Page 77 of The King's Man 3

Water splashes over the lip of my cup. Quin’s expression is pensive.

“I don’t have a good feeling,” another redcloak says. “I think they only captured the first lot to lure more of us to get them back. I think as soon as they catch enough of us, they kill everyone—”

“Help. Quick!” The startling yells are coming from outside. “They’ve been taken!”

The soldiers jump to their feet, hands landing on their weapons as they rush out. Quin swiftly follows with his cane,raising his hood, and I’m on his heels. Three more redcloaks, battered, bruised and bloody, are grabbing at their comrades’ cloaks.

“We tracked them to the old fortress at the base of Crysippos. Four of ours were snatched, two with magic tried to fight, but against so many...” The bloodied redcloak gestures to the lifeless body they brought back. “The others were dragged underground.”

“How many crusaders?” the captain barks.

“Sixty, at least. Maybe a hundred.”

My heart rams against my chest. Nicostratus.

“We’ll attack tonight. We won’t let them take our men.”

They rally together and ride, two by two, into the woods. Quin ushers me with urgency back to the boat and uses the air to shuttle us at speed along the water. Bile races up my throat when I think of Nicostratus battered and bloodied, or worse...

Sternly silent, Quin steers us down forks of the canal to a narrow, concealed gully. Towering trees form a canopy overhead and splashes of sunset fall on the still water. The air is thick with damp earth and over the creaks of the boat come distant shouts.

I wish I could jump out, race into the crumbling fortress I glimpse through the trees and snatch Nicostratus to safety. Quin, reading my mind, warns me with a shake of his head.

“You’ve been here before,” I choke out as Quin brings the boat alongside a wall of cascading vines and roots; he pulls at them, revealing a concealed entrance.

“As children,” he says with a note of pain in his voice. “We stopped here on our annual journey to Hinsard.”

“The two of you?”

“And our aklos. They played dice while we explored the ruins.” He shoves the rusted gate open. A dark tunnel stretches behind it. “It’s been many years, but I’m sure I know where they’ll be held.”

I rise quickly, wobbling the boat, and Quin pulls me back into a crouch. “Wait.”

“Nicostratus is somewhere in there.”

“Crusaders are vicious.”

“All the more reason—”

“Calm yourself. Look at me.” I look at him. His gaze is dark and steady. “As long as I stand, no one will hurt my brother.”

I swallow, and I’m hit with the memory of Quin abandoning me on the rooftops during the lovelight festival. How urgently he’d leapt onto his horse and galloped through the capital to the royal city. He’d done it to save his brother then. He’d do the same now.

I nod. “What are we—”

Metallic clashes and the roars of men travel through the ruins to the gully. Shouts echo down the tunnels, sending fighters to the front and side gates. The sounds of armour being grabbed from walls and retreating footsteps has Quin urging me out of the boat. I pass him his cane and duck into the tunnel, faint torchlight from deeper within our only guide.

The walls are wet with damp. Moss and lichen cling to them. We move awkwardly, trying to keep our steps and the cane from giving us away. The tunnel twists and dips and rises until we’re in the shadows looking in at an underground chamber. Torches glow solemnly against vine-choked stone walls and two purple-robed figures spar, the older calling out instructions to a smooth-faced youth on how better to hold his weapon.

Quin and I press close in the shadows, his hand stilling mine around the wrist. He whispers in my ear. “There are robes and armour opposite us. When they start sparring again, grab them. We’ll use them to get closer to the prisoners.”

The boy and his master continue practice fighting, but at shouts from outside, the boy drops his weapon and shields himself. “Please, uncle. I don’t want to go out there.”

“Pick up your spear, Zenon! Fight for freedom.” The master twirls his spear around and when his back turns to me, I dash to the hooks and pull two robes off.

At the dinging of metal as the pair begin again, we slip into the robes. They tie at the waist with dyed rope. If there are less than a hundred crusaders here, we need to be careful not to show our faces. I rip a couple of strips off my undershirt, slash my arm and rub blood over the material. At Quin’s hitched breath, I turn and tie one of the strips around his face, and hurriedly do the same to mine.

Quin grabs my wrist over the surface wound, then lifts his bloodied fingers and smears more around my face. He speaks quietly as he lifts my hood up for me. “Don’t reveal your magic.”

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