The sky was painted in shades of orange and black as Stick rode past the burning shanty town. Flames roared through the makeshift homes, turning the world into an inferno of chaos and despair. The acrid scent of burning wood filled the air, each breath searing his lungs. Slaves dashed around in blind panic, tossing buckets of water drawn from the well onto the flames, but the fire only seemed to grow hungrier, devouring everything in its path. Desperation clung to the scene like a shroud. Some miners had taken matters into their own hands, their pickaxes crashing into the walls of nearby shacks. They were trying to tear down the buildings before the fire could consume them too, a last-ditch effort to stop the blaze from spreading further. But even as the structures fell, Stick knew it was a losing battle. His eyes were drawn to a peculiar sight as he passed the mayhem. Two figures stood beside Baron Bonatelli, spectating the chaos from a safe distance. One was a middle-aged man with a monocle dressed in a grey doublet. The other was masked, dressed like a twisted court jester who seemed like he was… dancing with small but noticable movements. An odd and unsettling presence amidst the chaos. When they noticed Stick, the Baron erupted in a silent, raging fit, his mouth moving furiously, but the distance muffled his words. Stick’s pulse quickened, but there was no time to decipher the enigma; he spurred his horse onward, heading for the manor’s southern exit. When he arrived, Cadmun was there, flanked by a few able-bodied miners, along with Shadis and the twins. Becket was tied up, looking defeated. The hopeful expressions of those waiting quickly faded when they saw Stick alone.
“Where’s Smith?” Michael asked, his voice tinged with a mixture of dread and disbelief.
Stick dismounted, the weight of the world pressing down on him. He offered the reins to Cadmun, his hands trembling uncontrollably.
“Stamos…” he started, but the words choked in his throat.
“No, fuck… no…” Michael’s voice broke as he collapsed to his knees, hands clutching his head. “What did he do?”
Stick’s silence was answer enough. He couldn’t bear to say it aloud.
“Tell me this isn’t true,” Michael pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Did you see him die?”
“I’m sorry,” Stick muttered, each word laced with the bitter taste of failure.
Michael covered his face, the weight of the loss crushing him. “Gods, this can’t be real…”
Shadis, cold and unyielding, seized the reins from Stick and moved towards the twins.
“Open the gate!” he commanded, his voice sharp and unfeeling, ignoring Michael’s grief entirely. “The Lords leave now!”
“But Sir, what about Smith?” Michael’s voice was desperate, a thin thread of hope hanging in his words.
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“If we don’t leave now, his sacrifice will be for nothing,” Shadis replied with a harsh finality.
He walked over to the Lords, urging them to mount the horse. Jacoby, pale and shaken, obeyed without question.
“What about Stick?” Cadmun interjected, his voice laced with concern. “You don’t have any provisions without him.”
“Nothing we can do about it now,” Shadis replied, his tone devoid of sympathy. “We only have one horse. I apologize, Stick, but we have to leave you behind. You’ve failed.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd, a silent agreement that cut deeper than any words. Stick’s stomach churned, the scenes from the stables flashing before his eyes. He glanced at Michael, crumpled on the ground, and a tear escaped down his cheek. He’s right. I’ve failed. PP was right all along.
But then Varyan’s voice rang out, defiant and strong. “He didn’t fail!”
All eyes turned to the young Lord.
“Without him, we wouldn’t have gotten this far,” Varyan continued, his voice growing more fervent with each word. “We have a real shot at escaping only thanks to him.”
“Varyan…” Stick whispered, unsure of what to say.
“You can’t put him down like that,” Varyan insisted, ignoring the tension building around him. “He doesn’t deserve this treatment. He should come with you for everything he’s done.”
“Milord, what are you saying?” Shadis’s voice was edged with frustration.
Varyan walked over to the spiked defense and lifted it, determination burning in his eyes.
“What kind of nonsense is that? Get on the horse now!” Jacoby shouted, his patience fraying.
“Cadmun said it: Stick has to come with you, or else you’ll starve,” Varyan argued, standing his ground.
“We don’t have time for that, Milord,” Shadis snapped.
But Varyan ignored him. “Stick, what do you say? Will you help my brother escape?”
Stick was torn, honored but overwhelmed, unable to find the words.
“Stop this nonsense!” Jacoby barked. “Get him on the horse right now!”
Some miners grabbed Varyan by the shoulders, apologizing as they restrained him. “Sorry, Milord.”
Varyan struggled, his protests growing more frantic, but the miners managed to lift him onto the horse. Cadmun opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, a roar echoed from behind them. Reacher, with a wild look in his eyes, was bearing down on them, an arrow striking the ground near their feet and startling the horse.
“Go! Now!” Jacoby yelled, his voice tinged with panic.
“Out of the way!” Shadis screamed, whipping the reins as the horse bolted forward.
The miners scrambled to clear a path, and soon the horse was galloping away, Shadis holding the struggling Varyan in place. The cries of protest faded as they vanished into the woods, leaving the remaining slaves to hurriedly reset the spikes, sealing the gate behind them. A collective sigh of relief went through the group. Some of them even started to cheer.
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Stick stood there brushing away his tears, his heart heavy, as he whispered, “Thank you, Varyan,”.
The young lord was right. Even though Stick ultimately didn’t escape with them, the plan was still a success. It is done. We did it!
A sound behind him made him turn. Reacher, with a crazed look in his eyes, brought his horse to a halt, glaring at Stick with a dangerous intensity.
“Aren’t you a hero, Mr. Arslan?” Reacher sneered. “Running off when shit hits the fan.”
Stick opened his mouth to reply, but Cadmun stepped forward, sword drawn, his movements fueled by a barely contained fury.
“No, John, you don’t understand,” Cadmun growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “We’re not running away. At least not yet.”
Cadmun turned to give a quick wink to Stick. His smile said everything. We’re gonna get that horse!