A Bargain for Freedom

(prequel: The Southern Library)

Kyranduíl paced back and forth in the small room, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. He had been imprisoned in Lord Raedynth's palace at Brathvynâ for two days, ever since he had discovered a secret library within the woods, which, apparently, Raedynth had wanted to be kept secret.

At least the prison wasn't terrible. It was dry and comfortable, with a soft bed and warm blankets. There was a small table and chair in one corner. Another corner was sectioned off by a curtain as a privy.

The food wasn't very good, but it was nourishing. Three of the walls were stone bricks, the fourth being one of thick iron bars, allowing Kyranduíl to see down the passage and into other cells.

A door clanged open and Kyranduíl paused his pacing. He had been served dinner sometime before. Why would someone be coming now? His question was answered moments later when two elven guards, carrying spears, escorted a bound human to the cell opposite Kyranduíl's. They took off his bindings and locked the iron-bar door, then left swiftly, without so much as a single word between them.

The man looked around furtively, and, once the door had shut again at the end of the corridor, reached into his worn boot. His face was long and he was tall and lean. He wore patched woolen trousers and a white, long-sleeved shirt with a brown jerkin atop it. His hands were rough and calloused, probably from hard work at a plow.

“Who are you?” Kyranduíl asked, leaning against the iron-barred wall, watching the man.

The man glanced up once, then down at his hand. In it, there were three long, thin pins. For what Kyranduíl could not guess.

“My name is Mert,” he said. He reached through the iron bars and inched two of the pins into the lock. Lockpicks! Kyranduíl realized with a start.

“Why are you here?” the elven lord continued.

Mert glanced up briefly again. His movements were jerky, sudden, as if he were a bowstring under tight, tight tension.

“Got on Raedynth's bad side, suppose,” he said, fiddling with his lockpicks. “Found a horse in the woods. Didn't realize she was an elven mare. Had a bridle on her. Decided to see if I could find who she belonged to. Was caught—by some of Raedynth's men. They claimed I'd stolen her. Now I'm here, I guess. Who're you? Why're you here?” He added the last two questions as if as an afterthought, as one might return a question of 'how have you been?'.

“My name is Lord Kyranduíl of Kryduith. I have been imprisoned here unjustly,” he said. Mert looked up again, but quickly refocused on his task.

“Lord, y'say? Mm.” The lock clicked open and Mert opened the door, stepping quickly out. “S'pose I'd better free you. Wouldn't do if you got out and held a grudge against me for not freeing you. Cause you're a lord, of course.”

“I would be in your debt if you would open the door, Mert,” Kyranduíl said, holding his breath. “Freedom is something worth bargaining for—it is something I dearly need right now.”

“A lord in my debt, hmm. Can't say it'd be a bad thing. Freedom, yes, precious.” Mert went to work opening Kyranduíl's cell door. When it finally opened, the elven lord stepped swiftly out.

“Thank you, my friend,” he said. Mert nodded briefly and hurried down the hall, peering into every cell as they passed as if they might hold some sort of untold horror. Most were empty, but a few held prisoners. None of whom paid much attention to the escapees. Then again, most were asleep.

“Through the door, here,” Mert said nervously. He opened the door and poked his head out. With a yelp, he retreated. An elven guard leaped in after him, brandishing a long spear. Kyranduíl wasted no time. He jumped forward and slid under the reach of the spear before the guard could react. He took hold of the spear and heaved mightily, and, as the guard was pulled forward and off balance, brought his knee up into the guard's midsection. The guard doubled over with a muffled whoomph of air escaping his lungs. Kyranduíl slammed his tightened fist into the elf's jaw and the guard was knocked instantly unconscious.

Mert was watching, standing nervously nearby while Kyranduíl incapacitated the elven guard.

“There's a reason I'm the Lord of the North,” Kyranduíl grunted to Mert. Then, “Now, we haven't much time.” He dragged the guard back to his cell. Tearing a strip of the guard's clothing, Kyranduíl tied a gag around his mouth. He exited the cell and snapped the lock shut.

“He'll come around soon enough,” the elf grunted, hefting the weapons he'd taken from the guard—a sword and the spear.

“Do you know how to use one of these?” he asked as they hurried down the corridor. He gestured with the spear. Mert looked the elven spear up and down and said, “S-sorta.”

Kyranduíl tossed him the spear, taking a tighter grip on the gilded hilt of the sword and readying himself for a possible confrontation. They left the prison chambers and climbed up a steep set of curving stairs. A thick, hardwood door awaited them at the top. The elf and the human exchanged glances.

Kyranduíl slammed through the door, Mert following instantly, ready with his spear just as the lord was ready with his sword. The door led onto a typical elven hallway, with white marble tile floors, white walls, and gold pillars set into the walls. The ceiling was arched above them. There was nobody in sight.

“You have two options,” Kyranduíl said, keeping his voice low as they trotted down the hallway. “You can go find your freedom now or you can come with me.”

