The room was-empty.
Seven tankards stood on the table, all of them full. You could see the remains of a meaclass="underline" Chewed chicken bones, crumbs and odd bits of vegetables were strewn on a large platter.
Coira closed the door and crossed the room carefully. Perhaps the warders had gone up to bring the prisoners their food?
Her tortoiseshell eyes caught sight of a board next to the stairs with a row of hooks intended for bunches of keys, all of them empty.
More and more peculiar. The longer she stood there trying to figure things out, the stronger her conviction became that someone had got there before her.
She ran up the steps to the first floor, weapon and spells at the ready.
Arriving at the first-floor landing she saw the cell doors hanging open. Did the Poet of Freedom have friends brave enough to free him despite the overwhelming numbers? She smiled at the thought. She continued running further up the stairs, finding cell after cell open and empty. Her disappointment at not being the one to liberate The Incomparable only lasted a second. What mattered was that he was free.
She hastened down the stairway again-and found herself face to face with Rodario the Seventh.
He was just as shocked as she was and even gave a little yelp of fright. His dagger clattered to the floor.
“What are you doing here?” asked the young woman.
Rodario looked bewildered and picked up his weapon, wiping it on his cloak and holding it ineffectually, then putting it away with an embarrassed air. She saw at once that he had no idea how to use it. “Probably the same as you,” he stammered, seeing the sword she was carrying. He pushed the hair out of his eyes. “I’m here to free The Incomparable.”
Coira laughed. “All by yourself?”
The man frowned, looking hurt. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to endanger anyone else.” He glanced past her over to the steps. “Where is he?”
“We’ve both arrived too late. He’s already free.” She found it so touching that this skinny figure of a man, with no physical prowess, a contender fresh from humiliating defeat on stage, had turned out intent on fighting off the orc guards to free a rival, the favorite. This Rodario possessed none of the The Incomparable’s charisma.
Rodario smiled all over his face. “Oh, thanks be to Samusin! All the better!” He seemed truly relieved. “Then the two of us can get away from here together, then.” He watched her and obviously he liked what he saw. That was all she needed!
Suddenly they heard deep voices outside, the clank of armor and the stomp of heavy boots. It must be a guard unit back from patrol.
“There’s only one exit to the tower,” she whispered to Rodario, extinguishing the lamps. “Quick, hide!” He was about to run up the stairs to the first floor, but she grabbed his sleeve. “No, don’t head for the cells. It’d be making things far too easy for the guards.” She pushed him into a dark corner by the weapons stand, following him into the little niche, pressing herself against the wall where the shadows helped to conceal them. Maybe the guards would rush straight past.
The door burst open and an orc entered the room. Hardly three steps in, he was already bellowing out orders and pulling his sword out of its scabbard.
Eight of his soldiers stormed up the stairs with him, while four stayed down in the guardroom to secure the entrance. They lit the lamps.
Coira knew a fight could not be avoided. And it would have to be won quickly before the other orcs came back down.
“I’ll be needing you, Rodario the Seventh,” she whispered in his ear. He was utterly transported as her breath played on his face.
“Anything you ask,” he said eagerly. Unfortunately, not very quietly.
“Over there!” called one of the orcs excitedly. “In that corner!” He drew his sword; the other three followed suit and moved in to the attack.
“Didn’t you do well?” Coira said sarcastically under her breath as she prepared to use magic against the guards. Four yellow spheres the size of marbles flashed out of her left hand to hit the four attackers. As the spheres burst, the orcs’ heads were enveloped in sparkling glitter.
Two of the creatures simply collapsed, but the others showed no effects.
“It’s Coira Weytana!” one of them yelled up the stairs. “The daughter of the maga is down here! Quick! Come and help us!”
“Go on, do it again!” said Rodario, brandishing his dagger. “Send them to their deaths!” He dashed up willy-nilly to the nearest orc and stabbed away.
Coira was supremely conscious that The Seventh was neither good-looking nor articulate nor a trained fighter. His hurtling attack was so obvious that even a blind man would have seen it coming and could have taken action to avoid the blade. For a warrior, the clumsy assault did not constitute a challenge, merely an annoyance.
Accordingly the orc counterattacked with contempt. It reached for one of the tankards, stepped nimbly aside and walloped Rodario on the back of the skull as he stumbled through into thin air.
Groaning and losing his balance, the man tipped forward and spread his length on the table. The remaining tankards scattered, crashing to the floor, beer foaming in all directions…
Coira drove her sword at the orc nearest her. He parried at the last moment as the blade came close to his throat. Grunting, he pushed the sword away, launching a thrust of his own.
The young woman held her sword against his, but the strength behind his thrust nearly forced her to open her fingers. Her hand and forearm went numb. She would have to try a different sort of defense, even though she had wanted to avoid this.
She let off a lethal spell. Crackling red lightning bolts sizzled out of her eyes to hit the orc in the face. His skin boiled and blistered, his eyes melted and vaporized to tiny spots the size of a pea, and he plunged screaming to the ground.
The orc who had felled Rodario threw his knife at the maga. She used her skills to hold the whirling blade suspended in the air. A thought and a short formula were all it took, and the metal glowed red hot.
Coira sent the glowing ball back to the thrower, who was unable to duck out of its way; it tracked his movements! The molten steel slapped against his neck and burrowed its way through the skin. The orc tried to wipe it away in his panic, burning his fingers to the bone. Intense pain made him pass out and fall to the floor.
Loud commands rang out and boots came clomping down the stairs.
Coira ran to the table and grabbed the befuddled actor by the collar, pulling him upright. “Come on, you sorriest of all the sorry ones,” she shouted, slapping his face to bring him round.
Rodario rolled his eyes and grinned at her vaguely. “Well done there, Princess.”
“Yeah, can’t say the same for you!” she ran to the door. “Out of here!” she ordered. “Or do you want to stay and fight the greenskins in further glorious battles?”
“But I don’t know which way to go,” he whimpered, holding a dagger in each hand. Two orcs came bounding down the stairs and stopped on the threshold.
Coira sighed. She had suspected this would happen. “Come with me then. I’ll keep you safe, even though it should really be the other way round. You’re the man, after all.”
“I know,” he called glumly, making for the door. “The hero is supposed to rescue the princess, not vice versa.”
“Right! Remember that for next time,” she replied, running through the narrow lanes back to the place in the wall where she could slip through and where Loytan was waiting for her. With two horses. One had been intended for The Incomparable, but now Coira found herself shepherding The Incomparable’s pale imitation through Mifurdania. “This is simply not fair, gods,” she murmured, turning her head to look at the actor.
He kept stumbling over his robe, then dropped his dagger and got down on hands and knees to look for it among the rubbish. Coira had to pull him along.