-chain.” He knelt and stretched the shackles across a boulder. ”Strike true.”
The big man grunted, hefting the hammer while Clovis held the wedge between two links. It took five swings to break the iron.
The chain snapped, the sound echoing in the tunnel.
Duncan stretched his arms wide, savoring the freedom.
Clovis tore strips from his tunic and bound the loose chains to the outside of Duncan's forearms. ”Clanking chains would betray you.”
”Just so.” He flexed his arms, adjusting the knots. ”The shackles can serve as bracers. An armor of chains against our enemies.” He grinned at the two men. ”And so it begins. Strike hard and fast. Kill Grack and free the others. Time is our enemy and numbers our best hope.” He offered his hand to each man. ”We'll meet with our jailors crushed between us.”
Brock thumped his shoulder. ”Fight hard, cat-man.”
Clovis gripped his arm. ”The G.o.ds go with you.”
”Keep your G.o.ds, I'll settle for luck.” He took his leave of the two men and crawled back out the tunnel. Torchlight flickered along the main gallery, like fires lighting the halls of h.e.l.l. Hammer-blows pounded a rhythm of drudgery from the side tunnels, the others working to meet the quota. Duncan tucked the metal wedge in his belt, his only weapon, and moved along the gallery. The fearsome clatter and clang of the bucket-chain soon eclipsed the hammer blows. Duncan flashed a feral grin. His shackles were sundered, the die was cast, he was done being a slave.
31.
Katherine Raven-faced healers fluttered around Zith like birds to a cornfield, but Kath finally got a moment alone with the monk. Leaving her guards at the entrance, she sat cross-legged next to his pallet. Light from the glow crystal fell across his face. She stifled a gasp. Pale and wane, he looked one step away from the grave. His eyes were sunken pits, his cheeks hollow, his skin gray, the stump of his left arm swathed in bandages.
His eyes flashed open. ”Not dead yet.”
Startled, Kath jerked backward, but then she gave him a rueful grin. ”I'm glad.”
”Help me sit up.”
Taking his arm, she helped him up, easing a rolled blanket between his back and the rough rock wall.
”Better.”
His left arm was bandaged, just a stump, severed below the elbow. He looked lopsided, like a wounded bird, broken and unable to fly. ”Are you well enough to talk?”
He quirked a grin, ”It's all they'll let me do.” His face sobered. He looked down at his lap, his right hand worrying the frayed edge of his blanket, his voice dropping to a hush. ”I failed you.”
”Failed how?”