Conquest of Avalon

Laura V: The Prisoner

Once the Magister’s physician gave her leave to enter the general population of Charenton’s jail, Laura made it about thirty minutes before she was bouncing off the walls. Her leg still felt a bit stiff from Tauroneo, and now her left arm was stuck in a sling, and she could barely so much as pace before stumbling into the walls of the tiny, crowded cell.

Practicing her boxing form, the usual way to kill a bit of time, wasn’t very effective with just the one hand free, and earned her no end of strange looks, so Laura settled on plotting her escape. But even that was somehow interminably dull!

These idiots thought she was a binder, so as soon as they’d collected her yet-to-be-named magical sword, they’d made the grievous mistake of thinking her helpless.

Making them pay for that was an enticing thought, but even wiping out a prince and his retinue wouldn’t really accomplish much in the larger war effort. Certainly not this prince anyway. And as much as Laura desperately craved a rematch with his lieutenant, sure to be a fight for the ages, she had to admit that doing it with this collection of wounds wasn’t exactly a great idea. Goading her into it in the prison had failed, anyway.

Maybe the Prince of Darkness would even manage to commune with Rhan successfully and make whatever deal he was angling for. Stranger things had happened, and Laura wasn’t too interested in interrupting him before she could find out.

No, as soon as Laura got her sword back, she had an appointment with her destiny to head out east, stopping Avalon in the field and dealing a blow that would actually reverberate through history. A good death, that was all that was left.

Which left her with the same problems she’d had when arriving in Charenton, give or take being imprisoned and her sword stolen. She needed a way down the Rhan, deep into the lands of the Rhanoir, then passage north to the Arboreum in the throes of war.

And since Prince Grimoire was so kind as to throw me into a networking opportunity… “Hey, any of you got a boat?”

One skinny boy raised his hand, his wide smile missing a tooth. “Damn right I do. Keep it moored up at the wharf of my castle, right next to the statue I’m planning to build for you.”

“Anyone serious?” Laura asked, ignoring the boy. “I can make it worth your while.”

A loud sigh erupted from a sharp-featured woman sitting cross-legged on the top of a bunk. “The Prince of Darkness must be getting desperate if this is the best his spies can muster.” She spoke in Imperial, but accented, which probably made her one of the Avaline transplants. “I’ll save you some time here. All my little boys and girls know better than to talk to you, and no one else knows anything. You can tell your employer to let you out now.”

Well that’s a strange assumption to make. “You do realize I’m in here for attacking him, right? I was the one who set the docks on fire.”

“What an excellent way to secure passage on a boat. Truly, your genius knows no bounds.”

“It made sense at the time!” Laura growled. “And that’s not even the point. I can get you out of here. Anyone who helps me.” She blinked. “What would the Prince want you anyway? All he cares about is bargaining with the spirits.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “Then the rumors are true… Consorting with spirits, handing cities over to his favorite sorceress, seizing power over independent Charenton…” A smile stretched across her face. “If that doesn’t push the loyalists over the edge, nothing will.”

“Oh, you’re one of those rebels. Prince’s lieutenant was desperate to get me to spill about them. Honestly, I don’t get it. You’re Avaline, aren’t you? Why break with the conquering suzerain that’s been serving you so well?”

“What’s it matter to you if we give Avalon a black eye, Imperial?”

“It doesn’t, really. But considering you’re all a bunch of invaders, I can at least respect the loyal ones more than the traitors.”

“Then you’re a fool.” She spat from the top of the bed, forcing a girl sitting below to duck out of the way. “Avalon is happy enough to collect our taxes, but we’re just as subordinate as the Territories. Magister Ticent had to hand them the keys to the kingdom, and with nothing to show for it. Their Great Council snubs us; their Governors disdain anyone born on the wrong side of the Lyrion sea; and worst of all, they’re bleeding us dry so Cambrian factory owners and Fortan Lords can grow fat off the fruits of our labor. We’re being treated like Imperials rather than Avaline citizens, and the Great Council couldn’t care less!”

