Chapter 16 - Into the Night

Alexander glanced at the letter from General Therad one last time. The information given to him by Captain Edbar said that tonight would be when Alexander and the men chosen by Lord Bething would venture under the city. He had been uncomfortable with the idea, but understood the importance of stopping any that would use the weapon, Alexander did not know what it was but had begun to think of whatever it was as a weapon, would use the weapon to harm those he was sworn to protect.

He stood from the chair behind the sturdy desk and made his way out of the office and into the hallway. Men were scattered along the hall, some heading to the rooms assigned to them further down, others making their way to the mess to get a late supper. Almost all saluted to Alexander as he made his way amongst them, and he returned the salute, but other than that paid them no mind.

He was looking for Jogan. He had written instructions of Jogan, should Alexander fail to accomplish the task set before him. He asked one of his riders if they had seen Alexander’s second, and he was told that Jogan was last seen in the mess. Entering the large dining room, Alexander scanned the faces of those there. Jogan found Alexander first, standing and walking towards him.

“Lieutenant, care to join me and some of the men for a meal?” The large man asked with a smile.

Alexander shook his head, “I wish I could friend, but I have a task to do,” Alexander took the letter sealed with the mark of the sixth cavalry unit and pressed it into the other man’s hand, “If for any reason I don’t come back by morning, I want you to open this and do exactly as it says.”

“Is there a problem Lieutenant?” Jogan asked, worry marking his face.

“I don’t know,” Alexander said, “I hope not. However, I don’t want to take any chances. Do you understand me?”

“If you are not back by morning,” Jogan nodded, reciting what Alexander had said.

“Good,” Alexander stiffened and saluted the man. Before even waiting to see if Jogan returned the gesture, Alexander was back out the door.

He made his way out into the night of the city. The guards at the gate to the compound paid him no mind as he made his way past them. Alexander breathed heavily. Something did not feel right, but he could not place what it was. He grabbed one of the night patrol torches and lit it in one of the braziers that stood to each side of the gate. Holding it out in front of him he made he way.

The streets were nearly empty, with most people in the homes enjoying dinner with their families. Those that were on the streets yet gave him polite nods as he walked along. He did not rush himself, not wanting to raise any suspicions, but he was deliberate. He stopped for nothing, wasting no time getting to his destination.

He appeared to be the first to arrive at the grate in the city wall he had been told was the meeting place. A torch mount was driven into the wall near the grate. Alexander placed his torch in it and leaned against the wall, waiting for whoever else was suppose to arrive.

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Jaron sat at the desk in his bedchamber. He looked over the instructions Celes had sent to him. It was all vague. He was to meet some others near a grate in the wall of the city. It listed the intersection, but not who he was to meet. It aggravated him that he did not have all the information. Celes had warned that they could not risk revealing too much information, but he wished that he had something more.

He glanced down at himself. He did not wear his usual clothes. Instead of the finely made garments he was use to, these clothes were simple. They fit well enough, but they were loose in some areas, and tighter in others. He had found a servant that was about his size and asked if he could borrow some simple clothes. The servant didn’t question Jaron about why he needed anything simple, he simply did as he was asked. Jaron thought that the man must have assumed it an order, and was sure that he would not do anything to disobey one of the members of the house.

He looked out the window, the sun was disappearing behind the city walls. Standing, he moved to the door. He had to make it out of the manor without being noticed, or at least without anyone knowing his true intentions. Should word reach his father that he left the manor without first informing him, he had no doubt, regardless of what Lord Kensly had said at the banquet a few nights ago, that Jaron would be in a depth of trouble he would not soon escape.

He listened at the door and not hearing anyone, stepped out into the hall. The sword on his hip rattled a bit at his jerky motions, but Jaron held a hand around it to muffle any other noises it would make. He hurried down the hall, taking care to check around corners before hurrying along. It was strange that the halls were so empty, he was use to seeing servants bustling about, cleaning and organizing the items that decorated the corridors. They tended to do so later in the day, when the members of the family were resting and not likely to be walking between rooms.

