by Stephen Wolf
A catcall echoed as the guardswoman admired his physique. She pulled open his door slowly, tipping her leather-helmeted head to the side. “And here I thought you mage types were all about your books. It seems like I was a bit mistaken, eh?”
Dariak’s eyebrows crouched together, for the comment sounded very familiar, especially after that whistle. It stood out particularly because he didn’t think he was much more than skinny and so not much to look at in that respect. She stepped in and grabbed his arm, pulling him painfully from the cell and bringing him to the room at the end of the hall with Gabrion.
Most of their things were returned to them. “Can’t have you beauties showing off to the people, can we?” one of the guards teased, waiting for the men to don their clothes. In the process of fastening his robe, Dariak could feel that most of his spell components had been removed, but some had escaped scrutiny, including the one sewn into the chest pouch. He couldn’t help showing his relief, but the guards assumed it was because he wasn’t to be executed completely naked after all.
Not long later, they were escorted out of the dungeon, both bound like mages with their hands immobilized and their mouths gagged. Dariak swore this would be the last time he would ever experience either form of binding.
The other inmates ignored the walking dead, each silently hoping his own day would never come. The old man wasn’t even laughing.
Taking a less circuitous route out of the dungeon, it didn’t take long before they were in the castle proper. A throng of people stood stone-faced along the pathway out of the castle to a more open location, where even more people could witness the event. Dariak was sad to see that it wasn’t far from the Rooster’s Bane, where he had shared his first kiss with Randler.
The guard ushering him to the raised platform, where the proceedings would take place, tripped unceremoniously and crashed into Dariak’s back. The mage wondered at his luck, for suddenly the ropes binding his hands were free. He tumbled them around, grasping the rope, looking about to see if he could take advantage of this situation. The guard nudged him painfully in the back, pushing him upward onto the platform, where his death awaited.
He looked askance at Gabrion, wondering what was running through the warrior’s mind. Gabrion lumbered up the three steps and simply waited to be directed by the guards, like a lost child. Dariak felt that wasn’t too far from the truth; the poor boy did feel terribly lost.
The mage considered his options now that his hands were free. He looked around and opted for dramatics. With his last step up to the podium, he tripped himself and crashed face first to the ground, remembering desperately to keep his hands locked behind his back but twisting carefully so they brushed the wood. The guardswoman picked him up by the scruff of his collar and set him on his feet, then led him to stand next to the dejected warrior.
Two nooses were lowered down, and the prisoners were secured in them, ready to be dropped through the platform at the king’s declaration. It seemed obvious to Dariak that the king would first prattle on about duty to the kingdom, then spout about their crimes, and at last call for justice, at which point the floor would drop out and they would die. He didn’t have much time to act, especially when trumpets sounded and the king came rounding the corner.
Dariak looked down and saw that the single plank of wood under his feet reached over to Gabrion’s feet. So when one of them fell, both would fall. That was actually helpful. The rest of the platform was constructed similarly, with long planks extending from one end to the other. There were two posts on the edges of the plank behind him, and the beam across their tops carried the nooses.
He rolled his fingers together slowly, so as not to attract attention, feeling the bits of dirt he had scraped up during his staged fall. He rubbed it along the rope, recalling the words he needed for the spell. Timing would be critical, because he was still gagged and, therefore, could not utter the spell, but the burly warden had said they would have the opportunity to petition for release, so he held to the hope that his gag would be removed. Yes, everything would be in the timing.
As expected, the king rambled on for a while about threats to the kingdom and so forth. Dariak rolled his eyes through most of it, wondering how many times this monarch had uttered those very words in the name of justice. He knew no leader could be perfect, but the crimes of the Kallisorian nation were unacceptable. Not that he knew his own king’s inner motivations, he admitted silently.
