Chapter 41

  Day Twenty – Night

  Father Sun and his daughters pale and scarlet had risen and set since the peasants’ training had begun. The two fastest horses were given to Torm and Ludi. Packed with as little as possible, but plenty of water and rations, Torm and the ten years older bandit rode without much rest. Only after the animals were fed and cooled down with water did they continue.

  They rested their sore thighs and behinds after dark, and discussed their leaders’ and comrades’ faults. There was no need to hide or lay low. The hedges were enough at night, within the vast fir forests. Locals gave them directions – under the guise of being bounty hunters. Nobody would dare to think that two strangers were set out to attack the mines. The duo learned that the nearby town’s name was Swartheim.

  “There,” said Torm after a long hike. They left the horses at the foot of the plateau that was carved into the side of a mountain. Even from far away it had been a dreadful sight. Immersed in the familiar smog that Torm remembered from Teblen and other cities. This place was something else though, with the whole area being polluted. The young men had to come very close to even spot the torches and bonfires. A river meandered through the valley below, leading them to their goal. Skulking forward, Torm pointed at the ten foot tall wooden palisades, and Ludi nodded. “Got everything mapped out?”

  “Roughly,” answered Ludi, silent, in his heavy accent. “I finirò tomorrow, when Padre Sole is back. We gotta lay low for a while anyways.” The bandit held up a piece of parchment.

  “Sì,” said Torm. “Now, how are we getting inside without being spotted?”

  Traveling light, the young Albinian had asked their peasant allies for dark and earthen colored clothes to wear with his leather jerkin. His shorter companion with the greased back hair wore his normal clothes. Both his vest and breeches were made from brown sheep’s hide. Their faces and hands got powdered in ash.

  “Their attenzione is directed inwards.” Ludi watched the spiked tops of the palisade and followed its full length with his eyes. “We’ll circle the palizzate to gather all the knowledge we need. See if we can find an easy place to scalare.”

  “Understood,” whispered Torm, as they sneaked through the scrub. All greenery was removed around the palisades, with around one hundred feet of naked grass to bridge.

  Ludi led the way, raising his hand every now and then to make them stop and lower themselves. A “pssht”, or a finger in front of his lips was enough, because the young man was quite the good follower. He was used to instructions like these from his mentor. What little sounds they made were drowned out by the hoots of an owl and other birds, rustles and chirrups. Torm could have sworn he saw a lynx or fox even.

  “I’ve been on guardia before,” said Ludi and pointed at a part of the walls that had a flat roof on the other side. There were not enough fire bowls to illuminate everything, and even that flickering light couldn’t reach far. The guards were wandering torches on an elevated trail right behind the spiked logs. The bandit had not spotted any polearm tips. He assumed they were armed with crossbows and sidearms. But surely, there were better arms somewhere close. “What you learn on guardia is to look out for the unusual. Details are impossibile at night”

  “Which means…?” Torm squatted behind a trunk, following Ludi’s gaze as best as he could.

  “Two men lurking in the bushes isn’t normali,” said the older one, bending over on all fours, with his back kept low. “Roaming boars are,” he smiled and let out an uncanny grunt before moving towards the palisades.

  “Wha–” asked Torm himself more so than Ludi. He only got oinked at in response. It took a while to overcome the shame, but after a long sigh he fell onto his hands and followed. His companion moved in irritating ways; not in a straight line. Grunting every now and then, which Torm mimicked reluctantly. He remembered another of Zaber’s teachings. If someone chased you through the night, through an open field, it would be smarter to lay flat on the ground. Pretend to be a stone or timber.

  Only for the last ten feet did Ludi shift into a sprint to reach their obstacle. With his back braced against the wall and his knees bent, he waited for Torm to give him a leg up. The young man took that invitation, sprinted as well, and got shot up foot-first. This was more what he expected, as he got catapulted over the palisades. The pointed ends weren’t sharp, but impossible to sit on.