He came to a corner and froze as he heard a woman humming. He pressed himself against the wall and looked. Five paces from him, in the hall he needed to take, stood a serving woman dusting a table decorated with fresh flowers in a silver vase. Jaron cursed under his breathe and he ducked back. He thought maybe he could find his way around the woman, but it would take time, and there was still a chance that he would be found elsewhere.

He took a chance and dashed around the corner, blowing past her. She looked up to see who was running through the hall, but could only make out his back. He hoped that she took him as a servant late for one of his duties. She said nothing, at least nothing audible to him, and he disappeared around another corner.

Finally he made it to one of the side doors that led out to the outer gardens. He had thought about whether it would be a good idea to go through the main gates, but too many of the guards knew his face, and would no doubt question where he was going, especially dressed as he was, and with a sword. Instead, he decided that it would be better to climb the western wall. At that time in the day, the wall would be covered in shadow, and it was unlikely that any guards would be patrolling the gardens, unless his mother or father were there.

Stepping out into the cool night air, Jaron tried to look every way at once. He did not see anyone. Only a few of the torches were even lit, which signaled to Jaron that the gardens were probably empty. He dashed across the lush grasses, paying no mind to the stone walkways. Reaching the stone wall, he searched for a handhold. Finding one he started his climb. The inside of the wall was rough stone, which Jaron’s mother thought added to the look of a natural environment in the garden. Jaron had spent more time than he should have as a young child trying to scale the wall, which he imagined to be a cliff.

He had not tried to climb the wall for a few years now, but since then he had grown much stronger, and thought that it should be no trouble. The wall was only three or four paces tall. He grasped a decent handhold and began his ascent. The first few handholds were easily found, but he began to notice that the higher he got, the more difficult it was to find places to put his hands and feet.

Jaron was grasping for another place to take hold of, to pull himself up, when he felt his right foot begin to slide. His eyes shot to the top of the wall, he estimated that it was a foot higher than his outstretched hand. He gathered as much strength as he could and pushed himself up before his foot could fall off. He just barely grabbed hold of the top of the wall.

He took hold with his other hand and shifted to better his grip. As he did so, he heard a door close. He did not know where from, but he was too close to give up now. He heaved himself to the top of the wall. The other side was built into a hill, but it was still two paces below him. He dropped to the hill, as silently as possible. He grunted as he hit the ground and wasted no time getting away from the manor.

He ran through the streets, trying to recall where it was he needed to be. He was not familiar with the city. Every outing from the manor he had always been in a carriage, or at least on horseback. He had never needed to pay much mind to the routes they took. Jaron had examined a map of the city the day before after recieving the message from Celes, trying to plot out the best route. He tried to remember it, but soon found himself standing in an intersection, looking each way, trying to decide where to go next.

Looking down one street, Jaron saw the wall of the city. He knew that the meeting place was somewhere on the wall, so he decided that a straight line would be his best option. At worst, he would have to trot the wall one direction until he either found his location or figured he was going the wrong way.

Deciding, he jogged down the nearly empty street. There were few people out during that hour of the night, at least few that were willing to be seen. Jaron’s conversation with Matthew had made him look at the city in a new light, aware of some of the hidden going-ons within the walls.

When he reached the wall, he looked one way, following the length of it. He saw a few streets that branched away, back into the city, and he almost looked away. Then his eyes fell on a light coming from the wall. He did not know what it was, but decided that it was his best chance. He jogged along the wall, taking it slow, until he could better make out the area illuminated by a single torch set into the wall. A lone man stood in the intersection, apparently waiting. Jaron decided to take his chances and jogged out into the lit intersection.

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Matthew had spent two days in the cell now, just waiting for any word as to what was going to happen to him. Alexander had said that he would talk to Lord Kensly and Celes had told him that she would convince her uncle, Lord Bething, to hear his case. He knew that both lords were busy men, however he had hoped that things would have been moving along a little faster.

It was not that he necessarily was uncomfortable in the cell. He had been given regular meals, though it was some sort of tasteless mixture of grains and water, it was still edible. His stone cell was cold, but he was in from the outside where it had begun to rain. He had a bed of sorts, a stone slab projecting from the back wall with a single blanket. Yet, however comfortable he could convince himself he was, he was still too well aware that he was imprisoned.

