A World Without Heroes - Brandon Mull [169]
“Sounds good.”
“The only thing that could possibly stop us would be if we encountered Maldor. But that will not happen.” Ferrin wore a chocolate brown robe. He pulled the cowl over his head. “We must move quickly. When Rumus awakens, he will rant and threaten until somebody investigates his claims. By then we need to be far away. You carry the torch.”
Jason picked up the torch. Ferrin used a long key to open the door.
A pudgy man was waiting outside. He had matted black hair and a nose like a potato. He was eating stringy meat from a clay bowl when the door opened, but instantly stopped, wiping a greasy hand on his tunic. He nodded submissively at Ferrin.
“What are you doing out here?” Ferrin demanded.
“Waiting to feed the prisoner, master.” Jason recognized the voice and the dirty fingers.
“It appeared you were feeding yourself.”
The man stared at the ground in shamed silence.
“Finish it, for all I care,” Ferrin said. “I assume considerable nutrition is required to sustain your girth. We administered a toxin to the prisoner to elicit information. He will not awaken for some time.”
“Very good, master.” His eyes remained downcast.
Ferrin led Jason down a hall. Guards opened an iron door, and Ferrin signed a register. Nobody paid particular attention to Jason.
They mounted a long spiral staircase, passing other iron doors. At the top Ferrin signed another register; then the guards opened a heavy door.
Without a word Ferrin strode past them, Jason at his heels. He led Jason through a network of passages, then out a heavily guarded door into a courtyard. The soldiers saluted Ferrin. He paid them no heed.
It was night outside, and overcast. In one portion of the sky a hidden moon made the clouds glow. Covered lamps and cressets shone in the courtyard and on the walls. The paving stones of the courtyard were glossy with moisture, but no rain was currently falling. Jason breathed deeply of the fresh, humid air. He had never felt so happy to be outside.
Jason followed Ferrin across the yard toward an enormous gate. A man wearing a long chain-mail hauberk approached them. “Who goes there?”
Ferrin lowered his cowl.
“Ferrin, you’re dressed to travel,” he said. He had a scar that ran through his upper lip.
“Sorry night for it.”
“Who’s your friend?”
“He is not here.”
“Come off it. Who is he?” The man squinted at Jason, as if trying to penetrate the visor of the helmet.
Ferrin glanced around, never looking directly at Jason. “I see no one.”
“Have it your way. Travel well.”
Ferrin led Jason to the great gate and spoke briefly with a guard, who let them out through a narrow postern door. It began to sprinkle as they made their way down the slick switchback. By the time they reached the landing at the bottom and boarded a small ferry, the rainfall had become drenching.
Ferrin in his hooded robe stood silent beside Jason in his borrowed armor, the only passengers on the ferry, watching the raindrops disturb the lake by the light of a lantern as the craft advanced toward the shore. Jason shivered. The dampness magnified the chill.
The craft landed, and the two passengers disembarked. They walked along a quay to a low building with a slanted roof. Jason waited under the eaves while Ferrin went inside. A young man exited the building and jogged off into the rainy night.
When the young man returned leading a pair of horses, Ferrin came outside.
“Ready to ride?” Ferrin asked. Something in his intonation warned Jason to try to seem like an experienced horseman.
Jason put a foot in a stirrup and swung onto the saddle. His days riding with Jasher had left him feeling much more comfortable on horseback. Ferrin led the way.
As they approached, the gate in the wall protecting the ferry opened. Ferrin and Jason trotted out, Jason squeezing his mount with his knees, trying not to be jounced too much by the jerky gait. The gate closed behind them.
Jason glanced over at the gong. Four big guards flanked