He’s never seen a place quite like the Tower. The heat, the smell, the animosity floating higher to each level. The lollygagging of the guards as they circle the floor. Rather secure in their position on the other side of the bars. It makes his blood boil; they aren’t any different from him. At the end of it, they’re all going to the same place. But their holier than thou strut hammer on his every nerve.

Like the guard standing before them now, blocking one of two metal cage doors leading to the lift area. Jasper, Zack’s little backup plan, still wears his military uniform; gripping his standard military sword. All and all, a trained soldier versus a graduate from the local thug gang; even he didn’t like those odds. But not this guy, his singed off eyebrow and broken tooth, weren’t about to back down. He squares his shoulder, trying to take up as much space as possible. Chris motions for Nicole to stand behind him, not trusting the dusty platform to hold all their weight if a fight breaks out.

She clears her throat, about to begin another diplomatic bargaining attempt. But Jasper strolls up to him with a hand on the hilt. Before Nicole can offer any word or demand Jasper takes a swing. The fist lands in the guard’s gut. He wheezes and doubles over. Jasper goes again, this time the guard wobbles, falling backwards against the bars.

The rattling, like a domino, floats to the floors below. It’s the first time the Tower’s quiet. He doesn’t need to see them; he feels them staring. Every soul fully aware of the disturbance that’s to follow. Nicole gasps as the man slumps to the platform, leg dangling over the edge. Jasper drags him to the cell Chris called home. They help her onto the lift which starts to descend.

“I hate this thing,” she mutters. It jerks as more slack loosens the cable. They reach the level below, where the prisoners cheer and shout. She tries to ignore the cat calls as they slip past. But the pattern continues, a new level, a new level of notoriety.

“What’s the plan?”

“Get out and get to the docks. Tell me you brought the carriage?”

“He sent it ahead to the ferry…”

“There’s three horses waiting for us outside.” Jasper adds.

“At least we got that.”

There’s more shouting from the inmates on the next level, but it’s the guards that draw his attention. They line the gap with lances pointed at the metal cage surrounding them. The tips of the blade pause at the edge of the bars. Each waiting like a needle to penetrate the lift area. There’s no doubt in his mind they’ll reach them.

In the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of the sister lift climb from the shadows beneath. As they descend, he keeps eye contact with the leader. His teeth clench. The kill order on his lips. Sweat beads down his second in command’s face but no one moves. Lower and lower they go without any attack.

“I don’t get it,” Jasper whispers.

But like any cat trapped in a cage, he doesn’t lose sight of the dog. Once out of sight the guards holler their battle cry. They give the order; the lances extend inwards. His worst scenario plays out before his eyes. Each one arranges itself to cut the cable.

“What are they doing!” She shrieks, clinging to him.

No one escapes alive.

Each blade slices against the cable tubing, ripping the sheath and exposing the braided rope underneath. The second lift continues its course unhindered by the commotion above. Jasper catches his eye, glances at the lift and a plan comes into play. Their lift jerks, swaying as the rope frays. Soon their combined weight will do the work for them. Maybe they’ll even play it off as an accident. He starts leaning, this way and that, the lift obeys and Nicole shrieks.

“You’re going to kill us!” Above a rope snaps, and the lift jerks. Nicole loses balance, dropping to her knees. But Jasper catches on; swinging his body in time with his. “You’re both mad!”

“Jasper, you ready?” Each swing brings them closer to the sister lift. The chaos rattles the bars. The inmates stop the stone, the guards shout orders trying to quiet the noise. In the mix is them, swing back and forth with their lives hanging by a few braided ropes. Steadying himself against makeshift wall, Jasper kicks against one side. Each kick sends Nicole into a fit, trembling at each shudder. The wooden planks creek against the nails; one final kick sends them crashing below.

“Up we go Princess,” Jasper pulls her to her feet. She shoots a death glare at him, the reality of what’s next plasters her face. Her loose curls swing, like a metronome keeping steady time.

“Is he serious?”

“Just don’t look down, you’ll be fine.” He steers their lift closer.

“Moira is going to kill you…”

“Don’t promise me a good time.” Jasper ropes his arms under her armpits, keeping her steady as he brings her closer to the edge.

