Alaric awoke in the cell, lying on the moldy, foul-smelling straw that barely covered the cold, stone floor. His wrists were shackled to the wall with chains so short they forced his arms to remain elevated. His whole body ached, and he couldn't open his left eye. They had stripped him down to just his breeches and shirt, and the freezing air and dampness penetrated to his bones. The cell was dominated by darkness, broken only by the weak moonlight filtering through a tiny arrow slit and the dim flame of a torch in the corridor, visible through the small window in the door.

He looked around and saw his two companions, tied to the wall in the same manner. Crab seemed relatively unscathed. Being unconscious had spared him from the beating. Wart wasn't as fortunate. He had a swollen cheekbone, a somewhat bruised eye, and possibly a split lip. The worst off was Alaric himself, especially after he had insulted the guards to stop them from kicking the boy. He hadn't seen his face, but judging by the boy's expression when he woke up, they must have left him looking quite disfigured. A broken nose was more than likely, and missing a few teeth, for sure. About broken ribs, he didn’t want to move much to find out.

"I'm a wreck," he managed to growl. "How are you, boys?"

"Better than you," Crab snorted. "You look worse than I do, and that's saying something."

"And you, Wart?"

"As Crab says, compared to you, I'm perfectly fine."

"Good. Thanks for the encouragement," Alaric said, trying to smile but only managing a faint groan. "We need to get out of here before dawn, or else by mid-morning, we'll be dancing at the end of a rope."

He looked at Crab. He was only shackled by his right hand. The iron prosthesis was too wide, and they probably didn’t know how to remove it either. Luckily, they hadn’t cut off his arm to take it. Even so, his feet were chained. They must have thought he was the most dangerous of the three.

"How many guards?" Alaric asked. This wasn't the first time they ended up in a dungeon, and they had a sort of protocol for these situations.

"Two," Wart replied. "The dungeons aren’t very large. I noticed while they were dragging us here. It’s just a simple corridor with eight cells, four on each side. At the end, there’s a room with a table, a chest, and a couple of chairs where the guards sit, and from there, you access the staircase leading to the courtyard."

"And what do we know about the girls?"

"They're here too, but in separate cells. Zari at the beginning of the corridor, and Lysa at the end, so they can’t see or talk to each other."

"Well observed, Wart. Crab, your turn."

The big man raised his claw to grab it with his shackled hand. He twisted it, not without effort, until he could unscrew it and uncover the metal casing over his stump. Inside, he kept some small tools, useful for occasions like this. Wart bent down, agile as he was, to grab the lockpick with his foot. Then, he brought it to his hand, and in a moment, had the padlock open. Once free, he quickly removed the shackles from the rest.

Alaric stood up as best he could, enduring the pain, and limped silently to the small window in the door. He couldn’t see much, but it was enough to glimpse the cell directly across. It seemed open and empty. He quickly devised a plan and whispered it to his companions, who nodded silently.

"Guard! Hey, guard!" Alaric shouted, sitting back down on the floor with the shackles on. Wart did the same beside him.

A curse was heard, followed by the heavy footsteps approaching the door. Unfriendly eyes peered through the window.

"What the fuck do you want, rat? Ah, you’re still alive. We thought you were dead. Better. This way, you can walk to the gallows on your own."

"Listen, tell us something. My young friend here thinks he’s seen you somewhere before."

"I doubt it, little shit. I don’t hang out with scum like you," the guard replied disdainfully.

"That's what I told him, that it was impossible. That he probably knows some relative of yours who looks like you."

"What are you insinuating, scum?"

"That the boy might know your mother, having blown him in some cheap brothel, and that’s why your face looks familiar," Alaric replied, laughing.

"You son of a bitch! You won’t make it to the gallows alive tomorrow, you piece of shit!"

The guard opened the door, enraged, and entered drawing his sword. It took him a second to realize one of the three was missing. Too late. As soon as he turned his head, he was met with a metal claw that crushed his skull like a rotten melon. He didn’t even have time to scream.

"Horacio, everything okay?" said another voice from the end of the corridor. "What’s happening?"

The soldier peeked around, seeing his companion, back turned, leaning against the cell door.

"Damn it, Horacio. Leave these idiots alone, we’ll deal with them tomorrow. Besides, the Count wanted to witness it personally at breakfast," he commented, approaching.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

When he reached his companion's side, he realized something was wrong. Hands held the body upright. He went to grab his sword, but Crab emerged from the cell opposite, grabbing him by the neck and lifting him, slamming him against the wall with such force that he broke it.

They ran to the cell at the end of the corridor. Wart easily unlocked it, and Alaric quickly entered. He found Lysandra, sitting on the cot, alert to the noises from the corridor. Her eyes, red and swollen from crying, lit up when she saw him, and she threw herself into his arms, sobbing. Alaric, surprised by her reaction, consoled her with a hand on her back.

"Well, at least you got a cot. And an empty bucket," he joked, trying to lighten the tension.

"Gods, I thought all was lost," she replied, her voice choked. "I didn’t know what to do, I was about to do something crazy. But how did you free yourselves? And... Oh, but what have they done to you? Your face..."

