VII. The Ultimate Escape

Jor and Tyril slid silently through the castle halls, desperately looking for a way out.  Lockpick in hand Tyril pressed quietly against a door.

“Psst! Tyril!” Jor hissed from across the hall, “this one’s open.”

Tyril and Jor slid through the door, slowly and soundlessly closing it behind them.  To Tyril’s relief, he spied a window between the bookcases that filled every inch of the room’s walls.  He took a step toward the window, but Jor gripped the back of his shirt with his fist.  His finger pressed against his lips to signal silence, Jor nodded to the left.  An old man lay face down in a pile of papers, fast asleep.

The two tiptoed slowly and carefully across the room.  Tyril struggled to hold his breath as he moved, not even daring to exhale. Behind him, Tyril noticed Jor stop in his tracks cocking his head.  Jor took a step toward the desk. Tyril’s eyes widened in alarm.

“What are you doing?” Tyril whispered, horrified, in the softest breath possible.

“He’s not asleep,” Jor said, casually walking to the desk.  Swiping his finger on the desk he held it up for Tyril to see.  The tip of Jor’s finger was red. “He’s dead.”

Suddenly Tyril noticed the pool of blood growing beneath the old man’s slit throat, dripping off the desk and onto the floor.  The growing puddle of blood.  This man was just killed!  Tyril opened his mouth to speak when the door to the room burst open.  Tyril leapt behind the nearest bookcase.  From behind the bookcase, Tyril could see Jor’s foot peaking out from behind the dead man’s desk.  What an awful hiding place. Tyril frowned: Jor was done for.

“You did the right think in calling for me, Sir Karelton,” the white-robed magus said as he strode toward the desk, “but you did the wrong thing in killing the Royal Exchequer.”

“I did you a favor. He tracked the payment to the Magog slave-traders to you, Eeryn.  And he knows where the slaves went. He called on me to apprehend you!”

“We don’t have much time,” the Court Wizard pressed his fingers to his forehead, closing his eyes in annoyance. “Thanus is looking for a traitor, and a dead bookkeeper will only point him right to me.  It won’t be long before someone pieces it together. I must make my move tonight.”

Sir Karlton’s eyes narrowed, and before Jor knew what was happening, the knight whirled around, his sword instantly unsheathed, and thrust forward with lightning speed like a viper.  Jor heard his best friend gasp in pain as he was impaled.  “A spy!” the guard hissed in disgust.

Tyril stumbled forward from behind the protective cover of the bookcase. Blood oozed from his mouth and poured from his abdomen. The boy clutched at the blade weakly and fell to his knees.  The knight paused, eyes hard as he waited for enough blood to flow, coldly calculating death. Once satisfied, he pulled the sword from the boy as fast as he had struck.  Tyril fell to the ground in a lifeless heap.

Jor’s hands flew to his mouth as he struggled not to vomit.  Gods.  Tyril was dead!  Dead!  Behind the desk his knees were trembling uncontrollably.  To his own dismay, Jor released a shuddered breath.

“Another one!” the guard called in alarm, but the wizard threw up a hand in warning.

“That’s no spy.  It’s a boy that just soiled himself.”

Jor crawled forward on the the ground, whimpering, hands waving defensively, “I’m not a spy, I swear it!  I swear!”

“Then what are you?”

Jor paused, eyes wandering briefly as he tried to come up with an answer that wouldn’t get him killed before giving up: “a... dungeon escapee?”

“Shall I kill him?” the knight asked the wizard.

The wizard stroked his jawline thoughtfully.  “No. I have a better idea.  Remove your armor, Sir Karlton. I have need of a thief tonight.”

Jor let out a ragged breath of relief, a bit of spittle accidentally falling from his mouth.

The magus smiled.  “I have a proposition for you, boy. I know you can steal gold, but tell me, son: Can you steal a person?”

Reviews

[Leah]

OH NO! Tyril! I was starting to like him!