Deeds of Their Past - 25. Chapter Twenty-five

Keys jingled. Nathan woke immediately, shielding his sensitive eyes from the torchlight, fearing the worst. Ayers appeared, followed by extra footsteps punctuated with clanging armour. Guardsmen.

“It’s your lucky day. We’re moving you to somewhere a little more public.” He unlocked and swung open the squealing door, throwing a pile of clothes at his feet. “Get dressed.”

Squinting in the light, Nathan pulled himself up, surprised to find more strength than before. Meanwhile, two armed men fit through the doorway, and waited for him to clothe himself. With no dexterity in his fingers, it took a while, yet the guards stood patiently in silence. Once dressed, they lifted him to unsteady feet.

“Take him away, boys,” Ayers mumbled.

Nathan found himself unable to walk on his own, but it didn’t matter. The able-bodied guards dragged him out of the cell and down the corridor, with Ayers in the lead, lighting the way.

A confusing maze of dark passageways broke left and right at random intervals. At last, they reached a rough stone stairway, leading up to a wide hall with bright daylight streaming through narrow windows.

Ayers offered Nathan a wry smile. “I’ll see you again once Garricus gets back in a few days. Have fun.”

One of the guards pulled him up straight. “Alright then, on your feet now. We’re not gonna carry you the whole way.”

Nathan managed to hold himself up without their aid, and they escorted him down the hall, each arm held in a steely grip. Ayers watched a moment before returning to his dank dungeon. Arriving at a massive door, a watchman pulled back the iron bolt and opened it. Sunlight beamed in.

Nathan grunted and shut his sensitive eyes, turning his head away, but that didn’t stop the two men from pushing him onward into the blinding light. The din of the garrison rung in his ears. Men talking. Heavy boots stomping on the dusty streets. The jingle of tack from passing horsemen. A blacksmith’s hammer punctuated through all the noise at regular intervals. As Nathan’s vision returned, he saw the high stone walls in the distance, surrounding the settlement.

The short tour ended as they reached a large square. At its centre was the gallows. Beside that, an executioner’s block on a raised stand. Nathan grimly pondered which one he’d be destined for. Off to one side along the wall were a series of pillories and iron cages, a few occupied by troopers. He assumed they were serving their sentence for a transgression.

The two men led him to a pillory away from the others, bending him over to force his head and arms into the slots. With practiced efficiency, one man slammed it shut, and turned a key in a giant lock resulting in an audible click. Their task complete, they left Nathan without a second glance.

His arrival brought on a small crowd of curious onlookers, but busy with their tasks, they only lingered momentarily. Nathan shut his eyes, closing his mind to the world, relishing the small pleasure of the warm sun.

The wait was almost over, and soon he’d be joining Brohm in whatever came after. Be it the afterlife, or nothingness, it had to be better than this.

* * *

The day passed slowly and without event. Around late afternoon, a guard came to free the few troopers in their own pillories. Nathan hoped for the same, tired of the ache in his back and legs, but had no such luck. The guard passed him as though he were invisible.

Long shadows drew from the walls, and the warm glow of dusk passed away to late evening. He watched idly as a man lit lamps hanging from posts around the square and down the street beyond his view. The garrison had grown relatively quiet, and the murmur of the townsfolk on the other side of the wall reached his ears.

The sky was nearly black when he caught sight of a slight figure walking toward him, carrying a small wooden bowl and cup.

“Hello,” Nathan said.

Wordlessly and without making eye contact, she spooned what appeared to be oatmeal into his mouth. He ate eagerly. After finishing, she lifted the cup of water to his lips, allowing him to drink.

“Can you speak to the guard about moving me to—”

Nathan stopped himself as she turned and left without any acknowledgement that he’d spoken. He didn’t think they’d leave him in the pillory all night, but was now worried that might be the case.

More time passed until he heard the slow sound of armour chinking, echoing into the square. The source revealed itself to be a guard patrolling the area. As he turned away down another street, Nathan called out to get his attention, but received no reaction from the patrolman. After ten minutes, the sound of armour came again, and as soon as the guard appeared, Nathan tried again.

“Hey!” he called out.

Finally, the man stopped and looked over at him from across the square.

“Please, you’ve gotta get me out of this,” he pleaded.

The guard sauntered over, slowly and deliberately. “What’s th’ problem,” he drawled.

“I can’t take this anymore. Please, can’t you put me somewhere else?”

“I’ve no key. Anyway, it’s not me job to worry ’bout you, scum.”

“Could you please tell someone then? This is killing me.”

The guard backhanded him across the face with a gauntleted hand. “Shut up, else I make you regret’t.”

Nathan licked blood from his lip, watching the man head back to continue his patrol. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Alternating his weight from foot to foot only brought a small amount of relief as the night progressed. He tried lowering himself to his knees, but the wide beam of the pillory forced him to stay bent over. Any other position cut off circulation at his neck.

Dark thoughts of suicide crossed his mind. He was already dead, why suffer any agony to come? He could hang himself on the pillory if he wanted it badly enough. But a flame that burned within told him that he’d never be able to go through with it.

Right now, he hated that flame.

A bright flash lit the entire square, catching him off-guard. Lightning. Thunder rolled overhead, and a gusty wind whipped up, bringing with it the scent of rain. Nathan groaned inwardly.

Moments later, it fell in buckets. The patrolman dashed under an awning, watching Nathan become soaked in seconds. At first, the dusty ground swallowed the rain with greed, but once saturated, swiftly turned to mud.

