Lucky Break

Story contains notions of alcoholism and some mild gore

“Why shoul’ I believe you?” The man’s words ran together in a slur as he spoke. He leaned heavily against the prison wall, his long, greasy hair a curtain of ebony in front of his pale face. The air about him wreaked of stale ale and unwashed body odor, though Bauis didn’t know where a man, especially one lacking such wits, even managed to find booze within the confinements of the cell.

“Now, Jarsa,” Bauis replied in an appeasing tone that masked his frustration. “I already told you. My friends and I broke into the prison on purpose. We came prepared for this.” That wasn’t exactly true.

They had broken in yes, but getting caught had not been a part of the plan. Each of them had spent hours preparing, studying the movements of the guards and every detail of the blueprints, courtesy of a shady shop owner in the nearby town. The plan wasn’t going exactly how they intended, but Bauis was optimistic they could salvage the mission.

As Bauis looked at his cellmate, he tried to hold up his own sinking spirit. Jarsa was tall, but thin and gangly. When asked a question, it took the man ten business days to reply, and he didn’t look at all like he’d ever thrown a punch or wielded a sword.

“Came prepped fo wha?” As Jarsa spoke, he pushed himself upright, took one wobbly step forward, then fell back against the wall. His head lulled to the side and his eyelids dropped. “Noone has ever busted outta Ganwall Prison before. Those who tried… dead…” Jarsa raised his hand to make a sloppy slashing motion at his throat. Then his arm dropped back to his side.

That was another lie, one Bauis suspected the warden spread amongst the prisoners. But Erro, a feisty young man and the leader of this expedition, had escaped. It was Erro who convinced the ragtag group of misfits to return with him on a mission most considered suicidal. While locked away, Erro met an extremely powerful wizard of good fortune. Such a sorcerer could save many lives, and maybe even turn the tide of the war. That was why Bauis had volunteered. Save the wizard. Win the war.

Then his brother’s death wouldn’t have been in vain.

Getting captured was a minor inconvenience.

Bauis glanced out the tiny barred window in the upper corner of the cell. The moon was high in the middle of the sky. Perfect. The prison guards were at their thinnest this time of day.

He pressed himself against the wall, behind where the door would open. Jarsa only stared at him, his brown pupils surrounded by red. Then Jarsa uncorked his waterskin and took a deep draw from it. The smell of alcohol permeated the air and tickled Bauis’ nose. Of all the battle-hardened cellmates in this tower, Bauis wondered why fate had been cruel enough to land him with the scrawny, drunken, smelly Jarsa. He sighed, took a breath, and brought his focus to what was important.

Then he started shouting. “Yoho, guards, it’s me, Bauis! I’ll talk, I can’t take this anymore! This solitary confinement is torturous, I’m a people person, I need people in my life! Tell the warden I’ll talk! I’ll tell her everything she wants to know!”

Silence followed his words. Then he was rewarded with the crescendo of thundering boots from the other side. His muscles tensed. If he allowed himself time to think, he might reconsider such a plan. But that was Bauis’ specialty. Don’t think. Just act.

Bauis was massive compared to most humans. He had strong muscles, but he wasn’t slow like many of the bulky men in his platoon. He’d relied on his brute strength for so long, he’d learned to shut off his brain and just start punching.

So when the door opened and two guards rushed in with swords drawn, Bauis didn’t hesitate. His fists came swinging, colliding against metal helmets with enough force to bash dents into them. He knocked one off its owner’s head, and the man dropped before he saw Bauis coming. The other took a wild swipe with his sword. Bauis flinched back, expecting the blow to land. But as luck would have it, the guard tripped. His stumble gave Bauis just enough of an opening to smash his newly earned helmet into the hilt of the man’s sword, smashing the man’s gauntleted hand. His other fist connected with the guard’s chest plate, propelling him backwards. Bauis was on him in two steps, disarming the man and dispatching him with barbaric ease.

When he looked up, he met Jarsa’s red eyes gawking back. Jara’s jaw was slack as he stared at Bauis’ destruction.

“Here,” Bauis pressed a sword into the man’s hand. “You’ll need this.”

When he released the sword, it fell to the floor, dragging Jarsa’s hand with it. “Do I have ta?” Jarsa whined. He gave a feeble attempt to lift the blade, then let it clatter back onto the stones. “I’m tired. An izz cold outside.”

Bauis held in a groan. “If you don’t want to be imprisoned the rest of your life, you’ll come along.” He searched the guards for anything else of use and came back with a ring of keys, a handful of coins, and a tissue. Not waiting to see if Jarsa would follow, Bauis took the other sword and stole into the corridor beyond. It was lined with cell doors, with no way of knowing which would hold his allies.

Bauis was a few steps along, considering how he could solve this next conundrum, when a terrible scraping sound pierced the corridor. Bauis nearly dropped his sword as he clasped his hands over his ears. Slowly he turned.

