Slow seconds ticked by while Kevlin held the awkward position against the wall until he was sure his captors would not return. He glanced down at the seemingly harmless ring on his finger. How had it blasted Tanathos?
He had no idea what the flaming sword meant, but one thing was crystal clear: Tanathos would butcher him when he returned. Best to be long gone by then.
It took a little twisting, but he finally extracted the lock picks concealed in his wristguard and freed his other hand. His shoulders ached and his stomach still burned, but it felt like the bleeding had stopped. He didn’t bother to inspect it.
His captors had been rather careless in removing his weapons. They'd entirely overlooked the silver dagger in its hidden sheath. Haraz probably hadn’t expected him to live very long, and his carelessness gave Kevlin a chance.
He crossed the cell to where Tanathos had fallen, smiling at the memory. A glint of light caught his attention. He pushed aside a clump of straw and laughed in triumph.
Bajaran’s amulet.
Tanathos must have dropped it when he struck the wall. Kevlin frowned as he inspected it. The blast that had disabled Tanathos had altered the amulet. It was now a light blue stone on a silver chain.
Hopefully it wasn't damaged. The stone spun on the chain, revealing the tiny flaming sword symbol etched in silver.
With its promised protection, maybe he had a chance. Kevlin slipped the silver chain over his neck and tucked the amulet inside his tunic. He knew without a doubt now that it was a magical item, but that knowledge did not even make him flinch. With shadeleeches planning to rip out his soul and suck it dry, his perspective of what constituted bad magic had changed.
He turned to the door and pressed his ear against the little shuttered window set into it, but heard nothing. It took less than a minute to pick the simple heavy lock. The tumbler fell back with what seemed a terribly loud click.
He threw his weight against the door.
It did not budge.
The deadbolt.
Kevlin bit back a curse and listened again. Nothing. Maybe they hadn’t heard. It didn’t really matter.
By the Lady’s temper, I need a break.
Leaning his head against the unyielding oak, he considered his options. He drew the silver dagger from its hidden sheath. The blade had sliced clean through a wrist-sized chunk of wood just yesterday, although that seemed a lifetime ago.
It proved just as effective against the hardened oak of the doorframe, and he soon carved away enough of the frame to reveal the deadbolt and the anchor bolts holding the bracket to the door. He struck the blade against one of the anchor bolts, hoping to wiggle it free of the restraining wood. Instead, the blade sheared clean through.
The edge of the blade appeared unaffected by the abuse. Bajaran might be a betrayer, but he had excellent taste in weapons. Then Kevlin thought of how easily the blade must have plunged into Antigonus’ chest, and shuddered.
He changed tactics and drove the dagger against the back of the deadbolt, scarring it deeply. It cut through on the third strike.
He’d made some noise with those cuts. Surely anyone standing guard outside would know something was up. Time to find out. Kevlin threw his weight against the door, driving it open hard in case someone was lurking right outside.
It flew open without resistance, and he barely caught it before it slammed against the wall. The effort pulled him off-balance, into the room.
Not only was the room empty, but his belongings were still sitting on the table.
“There’s no way they could be so stupid,” he muttered as he stepped toward the table.
“You’re right.”
He spun to see Haraz leaning back in a chair beside one of the other cell doors, where no chair had stood a moment ago.
Haraz clapped his hands slowly, mockingly, as Kevlin's hopes for escape, for life, crumbled. The shadeleech had just been playing with him all along.
The shadeleech rose. "You are a puzzle. Your resourcefulness suggests extensive training, but simple tricks seem to surprise you."
"How did you. . .?"
"Remain unseen?" The shadeleech sneered. "It's a simple trick to take one's surroundings and bend them around one so as to remain unseen.”
"I'll remember that," Kevlin said, in an attempt to keep the man talking.
Haraz snarled, "No, you will die." He raised one hand and a bolt of black magic streaked across the space between them, striking Kevlin in the chest.
Kevlin looked down, expecting to see a gaping hole, but his armor was unmarked.
It looked like the amulet was working, but that hadn't been the way he'd hoped to test it. Actually, he felt great. A throbbing warmth spread through his chest, and with it returned his strength, as if he’d slept for hours. Even the pain in his stomach faded.
Haraz cursed and lifted both hands. A rolling ball of fire materialized and spun toward Kevlin, crackling with lethal magic and growing until it filled the room. The sharp tang of sulfur stung his nostrils as the air became searing hot.
