“A few hours.” Tyrell squeezed Ronan’s shoulder. “I’m sorry Ronan. I never meant for this to happen.”
Ronan said nothing as Tyrell left the house and locked the door behind him.
***
Downstairs, the front door creaked on its hinges.
Ronan pushed himself up and rubbed sleep from his bloodshot eyes. Rest had come in fifteen minute bursts during the short rain-soaked night, but, mercifully, it came free of nightmares. With a yawn, he pulled on his boots and slipped on the ridiculous blue uniform jacket.
Murmured conversation filtered through the bedroom’s closed door.
Sir Alcott had arrived with Tyrell. Ronan thanked Elan something had gone right this evening. He pulled open the bedroom door and froze.
“The old man saw him come in this house,” someone said.
“That old man is a drunken bum. For a copper penny, he’d of seen the ghost of your dead grandmother,” a second voice said.
A chill ran along Ronan’s spine. He didn’t know these voices.
“Listen up Prince Ronan. We know you’re in here. Come on out. We’ve captured that traitor Tyrell, so he can’t hurt you anymore.” The voice yelled through the dark townhouse.
Ronan slipped backwards into the bedroom’s shadows leaving the door cracked. He didn’t believe the city guard had captured Master Tyrell.
Heavy footsteps thumped off wooden floorboards below.
Ronan’s stomach sank. With at least two men downstairs, he couldn’t reach the cellar escape route.
“We’re on your side. Save us all a lot of trouble, and we don’t have to hurt you,” the second guard said.
“You idiot, why’d you’d tell him that?” The first guard said.
“Listen Rory, I don’t have to take that from you, and I told him we wasn’t gonna hurt him,” the second guard said.
Ronan crossed the room to the one escape route the small room offered.
A cracked window opened to a sheer fifteen foot drop. Lurking in the shadow strewn street below, city guards hovered near the front door, and two others crept toward the townhouse’s rear door.
Sweat formed on Ronan’s brow and beaded on his upper lip. He might break his leg jumping out the window, and they’d catch him besides.
The bottom stair creaked followed by the ringing sound of cold steel sliding from its scabbard.
Ronan moved to the door and poked his head into the darkened hallway.
Where the narrow hallway ended, a rickety wooden ladder led up to a sealed attic door. The splintered ladder had several missing or cracked rungs.
Moving up the staircase, heavy footfalls grew louder.
“Lord Randal said he didn’t care if he lived or died. Let’s just kill him and go,” the second guard said.
“He’s a kid you heartless bastard. What’s wrong with you?” Rory said.
With his pulse racing, Ronan threw open the bedroom door, raced along the hallway, and pulled himself up the ladder.
“You check to the left. I’ll go right,” Rory said.
Ronan stifled a scream as he pushed on the attic door. It didn’t move an inch. Multiple layers of paint combined with years of disuse had sealed it shut.
“There he is!” The heavy guard dashed toward Ronan. “Get down from there you little bastard.”
Ronan slammed his shoulder into the door, but it remained stuck. A surge of hot panic rushed through his body as he felt a hand wrap around his ankle.
The second guard stood at the ladder’s base with his hand locked around Ronan’s ankle. “I got him Rory. Help me pull him down.”
“Get off me you fat bastard.” Ronan slammed his boot’s heel into the guard’s face.
With an audible pop, the guard’s head snapped backward. Blood poured from his nose as he sank to one knee cupping his face with his hands. “My nose! Elan damn him, he broke by nose!”
With another surge, Ronan heaved his shoulder into the attic door. This time it moved an inch as sharp pain flared in his shoulder.
Rory sprinted along the hall and stopped next to his friend.
“Pull him off that ladder Rory. Use your sword if you have to.” His words sounded nasally as if he had cotton balls shoved up his nostrils.
In a desperate surge, Ronan sent his shoulder flying into the door again. Pain ripped through his shoulder as the door gave way sailing upward into the dark space of the attic.
“It’s over boy. Come down. You can’t escape from there. You aren’t a bird,” Rory said.
