Drake

Drake dove into an open room just before a flurry of guards stormed past, heading away from the Seer. Not being able to understand them was obnoxious, because they were moving with purpose, and Drake would rather know what that purpose was and where. Maybe the guards were flocking to help their commander, but a crackling nervous excitement told Drake they had a more important destination. Drake almost changed direction to follow them, but he let the feet pass by instead. He was well past time to check in with Rosaliy, and he did not appreciate being retasked mid-prison-break. Working with good people was impossible. Their noble goals operated under flimsy logistics.

A lone guard trotted his way, and Drake slipped behind a pillar. Who knew a hunt for some royal kids would lead here? Did doing bad things for good people make them good? He knew how this guard would answer that question.

Drake withdrew a knife and dove on the man from behind, wrenching the guard’s arm backwards to render his spear useless and locking him in with the other, knife pointed at the man’s neck. Still the man bleated out half a cry of surprise before the knife tightened further. Finally, the guard froze. He was larger than Drake, but being attacked from behind was unnerving enough for most people to react cautiously, especially anxious guards on a generally quiet shift.

“What’s going on?” Drake hissed in the man’s ear, wresting the spear from the guard’s twisted arm and kicking it out of reach.

The back of the man’s red head said nothing, although he did have a sun shaved into the back of his flaming red hair and matching sun ray tattoos cascading down his dark neck and shoulders.

Drake sighed. “Are you not answering because you’re not answering, or because you don’t understand me?”

“Dah terno?” the sun-tattooed man answered.

“Take me to the Seer,” demanded Drake, changing his grip to Sun’s arm and sliding the knife to his back.

“Seer? Arlana?” Sun asked warily, half turning.

“Eyes forward,” Drake barked.

Sun raised his hands in surrender and pointed back the way he had come.

“Go,” said Drake, scooping up his new not-friend’s spear and encouraging him with a poke to the back.

Sun took the hint and ventured forward.

The narrow hallways opened up into something identifiably royal as they neared the southern corner of the palace. Scarves fluttered in the breeze, changing the light shining through them to filtered reds, purples, oranges, and blues. Pillars here bore intricate tops, and pedestals with vases and carvings were more frequent. They must have been keeping Arlana in the king’s old rooms, either as a sign of terrified respect or as added insult.

Drake should have left his observation and location analysis for later. Sun had edged his way toward the side of a wide hallway, putting him in prime position to spin and surprise Drake with a well-deserved kick to the chest. Drake was jolted backwards into a door that flew open on impact. He flew until the hard floor of a side room stopped him. Sun slammed the door before Drake could even gasp in a breath. Drake rubbed his chest as he picked himself up.

As he scanned the room, he heard the distant sound of voices. His not-a-friend was explaining his prisoner to whoever was watching the Seer, Drake imagined. He heard footsteps down his hallway, moving too fast to make a plan.

Drake gripped the spear in one hand, the knife in the other, and he took up position by the door, ready to jump on the first person through.

The footsteps sped down the hall at a brisk walk—just one guard. Drake’s hand tightened around his knife, and he pressed himself to the wall. Then the footsteps continued their quick walk straight by. Drake relaxed his grip, but not his tense worry. Was Sun leaving to wake a partner? Off to assemble a team? This did not bode well.

More footsteps. They stopped outside.

A Flifary voice barked out a few words, and Drake heard the sound of a latch releasing. The door opened slowly, then shoved open all at once, pushed by the tip of a spear. Whoever was out there must have pushed the door open from a distance. Drake waited.

The voice spoke again from further away. He was not coming in the room.

Drake was having trouble inventing a scenario fitting this behavior. He did not want to wait around for a team of guards when there was an open door between him and one man outside, but the whole thing seemed fishy. He braved a look into the hallway. One side—empty. Other side—his not-friend, Sun. Sun waved him closer and took a few more steps back.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Drake hesitated.

“Seer Arlana,” Sun said. He pointed his new spear at Drake, then jabbed it toward the hallway behind him, visibly annoyed.

Was he trying to shove Drake in the Seer’s prison? Drake was probably a hair away from being pinned in on both sides by guards, but he could always escape into the Seer’s open prison, assuming the head guard’s concha was the right type. Drake hated assumptions. He had better follow Sun rather than waste time debating the matter with himself.

He took a few steps forward and Sun backed away an equal number of steps. Clearly they had an equal level of trust built up between them. After an awkward dance of backwards walking and wary following, they were outside a grand room. Stone arches ringed a wide open space with a stone throne in the middle.

Drake scanned the outside of the space. No visible guards.

Sun called out quietly, and a figure approached with a tinkling of metal. A dark-skinned woman appeared in one of the archways. She was dressed in draping layers of thin, wrapped clothes with a head full of tiny, fire-red braids all wrapped around each other. Her arm was bandaged, but she had a sense of steady control about her--a quiet confidence.