“One…Two…Go!”

With a screech, a blur of skirts, and a triumphant flop, she lands on the other lift. Her hair’s a mess, there’s a tear in her muslin skirts, but despite the death glare aimed at him; she’s safe. Their lift jerks, falling downwards before the abrupt stop. Above the last rope hangs taut. The planks creak, and the countdown begins.

“You’re next,” he instructs, watching the blades fray their lifeline.

Jasper lands next to her as his own lift jerks and a deafening snap signals the end. Adrenaline pumps through him. The tunnel is a swoosh of shadows as he careens towards the unknown. The only sound is a hand smacking against the metal grate. A rhythmic memory of a stick against a fence; sending vibrations through his body. His fingers latch on to the rusty bar; flinging him against the grate. His muscles burn, the wounds on his back sear as he stretches into a suitable foot hole.

She shouts his name. Her and Jasper’s lift changes direction; slowly descending towards him. Guess they aren’t stupid enough to kill a princess after all. But she’s safe, at least for now. There’s a shimmer between light shafts, puddles of water maybe. Behind the shouting above there’s a steady grinding below. Heavy wood rolls over a stone surface. Normally a platform mechanism wouldn’t draw his attention, but its presence means one thing. He’s nearer the ground. And that means he’s closer to getting out of here.

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The guards shout, insulting him one minute then trying to coax him the next. But one grows tired the game. He rushes to position himself above Chris before racing down. Instead of running he stands his ground, figuratively of course, and grips the incoming boot. He swings the foot outward, there’s a cry and a pop. Broken? Dislocation? Either way the guard screams and flies from the cage wall. There’s another snap as the body slams into the ground.

The second watches his partner slip into the darkness below. His back is warm and sticky, reminding him of the fresh lashes bleeding through his shirt. All this shit, and for what? The guard must’ve seen the scowl cross his face because he claws his way towards him. Sweat beads from his oily forehead. The blond hair clinging to his cheeks. He tries to avoid the punch, but the knuckles roll over his chin.

He kicks at his gut, sending him reeling, but it’s enough for Chris to get ahead. Climbing a few rungs over he positions himself where he’ll do the most damage. Out of reach of the man’s short arms, but somewhere his scrawny legs will connect. Each kick follows a crunch as cartilage cracks and blood spurts through his nostrils. He loses count, but eventually the guard peels himself from the cage and joins his friend.

The third man leaps from nowhere gripping the rungs a few spaces to his right. He’s tall and lanky, in better shape then his predecessors, and doesn’t waste anytime. He avoids Chris’s kicks by leaping over him to the other side. He fights to keep his grip as the rattling threatens his balance. He’s never fought a squirrel before, but if a life size one ever challenged him; he suspects it’ll follow a similar path. The next jump sends a boot punching into his back. His teeth pinch his cheek and the iron taste fills his mouth.

Upwards is a dead end, so he’s left with the void at his feet. The grinding gets louder, shuddering through his body. But there’s a new sound. Groaning. Not that of gears or cables, but men. The light shafts above vanish forcing his eyes to adjust to dim torchlight from other side of the cage. But his feet make the discovery first. The next rung doesn’t exist. The elation is indescribable but shortly lived. The cage ends, abruptly about ten feet off the ground.

It’s the revelation of the mechanism that causes him to pause. The cables from the lifts wind around massive heavy spools. Clutching wooden spindles, are a small army of prisoners cranking the mechanism to move the lifts. They reek of piss and sweat. They’re skin hangs from taught muscles. They range from ages and sizes; but the elderly men seem worse off. Their filthy clothes and dead eyes send a chill through him. There are no guards on this level, but he assumes they aren’t far away.

The rattle means his hunter nears. He makes a leap of faith, landing on the top of the stationary spool. The prisoners regard him with interest, but their twitching signals their slave drivers are watching. Some make eye contact before dropping their heads and ignoring his existence. His opponent stalls at the bottom rungs. It’s his call now, leave the safety of the high ground or join him with the other slaves.

