Darius Chapter 22

‘Heading west’ was a very loose term for what Falsith, Darius and Bart were doing. It was closer to ‘Falsith smashing anything in their way as they vaguely headed in whichever direction wasn’t infested with soldiers’.

They had barely made it out of the castle when a horn was sounded from a guardhouse nearby. Falsith led them behind a few small shrubs between the cliff edge and the main ramparts, hoping to get some kind of cover.

When they reached the wall, Falsith struck it with the axe in the mortar that joined two bricks. Rubble flew back at them, but the sturdy wall held its own. Falsith swung two more times, eventually breaking through. They found themselves around the back of the armory, encountering soldiers who had just retrieved weapons to chase down the escaped criminals with.

Darius faltered for a moment thinking that if they walked slowly, the soldiers wouldn’t know that they were the ones they were after. Then he realized that they had just put a gaping hole in the walls that protected Erinstone’s most influent and affluent people, so it would be wise to get a move on.

Struggling with the undergrowth in this part of the district, they had to turn left and go towards the center of the Trader’s District, hoping to get lost in the dense crowds. Unfortunately, the horns were sounding here, too, and the soldiers at the barracks had communicated to those around them that the trio was heading south. Soon, arrows whizzed by them, just scraping by as they rounded corners. One skittered along the stones and Darius stepped on it, giving him the fright of his life. When their path was shut off by a blockade of soldiers, Falsith charged, performing another leaping strike into the ground that sent the men slamming into the surrounding houses and market stalls. Darius saw the old man that sold watermelons toss a cracked melon at a soldier who had fallen on his produce. Juice spilled all over the man's armor.

They were halfway through the Trader’s District when the numbers started to overwhelm them. Guards appeared from every nook and cranny, and there was only so much strength that Falsith had left. It was a miracle he could sprint so fast with the giant axe. His swings were losing power, and he started to fall behind each time he destroyed a blockade.

As they passed Loggen Alley, disaster struck. Falsith swung at a rushing soldier, but missed, his momentum carrying his wild slice around his body until he lost balance. He managed a few more awkward steps before falling forward on his hands and knees, throwing the axe forward to Darius before he tried to turn his fall into a roll. Darius stopped to pick up the axe, but Bart went back to help Falsith, who was extricating himself from a garden he’d crashed into. The soldiers were right on their tail, and as Bart and Falsith got to their feet, an arrow pierced the air and lodged itself in Bart’s calf. He cried out in pain and immediately fell when he tried to run. Adrenaline wasn’t enough to fuel him. Falsith grabbed him under the arms and hauled him back up, but he slowed them both down until Bart wrenched himself free.

“Go, leave me! I’m dead weight, I’m dead weight GO!”

He yelled, pointing to the gate to Mouse’s Melee.

“There’s no fucking time just run! Fuck!”

He fell back, clutching his leg. Blood trickled onto the path below him, and the coarse dirt mixed into his sticky wound.

Falsith gave one last feeble tug at Bart’s collar, then gave a shout of anger. There was nothing more he could do. He resumed his sprint, freed up by giving Darius the axe. They continued down Mouse’s Melee, the packed streets giving them good cover from the storm of arrows. The guards were hesitant to shoot into the crowds.

Darius held the axe close to his chest, protecting it from the flailing hands that reached out at him as he pushed through the crowds. It was slow going for them, but the soldiers on foot split the crowd in two, the authority of their swords and shining armor guiding them through. Falsith pulled ahead of Darius, and he saw two horses tied up outside an inn. He bolted for them, untying the ropes with his shaking fingers. They took a while to come loose, but as soon as they did, Falsith pulled himself up onto one, riding bareback, and held the tether of the other as he guided it to the gate where Darius was headed. The soldiers saw Falsith hop up onto the horse and sent a desperate volley of arrows his way. It was easier to avoid the crowd when he sat two meters above them. An arrow glanced off his shoulder, splitting his already tattered clothes, but he didn’t notice any pain.

When Darius caught up at the gate, he grabbed the second horse's neck with his spare arm and Falsith smacked it on the rump. The horse brayed and accelerated, allowing Darius to make a small jump that catapulted him up onto the horse's back. It was not a comfortable ride, but he was damn sure it was faster than the foot soldiers. They sped along the Great Road for a couple kilometers before darting east into the forest.

It felt terrible to leave Bart behind. Darius’s vision was obscured by tears as they picked their way through the slimy trees and decomposing ground. He wiped his face with a muddy hand, leaving grimy marks on his cheeks and eyelids. They stayed silent aside from ushering the horses over logs and around low branches.

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When the adrenaline died off, Falsith called out.

“Darius, mate, are you okay? That lad wasn’t your son, was he?”

Darius gave a snotty chuckle and a half-smile through his tears.

“Nay, do I look that old? He was just a damn-good apprentice. A good kid.”

Falsith noticed the ‘was’ in his sentence. Unfortunately, he had to agree. His captors would not be merciful.

