The first warder set his chisel against Gar’s chain while the other two watched warily. The maul swung, the chain dropped free; but Gar still sat like a statue, staring forward.
“Up!” The man with the chisel scowled down at the giant, braced for anything—but nothing happened.
Dirk dropped down beside the big man. “Why, come then, Brother! We must up and away! The night is gone; the sun wheels toward day!” He slung the giant’s arm over his shoulder, braced himself for a hard haul, and pushed himself to his feet—and almost fell over backward. He’d expected to have to haul the giant up by main strength; but impulse was all the huge body needed; it rose by itself, willingly. But, standing, it just stood.
Dirk looked up at the warders. “Come now, I’ll lead my brother. Take us out to the Lord of the Ransom; take us out from the castle of durance vile, ere the ogre returns.”
The warders traded a commiserating glance and turned to escort them out.
They went down between the two rows of inmates. The ones who were awake looked up, saw two of their number going toward freedom, and set up a chorus of howls, wailing for liberty. The warders stiffened, but their steps never slackened. Inmates surged to their feet, clawing at the air and bellowing, but the warders plodded on at the same even pace, past the chief warder and into the passageway to the outside door. Dirk breathed a silent sigh of relief, realized he was shaking. He wondered how the warders could take it, and realized it was a miracle they’d managed to keep so much human feeling.
The warder wrenched back the bolts and swung the door open. Dirk squinted against the dazzling sunlight, let them lead him out. As his eyes adjusted, he looked up …
… and saw a young page with five Soldiers, in Lord Core’s livery.
Suddenly the Bedlam seemed a very pleasant place to be, warm and secure …
Then his eyes finished adjusting; he looked more closely at the page’s face, and recognized Madelon. He took a deep breath and decided he’d never been so glad to see a woman in his life.
Dirk turned to look more closely at the five horsemen and recognized Hugh and a couple of his other old acquaintances from the arena. He was sure he’d seen the other two around the campfire the night before.
“Get them up on their horses, lad,” Hugh growled. “The Lord grows impatient.”
“Aye, right quickly.” Madelon turned to the warder. “I thank ye, goodmen. I shall bear word to His Lordship of your excellent night’s lodging for his guests.”
The warder looked a little worried, but he shrugged stubbornly. “We do what we can, young Gentleman. We are not, after all, given overmuch to do it with.”
Public institutions were the same everywhere, Dirk decided.
“I will speak to His Lordship of it,” Madelon promised. “Thanks, and farewell.”
She led Dirk to a waiting horse as the warders shrugged and went back into the Bedlam. The door slammed shut with a hollow echo as Dirk swung into the saddle; he breathed a huge sigh of relief.
Then he looked down and saw the giant standing, blankly, in front of a Percheron. The horse eyed him and snorted uneasily.
Madelon frowned. “Come then, mount! Drop your pretense; no one watches but us.”
“Don’t worry about that part,” Dirk said dryly, “he’s not faking.” He dismounted and went to Gar, picked up a huge foot, and set it in a stirrup. Then he lifted the two, massive hands—he hadn’t known a human arm could weigh so much—and balanced them on the saddle-horn. He stepped back to survey his handiwork; the huge body still stood, unblinking, poised on one foot. Dirk sighed, went around behind, and gave him an upward shove. Reflex took over; the giant body swung up. Dirk caught the right leg and swung it up and over the horse’s rump, and Gar sprawled down onto the horse’s back. Dirk scurried around to the far side, secured the right foot in its stirrup, and came back to Madelon and Hugh, mopping his brow. “I think he’ll do now. Once he’s in position …” He broke off, seeing the looks on their faces.
Then Madelon turned away and mounted. He followed suit, thinking about the look on her face. Stricken, he could understand—but devastated?
“Away!” Hugh growled. He swung his horse about. The party turned away after him, toward the forest. Dirk looked back over his shoulder, at the gloomy, granite building, reflecting that, if the revolution succeeded, he had an excellent purpose for Lord Core’s château.
As they reached the shade of the trees, a mule trotted out from a thicket to join them. Dirk nodded to its rider with a smile of thanks. “A timely rescue, Father. How did you manage it?”
“I? Not at all.” Father Fletcher smiled, amused. “ ‘Twas Madelon’s scheme.”
Dirk glanced at the topic of discussion and decided she wasn’t in a mood to explain. “Where’d she get the uniforms?”
Hugh pursed his lips and looked up at the leaves. “Why, as to that, a few of Lord Core’s men seem to have lost their way in the wood t’other night; and, taking pity on the poor lads, we thought to give them a home …”
“Under the roots,” Dirk suggested.
Hugh shrugged. “It may have been something of the sort. Of course, I would know nothing of such details. Naetheless, there were their liveries and armor, doing no good to any man, being far too cumbersome for forest travel. So our lasses worked quickly with their needles, and we had a page’s suit to fit our likely lad, here…” He nodded toward Madelon; she looked up, frowning, seeming to notice them for the first time. “For the rest …” he shrugged. “ ‘Twas nothing at all to draw up a letter and draw Lord Core’s seal on it. After that, you know the tale yourself.”
“But I do not,” Father Fletcher said ruefully. “You shall have to tell it to me, friend Dulain, when we have more leisure—or perhaps yourself, my great friend?” He rode ahead to catch at Gar’s arm, gave him a shake. The great body rocked, came back to an even keel, and rode steadily ahead.
Dirk saw the sick realization coming into the priest’s eyes. He nodded. “It was timely rescue, Father; you came as quickly as we could hope for. But even had you come at midnight, you would have come too late.”
“But what has happened to him?” the priest whispered.
Dirk shook his head. “There was madness all about him, Father. It seeped into him, claimed him. Where his mind has gone, I do not know—but it’s gone.”
“Tell us the manner of it,” Madelon whispered hoarsely.
Dirk glanced at the agony of her face, glanced away—and despised himself for a bitter stab of jealousy. “He went into a rage, went stiff, and collapsed. Since then, he hasn’t spoken a word, and he’s looked—like that.”
Madelon looked at Gar again and looked away, squeezing her eyes shut. “If only we could have come earlier …”
“He was gone by two hours after sunset,” Dirk said quickly. “Any ordinary man could make it through at least a night in there. How could you have known? I certainly didn’t.”
She flashed him a look of gratitude, and there was something of appeal in it, which surprised him. In fact, it tied his tongue, but he managed to smile back at her. For a moment, their glances held; then she turned away, with a shuddering breath, and set her face toward the depths of the forest. “We must ride. Core’s Soldiers must certainly have told him of the two madmen they left at the house of Saint Orthicon. Only good luck kept him from coming before us.”
“Aye,” Hugh growled. “He’ll come behind us, never fear, when the warders tell him the tale.”
“Yes.” Father Fletcher nodded. “And he’ll call for dogs when he follows our trail to the forest.” “How about it, Hugh?” Dirk said softly. “This is your country. We can run if we want to, but sooner or later we’ll have to hide.”