A Dream of Mortals

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Godfrey, awake, bleary-eyed, up all night long, slowly removed the red sash, holding his breath so as not to get infected by plague, lifting it over his head as he took in his surroundings in the dim pre-dawn light. All was finally quiet and still in the prison cell, the only sound that could be heard the breathing of the guard, steady and regular, and the gentle snoring of the prisoners. The time had come.

It had been one of the most harrowing nights of his life, reclining in a plague-infected pit, breathing into the red sash and trying his best to avert his mouth so as not to catch it. Godfrey sat up slowly, his muscles stiff, eagerly awaiting this moment all night. It had been a torturous night, one of the prisoners he’d been lying beside dying sometime during the night. Godfrey remembered the exact moment he had died, his face up against his, letting out one final gasp, his body quivering, then becoming stiff as a board. Godfrey had barely stopped himself from vomiting.

Godfrey had done his best to breathe in the opposite direction, and prayed to God with all his might that he didn’t catch whatever plague this fellow had. Godfrey figured there wasn’t much to lose: if he didn’t manage to escape, he’d be executed within hours anyway.

Godfrey, thanks to his overbearing King father, had been thrown into dungeon cells one too many times, even if only for a few days, his father always trying to impart to him a lesson he could never quite learn. Alert to the rhythms inside a prison cell, Godfrey took in all the sounds and senses of the prison environment, making sure all was ready before he pounced. A prison, Godfrey knew, had its own unique sounds and rhythms: he knew the sound a prison made right before prisoners were about to riot; he knew the sounds that preceded a guard beating someone down; he knew the sound of a new prisoner entering a block, and he knew the sound of someone about to be dragged away.

And most importantly, he knew the sound of a guard falling asleep.

Godfrey turned and trained his eyes on the Empire guard, standing beside the prison cell, his head drooping down, chin meeting his chest, shoulders slumped and relaxed. Just the way Godfrey wanted them. His eyes focused on the keys, a small set of silver keys on the guard’s waistband, and he knew the time was now.

Godfrey sat up stealthily, his body too heavy, wishing he’d lost fifty pounds. One of these days he’d quit drinking—but definitely not today. Godfrey slowly lowered the red sash and wrapped it instead around his waist; he knew it would come in handy later.

Godfrey slowly pushed himself up off the dead body, pushing off the plague-infested prisoner as he had been dying to do all night, elated to finally have his weight off of him, and then he slowly made his way to his knees. From there, he got to his feet, crouching. His legs had fallen asleep, and he gave them a moment to come back to life before he made his move.

Godfrey looked up and down the corridor, and saw no sign of any guards patrolling the halls. Of course, it made sense: it was the middle of the night, and one guard standing before a locked cell should have been sufficient—especially with prisoners as pathetic as Godfrey and his crew and the few other lost souls in there with them. Indeed, as Godfrey looked beyond the cell bars, he saw Akorth and Fulton fast asleep, even though he’d told them to stay awake, snoring so loudly that it gave him cover. For once, he was happy for their snoring.

Ario and Merek, though, thank God, had listened and they sat there, each to his corner, staring back with their haunted eyes, watching him, wide awake. Then again, Godfrey wondered if those two ever slept.

Godfrey darted across the prison corridor, arching his feet like a cat, moving as quietly as he could, impressed by his own silence. He made right for the guard’s keys, and with shaking hands, he crouched down beside him and fumbled with the clip on his belt. He managed to unclip them, and as he did, he held the bunch of keys tightly together, so that they would not jingle. He quickly scanned them, figured out which was the right one, inserted it gingerly in the lock, and turned as quietly and softly as he could.

With the soft sound of a latch turning, the cell door opened, and Godfrey stared back, shocked, amazed it had all actually worked.

Merek and Ario, needing no prodding, were already at the door—but Godfrey gestured toward Akorth and Fulton, and Ario turned and hurried over to them, jabbing each roughly in the back and covering their mouths so they would not call out. They awkwardly got to their feet and begin to creep their way out the prison door.

Godfrey was impressed. Aside from Akorth and Fulton not being awake and ready, it was all going smoothly, according to the plan in his head. With a surge of optimism, he realized his crazy plan might actually work.

Just as they were all reaching the cell door, a prisoner at the back of the cell, an overweight man with a huge belly and narrow eyes, jumped to his feet.

“Where are you all going?” he boomed out. “Wait for me!”

Godfrey felt a flush of rage at the stupidity of this fellow, who made a racket as he clambered through the cell. His heart pounding, Godfrey began to turn to look to see if the guard had awakened.

He never had a chance. Godfrey felt the guard’s strong hands grab the back of his hair and suddenly felt his head slamming into the iron bars, again and again, his head killing with each assault.

The loud prisoner rushed forward and tried to race out the open door, and as he did, the guard slammed it closed; the prisoner shrieked as his arm got flattened in it, stuck.

Finally, the guard released his grip, and Godfrey turned to see Ario running up behind him and kicking the back of the guard’s knee, dropping him to one knee.

Merek then lunged forward and slammed the guard’s head into the bars.

But this guard was invincible. He bounced back, reached around, grabbed Merek, and threw him, slamming him into the bars; he then wheeled around and elbowed Ario, knocking him down to the ground. Akorth and Fulton stood there, useless, and Godfrey knew he must act quick or else risk losing it all.

Godfrey remembered the red sash from his waist. As the guard turned his back to finish Merek off, Godfrey lunged forward, jumped on the guard’s back, and wrapped the sash around the guard’s neck. He grabbed on with all his might and pulled.

The guard went wild, groaning, spinning, running every which way—but Godfrey held on with all his might, squeezing, refusing to let go. He knew this sash was his lifeline.

The guard spun around and slammed his back, with Godfrey on it, into the iron bars again and again; Godfrey felt the wind knocked out of him, felt as if he were being crushed.

And yet still, to his credit, he hung on.

Merek regained his feet, rushed forward, and punched the guard in the gut. Finally, mercifully, he dropped to his knees, Godfrey still holding on.

Ario, Akorth, and Fulton all rushed forward, all kicking the guard, again and again and again, until he finally fell to his stomach.

Merek rushed forward, helped Godfrey grab the sash, and the two of them squeezed even harder.

Still, this guard, invincible, like an animal that just refused to die, kept gasping.

Finally, Ario pulled a small dagger from his belt, stepped forward calmly, took a knee, and stabbed the guard in the back of his neck.

Finally, he stopped moving.

Godfrey released his grip, his hands shaking, and the four of them all looked at each other in silence, all in shock at what just happened.

“Open this bloody door at once!” shouted the other prisoner, his arm still stuck in the door.

Godfrey stood and stared him down, enraged.

“You’re lucky I don’t kill you,” he said.

Godfrey turned with the others, and as one, the four of them, a hardened team now, ran down the corridors, gaining speed, twisting and turning, daylight up ahead.

“Where to now?” Ario asked, looking at Godfrey, finally with respect.

“Anywhere,” he replied, “but here.”