He looked around for the sergeant, and once he was certain the man wasn't nearby, he slipped into the courtyard. A few guards were sparring while others were sitting and chattering. Luckily, he spotted Gustaw quickly. He was sitting beneath the wall on a bench, cleaning his sword with a cloth.
Waylen approached him, lowering his voice.
"Hey… Gustaw!"
Gustaw lifted his head, surprised to see Waylen.
"Kid? What are you doing here?"
"I'm sorry, Gus. I hope the sergeant didn't scold you after I left."
Gustaw gave an irritated snort. "Well, he scolded me for wasting his time and told me to 'clean my armour and sword.'" His tone was filled with irritation and boredom.
Waylen chuckled. "He did? Sorry for dragging you into trouble. But hey, it was just a scolding, right? He didn't throw you in a cell, after all."
Gustaw chuckled. "Yeah, I guess I overreacted. Anyway, what's got you coming back to me again?"
Waylen sighed. "Gus… I need some liquor. I can't stand another eight hours of watch duty without a drink."
Gustaw raised an eyebrow. "A drink, huh? You know I don't have any, right? We only get our share a few times a month, and it's usually gone within two days. Around here, finding liquor's as hard as finding gold."
"I know, I know," Waylen said, his tone showed a hint of desperation. "But please, I really need some. My brain can't handle this without a drink. I'll pay, and I'll owe you one in the future. C'mon, Gus, please?"
Gustaw exhaled through his nose, weighing him for a long moment. Finally, he stood and snatched the silver coins Waylen pressed into his hand.
"Alright, kid. I'll see what I can do. But you owe me."
Without another word, Gustaw started toward the ladders leading down into the cellar.
"I'll be in the prison block! Thank you!" Waylen called after him.
Gustaw waved a hand dismissively over his shoulder without even looking back.
He made his way toward the room where supplies were stashed, only to find two guards stationed in front of the heavy iron door.
"Halt! What are you doing here, Gustaw?" one of them barked.
Gustaw sighed. "Came for some liquor, man."
The shorter guard scowled. "Are you sober, Gustaw? Don't you know the captain checks the supplies? If he catches you, he'll make us eat dirt and drink horse piss for weeks!"
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Gustaw muttered. "But listen, I've got a mate in the kitchen. I'll say I'm taking the liquor to him for cooking. Meanwhile, we'll be drinking it ourselves. Simple, clean. What do you say?"
The taller guard crossed his arms. "Sounds dumb. But then again, that doesn't surprise me. It's your idea after all." He said in a mocking tone.
Gustaw's patience was growing thin. "Look, it's gonna be fine. If things go bad, you can blame me. I'll even pay you too, alright?"
The two exchanged a look, then finally relented. "Fine, Gustaw. But only two bottles, no more."
"Give me the strongest you've got."
They unlocked the door and returned with four bottles. The shorter guard smirked wickedly as he handed two of them over. "Two for you, two for us. Silver isn't enough to buy our silence."
Gustaw's let out a growl, but he held his tongue. Snatching up the bottles, he tossed the coins at their feet and walked away.
At the kitchen, after a brief exchange, he managed to convince his friend into covering for him in exchange for one of the bottles and a few coins. With that settled, Gustaw turned back and made his way towards the prison block, the remaining bottle hidden under a cloth.
***
After watching Gustaw disappear down the ladder to there, Waylen walked toward the stables. He looked around until he saw the farrier.
The man was old, wiry, and short tempered, with a face as unpleasant as his manners. Waylen knew there was no time to waste arguing with such a man, so he cut straight to the point, his tone was sharp and commanding.
"Farrier! Sergeant Orson wants to see you at once."
The farrier gave him a look full of disdain. "And why in hell would the sergeant want to see me?"
Waylen crossed his arms, doubling down with a firm voice. "He needs to speak with you about the condition of the horses. He might be preparing to leave for the city, or something else entirely. Either way, stop wasting time and get moving."
The farrier spat a curse under his breath and stomped off in the direction of the sergeant's office.
Seizing the moment, Waylen moved quickly. He gathered armfuls of hay, stuffed them into sacks, and carried them back to the prison block. Working fast, he spread the hay over the dead guard's body, also laying it in front of the other cells and along the corridors.
He had just finished when Gustaw stepped through the entrance. Fortunately, Waylen had calculated for this, he had left the doorway clear. From Gustaw's angle, nothing appeared out of the ordinary.
"Hey kid, I got what you wanted." He waved the bottle.
"Thank you, you have no idea how badly I needed this." He took the bottle.
"You are welcome, and you owe me big time."
He nodded. "I know, thanks again."
"You are welcome, kid. Now don't ask anything more, I will go get some rest." He was about to leave the block.
"Wait!"
Gustaw slowed his steps and turned around. "What now?"
"Gustaw? How far away is the capital?
He let out a sigh full of exhaustion. "Don't you know? Didn't you recently come from there?"
"I-I know, but I don't know the exact distance."
He sighed. "it's 10 kilometres away."
"Thank you."
Gustaw nodded and made his way out.
It was getting late, the sun was setting, and Waylen had no more time to waste. He exhaled deeply, pulled the plug from the liquor bottle, and inhaled the sharp, burning stench. It was the kind of strong liquor meant for "tough men" like the guards. Waylen coughed at its strong stench. He had never drunk alcohol before, his mother would never have allowed it.
Quickly, he poured half the bottle over the hay, then carried the rest of the sacks to the barracks. Luckily, everyone had finished training and was busy with dinner. Aside from a few guards lying in their beds in the barracks, and others stationed on the walls and watchtowers, the rest were crowded in the mess hall. The farrier was probably still being scolded by sergeant, while Sergeant Orson searched for the fool who wasted his time, or perhaps even they were eating as well. Regardless, this was his chance.
