Free Assassin's Rise by CJ Whrite Page A

more authority than Vanderman, you’re just
a sack of old bones, my good man,” he said.
    “You just expect me to
let it go! This is not why we went to war. We are talking about
someone’s life here. This is justice!”
    “And justice there will
be,” said Roland softly, his eyes burning into Altmoor’s. “But you
will promise to leave this alone. I already have one soul to carry
on my shoulders and I will not add yours to it.”
    “It was not your fault,
lad,” said Altmoor.
    Roland shook his head.
“It was my naivety that caused this. I trusted that we would be
protected in the city. I sensed that there was something wrong with
those three, but instead of acting, I did nothing. I could have
stopped it from happening, was I prepared.”
    “No man can be prepared
for something like that,” Altmoor said, his voice gentle.
    “Promise me that you
will stay out of this.”
    “I can not, Roland.
This is not right.”
    Roland dropped his
head, his hands still resting on the old man’s shoulders. “Three
years,” he said, lifting his head. “Give me three years. If I am
not free then, you can do what you will.”
    “You will give up three
years of your life?”
    “It will be a just
punishment for my negligence if it comes to that, but no, I don’t
plan on being a prisoner for all that time, but I need three years
to prepare. Now swear it to me. Swear it!”
    “I swear,” said
Altmoor, the words as bitter as bile on his tongue.
    “Good, now what is the
news outside. Who knows of it?”
    “That’s what is so
peculiar. Not a soul knows of it. If the Healer who treated you did
not mention it to me, I would not have known either. I have told
Oldon, but apart from us two, no one in the city knows what
happened.”
    “Keep it like that. No
one must know of it. The truth will come out when the time is
right.” Roland relaxed his grip on Altmoor’s shoulders.
    “That fool Oldon was
ready to march down here and cut the guards down when I told him,”
said Altmoor. “Grabbed his sword and almost took my arm off in the
process.”
    Roland smiled, and
Altmoor was glad to see it. “Make sure he does not do anything
foolish. And also, I need to write four letters. Can you bring me
writing tools, wax and a knife?”
    “I will. When do you
need it?”
    “Today,’ said Roland.
“I need to set things in motion as soon as possible.”
    *
    “It seems you have it
all planned out, old horse,” said Jeklor as Altmoor left the cell.
“The dark hero standing against injustice, triumphing over the
odds, defeating the dragon and rescuing the princess.” He scratched
his head and then smelled his hand, grimacing. “I will give ten
years of my life for a hot bath!”
    Roland ignored his
cellmate, pacing the room as he waited for Altmoor’s return. There
were only a few days left until he was send to The Tomb. If Altmoor
had not arrived today, things would have been far more complicated.
He was grateful toward the old man.
    “So how do you plan on
escaping from here?” asked Jeklor, wiping his hand on his
trousers.
    Roland stopped his
pacing. “I don’t plan to.”
    “Have you lost your
head? You go to the mines in a few days. This is my best chance to
get out of here!”
    “Your best chance?”
    “Well,” he studied his
nails intently. “I had thought to slip out in your wake. Sort of
disappearing during the chaos.”
    “Just wait it out. You
can’t have long left for stealing a horse.”
    “I still have a year
left.”
    “Just what kind of
horse did you steal?”
    “The more handsome
looking one that fitted my image better. Unfortunately it belonged
to the Captain of the Guard.”
    Roland shook his head
and continued his pacing. There were all sorts in this world, it
seemed.
    “No words of
condolences?”
    “No.”
    Jeklor sighed and
continued to study his nails. “Sit down already,” he told Roland.
“The cell is small enough without you stepping over me.”
    Roland stopped and sat
down. “I was