Kevlin backed away, but could not escape. The fire struck, but was sucked into his chest with a blue-white flash.
He laughed and blew Haraz a kiss.
A blue glow emanated from under his jerkin, and light spilled out his open collar. The warm sensation in his chest intensified. This new strength was too similar to what he’d experienced under the influence of the song of Savas, like a foreign power invading his soul.
I won’t surrender again.
Instead of trying to drown his mind, the power pushed against him, struggling to escape. It roared through his veins like liquid fire, burning away his aches and pains and filling him with boundless energy.
Haraz shouted in rage, drew a dagger from beneath his robes and charged.
Steel on steel. That was a threat Kevlin knew how to deal with.
Kevlin threw the silver dagger at Haraz and focused all his new energy on the dagger as it left his hand, willing it to be gone.
It obeyed.
Somehow that energy transferred to the blade. He could not explain it, but as soon as he formed the thought in his mind, it happened. Blinding white light enveloped the dagger as it flew across the room.
Haraz's shout of fury turned into a cry of surprise, and he raised his hands to ward off the attack.
Too slow.
The silver dagger slashed through Haraz's upraised hand without slowing, then drove deep into his chest. The energy encasing the blade exploded, blasted the shadeleech off his feet and left him a smoking, bloody ruin.
What a mess.
For a double heartbeat Kevlin stood transfixed, mouth agape. He stared at his own hand, wonder mixed with fear at what he’d done.
He was alive. That was all that mattered.
Of course, if he didn’t get moving fast, he might not be alive for long. Haraz's cries were sure to have roused others. He had no idea what he’d just done to Haraz or how to do it again. No, he didn’t want to do it ever again. He just needed to run.
Running he could do.
Grabbing up the silver dagger from the mess that used to be Haraz, Kevlin ran back to the table. He found the rune-covered bag still in the burglar pack, with the rock inside it.
“Thank the Light and the Lady.”
Kevlin slipped on the pack, buckled on his sword belt and grabbed his boots. He paused to listen outside Antigonus’ cell, but heard nothing. He wanted to throw open the door and give the old sentinel the chance to escape. The hard truth was that he couldn't save Antigonus, not today.
To save him, Kevlin had to get away and return with reinforcements. Placing a hand on the door, he mouthed a farewell before turning and racing down the corridor toward the exit. He kicked open the door at the end of the hallway where he'd been ambushed last time, sword ready, expecting to be met by armed makrasha.
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The hallway was deserted.
Maybe the walls surrounding the holding cells had been muffled with more than thick wood to block the screaming of prisoners. He ghosted down the hall and returned to the front room. The fire was dead, the whole room cloaked in darkness. He crossed to the main door and slipped on his boots. His blisters hurt less than he expected. At this point, he'd take every little mercy he could get.
Out on the porch, he paused to survey the darkened parade ground. The sky was already beginning to change from black to pre-dawn gray. Most of the fort lay quiet and dark, but in the glow of the two remaining torches fixed to the wall, he caught glimpses of guards passing in turn. Getting out over the wall was going to be tricky, so he spent several precious seconds considering his next move.
Although it was no longer raining, the ground was still muddy and his tracks could be easily followed once they discovered he was gone. That meant no tracks in new places.
He descended the steps and crossed the parade ground at a loping run. His boots squished in the mud and he breathed deep the fresh air scrubbed clean by heavy rain.
After jogging down the dark alley between the barracks, he surveyed what he could of the outer wall. No torches burned nearby, and he heard no footsteps on the walk. He only needed a few more minutes. His tracks would hopefully blend in with those he’d left earlier, and make it harder for them to determine if he’d returned that way.
Kevlin skirted the outer edge of the barracks, heading back to where the wall ended against the cliff. Time was slipping away. Already he could see more clearly.
“Here we go,” he breathed, reaching for handholds. Just at that moment, a shout rang from the command building.
They knew he’d escaped.
Even as the echoes of the shout faded, the blast of a horn raised the alarm. The fort erupted into a maelstrom of activity as makrasha boiled from their barracks to assemble in the parade ground. Many others raced up onto the top of the wall. Torches sprang to life all along it as the guards stationed there spread out.
Black despair sapped Kevlin’s strength like poison, and he slammed a fist against the uncaring wood that blocked his escape.
With terrible efficiency, the makrasha mobilized. Orders were shouted and torches lit as the creatures began splitting into squads to hunt him down. On the wall, several beasts raced for the cliff above where he crouched. He'd never get over the top before they spotted him.
