Roland hit the slanted roof hard, rolled down the slope, and caught hold of the gutter a second before it was too late.

Above him, by about thirty feet or so, tubheads crowded around the broken window to witness what had become of him. Their expressions were caught somewhere between confusion, disbelief, and disappointment.

Roland would smile if there were anything to smile about, but this had been a costly stunt. His already exhausted body now had to worry about the possibility of a few broken ribs, aching joints, and a bruised mid-section from where he’d landed on the roof. All would be worth it, though, if he could just keep moving.

With a groan, Roland hoisted himself back up with the help of a nearby dormer window. Inside, he could see a quaint bedroom all dressed up for its occupant. Upon trying the window, however, he found that it was locked. Could he smash it? That would be a certain way inside, but would it be the best way out? No, he realised, they would expect him to escape this way.

It was time to make a quick inspection of the area.

If he followed this roof to its end, he’d find about a ten-foot gap. A neat leap over it would get him onto the battlements of the inner keep. From there, he could reach the nearby gatehouse, get inside, and work his way into the square without having to drop and expose himself. The square was always busy, which meant it could obscure him, and from there, he knew a way into the sewers.

This was his best option.

The horns were already blaring when he’d manoeuvred his way back to the top of the triangular rooftop. Every tubhead in the keep would be looking for him now, and it’s not like he was challenging to find either. Roland got to his feet quickly. The slate tiles were unforgiving on his bare soles, but he fought through the irritation.

A sudden arrow thunked within an inch of his next step and threw Roland off balance. The tubheads behind the broken window were firing upon him. He slid a little along the slope but righted himself quickly. If they were trying to kill him, they were lousy shots. They’d have to try better if they were trying to scare him.

Without thinking about it, Roland snatched the arrow up and continued his trajectory. He needed to hit the end of the rooftop running. That was the only way to build the momentum necessary to clear the gap. If he didn’t, he’d simply fall, and he seriously doubted he’d find yet another misplaced rooftop to cushion his fall.

Not too far from the gap, though, the situation changed.

A horned figure pulled herself up onto the roof from one of the farther dormers and quickly got in a position to challenge Roland — a tiefling. The woman must be one of Love’s minions from the finely studded black and purple leather. She was well-built and held her two-handed mace like a baseball bat. She looked slow, which favoured Roland, but all she needed was one good hit.

There was no exchange of words. The guard got into it without hesitation. She barrelled towards Roland, building up her own momentum, but the rogue could see her attack a mile off. She brought the mace around at about chest level, and he ducked beneath it on his knees. The old power slide. Then, he came around on the other side of her, but his weapon, the arrow, wouldn’t do anything against that armour.

The mace struck the roof, shattering the tiles beneath it without an almighty clatter. She turned to face him, and Roland put up the arrow defensively. The tiefling snarled. The mace came round, and Roland jumped back out of the way. Then, travelling along the same path, it went up high and tried to hammer him like a nail. Roland swung to the left, narrowly dodging it — more broken roof tiles.

An idea came to him. He twirled his body, spinning along her lowered arms, and nimbly stabbed the arrowhead into her hand. She yelped with the sudden rush of pain. When she let go of the mace, Roland quickly kicked it so that it sailed off the roof. By doing this, he levelled the playing field a little.

Another growl. With startling speed, the tiefling came upon him. Her black and red hair, styled in a ponytail, swung wildly with each thrown fist. Roland was quicker, though. Even on a restricted diet of bread and water, he was faster. He easily sidestepped, dodged, ducked, and parried the fists as if he’d practised this exact fight beforehand.

Years of training and muscle memory spurred him on, much to the annoyance of his dancing partner. Before long, she was roaring and swinging faster, putting her brute strength into practice, but he knew this would only tire her out. When her gait slowed to a crawl, Roland picked up the pace. It was true that she was bigger and heavier, but that was something he could use against her.

On the next swing, Roland grabbed her wrist, brought his body into hers and, with a strength spurred on by motion, threw her over his shoulder. The tiefling struck the roof. It must have hurt, too, if her contorted features were anything to go by. She wasn’t done, though. The tiefling slowly found her feet. Roland wasn’t done either.

His kick, aimed squared at her chest, sent her flying towards the edge of the roof. She spun along the slope, end over end, but caught herself on one of the dormers. That was the end of it. With no time to spare, Roland found his feet again and took off running.

However, five steps into his escape, he was hit with a very different problem. A call for help. He stopped to glance back over his shoulder. The tiefling, who hadn’t murmured a word during their fight, struggled to find purchase. It was an awful long way down, he saw, and instant death was assured.

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

Why should he save her? That was his first thought. In minutes, perhaps even seconds now, this rooftop would be crawling with tubheads. They might be all over the battlements if he’d misjudged them. This tiefling had never done anything for him. He certainly didn’t owe her anything, either. He owed her less than that, as she had tried to capture him a moment ago.

Roland looked from her to the battlements and then back again.

There was no second-guessing the surprised look on her face when Roland offered his hand to her. She took it gratefully, but he didn’t linger to help her. Good deeds never went unpunished, after all. With some difficulty, Roland pulled her hand to a more substantial ledge where she’d find a better purchase.

He didn’t wait for a thank you or expect one. Instead, he was off like a shot.