It was then Nathan realized his boots were slowly sinking into the muck, and lifting a foot to place it elsewhere did nothing to stop it. In fact, doing so aided the sinking process until he found himself unable to pull free. Fear spread across his body as the sinking continued unabated, and a tightness around his neck told him he was in trouble.

“Help! HELP!” he yelled out to the guard.

At first, the man did nothing. But upon hearing the panic and fear in Nathan’s voice, he braved the rain and mud to investigate.

“It’s strangl—” Nathan managed, attempting to turn his head in the pillory’s grip.

The guard immediately saw the problem. “Gods damn it!”

Hurrying around the corner, he quickly returned with another man in tow. Nathan’s vision faded quickly, and was unable to make out the words they were yelling over the clatter of torrential rainfall. The figures blurred as they approached, and the lamplights doubled and swayed as though he were drunk. Then everything went blank, along with his memory.

He awoke to find the men dragging him roughly through the mud, and then tossed him into an iron cage hanging from above. His head crashed against the bars, causing it to swing wildly. The gate slammed shut, and the two men left him, slogging through the mud back to their post.

The soaking rain continued unabated, but Nathan didn’t care. The ache and pain was gone, and in his addled state, he fell unconscious.

* * *

He woke with a start, banging his head against the bars again. His head throbbed, and his eyes felt as though daggers were piercing them. Finally focusing, he judged it late afternoon. Had he slept the entire time? He was surprised to find the ground had already dried and hardened in the warm sun.

The night before was a blur and didn’t seem real, but his back and legs told him otherwise. The tight quarters of his cage didn’t allow much room to manoeuvre, and his attempt for a more comfortable position proved a difficult task. The bars at the bottom of the cage dug into his behind, and he could only imagine how bad the bruising would be.

With nothing to do, and feeling strangely well rested, he watched the various men walk by, dealing with their duties. The setting sun thinned out the crowds as they had the day before. The lamp-lighter made his rounds, and then finally the woman came to him with his meal.

“Hello,” Nathan spoke quietly.

As before, she didn’t speak or make eye contact, only handing him the bowl and cup through the bars.

“Thank you,” he said as she left.

Her step faltered, and she turned her head briefly to offer a sidelong glance before walking away. The portion was pitiful, but helped to subdue his growling stomach.

The hour of the night grew late, hushing the distant clamour of the surrounding town. All that remained were the hoots and hollers of drunken tavern patrons heading home to their beds. Like clockwork, the patrolman passed through the square, arriving from the same street and exiting to another.

Despite his darker thoughts, he realized that the idea of escape had always remained in his deep subconscious. He’d never had the chance, and now the silent streets beckoned him to try. Lifting himself up, he examined the gate of the cage, pulling on the rusty iron lock and testing its strength, yet found it strong and secure.

Suddenly another guard appeared from an opposite street, and Nathan backed down in surprise, causing the cage to swing and squeak. That caught the guard’s attention, and he turned toward him. Nathan couldn’t help but shrink against the back of his cage for fear of retaliation.

“Nathan,” the figure whispered hoarsely.

That voice. He couldn’t comprehend what he was hearing.

“Brohm . . . ?”

The figure lumbered closer into the dark corner, but with the helmet on, Nathan still couldn’t make out details. He questioned if he was dreaming again.

“Brohm, is that you?” he whispered, a lump in his throat.

The big man’s worried face came into view. He looked exhausted, and an angry gash marred his cheek. “What did they do to you?”

“B-but . . . you were dead,” Nathan muttered.

“Shh, let me get you out of there.” He pulled the sword from his scabbard, and gave the lock a solid hit with the hilt. The sound reverberated loudly, bouncing off the stone walls.

“Wait! A patrol’s coming soon. You gotta hide,” Nathan warned.

Brohm surveyed the square and hurried over to the executioner’s stand. Hunched and hidden from view, he spied over the edge and waited. Minutes passed, and he impatiently rose up from his concealment just as the patrolman arrived in the square. The big man dove back to cover, armour clattering as he hit the ground.

The guard stopped, obviously hearing it, and stepped into the darkened square to investigate its source. After everything Nathan had been through, and now so close to escape, he couldn’t believe such a simple error would mean their doom. A brief glint of light caught his eye as Brohm tightened the grip on his sword. There was no doubt he’d go down fighting, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Stealth was key at this point.

“What are ye up to, eh?” the guard asked Nathan.

“N-nothing . . .”

“Yeah, you keep it down then.”

The guard turned to leave, however from that angle caught sight of Brohm hiding behind the stand.

“Oi! Whacha doin’ over there?” the guard called out.

Brohm stood up and shrugged, unable to conjure a believable lie on the spot. From the tone of the guard’s voice, it was apparent he knew something wasn’t right.

“What’s your name, soldier?”

“Uhh—”

“Sheathe that weapon and let me see your face,” he demanded, storming over to him.

Brohm stepped toward him and slowly complied with the order, yet once within range, whipped his sword out in a wide arc, cutting through the air with blinding speed. The blade caught the man in the face, dark blood splashing onto the dry ground.

Before the guard had a chance to cry out, Brohm silenced him with a second stroke across the neck. He fell to his knees, and Brohm delivered a final stab to his chest, piercing the armour. With a twist, he withdrew, and the body slumped over.

The big man allowed himself one breath before dragging the body behind the stand. With the bloody blade still in hand, he rushed toward Nathan and repeatedly smashed the lock with the hilt without care of the ruckus he was causing. The lock gave way to the assault, and Nathan opened the gate, tumbling into Brohm’s waiting arms.

“We have to go,” Brohm said in his ear, holding him close.

Leaving the square behind, they stole away into the night.