V. A Fateful Decision

Lade gripped the bars of the cell, fighting back despair. The bars were cold and unfeeling-- indifferent to the knots twisting in his stomach.

“This is your fault, Jor.”

Jor shrugged, “Sure, it was my idea-- but I didn’t think you would actually be able to pull it off!” Jor chuckled then paused, his usual jovial demeanor replaced with somber pensiveness. “It could be worse.”

“How could it be any worse?”

“They could have cut off our hands.  Or executed us,” Jor paused as the guards brought two young men into the cell beside them, hands bound behind their backs, mouths gagged. “Or we could have ended up like them.”

“Shite, is that Jerrand?” a voice behind them asked in shock. Tyril, their leader had been somberly silent until now.

Lade had no idea who Jerrand was.  He was three years younger than Jor and four years younger than Tyril, this scheme had been his attempt to put away his childish friends and run with men. “Why is he gagged like that,” Lade asked.

            “They must have accused him of practicing witchcraft,” Jor said quietly.

“Jerrand?” Tyril said incredulously, “He can barely read a signpost much less a spellbook. He’s no warlock.”

“Tell that to the men that gagged him,” Jor replied, then turned. “See, Lade? It could be much, much worse.”

Lade buried his face in his hands.

Tyril and Jor exchanged worried glances.  Lade was the youngest; this had been Lade’s maiden exploit, and an ambitious one at that.  Tyril felt responsible, how could he not have known this would end in disaster?

“We’ll get you out of here, Lade. I promise,” Tyril said, a meaningful look in his eyes.  He offered a reassuring smile as he invoked the boy’s nickname: “Lade the Blade.”

“Don’t worry,” Jor offered, lifting his hands defensively as he changed his tune, “maybe the king will come down tomorrow and pardon us!  He let us off today, didn’t he?”

Tyril shook his head. “Don’t be so sure. They might still execute us, if Lord Dyrk gets his wish.”

Jor shot Tyril and angry glance.  “We’re supposed to be comforting him.”

“No,” Tyril replied, pulling something long and narrow out of his shoe. “We’re supposed to be getting him out of here.”

“Wait-- what are you doing?” Jor hissed in alarm. “Are you insane?”

“Wait here, Lade,” Tyril said as he picked the lock to the cell. “Jor and I will scout a way out.  When we’ve scouted a safe route out, we’ll be back for you.  I promise.”

“We? What do you mean we?” Jor said incredulously.

“Shut up and follow my lead,” Tyril said, slowly and carefully swinging the cell door open so as to not make a creak.  Jor in tow, he shut the door with the same care, offering Lade a comforting smile before disappearing into the shadows.

            Lade looked Jerrand, in the cell beside him.  “Well, I guess it’s just you and me.”

            Unable to move or talk, the bound farmboy rolled his eyes toward Lade in acknowledgement.  If found guilty, Jerrand would be carted off to the Tower of Secrets to take the Trials.  If he survived, he could become a Magus! Perhaps, Lade mused, eyeing the uncompromising bars of his cell, he should have chosen a different profession than a thief.

Reviews

[Leah]

Hmm, why are they picking the lock just now? Why wait this long to do it? Or has it not been a few days since they've been in there?