“Where are you going?” Mert asked in his usual tight, jumpy voice.

“To find Raedynth. I need to know why he is keeping this library a secret.”

“Well—erm—think I'd best come with you. If you don't mind, of course. Don't know my way around. Get lost. Get caught. Come with you, I think.”

“That's fine.”

They moved swiftly, avoiding as many people as possible, though thankfully there were very few at this time of night. Finally, Kyranduíl realized they were near Raedynth's chambers.

“He will be asleep now,” Kyranduíl whispered. “At least, he should be alone in his chambers. But there may be a guard or two outside.”

Mert nodded his understanding. They crept to the corner of the hall and the lord peered around. Sure enough, there were two guards, heavily armed and armored, standing outside the door. They stood stiff and erect, but their attentions were riveted on their conversation. Nothing ever happens here and so they don't expect anything too, Kyranduíl thought with a scoff. So they relaxed their guard.

“Let's go,” he murmured. He and Mert charged around the corner, quickly—and silently—dispatching the guards. They propped them up against the wall as if they had fallen asleep. Then they crept inside. The room was dark and he could hear soft snores issuing from an adjoining room. Kyranduíl, whose elf eyes saw better in the dark than anyone else's, began making his way easily through the room. Mert was less successful. He bumped into a chair with a muffled oof. After multiple more trips, bangs, and ouches, Kyranduíl finally took him by the elbow and carefully guided him across the room to Raedynth's sleeping chambers.

The elf lord of the South Kingdom of Rynvalia was wrapped in a tangle of blankets, snoring away, blissfully unaware of the impending doom about to fall on his head. Literally. Mert tripped on the thick carpet as they were approaching the four-poster bed and fell forward, right into the bed and onto Raedynth's head. The elven lord awoke immediately, spluttering with outrage.

Kyranduíl jerked Mert off the bed and held the sword blade up against Raedynth's neck. The elf drew in a breath to shout for his guards but Kyranduíl said, “Don't shout. I have an elven blade against your neck and your guards are unconscious.”

“What… do you want?” Raedynth croaked.

“Information,” Kyranduíl hissed. “Why are you keeping that library a secret? Why did you have me thrown in prison because of it?” He heard Mert rising to his feet behind him but paid the man no heed.

“It's—my secrets… to keep,” grunted Raedynth.

“Not anymore,” Kyranduíl growled, pressing the blade harder against Raedynth's neck. “Tell me. Now. Your life hangs in the balance. Whether you like it or not I know about the library. If I escape, you having told me or not, I will come back and do something about it.”

“Fine, fine,” Raedynth snarled. “I found the library three years ago. When I first read about the Qazatrahg I was enthralled, especially by the idea that I could possibly control them. I set to the task of learning as much of them as possible so I could bring them back to this world and turn them into an unbreakable army.” He glared at Kyranduíl. “A few more weeks and they'll be mine. Then I won't just have control over the Southern Kingdom—I'll have all four. The only problem is,” his dark eyes bored into Kyranduíl's, but the noble lord did not flinch, “that you won't be there.”

“Fool!” snarled Kyranduíl. “The four kingdoms are at peace. Would you destroy that peace to gain more power for yourself?”

“And I shall have it,” Raedynth eyes glowed greedily.

Kyranduíl came to a decision. “Mert, cut up these blankets into strips. The strongest ones. Help me gag and tie him up. I want him to look like a mummy. We'll find the stables and escape with the horses and take this elf with us. I can't trust leaving him here alone.”

“Where are we going?” Mert questioned, doing as Kyranduíl had bid him to, in short, jumpy movements.

“To the North Kingdom. To Kryduith.”

* * *

They had managed to escape the inside palace easily but now stood uncertainly in the courtyard. The palace was surrounded by a wall, much like the one that surrounded all of Brathvynâ, just smaller.

“There shouldn't be anyone on these walls,” Kyranduíl whispered to Mert. Raedynth, trussed up in his own blankets like a mummy, was slung over Kyranduíl's shoulder.

“On the outside wall there are,” Mert replied, fidgeting nervously.

“Yes,” the elf lord said. “That's what I'm worried about. Let's find the stables.” The stables were at the back of the palace, and, save for the horses, were unoccupied. Kyranduíl spotted Orenheith's stallion almost immediately. He found the tack as well and saddled and bridled the horse.

“Which one'll I ride?” queried Mert, glancing down the rows of stalls.

“You ride Orenheith's stallion,” Kyranduíl replied. He saddled and bridled another horse, this one a dark grulla mare who stood at nearly seventeen hands. He tied Raedynth to the back of the saddle. Mounting their horses, they left the walled palace of Brathvynâ and trotted through the city. Kyranduíl winced as the clattering noise of the horses' hooves echoed and rebounded off the smooth marble buildings. This isn't good, Kyranduíl thought worriedly. Our freedom—even our lives, because we have kidnapped Raedynth—hang in the balance. We cannot get caught.