Roland leapt across the gap just as tubheads clambered onto the roof behind. Some made to run after him, but he was far too swift now that he had gotten moving. He climbed up onto the battlements and jumped over to the walkway. Guards were shouting, shaking their fists, and he was laughing.

It felt different this time. A stupid iron barrier had thwarted each escape attempt before. Not this time. Not in the city’s fresh air, far above what they could call the dungeons. This time, he’d get to the streets. That’s all he needed to do. If his bare feet found the courtyard’s flagstones, he could disappear forever.

Which of the two should I go for first after my daring escape? He pondered as he rushed towards the closest tower. The ruby or the rapier?

***

The tower served a few purposes. As a thief, Roland was told to know these things. It served as a watch tower to help keep the city safe and as a gatehouse that allowed people in and out of the square. Ten or so were dotted about the walls, all connected by the battlements. What most didn’t know, however, was that some of these towers were derelict and abandoned.

Fortunately, there was an easy way to tell whether the tower was in use. The door was locked, and the tower was not in use. Roland smiled. A little further up, there was a window that would no doubt be latched, but that wouldn’t be a problem. The rogue jumped to the door frame and used the jutting stone bricks to reach the window ledge.

This is where the arrow came in.

Taking hold of the arrow’s pointy end, he fed the other end through the gap between the window’s panes. He raised it slowly, forcing the latch to come undone easily on the other side and the windows to open for his convenience. After that, stepping inside and relatching the window was a simple matter.

The marble floor was cold and covered in a thin layer of dust. There was furniture in the room and décor, but Roland couldn’t tell what any of it looked like because each article was covered in a sheet. As any good thief did, he quickly counted the exists. Barring the window was an oak door with iron hinges and a shadowy archway leading into more obscured parts of the floor he was on.

Aches erupted up his chest and joints as the day’s events wore heavily on him. The adrenaline was wearing off, and his exhaustion was creeping. Roland didn’t want to waste time but just had to catch his breath. Despite the chicken dinner, he’d not eaten well nor slept, and his limbs were growing heavy.

Roland sat on a covered chair, promising to leave in no longer than a minute. The tower was locked, which meant they had to find a key, which meant he had a little time. From here, he’d go up, not down, and climb stealthily on the outside with no one the wiser. That was his best bet.

He sat there a moment, slowly breathing in and then breathing out.

At his third exhale, he realised he could see his breath lingering in the air. A sharp coldness had overtaken the room.

Roland realised it almost a moment later and glanced up. A single eye, a red orb, peered at him through the darkness of the archway. A footstep followed its appearance. Then another. A figure emerged from the shade, and Roland’s heart stopped dead.

It was a woman, a human who had been worn down by life. She was a filthy creature with a sinister face. Her hair was rum red, her mouth full of golden teeth, and one eye obscured by a patch. She wore the finest set of dishevelled clothes anyone was bound to see.

Three rapiers clinked together on her belt.

‘Berry,’ Roland whimpered.

She laughed, cold and hard, sending shivers down his spine.

‘You betrayed me, Roland,’ she said seriously. ‘Now I’m coming for you.’

Roland spilled over his chair. It rattled the marble floor, kicked up the settled dust, and forced him on his back. When he returned to a more upright position, Berry was gone, and he was left to wonder if he had seen her at all. How could he have seen her? He thought. There’s no way.

The rogue yelped in surprise.

A figure, another figure, had suddenly appeared right next to him. Someone different. A hood obscured this stranger’s face, but even without seeing, Roland could tell something was wrong with him. He could smell the reek of death upon the stranger. A noose was hanging around their neck like an ill-fashioned accessory, and it swung with every step they took.

Roland backed off. He didn’t need to wonder who this was — The Hangman of Tressa. He grabbed the arrow like a dagger and got ready for a fight.

Kythos hadn’t been lying then. The supernatural figure was real. This wasn’t an imposter or someone playing dress-up. This was a real thing. Roland had never been in the room with a ghost before, but he had heard that an eerie coldness and a low fog followed them wherever they went.

‘You can’t escape the noose.’

He winced. The voice was like nails on a chalkboard; it made him shudder and cringe.

The Hangman stepped forward, and with each step, Roland felt colder. His skin grew paler, and he felt…strange. It was hard to explain, but it felt as if there was nothing for him beyond this moment. Like this may well be the end. It made him terribly afraid and rooted him to the spot. It didn’t help his wits that he was still rattled by Berry Kellam’s appearance.

‘W-what do you want?’ His teeth chattered.

‘Five days.’ The Hangman held up his fingers. ‘You cannot be allowed to escape.’

Unseen ropes lashed out at him. Roland tried to dodge, but they had caught him off-guard. They wrapped about his feet, tied his arms to his back, and drew an unsettling noose around his neck. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t loosen them. In fact, each time he tried, they coiled tighter.

A door banged below. Footsteps followed it.

‘Berry Kellam,’ Roland said, but didn’t know how to phrase his question. ‘How?’

‘Five days.’ It was all the Hangman replied.

When the tubheads entered, the hair-raising figure was gone. It left Roland, once again, wondering if that had been real. It must have been. The guards got him in his stupor, not that he could’ve escaped. Last time, he had caught them off guard; this time, they were swiftly around him. Against that many maces, Roland had no choice but to surrender.

Chains were added, tighter this time if such a thing were possible, and he was marched back towards the keep with the promise of Love’s punishment. Roland couldn’t help but remember how the tiefling had struggled when her head was turned to stone.