Free Mistress Of Masks (Book 1) by C.Greenwood

could it be before the headsman’s body was found? Grip tightening on the handle of his axe, he eyed the hunched shoulders of the guard ahead. One way or another, he would escape tonight. He wouldn’t be taken alive and stuffed back into that cell.
    As he contemplated silently dispatching the turnkey and proceeding more swiftly without him, the echo of voices and approaching steps reached his ears. Another moment and a pair of guards appeared. They were too busy conversing with one another to spare more than a glance at Orrick and his escort as they passed. But the encounter convinced Orrick he was less conspicuous in the other man’s company. The turnkey would live as long as he was useful.
    They descended a winding stairway to the lower levels. Down here the walls and ceiling glistened with moisture, and the smell of fish was stronger. With the odor, a cool draft seeped upward, kissing Orrick’s grime-encrusted skin and promising the nearness of freedom. He heard the water before he saw it, the sound of lapping waves magnified and bouncing from wall to wall.
    At the bottom of the steps they entered the watery cavern beneath the keep. Here there were enough barrels of provisions to keep the prison stocked for months. There was a pier where supply boats from the mainland could moor. One waited there now, bobbing on the tide.
    The oarsman hailed them noisily, impatient to cast off. But as Orrick was about to go to him, the turnkey planted a fat hand on his chest. “Not so quick, Fenric. You know how this works. You’ll be on your way all right after I gets me fee.”
    “What fee?” Orrick asked, keeping his voice rough so the man wouldn’t notice it wasn’t Fenric’s.
    The guard cleared his throat and spat. “Don’t play stupid, headsman. I got you to and from the prisoner, as promised. But me services don’t come free.”
    “It seems they will have to, as I have no coin,” Orrick said impatiently.
    “No coin, eh? Then this shiny medallion will do well enough for me.” The turnkey grabbed the medallion and chain around Orrick’s neck, the emblem of the First Couple that had belonged to Fenric.
    Orrick caught the guard’s thick wrist. “The medallion is not for trade,” he snarled, wondering as he did so why he was loath to part with it. It was not as if he were an adherent to Fenric’s religion.
    The turnkey sneered. “Maybe you don’t understand, headsman. Without my nod, no visitor leaves this island. At least, not in one piece. So if I was you, I’d reconsider giving up the shiny.”
    He gestured toward the shadows, and Orrick realized they were not alone—two more guards waited to back up their friend. So. They had planned this in advance.
    “Final chance,” Orrick said. “Get out of my way or I’ll remove you myself.”
    The guard’s eyes widened, and his cheeks flushed with anger. “You’ve got an arrogant tongue, headsman. Seems my friends and I will have to teach you a lesson by cutting it out.”
    He drew his sword, and that was all the encouragement Orrick needed. Knocking aside the incoming sword, he swung his axe and felt the blade bite deep into the side of the turnkey’s neck. Warm blood spurted from a penetrated artery to wash down Orrick’s hand. Gurgling softly, the guard collapsed.
    Before the turnkey hit the floor, his friends in the shadows charged. Orrick buried the head of his axe in the chest of the first to reach him. The second man managed to draw sword before Orrick fell on him. Hauling the body of the first man in front of him like a shield, Orrick blocked his enemy’s first swing, then shoved the body into him, knocking him off his feet. The sword fell from the guard’s hand to slide across the stone floor and plunge over the edge, into the murky water.
    The unarmed guard, now pinned beneath the weight of his dead comrade, licked his lips, eyes darting around for a means of escape. While Orrick debated whether it was worthwhile to kill him, the clatter of boots