“Are you the Seer?” asked Drake.

She tipped her head. “Since I cannot see any more than you can, you’d best call me Arlana.”

Her voice was powerful and calming. Drake walked through the archway into Arlana’s cell, feeling the air crackle around him. Sun made no move to stop him, but he did launch into an explanation, which involved some pointing and glaring in Drake’s direction.

Wait, had the man he had just kidnapped at spearpoint cleared out Arlana’s guard to give him a private audience with her? This prison had gone from being in the running for the worst-kept prison of all time and had vaulted straight to the uncontested winner.

“I often wonder,” mused Arlana, “in situations of apparent coincidence or happenstance if there might not be another force directing events, keeping the balance where I have failed.”

“What?” was the best response Drake could manage.

“Of all the guards in all the hallways in all the times you might have arrived, you met up with Xayl. I’d love to see the intersection of your paths. How close were both of you to making slightly different choices that led to completely different outcomes?”

What was she talking about? “I came to get you out of here,” Drake tried.

She did not immediately embrace his intentions, nor did she question them.

“I don’t know you,” Arlana murmured.

What did she mean? Of course she would not know him. They had just met. “I’m…sorry? I’m Drake.”

A smile glimmered on her pale lips. “Greetings, Drake of Bayselle. I’ve always known the entire life story of the people I meet, emphasis on entire. Becoming acquainted through interaction and needing to trust based on impressions are rather awkward predicaments, aren’t they?”

“So awkward,” he agreed wholeheartedly. “I came with Rosaliy, if that helps.”

“It does.” Arlana nodded, huge feather earrings sweeping her shoulders. “I know Rosaliy. Are Iketa and Dalor still in control of the island?”

“As far as I know.”

“Xayl tells me Iketa has called for most of the guards to monitor the moving of Issabeth to the temple. Iketa may be impetuous, but she is smart enough to take no chances with the fiery Sorceress.”

“What do they want with her?”

Arlana turned to Sun, whom Drake should have switched to calling Xayl, but he had become attached to his made up name and would not be changing it any time soon. Drake assumed Arlana was asking Sun what he knew about what was going on. Sun did answer, running his hands around an imaginary ball as he talked.

Arlana crossed her arms. “I try to avoid simplistic labels like ‘good’ or ‘bad’ when even the most cataclysmic of events can lead to ultimately necessary outcomes, but this is bad. They’re going to attempt to use the pearl in place of the divination stone.”

That meant little to Drake, but it did sound bad. It was time to get the non-seeing Seer out of here to help Rosaliy. He went for a balcony, judging the distance to the ground and distance from there to the jungle. If the guards were occupied and Sun was trustworthy enough to run interference with anyone monitoring the perimeter, she had a good chance.

“What are you planning to do with that grappling hook?” asked Arlana after quietly watching him plot. “So odd I have to ask. I have so much more sympathy for the choices you Terrans must make every day. How do you not curl up in a ball and refuse to make decisions at all?”

“I ask myself that question every day,” he admitted. He pulled the concha from his neck. “The grappling hook will fix itself to the ground. The rope should be easy enough to slide down.” He held the necklace out to her.

Arlana blinked at his gift, making no move to take the shell.

“This will let you escape,” Drake clarified.

“I know what it does,” Arlana answered, “but what purpose can I serve?” She cocked her head and peered at him with an expression of bewilderment.

“You can find the divination stone and—”

“Hand it over?” she scoffed. “No. The little I can do I have done.”

“But you said something about a weapon,” he tried to argue.

“Hmm,” hummed Arlana, face tightening. “A problem for sure. Is Rin here?”

“Who?”

“Queen Katyrinna of the Naxturae.”

“No,” he said. “Not here.” Daniella had taken care of that.

Arlana relaxed. “Then they will stall their use of the weapon. Plus they have no power source. Although, there is no way to tell if factors have changed their decision making or if they have learned to improvise.”

What was happening?

“You know the situation, and you have people who are loyal to you,” Drake pointed out.

Her dark eyes lit up. “Yes, Xayl can help you destroy the magical defenses and free the prisoners. That will certainly increase the number of favorable scenarios.”

“Wait, me? Why don’t you go?”

“Everyone is looking for me, and you know the layout of the palace better than I,” Arlana pointed out. “Besides, you’re young and agile and much more accustomed to making pesky choices without necessary information.”

“I’m still not sure I’m the right choice to—”

Arlana interrupted with a jingling wave of her braceleted hand. “Neither am I, but in this case, neither of us will know if you were the right choice or not until after the fact.” Arlana shuddered and muttered to herself, “Such a tenuous way to live.”

This was hands down the most confusing group of prisoners Drake had ever tried to break out of prison. None of them would leave.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Where do you want me to go?”