Beyond the door was a plain antechamber. Torches on the walls illuminated a wide corridor that extended through the center of the building; doors were set into both sides all the way down to an archway at the far end. One of the doors was open, and soft noises issued from it as Caim crossed the foyer. He heard men talking, at least two of them. Not waiting for the others, he slid up beside the door just as one man-a soldier with a brown hood settled loose around his neck-exited. The soldier’s head was turned as he spoke. Caim let him pass. The man behind him was older, well into his forties, and stockier around the middle. His uniform jacket, with a dozen carmine strips down the sleeve, hung open as he walked behind the soldier. When the officer stepped across the threshold, Caim attacked.
The soldier with his head turned didn’t have time to make a sound as nine inches of honed steel pierced the back of his neck. Blood spattered the floor. Before the officer had time to yell, Caim opened a second mouth under his chin.
The sounds of the bodies hitting the floor echoed down the corridor. Caim glanced through the open doorway, saw it was an office-sparsely appointed and empty-and kept moving down the corridor. He stopped at the next door and listened. Hearing nothing, he went on to the one after that. Also silent. No. There was a faint sound like buzzing insects. Snoring. As the doors in this corridor were varnished pinewood and not reinforced, he assumed they led to guard barracks, storerooms, and such. The cells must be in another part of the prison house.
Caim put a finger to his lips and waved for the outlaws to follow. They reached the end of the corridor without incident and found a double set of stone staircases, one going up and the other down. By best guess, Caim figured they were at the center of the building. He waited for Ramon and Keegan.
“You sure your man’s on the top floor?” he asked.
Keegan nodded, but Ramon beckoned to the bearded outlaw with the prison guard for a cousin.
“Oak, is that cousin of yours reliable?”
The man shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose so.”
“Either he is or he isn’t.”
A cool sensation touched Caim’s ankle. He looked down to see a handful of shadows climbing over his feet. Images popped into his head: the stairs, long bare corridors studded with closed doors, a man in a gray uniform walking down a hallway swinging a stout club in his hand, and a door. Something about the door bothered him.
Oak started to say something, but Caim cut him off with a terse whisper.
“We’re going up. Keep your eyes open.”
The outlaws nodded. By the looks on their faces, they hadn’t expected to get this far and they were ready for this adventure to be over. Biting his tongue, Caim started up the stairs. He climbed two flights and came to a landing. Four doors branched off in different directions. Caim cracked open the doors and put his eye to each. Corridors led off into the dimness, each with many doors; these doors were rougher and bulkier in construction than those below. Prisoner cells.
By this time, the outlaws had caught up to him. Motioning for them to stay back, he continued his ascent. On each floor, four doors awaited. Caim didn’t bother checking them. He tried to calculate how many cells the building contained. Six floors with four wings each, and at least a score of cells per wing. The number boggled him. It spoke of a certain mind-set for the Nimeans to have constructed this monolith of imprisonment back when they conquered the land. Those who resisted were either put to the sword or locked away. Come to think of it, the True Church held a similar stance on how to treat its adversaries. A simple matter of following a successful model? How many have perished in these dark chambers?
Caim chewed on his thoughts as he climbed higher. The outlaws inched closer with every step until Ramon and Keegan were practically on his heels. At least their luck held; they didn’t see any guards on their climb.
The stairs ended on a wide landing. Here, as below, they found four doors. Caim had been considering how to conduct the search. By the time they reached the top, he’d made up his mind. He didn’t like it, but he didn’t have much choice. Time was against them. Any moment an alarm could sound.
“All right,” Caim said. “This is where it gets interesting. I’m splitting you into four groups and-”
As soon as they heard “splitting,” the men started muttering to each other. The sounds bounced off the stone walls and down the stairwell. Caim’s gloves creaked as his hands clenched.
“Quiet!” he whispered, louder than he wanted, but it got their attention.
A noise echoed from behind the west doorway. It was soft, like it came from a long way off. A boot step? Or maybe the butt of a spear striking the floor?
“Listen,” he said, quieter this time. “We have to move fast. Each team takes a different door. Keegan and I will go west-”
A short man with his hood pulled down low slipped through the group. “I’ll go with you.”
“Fine,” Caim said. “The rest of you, try to stay quiet. If you find Caedman, bring him back here and wait for everyone else to return.”
“What if we run into trouble?” one of the townie outlaws asked.
“This isn’t a carnival. Do what you have to do, but don’t stop to see the sights. Just keeping going until you’ve searched every cell.”
Hooded heads nodded to him, and then Ramon took over, dividing the men by some order of his own determining.
Caim went to the door and lifted the door’s handle. A sliver of light spilled through the crack. Everyone stopped moving to watch. Although the corridor beyond was dimmer than those he’d seen below, he could see it was empty.
“Come on,” he mouthed, and slipped through the doorway.
The others’ boots pattered behind him as he went to the first door on the left. It was a stout portal of old oak secured by a thick beam. As there was no window or peephole, Caim was forced to open it to find out what was inside. He sheathed both knives. The short outlaw hung back a few paces. Swallowing a curse, Caim gestured for Keegan to keep watch as he put his hands under the bar and lifted. The braces attached to the wall squeaked when he applied pressure, but then released the bar without further protest. Caim paused, holding his breath as he listened. Somewhere down the corridor, a dull thud echoed, the same sound he’d heard before, but he still couldn’t identify it.
Caim set the bar on the ground and pulled on the door’s latch. It opened with just a slight creak. A powerful stench rolled over him as he stood in the doorway, the combined odors of rot, feces, and death. Fighting past the reek, Caim peered into the darkness. Inside was a small stone room roughly four paces by three, furnished with nothing but an empty pewter bowl on the floor. A shape huddled on the far side of the cell. He couldn’t tell if the occupant was a man or a woman. It had something like a shawl draped over its head. Caim stepped inside. The shape didn’t move as he nudged an exposed, filthy foot.
“Can you hear me? Hello?”
He received no response. No movement, no sounds. Not even a hushed grunt.
Stooping over, Caim touched the shape’s head through the shawl. It rocked to the side without resistance. Dead.
He left the cell and closed the door. Shaking his head at Keegan’s inquiring glance, he moved to the door across the hall. They repeated the process six more times, twice more finding corpses, and just stale air in the other four. In the eighth cell they discovered a living person.
Living maybe, but hardly alive.
He was a man of advanced age smelling almost as bad as the corpses they’d found. A long dirty beard drooped across his shrunken chest.
“What do we do with him?” Keegan asked with a sleeve pressed over his mouth and nose.
The humane thing would be to put him out of his misery. But looking at the pitiful wretch curled up on the cold floor, Caim didn’t have the heart for it.
“You,” he said to the short outlaw. “What’s your name?”
The boy hunched his shoulders like Caim had yelled at him. “Dongo.”
“Dongo, find something to prop this door open. We’ll gather him up on the way out if we have time.”
Caim and Keegan kept checking cells. They found a few more lost souls, most of them in the same condition as the old man or worse. One woman of indeterminate age, covered in dried blood, huddled in the corner of her cell. She screamed when they opened her door, and went on screaming until they closed it again. Keegan’s eyes were wide as they left that door, but Dongo crept closer as if he wanted to go inside.