Not really changing my assessment. “My heart goes out to you. In the meantime, since neither of us is exactly cozy with the Avaline crown, maybe we can make a deal? I’ll break you out if you can help get me down the Rhan. Even as far as Flueville is fine.”

“Hah!” she scoffed. “Do you have a death wish, girl? Even if I thought you could get us out of here, a warzone would be my last choice of destination. I’m certainly not going to lend a hand to an Imperial criminal to get there.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Move along.”

Damn it! What was wrong with this woman? Laura frowned and turned away from her, trying to identify anyone promising in the cell, but most of the other prisoners had either gone back to ignoring her or were giving looks worse than nothing, probably at the rebel lady’s direction.

An old man sitting in the corner met her gaze without looking away, so she walked towards him and pointed her finger directly at his chest. “Hey, grandpère, you look like you might know people. Any associates who can sail a river boat?”

“Boat won’t do you much good in here, nor will the skills to pilot it,” he grumbled, narrowing his eyes at her finger. “And you’d do well to take a bit more care in how you act. You’re not in boarding school anymore, and not everyone’s as good-natured as I am.”

Anyone starts shit and I can burn this whole place down with them inside. The real issue was getting her sword back and securing a way out. Personal safety was not even on the list of issues to deal with, let alone at the top.

“Thanks, old man. I’ll take it under advisement.”

“Duchesne.” He rubbed the chin of his white beard, kept trimmed surprisingly short for a prisoner.

“You’re asking the wrong question, anyway.” Duchesne folded his arms, leaning back on his stool. “If you’re already planning to break out of prison, stealing a boat is nothing. What you want is a smuggler, someone who doesn't just have the skills to pilot the boat, but escape the harbor sentires and avoid any patrols down the river.”

Ears perking up, Laura turned back towards him. “And you know such a smuggler?”

“Mmm,” Duchesne grunted. “For the right price. I didn’t get this far doing things for free.”

“Inside a jail cell?”

Wisps of a smile traced across his face. “This just happened because I was doing a friend a favor. He thought he’d repay it by tipping off the magisterial guard about the three-hundred pounds of dried naca I was set to take down the Rhan, so I took the better part of valor.”

“But what was the favor?”

“Private.” Duchesne put his hands behind his head, leaning against the wall. “Just like the reasons for your confidence in here, and your ability to get out there. It’s not my business, sage, nor are my affairs yours.” He whispered the word, quiet enough that none were likely to hear him. “If you can get us out of here, I’ll take you where you need to go. You have my word.”

For what little that’s worth. But it was better than wasting half the life she had left flying down before she could even see a battlefield. To think I’d have had the power of the sun if things had gone just a little bit differently. But that was done. No point in dwelling on what could have been.

“Then it looks like we have a deal, Duchesne.”

From there, it was as easy as thrusting her fist through the bars of the cell towards the nearest guard and blasting a few hours worth of fire directly towards him. No one even seemed to notice until the guard started screaming, flailing and patting at his flaming coat as Laura flashed a smile at him.

“Sorceress!” he cried upon seeing her take credit. “Come help!”

“I can see that we both prefer the quiet approach,” Duchesne muttered, rising from his stool. “What exactly does this accomplish?”

The guard had stopped screaming, but the way he was rolling on the ground clearly showed that he was alive.

“Needed a commotion. I’ve got a sword I need to get back before we leave, and the more guards are here instead of there, the better.”

“And yet here we remain, trapped behind a metal gate. Is your flame magic enough to get us out, the way you implied it was?”

Well, if that damn guard had fallen close enough to grab his keys, it would be. Without that, she could probably heat the bars enough to weaken, at the cost of spending an unacceptable amount of her life.

Maybe she could just scare him into it? “Hey, guard, unless you want to go up in flames again, unlock the door.”

The guard rose to his feet, staring back with such fury that he looked like he wanted to immolate her back.

Such a baby. All I did was singe your coat.