Jarsa was following, his sword dragging along behind him, its tip scratching along the cobblestone floor.

Bauis found he was grinding his back teeth together and forced his jaw to relax. “Jarsa,” he said in a whispered hiss. “Pick up your sword.”

Jarsa hummed, his bleary gaze struggling to focus on Bauis. “Whaszza?”

“Your sword,” Bauis hissed, gesturing to his own. “Pick. It. Up.”

Jarsa’s gaze drifted from Bauis’ weapon to his own. He heaved a sigh as though Bauis had just asked him to trade what feet his socks were on. Then with an exaggerated effort, he heaved the sword onto his shoulder.

Bauis shook his head but pressed on, pausing to peer into the slots each door had. These slots were located at ground level, so that treys of food could be pushed in without opening the doors. As he looked in on the variety of shoes and barred feet of prisoners, he tried to recall what is comrades were wearing.

Valtera was wearing black knee-high boots. He could remember that. Erro was wearing classic leather boots and Kryine had been wearing… what had Kyrine been wearing? Bauis tried to remember, but memory was not his strength. As he peered under yet another door, he decided he would just have to know Kryine’s footwear if he saw it.

He was nearly to the last door that direction when Jarsa spoke up behind him. The drunk started his speech with an unintelligible grunt. Then he collapsed against one of the doors with a groan, sliding down to the floor. He still gripped his sword, and it clanked to the ground with him.

Bauis looked from him to the door at the end of the corridor. It would lead to a staircase, and was his best escape route. Then Bauis looked back at Jarsa. If the drunkard was found out of his cell, the guards would run him through right there in the hallway. He blamed the last bit of humanity the war had left him with as he returned to the fallen man’s side.

Every rib stuck out of Jarsa’s side, and Bauis felt like he was picking up a man-shaped washboard as he slipped a hand around Jarsa’s torso and hoisted him up. The stale ale and body stench assaulted Bauis’ senses, and he blinked back tears brought by the stench. Taking short breaths, he dragged Jarsa forward, supporting what had to be all the man’s weight. Awkwardly, in his opposite hand he clung to his own sword, refusing to give the weapon up.

Voices came from the other side of the door leading out to the staircase. Bauis glanced around the baren hallway. His right arm around Jarsa, he moved his sword in his right hand and pulled the ring of keys out with his left.

He had no way of knowing which would fit the dungeon doors. He picked the one most used and jammed it in. Surprisingly, it turned. The lock clicked and the door swung open. Incredulous of such luck, Bauis dragged Jarsa inside and quietly closed the cell, just as more guards entered the hallway.

Jarsa collapsed into a boneless heap on the floor. Bauis pressed his ear against the door, listening. When the guards moved passed, he allowed himself a sigh of relief.

“Bauis!” A voice exclaimed. Bauis’ head shot up. He lifted his sword to fend off the attacker, but Kyrine’s arms pushed the weapon aside as they wrapped fiercely around Bauis’ massive waist. Kyrine’s long blond hair was tied back in disheveled braids, and he smelled as he always did, of leather, pine, and a slight essence of horse. His brown tunic had several new tears and looked worse for wear. Bauis noted he wore soft leather boots, built for stealth.

“How’d ya find me?” Kyrine asked with a grin.

Bauis shrugged. “Luck?” he offered.

“Any luck on finding the others?”

Bauis shook his head. “You’re the first.”

“Any sign of Asrah?”

Bauis shook his head once again. “Kyrine, we’ll be lucky if the four of us survive this. Is it really worth risking more for this wizard guy? I mean, how lucky can he really be if he’s been imprisoned all this time?”

It was Kyrine’s turn to shrug. “We’ve come this far, haven’t we?”

A moan brought their attention back to the floor. Jarsa curled into a ball, wrapping around the sword like it was a lifeline.

“Now, now,” Bauis said soothingly, working to remove the blade without cutting himself or Jarsa. “Let’s not cuddle with the weaponry.” Once it was free, he handed the sword to Kyrine, who gave it an experimental wave.

Jarsa only groaned.

“Let’s get your cell mate and hit the road,” Bauis said, pressing his ear against the door to listen for activity beyond it.

“You have a good heart, my friend. But I don’t think we need to bring every prisoner we find.” Kyrine spoke quietly, turning his gaze to the back of the room. There, a small man scratched at the stone wall with a tiny stone. He hummed quietly to himself, completely unaware there was an escape happening across the room.

“I think maybe you’re right,” Bauis whispered back as he watched the man lick the wall once before continuing his scratching. “Let’s get going.”

Kyrine pressed the door open, but Bauis paused. Jarsa was still in a heap at his feet. The man looked so pitiful, and Bauis wasn’t sure he would survive much longer in prison. It would solve several issues if he just closed the door and left the drunkard there. But something deeper inside felt bad for the shell of a man. Cursing his good nature, Bauis dragged Jarsa back up, shuddering at the feeling of his protruding ribs.