The large door to the room of cells opened and two guards strode in, clubs hanging from their hips. One of the men carried a set of manacles. They were heading to his cell. He stood, walked to the bars at the front of the cell and slid his arms through the bars. One guard unlocked the door and motioned him through. Matthew had been surprised at how reckless they were when it came to moving a prisoner, though he supposed that with a single door, which he new a guard still held, and their heavy clubs, it was unlikely that a single man would be able to fight his way out.

“High Lord Bething had decided to hear your case,” one of the guards said with a contemptuous grin, “If you’re lucky, he’ll just sentence you to spend the rest of your life in this cell.”

Matthew kept his mouth shut. He had decided after being brought into the prison area that he would give the guards no reason to harm him. For the most part it worked. There were a few that were rough with him in the beginning, but after realizing that Matthew wasn’t going to fight back, the seemed to not bother with him.

One large guard placed the manacles tight around his wrists and the two men led him out. They walked down a long hall, past the room that Matthew had been brought to any time someone wished to speak with him. They took a few turns and Matthew found himself standing before a door. One guard stayed behind, a firm grip on the collar of Matthew’s shirt, while the other entered the door. Matthew could only hear murmurs through the wood, but soon the door opened again and Matthew was led through.

The room was large, a raised platform with a heavy desk running the length of it on one wall. A section of the room, separated by a stone wall that stood only about a pace high, held rows of benches. A simple wooden chair sat on his side of the stone wall, facing the platform. On the platform, behind the desk, stood a middle aged man with brown hair, though gray streaked the temples. He wore a magnificent, dark gray suit and carried an ornate dueling cane fitted with a decent sized sapphire.

Matthew assumed the man to be Lord Bething, though he had never really seen the man from the distance he was at now. The guards led Matthew to stand before the wooden chair, the guards to each side of Matthew. One guard placed a hand on Matthew’s shoulder while the other still firmly held his collar.

“This is the boy accused of murder?” the man behind the bench asked knowling, his eyes examining Matthew, weighing his worth.

“It is High Lord Bething,” the guard to Matthew’s left said firmly.

Bething began to sit, “Very well, let’s get this over with.”

The guards pushed Matthew down into the chair but kept their positions to his sides. Lord Bething looked over some papers he had in front of him. Matthew supposed they were statements taken by people that witnessed the events two days past.

“You are accused of murdering Allen Ronbar. How is it you plea?” Lord Bething asked, looking up from his papers.

“I don’t know his name, but I admit to killing a man in the streets,” Matthew said, his voice shaking.

Lord Bething nodded, “Explain to me what happened boy.”

Matthew flew into covering the events of that day. He beginning from when he remembered first seeing the man near the cart with the kabobs to when he stabbed Tavira all the way to the guards pulling him from the man. He left out no detail, not wanting to give Lord Bething any reason to think he was hiding anything.

“Your story matches up with most of what I have hear,” Lord Bething said holding up a stack of papers, “a statement from Lieutenant Alexander Varross also states that Allen Ronbar stabbed this young girl,” he glanced over one of the papers, “Tavira, and that you and the Lieutenant both chased after the man.”

Matthew remained silent until it was obvious that the High Lord was waiting for him to say something, “Yes High Lord Bething, that is what happened.”

Lord Bething held up the harness that held the daggers that Matthew had taken from Keep Danar. He pulled one of the blades out, turning it over in the light. He replaced the blade to its sheathe.

“How, might I asked, did you come to possess such magnificent weapons?” the High Lord asked. Matthew thought he heard a tone of suspicion in the man’s voice.

Matthew felt his stomach tighten, “They were given to me. A friend said that they were meant to be given to me, left to him by a man that died many years ago.”

Matthew hoped that he was not caught in his lie. He thought it sounded believable enough, assuming that Lord Bething did not know the blades true history.

