Exploitable Weaknesses Brian Keller (e reader pdf best TXT) 📖

prison came in to view and there were no piers in sight. Captain Rigel's men must have known that ships moored by pulling alongside the island. Mooring points had been carved out from the very rock of the island itself, likely by hammers wielded by thousands of prisoners over a hundred years ago. The sailors were already pulling in sails and bundling them to prevent them from capturing the wind, thus reducing their speed as they approached and turned. Despite the skilled navigation, the ship struck the hewn rock with a jarring thump. The joints and beams of the vessel protested, but most of those sounds were drowned out by the wind and surf. Kinsman was thankful to be on the lee side of the island. The winds were surely much more forceful on the other side. Several members of the crew were leaping over the side and grabbing lines to secure the ship. Kinsman and his people joined them in pulling the lines taut. He turned his attention to the prison while the sailors were still tying off the lines.

He had always assumed that the prison would be an imposing structure, a walled fortress of sorts. In it's own way, it was a fortress, but it's 'imposing' days had passed years ago. The crumbling structure in front of him couldn't be more than three stories high, except for the stone towers at each corner and mid-point that threatened to collapse with each fresh gust of wind.

The portcullis gate was not yet even visible from this distance. A realization that came with some relief. If he couldn't see the gate, perhaps any guard posted there hadn't seen them either. Silas had brought his ship to a mooring point closer to the prison. The Guild members rushed to assist with getting the ship tied off, then everyone gathered into a huddled group. Kinsman leaned in and spoke into the center of the group, “Loryn and I will get in close and secure the entrance. The rest of you follow a minute or so behind. Once we're inside, we'll split into two groups just like we planned.” Loryn gave him a nod, acknowledging his orders.

The group separated and the two of them crept forward, pulling their bows from their shoulders. As they approached the gate it became apparent that the portcullis was down and the walking gate was closed. It made sense, why would the gate be left open by default? Each of them nocked arrows as they crept nearer. If a guard appeared, they'd both release arrows since the metal bars could easily deflect one, or even both, arrows.

The only guard present was bundled up in his cloak and a few furs and hides, sleeping fitfully while faithfully keeping the standing order of 'posting a guard on the gate at all hours'. The gate was locked and the guard was barely visible under his pile of hides and furs. Shooting arrows between the bars from this range should easily pierce the layers of leather he had draped over him. Two arrows might kill him, but also might not prevent him from crying out. The wind would surely dampen the noise but it couldn't guarantee that no one else would be alerted. Kinsman withdrew from the gate, set down his bow and pointed upward. Loryn nodded and directed her attention back onto the guard. Kinsman took several paces along the wall, away from the gate, and ran his hands over the rough stone. The wind and salt air had smoothed many of the pronounced edges over the years. Conversely, it had turned the smooth, quarried stone faces into a pocked surface. As a result, handholds were rare and sliding across the surface would be akin to dragging oneself across a cheese grater. Falling would be even worse. Fortunately, the stone blocks used to build the prison were not large, and the mortar was aged.

His boots were made for creeping, not climbing. He nearly fell several times, and would have, if not for maintaining a fingertip hold along the seams above him. The other Guild members had gathered at the base of the wall and were becoming impatient by the time he'd reached the top of the wall. The wind was decidedly stronger once he'd crested the vertical surface. The end of his cloak rippled and snapped and his hood was thrust back leaving his tousled hair to become thoroughly wet and further tangled. He crossed the wall noting it's width, “A wagon could be driven from one tower to the next. The walls of the prison are wider than most streets in town!” He shielded his eyes with a hand and glanced around the the open interior courtyard. He saw no one. He could barely discern two, or maybe three structures toward the center of the open grounds.

The descent was no better then the climb, worse in fact, due to the fact that he no longer had the wall shielding him from the incoming rain. Reaching downward for the next crevice had to be done almost completely by feel. He could turn his head to the side in an attempt to look down for the next seam but the wet, salty air stung his eyes and blurred his vision.

When his feet finally touched the ground again he let loose of the wall and worked his fingers. Within the walls, the force of the wind was reduced significantly, but above him it continuously howled as it passed the towers and crossed over the walls. He looked at his surroundings and noted several large gaps along the interior walls at ground level. Most of these had cage doors. “Could those be the cells?!” he wondered. He ignored the thought for the moment. There was a guard and a gate to contend with.

*****

Iona woke to the unmistakable sensation. “It’s him”, she told herself. She lay in her bed, listening to the rain pelting her window and