He jumps, rolls, and lands a few feet away. His presence riles the other group cranking the sister spool. It doesn’t stop him; their anger isn’t a threat. He holds his fists to his chest, circling him as the audience sneers. Following suit, he puts his guard up, rolling his stiff shoulders. The guard’s punch nails him in the shoulder, causing him to wobble. The ground isn’t that stable, it rocks as their weight crosses over the surface. He throws his first punch, but it falls flat as he leans to the left.

Their fists fly in a fury; left then right until it’s all he sees. He lands an upper cut but catches one to the ear. The room whirls around him as his opponent lands a punch to his gut. Blood flings over his lips, and the ringing in his ears sounds like the bells on of the fire brigade. He tries to kick, but the spool wobbles and he falls. Peeping from the edge are the prisoners. They’re shouting now, their own fists pump the air.

The guard rushes to him ready with a drop kick, but he rolls away. Sliding his foot under his leg knocking him beside him. He slides on top, sitting on his chest and pinning his arms with his knees. There’s nothing holding him back. Every fist hits its mark, the pounding of flesh the breaking of bones and the gurgling screams rock over his body. It’s over before he knows it, the haggard breathing is his sign. Enough, he hears Zack’s voice in his mind. You neutralized the threat. Get out of there. A hand pats his shoulder, and other set helps him to his feet. The prisoners climb over the gears despite the breathy protest from the guard.

“They lock us in here,” said the taller man of the group. He must be newer; he still has determination sparkling in his eyes. He points to an iron door with a set of eyes peering through a glass window. “You got ‘em spooked. Now it’s our turn.”

The inmates help the crippled and younger men onto the cage. Like spiders they swarm the rungs and push upwards towards the light. He joins them, following their momentum until they reach the main level. They’re roaches, everyone of them filling the rungs like a greasy oil spill, then squeezing through the single entrance. He can’t make out their shouting but they overtake the guards. A deep hatred that they buried, ignites and nothing is safe. Waves of guards’ stream from doorways but the prisoners are an immovable wall of vengeance. Past the throng of them is Jasper waving from the doorway.

He's about to tell him to go ahead, get her out of there. Somehow the fighting beckons him. Every instance where a guard or soldier kicked him when he was already down. How they spit in his face. Every moldy loaf they sold him in bad faith. Feeds his tired muscles. Busting some more lips is one step closer to the universal balance the Mages keep talking about.

“Chris!” Nicole flings open the door, the sunshine beams behind her, casting her in an earthly glow. “Let’s go!”

Who’s he kidding, he’s stuck with her like a bad rash. And he has a job to do. He pushes through the fighting, silently urging his comrades on. This isn’t his fight. Not anymore.

The courtyard is in chaos. Guards rush in all directions trying to secure the windows and exits. They seem to ignore them as they rush over the uneven grassy stones. Archer’s line themselves on top of the fort walls. Their arrows pointed at the door in their wake. Three horses tug on their reigns, pulling at the post they’re tied too. As Jasper helps her into the saddle, he recalls an unexpectant truth; he doesn’t know how to ride.

“Chris, you ready?” he asks. “You’re in bad shape, can I help you up?”

He stares at the saddle, the loops that hang, the other loops to hold on to. How comfortable is that really? And the horse, the beige hair and white mane. What if the animal hates him and throws him off?

“Jasper, I don’t think I can get on that.”

“Don’t worry I’ll help you up,”

“It’s not that, it’s just… I’ve never ridden a horse before.”

“Are you two coming? They are preparing to close the gate!”

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine, just don’t fall off.”

“Easier said than done.”

“If the princess can fly, you can ride. Now put that there.”

It’s a miracle Jasper got him in the saddle, and to his relief he takes the reigns, and leads his horse from his own mount. It’s bumpier than he imagined but the horse doesn’t fight him and they get through the gate before the whole fort is under lockdown. Once out of sight, Nicole slows her horse to a trot.

“What are you doing?” Jasper asks, “we’re not safe yet.”

“But we are out, see?” she motions to the buildings, grey sky, and fruit stands on the side of the street.

“He’s right, there’s still soldiers, we need to get to the docks,”

“Then will we be safe?”

“From soldiers yes,” Jasper answers.

“I guess if you count the dock thugs safe.”

“Chris, how many people are after you?”

“Well, you see princess, I’m a bit of celebrity around these parts.”