Ronan ignored the guard, grabbed the dark hole’s rough edges, and pulled himself inside the attic.
Rory, a large man by any measure, slid his blade into its scabbard, clenched his jaw and started up the ladder. “We’re to do this the hard then.”
With his heart hammering, Ronan scoured the pitch-black attic for some weapon he could use. But, his eyes couldn’t break through the blanket of darkness shrouding the space around him. He settled on the dislodged attic door lying a few feet away.
“Boy, if you make me chase you into this attic, I’m gonna throw you in chains. Get down here. Now!” Rory reached the attic’s entrance and struggled to pull his enormous belly through the small hole.
Ronan lifted the door overhead and slammed it on top of Rory’s fleshy bald scalp.
Rory screamed, and his weight shifted downward as the ladder rung supporting him gave way under his bulk. Eyes bulging, Rory hurtled backward landing in a twisted heap atop the still reeling guard at the bottom of the ladder.
With a heavy thud, Ronan dropped the attic door into place, and stomped it closed. He’d bought himself a few minutes of precious time and used it to allow his eyes time to adjust.
Through the attic door, different voices shouted instructions, and the footfalls of more guards pounded the main stairway.
Rotted crates, a dust covered rug, a cracked mirror, and an empty splintered bookcase comprised the attic’s inventory. A narrow board ran across the attic floor’s beams ending in a small circular window that had several rotten boards nailed over the opening.
Ronan tiptoed across the thin board arriving at the boarded window. With a sharp tug, he pulled at the rotten boards. The house’s decayed condition worked in his favor as the brittle wood pulled away with little effort. After freeing the second board, the sweet summer air offered cool relief from the attic’s stale confines.
Outside the open window, the rooftop’s steep angle ended ten feet away in a sheer drop-off.
Ronan jumped as a loud banging noise came from the attic door behind him.
A moment later, the door burst apart, and Rory’s head popped through the hole. “I’m gonna kill you now, you little cretin.”
Ronan’s head spun as he scoured the room in a desperate panic. The rooftop offered his only hope. He squeezed and shimmied his way through the small attic window. Cracked wooden shingles scraped and splintered his hands as he steadied himself against the roof’s sharp angle of descent. As he pulled his legs through, he kicked out and whirled his legs around wide to cut off any downward momentum.
“There he is!” A city guard pointed at Ronan. Next to him, an archer pulled an arrow from his quiver and loaded his bowstring.
The steep rooftop provided no escape in any direction, but across a six-foot stretch of open-air, the neighboring townhouse offered hope of refuge.
A sharp hissing noise sliced the air near Ronan, and a second later, an arrow sprouted from the wooden shingles an inch from his feet.
Rory stuck his head through the attic window. “You’re done Latimer.”
The fat guard grabbed Ronan’s jacket, but he twisted free, sprinted toward the roof’s edge and jumped. As he leaped, the sharp whistle of another arrow cut the night air. He sailed forward and slammed into the rooftop breaking his fall with his sore shoulder. Pain exploded in his shoulder as he rolled to a stop.
“Damn slippery bastard!” Rory said across the open divide. The fat guard strained trying to pull his lumber
ing girth through the tiny attic window.
Relentless pain pulsed through Ronan’s shoulder as he flailed from side to side willing away the agony.
The attic window creaked under Rory’s excessive weight, and with a final push, he popped through the window like a cork from a champagne bottle.
“He’s in the second house. Go!” A voice from street level said.
Rory wheezed as he lifted his bulk from the sharp-angled roof and lined up for the identical jump. With a grunt, he leaped across the six-foot gap, but began his descent far short of the neighboring rooftop. He latched onto the roof’s edge as his body slammed into the house’s wooden side.
Ronan used his shoulder to push himself to his knees, and a shot of pain lurched through his arm.
Rory’s face flushed scarlet as he labored to pull his heavy body onto the rooftop. Inch by inch he pulled himself upward until both arms hooked over the roof’s edge.
Ronan’s breath came in ragged pulls. He staggered onto his feet and eyed the struggling guard.