“Is that so?” Lord Bething asked, his tone implying that it was not truly a question. He examined the harness and the blades still sheathed before setting them back down on the desk, “It is my believe that what you did was wrong, but that you realize that as truth. I can understand how one can give into anger after witnessing something such as you did. The want to protect those close to us can make us do things we usually would not. You have no prior convictions that I am aware of, and I believe this man, Allen Ronbar, to have been a threat to the city. There are reports of other such stabbings. As such, I judge that you should be released. I see that you are truly stricken by your actions that hold that you will not likely continue on such a path of violence. Release him.”

The guards jerked at the order, but one quickly proffered the key to the manacles. Matthew rubbed at his wrists where the manacles had been locked tightly and stood.

“Thank you Lord Bething, you’ve no idea how much this means to me,” Matthew said.

“Come, retrieve your things,” the High Lord said, holding up the daggers. Matthew approached the platform, stepping up so that he could take the harness. As his fingers wrapped around the well worn leather, Lord Bething’s hand grabbed his wrist, holding it tightly, “I trust you remember your part in all of this,” the older man said in a quiet voice that held anger and expectation both.

Matthew nodded, eyes wide, “I do High Lord.”

“Then get to it,” the man said releasing Matthew’s arm, “You know where you need to be.”

Matthew nodded and turned around. One of the guards motioned, saying that he would show him the way out. Matthew followed the large man, wishing he would walk faster. He did not want to give Lord Bething any reason to believe that he would not do as he had promised now that he was released. Once he was out of the main door to the large court building, he walked to the iron gate. He wanted to run, but knew how suspicious it would look.

The guards at the gate paid him little mind as they opened a small door set into the gate and waved him through. He continued to walk, though a little faster than normal, until he was out of site of the gate. Then he ran. He dug into his mind to remember the instructions Celes had given him that night. The thought he remembered where he was to be and turned down a street to get there.

He stopped as he neared the wall of the city, stopping completely before reaching the end of the street he was on. He stayed near the wall, creeping along it until he could see out into the open area where four other streets spilled out. Matthew nearly jumped out of his skin as a dog bayed into the night a few streets over. He forced himself towards something resembling calm and scanned the open area again. A man stood beside the grate set into the wall. The grate that he needed to enter. A torch sat in a mount on the wall near the grate, but the man stood just outside where Matthew could see him clearly. Matthew slumped to the ground and waited, hoping the man would not stay there long.

Matthew sat waiting for a few minutes when a young man in simple clothes jogged into the opening. Matthew was careful to stay hidden as the two men approached one another.

“Lieutenant, I did not expect to find you here,” the young man said with surprise in his voice.

“And you are… wait, Jaron? What are you doing, and dressed like that?” The other man said, surprise entering his voice too.

Jaron and Alexander? Matthew thought to himself. It was no coincidence that it was the two of them standing near a grate that he himself needed to enter. He had been told that there would be others, but Matthew expected them to be others like him, others that were use to such things as he was.

Standing, he calmly walked into the torch lit area. Both men spun to look at him, a hand of each going to the sword on their belts. Matthew kept walking towards them calmly, waiting for them to recognize him. Alexander realized it first, hand dropping away from his sword followed soon after by Jaron’s realization.

“Matthew?” Jaron asked.

“But how did you?” Alexander began at the same time Jaron spoke.

Matthew smiled, “I was released tonight. Lord Bething heard my case and released me. It was with the understanding that I would do something for him in return. I guess that you are the two I am to work with.”

“Wait,” Jaron said, confusion replacing surprise on his face, “Released? What happened that Lord Bething had to hear your case?”

“It’s a long story, one better saved for a more appropriate time,” Alexander explained, turning away and moving towards the grate.

The man pulled a key from a pocket in his uniform and used it to remove the heavy lock that held a large chain in place. Pulling the chain out from the grate, he pushed open the small part of the metal object that was on hinges. The noise of the rarely used hinges filled the air and caused Matthew to flinch before quickly scanning the multiple streets for any that might have heard and decided to come investigate.

When he was sure that no one was coming, he turned to look at his companions, “Well, let’s get this over with.”

They both nodded and Alexander pulled the torch from its mount, thrusting it out before him as he ducked into the sewers.