The Invasion of the Tearling (The Queen of the Tearling #2)(5)
“What message, sir?”
“Tell them I’ve bought us time. At least two weeks until the Mort can regroup.”
Blaser departed, and Hall turned back to stare across the surface of Lake Karczmar, a blinding sheet of red fire in the rising sun. This sight, which used to fill him with longing as a child, now seemed like a terrible warning. The Mort were scattered, true, but not for long, and if Hall’s men lost the hillside, there was nothing to prevent the Mort from shredding Bermond’s carefully assembled defensive lines. Just over the hill sprawled the Almont Plain: thousands of square miles of flat land with little room for maneuver, its farms and villages isolated and defenseless. The Mort had four times the numbers, twice the quality of arms, and if they made it down into the Almont, there was only one endgame: slaughter.
Ewen had been the Keep’s Jailor for several years, ever since his Da retired out of the job, and in all that time, he had never had a prisoner that he considered truly dangerous. Most of them had been men who disagreed with the Regent, and these men generally entered the dungeons too starved and beaten to do more than totter into their cells and collapse. Several of them had died in Ewen’s care, although Da had told him that he was not to blame. Ewen had disliked coming in and finding their bodies cold on their cots, but the Regent hadn’t seemed to care either way. One night the Regent had even marched down the dungeon steps dragging one of his own women, a red-haired lady so beautiful that she seemed like something out of one of Da’s fairy stories. But she had a rope tied around her neck. The Regent led her into a cage himself, calling her bad names the entire way, and snarled at Ewen, “No food or water! She doesn’t come out until I say!”
Ewen didn’t like having a woman prisoner. She did not talk or even weep, only gazed stonily at the wall of her cell. Ignoring the Regent’s orders, Ewen had given her food and water, keeping a careful eye on the clock. He could tell that the rope around her neck was hurting her, and finally, unable to bear it any longer, he went in and loosened the noose. He wished he was a healer, able to fix the circle of raw red flesh on her throat, but Da had taught him only the most basic first aid, for cuts and such. Da had always been patient with Ewen’s slowness, even when it caused trouble. But it didn’t take a smart brain to keep a woman alive for the night, and Da would have been disappointed in Ewen had he failed. When the Regent came to collect the woman the next day, Ewen had felt great relief. The Regent had said he was sorry, but the woman had swept out of the dungeon without giving him so much as a glance.
Ever since the new Queen took the throne, there hadn’t been much for Ewen to do. The Queen had freed all of the Regent’s prisoners, which confused Ewen, but Da had explained that the Regent liked to put men in the dungeon for saying things he didn’t like, and the Queen only put men in the dungeon for doing bad things. Da said this was sensible, and after thinking it over for a while, Ewen decided that Da was right.
Twenty-seven days ago (Ewen had noted it in the book), three Queen’s Guards had burst into the dungeon leading a bound prisoner, a grey-haired man who looked exhausted but—Ewen noted gratefully—uninjured. The three guards didn’t ask Ewen’s permission before hauling the prisoner through the open door of Cell Three, but Ewen didn’t mind. He’d never been so close to Queen’s Guards before, but he’d heard all about them from Da: they protected the Queen from danger. To Ewen, this sounded like the most wonderful and important job in the world. He was grateful to be Head Jailor, but if he’d just been born smarter, he would have wanted most of all to be one of these tall, hard men in their grey cloaks.
“Treat him well,” ordered the leader, a man with a head of bright red hair. “Queen’s orders.”
Though the guard’s hair fascinated him, Ewen tried not to stare, for he didn’t like it when people stared at him. He locked the cell, noting that the prisoner had already lain down on the cot and closed his eyes.
“What’s his name and crime, sir? I have to write it in the book.”
“Javel. His crime is treason.” The red-haired leader stared through the cage bars for a moment, then shook his head. Ewen watched as the men tromped off toward the stairwell, their voices drifting down the hallway behind them.
“I’d have cut his throat.”
“Is he safe with the dummy, you think?”
“That’s between the Queen and the Mace.”
“He must know his job. No one’s ever escaped.”
“Still, she can’t have an idiot as a jailor forever.”
Ewen flinched at the word. Bullies used to call him that, before he got so big, and he had learned to allow the word to roll right off him, but it hurt more from a Queen’s Guard. And now he had something new and terrible to think about: the possibility of being replaced. When Da had retired, Da had gone to speak directly to the Regent, to make sure that Ewen could stay on. But Ewen didn’t think Da had ever spoken to the Queen.
The new prisoner, Javel, was one of the easiest charges Ewen had ever had. He barely spoke, only a few words to tell Ewen when he had finished his meals or run out of water or needed the bucket emptied. For long hours Ewen even forgot that Javel was there, but then Ewen could think of little but being dismissed from his post. What would he do if that happened? He couldn’t even bring himself to tell Da what the Queen’s Guard had called him. He didn’t want Da to know.