With arms trembling, Rory pulled himself halfway onto the rooftop. In mere moments he’d have his body over the roof line.
Ronan supported his injured arm and staggered toward the struggling guard.
Rory’s eyes opened wide with fear. “Have mercy. Please.”
They’d showed his mother no mercy, and he felt none for this man. With determination fueled by naked revenge, he poured his anger into a brutal kick that connected with the guard’s open mouth.
With a sickening crunch, Rory’s head jerked back, and his face erupted in a bright flash of crimson. As his eyes rolled back into his head, consciousness faded from the guard’s expression. His arms slackened, and he fell disappearing beneath the edge of the roof.
As Ronan appeared near the building’s edge, the archer raised his bow and drew a bead.
Ronan’s stomach sank as he watched the arrow leave the archer’s bow. He flung his body backward as the arrow’s fletching brushed his rib cage. With a thud, he landed on his backside and inspected his chest and stomach for damage.
“Stenson and Gilpin, get inside that house now!” A stern voice rang out.
Ronan sat on his knees and pulled in agonizing breaths as he tried to calm the pounding in his chest.
Guards scrambled onto the front porch and pounded the locked door.
Ronan jumped to his feet and ran toward the rooftop door. He yanked the handle, and the door didn’t move.
His stomach hardened into a sickening knot. He pulled again. Nothing.
“The bloody door is made of steel,” a voice said from the front porch.
A thought struck Ronan. Tyrell must’ve reinforced the front door frame. The bloody door frame.
He pushed the door, and it opened inward.
Relief poured through his aching muscles.
A small dingy bedroom stood empty of any furnishings. On room’s far side a set of stairs descended deeper into the home’s interior.
Ronan took two stairs at a time before stumbling into a short hallway.
At the dark hallway’s end, a stairway descended.
He dashed ahead and stopped at the landing.
The front door shook in its steel frame as guards continued pounding without mercy. Figures blurred past the hallway window heading toward the rear of the house.
With his heart hammering, Ronan flew downstairs, past the front door running at breakneck speed toward the rear door. He blurred past a small sitting room that opened into a dingy kitchen.
On the kitchen’s far wall, a thin wooden door led outside.
As Ronan moved for the kitchen door, he jumped backward as the door crashed inward flying off its hinges.
His chest heaved, and he whirled looking for somewhere to hide.
A pantry door stood ajar a few feet away.
He grabbed the door handle, threw it open, and slammed it shut behind him.
The front door gave way banging open, and multiple sets of heavy boots came pounding through the small house.
“We tried doing this the nice way. No taking you alive now boy. It ends here,” a guard said as he stormed through the house.
Ronan’s chest tightened as he slumped against the pantry wall.
Footsteps entered the kitchen.
Within seconds they’d have him. Ronan dropped his head between his knees, closed his eyes and prayed to Elan. When he opened his eyes, he held in a shout of triumph.
Buried in the floorboard, a door handle appeared between Ronan’s legs.
His hand went to his breast pocket, and he felt for the key he’d placed there earlier. Could he still use Tyrell’s cellar escape?
Heavy fists pounded on the pantry door followed by waves of laughter. “Face this like a man. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
Ronan yanked open the cellar door and leaped into the black emptiness.
Total darkness left the cellar’s contents hidden from view except for a dirt-caked shovel leaning against a nearby wooden crate.
As Ronan pulled the cellar door closed, the pantry door opened. He let the door drop the final few inches and grabbed for the shovel.
A second later the cellar door creaked open, and a bearded face appeared overhead. “Come up here you little bastard.”
Ronan swung the shovel at the guard’s face, but found empty air as the man moved his head away in time.
The door slammed shut leaving Ronan alone in a shroud of darkness.
He sagged against the cool dirt wall clutching the shovel in both hands and pulling in deep breaths of musty air.
Through the cellar door, murmured conversations mixed with the thuds of multiple footsteps.
Ronan had to find Tyrell’s door. He stood and groped along the cellar wall pulling loose dirt down on his head. He inched his way toward the cellar’s rear wall.