Gabrion’s gag was removed at the king’s request for confession and request of petition, but the warrior was so disheartened he said nothing but Mira’s name. When Dariak’s gag was released, a dagger was pressed against his throat by the guardswoman who had tripped into him. Quietly, so only he could hear, she repeated her earlier catcall. Dariak understood at once, and so he did not hesitate.
The mage threw his binding ropes at Gabrion and spouted the words of his spell, “Darrethon nur pelliat kazs!” In the same motion, he clutched his hand to his chest and added, “Kathrahasslerad.” He grabbed the guardswoman and shoved her behind him as the king screamed, flailing his arms about, calling for the execution without delay. The soldier minding the lever panicked and pushed hard, releasing the floor under the prisoners.
As the plank under Dariak and Gabrion fell away, the guardswoman took a step forward, clutching the support post that held up the line of nooses. With the Shield of Delminor weighing her down, she wrenched the post from its board and the support beam for the nooses collapsed on Dariak’s side. Simultaneously, the mage yanked on the ensorcelled rope to pull Gabrion toward him so the warrior’s neck would not snap during the fall. Gabrion’s noose slid along the now-slanted plinth and he crashed into Dariak with a hearty thud.
There wasn’t time for anything but escape. Dariak took the dagger from the guard and slashed the nooses free. He then canceled the Shield of Delminor and dragged the guardswoman to her feet. She didn’t need any further assistance, so the mage grabbed Gabrion’s tunic and pulled him along tensely.
The trio ran under the platform and out the rear, crashing into the unarmed crowd and causing a mad panic. People shrieked as they toppled to the ground while the king’s voice called out for order and demanded that his guards immediately capture the escapees.
They were only steps away from the immediate chaos when Dariak called out, “The castle museum. It’s now, or it’s never!”
The guardswoman laughed. “You’re insane, but you’re right. You’re sure what you seek is there?”
“It has to be.”
She led the way around a fountain, and they raced through the streets, Dariak still pulling on the dazed warrior’s tunic.
“He’s dead weight, mage. Let him go.”
“I can’t,” he replied. “Come on, hurry!”
They raced quickly to the castle, which wasn’t far away at all, and with the public execution, many of the regular guards were out protecting the king during his appearance among the people. They dashed past the guard towers, ignoring the cries of the soldiers still in place, and into the castle grounds they went. Having paid some attention earlier, despite his sedated condition, Dariak knew to head to the left, and so they did. They sprinted onward, barreling past people and knocking many of them to the ground in their haste, all the while avoiding arrows that had started to fall from the castle walls amid the ringing of the alarm bells. They dashed down a long corridor and turned at the end toward the entrance to the museum.
The doors were no obstacle as they crashed through, startling the few patrons who were too scholarly to care about public shows of force for political gain. Museum guards were present, and they acted quickly, but Dariak ignored them, releasing Gabrion at last and casting about for the object he sought. He remembered the night in the tavern and the information he had gained, so he pressed his hand against his chest and felt the resonance within his robe. While he concentrated, the guardswoman slapped Gabrion alert and poin
ted to the oncoming danger. Luckily, the warrior’s training won over his despondency, and he crouched in a battle stance, ready to knock a foe down and claim his weapon so he could do real damage.
“Any time now,” hissed the guardswoman, looking over a grid of knee-high rectangular bins, where various types of plants and grasses grew. Each was from a different region of the kingdom, with various scents and colors. The grid pattern would be easy to navigate, but it would also restrict their motions.
Dariak ignored her, turning slightly until he sensed a deeper vibration. “There!” He bolted off in that direction, seemingly oblivious to the threat around him.
The guardswoman grunted and turned to follow but noticed that Gabrion hadn’t moved and a strange snarl had marred his face. “Damn,” she muttered and spread her arms out wide, fingers extended far, and then with a forced calmness, she twisted slowly and drew in her hands, pumping her body to a slow rhythm she did not feel. Left foot, then right, right arm, then left. She moved with the grace of a cat and the care of the finest seamstress. She concentrated on the approaching guards, and they slowed down, confused, then started swinging about, attacking objects only they could see.
