Chapter 19

Ransom walked swiftly into the courtyard, still bristling from his encounter with Eliot, his fists tightly clenched. Before mounting, Ransom adjusted his boots; sliding the piece of paper that Eliot had put in his hand carefully between his concealed dagger and his leg.

He would not think of Annabeth until he was outside the gate, lest it show on his face. He smiled at the stable boy and flipped him a trifling coin.

“Thanks for taking care of him for me.”

Barely touching the stirrup, he leapt into the saddle and galloped through the gate. In a moment he was gone, and he let what he had seen run through him.

Annabeth. My Annabeth. He had never dreamed he could see her in more pain than when he had first met her. She was torn—wounded inside and out. She would not last long in that dungeon. It would not break her will, but it had already shattered her spirit; it was killing her.

He could not reach where he had hidden Song Lark soon enough. There would be no time to wait for King Harold to come with his soldiers to attack. Lord Raburn was the kind of man who would torture her for his own amusement. He longed to sink a dagger into the man’s chest—to make him feel all the pain he had ever caused Annabeth, her father, and his other victims.

Ransom knew he would have to storm the castle.

Alone.

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“IT APPEARS, MY DEAR Annabeth, that you have a knight in shining armor come to rescue you from my wicked dungeon. What he doesn’t know is when he arrives back in a week, he will find you dead, and then I shall finish him off too in the dungeon. Best way for a rich man to save himself money: hire bounty hunters, and then kill them like they did their prey.” Lord Raburn laughed as he brushed past Annabeth, upsetting her balance. She tottered, then fell to the floor. Pain jolted through her, fraying every nerve, twisting every muscle, pounding round and round in her head. Resigned, she lay on the floor, too weary to care that her bed was stone.

“What do you know of this man? Eliot, he comes from your country.”

“I know of him, and he is a man of his word. He will do exactly as he says. He is an honorable thief, you might say, my lord,” said Eliot, his voice quiet and steady.

Raburn sighed with satisfaction. “I do feel rather indulgent today. Maybe no rack until I feel inclined. Take her back to the dungeon and put her against the wall. It breaks them soon enough.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Lord Raburn’s satisfied footsteps faded away in the distance.

In a moment, Annabeth felt strong hands lifting her off of the cool, hard stone. She bit her lip to hold back a gasp; pain dizzied her. Her mind sought for a clear memory. Had her life never felt dizzy, or was it always like this, tumbled, torn, and screaming pain? It felt as if a lifetime had already passed away in that cell, and now she was returning to it.

Opening her eyes, Annabeth tried to focus. She had to care about what was going on around her. She had to find something beyond herself and the pain, if she were to know anything but this numbness as the last day of her life approached. Walking through the sunlit hallways of Raburn’s castle, she tried to feel the sun’s warmth, the breeze that washed its way through the windows, but to no avail. She felt nothing but the ache and pain and agony of trying to feel something different.

When they reached the stairs, she was surprised to find herself suddenly in Eliot’s arms as he clattered casually down the steps, then set Annabeth on her feet. He dragged her back to her cell and chained one arm to the wall.

The weights pulled and stretched the muscles in her arms, and she closed her eyes as the pain ate her consciousness.

Eliot’s hand traced over her dislocated shoulder that Raburn had set.

Annabeth collapsed. The pain was too much.

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“WHAT WERE YOU DOING there? You could have gotten yourself killed!” Song Lark’s angry voice broke him out of his reverie.

“I had to know if she was still alive.”

“Is she?”

Ransom nodded. “But not for long. That dungeon is killing her.”

“Not Annabeth.”

“You don’t know what that place does to her!” Ransom turned to Song Lark, his eyes hot with anger.

“Annabeth can survive anything.”

“Annabeth is not invincible. None of us are invincible.” Then he added under his breath, “I am not invincible.”

“Then what is your plan? Are we going to go get your king?”

Ransom shook his head.

“There isn’t enough time. She won’t last.” Ransom fished around in his boot until he came up with a slip of paper and opened it.

“Just as I expected. Song Lark, I need you to ride to the border and take this directly to King Harold. Tell them Ransom sent you, and that should get you immediate access to the king. Now, guard it with your life.”

“What is it?”

“Plans for Anondorf Castle that Eliot drew up. Battle plans. Now, go.”

“What are you going to do?”

Ransom looked at him.

