Val awoke in a dark jail cell, stripped of his weapons and dignity. He was not bound, but he found it hard to sit up. His head hurt terribly, and the air tasted musty and old. It smelled like piss and mildew. From the gnawing hunger in his stomach, he gathered he’d been in the cell all night.

After a time he sat up and looked around. There was a bed full of rotted hay and nothing else. The opening in the door was but a small square secured with bars. He went to the bars and pushed his head through as far as he could, but he couldn’t see much. It seemed he was in the last cell in a long hall.

Val shook the bars with white knuckles and snarled. He’d spent the better half of the last two years trying to not be his father, only to end up in a dungeon cell like his father deserved. He remembered his worthless old man begging the debt collectors to show mercy. Val would never stoop low enough to beg. That was why he needed the job in the first place, so he could escape his father’s mistakes, get out from under his shadow. He’d be lucky now if he didn’t rot for the remainder of his days. But he had to break free. Val couldn’t face the cold starvation of loneliness. And he must get his gold. It was the only thing keeping him from his father, and drunken beatings.

He felt the door for a handle or knob, but of course, there was none. Then he ran his fingers all along the grains of the wooden door, looking for a hole or crack of any kind, but found nothing. They had put the hinges on the outside of the door otherwise he could remove them and be free.

He moved from the door to the walls. The room had been carved out of rock, and then the rock had been smoothed somewhat. He found many holes, but those led nowhere and were, at best, big enough for his fingers to fit through, and he hated to lose a finger to a starving spiderpossum.

Climbing atop his bed, he tried to feel along the ceiling, but it was just out of reach. He tried standing his bed on its side to climb it and better reach the ceiling, but it broke as soon as he reached the top, and he fell hard.

He sighed and began searching the floor, which smelled of urine and human waste and who knew what else. Still, he ran his fingers over the grime, hoping to find something. When he found nothing, he groaned, then gnashed his teeth.

Then he stood, braced himself, and charged the door. He hit it hard. It didn’t even budge. He went back to hitting it several more times until his shoulder hurt—at which point, he started ramming it with his other shoulder.

“Hey,” a gruff voice called out. Val heard footsteps coming down the hall. The face of a guard, framed by a helmet, peered through the barred window into his cell. “What are you doing in there? Think you can escape by smashing your body into this door? You can’t. It’s too sturdy. And I’m here. Don’t make me come in there and beat you silly, boy.”

“I wish you would.”

“Pah!” said the guard, sounding very much like he was considering it.

“Actually,” said Val, “it’s just my luck that you’re not a woman. Were you a lovely lady, I would no doubt win you over with my charms and dashing good looks. But alas, you are a man.”

“Ha,” bellowed the guard.

“You’re not so inclined, are you?”

The guard made a face then spat on the ground.

“Ah well,” said Val. “It was just a jest. But worth a try.”

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The guard chuckled. “Well, keep it down. I’ll not have you making all this ruckus trying to break free when there’s no use in it.”

“Fair enough.”

The guard turned to go.

“I did nothing to deserve this, you know.”

The guard stopped.

“What did they tell you I was in here for?”

The guard turned to look at him again. “Didn’t say. Doesn’t matter. Not my job to care. Just to stand guard.”

Val ran his hands over the rusted bars of the window. “All I did was save the Lady Isilda from becoming a dragon’s dinner. And for that, I was beaten and cast down here.” He paused in thought. “Did they tell you how long I was to be locked up?”

“Didn’t say,” said the guard.

Val nodded. “Until I’ve learned my lesson, then. Or rotted?”

“Probably the latter,” agreed the guard.

“This is the thanks I get for saving his betrothed. I wonder what they told her happened to me? Earlier, they told her they were preparing a feast in honor of my bravery.”

Val caught sight of movement behind the guard and then there was a loud banging of metal hitting metal followed by the guard crumpling to the ground.

“They told me you’d fallen ill, but the feast took place despite your absence.” Isilda stepped into view. “Don’t look so shocked, Mr. Skagg.”

Val closed his mouth and quickly regained his composure. “How long have you been in here?”

“I heard you make a pass at the guard if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Val shrugged, tried to smirk, but his eyes winced. “I’m trying anything to break out.”

“Nothing seems to be working.”

“How did you know I was down here?”

“When my betrothed mentioned you had fallen ill, I knew it was a lie. His conscience would not allow him to dispose of you, but his pride would not let you go free, so you had to be down here.”

“Won’t he figure out you helped set me free?”

“I’m good at sneaking. Besides, how many men have you known to admit they were bested by a woman?”

Val looked thoughtful. “Good point. And thanks.”

Isilda turned quickly from his gaze and lifted the key off of the guard. The door opened, and Val was free. “Of course,” she said. “You saved my life. The least I could do is set you free.”

Val looked into her eyes, seeing nothing but sincerity. It warmed his heart. He grabbed Isilda by the wrist, guiding her body close to his. Closing his eyes, he kissed her. A sharp pain stung his face. “Ouch,” he cried out.

Isilda raised her hand again. “What are you doing?” she asked him. “That’s my sprained wrist.”

His face turned red, but not because of the slap. “Oh, I thought…”

“Now’s not the time for that.”

Val smiled. “So you’re saying there is a time for that?”

“Oh, shut up.”

Val stepped over the guard. “Sorry about your wrist.” He moved down the hall, finding the exit. “What did you do to the guard?”

“Knocked him over the head with the hilt of your sword.” She handed it to him.

“Nice. The remainder of the guards?”

“I convinced them they were needed elsewhere.” She batted her eyes.

He entered a small room with shelving and cubby holes. In several of them were his cloak, satchels, bow, quiver, and arrows, but no bag of gold. He slammed his fist on the shelving. Taking a deep breath he gathered himself. “Would you be so kind,” he said, “as to direct me out of here in the fastest way possible that will attract the least amount of attention?”

“Certainly,” she said.

She led him through several other passageways until Val recognized they were ascending the same spiral staircase that he had found himself being led down the day before.

“I’ll bring you along the outskirts of the courtyard. If I can get you to the stables, you can get a horse and be on your way.”

“Sounds like a good plan,” said Val as Isilda pulled open the door leading outside to the courtyard. “But I’d like to alter it slightly.”