Gabrion rushed headlong into the nearest guard and toppled him to the ground. Claiming the sword, he went slightly wild, hacking and slashing to take out the rest. The guardswoman continued her controlled movements but did nothing else. Gabrion pounced from one place to another, parrying the errant attacks of the foes, then scoring his own dire hits. Once he was mobile, the guards didn’t stand a chance. He took out eight of them with the help of the strange trance they were in, and the ninth fled to call the alarm.
Leather helm firmly in place, the guardswoman summoned Gabrion over, and she followed after Dariak. It wouldn’t be much of a success if the mage earned his prize and left them behind to face the fury of the king. Through the room they went, racing to the back doorway as quickly as possible. The woman blasted through the entryway and saw Dariak at the rear wall of the next room, his arms moving oddly about him.
Jogging over, she asked, “Find it?”
The mage ignored her for only a moment as he finished his protection spell, then crashed his fists through the glass case. He scooped up a bluish crystal and shoved it deeply into one of his pockets. “Got it. Let’s go.”
“Got it?” Gabrion repeated. “What’s this all about?”
“Later,” the other two echoed, grabbing the warrior and turning him about.
Dariak summoned his fire-dart spell, since he was missing the components he needed for more powerful attacks, but he wasn’t concerned. He led the way back toward the exit, shooting fire from his hands at the new guards who had entered the main room to stop them. Many of them dropped to the ground just to avoid the flames, though the ones who received the full blasts didn’t seem too fazed by them. Dariak knew it was more of a surprise tactic than an offensive skill, but when the guardswoman and Gabrion ran past him, weapons flailing, he kept calm, looking around to see if there were any materials he could put to use.
The room was full of flowers and herbs, which were great spell components in tandem with other objects. Scanning the room quickly, Dariak sought out one of the bins and combed his fingers through the soil, disturbing the contents as he searched with one hand and plucked leaves from a daisy with the other.
Gabrion barreled into one of the king’s guards with his sword flailing about. He didn’t think about his lack of skill compared to these fighters. He didn’t consider his lack of true armor and their abundance of it. He didn’t ponder the ramifications of slaying his king’s guards. The only thought he held on to in that moment was the temporary gift of life that had been given to him and the chance it offered him to get to Mira. The guards became obstacles, and he was determined to master them. He left openings for the guardswoman, who fought with him, but nothing else.
As the fight progressed, there came a sudden chanting from a few rows away. Some of the guards broke free from the group to interfere with the mage, but Gabrion released a feral cry and leaped over the nearest bin to stop them. He needn’t have bothered, for Dariak shot his hands forward, casting his spell outward.
What Gabrion saw amazed him, for it started off as a foot-long earthworm, wriggling as it coasted through the air. The guard in front slashed it with his sword, cutting it in two. But both halves grew back to full size. One of them impacted another guard, and he thrashed about, trying to shove it to the ground, hacking it to pieces. Each of those pieces immediately puffed up and wriggled about, and soon the entire walkway was full of the writhing creatures.
Gabrion grabbed two of the giant worms and hurled them toward the guardswoman, who reacted by cutting them both in half and batting the remains at the soldiers facing off against her. Gabrion saw that nearly all the king’s guards were occupied, so he bellowed, “Move out!” and bolted for the door.
Dariak knew the engorgement spell wouldn’t last long, so he wasted no time hurrying out the door. The blinding sunlight required a moment of adjustment, and he could see his two companions several paces ahead of him. He pushed his body to run while his mind thought of the protection spell he had cast on himself before crashing into the glass case. It was still intact, except for his hands. He didn’t have time to reset the spell, but knowing where the chinks were was enough.
Castle folk saw the mad dash from the museum and started screaming. The rain of arrows resumed as everyone ran for cover. The three escapees needed to get out through the main gate into the town of Kaison, then lose themselves in the crowds that were probably just disbanding from the aborted execution.
