Out of the Darkness

Ceorl bided his time. When he did make the move, he knew it would have to succeed. If it didn’t, he would never see a second chance. Fariulf kept asking, “When? When?”

“I’ll tell you when,” Ceorl answered. “Don’t hop out of your tunic.”

Waiting paid off. A couple of weeks after he started shaving, the runs went through the camp. Most of the time, men needed leave to visit the latrine trenches. When they were liable to foul themselves if they waited, the guards waived the rule. It wasn’t for the sake of the miners; Ceorl knew as much. It was so the guards wouldn’t have to smell the stink or watch where they put their feet. Why mattered little to him. The waiver did.

He sidled up to Fariulf in the mine and said, “Tonight, a couple of hours after midnight.” The Unkerlanter nodded without looking up; he’d learned such lessons as a captive’s life could teach him. Later that day, Ceorl managed to whisper a couple of words in Sudaku’s ear: “Tomorrow morning.” The blond didn’t even nod. He just gave Ceorl the sort of wave he would have used in the field to show he’d understood an order. This may work,

Ceorl thought, and then, It had better work.

Even in the middle of the night, he wasn’t the only one heading for the latrine trenches. He didn’t want to think about what easing himself would be like in the middle of winter. He didn’t intend to be here to find out.

He didn’t hurry to the stinking trenches. Before long, Fariulf caught up with him. “What now?” the Unkerlanter asked.

“Now you get a guard to pay attention to you,” Ceorl answered. “I don’t care how you go about it--just do it. Once you manage it, we go from there.”

“Right,” Fariulf said. Then he added the same thought Ceorl had had earlier in the day: “This had better work.”

“You aren’t taking any chances I ain’t,” Ceorl said. Fariulf nodded.

Out beyond the slit trenches, guards paced beyond a deadline marked off by a rail fence. Any captive who crossed the deadline got blazed. So camp rules said. Ceorl had other ideas.

Fariulf squatted over a trench and started moaning and grunting in such a good simulation of agony that even Ceorl, who knew better, wanted to do something for him. When a guard drew near, Fariulf moaned, “I want to go to the infirmary! I’ve got to go to the infirmary!”

“Shut up,” the guard said, but his steps slowed. Fariulf didn’t shut up. He kept on giving a splendid impression of a man in distress. The guard never noticed Ceorl sliding under the fence. Ceorl had had practice killing men silently before joining Plegmund’s Brigade, and much more practice since. He slid up behind the Unkerlanter, clapped a hand over his mouth, and drew the razor across his throat. Even he had trouble hearing the whimpering gurgle that was the only sound the fellow made. He eased the body to the ground, picked up the guard’s stick, and started walking his beat.

Fariulf rose and hurried over to him. “Stay down,” Ceorl hissed. “Don’t draw eyes.” Fariulf flattened out on the ground. Ceorl gave him a kick in the ribs to remind him to keep low. “Get going. I’ll be along.”

He marched along till he saw another guard coming out of the darkness and made sure the other fellow saw him. Then he turned, as if going back along the beat. He almost went past the spot where he’d killed the guard; Fariulf had dragged the corpse somewhere out of the way. “Efficiency,” Ceorl muttered: nearly too much efficiency.

He hurried out, and soon caught up with the Unkerlanter. The trenches and fences around the mine were designed to keep captives in. Before the war, they probably would have done a good enough job. They weren’t adequate for confining men who’d faced worse barricades, and better manned ones, in Unkerlant and Forthweg and Yanina and Algarve. Ceorl killed another guard on the way out, again without a sound.

“We’re leaving a trail,” Fariulf said.

“Did you want him to nab us?” Ceorl snarled, and the Unkerlanter shook his head.

For all of King Swemmel’s preaching about efficiency, the guards took a long time to realize anything was amiss. Ceorl and Fariulf were out of the enclosure around the cinnabar mine by then, looking around for somewhere to lie up during the approaching day. “I didn’t think it would be this easy,” Fariulf said. “Why doesn’t everybody escape?”

“Most people are sheep,” Ceorl said scornfully. “Would you have tried breaking out if I hadn’t pushed you?” A troubled look on his face, Fariulf shook his head.

But the search, once it started, was not to be despised. No matter how Sudaku muddled the count, two dead guards got noticed. Dragons circled low overhead. Teams of guards swept through the hills. Had Ceorl and Fariulf not learned their trade in a harder school than this, they might have been taken that first day. As things were, they stayed hidden in scrubby bushes, and pushed north after nightfall. Fariulf did have food of his own, which was as well, for Ceorl had no intention of giving him any of his.