As she passed a closed door near the corner, she heard the noise of someone moving around. The hallway continued past two more doors on her right, and then made a turn to the right. She quickly moved to the next closed door and eased it open as she turned the lantern to the lowest setting. The small fire on the wick threatened to go out with each puff of air.
A man slept on a pallet, a mug of ale beside his hand. She slipped inside. His sword and a hefty hunting knife lay beside his uniform. She examined it closer. The material was light green, hardly different than the pants she wore. The shirt and heavy coat may have been the same color a generation ago, but coats were made to fit large and the man sleeping was not that much larger than her. She grabbed a hat with flaps to cover her ears. It would help hide her face. She reached for the knife.
In the hallway again, she turned the lamp slightly higher, and soot on the chimney prevented much of the yellow light from escaping. While wearing the hat she might be confused for a guard, briefly, or if someone just glanced her way. She moved around the corner and down the hallway towards a large open room where several lanterns and candles burned. She blew out her lantern and moved in the shadows.
The smells of food filtered from the room. Not fresh bread or frying meat, but a combination hinting of stew, a staple for armies. Anything growing in gardens or shot by soldiers, or farm animals butchered, were cut into cubes and added to the pot. Her stomach growled in response.
A figure emerged from the dark at the other side of the kitchen and moved in her direction, probably going to enter the hallway where she lurked. Although she moved in the few shadows, he would necessarily go right past her. She increased her speed, and as she left the hallway and entered the kitchen, she turned to her right while listening for a challenge or recognition.
The man kept walking. So did she, never hurrying or drawing attention to herself. As she passed a table with a man spooning stew and slurping loudly, a flicker of movement near the two cooks caught her attention.
One of the cooks disappeared. He dropped from sight as if he’d never been. Hannah knelt and waited. The other cook dropped out of sight and didn’t reappear. The man eating paused, stood, and reached for his sword, his eyes searching for the cooks.
Hannah was slightly behind him. Her hunting knife found its way into her hand and after a glance to be sure they were alone, she silently moved behind him and wrapped her left arm around his neck while pressing the point of the blade into his back as the combat instructor had taught.
She whispered, “Be quiet and you’ll live.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The man Hannah held at knifepoint remained still, the blade touching his back reaffirming his decision. She realized her back was exposed and walked the man backward until she reached the wall. They were now in deep shadow as she watched across the room and waited.
The ceiling was low, the room large and filled with rows upon rows of tables and chairs, enough for a hundred people to eat, and still room to cook and serve food in a line. She suspected this was not the only dining room, but another one or two probably existed for the slaves that dug the gold. She couldn’t imagine monks doing the actual work when there were prayers to be said.
The man she held placed both hands on her forearm and tensed.
“This knife is long enough to enter your back and exit your chest.”
He relaxed. She saw movement to one side. A man crept in the shadows, coming her way. The man sneaking up to her was either a friend or enemy.
Her training taught her to break combat situation to basics. If the man coming closer was an enemy, she had little choice but to run the one she held through and then protect herself from the other. She could fight a single enemy and expect to win. Fighting two was for fools, so she steeled her mind to kill the man she held.
“Hannah?” Brice whispered.
“Yes.” Her whole being relaxed. Brice and the Peermont army were inside the building.
The man she held must have sensed her relaxing because with a sudden twist of his body and a leap away, he shouted the alarm, “Intruders! To arms!”
Hannah couldn’t stop him, and it wouldn’t stop the shouts he’d already made. Others took up the call to arms. She saw two men running, their blades flashing in the dim light. “How many men did you bring in here?” she asked.
Brice appeared at her side. “Six.”
“Six? Only six?”
“We were reconnoitering, not attacking. Follow me.”
She raced after Brice, but dozens of men poured from the doorways in the hall and ran across the dining hall where they would cut off Brice’s escape. He slowed, looking for another way out. Hannah bumped into him and hissed, “Six?”
“You should have killed him.”
Brice didn’t have to tell her she’d messed up. He was right.
He said, nearly shouting, “Is there another way out?”
“I just got free, so I don’t know.” Men poured into the dining hall, concentrated in one corner as those in charge began splitting them into fighting groups and giving them orders. She and Brice were trapped. Only two hallways connected with the larger room and the enemy nearly filled one with at least thirty soldiers. They would reach the other hallway before Hannah and Brice, and there were only five men there to support them.
Brice leaped in front of her, his arms raised and he roared a curse to draw attention. A ball of flame appeared in each hand, small as grapes to begin with, then growing to the size of apples—then melons. He roared again, and the first of them flew. Before it landed, he threw the other.
His body collapsed as the first flame ball struck the stone floor, spreading fire in a wave as if the fireball had been filled with flammable oil. Men screamed in terror. The other fireball struck a dozen steps further down the hall. A wall of flames prevented any from charging through.
But, the heroic act had drawn nearly all the heat from Brice’s body. He felt cold to the touch as Hannah struggled to get her shoulder under Brice’s stomach to carry him. He should have thrown smaller fireballs. Showoff!
She struggled to her feet carrying Brice and staggered to the other hall, ignoring two arrows that flew uncomfortably close. Two of the Peermont soldiers leaped from the corridor, and one took Brice while the other, an archer, let arrows fly without taking the time to aim. From the screams, she knew at least one struck an enemy. His terrified screams probably delayed the others from pursuit.
Other Peermont soldiers joined them, then remained behind as Hannah and the soldier carrying Brice ran down the long hallway and out into the night. The cold air struck them like a hammer and Hannah knew she had to get Brice warmed soon. He’d used his body’s heat to create the fireballs and couldn’t fend off the intense cold for long.
“Where’s the camp?” she snapped at the first soldier she encountered. He did a double-take when he recognized Brice, and then her.
“Give me a hand over here,” he shouted. Four men ran to his aid. Two carried Brice by his arms, and one held his feet. Another took Hannah’s arm and placed it over his shoulder to support her. They moved quickly down the path and into the trees where a small group of fires burned.
Hannah said, “No sense in keeping the fires small. Brice needs to warm up.”
She still struggled and tried to issue orders as they placed her in warm blankets and her shivering came to a stop. Her eyes closed.