Behind Ronan, the cellar door squeaked open, and heavy boots appeared on the wooden ladder.
Cold fear rippled along Ronan’s spine as he spun and readied the shovel for attack. If he died tonight, he’d take a guard with him.
A city guard wearing heavy leather held out a blade as he lowered himself to the dirt floor. In his offhand he carried an oil lamp spilling light across the cellar. “We decided you’ve been enough trouble for one night. You can rot down here as far as we care.” The guard tossed the oil lamp into a pile of wooden crates stacked against the wall opposite Ronan. “I’ll even give you a little warmth to take away the night’s chill.”
The oil lamp shattered spraying hot oil over the brittle wooden crates. Three creates nearest Ronan burst into flame.
“Have a good night Your Highness.” The guard chuckled as he climbed the ladder. “Light it up.” His words echoed through the house.
The wooden ladder disappeared through the cellar door. The city guard slammed the door shut sealing Ronan in a fiery tomb.
The flames skittered across the splattered oil setting aflame a wooden box and piles of empty burlap bags.
Ronan breathed in the billowing smoke, and a wave of nausea rolled through his stomach. He stripped off his jacket and pushed it against his nose and mouth.
The flames leaped from box to box, and glimmers of fire flickered from cracks between kitchen floorboards overhead.
Thick smoke burned Ronan’s eyes, and his stomach lurched in protest as the jacket did little to ward off smoke inhalation. He’d die in this cellar unless he could find Tyrell’s door.
Within seconds, a wall of flames engulfed the far side of the cellar licking at kitchen floor overhead.
Ronan scoured the unburned part of the cellar, but found no door.
As the stacked wooden crates crumbled in the raging inferno, a heavy door fell forward having burned from its hinges.
The steel door groaned and crashed into the tangled burning crates. Sparks billowed across the cellar’s scorched air spraying Ronan with tiny red-hot embers.
Ronan beat his coat against the floor killing the fire before it could take hol
d.
Flames licked beneath the fallen door, but it provided safe harbor through the blazing inferno and offered cool comfort from a dark passageway beyond the flames.
With his pulse racing, Ronan found the key in his breast pocket and jammed it into his trousers. He wrapped the blue uniform jacket around his head and plunged into the flames finding his footing on the fallen door.
The fire’s intense heat overwhelmed Ronan, and his knees wobbled on the burning door. As he crossed through the flame, heavy smoke curled up beneath his feet and poured into his mouth and nose. His throat constricted, and his body shook with violent spasms as he gagged and choked under the assault.
The passageway’s welcoming darkness appeared at the end of the fiery gauntlet, and Ronan pitched forward tumbling into the tunnel’s cool damp earth.
Flames licked around his head as his jacket had caught fire. He tossed his destroyed coat into the blazing fire and dropped to his knees choking and gagging.
With his eyes watering and stinging, Ronan crawled along the passage stopping to choke up strings of mucus and hot bile.
At the tunnel’s end, a wall of cool mud stopped any further progress forward.
Ronan leaned against the earthen wall pulling in shallow breaths of clean air. His lungs burned, but the air provided welcome relief.
Inside the burning cellar, the kitchen floor collapsed. Piles of molten ash and burning wood blocked entry to the cellar.
With no way out, he turned his gaze upward, and for the first time today a weak smile spread across his face.
Built into the muddy ceiling, a small door remained unscathed by smoke or flame.
Ronan pulled the key from his soot-stained trousers and unlocked the door. He pulled himself inside the cool darkness of the adjoining cellar, and relief washed over him. He rolled away from the trapdoor and breathed in damp smoke free air.
Dim light filtered through the dark cellar outlining a small trapdoor built into the ceiling.
Ronan stood, lumbered across the room, and pushed opened the cellar door. He climbed the ladder and paused inside the empty kitchen.
Bright flickers of flame danced from the adjoining room’s floorboards. Near the chairs, occupied only hours before, a circular patch of flame licked the floor engulfing a shattered oil lamp near the rusty iron stove.
Shard Knight (Echoes Across Time Book 1) Page 4
