by Jayden Woods
*
Sean had not walked far from the dungeons when he came face to face with Picard.
They stood on the Bridge of Roses, connecting the central stone fortress of the palace to a section of domed towers. Sean planned to climb them to reach the eastern gate and thus get to his horse. As of now, they stood only two stories above ground, for Sean had climbed one stairway from the door to the dungeons. The bridge was wide open, lined only with low railing that bristled with thorny rose bushes. Picard stood with a group of about ten hordesfolk behind him, blocking the bridge completely.
Sean considered jumping.
“Where are you off to, Seanie?” said Picard. “Actually, you should be glad you came this way. If you’d gone through the other hallway, you would have run into Richard. Now, you and I have a chance to speak reason with one another.”
Sean groaned and grabbed the railway. A thorn nicked his finger. He didn’t have time for this. It was almost high noon, and he needed to get out of here. He looked out at the city of Dearen, amazed by how dirty it looked without the Haze to cover it with mist. Some of its filth was disguised by soft layers of safra, coating everything with sparkles. The sky, also, shone with exceptional beauty. Shades of deep blue contrasted sharply with wispy white clouds and rays of white sunlight striking through them. It was as if a god from heaven brushed the landscape with fingers of light.
Sean realized belatedly that he’d been standing there awhile, staring at the sky and catching his breath. A cruel glimmer entered Picard’s blue eyes.
“Why, Seanie, you look tired. I also see that you’ve misplaced your brown lenses. Is everything all right?”
“I killed Prince Kyne,” said Sean hoarsely. “My assignment is over. You can pay me later. Right now, I must go.”
“Oh?” The smile on Picard’s face faltered. “Is that all you have to tell me?”
“I was unable to complete the other assignment,” said Sean. He stiffened and turned slightly. He heard the jangle of several men coming up the steps behind him, though it would be a little while before they arrived. To cover for his motion, he pointed to a pathetic cloud of black smoke lifting over the palace. “That was our attempt to create safra. It didn’t work. Kyne thought he might know how but he didn’t. So I killed him, and it’s over.”
“That is very unfortunate.” Picard wrung his hands in front of him, grimacing a little at the discomfort of his bad arm. “Aren’t you still forgetting something?”
“Perhaps I am.” The sound of approaching soldiers grew louder. Sean turned back to Picard with a sneer. “Go to hell, Picard.”
He jumped from the bridge.
He heard the angry yells of Richard and his hordesfolk. He felt a moment of victory as he sailed through the air.
Then he landed, and a jolt of pain shot up his leg.
He growled with anger as much as agony as he pushed himself onward. Every step sent a hot sting through his calf. He had to run anyway, which only increased his pain. He heard arrows whistle through the air around him before he turned out of sight between buildings.
He had never wanted to escape like this. It wasn’t just Sean fleeing the palace, but also Chief Darius. He thanked the fact that he’d avoided the public eye while he stayed in the castle. Even the Khan’s family had no idea that he was also Princess Fayr’s favored suitor. But people knew his name, and some might yet recognize him. His tunic was covered with blood and his eyes were bright red. He did not expect to ever return to this place, but for some reason, he could not bear the idea of Fayr knowing that the man who killed her brother was Chief Darius. He wanted her memory of him to stay intact that way.
Caught suddenly with an idea, he pulled the Wolven mask from his tunic and placed it over his face. He had stolen it from the wall on his way out.
The mask gave him a new surge of confidence, if nothing else. People screamed and ran as he passed. His leg still ached, but he managed to ignore it. He would reach his horse soon. He would get out of here.
He climbed when he got the chance, scaling a small building so he could spot the eastern gate ahead. The problem with wearing the mask now was that he did not want Gregor to see him with it. He used his whip to catch a bridge above him and swing to the next rooftop. Then he saw two brown horses. Gregor sat on one of them; the other was Sean’s mountain horse, complete with his saddlebags.
Sean pulled a shingle from the rooftop, aimed, and threw. The shingle struck Gregor soundly in the head, who groaned and fell to the ground.
Sean stood and whistled to his horse. The pesky creature made no response, but just left him standing there, looking like a fool.
An arrow sank deep into his thigh.
Crying out with rage, Sean pulled a throwing star from his tunic and flung it in the direction of the shooter. To his brief satisfaction, the star found its target and the bowman fell to his death. But this did nothing to ease the pain spreading up each of his legs—now both were injured—nor the blood flowing freely down his knee. He made one last jump to the ground, though the agony nearly made him crack his teeth from gnashing them, and then hobbled the rest of the distance to his horse. Gregor was just coming to when Sean jumped onto his steed, slapped its flank, and sped away.
As he rode through the streets of Dearen, Sean pulled out his whip and cracked it from side to side. The sound was effective in scaring people away, as well as driving his horse to run faster. In little time at all, they had bounded out of the city and flew over the hillsides.
A glance backward showed him that a group of Vikand hordesfolk rode hot on his heels. Most of them sat astride rams and goats that would never out-run a horse on flat land. But what would happen when Sean reached the cliffs of Vikand? Sean’s horse was good at climbing rocks, but it would never out-climb a goat. Sean would not be able to, either, with both his legs injured.
He gripped the horse’s reins and leaned over its heaving shoulders. He could do nothing but trust his horse. He had never depended so much on another living creature to help him as he did right now. He put one hand against its neck and felt the strength of its muscles thrusting forward. This horse would lead him to safety, or nothing would.
Eventually, the darkness of the Shadowed Woods fell over them. The quietude of the dense forest blanketed his ears. For a brief while he heard nothing but the heaving breath of his horse and the rhythmic thunder of its hooves.
Then a snarl grated his ears—from where, he knew not—and the horse slid to a stop, rearing up and neighing with terror.
Sean barely managed to stay on the back of the beast. He twisted the reins tight and searched the shadows in a frenzy for the source of the panic. After first he thought he only saw the ripple of sunlight and shadows moving over the red soil. Then he realized that in fact he stared upon a living creature—not just one, but several.
The tigers of Dearen.
One of the tigers strolled into a shaft of sunlight, which alighted its fur as if with fire, and fixed Sean with golden eyes. The cat hissed and swiped its paw through the air.
Sean’s horse turned and bolted back the way it had come.
Despite himself, Sean’s heart pounded with fear. He had little doubt that if he’d proceeded any further into the forest, the tigers would have ripped him to shreds. But why? In the past, the tigers had seemed like no more than decoration to the landscape of Dearen. What had changed?
His horse carried him back out of the woods and into an open valley. Sean knew better than to try turning it back around. As much as he hated to admit it, he would rather face Richard than a pack of angry tigers.
He had little choice. An arrow sank into his shoulder. The pain overwhelmed him. His horse bolted again, crazed with fear, and Sean fell helplessly to the ground. The crunch of his body against the earth assured him that now, almost every part of his body was injured in some way or another.
Richard’s men fell upon him, wrapping his hands behind him with rope, then dragging him away to the ha
ppy cheers of their brethren.
16
Prisoner