  “Fff–” Torm bit his lips. “Damned, my balls,” he groaned, as he reached over the palisades to pull Ludi up. A mound was raised behind the logs, circling the entire camp, with a trampled path along it. No need to climb down.

  The shorter brigand landed on his feet right next to Torm, patting him on the shoulder. “No problema,” he whispered, and smirked. “You’ll not need them here.”

  “Maybe you–” Torm smirked back, looking left and right.

  “Andiamo,” interrupted Ludi and pointed at a canopy they had seen from outside. It was nothing more than two pairs of thick stilts and a roof, storing logs to reinforce and repair the palisades.

  The duo ran and crouched behind the logs. Searching for the closest movements, shadows and walking torches, the more experienced of the two pointed at something. Torm breathed heavily and held his groin while being led around the pile of logs to hide.

  “Let’s pausa.” Ludi put his hand on his young companion’s back. “You can get your cogliones kissed by that gigante or pelato when we’re back,” he joked, winking at Torm.

  “Don’t,” replied Torm, swatting Ludi’s hand off. “Not funny.”

  “I know, that mostro can rip me in half.”

  “Zaber will too,” said Torm and straightened. “They’ve been through enough. Last thing Breg and Buron need is that kind of shit.”

  “Sin is sin, però.” The bandit peeked around the corner. “No Star will protect you from sodomia.”

  Torm sighed and held his head low behind the pile of woods. His gaze wandered around nervously. “There’s enough other stuff you can talk shit about. But not for this, man.”

  In the middle of the camp stood a giant clay bloomery, with a brick workshop right next to it. Everything was covered in a reddish-brown dust, with plenty of storage around it. Elongated wooden barracks and small shacks were peppered throughout the compound. Piles of earth and stone were all around, with buckets, ropes and tools. The outstanding buildings were adjacent to the barracks; conic mining huts as far as the eye reached... as far as the smog allowed for.

  "What’s next?" Torm gripped the hilt of his bauernwehr.

  Ludi swatted at his companion’s hand, like one would shoo away a cat. “If we kill anyone, we cannot return. Even if it takes all night, we must be careful.”

  “Got it,” nodded Torm. “Sagir has to be in one of these.” He counted the conic huts.

  “Sì.” Ludi returned a nod. “Non way to know, we have to go inside each. You parlare, I keep watch. Keep in mind that these men and women are disperate.”

  “I’ll–” The young man exhaled fervently. “I know.”

  “Don’t promettere anything,” said the brigand, and stepped outside their hiding spot like he owned the place. Someone sneaking around a prison camp was suspicious. Someone walking upright may be another guard. Especially if one wasn’t walking away from the barracks, but towards.

  The huts had simple doors and were slightly elevated to keep the rain out. They could only be opened from outside, where a sturdy drawbar kept them closed, without a lock. Ludi opened the door with confidence and both went in, closing the door behind them. Staying behind, the brigand kept it shut with his foot and eavesdropped outside. A wooden pillar in the center was connected to beams that kept the roof up, connected to a windlass and a capstan. A rope went down the abyss of a hole, wide with scaffolding that spiraled downwards. There were no hoof prints, but the smell of sweat, blood and suffering spoke for itself.

  “Dead end,” whispered Torm, grabbing the grill door on the other side of the hut. Snoring and woeful breathing came from the other side of the heavy lock. His head couldn’t fit between the iron bars, and only a couple of thin slits let light through the outer walls. The young man saw a row of bunk beds with old rags hanging from the edges. The blankets were dirty and perforated, with no tables or chairs around. “Pssht.” Torm gently knocked against the iron and wood. “Hey. Over here,” he whispered.

  “What?!” A convict jumped out of his bed with a deathly gaze. “Please, stop–” he whimpered, coughing. More movements and murmurs sprang up around him.

  “I–” Torm was baffled. “I’m no guard. I’m from the outside.”