Waylen slipped into the barracks and spread the hay, dragging sheets off empty beds as well. He poured the liquor over them, then snatched a torch from the corridor and hurled it to the floor. Flames burst to life on the third floor. Racing down, he started a second fire on the first floor. Without waiting, he slipped out of the building and hurried toward the prison block.
There, he opened his old cell, tossed another torch onto the dead guard's body, and gave a cold look at the burning flesh before turning away. He started another fire in the corridor. The prisoners erupted into screams and desperate pleas, chains rattling as they begged for their lives. Waylen ignored them and left the building.
At the stables, he found the farrier.
"You! You liar! You're coming with me to the sergeant to explain yourself!"
Waylen had no time to spare. He shoved the farrier inside the building.
"Wh-what the—? Let go! Let go now!"
Waylen snatched the stable keys from him while the old man cursed and spat.
"You'll pay for this! The sergeant will skin you alive—I'll make sure of it! Let me go!"
Waylen answered by throwing a torch onto the hay, then he left the stables and locked the stables. The stables erupted into flames, horses screaming while the farrier pounded at the door.
"Let me out! Let me out, please!"
Waylen turned his back on him and hurried back to the prison block, the prisoners screams carrying out into the night. Then he went once more to the barracks, now with its first three floors fully burning. He slipped into the ground floor, where the kitchen sat below, and set a final fire. Fire crawled downward toward the mess hall through stairs, smoke invading the air.
Now, all three buildings were burning.
Guards on the watchtowers began ringing the bells, while others who had been in the kitchen and mess hall shouted in confusion. For a moment they froze, paralyzed by the sight.
"W-water! Somebody get water!" one finally cried.
Some snapped out of their shock and ran to drag barrels from the kitchen, but it wasn't enough. The flames were already too strong, too wide.
Waylen knew this was his chance, he had to go to captain before anyone else did! He ran towards the southern watchtower before the guards on the walls did. He pushed the guards on the front of the tower entrance.
"Halt! What are you-"
"Are you blind? The whole place is burning, we have to tell the captain!"
The guards' eyes widened, their eyes reflecting the blazing red glow of the fires outside. As they froze in shock, Waylen barked again.
"I'll inform the captain!"
He ran up the tower stairs and reached the captain's quarters. Two guards stood watch at the door, but he spoke before they could.
"Open the door! I must see the captain!" he said, while panting heavily.
One guard stepped forward with a firm voice. "How dare you come here without permission? You should be punished! State your name and squad!"
"It has to wait!" Waylen snapped. "This is an emergency! Everything is on fire!"
"Fire?" The other guard's eyes widened. "What do you mean, fire?"
"Everywhere! The stables, the barracks, even the-"
The door opened, and the captain himself stepped out. A tall, broad-shouldered man, with brown eyes, a neat circle beard, and soft brown hair falling in waves to his shoulders. His voice cut sharp.
"What's going on? Why is the bell ringing? Where is the lieutenant?"
Waylen spoke quickly, before anyone else. "Sir, with all due respect, fire has broken out in all three buildings! It's spreading fast! We must call for help!"
The captain's expression hardened. He rushed down the stairs, followed by his guards and Waylen. His eyes widened as he beheld the inferno consuming the buildings. Only a handful of men were outside, desperately trying to battle the flames.
"How did this happen? Where are the rest of my men?"
"They're trying to put it out, sir, but most are trapped in the kitchen and mess hall! The fire's too strong to fight with just the water there! We need more water!"
The captain growled. "Then get the water! We're in the middle of a lake!"
"Sir, we don't have enough men!" Waylen urged. "Most of the ones we have are choking inside the mess hall. Please, let me go and get help!"
The captain cursed under his breath. "Damn it! Haven't the shore patrol seen the fire? Or heard the bells?"
Waylen pressed harder. "We can't wait for them to notice! Please, sir, give me permission to go!"
The captain hesitated, then yielded. "Fine! Run! Run as fast as you can and bring back help!"
Waylen nodded sharply. The captain ordered one guard to fetch his seal, pen, and paper from his quarters, while commanding the others to lower the bridge. When the guard returned, the captain hastily scrawled a short document, stamped it with his seal, and shoved it into Waylen's hands.
"Here! Show this to the bridge guards. Now go! Run!"
Waylen ran across the drawbridge toward the second walls. A guard spotted him and called out,
"What's going on? Why are the buildings on fire? Why isn't anyone putting it out?"
"No time to explain! You must go help them! The captain ordered me to get help from the shore!" Waylen showed the sealed paper.
"All right! Go! Hurry!" one of the guards shouted. As the second drawbridge was lowered, the guards ran toward the prison to assist.
Waylen continued running until he reached the final checkpoint at the start of the bridge. More guards waited in front of the portcullis. One stepped forward.
"Halt! Show your permit!"
Waylen quickly showed the paper. The guard examined it and said, "This paper looks informal, but it carries the captain's seal. How did you get this?"
"We don't have time!" Waylen urged. "The captain wrote it in a hurry, that's why it looks informal!"
The guard narrowed his eyes. "Why did the captain write this in a hurry? What's going on?"
These men hadn't noticed the fire because huge towers blocked their view with raised drawbridges connected to them. Now that the bridge was down, Waylen pointed toward the prison.
"Look! Everything is burning! We need help! The captain sent me! Please let me go!"
The guards followed the direction he pointed. Their eyes widened in shock. He wasn't lying.
"FIRE IN THE PRISON! SOUND THE BELLS!" the guards atop the tower shouted, ringing the alarms.
"Captain ordered me to go get more men. Please let me through before it's too late!" Waylen pleaded.
The guard hesitated, then finally nodded. "All right! Go! Move!"
The portcullis was raised, and Waylen was finally outside.