They continued due east for some time, eventually breaking through the tree line and finding themselves in an open plain. Despite the spring warmth, a slight haze hung over the fields, but it wasn’t fog. The pair jumped back onto their horses and rode along the tree line, close enough to dart back into the forest if needed, but far enough out that the dirt wasn’t littered with branches and other things that might slow down their horses.

After a few more kilometers, Darius looked down at his horse and noticed the foam coming from its mouth. They were riding too hard. He slowed down until Falsith levelled out with him, and they came to a stop.

“I think we’d better rest the horses and set up camp for the night. It’ll be dark soon.”

Falsith looked up at the waning sunlight and realized how long they’d been riding for. His only focus was on escape, but now his aching backside and rumbling stomach made themselves known. He lowered himself off the horse, standing bow-legged on the moist earth while he circulated blood to his buttocks. Darius did the same, balling his fist and whacking it into his thighs and hamstrings.

They had nothing to brush and dry off the horses with, so Falsith tugged off the remainder of his shirt and wiped off their sweat as best he could. If left untreated, the sweat buildup could turn into sores, and without their transport, Darius and Falsith would be dead in the water. He sniffed the shirt after he finished, screwing up his nose and opting to not put it back on.

The next issue was food. They had nothing to make traps with, and night was coming in fast. Falsith ventured into the forest, relying on his foraging experience from when he had been hunting – and hunted by – bandits. Darius set up a fire and found some dry tinder to get it going. When Falsith came back with some ominous looking mushrooms, roots and tubers, Darius was just having some success. He rubbed a stick back and forth on a hollow piece of bark, lined with small pieces of tinder. When he saw a spark, he held the bark to his face, pursing his lips and blowing, trying to coax the spark into a flame. On the third try, the spark lifted off the bark and caught itself in the pile of tinder at the end of the bark. Once it lit, Darius burrowed it under the teepee structure of kindling, and it didn’t take long for the fire to blossom.

The two convicts sat on the ground on opposite sides of the fire, munching on the various things Falsith had scrounged up. It was a meagre dinner, but better than nothing.

Falsith stretched out on his side, inviting in the warmth of the hot coals.

“So, where do we go now? I had hoped to find Heldrus, but he could be anywhere. I suppose Barringvale is our best bet?”

Darius nodded along but had a detour in mind.

“Yeah, I think Barringvale is the end destination now – I assume it’s not as full of crazy nobles as Erinstone is. But I have another stop I’d like to make, and I won’t force you to join me, but it would be nice if you did. I’d plan on going to Barringvale from there.”

Falsith looked antsy about the mention of Barringvale’s upper echelon.

“Everywhere is bound to have some wild types. We’re all still human after all, we just live in different places. As long as ambition exists, someone will be out to get whoever’s above them.”

It was a simple way of looking at things, but Darius appreciated the sentiment. He shouldn’t assume that just because Marth was from Barringvale and he was alright, the place would be a haven. Falsith continued.

“So, what’s the detour? I don’t imagine there’s much going on in the towns and villages between the two capitals.”

Darius stood and chucked a log onto the fire. A cloud of sparks erupted into the sky, his eyes naturally following them as they faded.

“I’m headed to my home, Karringlock. I think there’s some secrets my grandfather knows about that weapon that I’d like to uncover. I think whatever I’ve inherited can do more than just create explosive axes.”

Falsith sat back up on the dried grass and poked a fallen log back into the fire.

“After using that thing, I don’t reckon there’s much more needed to be done! Did you see the way I swept through that lot?”

Darius laughed at his enthusiasm. Now that he had rested after the hours of riding, moving hurt his joints.

“It was impressive, I’ll give you that.”

“Just phwaw and shinggg and crack!”

Falsith waved an imaginary axe in the air, adding his own sound effects. He really needed to find himself a shirt. Darius continued.

“Yeah, yeah it didn’t disappoint. But Silfor – wild as she was – had some pretty good ideas, especially with the arrows. She is really dangerous; I didn’t quite catch on to that for a while.”

They sat there a while longer, staring into the flames. The night was still and clear, and the sounds of insects chirping were all that disturbed the serene atmosphere. If not for the circumstances, it would have been enjoyable. Every now and then, a light breeze pushed through the plains, skimming over the long blades of grass like a farmer walking through his crops. Tranquil.

Darius felt his eyelids getting heavy.

“Alright mate, I’m gettin tired, I reckon I’ll grab some shuteye. We better put this fire out in case someone comes looking for us.”

Falsith stretched in his area, thinking the same.

“Yeah, you’re right actually, we’re probably visible from leagues away – especially over these plains.”

The pair doused the fire with moss and dirt and other scraps from the forest, piling it on until only smoke rose in coils from underneath. It would be a cold night.

A kilometer away, on the open plains, Lieutenant Bornell Stringer caught sight of a fire in the distance, suddenly being snuffed out. He called his men and told them to dismount.

“Eyes up lads, we’ve got potential escapees one click due south. We’re going in quiet.”

The hunters crept toward their prey.