Today’s the day we make our move.
Orrian had sent everyone back to sleep last night following the encounter with Damion, everyone needs to be alert and ready for when the time comes. I had tried pitifully to regain my semi-unconscious state but to no prevail thanks to the thoughts of this evening running rampant in my mind.
We had let Damion clear up the fallen torch after summarising the plan. When the warden comes by with the food this evening, it would be up to Damion to take the keys off him and unlock our cell. From there we’ll get everyone out and organised before we rush the stairs and the courtyard. By the time we reach the main city we’ll make a beeline straight for the outer gates, splitting up into two groups and disappearing into the houses as soon as the soldiers notice us and begin pursuing. One group will be led by Orrian and Tharrin, the other by myself and the twins. If we get the jump on any guards at the inner gates, we might be armed by the time we reach the outer limits, if it comes to it, we’ll have to fight. If that happens then we’ll need to be quick about it so that we can disappear into the woodland before reinforcements get to us. The plan is risky, very risky, but it’s the only chance we’ve got.
We spend the day preparing ourselves, mentally and physically. We drain the last of our water and consume any morsels of food that have been saved in case the warden left us alone down here. This is the time to go all out, if this fails then we lose everything, so we may as well give ourselves as much of a fighting chance as possible. Every now and then I spot a barely concealed yawn, a sign that everyone else had as much difficulty falling asleep again as I did.
The hours pass without anything noteworthy happening. The pessimistic side of me is still slightly worried at the possibility of Damion betraying us, even though I know he has almost as much riding on this as the rest of us. The warden enters the tunnel for the morning slop, dishing out the last food we can expect down here. At his side the thick ring of keys rests temptingly. Tantalisingly close but just out of reach. Not that we should strike now even if we had the opportunity, we need nightfall on our side if we are to succeed.
Time stretches on until it feels as if days may have passed. A brief thought flashes through my mind as I wonder if the warden has chosen the worst possible time to leave us by ourselves down here. I spend the next few minutes fretting, unable to shake the feeling that more time has passed than it should have and that something is wrong.
My worries are put at ease as the creaking of a gate opening above finally makes its way down to our ears. Some of us stop our conversations, some stop their pacing, some stop their rocking or whatever else they have taken to pass the time. We all strain against the silence as footfalls repeat distantly, at first descending unseen steps, finally growing louder as they move through the narrow tunnel.
Warden Halden steps into view. Behind him, with his broom and crate, is Damion. Before leaving us last night we had made him light the replacement torch before purposefully extinguishing it. It would make his necessity to be here more plausible and help fend off unwanted questions.
Halden goes about distributing the food to the first of the cells, he will reach us last. The warden is oblivious to the eerie silence, blind to the tribespeople’s pointed looks at Damion and unaware of their subtle gestures. He goes about his regular routine undisturbed. Meanwhile, Damion makes his way over to the unlit torch and busies himself with lighting the fire, his fingers unsteady with anxiety.
Warden Halden has just reached our cell when Damion finally makes a move. As Halden turns to face us, the young man steps backwards away from the torch, moving towards the broom he’s left leaning against the opposite wall.
The warden looks up at myself and Orrian, we both wait for him and stand at least a head above. His eyes raise to mine a split second before the wooden broom handle smashes into his temple.
My skin crawls as the warden lets loose a shrill scream, clutching at his bleeding forehead whilst Damion raises the broom to deal another blow. The screaming continues, even from this far away it must be audible to those on the surface. Damion brings the handle down again and again, with each impact the scream raises briefly before lowering, until the warden can do nothing but whimper.
Another strike. More Blood. Raise the handle once again. The sickening thwack of wood against skull. The broom handle breaks as Damion overswings and it collides with the solid stone below. He tosses the broom to one side and drops to his knees, hands already around the old man’s throat.
“Damion-” I start. If anyone had asked, I would have said that we need to get moving before the commotion draws others down here. In truth, the warden is no longer a threat to us and, despite the horrible things he has done, I am unwilling to watch such brutality.
“Don’t,” Orrian says stopping me.
Mother looks down at the scene in horror, visibly paling as Damion tightens his grip. Still, she does not utter a single word.
Together we watch on as the life drains from the vile man’s eyes. His frame seems so much smaller now as Damion grabs him by the arm and slides him into the wall to the side of the entrance tunnel. He is positioned in such a way that if anyone looks down without coming in then the body shouldn’t be visible. The warden lay
