White Magic - by InkedGirl, Chapter 3, Fantasy

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White Magic - by InkedGirl, Chapter 3, Fantasy

Post  InkedGirl on Sat Mar 24, 2012 1:27 pm

Chapter 3

“How many times do you plan on getting yourself locked up on selfless reasoning?” The blonde man grinned at the black figure sitting in the shadows of the straw covered cell. Something glinted within the shadows, but the man did not seem even slightly disturbed.

“Once you get a brain and learn how to get food for the men in an honest way.” The figure retorted simply, with an air of little care.

The blonde one laughed. “The men? They left last night. I went back and told them that you stole some fish from one of the carts that brings food into the marketplace. They laughed for a while at that. Lewis even went so far as to call it ironic because…you know…him never seeing you eat and all…” The grin slowly left his face as he moved his head slightly away from the bars. He scratched his head absently, suddenly at a loss. “Anyway, what I mean to say is that they didn’t even want to try to find a way to break you out. I went out to go grab more logs for the fire and when I came back, they were all packing up. I didn’t even bother to go back and help them. I knew what was going on. They left. It’s odd, really, them seeming to be the only ones we know with any sense of comradeship.”

“Yeah well, never expect too much out of people. They usually just let you down.” The figure let out a sigh, a rustling of hay marking his every movement.

“The optimist, as always.” He muttered in reply.

“Who’s the one in prison again?”

“Right. Better find a way to get you out, eh, Nix?” He said to the figure. “Don’t want you rotting away.”

“Better hurry or the mice will start.” He said sarcastically. “Better go before one of the guards see you. I hear the ones around here prefer skinning to hanging.”

“Oh shut up.” The blonde retorted before jumping away from the small jail cell window. It had been difficult enough to find enough crates to stack up high enough to reach the tall opening. As soon as he made it to the bottom, he kicked them away to bury any suspicion. If people were suspected talking to prisoners it would only bring attention and strife among the village. Those were two things he believed were better avoided.

Now, what he had to concentrate on was getting his best friend out of the town’s jail. In all honesty, Norcott’s prison was a tiny little thing. The only issue was that of the guards. When Nixon had joked of the men skinning thieves and the such, he had not been over exaggerating. All the towns in the Kingdom of Sharpspeak had nearly the best fighters out of all of the kingdoms. It was why no other kingdom even attempted fighting with them over land or trade rights.

Regardless, the young man thought, it would be possible to get Nixon out. All he needed were a few willing outlaws and a plan. Plans, however, were not his exact forte. No, that was most definitely Nixon’s. He was more the brute strength kind of guy. But in this situation, one man with a very big sword was not going to cut it. He needed numbers and wit to break Nixon out. If one wanted numbers, there was only one place to start.

Nixon sat with his back against the wall in the only shadow of the torchlight cell. He played with the knife he had slipped into his boot before he had gotten caught the day before. Those rats, he thought, those self serving foolish idiots. He had been trying to get food for their empty stomachs. It had been for them that he had jumped the cart. What did they do? Instead of trying to get him out of jail like the friends he thought they were, they jumped town and moved on to rob the next village.

He stood and began pacing the cell. He twirled the knife between his fingers silently cursing himself. Of all the things to have while captured, a knife had to be the best. But, to Nixon, it was completely useless. The guards were smart enough not to stay in the jail where they could be taunted or attacked by the prisoners. Instead they were stationed at each of the two doors. The jail itself was above ground and arranged in a neat line with barred cells on each side. The doors sat at each end. The setup was not unlike that of a hallway in a castle.

If he was going to get out, he would have to come up with his own plan. Not that he did not give credit to Felix’s intelligence, but in truth, the man was more superior in brawn than brain.

The door at the end of the jail opened slightly and a guard entered. Nixon wondered if Felix had been caught outside speaking through the barred window. Instead of a man, however, as the light soon showed, it was the figure of a tall, dark haired woman that was being held in the guards firm grasp. He just about threw her in the cell. He heard as she lost her balance and fell against a stone wall, letting out an exasperated groan. At least she was not unconscious, he thought.

“Do you mind showing a little decency? She’s a woman!” Nixon yelled after the guard. The man did not seem to notice. He closed the door behind him.

“Are you okay?” He asked, walking toward the dark cell opposite him.

He heard another groan and a few choice curses. He wondered, peering closely into the cell, if the woman was some sort of thief or murder. Women were very rarely arrested on any cause. Usually, or at least in his own experience, they were either too unbearably cunning or simply very allusive.

“I’m fine,” she responded with an irritated snap.

He held up his bony hands in the torchlight and backed off, settling down once more in shadows.