  “Don’t fall for it,” hissed a voice from behind. Another man had gotten up already and tiptoed closer. Covered in rags, his face was stubbled, with small cuts and bruises typical of hard labor. A ripped coif held onto his shaven head. Every head peeking up or cowering behind each other was bald. Each of them was skin and bones, even the strong ones. Trying to say something, the man hunched over and choked up.

  “Pl–please, be quiet. We’re here for good,” uttered Torm. “We’re looking for someone. And guidance; intel.”

  The prisoner was a tall man whose age couldn’t be judged without light. His bony fingers wrapped around the metal bars, revealing a fresh stain of blood. “Please, don’t do us dirty,” he whispered. “We don’t want trouble.”

  “By the Stars, I swear to you,” said Torm, his hands twitching away after barely touching those of the convict. “We’re not here for trouble… yet. We’re looking for a Yesilian man who came in the other day. Brought from Teblen, on behalf of Margrave Greodor.”

  “Don’t trust him,” hissed another voice from the dark.

  “Send him away,” added another.

  “Are you here to kill him, or free him?” asked the man behind the bars.

  “That–” The young man gulped. “That depends. If he talks; has what we want.”

  “Why should we tell you anything?” Someone croaked from under a blanket. “Find the blackhead. Kill him. Whatever,” he said. “We’re already dead.”

  “I–” Torm halted, and looked back at Ludi. The bandit was still holding the door, but kept a close ear. “Listen–” The young man couldn’t bring himself to lie to them. “I have some jerky and bread on me. Do you need water? It’s not enough for all of you, but it’s something.”

  The prisoners at the door turned around and skimmed through their dozen inmates. “Gram?” he asked them. “Gram should get it.”

  A moan went through the crowd, but nobody disagreed. The scrawny man held his open hand through the bars and Torm handed over a chunk of dry bread and strips of meat. It was handed back, changing many hands in the barracks, until Torm could see a frail old man, closer to a corpse.

  “Th–thank you.” The frail man teared up. “We don’t know where the savage is, but we have heard about him. Go to shaft thirty-nine, just behind us, and then over one more to thirty-eight. There’s a women’s unit,” he said, while stuffing his face with Torm’s gift. “They got one or two of the new arrivals. Maybe they can tell you where to find him.”

  Torm wanted to return the gratitude, or say goodbye to them. But the sheer sight of these men hurt him too much. When he walked away without a word, he heard a, “I hope we’ll never see you again,” behind him. He nodded, without turning around.

  Ludi opened the door to let his younger companion out. “Watch out,” he said, before walking outside like nothing had happened.

  The pair kept close to the huts and barracks when following the paths between them. Now that he was told, Torm noticed the numerals above the doors. They waited around a corner until Ludi gave a thumbs up, peeking around every now and then. Number thirty-eight’s door was pushed open, and the pair entered in the same way as before. The brigand watched the door and Torm sent out a “psht”, rattling the metal bars with his fingernails. He repeated it once more and tried other means to gain their attention. Then he heard how the inmates stopped breathing and moving at all.

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  “We’re no guards,” whispered Torm. “We’re looking for someone new; who arrived the other day.”

  Nobody answered at first, until one woman’s voice lingered in the background. “I–” she whispered. “I know that voice,” she said. Her clothes were not rags yet, but her head was as bald as the men’s. She climbed out of her bunk bed and tiptoed over to Torm, keeping her distance at arm’s length. “You’re the madmen from before,” she gasped. “He told us you would come again.”

  “Where is he?” asked Torm, and pulled his felt cap off.

  “Girls, girls,” hissed the bald woman over her shoulder. “This is one of the fellas I’ve told you about. The crazy ones.” She suddenly grabbed the bars and pulled herself face-to-face with Torm. “You were the one who left us behind. I remember you.”

  “And now I’m back,” said Torm without flinching. “Tell me where he is. The Yesilian.”

