Ironhelm - Douglas Niles [91]
Hesitantly he jerked his arm, wincing against the pain in his raw wrist. But the chain moved! Again and again he tugged, ignoring the blood that now spattered across his skin from the chafing. The bolt had been sunk into the wood between two beams, a very insecure arrangement! Now he finally pulled it free.
He looked at the metal cuff and saw that it closed with a simple latch, impossible to open with the cuffed hand but no obstacle to a man with one hand free. In seconds he unlocked both of his wrist irons, and his ankles followed shortly thereafter.
Dimly he heard the creaking of longboats, the gentle thump of wood against the Falcon's hull. He heard the soft nickering of horses, and he knew that the legion was debarking its lancers. The ache returned to his heart when he realized they would ride to battle without him on the morrow. He remembered Alvarro's gloating grin as the chains had been locked around Hal's limbs. What would be the fate of his beloved lancers under such brutal command?
The light filtering through the overhead beams suddenly disappeared. He heard a cabin door close above, and he noticed that the ship had become perceptibly quieter. Most of the legion must already be ashore.
But what could he do now? He was slightly more comfortable, to be sure, and the exertion of escaping from his irons had distracted him from his despair. Halloran slumped against the bulkhead and thought.
Could he betray the orders of his general? Wasn't it enough that he had been sentenced to this cell? If he escaped, then he truly would be a deserter, worthy of every epithet in the Bishou's vocabulary.
His reverie jerked to a halt as he heard a soft noise. There it was again-a subtle click of metal, coming from the door to his cell. Someone's turning a key in the lock… and he's doing it secretly.
For a moment, his heart lifted with the thought of escape. Then caution took over, and he quickly leaned against the wall, feigning his shackled position. The door swung open, and he caught the unmistakable odor of a horseman. The man stepped into the cell and then closed and locked the door behind him.
Alvarro unshuttered a lamp very slightly, but it was enough to fill the cabin with light. The man's red hair looked black in the shadows, but the dagger in his hand gleamed like true steel.
"You'll die unmourned, traitor!" he hissed, thrusting the dagger toward Hal's chest, knowing his victim was shackled to the wall.
Hal dodged the thrust and punched Alvarro, hard, on the nose. His left fist knocked a precious tooth from the man's already shrunken gums, and the attacker slumped, unconscious, to the deck.
Alvarro's gloved hand fell open, and Hal glimpsed a small key. He grabbed for it, but his aim was errant in the dim light, and the object fell to the floor, slipping between two planks into the bilge before he could catch it.
With a hushed groan, Halloran slumped against the bulkhead. The sudden tingle of victory in mortal combat quickly faded in light of the lost key. And even if he had the key, he wondered, could he bring himself to flee the legion? Where could he go?
But if he stayed, he became Domincus's prisoner, a sop thrown to the cleric by Cordell in compensation for the loss of his daughter. Now he knew the nature of that compensation, and though he had foiled one murderous attempt, how long would his luck last?
The answer was obvious. Perhaps if he could escape, he might even find some way of proving his worth to Cordell. Tb stay here meant certain death. He picked up Alvarro's knife and stuffed it into his belt. He found a pouch full of gold coins at the man's waist, taking it as just punishment.
Next he examined the door to his cell, finding it locked securely. He had no skill, and no tools to even attempt to pry open the lock.
He bumped his head and suddenly remembered the cracks in the overhead bulkhead. Perhaps the low ceiling might