2. Jail Break

Chapter 2 of Mysterium

2. Jail Break


The first thing Darren was aware of as he came through the portal was that he was in the

cellar of a tavern, judging from the various cases and kegs of liquor and alcohol stacked

around the room.  The second thing he was aware of, after turning to make sure, was that

the portal was gone.  Wherever he was, he was going to be there for awhile.  He

wondered if Christof had come this way; his friend had made no mention of a tavern

cellar in his journal.

    Darren shrugged and made his way over to the staircase that was the room’s only

exit.  He placed his hand on the knob and turned it, cracking the door slightly so he could

peer out.  The door opened onto the tavern’s kitchen, and the only person currently

occupying that room was a young boy washing dirty dishes.  Darren saw right away that

there was no way he could sneak past the boy, so he let the door swing the rest of the way

open and stepped out into the kitchen.

    The boy washing dishes turned and stared at Darren as he came up out of the

tavern's cellar.  The mug he was holding slipped back into the soapy water, and the boy’s

jaw dropped.  The two of them stared at each other for a moment, and the boy suddenly

called out for the tavern’s owner.

    “Hush, please!” Darren hissed.  “I’m not here to rob or hurt anyone.”

    “You're not supposed to be down there, mister!” the tavern boy exclaimed.  

“We're closed right now!”

    “Calm down, child, and tell me where I am,” Darren replied.  The tavern’s owner

hadn’t appeared yet, so maybe he or she hadn’t heard the boy call out.

    The boy looked at Darren and blinked as if he expected Darren to know where he

was.  “This is the Thirsty Goblin, mister.  You're in Freeport.”

    “Freeport?”  Darren pondered to himself.

    The boy took advantage of the stranger’s momentary distraction and turned to the

kitchen's door.  He called out for the tavern owner again, this time louder: “Master Harel!  

Master Harel, there's another one in here!”

    The Thirsty Goblin's tavern keeper dashed into the kitchen holding an old chair

leg like a club.  He took a moment to size up Darren before lowering the chair leg to his

side.

    “Who are you,” he asked,  “and how did you get in here?”

    Darren, unsure of how to answer, swallowed hard.  He ran a hand through his

hair, as he often did when he was nervous, and then decided telling the truth might be his

best option.

    “I’m searching for a friend of mine that may have come here,”  he replied calmly.  

“I found a message in his house.  It mentioned something about wargs kidnapping his

wife and son and that he was going to pursue them.”

    The tavern keeper's eyes widened as Darren spoke.

    “You're just like the other one!”  he exclaimed.

    “Other one?” Darren asked, hopeful that the other man was talking about

Christof.

    “Aye, the other one,” Harel, the tavern keeper of the Thirsty Goblin said.  “He

was ranting and carrying on about wargs too, and how they kidnapped his wife and son.  

I’ll tell you what I told him: there haven't been wargs in this area for almost 500 years,
not since Edwin the Great ran them all out.”

    Before Darren could speak Harel turned to the boy.  “Run and fetch a guard,” he

ordered.  “Tell him we got another one that broke into my tavern ranting about wargs.”

    The boy nodded and ran for the front door.  Harel turned back to Darren.

    “I suppose you’ll want to tell me how you found a cave beneath a well in your

house, too?” the disgruntled tavern keeper asked, “and how it led to the Thirsty Goblin?”

    “I told you, it wasn't my house,” Darren replied, and he failed at trying to keep the

anxiety out of his voice.

    “Oh, so you were doing a little burglary, were ya?” Harel snapped.  He pointed

the old chair leg at Darren’s face.  “Why don't you just tell me the truth as to how you

ended up in my tavern's basement with all the doors to the village being locked?”

    “Listen to me,” Darren began with a touch of anger.  “I can't really say how I got

here, because I don't fully understand it.”

    Just then, village guard walked into the kitchen.  He looked first at Harel and then

at Darren.

    “Jor tells me you found another one coming out of the cellar,” the guard said to

Harel, eyeing Darren the whole time.

    “Aye,” Harrel replied, lowering the chair leg.  “This one's carrying on about wargs

and a kidnapping, too, just like the other one was.”

    The guard looked at Harel and then back at Darren.  “Come on, lad.  We'll sort

this all out at Fort Brigade.”

    Darren simply stood there as the guard restrained his hands with iron shackles.  

