Rest in peace, Sam Kieth (1963 – 2026)

Masterlist

Content: emotional angst, medieval whump, royal whumpee, rescue by caretakers

Jangling of keys echoed in the dungeons. Cinn and the other men rose to their feet. 

Cinn took a deep breath. 

Two figures in guard uniforms approached the cell. Cinn raised an eyebrow. 

“Only two of you for all these men? Not even the general deigns to appear himself?”

Deeper in the cell, Akon laughed. Cinn looked back at him, surprised to see the man looking at him as he laughed, rather than the guards.

A key turned in the lock as a voice laughed behind him too — a female voice.

Cinn’s head swiveled again, squinting in the dim light. His eyes widened as the cell door opened. 

“Martha? Maira? What… how…?”

Both women, dressed in uniforms of guards, held key rings. Maira’s eyes danced in the light as she stepped towards Cinn, reaching to unlock his hands from the manacles.

Still stunned, he held them out for her to do so. The weight fell from his wrists, exposing the chafed and scabbed skin beneath. His hands felt too light. 

Her eyes fixed on his collar, and she flushed lightly. “May I…?”

Cinn swallowed but lowered his head so she could reach the lock of the collar. The key turned and the collar came free. It felt strange.

He held it in his hands as she moved to the next man, joining her mother in unlocking the chains of the other prisoners. The flickering torchlight gleamed on the cruel points, now stained with blood. 

His neck was cold in its absence. Bare. He could feel his hair brushing against his skin again. 

Free. He was free of it. 

He let the collar fall to the ground.

When all the men were unshackled, Martha gestured hurriedly. “Come, we must move quickly. The general will return soon for you and we must be gone by then.” 

They hurried up the rough stairs and through the courtyard and corridors to the Great Hall. A small number of the household were gathered, also dressed in the uniforms of guards. They offered the men tunics and trousers and boots. Each that was willing was also given a swordbelt, taken from the guards who lay unconscious, stripped to their braies on the floor.

It felt strange to wear clothing again. The linen caught on his scabs as he moved and he could feel the weave of it on his skin with every motion. 

He tugged at the tunic’s collar. It was too tight, he could not bear the constriction after finally being released from the mockery he had been forced to wear. He pulled the lacing of the tunic loose until he could breathe freely again.

Then he wrapped the belt around his waist, the sword at his hip. That at least felt right, like the embrace of a long-missed friend. He drew it, swung it back and forth to test the balance, then re-sheathed it. The blade’s balance was acceptable.

He turned to Martha. “What is the plan?”

“There’s plenty of caravan wagons prepared for the imperial funerary travels. We’ve got one stripped of the decorations. With the guard uniforms, we should be able to get out of the city without much fuss. But we have to hurry.”

He nodded. “Lead the way. And… thank you. We owe you our lives.”

She waved him off and gestured to the others, who heaved sacks onto their shoulders and began to leave, heading for the bailey outside the main keep. “Time enough for that once we’re all safe.”

Cinn took a deep breath and met Akon’s eyes. The older man gave him a nod, and they turned for the doors, stepping out into the corridor.

From ahead, there came a scream, abruptly cut short. Those who had left ahead of them were turning back. 

Cinn drew his sword.

The Possessed #2 (2003)

Arrowsmith #4 - Chapter Four: La Vie en Escadrille (November 5, 2003)

he's going up the stairs of some building

oh. oh...

wait! he's just appreciating the view:)

oh he's looking down- oh looking up again good good