The Burning Man

1

The prison stood in the shadow of the great watchtowers that flanked the entrance gate to the Court of the Soaring Spirit. In a grim city, it was the grimmest building of all, built of gargantuan blocks of stone with only a smattering of windows, each barely bigger than a hand. Even in the dark, no light escaped from it, and no sound, but a reek of damp, blood and excrement hung over all.

In an alleyway that offered some respite from the driving rain, Mallory watched. There was only one way in and out, and it was blocked by iron gates with armed guards beyond. But Jerzy was in there somewhere, and if what Mallory had heard about the Hall of Bright Beyond was true, the Mocker needed to be rescued sooner rather than later.

Nearby, an old mare whinnied and stumbled slowly through the thick mud of a roughly built pen next to a smoky shack. Picking up a coil of rope, Mallory also took a thick woollen cloak that hung in an adjoining shed and wrapped it around himself before leading the mare out of the pen. He rode the animal towards the prison, hunched low over its neck with the hood of the cloak pulled forwards to obscure his features. Anyone seeing him would have thought him wounded or dead.

The mare came to a halt at the gates. Keeping still, Mallory could hear movement beyond. Lantern light splashed across the puddles that surrounded him.

‘Move away,’ a voice barked. ‘No one is allowed to approach the Hall of Bright Beyond.’ Mallory didn’t move. The voice came again. ‘Move away or I will loose an arrow into you.’

Mallory tensed, but no attack was launched. The lock clanked and the gate creaked open. Rumbling thunder added to the deafening sound of the downpour.

The guard lifted the lantern to peer into Mallory’s hood. Reacting quickly, Mallory brought the pommel of his sword up sharply against the guard’s temple. By the time the guard hit the ground, Mallory was off the horse and had reclaimed the lantern. Dragging the guard out of sight of the gate, Mallory bound him tightly with the rope, then slipped inside the prison, pulling the gate shut behind him.

There was no sign of the other guards. A maze of foul-smelling corridors led off the keep. He was grateful for the lantern for there were no torches, and occasionally, when its light fell on the doors that lined his route, he heard pitiful cries from within.

He searched through the labyrinth for more than an hour until he caught sight of a dim red glow eking into the corridor through an open door. Faint voices rumbled through the stillness, and as he neared he heard muffled cries that were unmistakably Jerzy.

Mallory crept to the edge of the door. Beyond was a large, low-ceilinged room lit by the glow from a brazier. Straw covered the floor to soak up the blood, excrement and urine. In a rack on one wall were rows of stained, rusted tools of indeterminate use. Arms outstretched, Jerzy hung like a monkey, naked, chained by his wrists to two wooden posts. A dirty rag had been forced into his grinning mouth, and his eyes were fixed wide with horror. Numerous gouges and burns scarred his chalky body.

Two of the queen’s guards stood watch while a thin man in dirty robes and a pointed hood went about his work.

‘He will not talk,’ one of the guards said.

‘He must,’ the other replied. ‘The queen shall know the secret plan that drives him or we shall be here alongside him.’

‘What if there is no secret plan?’

‘There is. He rides the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons like mares to achieve his ends. The queen has evidence, though I know not from where.’

‘Shall I remove the rag to ask him again?’

‘No, I cannot bear to hear his sounds. Two more turns and then we shall try again.’

The one in the hood had spent some time contemplating the rack of tools and finally made his choice, what looked like a wire brush fitted with three parallel razor blades. Humming to himself, he examined the tool distractedly as he approached Jerzy. The look in Jerzy’s eyes made Mallory queasy, and then the glimmer of unbelievable gratitude in those same eyes when Mallory stepped into the doorway affected him just as powerfully.

‘Let him go.’ The blue flames licking around Llyrwyn made a stark contrast in the red room.

Swords drawn, the guards advanced cautiously. ‘Walk away, Brother of Dragons. The queen is not of a mind to play games with you any longer.’

‘Shame. I was hoping to challenge her at Twister.’ He advanced. ‘Once more, in case you didn’t hear me the first time: let him go.’

The guards rushed him together.

The moves he had learned as a Knight Templar in the compound in Salisbury came instinctively. As the guards attacked from two sides, he stood holding the sword horizontally above his head, eyes closed.

When he opened his eyes, the sword moved so quickly that no one in the room saw it; three planes and then back in the scabbard. Both guards fell dead. The torturer in the hood retreated to the gloom at the rear of the room.

Mallory hacked through the chains supporting Jerzy, then caught him as he fell. The minute the rag was plucked from his mouth, the Mocker let forth a flow of desperate thanks.

‘I think talking can wait, don’t you?’ Mallory said.

Jerzy nodded uncomfortably.