her feet slipped on the slick cobbles as she ran, but she righted herself without too much effort and maintained her pace. The thunder crashed overhead as the lightning showed her the way. As she passed the tannery, which marked the halfway point, she smiled grimly to herself. She would make it, she was certain now. However, her certainty lasted only a few seconds. Too late, she heard the pounding of hooves on the wet cobbles behind her, their sound muffled by the thunder. She began to run harder.
R’shiel screamed as she was scooped up from behind. Struggling wildly she fought off a strong arm that encircled her waist as her captor turned his horse toward the Headquarters Building. When they arrived, he hauled savagely on the reins, and she was a thrown heavily down to the cobbles. The second rider was only a split second behind her as he jumped down from his horse and hauled her to her feet. R’shiel wriggled out of his grasp desperately. The other trooper grabbed at her wet hair as she tried to run and pulled her up the short steps to the verandah. She tried to pull away from him, screaming as he gave her hair a vicious twist. The other man opened the door and thrust her inside, stopping long enough to lock it behind him, then pushed her through to Wilem’s office.
With a shove, he let her go. A single candle burned on the mantle. The vicious Tail of the Tiger lay on the desk.
Loclon sat behind Wilem’s heavily carved desk, as if trying it on for size.
chapter 40
The whole town seemed to relax a little once Wilem departed the Grimfield. It was nothing obvious – a loose collar here, an undone button there. The Defenders of the Grimfield were like any other soldiers the world over. When the Commanding Officer was away, everything slacked off, just a little. The general feeling among the Defenders left to guard the Grimfield was that all the troublemakers were at the mine. They were not expecting trouble. Tarja was an experienced soldier and knew it would happen. He was relying on it. He also knew it wouldn’t last. Wilem would return soon enough, and his window of opportunity would be gone.
Since learning of the impending riot, Tarja had been honing his plans. Having had over two months to think things through, Tarja was certain he could escape with relative ease. His first step he had taken by becoming, if not a model prisoner, then at least a tractable one. He had done nothing to give Wilem reason to suspect that he was not accepting his punishment with silent fortitude. The second step he had taken when collecting the garbage from the back of the physic’s shop. A small stoppered tube had fallen from a shovel load of garbage. Retrieving it carefully, Tarja had unstoppered the tube and caught a faint whiff of sickly sweet jarabane. The poison was used for trapping animals, and the tube was all but empty. Tarja had pocketed the small vial and hidden it in his small cell under a loose stone. With a small amount of water added, he had a potion that would make the recipient violently ill.
He carried the tube with him now and could feel it pressing against his hip as he sat on the cold ground with Zac, waiting for their dinner. The sky rumbled disturbingly, and Tarja silently hoped that it would rain and rain hard. He had a much better chance of escaping if the Defenders were huddled under shelter, trying to escape the inclement weather. An escape in the middle of a storm was just as likely to be, if not ignored, then overlooked as long as possible. Who wanted to hunt down a miserable escapee in the rain?
“Gonna be a good one tonight,” Fohli remarked as another loud rumble rolled across the compound.
“Sure is,” Tarja agreed. He felt somewhat ambivalent about Corporal Fohli and Sergeant Lycren. The part of him that still felt pride in the Defenders was appalled by the men. They were unshaven, slovenly, lazy – everything Tarja despised in a soldier. Had either been in Tarja’s Company, they would have been straightened out very smartly indeed. On the other hand, were it not for their slackness, Tarja would have little hope of escaping.
It was almost completely dark by the time Tarja and Zac were handed their meals. Tarja offered to collect Fohli’s meal, too, and carried it back to the feeble shelter of the cookhouse eaves. It was a simple matter to tip the watery contents of the tube into Fohli’s stew. Tarja handed him the bowl, and the corporal wolfed down the contents hungrily. Large raindrops splattered intermittently across the compound. Fohli urged his prisoners to eat faster and had them handing in their bowls and heading back to the relative warmth of the cell block almost before they had swallowed their last mouthful.
They were back in the cell block when the corporal doubled over with pain as a stomach cramp clutched at his guts.
“Mother of the Founders!” he swore, clutching at the back of a roughly carved chair for support. Like model prisoners, Tarja and Zac waited patiently for the corporal to recover. When Fohli showed no inclination to move them anywhere, Tarja stepped closer.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “You don’t look at all well, Corporal.”
Fohli yelped as another spasm took him. His skin was ashen, and Tarja worried for a moment that there had been more jarabane than he suspected in the tube. He didn’t want to kill Fohli, just disable him. Zac thoughtfully lit the lantern on the guard table and waited for Fohli to recuperate enough to lock them up.
“It must have been the stew,” Fohli gasped, as another cramp seized him.
“Should we get someone?” Tarja offered.
Fohli shook his head. “In there.” He waved vaguely in the direction of their cells. “Have to lock you up first. OW!”
“Not tonight,” Tarja said, mostly to himself as Fohli collapsed semiconscious against the scrubbed wooden table. With a sigh, Zac stepped forward and scooped the Corporal into his arms. He turned his dull eyes on Tarja.
“You go now.”
Tarja looked at him in surprise. “Go?”
“Escape. You go. I take care of Fohli.”
Tarja was astounded that Zac had read his intentions so easily. “Come with me.”
Zac shook his shaggy head. “Got food. Got bed. Zac stay here.”
“Good luck, Zac.”
“You need luck. Not Zac,” the big man pointed out simply.
Thunder continued to roll through the small walled township like an invisible avalanche as Tarja quickly wended his way through the back alleys of the Grimfield. Months of hauling garbage had taught him where every lane and alley led, and he made good time through the backstreets. The uniform he planned to steal was right where he had hoped it would be, although it was damp and proved to be a tight fit. He shrugged on the jacket as he ran.
The storm broke as he neared the quarters of the married Defenders. Within seconds he was soaked as the rain pelted down in sheets. He kept moving, using the storm for cover. As he neared the street where Wilem’s house was located, he slowed. The street was deserted but for a couple of miserable-looking horses tied up outside the house. Tarja cursed silently, wondering to whom they belonged. If there were Defenders visiting Mahina, extracting R’shiel from the house would be next to impossible. He moved stealthily up the street until he reached the small fence surrounding Wilem’s house. He stepped over it and slipped around to the back. The owners of the horses were a corporal and a trooper, standing on the verandah talking to Mahina. The old woman was holding a lantern, but he could not make out what was being said over the roar of the thunderstorm.
The rear yard was deserted as Tarja made his way to the back door. He eased it open gently and was relieved to discover the kitchen was empty. Leaving an unavoidable trail of wet footprints next to the scrubbed wooden table, Tarja crossed to the door that led into the hall. Voices reached him as he opened the door a fraction. He stopped to listen, hoping that whatever business the troopers had with Mahina, it would not take long.
“I’ll do no such thing!” Mahina was declaring in a tone that made Tarja smile in fond remembrance. “You go back and tell Loclon that if he ever sends me an order like that again, I’ll personally see that
Mahina slammed the door on the hapless message bearers. Tarja wondered for a moment what Loclon had asked of Mahina that had her in such high dudgeon. He moved back quickly as Mahina turned and headed straight
