He was nearly at the opposite door when he heard it—the sound of heavy boots on wood.
“And bring me some ale will ye, I’m parched.”
“Get yer own bloody ale! I’m on duty out back. I only popped inside to fetch a fresh lantern! The lord will have my hide if he finds me drinking. I’ve already taken a roasting for letting that woman escape even though none of it was my bloody fault!”
Oskar froze as the door swung open.
In walked two guards. The torchlight dancing in their grips threw their faces into sharp relief—one was older, with a grizzled beard speckled with gray, and the other younger but no less hardened. They both wore the colors of Lord Eberwyn’s household.
They froze as they spotted Oskar. For a seemingly infinite moment, the three men stared at each other.
The younger guard recovered first. “Who the hell are ye?” he demanded, reaching for his sword.
Oskar lunged, grunting as he collided with the younger man. They crashed into the table, going over in a shower of splintered wood. The older guard jumped back, shouting a wordless cry of alarm.
In the chaos, Oskar managed to disarm the younger man and strike him hard in the face. The guard went limp beneath him, unconscious or dead—Oskar had no time to determine which.
The older guard came at him, sword raised with a furious snarl. But Oskar was quicker and more desperate. He pivoted and swung his foot into the guard’s midriff, propelling him backward into a cluster of barrels. The man grunted on impact, and Oskar closed in as he tried to recover. His fist connected solidly with the guard’s jaw, the guard’s blade clattered noisily against the stone, skittering out of reach, and the man dropped bonelessly to the ground.
In the silence that followed, Oskar held his breath, straining to hear any indication that their scuffle had been detected. Then he heard it: cries of alarm and the thunder of approaching footsteps.
Damn it all! So much for stealth!
He yanked the door open and bolted into the hallway beyond. It was dimly lit, lined with ancient tapestries that depicted epic battles and victories of Eberwyn’s ancestors. The old wooden beams above creaked as footsteps pounded on them. He took a step but a door behind him suddenly flew open, and a group of guards spilled through.
Darting to his left, Oskar barged through a door into a vast room filled with books and scrolls. The lord’s library, clearly, and he briefly wondered if he might find evidence of Eberwyn’s treachery in here but he had no time to look around. Behind him, he heard the guards shouting. He sprinted across the room and out another door on the opposite side.
Ahead, he could see the front door of the house—but three more of Eberwyn’s guards stood in front of it.
With a fierce growl, Oskar charged.
The first guard barely got his sword out before Oskar was on him. A swift punch to the solar plexus, followed by a solid elbow to the chin had him crumpling in a heap.
The second guard was bulky and ruddy-faced, but slow. Oskar easily ducked under his wild swing, landing a punch in the man’s gut that bent him double. As he gasped for breath, Oskar brought his knee up and toppled him over like a felled tree.
The third guard gave Oskar some trouble. He was wiry and quick, his blade flashing in the torchlight as he parried Oskar’s every blow. But he hadn’t accounted for Oskar’s size and power—or his desperation.
With a fierce roar, Oskar dropped his sword and threw himself at his opponent, their bodies colliding with a thud that rattled Oskar’s teeth. They grappled, punches and knees landing in a frenzied brawl. The guard managed to land a solid blow to Oskar’s side, knocking the wind out of him. Gasping in a breath, Oskar summoned his strength and slammed his knee into the man’s stomach. The guard doubled over in pain, allowing Oskar to deliver a final punch that sent him sprawling onto the cold stone floor.
Out of breath and nursing his side, Oskar stumbled to the door. He threw the bolts and yanked it open, revealing Bryn and his crew battling with the guards outside.
“Ha!” Bryn bellowed as he saw him, his face splitting into a fierce grin. “So much for yer plan, Galbraith. Told ye we should have done it my way!”
“Just get yer arses in here!” Oskar shouted back, leaning against the doorframe for support.
Bryn was the first to stride through the open door. He was grinning maniacally despite his bloody nose and the dark bruise that was spreading across his cheekbone.
“Find Henry Eberwyn and the Brewers!” Oskar shouted. “They’ve got to be here somewhere!”
Bryn nodded, shouting orders to his men as they surged deeper into the house.
Oskar, grimacing against his throbbing side, grabbed his sword and staggered to the door that Lily had said led to the cellar. It was locked, but he slammed himself into it over and over until it burst open in a shower of splintered wood. Beyond, he saw a narrow stone staircase leading down.
At the bottom he found himself in a small chamber, dimly lit by a single burning torch set in a bracket on the wall. His eyes strained to adjust to the gloom—then he saw them. Magnus and Emeric were shackled to the cold stone wall, their features barely visible in the flickering light. Both had been gagged, and as they spotted him their eyes widened and both began shouting against their gags.
Oskar couldn’t make out their muffled words.
He sheathed his sword and hurried over. Their stifled cries grew frantic and urgent. Oskar frowned, confused.
