It could not have been more than an hour later when Fréa groggily clutched his throbbing head and sat up inside the locked cell, instantly realizing what had happened. He looked down at the other guard who was still out cold on the floor, then grabbed the man's shoulders and frantically shook him back and forth. The guard groaned, reluctantly stirred for a moment, but sank back unconscious onto the matted hay that was spread out over the floor. There was no sense trying to get help there; the fellow would probably be out for at least another two hours.
With fear mounting in his heart, Fréa darted over to the locked cell door, savagely clenched a bar in his hand and, using his foot as an anchor, tried to yank it loose. His efforts proved totally useless.
Fréa cursed the day that Brytta Haldeson and his brother had ever been born. The one thing Fréa did not want was for the guards assigned to the morning shift to come inside and see him in this humiliating predicament. He might as well toss any thoughts of being promoted straight out the window of the cell. He had to get out of here and fast.
With such unhappy thoughts lurking in his mind, Fréa crouched down and frisked the unconscious guard, hurriedly searching through his pockets and vest for anything that could help him pick the lock or pry open the cell door. His fingers scrambled frantically but he came up with nothing useful. He was about to give up and concede the whole game, when at the last minute another idea crept into his head. He reached down and wrenched off the boots that the unconscious man was wearing. To his enormous relief and surprise, a key came clanging out onto the floor. Fréa's heart bounded upward as he seized the prize in his hand. He went over to the cell gate, hastily unlocked it, and sprinted down the hallway, pushing open the outer door and running up the stairs.
As he reached the top of the stairs, he hesitated. Just exactly what was he to do? If he reported the prisoner missing, the King would authorize a search party, but he might or might not be assigned to it. And he certainly could not control the actions of the other soldiers. A horrible image came flooding into his brain. The King's officers would capture Brytta and Heldór, somehow discovering the true story of what had actually played out in the alleyway that night, and then turn their wrath against Fréa arresting him instead.
He must do whatever was needed to stop that from happening, even if it meant chasing down the brothers and murdering them. No price was too high to pay.
He came to the room where the two guards still sat who'd approved Brytta's entry to the prison. Fréa instantly turned on them barking out his indignation, "You idiots! You complete idiots! You admitted Brytta into the prison and he's run off with his brother who was supposed to be executed this morning. The King will have both your heads on a plate."
Fréa glared menacingly in their direction, neglecting to mention that the King might also have his own head on that same plate. Fréa snatched up a piece of vellum on the table along with a pen and hastily scribbled out a few words:
Archim and Graitwa,
Come quickly. Heldór has escaped with the help of that blackguard Brytta and a small handful of accomplices. Meet me in the back room of the White Horse in one hour's time. Bring your horses and all your gear. We must give immediate pursuit.
Your loving brother,
Fréa
He stared at the tall guard and thrust the message into his hands, barking out his orders, "If you value your honor, take this immediately to my brothers Archim and Graitwa who are staying in our family's house. Then report back to the commander. Tell him that Fréa will do his duty and recruit a band to seize the condemned man and his would-be rescuers. I will see them brought to justice even if I must go to the ends of the earth and slay them with my own hands."
The tall guard reached out to grab the sheet of vellum and saluted, reading over the note before folding it up and disappearing down the corridor.
Then Fréa turned to the second man, "You there, Hama, you will come with us to help corral these jailbirds. I will leave word with your squad leader. Take money from the cash box and go down to the market to buy provisions for our trip adn a spare horse. Then report back to the Inn, fully armed and ready to go."
As the young man turned to sprint out, Fréa shouted after him, "And be quick about it, unless you want to end up in the brink yourself!"
[ July 21, 2003: Message edited by: Dain Ironfoot ]
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