  “For what?” Her hands moved towards the young man’s, but he retracted them. “So you can leave us behind again? For that animal?”

  “No, we’re not here to take him with us. We–” Now Torm kept her at arm’s length, seeing what her eyes looked like.

  “Is the insane one with you?” she interrupted, stretching her neck to look behind the young man. “The metal man? Zaber?”

  “Listen, woman.” The young man swatted at her face that was pressed between the bars. “We’re here to get all of–”

  “Ehi!” exclaimed Ludi in a shouted whisper. “Don’t tell the zambracca.”

  Torm snapped back at Ludi, but kept quiet. His fists were clenched, and his lips trembled while he looked around the place. “She knows who we are anyways,” he said and turned around to face the many bald heads on the other side of the latticed gate. “Don’t speak about this with when guards are near, but get the word to the other barracks. We’re coming back; with reinforcements.”

  “Count me in, babyface,” smirked the woman. “I’m in here for worse than keeping secrets.”

  “Be ready on Fire Festival,” said Torm and brought his face closer to her. Her eyebrow was burst open, and her age could not be five years older than him. “We’ll set this place ablaze and set you free. Then it’s up to you. Get whatever tools and weapons you can.”

  “Blackhead’s in the front, closest to the motte and bailey where the guards sleep,” she nodded excitedly. “That fucking knight told them about you, but the chief of this place ain’t believing him. He–”

  Another woman stood in the back, a ragged blanket wrapped around her. She pushed past her fellow inmate at the gate. “Please,” she uttered with sunken cheeks and empty eyes. “Please take him with you.” Under the covers around her, she presented her half-bare chest with a thin baby dozing. “I beg you, please–” Tears were filling up her eyes, but were too few to run down her cheeks. She held the child in front of the bars, which it hardly fit between. “Please, I beg you. Please. I beg you, please. Please, please–”

  With widened eyes, Torm’s heart stopped, and horror punched him in the gut. He bent forward, grabbing his mouth and chest, nearly throwing up. The first woman’s reflex had been to push back against the mother at first, but stopped when she realized who it was.

  “I–” The young man looked down on himself in shock, before facing the baby. He had no control over his hands, which took the baby. Holding it close to his chest, his heart started to beat again. “I promise you, we’ll come back. Fire Festival. Be ready. Tell everyone,” his voice cracked, as he whispered as fast as he could. “As many as you can. Be cautious. Don’t risk getting caught. We–” He put his hand on the back of the baby’s head, nodding one last time at the mother. “I’ll get him out. Make sure you make it.”

  Torm knew he would throw up if he stayed any longer. He turned around and walked, walked as fast as he could. The bandit guarding the door couldn’t open it fast enough, raising his arms high to not stay in the way.

  “Boy,” whispered Ludi, as he closed the door behind them. “Sei impazzito? Are you crazy like Zaber now?”

  “What?!” Torm raised his voice, startling himself. Looking around, he and Ludi disappeared around the next corner. “What do you want me to do? Tell that mother that I won’t save her son?” He struggled with how to hold a baby right. “I can’t do that,” he said. “I can’t. And you can’t either.”

  “You playing the madre card on me? Sei serio?” Ludi took the baby away and rested it on his lower arm, supporting its head with his other hand. “Who told you? Franque?” he asked, visibly angry. “O era quella maledetta stronza di Nancia?” He fiddled around with the baby, swaying it back and forth to keep it quiet.

  The bandit talked to the child in his native tongue. He knew exactly how to handle it, too fast for Torm to comprehend. Ludi took off his vest made from sheep’s hide, with the wool still intact on the inside, and tugged the baby inside.

  “They’ll notice the bambino missing.” He bit his lip and placed the child on the ground. “We can’t carry him around. He’ll give us away.”

  “I know–” Torm ran his hand through his hair, while clenching his felt cap with the other. “I know this was stupid.”

  “No.” Ludi looked Torm in the eyes, kneeling over the baby. “This is coraggio. Bravery.”

