The Hamunaptra Chronicles: Part 22

Part 22: Dungeon Break

Nefertiri slipped soundlessly through the familiar corridors of the palace. Although she knew what she was risking, the young woman felt no fear. This was certainly not the first time she had disobeyed her father’s orders.

She stopped suddenly. She had reached the heavy black doors that lead to the palace dungeons, and she knew that the chambers beyond would be heavily guarded. Pushing the doors as lightly as possible, she opened them enough to slide through. After making sure the doors closed without slamming, the princess began what she knew would be a long and cautious descent of the stone stairs to the dungeons.

If there was one thing Nefertiri disagreed with in her father’s mandate, it was execution. She understood the necessity of ending the life of a threat to the country, but killing simple thieves and other citizens without any proof of a crime was something she could hardly bear to see happen. She most certainly would not allow it to happen to one who had saved her life.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, there was part of her that also wanted to learn more about this “desert mercenary.” He seemed very mysterious, and undoubtedly had had many adventures. Although she scarcely would admit it, even to herself, she envied him.

Yet she envied Gareth for the same reason, in a way. Since she had met him, on that day she ran away as a girl no older than seven, he had tried to share with her a life of freedom. She loved him as a brother for that, and for the protective care he always showed her in his own way. He wasn’t brave, per se, but he could be a great ally when backed into a corner.

She loved her father more than anything, and it pained her that there was so much he could never know about her life.

Suddenly Nefertiri felt her foot slip, and in a flash she landed hard on her hands and knees several stairs down from where she had started. Her shoulder collided with the next stair up with a sickening crack. Blinking stars out of her eyes, she cursed herself for letting her mind wander at such a crucial time. Her arm was stinging. She sat up cautiously to inspect her wounds, and then a sound she had dreaded reached her ears -- footsteps.

Without another thought to her injuries, Nefertiri leapt to her feet. Pressing herself into a small alcove beside an unlit torch, she tried to slow her breathing and peered down the stairs. Her shoulder burned and the footsteps grew louder.

A guard appeared in her line of sight bearing a torch, walking swiftly up the stairs. She tried to press herself closer to the wall as he passed. The light of the torch hit her face and she held her breath, but the guard kept walking without looking to the side. She must have been very close to the ground level, since the guard came so quickly. The echoes of the stairwell had probably made the guard think the sound had come from farther up.

As the guard’s footsteps died away, Nefertiri looked down at her throbbing left arm. She could move it, though painfully, and doubted it was broken. It was bleeding a little, probably from the sharp stone edge of the stair, but it would probably just be an ugly bruise. She wasn’t quite sure how she would explain this up in the palace, but she would think of something. No doubt Gareth would find this very amusing. She wasn’t exactly known for her grace -- except perhaps in battle -- and he, of all people, knew it.

The stairwell was silent again, and Nefertiri quickly set out down the stairs once more. As she suspected, she reached the bottom very quickly. She spotted the closest dungeon, where she knew recently captured prisoners set for execution the next day were kept. One guard was there, but he didn’t seem to be keeping watch. In fact, it looked as though he was talking to the prisoner!

Creeping forward in the shadows, Nefertiri attempted to find out what was going on. Then suddenly, the guard turned to face her and she froze.

“You’re late,” he said. That voice...she squinted at the guard in the darkness.

“Gareth?” she cried, stepping forward.

“I’m afraid so, your highness,” he said dryly. “I actually began to wonder if you were coming at all.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked him.

“I could ask you the same question,” a voice said from inside the dark cell. She looked over and saw Elias sitting on the filthy dungeon floor. To her dismay, she saw by his torn clothing and battered arms that he had been beaten, and he was bleeding from a cut along his right eyebrow. His hands were bound, and he looked a bit dazed. She opened her mouth to reply, but Gareth was talking again.

“You don’t think I know you well enough to predict that you would do something foolish like try to save this stranger’s life? I think I’m insulted.”

She glared at him, then turned to Elias. “What do you mean, what am I doing here? It was my foolishness, as Gareth so kindly puts it, that got you in here.”

“Well, there’s no sense getting two of us in trouble, especially when your friend here -- great Amun, what happened to you?” he cried, suddenly looking at her arm.

She glanced down at her shoulder and then covered it with her other hand self-consciously. “I took a bit of a misstep,” she said with dignity.

“She wasn’t watching where she was going, more like,” Gareth put in with a smirk. “The clumsiest princess of Egypt, that’s Nerys.” At that Nefertiri feigned a swing at him, and, satisfied with his cowering, returned to the matter at hand.