As they neared the outer wall they slowed the horses to a slow walk.

“Can you throw a spear?” Kyranduíl asked Mert. Mert rapidly shook his head.

“You'll have to get up onto the battlements then. There should be a small side gate here, most likely with two guards pacing the wall above it. If there are two, you'll sneak up onto the battlements and I'll take care of one. You'll have to take care of the second, understand?”

Mert nodded.

“If we're lucky and there's only one, I'll dispatch him with your spear and we'll be done.”

There were two guards. Mert left the stallion and his spear with Kyranduíl, taking the sword instead. He climbed stealthily up the stairs and waited near the top. The horses and Kyranduíl were hidden in a side alley. Swiftly, the elven lord stepped out into the streets and cast the spear, hitting the chest of his target. The elf toppled over the battlements and fell to the ground outside the city. The guard next to him, dozing on his spear, jerked awake as his companion fell.

“Hey!” he whirled around, falling into a crouch, pulling his spear back as if about to throw. But Kyranduíl had already retreated into safety and he could see no target.

“Attack!” the guard began to shout. “We're under atta—” His last shout ended with a strangled gurgle as Mert crept up behind him and wrapped an arm around the elf's neck. The spear clattered to the ground and there was a brief struggle as the guard thrashed under Mert's vise-like grip, but Mert slunk away, leaving the unconscious guard on the wall.

“Good work,” Kyranduíl murmured as he led the horses out of the alleyway to meet Mert. The man mounted his horse and they moved forward. Kyranduíl, still on foot, opened the gates and they exited, shutting them firmly.

“Now, we ride for Mithvärir, the capital of Kryduith, with all due haste,” Kyranduíl announced, mounting his mare once more.

* * *

They reached Kryduith, the North Kingdom, shortly after dawn. The guards at the gate of the capital of Kryduith, Mithvärir, greeted their lord with puzzled looks and queries.

“We did not expect you till next week,” one elf said as the other hurried down to unbar the gates.

“I ran into trouble,” Kyranduíl said shortly.

“Where are your guards?” the elf asked as they trotted into the large city of the North Kingdom.

“Killed,” he replied with a grimace, which was greeted with shocked looks. “I must hurry to the castle. There is trouble brewing.”

“Am I to come?” Mert asked.

“If you wish. When those at Brathvynâ realize you and I have escaped and kidnapped their lord, they will not be kindly disposed towards you. You would do well to lie low for a while. Do you have a family?”

“A wife, baby girl, and four-year-old son,” Mert replied, a note of pride in his voice.

“I would advise you to bring them here. For your own sake. You and your family will be my own guests. I owe you my freedom—and that means a lot to me.”

They reached the castle and gave the horses to a stableboy, then hurried inside. There were two servants inside, both of whom froze with shock on their faces upon seeing their lord return early, hair and clothes dirty and unkempt, and carrying a bound elf over one shoulder.

“Get me Captain Silthinael,” Kyranduíl ordered the first servant. “Tell him to come to my chambers. We have much to discuss.” The servant bowed and hastened away. Kyranduíl turned to the second servant. “Prepare a suite of rooms for Mert. He is an honored guest and is to be allowed to come and go as he pleases. Bring up food for him as well, if he wishes.” Addressing Mert, the elven lord went on. “Will you go to your rooms now, Mert, or will you come with me?”

“Think I'll go to the rooms. Don't want to intrude on your elven political business. Not me, no.” Mert followed the servant down an adjacent hall. Kyranduíl made his way to his chambers, Raedynth slung over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes.

Once in his own room, Kyranduíl untied Raedynth from his mummy-wrapping. He set the lord of the south up in a chair and tied him to that.

“You are in my own kingdom now, Raedynth,” Kyranduíl said coldly. “You have imprisoned me, which is the act of a criminal, and you will be treated as such.”

“You kidnapped me as well,” Raedynth spat. “Does that make you a criminal, just like me?”

A servant entered the room and left a tray on one of the many small tables. On it was a jug of cool water and three cups. A plate of scones sat next to it.

“You kidnapped me for committing no crime,” Kyranduíl replied. “I have taken you into my custody for committing a crime against me.”

“You cannot succeed,” Raedynth said darkly, glaring at Kyranduíl. “I will escape and then I will release the Qazatrahg. They will become my army and the world will become my toy.”

“You are a twisted elf, Raedynth,” declared Kyranduíl, pouring himself a cup of water.

“Thank you.”

“It was not a compliment.”

At that moment, Captain Silthinael entered. He wore a long white dress with a silver cord around his waist. A sword was held in one hand, the scabbard in the other.

“Ah, Captain, it is good to see you,” Kyranduíl said. He poured a second cup of water and handed it to the elf.

“What brings you back early, my lord?”

“Trouble,” he replied, his voice grave. “When I escaped the prison, I was bargaining for my freedom. Now, we are on the brink of war and will barter for our lives.”