Chapter 58. Illusionary Hope

ear and rage rejoined Brigit when she next burst awake.  She was propped against a wall, her arms folded and bound painfully against her back.  Coils of rope were lashed around her body, forming a harness that was currently keeping her standing.  When she swallowed, she felt a heavy noose around her throat, a hangman’s loop cinched under her jaw and drawn taut so that her head was held up.  She flailed in panic, the soles of her feet scrabbling against the smooth stone of the floor until she bore her partially suspended weight and the noose eased up.

She was in a large long structure.  The wind beyond the thin aged planks screamed and raged while rain thundered against the roof slates.  Lanterns dangled from the rafters, trembling slightly as the storm shook the building.  Their guttering light revealed two bodies laid out on a crude slanted platform, a man and woman.  The place stank of decay and fear and the dark marks upon the floor beneath them alluded to the fate of prior victims.  Brigit did not recognize the golden-haired woman, but the man was Armand.  There was barely a hand span between their stretched figures and both of them had been stripped to the waist and marked with elaborate runes upon their breasts.  In that instant, the mesmer’s pale eyes flew open and a shock of panic shuddered through his strained body.  He bucked violently against his bonds, the chains snapping like a curse.

“Calm down, Armie,” she croaked, for the look upon his face was that of a cornered animal, blind with terror and rage.  Her first instinct was to comfort him, and yet even as she did so she realized what a foolish proposition that was.  Calm or not, it did not take a genius to see they were doomed.

“No!” he moaned softly upon seeing her and the grief in his voice pierced her to the core.  He noticed the woman beside him for the first time and a snarl of rage preceded a harsh curse.  And then he began to laugh, a horrible hacking sound that brought tears to Brigit’s eyes.  It was the sound of a condemned man.

The pale woman moaned softly and looked away from him.

“You honestly thought he was not using you?” Armand howled, his harsh laughter fading as he spoke, “It might have been more merciful if I had killed you while I had the chance.”

“Leave me alone,” the woman mewed miserably.

“You cannot serve a demon without consequences.”

“I did not know he was a demon!  Have mercy!” the woman cried.

“I have no sympathy for evil doers.”

“We have to escape,” the woman whimpered, “He’ll kill us.”

“You don’t say,” Armand said coldly.

“You picked the locks before.”

“With a piece of metal I used as a cufflink.  As you may or may not have noticed, I am lacking a shirt, and therefore, any bits of metal.”

Brigit scanned the wall and floor around her.  There were coarse nails rusting in the weathered planks of the wall behind her.  A few were standing out where the planks had bowed with moisture.  Placing her weight gingerly upon her left foot, she used the toe of her right boot to probe the planks behind her for such a prize.  Never mind how she would get it to Armand, she had to start somewhere.  She kicked experimentally with her heel against one such plank and felt Armand’s gaze upon her.  He lifted his head, his chin pressed to his breast as he watched with a strange mixture of hope and resignation.

“To the right,” he murmured, “There is a knothole and you may be able to get your toe under it.”

It did not help matters that the press of the noose prevented her from looking down as she worked.  Following his guidance, she edged her toe over and found it.  Brigit moved her left foot closer to stabilize her weight and snagged the board with her right toe, wedging the weathered leather of the boot between the planks.  The wood groaned a protest and a damp splintering sound told her it would buckle before it tore a nail loose.  She needed to prize it up closer to the nails and that would mean working her toe to the left where the pinch of the two boards grew painfully tight against her toes.

Biting her lip against the sharp pain of the planks, she pushed and wiggled her foot toward the point where it was nailed to the frame of the building.  Now she pressed down until the bones of arch of her foot burned against the harsh edge of the plank.  Pushing with her heel, she tried to lever it up, gasping with effort as the nails stubbornly retained their hold.

“Almost there,” Armand said quietly, “Very good thinking on your part.  Keep trying.”

“I won’t go without a fight,” she gasped, the press of the noose spurring her on.  She would not lie down and die, not while there was even a shred of hope.

“That’s why I like you,” Armand said quietly.

“Just my luck,” she muttered, panting, “I finally get a cute guy to like me and I’m going to be murdered with him.  And I bet if we do get out of this mess, it’ll turn out you’re married.”

Armand chuckled, but his beautiful blue eyes were sad as she gazed at him between her efforts.  Damn it.  Why did it have to end like this?

“No, I’m not married.  And I said I liked you, I don’t recall saying anything more serious than that,” he snorted, “A little more now; I can see rust coming loose around the nails.”

“That means I have a chance with you,” Brigit grunted, forcing her foot down and grinning through sweat and tears as the wood and nails made a low groaning squeal of release, “If we get out of here, I’m going to follow you around and keep you out of trouble because clearly you know where to find it.”

“I wasn’t looking for trouble,” he grumbled.

“Gods help you if you ever chose to seek it, then.”

Armand blushed as his head fell back.  He cursed as the broad metal bands of the shackles foiled his various attempts to narrow his hands and draw free.  Meanwhile, the board beneath her foot twanged free and the dull ping of two rusty nails announced her success.

“Armand,” she called out and he ceased his struggles, lifting his head again, “I’m kicking some nails your way.”

He nodded, watching eagerly as she sought with her toe and found one of them.  Then, with a powerful lash of her booted foot, she sent it flying in his general direction, annoyed when it scudded past him and out of sight.  For a few moments she felt around for the second nail until it grated beneath the sole of her boot.  Correcting for her last ill-fated attempt, she scooted it in place.  Praying to Lyssa under her breath for luck, she kicked and watched through tears as the nail vanished into the shadows and out of reach.  In her rage and frustration she slammed her heel into the wall and swore.

“I’m sorry, Armand.  I tried.”

“I know.  I just wish you hadn’t been dragged into this.”

“Oh, don’t cry for me, Armie.  It’s not your fault, dear one,” she said.  To see his beautiful face so racked with anguish was heartbreaking.  Poor man.  It was hard to deny they were truly out of options now.  Death drew in on them and it was only a question of when.

“Can’t take it,” he choked, “Can’t let him do that to you.  Can’t let you die.”

“Not really our choice, is it?  You worry about yourself, now.  I’ll be alright.  I’ve got friends on the other side of the Mists.  They better have some kegs of ale ready for me.”

She wondered if Pendaran was already dead and sighed sadly.  Poor Teleri and Mabane and his unborn child.  Just for once it would be nice if she could actually save the ones she was sworn to protect.  Was that so much to ask?  Oh well, at least she had no lovers or children to mourn her loss.  That was a small mercy, at least.

“But I’m so young… and what could have been…”

Brigit snorted in bemusement despite her tears.  Yeah, right.  Like that was ever going to happen.  A warrior’s death, however, had always been in the cards.

She sighed and let the ropes take her weight.