He ran away up the hall and out of sight, presumably grabbing more guards to back him up.

“Alright… Admittedly, I could have planned this a bit better.”

Duchesne raised an eyebrow. “That’ll be inscribed on your grave. In the meantime, if I may?” He pulled out two short lengths of wire, bent and twisted into an L shape, and what looked something like a hair pin.

“What were you waiting for?” Laura asked as she watched him fiddle with the lock. “You didn’t need me to do that.”

“Wouldn’t have done me much good with the guard watching me do it. Though I do wish we could have discussed this first… There.” The lock clicked, and Duchense pushed the door open.

“Whoo!” shouted the rebel woman. “Freedom! Nicely done, fellows.”

“Yeah, thanks for nothing.” Laura was the first out, leading Duchesne towards the courtyard she remembered passing on the way to the interrogation room, though the other prisoners seemed to be headed straight for the exit.

Just as well. They’d only get in the way.

Fortunately the old man moved fast enough, and didn’t balk at any of the guards Laura blasted on the way, though it was only a couple. The rest were probably handling the other prisoners.

They emerged into a muddy field, rain pounding down over their heads. What must have been over thirty guards were all clustered around the walls, spears pointed in towards the rest of the prison.

“Climb on my back.” Laura crouched down, eyes scanning the slowly approaching guards.

“Of course…”

Laura could feel his hands grab her shoulders, causing her left arm to flash with pain, but this was good enough to start. He’d figure it out soon enough.

She pushed off the muddy ground as best she could, blasting fire from her feet as hours drained away, straining to keep her balance with one arm tucked away and a hundred pounds of old man clinging awkwardly to her back.

They made it over the wall and into greater Charenton just as the alarm began to blare, a piercing mechanical chirp not unlike the sounds from Magnifico’s pulsebox.

“Put me down!” Laura could hear the old man yell from above her, though most of it was snatched away by the wind and rain. They were clear of the jail, so she obliged him, dropping towards the cobblestones as quickly as she could safely descend.

“We had a deal,” she reminded him, helping him to his feet. “And I just held up my end. You better not be trying to squirm out of it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Like you said, we had a deal.” Duchesne curled his lip. “But getting back my Piqure de Moustique calls for a subtler approach. Meet me at the harbor in an hour and look for the small green boat with me standing on top of it.”

“Didn’t customs seize it though? I’d think you’d want more firepower.”

“I’ll hold up my end. Don’t you worry about it.” Duchesne flipped his hood over his head, instantly blending into the grey city streets, and began walking off without another word.

“Fine,” Laura muttered to herself. Gives me time to get my sword back, anyway. She’d bet anything that the Prince was keeping it on his personal ship, and sneaking on board hadn’t exactly worked brilliantly last time, but Laura wasn’t leaving here without it, so there was nothing for it but to make another attempt.

At least the rain helped. By the time she reached the harbor, most of the customs agents were bundled up inside, the various ship mates back onboard in their cabins.

Of course, the Prince’s ironclad had to be an exception. How could it be any other way? And Laura didn’t exactly like the prospect of landing on the deck and running inside, hoping she could find what she needed, then getting out. The odds were even lower than last time, given they’d be more likely to be on guard.

A subtler approach, then. I could try that.

She pulled wet hair back out of her eyes and hid her sling under her coat, then marched up towards the gangplank, looking directly at the guard at the top of it like she had nothing to hide. With all the wind and rain, they probably wouldn’t recognize her… Probably.

“Hey, the Prince needs that flaming sword for his experiments. I’m supposed to bring it to the Magister’s manse at once.” And since the Prince wouldn’t have blabbed about to just anyone, hopefully my knowing what to ask for is sign enough that I’m telling the truth?

The guard exhaled in sympathy. “Shit job in this weather, but I guess we all work for someone. I’ll have someone bring it up.”

“Thank you!” I can’t believe that worked.

“First though, what’s today’s password?”

Fuck.