Kevlin slipped back along the edge of the cliff to stay clear of their torchlight. There he stopped and leaned back against its rough surface in despair. If he went any further, the fresh tracks he made would give him away and the hunt would be over in seconds.
There was nowhere left to run.
Hiding anywhere in the fort would just delay the inevitable. They would find him.
He’d come too far, learned too much, and now carried the hope of the empire in his pack. Thrusting aside despair, he racked his brain, searching for a plan, an idea.
Wherever I walk, they can track me. The thought mocked him.
He looked up.
Deep shadow obscured everything more than a few feet up the face of the cliff. If he couldn’t see up there, they probably couldn’t either. Although almost vertical as it soared high into the darkness, the cliff face was rough, climbable.
Lights were approaching. Time to move.
Kevlin found promising handholds and pulled himself off the ground. The rock was cold and wet but offered good purchase, and the first several feet were easy.
He climbed as fast as he dared through the near-darkness while several makrasha approached below. They paused and appeared to be arguing over something on the ground, giving him another precious minute to continue his ascent.
He found a narrow ledge about forty feet up the cliff and settled onto it with his back against the rock. He rested while the patrol continued moving along the base of the cliff, still studying the ground.
Then Merab strode into the torchlight. With the shadeleech directly below him, Kevlin felt terribly exposed. If only he had a really big rock to drop.
The group searched methodically, but none of them looked up. Merab struck one of the beasts and shouted something in a harsh language. The makrasha all cowered away from him, then returned to their search while Merab strode away into the darkness.
A clatter of hooves drew Kevlin’s eyes to the gate. A mounted column of riders, followed by scores of makrasha on foot, left the fort, split into two groups, and rode slowly along the outside of the wall.
Had he climbed over, they would have found his tracks and run him to ground before he could cover the half mile to the shelter of the forest. At least out on open ground he’d have a fighting chance.
The light of the coming day would eventually reveal him on the cliff, but he couldn't risk descending. The patrol had moved on, but they'd surely return.
Only one way to go.
Deep shadow prevented him from seeing much higher, but the memory of that towering cliff set his heart pounding. It was a very long way to climb.
Lady have mercy.
Not giving himself time to reconsider, he began climbing again. In the near-complete darkness, he felt his way up, concentrating on making every movement count while not making a sound. His wounds ached, but the stitches held, and he made a point of not thinking about it.
The rock face was rough, cold, and wet, with small pockets of lichen and moss that he avoided for fear of slipping and plummeting to his death. After a time he glanced down and found himself high above the treetops.
Seeing the land spread out in the early morning light, with nothing supporting him but his toes and the tips of his fingers, was dizzying. He’d heard of brave men suddenly going weak when faced with a long drop. As a youth, scaling the masts of his father’s ship had never bothered him, but somehow this was different.
He decided not to look down again.
At least the cliff faced west, away from the rising sun. Even though the early morning light shone across the trees far out in the forest, shadow still ruled the cliff face and would continue to hide him until noon. All he had to do was get to the top.
Like scaling ten ship's masts, stacked atop each other, but without the handy rope ladders.
He really started wishing for those rope ladders when he reached a stretch of blank stone face that prevented further progress. Glancing down, he bit back a curse. He couldn’t go back. Rising panic threatened to overwhelm him.
He was stuck.
Pressing himself against the cliff, he reached out as far as he could with one hand, searching for a way around. Nothing.
Shifting his grip, he tried with the other hand.
There. At the very farthest reach of his fingers he felt something that might be a handhold, but he couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t quite tall enough.
He’d have to jump to reach it.
For half a minute, he clung there, fighting fear and searching for a different way. Stone dust coated his lips and he fought down a cough that might shake him loose.
There was no other way.
Time to spin the Wheel.
Kevlin kicked off with both feet, lunging up and to the right. He grabbed for the handhold, and at the apex of his leap, his fingers slipped around a knob of stone.
For a terrifying heartbeat he hung, feet scrabbling for purchase against the cliff while he clawed at the stone with his other hand. The strain on his injured shoulder set the muscles screaming in protest. His fingers trembled and his hand began to cramp.
One foot found purchase, a tiny crack barely enough for his toes. It took a little of the strain off until he found a hold for his left hand and pulled himself higher.
A few minutes later, he reached a rougher section of the cliff, with a small ledge he could stand on. Breathing heavily, he wiped sweat from his eyes and fought the urge to give up. His muscles quivered from the strain, and he felt shaky with fear. He could not go back down, but doubted he’d make it all the way up. What a stupid way to die.
