And there. On the wall, just past Isalde, the dark, narrow entrance to a tunnel, low enough it would require crawling. She was sure it had not been there before. Two slabs of the flat stone that had covered the wall lay on the ground next to Isalde.
Two other men stood there, both armored and helmeted, with swords on their belts. Another was crawling out into the room, the shiny cap of his helmet reflecting in the light. The gap between the shelves was just wide enough that you could not touch both shelves at once, even with fingertips outstretched.
She trembled, still tight in her captor’s arms, his hand hard over her lips. How had she never known there was a tunnel in the pantry?
“Lady? Isalde?” Sarella’s voice called again, closer.
“One moment,” Isalde yelled back to Sarella. “All’s well.”
These weren’t the knight’s men after all. Most of them weren’t Ditmar’s, either. They were from the Queen’s army camped outside. The soldier coming through the tunnel slowly straightened upright with a quiet grunt. She recognized him as one of Ditmar’s guards.
“Alright?” her captor, who was one of the Queen’s men and not Ditmar’s, whispered. “I’m going to take my hand away now. Don’t scream.” She nodded stiffly, heart pounding, but despitehis promise the hand stayed tight over her lips. “You’ll have to wait until the rest of the men come through. There’s not room for more than one at a time in there. But it’s safe. His lordship’s waiting on the other side.”
Ditmar. They wanted her to crawl through a tunnel on her hands and knees to get back toDitmar. They had no idea who her husband was, behind closed doors. And then these soldiers, they’d… they’d kill the knight, and his men. Would they hurt the servants? Maybe not. Isalde didn’t look like a prisoner. She was holding their lantern.Why—no,how—was Isalde there?
“Lady. Do you understand?” The man gave her a small shake like she was a bone and he was a terrier. She nodded again. His hand slowly loosened, until she was standing of her own accord and watching soldiers drag themselves into the room. Her heart wouldn’t calm; she tasted metal. Wasn’t this supposed to be a good thing, men coming to liberate the castle from traitors? Only it wasn’t, and shecouldn’tgo through that tunnel, and how many soldiers were there worming their way inside? Was the whole of that giant army going to cram inside the castle? Niel wouldn’t stand a chance.
They’d execute him. And she’d go back to Ditmar.
She took a small step backwards. Nobody stopped her. The soldiers were huddled, talking in quiet voices. Ditmar’s guard was gesturing, explaining the layout of the castle and how far they were from the pantry door.
Ayla buried her hands into her skirt and drew a deep breath. She didn’t need a lantern to make it back to the door. If she made it around the corner of the shelf she would have a straight path to the pantry door and the stairs. She needed to warn the knight. If it wasn’t already too late.
Warning a traitor was, itself, traitorous behavior. She didn't care. Ayla tightened her fists into her skirts, lifting them.
Ayla turned. And Aylaran. She made it all of three steps to the edge of the shelf and turned the corner. A hand grabbed her from behind and dragged her back.
But not before she caught sight of the Niel striding silently towards her through the dark aisle beside the shelves, naked sword in hand. His armor glimmered dully in the hint of light from Isalde’s lantern. His face was shadowed, but she could see the malice in his eyes as he drew near the intruders.
“No, don’t,” Ayla cried as she was dragged back. The knight was outnumbered, unless there were more men following him. There were eleven soldiers now in the narrow, long space between the shelves, and more coming, one after the other like ants in a line. Niel didn’t know what he was walking towards. It would be a slaughter.
“Might need to gag her,” one of the soldiers started.
“Oh, I wouldn't,” Lord Niel answered coldly as he rounded the corner.
The man who’d grabbed Ayla shoved her backwards, pushing her behind him for protection and drawing his sword. The blade was only halfway out of the sheath when Niel’s sword took the man’s arm clean off, cutting just above the elbow where the sleeve of his chainmail shirt ended.
Ayla shrieked. So did Isalde. People were not supposed tocome apartlike that. There was an arm on the ground, like the soldier was a little wooden doll whose limbs could pop on and off, and not a man, a bleeding man, a man screaming and stumbling in front of her. The other soldiers rushed forwards, and she realized if the tunnel couldn’t hold more than one at a time they had no way to retreat, not with more men coming. Death was the only ending.
Niel ducked, blocking an overhead blow, and rammed his sword through the eye slits in one of the soldier’s helmets. Another soldier charged forward, the arrangement of shelvestoo narrow for them to get behind him. But Niel’s sword was still embeddedin someone’s head. The knight threw one of his daggers into an approaching soldier’s stomach, then kicked the body off his sword, freeing the blade in a spray of blood that had Ayla stumbling back in a near faint, her head buzzing and light. The man he’d just killed slammed against the nearest shelf. With a groan it toppled. It hit the next shelf. And the next. Which hit the far wall, sagging. The bulk of their supplies, between the battle and the doorway, remained upright.
Niel spun to slam the hilt of his sword into his new attacker’s helmet as towers of jars shattered against the floor, oil drenching into sacks of grain, preserved fruits rolling across the floor as a vinegar brine overwhelmed the smell of blood, sweat, and terror.
It all seemed to be happening so slowly. She could see everything, hear everything, smell everything, the acrid burn of the room and the choking guttural screams of dying men. But she could not make herself move.
Niel pivoted. Grabbing Ayla, he hauled her bodily behind him, away from the men.
“Kerr. Get her out of here,” Niel shouted. She hadn’t even seen the blonde captain arrive, but there he was, pushing aside a spearman’s strike between the cross of two long daggers.
Another man crawled out of the tunnel as Niel’s sword punched through a soldier's throat, the knight lunging right as a blade narrowly sliced just past his head. Niel wasn’t wearing a helmet, Ayla realized. No armor on his arms. Just a cuirass on his chest. Mercy, if anyone got him in the head…
A man grabbed her. She shrieked, but it was Kerr; he was pulling her at Niel’s command, only she couldn’t leave. Not yet.
“Isalde!” Ayla yelled. For a moment in the chaos she could not find the girl, and feared the worst.
The girl was cornered against the wall. Her lantern was on the floor, on its side but still burning. The girl’s arms were wrapped around her head as if to block out the slaughter.
“Help her,” she begged Kerr. “She’s still a child, please—” Fourteen was too young for this.