Gabrion’s battle cry spurred Dariak onward faster, and he was lucky his protective shield was still intact, for three arrows struck his back, tinkling with the sound of broken glass, then falling to the ground and leaving the mage unscathed but less protected. He reached to his side and tried to feel around for another piece of shattered glass that he could use to erect another shield, but trying to accurately feel through various pockets while running for his life wasn’t feasible.
The trio turned to the left as they fled the castle. Gabrion’s face was red with strain, but he kept his sword arm swinging around, knocking down all the trained fighters he came across and clearing a path for the other two. Instinctively, he wasn’t aiming to kill any of them, which was fortunate for them, because his blows certainly had the strength behind them. But his sword hit either flat or hilt first, and therefore most of his hits did not cut deeply. The concussion from each swing, however, was enough to knock the wind from anyone who crossed his path.
“This way!” the guardswoman called out, veering sharply left and then cutting between two of the permanent shops.
Dariak saw the mystic’s shop out of the corner of his eye as he went, so at least he knew where he was if they became separated. His companions were still ahead of him, but when he passed into the narrow alley between the two shops, he stopped and let them get farther away. He quickly scrounged around and grabbed a spider that was scuttling up the wall. He wrapped the spider in one of the other leaves he had taken from the museum, and then he cast his spell, trying to ignore the twenty fighters who appeared in the distance, running hard for him. “Naarestigar engor shai!” He spread his arms wide, making sure he touched the walls on either side of him. Feeling the energies take hold, he turned and jogged after his companions. Moments later, the other members of the king’s guard crashed into a thin wall of webbing that bound them tightly and would hold them until the webs were cut away.
He knew it was only going to slow them down; there had to be other passages leading the same way. He lost sight of Gabrion’s blond head and muttered under his breath, trying to run through the alleyway without stumbling. Breaking out through the other side, he saw the warrior a few buildings away, his feet pounding the ground earnestly. Huffing, Dariak followed. He sure hoped the woman knew where she was going.
Sounds of pursuit were not far behind. Dariak lowered his head and tried to let some of his body weight propel him forward. It nearly caused him to stumble, but it was all he had left. His lungs were burning, and he didn’t think he was even taking in air anymore. He could barely feel his legs either, and he worried they might stop responding to his urgent demands to keep running. Turning down another alley and then pressing through to the other side, Dariak saw Gabrion run into a small hovel, so he went too.
“Come on, and quietly,” the woman whispered as she led the two men to the kitchen, pushing aside the large oak table and lifting a trapdoor. “In.” They obeyed and clattered into a cellar while she followed them, pulling the trapdoor closed. She then reached for a rope and tugged on it hard, and because it was attached to the underside of a table leg, it pulled the table back in place, perfectly concealing them inside.
“We’ll be safe here, for a little time anyway. So, catch your breath, boys.” The guardswoman joined them at the bottom of the stairs and pulled off the concealing leather helmet.
Gabrion stared at her for a moment before recognition set in. “The old woman in the forest!” He stalked closer, his face curling in anger.
“Calm yourself, big boy,” she replied. “Hey, mage, call off your dog.”
“Gabrion, take it easy,” Dariak intervened, gasping for breath. “She did just save us from a public execution.”
Tensing his jaw while he considered this, Gabrion eventually relaxed and stepped away. “I keep ending up owing people who are trying kill me.”
“Life is funny that way.” She smirked, pulling off the chain mail she was wearing over her leather tunic. She was able to move in it, but she found it needlessly cumbersome and noisy. “I suppose introductions are in order? I’m Kitalla. You’re Gabrion, and though we spoke in the forest, I don’t know your name, mage.”
“Dariak,” he responded directly, rubbing his neck where the noose had pressed against his skin. “I’m glad you took me seriously and followed us.”