  “Man, I–” The young man rubbed his wrist before putting on his cap. “I’ve been with Zaber for more than four years. Nothing’s ever been this bad. I–” He breathed hectically. “Roda, that woman. I think she’s–”

  “She’s right,” interrupted Ludi and stood up. “I know it; we all know it. Nancia was right to talk us into this. This is our opportunitá to do something significativo.” He peeked around the corner, and then grabbed Torm’s arm. “All but Franque agreed.”

  “We need to go on,” replied Torm, and both men nodded. “I need to talk to Sagir; let him know.”

  “Sì, let’s find a spot for the bambino to wait for us,” said the brigand and picked the baby up again. “Somewhere close and easy to hop over the palizzate.”

  Neither of them was happy about leaving the child behind at another canopy with crates of gravel. But they had to do what they had to do. They hid from one barrack to another, stopping every now and then to wait out passing torches. Close to the fortification the woman mentioned, there were carts with sealed barrels. They were marked with a symbol similar to what the knights had on their arms. Snippets of words and sentences reached Torm and Ludi from a dangerously close pair of sentries. It was the most boring conversation – except that the new enchanter was in bad shape. And that captain was a real pain in the arse.

  “Rapido, now or never,” whispered Ludi and sprinted away. Torm had awaited this moment and outran the shorter man with the greased back hair easily. One hand sign at the door later, a quick slap to open the door, and they were in. For the third time, each of them took the same positions. So close to the motte and bailey, this hut was brighter than the ones before.

  “Who–” Torm froze when he saw a sudden movement in the shadows.

  “What is it?” Ludi turned around and froze as well. “Cazzo–” He gulped.

  “Go on,” rang a perfect cavalier baritone. “Is he with you?”

  “Wh–” stuttered Torm. His hand wandered towards the hilt of his blade. “No. Ne he isn’t,” he said, walking a wide berth around Beotold, towards the gates to the barracks. The knight wore no armor, but his hand rested on his sheathed sword. His hair and posture were immaculate, like on the first day they had met.

  “I knew I could count on this peasant,” said Beotold, leaning against a windlass. “I can see what Airich liked about him. He’s reliable when it matters. Unlike this camp’s captain.” He spoke slowly and melodically, directing Torm with his hand. “I said: go on. I won’t tell him.”

  “Why?” asked Torm. He didn’t dare to turn away from the knight, eyeing him every inch that he moved forward. In this pale light, his eyes looked as sunken and dark as Zaber’s. A broken tooth flashed out with every word.

  “Tell him I’m waiting here for him,” replied Beotold. Torm recognized that tone. “Let’s settle this once and for all. I’ll bring him to my liege. And then we’ll torture every single memory of Airich out of him. The King will reward the Margrave, and I’ll be declared a hero. Tell him that.”

  “Ignore him, boy,” whispered Ludi, holding the door shut. “There’s nothing to do. We’re dead or not.”

  “Listen to the skunk,” said the knight and showed Torm his open hands. “By Saint Leodor, you have my word.”

  Turning around felt like the worst decision Torm had ever made. He felt Beotold’s eyes on his back when he leaned into the gate towards the barracks. “Sagir?” There was no need to whisper. “I’m here, Sagir.”

  Raspy coughs, snores and heavy breaths filled the time before a familiar voice rolled out of a bunk. “I knew it–” sobbed Sagir. “I knew you would come,” he repeated and came closer. More shaven heads popped up behind him.

  “Good to see you,” said Torm, looking at the slight limp that Sagir had. His eyes and voice showed no restraint when they grabbed each other’s hands. They pressed their foreheads against each other, cold metal keeping them apart. “You fine?”

  “No,” smiled Sagir. “Not at all.”

  “I’m sorry.” Torm smiled back. “Zaber’s killing himself over this. I think this will be our last chance.”