“Well, wise and all-knowing Gareth, have you managed to unlock the cell yet?” she asked him.

“I’m not sure what you mean by ‘unlock,’ but I got it open, anyway,” he replied, not quite meeting her gaze. She looked down at the lock and saw that a slender dagger had been wedged inside and twisted about skillfully. She smiled and patted him on the shoulder. Then she turned to Elias.

“Now we’ll lead you out the back, where they usually take prisoners to be executed, and you shouldn’t have any trouble finding your way to Cairo or wherever you’re heading from there. Can you walk?”

He nodded and rose slowly while Nefertiri pulled the cell gate back. He had a slight limp, and upon seeing him more closely by the torch Gareth had just lit, she gasped. The side of his shirt was soaked with blood. Having no cloth that could be easily torn on her dress, she ripped off Elias’ sleeve and wadded it up against the wound. Unbinding his hands, she tied the rope around his waist to hold the cloth there. He stumbled and nearly swooned, and she grasped his arm. Gareth steadied him from the other side.

“How long have you been bleeding?” she asked urgently. Elias looked up at her with slightly glazed eyes and shook his head slightly.

“Five hours, ten hours, I don’t know. How long have I been down here?” he asked, his voice low and strained.

Nefertiri glanced at Gareth nervously. “It was near sundown when they captured you. It is now midnight.”

“I’d say one o’clock, actually,” Gareth interjected uneasily.

“Did the Medjai cut you when they were trying to capture you?” Nefertiri asked. He nodded slightly in response. Gareth shifted slightly and cast her an anxious look. “He’s lost a lot of blood,” she said softly, voicing their mutual thought.

“Can we get out of here? I’m fine,” Elias said gruffly.

“You’re not,” Nefertiri countered. “But you’re right, we need to move. Help me with him, Gareth.” Taking one side of Elias while Gareth took the other, she led Elias slowly out towards the back of the dungeons. Despite all his protests, Elias seemed to be leaning heavily on Gareth.

The march to the back doors seemed to take hours. They had to walk at a crawl to compensate for Elias’ limp, and his weakened state didn’t help matters. Yet Nefertiri could finally see the set of pitch-black doors in the distance. “Almost there,” she said encouragingly.

“Good,” Elias replied in a would-be offhand tone. “I think I could use a drink.”

Suddenly the sound of voices and approaching footsteps from behind reached their ears. “Son of Seth,” Gareth cursed. “I have a feeling the execution tomorrow is going to have one more head than planned.”

Nefertiri squinted into the darkness behind them, but could make out nothing for certain. Yet it must be the guards. “Go, Gareth,” she said quickly. “Hand me your torch.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he said in a shaky voice. He passed her the torch and helped Elias shift his weight. “But are you sure you’ll be all right, Nerys?” he added, sounding worried and ashamed.

“I am Princess Nefertiri,” she said with a grim, yet somewhat sardonic, tone. “Of course I’ll be all right. It’s no good getting both of you killed, and there’s still hope while I can plead my case.”

“Better you than me, little sister,” he said swiftly -- and suddenly he was gone, as though he had vanished into thin air.

“He’s good,” Elias said with quiet wonder.

“Don’t tell him that,” the princess replied, watching the corridor. “The last thing he needs is an ego boost.”

Before she felt sufficiently prepared, the guards were upon her.

The head officer present stopped and shook his head in surprise. “Princess Nefertiri! Why are you with this prisoner, and how did he escape?”

Shaking slightly, Nefertiri took a deep breath. “Take us to my father, Medjai, and I will explain.” The guard looked as though he might protest, but then he nodded and motioned two others forward. They moved to bind Elias’ hands again, and he winced. “Stop!” Nefertiri said sharply. “Leave his hands unbound. He is badly wounded, and by your hands. I am sure he will give his word of honor that he will not attack, or he will face death and dishonor.” Elias swallowed hard, and seemed taken aback to hear her speak that way, but he nodded his assent.

The head guard glared derisively at Elias. “He already faces the punishments you name, your highness.” After a brief hesitation, he motioned the two guards back. “Yet we shall do as you say, of course, Princess.”

“And see to it that when we reach the throne room his wound is attended to.”

The Medjai looked nervous. “Of course, my lady -- if the Pharaoh approves it.”

Nefertiri‘s gaze became stony. “He will approve it. Lead us up.”

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