Albert had gained the dwarf access to the inner ward as a member of the wedding event crew. It had taken Magnus just five minutes to determine the dungeon’s location. A few stomps told him where to find empty spaces below. A nighttime lowering into the well by Royce had revealed the rest. Magnus deduced that the well, peppered with small air ducts, ran along the outer wall of the prison, granting the dwarf access to the face of the ancient stone. For eleven nights, Magnus had worked, cutting an entry. Merrick had been right—the prison was dwarven made—but he had never expected Royce to bring his own dwarf, especially one with experience in burrowing through stone.
As Royce descended, he spotted a faint glow from an opening in the side of the shaft. The hole itself was really more like a tunnel, due to the thickness of the ancient stone. He removed the bundle he carried, containing a sword and lantern, and passed it through the hole to the dwarf. Even with all Magnus’s skill, the stone must have been difficult to dig through, as the passage was narrow. While sufficient for a dwarf, it was a tight squeeze for Royce, and he hoped Hadrian would fit.
Emerging from the tunnel, Royce found himself peering around a small cell, where a dead body was lying on the floor. Dressed in a priest’s habit and curled into a tight ball, the dead man gave off a terrible stench. The room was tiny, barely large enough to accommodate the corpse. Magnus stood awkwardly against the wall, holding a crystal that glowed with a faint green radiance.
Royce pointed at the rock. “Where’d you get the stone?”
“Beats the heck out of flint and steel, eh?” Magnus grinned and winked. “I dug it up. I’m a dwarf, remember?”
“Really trying to forget that,” Royce said. He crossed to the door, picked the lock, and peered down the hallway outside. The walls had the same kind of markings he had seen in Gutaria Prison—small spidery patterns. He examined the seam where the walls met the floor.
“What are you waiting for? Let’s get on with it,” Magnus said.
“You in a hurry?” Royce whispered.
“It’s cold. Besides, I can think of a lot better places to be than here. Heck, the stench is reason enough. I’d like to be done with this.”
“I’m heading in. You wait here and watch for anyone coming behind us—and be careful.”
“Royce?” Magnus asked. “I did good, right? With the stonework, I mean.”
“Sure. You did fine.”
“After this is over… you think you could let me study Alverstone for a while? You know, as kind of a reward—to show your appreciation and all.”
“You’ll be paid in gold, just like Albert. You’ve got to get over this obsession of yours.”
Royce entered the hallway. The darkness was nearly absolute, the only illumination coming from Magnus’s green stone.
He made a quick sweep of the corridors—no guards. Most of the cells were empty but he could hear faint movement and breathing from behind four doors. The only other sound was the drip, drip, drip of the well echoing off the stone walls. After he was sure it was safe, Royce lit the lantern but kept the flame low. He picked the lock on one of the cells and found a man lying motionless on the floor. His blond hair was a little longer than Royce remembered, but Royce was certain this was the man he had seen in the tower of Avempartha—Degan Gaunt. He was dangerously thin but still breathing. Royce shook him, but he did not wake. Royce left the door open and moved on.
He unlocked the next cell, and a man sitting on the floor looked up. The resemblance was unmistakable and Royce recognized him immediately.
“Who’s there?” Breckton Belstrad asked, holding up a hand to block the glare of the lantern.
“No time to chat. Just wait here for a minute. We’ll be leaving soon.”
Royce moved to the next cell. Inside, two women slept. One he did not know, and the other he almost did not recognize. Princess Arista was ghastly thin, dressed in a rag, and covered with what looked to be bite marks. He left them and moved to the last cell.
“Fourth time’s the charm,” he whispered under his breath as he opened the final door.
Hadrian sat leaning against the wall. He was shirtless. His tunic had been torn into strips and tied around his leg, arm, and midsection. His shirt was fashioned into a pad pressed tight to his side. Each piece of material was soaked dark, but Royce’s partner was still breathing.
“Wake up, buddy,” Royce whispered, nudging him. Hadrian was damp with sweat.
“About time you got here. I was starting to think you ran off and left me.”
“I considered it, but the thought of Magnus as my best man kinda forced the issue. Nice haircut, by the way. It looks good on you—very knightly.”
Hadrian started a laugh that turned to grunts of pain.
“They skewered you good, didn’t they?” Royce asked, adjusting the cloth strips. He pulled the midsection one tighter.
Hadrian winced. “The prison guards don’t like me much. They lost money betting against me five jousts in a row.”
“Oh, well, that’s understandable. I would have stuck you too.”
“You got Arista, right? And Gaunt? Is he alive?”
“Yeah, she’s sleeping next door. As for Gaunt, he’s in pretty bad shape. I’ll have to drag him out. Can you walk?”
“I don’t know.”
Royce gripped Hadrian around the waist and slowly helped him up. Together they struggled down the corridor to the end cell with the well breach. Royce pushed on the door but it did not budge. He put more effort into it but nothing happened.
“Magnus, open the door,” Royce whispered.