Sword gripped in his other hand, he followed Kyrine down the hall and, after unlocking the door at the end, they entered the stairwell. Here, it was a question of up or down.

Bauis opted for down. He didn’t know how many stories up they were, but the nearer they could get to the ground, the easier it would be to escape. That, and lugging Jarsa up the steps was not his idea of a good time.

The decision was made for them when voices drifted up from below. With Kyrine’s help, they tiptoed up as swiftly and soundlessly as two grown men dragging a third incapacitated body could go. Kyrine’s boots were perfect for such a situation, and he hardly made a sound. Bauis, who was much heavier and wore thick military boots with heavy tread, heard every one of his own steps echo against the stones around them.

It couldn’t be helped.

They made it up the flight, but instead of another door, a hatch blocked the staircase’s path upwards.

The lock on the hatch was broken, and the trapped door pushed open easily. It revealed a starry sky beyond, and Bauis felt his heart sink into his chest. They were at the very top of the prison tower. Far too high for any man to jump and survive the fall, their only option would be to sneak or fight their way down thirty floors. Add that to the fact that they still had two friends missing, as well as finding Asrah the luck wizard, and it appeared they had run out of luck.

Well, nobody said this mission was going to be easy.

Kyrine clambered out first. A chill that reached into Bauis’s bones pressed down on him, and he shivered as he thrusted an unwilling Jarsa up the hole before climbing out himself.

Immediately, the moonlight showed his breath and he pulled his tunic tighter around his body. The top of the tower was flat, with several lookout towers on four points of the circular rooftop. Several large shapes protruded from the darkness, though Bauis couldn’t tell what they were by their silhouettes alone.

A shout rang through the air. Bauis drew his sword, his eyes searching the dim, silvery light. Beside him, Kyrine mimicked his position. Kyrine wasn’t used to close combat, but Bauis took comfort in the man’s presence. Kyrine was skilled with a bow, but he was smart and quick footed, and could handle himself in a pinch.

Jarsa, on the other hand, lay atop the cold stone with no weapon and the survival instincts of a wet blanket. The only motion he made was to uncork his waterskin with his shaking hand and take another swig.

Six figures separated from the darkness. Bauis prepared to strike the nearest one before he realized it was not a prison guard.

Erro was small, but he was quick as he darted in and out of combat with two guards, both twice his size. Beside him, the beautiful Valtera matched his fleetness, fighting off two guards of her own with her staff. The entire squad was here, and what seemed like poor luck moments changed yet again for their benefit.

Bauis bellowed, brandishing his sword as he rushed towards one of Valtera’s opponents. His sudden appearance caught the man off guard, and Valtera finished him off before Bauis could reach them.

Kyrine rushed to Erro’s aid, and in minutes the four of them stood victorious in the darkness.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Kyrine said with a wide grin. “Wouldn’t believe our luck if I wasn’t here to see it with my own eyes.”

“Who’s that?” Valtera had stepped back, her keen eyes on the pile that was Jarsa. Bauis had nearly forgotten about the man.

“That’s just my drunken cellmate. Say hello Jarsa.” As he spoke, Bauis helped Jarsa sit up. The stones were cold beneath the man, and it didn’t do him any good to be lying down against them. “Up you get now.”

Once Jarsa was back on his feet, albeit leaning heavily on Bauis, Bauis looked at his comrades. Valtera was tying the unconscious guards up with rope she’d found. Kyrine was lacing his boot, which had come untied during combat.

And Erro- Erro was staring with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

“What?” Bauis asked. “Is there something on my face?”

Erro stepped forward as though he was walking through a dream. His short black hair was slick with sweat, though it was beginning to freeze to his forehead. He reached out a hand, not towards Bauis, but toward Jarsa. He moved aside Jarsa’s greasy black locks to peer into the drunkard’s pale face.

“Asrah?”

“Whoz askin?” Jarsa growled back. “Oh,” added as he looked at Erro. “Iz you. I though’ you was dead, boy.”

“Asrah?” Bauis nearly dropped the man. “This is Asrah? This is the luck wizard?”

Erro nodded. “It’s him. With his help, we can turn the tide of the war and save the kingdom. We can-”

But Erro’s speech was cut off by an awful retching sound. Erro and Kyrine leapt backwards, but Bauis, who was supporting Jarsa, was forced to remain in the splash zone as Jarsa heaved up his waterskin’s worth in vomit.

Valtera wrinkled her nose at the stench while Kyrine and Erro traded glances.

“Sorry,” Jarsa wheezed. “Normly I keep it down. Aw well.” His eyes closed and his head sagged against Bauis’ side. Bauis peered down regretfully at his favorite combat boots.

“I’m sure he’ll be better once he sobers up. Prison hasn’t been kind to him, that’s all.” Erro sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as the group.

Bauis only sighed as Kyrine looked out into the darkness. “Thirty floors,” he said out loud. “Anybody have ideas on how we get down from here?”