As the soldier led him away, he turned back to Harel.
    “Let us know if anymore people come up from the cellar, Harel,” the guard said,

and the tavern keeper nodded.


It had been early evening when Darren had come through the portal under Christof’s

house, but as the Freeport guard led him out of the Thirsty Goblin he noticed that the

moon was high above their heads, and he guessed it had to be midnight or later.

    He was taken to a guard station and placed in a wagon.  The guards chained his

wrist shackles to the floorboards of the wagon, and then they carted him away.

    They traveled through the night, south, toward what the guard back in Freeport

had called Fort Brigade.  They arrived just after lunchtime.

    Fort Brigade was a small military outpost with very few buildings.  The jail where

Darren was led was made of stone and built into the side of a hill.  He was silent as they

led him to his cell, but as they opened it and motioned for him to step in he began to

protest again.

    “I wasn’t trying to rob the tavern!” he exclaimed, his voice echoing in the dim

jail.  The guards that had brought him to Fort Brigade made no sound, and one of them

pushed him into the dark cell, making him fall to his knees and scraping one in the

process.  He quickly rose and turned back to the cell door as it closed, grabbing the iron

bars in the window in the center of the thick wooden door.

    “Let me out!” he protested vehemently.  “I’m innocent, you idiots!  I’ve done

nothing wrong!”

    The door slammed shut and the guards walked away.  Darren shook the bars, but,

of course, it did no good.

    “Easy, lad,” a familiar voice said from the shadows behind him.  “They’ll think

you as crazy as me if you keep it up.”

    Darren turned as Christof stepped out of the darkness.  His old friend’s hair was a

little grayer than he remembered, and the man had grown a thick beard since the last time

Darren had seen him.

    “Christof!” Darren exclaimed.  He ran forward and embraced his lost friend in a

warm hug.  After a moment the two of them stepped back from one another.

    “You found my journal,” Christof said.  Darren noticed it wasn’t a question, and

he simply nodded.

    “Have you seen any sign of Madelyn or Edwin since you got here?” his old friend

asked, and Darren shook his head.  Christof’s shoulder’s slumped sullenly, and he sat

down on the cold stone floor of the cell.  Darren joined him.

    “I fear I may have lost them forever, Darren,” the gray-haired man replied, and

Darren could see tears glistening in flickering torchlight.

    There followed a moment of silence, and then Darren broke it.

    “Christof, how long have you been here?” he asked his old friend.  Christof wiped

the tears from eyes as he thought about it for a moment.

    “I think it was the end of Perisus when I came through the portal under my

house,” the gray-haired man said after some time.

    “You’ve been here for two months!” Darren exclaimed, his voice echoing again.  

Christof shook his head.

    “Time is funny here,” he explained.  “I think I’ve been here maybe a week.  The

first time I came through the portal it was only for a few minutes, but Maddie said I had been gone for almost a month.  There’s something else, too--”

    He paused for a moment, unsure of how to proceed next.  After another moment

of silence he continued.

    “When I came through the first time, I came out in a forest,” he told Darren.  

“The portal was still there, behind me.  There was no Thirsty Goblin or tavern cellar or

Freeport.”

    Darren nodded, and Christof went on.

    “When I came through the second time, after the wargs took Maddie and Edwin, I

arrived in the cellar of the Thirsty Goblin,” he said.  “It was the middle of the day, and

the wash boy caught me coming out of the cellar.”

    “I explained to the tavern keeper that I was looking for my wife and son,” he

explained.  “I told him they had been kidnapped by wargs, and the man laughed at me.  

He actually laughed at me.  He told me that there hadn’t been any wargs in the area for

hundreds of years.  Then he had me arrested for trespassing, and I was brought here.  I

assume you had a similar experience?”

    “He caught me, too,” Darren told his friend, “only when I came through it was

night.”  Christof nodded.  Silence followed.

    “Do you have any idea where we are?” Darren asked after some time, and

Christof shook his head.

    “All I know,” he began, “is it feels like we are a long way from Pilcon or even

Damen.”

    “What do you think they are going to do to us?”

    “The guards mentioned something the other day about taking me to someplace called ‘Stonewatch’ for a trial,” Christof replied.  “They’ll probably do the same to you.”

    “We have to try and get out of here, Christof,” Darren said, and his friend nodded

again.

    “Don’t I know it, old friend,” Christof said.  “I have an idea though.”