“Do I want to know what you are going to do?”

Ransom shook his head. “No, you don’t want to know.”

“Godspeed to you.”

“Godspeed to you, Song Lark, and may you ride like the wind.”

In a moment, Song Lark was mounted and off, galloping in the distance. Ransom turned, landing a fist into a tree. He waved his hand in pain. Pulling it back, he blew on it to soothe the burning feeling. He had broken the skin in several places, leaving his hand scratched and bleeding.

“Yes, that will do. I can’t hurt myself too badly.”

Two hours later, a man that few would recognize walked with a slight limp down the trail to the castle.

“Who goes there?” called out the same grumpy voice.

No wonder he is such a grump. I would be too if I was left on gate duty. “Ransom, the bounty hunter. My horse broke a leg, I was wondering...”

The drawbridge lowered and Ransom limped across. Halfway across the courtyard, Eliot intercepted him.

“What do you think you are doing back here so soon?” Eliot asked between gritted and half snarling teeth. “You have a message to deliver.”

“The message will be delivered shortly by a faithful hand that is not my own. I came back for Annabeth.”

“He won’t let her go.”

“No. But maybe you will.”

Eliot’s eyes almost slit shut.

“Give me all the help you can. I intend to run for it.”

Eliot shook his head. “You’re risking your life for her.”

“I gave her my word.”

“Don’t be a fool.”

“Don’t get your head chopped off.”

Lord Raburn’s voice broke into the conversation. “Eliot, is this any way to show our trusted friend how we welcome him?”

“No, my lord. I was just trying to find out why he had returned so soon and so dreadfully empty-handed,” said Eliot, sharply aiming his words at Ransom.

Ransom took no notice, but bowed graciously to Lord Raburn. “My lord. I am sorry to have returned so early, but I have a request to make of you.”

“Yes, and what would that be?”

“As you can see, I am horseless. My own went down and broke his leg. Being a bounty hunter can be...”

“Speak no more; we will furnish you with a horse.”

“You are too kind, sir.”

“It is my pleasure.”

“Would it be possible, while my horse is being saddled up, that I could see Annabeth? Visit her in the dungeon.”

“Are you so eager to break her into your ways?” asked Lord Raburn with a smile.

“The sooner she gets used to the thought of me, the better.”

“Yes you are quite right. Snatchel, show Ransom here the way to the dungeon. The jailor will take him to Annabeth.”

Ransom followed with a seeming blind ease and slight limp, but his mind was already working frantically over every last detail. Was it really possible? Everything had to be perfect.

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THE KEYS LAUGHED MOCKINGLY in the lock, and a moment later the door creaked open, complaining of its sudden frequent usage.

“I’ll call you when I am ready. I won’t be long.”

At the sound of Ransom’s voice, pain burst freshly in her heart. Silently, she listened to the words.

“Right,” answered the jailor, as he locked the door.

She felt him coming near her, his shadow falling over her from the one flickering torch set outside her cell. A moment later, he stood only inches away, his fingers barely daring to touch her cheek.

“Annabeth.” His voice was warm and gentle, as if he had put the sun into words.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to rescue you,” he whispered.Suddenly it felt as if someone had stabbed a burning knife into her heart and left it there—burning, aching, but not taking her life, just letting her exist slowly but surely. She was in so much pain already, she couldn’t help her small outcry. It came bursting to the surface.

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HE RAISED HER HEAD. “Look at me, Annabeth. What is it?” He knew her cry was not one of joy, but agonizing pain.

Annabeth turned her face away. A tear trembled down her cheek making a white streak down her dirt-tarnished face.

“Annabeth,” he whispered tenderly.

“Please go,” she answered him, her voice shaking. Her body was weak and her heart was shaking; the last thing she wanted was to have him witness it.

“Beth, I can’t.”

“Please, Ransom, I have been hurt enough. There is nothing you can do. Leave me alone to die.”

“What makes you think that you will die?”

She raised her eyes to meet his, letting the last layer of inner armor fall. Ransom’s heart twisted in his chest.

It was gone. Her desire to live—to fight—had vanished. She was conquered, resigned. There was no spark of life, of challenge—it was only waiting: waiting for death.

“Ransom. I’ve lost everything; I don’t want to lose you, too. Go while you can, and for my sake keep Prince Alfred safe. Please.”