He had no other choice.
So he climbed.
In the past couple of days, he’d walked many miles, battled a Blade Stalwart and shadeleeches, and watched comrades die. His strength was beginning to fail. His equipment dragged him down, and his feet hurt. He yearned to drop extra weight, but that would give him away.
He eventually found another small ledge to stand on, barely four inches wide, that allowed him to relieve his aching fingers. His body trembled with exhaustion and he panted for breath. Craning his head back, he looked for the top of the cliff, but could see nothing but unending stone above. How high was it anyway?
Action for Honor, for Life.
The slogan of his mercenary legion reverberated through his mind. He hadn’t allowed himself to even think it for years, but the power of that slogan rang within his soul with undiminished force.
His men used to chant it before battle, uniting them in purpose and brotherhood. Repeating the phrase to harden his resolve, he reached up and grabbed the next handhold. He climbed for several minutes, trying to drive himself up the cliff face by sheer force of will.
If wishes were cargo, he never would have left the life of a merchant as a youth.
He had to slow down as the pain in his fingers and arms grew severe. His legs shook from the strain, and his stomach started to cramp.
Still he climbed. Hours dragged by as he focused entirely on the next handhold, then the next. Nothing else mattered. So focused was he on the struggle to move forward that he nearly climbed right past a wide ledge.
Once he confirmed it wasn't a delusion crafted by his exhausted mind, he climbed onto it. He lay gasping for breath, exulting in the simple pleasure of relaxing, past caring how precariously close to the edge he might be.
Had his position not been so dangerous, he would have gladly drifted off to sleep. He closed his eyes for several moments, willing his muscles regain their strength, and slowly became aware of sunlight streaming over his face. At first he welcomed its warmth, then sat up with a start.
He was no longer in the shadow.
Kevlin looked around and, for the first time in hours, really took stock of his position.
"Light preserve me," he whispered.
The ledge upon which he rested was positioned high up the massive cliff. Far below lay the fort, looking like a child's toy, with miniature figures barely discernible. He had to be at least a thousand feet above the forest floor, and could see for miles over the forest under the clear noonday sun.
Noonday sun? He’d spent the entire morning scaling the cliff.
Looking back at the route he’d traveled, he could scarcely believe he’d managed it. He twisted around to look up, and his heart leaped with joy. Above his little perch, the slope became much gentler, and the top wasn't far off. Staggering to his feet, he finished the ascent with a final burst of energy and fell exhausted behind the first screen of thick brush clustered along the top of the cliff.
After a minute of blissful relaxation, he peered back through the screen of greenery, and froze. Something came flying up across the cliff face, circling as it rose along a current of air. It looked like a hawk, but seemed to be formed from glowing red light.
Kevlin ducked behind the thick brush. He didn't know what the spectral bird might be, so he assumed it came from Tanathos. Who else but a shadeleech would conjure such a thing directly over the fort?
Had he remained any longer on the cliff face, it would have spotted him. Would it have ripped him from his precarious perch or just summoned Tanathos? It wouldn't have offered him a ride, that was for sure.
Every sense alert, Kevlin waited in tense silence for any indication that he had been seen. After five long, uneventful minutes, he peeked out between the bushes, but saw no sign of the spectral bird. He’d have to stay within the thickest cover for the remainder of the day to avoid being spotted.
With the immediate threat gone, he sagged back and took off his boots to massage his feet. The blisters were worse, and he even had a couple on his toes. One had popped, and it burned in the air. Walking was going to be torture.
Kevlin removed his burglar pack, checked the rock in the rune-covered pouch, and munched some of his meager rations. Only one apple remained, along with a couple handfuls of nuts and some hard bread. He jingled Bajaran’s purse and smiled ruefully. He had plenty of money but nothing to buy.
After pulling on his boots, he stood with a grimace and headed south along the cliff edge. From what he remembered, the cliff ended a few miles farther south. Hopefully there would be a way down, and hopefully Ceren had found Harafin.
While he was making wishes, hopefully Harafin thought to bring a cook who loved to grill steaks.
At least the shadeleeches and makrasha were stuck at the bottom of the cliff. They’d have a hard time catching him. Since he wasn't much of a woodsman, he couldn't easily live off the land, and in such a deep forest he could easily get lost. Keeping close to the cliff made the most sense.
As he started what was bound to be a long hike, he wondered how Ceren was doing.