    Darren listened intently as Christof explained his plan that would either lead them

to freedom or get them killed trying.


Hours passed.  The flickering torch and the sound of a chain swinging  from the ceiling

were the only sounds in the cold, dark prison, besides the guard's footfalls on the stone

floor as he brought meals to the two prisoners in the cell at the end of the corridor.

    “Dinner time, boys,” he said as he unlocked the cell door.  It swung open with a

loud creak, and Christof stepped forward.  Of Darren there was no sign.  The guard’s

eyes narrowed to slits as he searched the dark corners of the cell for Christof’s

companion.

    “Where is the other we brought in earlier?” the guard asked, and Christof merely

shrugged.  The guard’s brow furrowed and he dropped the food trays to the floor and

placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.

    “You will tell me where he is this instant!” the guard said in a raised tone, and

then Darren’s voice floated from the darkness to the guard’s left.

    “I’m right here, you dolt!”

    Something came down hard on the guard’s neck, and the man staggered forward,

drawing his blade.  He turned and saw Darren standing between him and the doorway

holding what looked like a brick from the cell’s wall.

    “You’re going to pay for that, whelp!” the guard shouted, and he ran at Darren,

sword raised.

    Darren watched in horror as the guard came toward him, and then Christof

stepped in front of the guard at the last possible second.  Darren’s eyes widened as he

realized the guard couldn’t stop in time, and then the soldier’s blade pierced Christof’s

left shoulder, just above his chest.  Christof fell to the floor and was still.  Also wide-

eyed, the guard looked at Darren.

    Darren’s vision narrowed, and anger overtook him.  A primeval sound escaped his

lips and suddenly fire leapt from the torch on the wall to the guard’s face, burning him.  

The guard fell to his knees, dropping his sword as he clutched his face and screamed in

agony.

    Darren wasted no time and lifted Christof to his feet.  His friend was alive and

breathing, but rapidly losing blood.

    “Can you walk?” Darren asked, and Christof nodded weakly.  “Then let’s get out

of here!”

    Darren helped his friend out of the cell.  He swung one arm around Christof and

led him toward the door at the far end of the corridor, the door that would lead to their

freedom.  When they reached it, Darren slowly opened it and peered out.

    The fort grounds weren’t that big.  There were three other buildings besides the

prison, barracks, judging from the look of them.  A large tent covered a makeshift stable

for the horses.  A wooden pike wall surrounded everything, with an exit to the north and

another to the south.  In the center of the fort was a large bonfire.  Several guards stood

around it talking and drinking.  A few more guards patrolled the grounds, and there were two guards posted at each exit.

    Darren looked up at the stars twinkling overhead and then back at Christof.  They

had the advantage of the night, but he didn’t know how far they would make it with

Christof’s wound.  His friend clutched his shoulder in an attempt to curb the bleeding,

but Darren could see most if it streaming around Christof’s hand.  Christof himself gave

Darren a weak smile, and Darren looked away.

    He noticed a stack of crates a few feet away to their left.  On top of the crates was

an empty liquor bottle.

    “I have an idea,” he said, and he helped Christof over to the crates.  He grabbed

the bottle, and then  threw it over to the nearest barracks building where a guard was

currently faced in their direction.  The bottle sailed past the guard, unnoticed in the dark,

and smashed against a tree trunk to the left of the barracks.  The guard immediately

turned in that direction and went to investigate.  Darren smiled and led his friend over to

the shadows on the west side of the barracks.  They were now closer to the southern exit

of the fort.

    Darren frowned when he realized there was nothing on this side of the barracks

that he could use to distract the two guards posted at the exit.  He scanned his

surroundings again to be sure, and Christof tugged at his sleeve.  Darren looked down

and saw his friend was motioning toward a nearby tree.  His eyes lit up as he realized that

it wasn't the tree Christof was pointing at, but a pile of twigs at the base of the tree.  He

snuck over to the tree and grabbed a large stick that was separate from the pile.  He threw

the stick at the tent that covered the stables.  The horses made a fuss about the unexpected

noise, but more importantly the two guards ran over to investigate the disturbance.
    Darren and Christof were halfway to the southern exit when the guard from the

prison ran out into the night screaming at the top of his lungs.

    “They’ve escaped!” the man shouted.  “They’ve escaped!  Find them!”

    Darren ran into the darkness outside the fort, dragging a wounded Christof with

him.