He sighed. “All right. You win.” Leaning close, he pressed a kiss gently to her cheek.

Annabeth let the tears fall. Ransom stepped away, calling the jailor.

As the jailor looked in, he smiled at Annabeth’s tears, then the wooden door grated shut between them. The keys jangled as if they enjoyed locking people up. Then there was the fatal click of the lock.

Annabeth sagged against the wall. Pain screamed through her body. She could hardly move. Her body tingled and ached; there was nothing to bring her relief. Her limbs were useless. Utterly useless. What good would they be to her even if she did get free? She tried to clench and unclench her fists. Her left responded but her right sent a pain down her arm, up her neck, and through her spine. She couldn’t help the quiet whimper.

Closing her eyes, Annabeth prayed that God would be merciful—that He would take her to be with Him and her beloved mother. She couldn’t stand it here on earth. Everything she loved was being torn from her, tearing her into little pieces. She didn’t want to see everything she had ever loved, cherished, and tried to protect destroyed before her very eyes.

Suddenly, the keys were rattling in the lock again. Annabeth didn’t raise her head. What was the use? Whatever came through that door would bring her more pain. Maybe, this time, it would kill her.

The door opened and someone came over, undoing her chains. The weights dropped to the floor with a crash. She raised her head as her left arm fell limp to her side.

“Ransom?” she looked up at him, barely able to breathe.

He undid her other chain. The weight landed on the stone, pulling the chain rattling after it. Annabeth’s right arm dropped to her side, sending a spasm of pain soaring through her. She wilted, but before she could fall to the floor Ransom had her in his arms.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, resting her head against his strong shoulder, fighting for her own strength and willpower to push Ransom away. She couldn’t even move.

“I am getting you out of here.”

“No,” she whimpered in protest.

“Yes, I am.”

The strength in his voice sent a shiver down her spine.

“Why did you come back?”

“I promised I wouldn’t leave you.”

“My father?” she murmured.

“He’s next, then any other unfortunate prisoners locked within these walls.”

“There aren’t any. He’s killed the rest.” She shuddered in his arms, pain making unconsciousness pull at her vision, sinking it smaller and smaller. The world seemed to rotate within her mind and she rested her head against Ransom’s shoulder.

Ransom lifted Annabeth in his arms and carried her out of the cell. Opening the door to her father’s cell, he saw a surprised man meet his gaze.

“What are you doing with my daughter?”

“Getting both of you out of here. Now come along.”

In minutes they had climbed up the stairs of the dungeon. Ransom stopped to catch his breath and scout out the court yard just outside the door.

His horse stood waiting near at hand. The gate was not far away; the guards were relaxed. There would be a very little time that they would be surprised, but at least they wouldn’t be edgy and instantly arrow-ready.

“Sir, we are going to have to spring three to a saddle. Do you think you are ready to run?”

“I am a soldier. Soldiers are always ready.”

“Good, sir. When I say go, we go.”

The man nodded.

Ransom shifted Annabeth in his arms. Getting her on the saddle would be painful. It was a good thing she had already blacked out.

“Ready?”

“Ready,” was the firm reply.

Dear God, protect us. “Go!” Ransom charged out into the courtyard, placing Annabeth in front of the saddle before mounting himself in a flash. A moment later, he turned and helped Annabeth’s father up behind him.

The first cry of alarm sounded as Ransom dug his heels into the fiery steed that was to be lent to him.

“Close the gate! Pull up the drawbridge!”

But it was too late. They were through and across. A moment later, a hail of arrows rained around their defenseless backs. A second volley of arrows grazed them with nearly lethal accuracy. By the third, they knew they were gaining a healthy distance as the arrows fell wide of their intended target.

They bolted into the forest road, the horse’s load too heavy to dare weaving and leaping through the twisted woods.

“Ransom! Ransom! Halt!” yelled a powerful voice, dangerously close.

“Don’t stop; it’s the captain of the guard,” shouted Annabeth’s father in Ransom’s ear.

“Only him?” asked Ransom, shouting back.

“Yes.”

Ransom pulled back on the reins. In a moment, Eliot pulled up beside him.

“On my horse, sir. If we are to make it, Ransom’s load must be lighter.”

“What?” asked Annabeth’s father.

“I serve King Harold. Now hurry; we are wasting time.”

In a moment he had mounted behind Eliot. Ransom and Eliot urged their horses to the limit.