"Yes, I think they didn’t leave me very handsome. We’ll tell you the details later; now we must free your sister and leave before any guard relief comes."

"Zari, poor thing. I shouldn’t have let her help me with that, it was too much for her. It could have killed her."

They hurried out of the little room. Wart had already opened the other cell and found the boy trying to wake the inert girl.

"Zari, come on, get up," the boy implored.

"Zari, for all the Gods," Lysandra said, nearly fainting. "Is she...?"

The four of them were silent for a moment.

"She’s snoring," Wart sighed in relief.

"What the...! Come on, get up, Zarinia, you gave us quite a scare!" Lysandra exclaimed, both angry and happy.

Zari opened her eyes, startled. She had fallen into a deep sleep and took a few seconds to come to her senses.

"Huh? What? Rendel? How did you get in?"

The boy interrupted her with a kiss. The rest smiled, touched, until the young couple’s passion grew, and their display of affection became uncomfortably long.

"Ahem," Crab cleared his throat, trying to get their attention.

They realized they were getting carried away and stood up, blushing. Zari finally noticed Alaric.

"Toothpick, your face. You look horrible!"

"Yeah, well. No need for everyone to remind me, I’m aware of it."

"Let me fix you up a bit."

"There’s no time now. You’ll have to get used to seeing me this ugly until we get away from here. Then I’ll let you heal my face. Maybe you can fix my nose and remove some wrinkles and gray hairs while you’re at it."

They silently made their way to the entrance room, where they accessed the chest containing their belongings. They didn’t waste time checking everything, but Alaric was surprised to retrieve the leather pouch with the copy of the medallion inside. "This is because the captain was present doing the inventory; otherwise, some soldier would have taken it," he thought.

After dressing again, they carefully climbed to the courtyard. Strangely, the doors were still open, though there were a couple of guards on each side.

"I don’t see our wagon or horses inside, so they must be where we left them," Alaric whispered to Lysandra. "Do you have the strength to put those two to sleep? Then we’ll leave quickly, but quietly."

"Leave it to me. But what about the soldiers on the walls?"

Alaric addressed the group. "We can’t do anything about those guards, only try to avoid being seen as long as possible. Be ready to mount quickly once we’re out, and then follow me at a run until we reach Jawbridge. Crab, Wart, you know what to do once we cross."

He turned to continue, but thought better of it and stopped one last time, addressing the sisters.

"We only have one chance. Don’t stop for any reason. Whoever falls behind is a dead man. If I fall, follow Crab or Wart, they know what to do," he said seriously. Seeing their worried faces, he tried to lighten the mood a bit. "And for the love of the Gods, don’t look at me like that. I’m not that bad. It only hurts when I breathe..."

———

The Count watched the soldiers from his balcony with a stern expression. They were hurrying to mount their horses to begin the pursuit of the fugitives. His displeasure was palpable. He felt they were taking too long. The lookout on the battlements had raised the alarm about ten minutes ago, and they still hadn’t left the courtyard. He would have to discuss this with Kracio later. Maybe some lashes for the guards who fell asleep, as an example. While he pondered these things, the red-haired woman stood beside him, wrapped in her heavy dark fur cloak.

"What are you thinking about, my Lord?" she asked, also looking down.

"You ask as if you don’t already know. I’m surprised by how skilled those thieves are," he replied with some disdain. "Honestly, I expected to see them hanged this morning. A pity," he sighed. "I felt like witnessing an execution."

"They don’t matter, my dear Marcell. Neither do the girls. I’ve already tested their power. They are nothing. It’s their master we truly need," the woman responded, placing her hands on the young man’s shoulders.

"Yeah. I was going to let the girls escape anyway, as you told me. After having a bit of fun to make them tell us where the damn temple is..."

The woman began to laugh, and Marcell turned to her, fearing what she was about to say.

"But darling, I already know where the Serpent’s Gate is. I’ve always known."

"This must be a joke, right? I’ve never liked these games of yours. What are we waiting for, then?"

"My dear boy, first we must deal with the guardian. As long as she lives, the seal is useless to us. Do you have what I asked for?"

Marcell took a small carved wooden box from his doublet pocket and opened it, studying its contents.

"Yes, the older sorceress, Lysandra, had it among her things. So, you say this will allow me to know where they are at all times?"

"Exactly. A guiding stone. An ancient artifact, of which there are very few left. It’s probably more valuable than this castle."

The young man observed the small crystal sphere containing an oily liquid, with a tiny stone floating inside. It didn’t look so valuable, honestly.

"I’ll show you how to use it, dear. It’s very simple. It works like a compass. The stone points to its twin, and the vibration marks the distance."

"So they have this twin stone you mentioned?"

"As long as they don’t realize you have the box. That’s why you must not delay in going after them."

"And you’re sure they’ll go to see their master?"

"Completely. Her daughters will run to their mother’s skirts to whimper and ask for help and advice. And when we find Edel, we’ll finish her off. The last guardian. And there will be no more obstacles to my return."