Raya’s cough had grown worse over the last few weeks until she had spent the nights tossing and turning, hunching over and clutching her bruising abdomen as her lungs fought against the illness that had infected her. At last, the guards had sent a healer to her cell—a magician, too. She awoke the morning after with a groggy mind and a deeply rested body. Her breath now pulled through her nose pure of the infection and phlegm.
That day, she got another note from Saring. This time, it had been ‘dropped’ by the servant—a man she had learned went by the name of White-Eye, for his damaged right eye—there was no way to hide a note in a bowl of lukewarm stew. White-Eye, she had learned, worked for Saring in exchange for a few extra coins. His loyalty, according to Saring, was assured because of his irritation at how the City Watch had treated him following his injury. Once, White-Eye had been a sergeant of notable potential.
“Raya, I have studied the route of the wagon as you suggested,” Saring wrote, on the folded, cracked page of parchment. “The corpses are delivered to a pauper’s graveyard outside the city walls. Unfortunately, the City Watch has not delivered more than two bodies at a time in the last three years. Attempting to extract you and your friends this way would almost certainly be questioned and halted.”
Raya sighed. She rubbed her grimy forehead and nodded. She could not leave her friends behind and was not keen to hide amongst corpses given her recent lack of health. Saring had written more, so she continued reading.
“I have procured a half-dozen City Watch uniforms from an old warehouse. So far, I have three trusted friends who will aid me. A prison transfer is taking place next month. My party will ambush the transfer guards and assume their roles,” Saring’s words read. The text grew smaller and tighter as he neared the bottom of the page. “After delivering the new prisoners to your location, we will extract you and your friends, as another transfer ‘to make space for the new prisoners.’ Will continue planning. –S.”
Raya lowered the crinkled page. It would soon be reverting to leather, it seemed. A prison transfer, Raya thought. Walking through the gates in broad daylight seemed like madness. What if Commander Ramas saw them? Of course, Raya doubted Ramas had even set foot in the prison since his last visit to Raya. Why would he frequent such an unpleasant place?
Still, any number of things could go wrong. What if Saring and his friends died in their ambush? Even a wound would set them apart from the prison guards and warrant questioning. What if the guards at the gate had been specifically requested to keep Raya safe? Would they know her, as she passed through the gate—and stop her?
Though she was blind inside her cell, she could do a few things to help Saring’s plans. She would ask White-Eye to collect a little information from the guards, trying to determine if there were special orders for Raya’s circumstance. Similarly, she would make certain her friends were ready for anything.
She used the candle in the corner to start drying out the old page. Parchment took a while to burn, but Raya had grown used to this task. The waiting was the hardest part. Ramas had assured Raya that he would help her once his war against the Delivered was concluded—were the factions of Ith still warring for rule? Or had Ramas lied to her as well?
She leaned back on her bed and tried to slow down the barrage of questions to find some semblance of rest.