Mary Reed - One for Sorrow

He heard the magnified dripping of water and an almost imperceptible liquid murmur.

“Did you hear that?” Thomas whispered. “They are on the opposite side.”

Only a narrow ledge of stone skirted the cistern. John forced himself to move along it. Glancing down in the semi-darkness he saw the menacing glimmer of the water a few hands-breadths away. His boot slipped on moisture and he tottered, pressing himself back at the last instant against the rough wall behind him.

How deep was the water?

He continued to slide sideways, back pressed to the wall. The water was a monstrous entity waiting to pull him down and devour him.

He heard what sounded like a faint cry. Cornelia? He signaled to Thomas and Anatolius to stop. All three listened intently.

Again there came a whispering echo. Clearer this time, it was a woman’s sobbing. John tapped Thomas’ elbow lightly, attracting his attention. The knight touched his ear and nodded.

The wraith of sound sighed again across the water. John felt an exultant surge of joy. They were here and alive!

At this realization, the scorching heat of mingled exultation and rage welled up in his chest. In the semi-darkness of his watery Hades, John began to resemble a demon himself, his thin lips drawn back in a feral snarl. Abandoning his crab-like shuffle, he broke into a lope, one elbow scraping the wall as he maintained his balance.

At the cistern’s far end the ledge ended at a wide platform, its margins fading into shadow. John could distinguish two dark shapes huddled at the base of a pillar rising from the platform.

The women had been bound to the pillar. As John stepped forward, intent on cutting their bonds, Europa’s head jerked upwards. He had only an instant to register the startled expression on her pale face as she gazed past him, then a low voice-Thomas’ voice-growled, “Stay where you are!”

John turned. Seeing the knight’s raised sword, he had a sensation of falling, though he could feel his feet still firmly planted on the concrete. Had he miscalculated the man so badly?

“I thought I saw movement in the shadows,” Thomas said, lowering his weapon. “I think it is safe for now.”

John cut the women loose. Cornelia was unconscious, her face bruised. As he lowered her into a reclining position she felt as heavy as the dead, as heavy as old sorrows.

“Cowards!” cursed Anatolius. “They’ll pay for this, Europa, I promise you!”

John shook his head. “We must get the women to safety.”

“The stairway they brought us down is over there.” Before John could protest, Europa ran in the direction she had indicated. She was brought up short by a booming voice.

“Lord Chamberlain! You of all men should know it is impolite to enter without being announced. However, since you are here, you are welcome to our hospitality!”

Two men emerged from the darkness in front of the girl. One was a tall, muscular man whom John did not recognize. The other, as John expected, was the innkeeper, Master Kaloethes.

“We have them outnumbered,” growled Thomas.

Even as he spoke Anatolius bellowed. “Europa, watch out!” He charged toward the men, swinging his sword clumsily, unbalancing himself. The innkeeper grabbed him by the shoulders as he stumbled and threw him against the wall. He fell to the floor and lay motionless.

Two more men appeared out of the shadows, cutting Europa off from her would-be rescuers. One of the new arrivals stepped toward the girl.

The innkeeper chuckled. “It appears we have recaptured at least one hostage. I expect when it comes to such goods, the price for one differs little from the price for the pair. You know what the price is, Lord Chamberlain. Please drop your sword and walk forward slowly.”

For an instant John and Thomas stood still. It was Europa who suddenly moved. She took a single step forward. Then she had catapulted herself into the air. The innkeeper’s accomplice stabbed upwards, too late. The girl’s hands barely touched his shoulder as she vaulted over his blade, just as she had vaulted over the equally deadly horns of so many bulls. She sprawled safely at Thomas’ feet.

Thomas bounded over her. It was a less graceful leap than Europa’s, but one which brought him face to face with one of the newcomers, who drew a single gasping breath before the knight’s blade pierced his throat. Shoving his corpse aside, Thomas engaged the second man. The swordplay was brief.

“Now,” remarked Thomas with a grin, “now, my friends, we are even.”

John and Thomas instinctively became a fighting unit, moving forward in concert. John’s lips curled back in a wolfish grin. Rage iced his veins. The siren song of combat, so long absent from his ears, sang in his blood. He was prepared to kill and to enjoy the killing.

The innkeeper, displaying unexpected skill, brandished his sword as he moved slightly to the right. At the same time, the man at his side stepped left, drawing Thomas away from John’s side.

An unholy shriek rebounded around the subterranean chamber. Before its rolling echoes had died John, from whose throat the animal sound had burst, was upon the innkeeper, slapping the weapon out of his hand with the flat of his own sword. Kaloethes grabbed for the thin-bladed knife at his waist.

John had dropped his sword and was ready, dagger drawn. A sword, he well knew, was too clumsy for hand to hand fighting. The men moved toward each other, jabbing and slashing. Then the innkeeper backed up as John pressed his attack.

In his rage, John became careless. Kaloethes slashed John across his cheek, opening a welling furrow from eye to mouth. But it brought him too close to John, who seized the opportunity to get under the other’s guard, his blade biting into a meaty shoulder.

The innkeeper shrieked with surprise and pain. John yanked out the blade. The quick movement threw him off-balance, and the innkeeper, automatically using a maneuver that had won him victory in more than one street brawl, brought his knee up into John’s groin.

The maneuver did not have its usual devastating effect.

John merely grunted with pain and staggered backwards, then leapt forward, to drive his dagger deep into the innkeeper’s neck. Kaloethes sank screaming to his knees, but, keeping his wits about him, jabbed upwards toward John’s stomach.

John kicked the weapon out of his opponent’s hand. The unarmed innkeeper tried to crawl away. John was only dimly aware of Thomas trading sword thrusts with the remaining kidnapper. Now nothing could distract John from indulging his lust to inflict as much pain as possible on the man groveling at his feet-until he slipped in the growing pool of the innkeeper’s blood.

John went down on one knee at the edge of the cistern, catching a nightmare glimpse of his reflection springing up at him. For an instant, all he could think about was avoiding the horror of that waiting water.

It was enough. With a shout of rage, Kaloethes leapt up and forward, closing his huge hands around John’s throat, thumbs sinking into the flesh. John tore at the innkeeper’s death-grip as the pressure was steadily increased. A reddish tint was creeping into what little vision he had. He began to feel faint, gasping for air. His lungs were bursting, the pain shooting hot rivulets of fire across his laboring chest. Blood from his face flowed like scalding tears.

The fog shrouding John’s mind suddenly cleared. He realized he was going to die in this echoing underground chamber. At least it would be an honorable death. And yet what would become of Cornelia and Europa? He knew they could expect no mercy. He began to lose consciousness, his fading thoughts of Cornelia and their daughter, the daughter he had cherished so briefly.

A bellow cut through the roaring red darkness engulfing him.