"I am not a-hungered," Stegoman rumbled. "Even if I were, I prefer my food clean."
The man looked indignant, so Marian removed her hand and he growled, "I'll have you know I was most fastidious, till I was locked down here!"
"I understand," Matt sympathized. "They don't exactly provide running water." But a thought was hatching. "Think you can tell us who's down here for what?"
"Nothing easier," the actor said with confidence. "In the cell next to mine is a tax collector who let some poor folk, who could not pay, escape the whip. Next to him is a farmer, who sought to prevent the soldiers from taking his daughter. Farther on—"
"That's fine," Matt interrupted. "Tell us about them as we come to them. You go first."
The actor was only too glad to go, partly because Stegoman was bringing up the rear. He gave them a running commentary, and as they came to each door, Fadecourt bashed in the lock and let out the prisoner. Matt and Sir Guy herded them along in front, though Sir Guy gave Matt a questioning glance. Matt only gave a short shake of the head in answer.
It was very simple, really. He didn't want possible criminals coming behind his back—and he didn't mind letting them have first chance at the guards. He felt a little guilty at the idea that he was throwing the prisoners to the wolves, but he reminded himself that it was a better chance than they ever would have had otherwise—but the stab of conscience made him warn them, "Take up whatever weapons you can find. We're apt to have to do some fighting, if we want to get out of here."
The prisoners were only too glad to cooperate, wrenching table legs loose in the few well-appointed cells—the ones that contained more than moldering straw. Fadecourt took to yanking chains out of the walls in cells that had them; as they neared the door to the castle, half of the prisoners were armed with links.
There were also a lot of them—fifty or more, and others had begun clamoring for release, in the distance.
It gave Matt an idea. "Hold on! Don't hit that door—stand back!"
"Wherefore?" One of the prisoners glared at him as if suspecting treachery.
Matt couldn't blame him for a little suspicion. He explained quickly, "Your fellow prisoners are making a fair amount of noise. If there's a jailor on duty..."
"There is."
"He could be coming through that door any second."
The portal slammed open, and a hulking, barrel-shaped man, who would have given Quasimodo a beauty prize, came shambling through, with a squad of soldiers at his heels. "What clamor is this? What ails the fools? Have some..." Then he saw the prisoners, and his eyes went wide. The guards began to lower their pikes—
With a yell like a dam breaking, the prisoners swamped the guards. There were a few horrified yells and the dull, sick thud of steel against skulls; then the doorway was still, and the prisoners rose up, grinning.
Suddenly, Matt knew what was coming next, and tried to stop it. "Quietly, now! And slowly! We—"
They ignored him. Very loudly, they ignored him. With a shout of triumph, they ignored him and poured out through the dungeon door, howling for revenge—and freedom.
As they came out of the forest, relaxing and beginning to think the danger of ambush was over, the roof fell in.
Or at least Gordogrosso's soldiers did. They fell from overhanging branches and leaped out of the underbrush like living bushes, but ones with spear points. They made no sound, though, other than the scrape of metal and the clash of steel. They would have taken the queen and her men completely by surprise, if Sauvignon hadn't been watching, suspicious of magic.
He let loose a yell that could have waked the dead and whipped his sword out. Startled, Alisande looked up, saw a man leaping toward her, shouted, "Above!" and whipped out her blade as she kneed her horse aside.
Behind her, her men looked up, too, then let out a fearful shout as they crowded into clumps, trying to avoid the living projectiles.
So, of course, some of the enemy soldiers fell right atop the clumps.
Ugly cracking sounds came from their landings—before the broken ones' mates stabbed down with a bellow of anger. Other ambushers fell on the road, and the few that survived the fall were dazed and easy meat for Alisande's pikemen.
But the road before them filled in with mounted men, behind three ranks of foot soldiers.
"Retreat!" Alisande cried. "Back, in good order! We will come at these in another fashion!"
Emboldened, the enemy knights roared a command and rode slowly down the roadway behind the running ranks of their men.
Alisande set a good example by chopping down a few in the front rank even as she urged her horse backward. Behind her, grudgingly, her men gave way—save for a few who ducked around her to stab at the enemy. Still, foot by foot, the forces of Merovence retired, but thinned the ranks of their attackers as they went.
At the rear, Sauvignon bawled orders, and the more-alert footmen began to climb the trees.
Ten more paces, and the enemy army halted, seeing Merovencian soldiers perched up high among the branches. One or two of the climbers were hefting stones experimentally.
Ibilian men went scurrying up the trunks again, and the Army of Evil withdrew, slowly.
Alisande's footmen roared with delight and leaped in pursuit.
"Hold!" she bellowed. "That way lies death!"
Unconvinced but obedient, her men came to a surly halt.
"Retire to the edge of this wood," Alisande ordered, "for we cannot pass the night here."
"But, Majesty!" a sergeant protested, "we shall lose what we have gained!"
" 'Tis better than losing our lives," the queen rejoined. "Take your men and go."
The Ibilians drew back out of sight—but Alisande had no doubt they were there, crouched and ready.
As her men came back into the little meadow before the woods, Sauvignon bawled orders to pitch camp. Reluctantly, they turned to obey. Everyone knew right where to go—to the buried embers of last night's fire.
"How shall we dislodge the enemy from these trees, Majesty?" Sauvignon asked.
"Why, by sending rangers above, to find and strike down at them," Alisande said wearily, "and all the footmen to follow them. Then, when we have taken the heights, may we bring the horses through."
" 'Tis well." Sauvignon grinned beneath his visor. "Myself, I think I shall become a footman anon." And he turned to spread the good word.
Alisande watched him go and felt a pang of regret as she watched his athletic, mail-clad figure moving among the men. She turned away, murmuring, "Ah, Matthew! Wherefore could you not have been well born?"
It would be so easy if he were only here—or did it just seem that way? No, surely her Matthew could have wrought a spell that would have sent these hedge sorcerers packing, and would have made the Ibilian soldiers fall from their trees like ripe fruit before her army, ready for the gathering.
"Where are you now, my love?" she murmured, gazing off toward the woods and Orlequedrille. "Of what do you speak?"
Or to whom?
She felt a stab of panic at that—had he met another woman, one softer and more compliant? She had not forgotten how completely Matt had fallen victim to the charms of the lust-witch Sayeesa, nor how she had needed to hew her way in to rescue him. Even then, it was only his oath of fealty that had saved them all, not his love for her.
"What a fool I was," she swore, "not to make sure of him whiles I could! Ah my love, my love—an I find you again, be certain I shall wrap you quickly to an altar and a priest, ere you may make your escape from me again!"
But her heart sank at the very words. Did he truly think of his quest as an escape? Given his free choice, would he really choose her?
And would his choice be free? Would he, himself? Or did he, at this moment, languish in the dungeon of the sorcerer-king? Had he been put to the torture? Her heart began to race as she pictured him on the rack—though Heaven knew he deserved some pain, for abandoning her so!