The woman stepped up to her own bars and peered at him with the curiosity of a cat, black eyes seeming to envelop her pupils. Her features were sharp, from her pointy nose to her high cheek bones. Tiny wrinkles crinkled in the corners of her eyes ever so slightly, making her look older than she likely was. The woman’s arms were muscled lightly, more than his own at least. She appeared to have been dragged out of the river, her black hair hung in limp, shiny tendrils that stuck to her face.

“You’re a scrawny little thing.” She stated, looking him over. “You should eat more.”

Nixon turned away from her and let out a mirthless laugh. “Yeah.” He ran his finger along the dull side of the blade absently.

“Don’t worry. We’ll get out soon enough. Then they’ll hang us.” She sighed and threw herself against one of the bales of hay.

“Skin us, actually.” He corrected her.

“So you’re an optimistic too, eh?” She asked.

He chose not to respond. Instead, he concentrated on forming some sort of escape plan for the both of them. He had decided on the two person mission the moment the woman had walked in the door. First, it would be much easier than escaping alone, as much as that thought irked him, and second, he did not want to leave the only person in the jail with him and a woman nonetheless to her execution and God only knew what else.

“What are you thinking about?” She asked after a while.

“Take off your shirt.” Nixon ordered, studying his knife while pacing back and forth within his cell at an accelerated pace.

She groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me. We’re in a jail cell!” Then she stopped, turning furious. “I’m not even dressing in that way! I don’t look like a whore, do I?” She questioned, examining herself, suddenly self conscious.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

“Well yes…” She said slowly.

“Then do as I say.” He whispered through the bars, catching her attention. “Throw your shirt to me. Then, call them in.”

She narrowed her eyes at him suddenly. “How do I know that I can trust you?”

“Well, I trust you.” He looked directly into the black eyes of the woman he had only met a few minutes ago. In all honesty, he did not trust her one bit, but he was fairly good at faking things. “Now do as I say.”

He lay down in the shadows of the straw. She threw her shirt to him after a few moments. He grabbed it and slowed his uneven breathing. His heartbeat continued its own sporadic beating as he waited.

She began moaning and then built up the theatrics (rather effortless) up from there. “It’s so cold in here! Can someone please bring me a cloak? I’m absolutely freezing!” When there was no sound for a while she paused and gave a long, loud, almost seductive sigh. “I’d do anything to get rid of these horrible chills.”

A few breaths later the door by which the woman had entered originally opened up. It was one of the guards. Thankfully, he did not seem too irritated by the woman’s calls as Nixon had originally worried. Instead, he approached the cells at a lazy speed, hand resting on his sword hilt thoughtfully.

He could not see the man, so he had to gage when exactly it was that the guard came the closest to the cell.

The footsteps finally halted only a few inches from Nixon’s face.

“Well hello little wench. Aren’t you just a fine little thing.”

The woman let out a playful laugh. It might have worked on the guard, but Nixon on the other hand knew that she was only using it to cover up the fear that was present in her voice.

“I seem to have misplaced my tunic. Would you like to help me find it?” She continued, lowering her voice ever so slightly.

Nixon saw his moment and seized it. He jumped to his feet quicker than a cat and pushed his arms holding the shirt through the bars. He caught the guard around the neck with the fabric and pulled him tightly against the iron bars.

The guard spluttered and fought against Nixon’s hold. It took all the man’s strength to tie a quick knot around the single bar. He quickly let go of the shirt and searched through the bars for the man’s keys. He found them only a second before the man realized what Nixon was doing and attempted to bat his hands away. He then clawed at the knot helplessly. Unable to watch the scene any longer, Nixon took out his knife and ran it through the guard’s back.

He took the keys and unlocked himself from the cell.

“I was wondering how long that was going to take you. I was afraid you were going to just let that guy have his way.” The woman watched his hands as he unlocked her cell. “I guess I was wrong.” She gave him a small smile.

Nixon dropped the keys at the dead guard’s feet. He made the decision to not yet clean his blade. He was still slightly worried about the three remaining guards around the perimeter.

The woman decided to fill the silence as Nixon checked the man’s pockets for anything useful. He did not even bother with the long steel sword lying on the ground, he knew that he would never be able to carry it, let alone swing it and land a lethal blow to another guard.

“What’s your name?”

Finding nothing of use he answered her. “Nixon Wells.”

“Imara Farley.” She stuck out a hand with a smile.

Nixon looked at it for a moment before taking it. Her hand appeared almost fat compared to his own bony one.

“We best be going least we lose the upper hand with the rest of the guards.” He said, dropping her hand.

She picked up the sword. He raised his eyebrows.

“What?” She asked, testing out the blade’s balance in her hands.

Before Nixon had a chance to speak, the door to the jail opened.


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