  “Bet.” Sagir’s voice cracked. Many more curious inmates piled up behind him.

  “Fire Festival. Be ready, they won’t know what will hit them.”

  “Damned, you lucky I have nothing else to do.” The foreign man chuckled, and forced Torm to do the same. “You alone? I heard–”

  “Don’t worry,” interrupted Torm, pulling off his felt cap. He fiddled around with the fibula that was shaped like a sheep. “We allied with some bandits. One’s with me.” He looked over his shoulder at Ludi, glimpsing at Beotold half-way. “Zaber’s still recovering, but nothing will stand in his way.”

  “I think Nene is dead,” said Sagir out of nowhere. He had been alone for so long, and just wanted to talk to his friend. And who knew if he would survive at all. He couldn’t let go of Torm’s other hand.

  “Kovada and Seyfe are probably dead too. And the other three that Hanifa sent with us.” The young man bit his lip and looked at his feet. “And Asher.”

  “Man.” Sagir bent over. He held onto the gate to keep from falling to his knees. “Not Kovada. He was blessed; a noble soul.” Tears dropped onto the floor. The other men listened carefully, but didn’t interfere. Neither did Torm, who stowed his cap into his belt and reached through the bars to pad his friend on the shoulder. “Thank you,” muttered Sagir. “Thank you for giving a shit about me and Ceyhan.”

  “Don’t thank us.” Torm tried to smile, but failed. “We have to fix this. We promised.”

  “I know.” Straightening himself out, Sagir wiped his eyes and laughed. “Still.”

  “Listen, we need to go.” The young man glimpsed at Beotold again, before stretching his neck so that he could look past Sagir. “I need to talk to another prisoner. Who’s here for a long time? Any of you mind talking to me? We’re here to free all of you.”

  A bearded man spat on the ground before getting into a coughing fit that nearly toppled him over. “You a friend of the curveblade?” he asked while stepping closer. “He told us about you, but who could have thought he wasn’t lying. Someone like him–”

  “Oh, cut the crap,” said Torm and punched the gate. “All of you are fucking dying here. Take this chance or leave it, but don’t give him any more of that shit.”

  “Alright,” said the old man after flinching. “What’s it?”

  “How many guards and officers? What about reinforcements, and how many prisoners are in the camp?”

  “Uhm–” The man scratched his beard and shaved head. “There’s the knight captain and his two seconds. I’ve been here for two years, they change the garrisoned banner every half-year. Same with the refiners, who can also do sorcery. Sometimes they have to help out the guards.” The old man coughed once more, and Torm closed his eyes. Stains of blood were left on his lips. “We’re five hundred. They’re fifty on foot, fifty in reserve, and thirty horsemen to roam around and pick up the fools who try to run. Very few ever make it.”

  “Are there any more soldiers nearby to call for?” Torm kept eye contact with Sagir, who walked back to his bunk.

  “Yes, the banner is from a bigger unit from Bruggenburg. All volunteers, no levied men.” The old man’s voice was more like a wheeze and hard to hear. A constant coughing accompanied his words. He looked weak and hungry. “There are two more knights staying right now. They brought the new refiner with some horsemen. Don’t know why they’re still around, but they’re real arseholes. Refiner’s barely able to work.”

  Torm smiled again, taking a peek into the dark corner where Beotold crossed his arms. “Be ready. When we come, we’ll let all of you run wild. Don’t spoil the fun for the guards.”

  “Huh?” The bearded man felt his lips and looked at the blood on his fingers. “I’ll die in this hole any other day. I have no laugh to spare for you.”

  “Fine,” nodded Torm. “We’ll see each other again; at least once.” His words were directed through the barracks, and Sagir nodded along. Torm stayed for just a moment longer, looking at all the prisoners. There was no more attention for Beotold, who hadn’t moved at all. His face was cast in shadows. A grim expression followed the young man and his brigand companion outside. “Fire Festival,” repeated Torm one last time before the door fell shut.