Laura stared at him for a moment, weighing her options, then jumped forward, punching the guard in the throat and knocking him to the ground before he could respond. So much for subtlety.

She ran over his prone body into the ship, trying to think like a Prince of Darkness… It would probably be at the bottom, wouldn’t it? That would be the most inconvenient place possible, which made it almost certain given the way things were going today.

Laura went straight for the stairwell and jumped down the stairs five at a time, hearing the sound her landing ring out across the metal with every step.

He’s a tinkerer, as I recall. All those experiments with the spirits…

Finally at the bottom, Laura began throwing open every door she could, closing it rapidly again if she saw someone inside. By the fifth door, she realized that this wasn’t a great strategy, so she doubled back towards the last room she’d seen someone inside and threw the door open once more.

“Where’s the sword?” Laura demanded, brandishing fire at her fingertips in an obvious threat. “Tell me and you get to live.”

“What sword?” the room’s sole occupant asked with a tremor in his voice.

“The magical flaming sword that the Prince stole from me! Don’t play stupid.”

“You’re the one who set the docks on fire… I didn’t—”

“Tell me!”

“It’s probably in his workshop! Three floors up, third door from the stairwell.” He held up his hands in a terrified surrender, making Laura feel slightly bad about doing things this way.

But he’d be fine. It was only a threat, and he’d given her what she needed.

Laura left him there, running back for the stairs and clearing out a couple guards clustered around the mouth of the stairwell with a blast of flame.

Fighting Avaline guards is so easy, it’s like they’ve never even seen this before. They lunged out of the way with reckless abandon, absolutely terrified at the thought of getting burned. Of course, it didn’t take long after that for them to get their composure back, if the growing trail of pursuers following Laura was any indication.

She jumped out on the third floor and threw open the third door, revealing a massive room that must have taken up half the entire floor. Four large tables filled most of the spaces, covered in twists of wire and tanks of water and metal gears and all manner of inscrutable mechanical creations.

More importantly, glowing with warmth that Laura could sense from all the way across the room, was Volobrin’s sword. Her sword.

Even better, this room had a window in it, so it was as simple as smashing it open with the butt of her sword and jumping out, moment ahead of the guards.

None were brave enough to follow her into the freezing windswept water, which was just as well, since she caught herself in the air with a downward slash of flame, finally drawing on something other than her own life to fuel her magic.

As the flames hit the water, Laura was blasted upwards, taking the opportunity of her vantage point to look for Duchesne’s little green boat. Probably should have found it before I started this, really. Today was full of moments like that.

Oh well.

A half-minute in the air was enough to spot it; a hooded man that was probably Duchesne was in the middle of tightening ropes on the deck. Perfect.

A crack of thunder split the air, which wasn’t too much of a surprise given the weather, but Laura had no intention of being a conduit for lightning, so she dove towards Duchesne’s boat, hearing another thunderbolt suspiciously quickly after the first.

The next two made it clear that Prince Luce’s guards had finally spotted her. Since Laura had no intention of getting shot again, she rolled as she landed on the deck, yelling to Duchesne that it was time to go.

Casting off didn’t happen as fast as she’d have liked, but a few strategic walls of ice obscured the sightlines enough for the smuggler to do his business, and Laura jumped above to distract a few times for good measure, too.

Once they were finally moving, she channeled as much energy as she could through the sword, reaching for ice cold power and blasting into the water, freezing just enough to block off the mouth of the Rhan behind them. Maybe that metal ship could follow, but it didn’t, and none of the others tried their luck either.

Laura didn’t allow herself to breathe until Charenton had disappeared behind them on the horizon, finally stepping inside the small cabin of Piqure de Moustique and drying herself off with some strategic warming from her sword.

Her shoulder was covered in blood where the stitches had torn, either from lifting Duchesne out or the maneuvering afterwards, but considering she’d got her sword back without getting shot, Laura still considered it a victory.

And it’s about time. After such a prolonged detour, she was finally heading where she needed to go, the battlefield where she could make the greatest difference, and find an honorable death.

What else was left?