The problem with fahrenning with a hungover mage - heck, she might’ve still been drunk - is that their judgement’s not great.

Gray had assumed Sorena would take them into the forest. Somewhere hidden, but close by. Just somewhere near Ravestead, so they could get their bearings and then fahren again after Sorena had had a second to breathe.

Gray landed blindly, the lingering crush of darkness from fahrenning obscuring his vision.

His knees cracked on sandy cobblestones. His palms skidded in a slippery puddle of brine. Gods, he hoped it was just brine.

He landed amid startled cries, cries deep enough that Gray could picture them without having to see them.

Northerners. Huge. Male.

Underneath the startled cries was the distant sound of ocean waves crashing against a cliff.

He gasped in a breath and the air was salty. The tang made him stagger to his feet, blinking furiously to get his eyesight to clear.

Because, for Clochaint’s sake, did Sorena just fahren them right into Sirentown city?

He stumbled, glancing desperately around for Sorena, for Lyrie and Oliver.

And instead was met with several dark, surprised stares from the guards manning a huge set of gates.

One guard leant against the guardhouse door, his axe resting loosely in his hand, its blade tapping out a bored rhythm on the cobblestones. Another slouched against the gate itself - against the giant hinges - his head tilted in shock as his gaze swept over Gray, mid-chew of a piece of dried meat. Two more sat cross legged on the ground, paused in their game of cards.

They wore uniforms accented in turquoise and had more knives on their belts than Gray had seen anyone carry, including Killian.

Gray wasn’t inside Sirentown city, he realised, craning his neck as he glanced up. A salty breeze buffeted against his back, whipping through his clothes, and flinging his dark hair every which way.

The gates towered, they were designed for giants, and they were set into walls so high that they disappeared into the black night sky.

‘Care to explain yourself, boy?’ said the guard tapping his axe, his eyebrows raised, his lips starting to curl in amusement as his gaze swept over Gray.

Gray rubbed his eyes to clear his sight properly, his pulse thudding in his head, feeling like he’d left his stomach up in the air and like he had a current of static running through his blood.

He’d never been thrown apart from the group like this during a fahrenning. Sorena’s fahrenning had always landed them shoulder to shoulder with each other.

Before Gray could think of something to tell the guards, a chorus of deep northern yells went up somewhere far on his left, ‘mages!’

The guards near Gray shifted. A few of them reached for their knives. The one closest to Gray folded his arms, tilting his chin up as he stared at Gray hard.

‘You mage?’ said the guard, his thick eyebrows raised so high now they were near his hairline. ‘I thought they weren’t allowed out on their own so young. Where are your guards, eh? Where are your parents?’

'Not mage,' Gray gasped. 'Just - just travelling with them-'

A loud cry, ripping through the night air, from somewhere on the right, ‘the princess. The princess Sorena. She’s here. Call the Captain!’

Gray swore.

The closest guard grabbed Gray. His huge hand twisted the back of Gray’s vest. Gray watched, as though a by-stander to a nightmare, as more guards dressed in that uniform accented in turquoise dragged first Lyrie and Oliver, and then Sorena, in from the darkness.

Sorena was completely limp, thrown over the shoulder of a hulking guard, her platinum hair dancing in the wind from the sea.

Gray had a split second.

A split second to lock eyes with Lyrie. For her to mouth ‘go’.

Because, by now, Lyrie knew Gray could move.

And she knew that Alistair’s vest was too big for Gray.

That Gray could slip free.

Gray hesitated.

Slipping free meant leaving Sorena, Lyrie, and Oliver to deal with the guards alone.

And Gray couldn’t do that.

Gray let himself be dragged behind the others.

Through the gates of Sirentown.

—

The guard who dragged Gray was huge.

Stinking.

His iron grey hair was twisted down his back in a warrior’s tail. His dark eyes were lined in messy kohl. His uniform was crumpled enough to tell Gray this guy had already had a long, hard day.

Every few steps he’d shake Gray, as though to get him off balance.

Gray was already off balance. His ankle was killing him. Sirentown - for what Gray could make out in the dark night - was a city of steps. It was cut into the mountain that faced the north sea. The steps and the uphill climb made his legs and chest ache.

The streets were dark, but not entirely quiet. They were being dragged up what seemed to be the main thoroughfare.

The guard tightened his grip on the back of Gray’s vest. They were last in the straggling line, heading up to - Gray assumed - a particularly large building at the top of the next turn.

He could see Sorena hanging over the shoulder of the guard in front of them.

Shit.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

Gray’s heart thudded.

He needed just one moment of clear calm, to think.

This wasn’t happening.

He needed Sorena. He needed her running as much as he needed to be running.

He needed her to help divert the resources of the army.

They passed a side street lined with market stalls that were closing up for the night. Some of the vendors were haggling with the odd late-night customer.

Gray glimpsed a stall selling fireworks.

There were braziers of fire every few yards, spilling heat and spiralling smoke.

Praying that Lyrie and Oliver would take the opportunity to pull Sorena free if Gray created enough for a ruckus, Gray twisted in his guard's grasp.

He twisted free.

And sprinted down the side street towards the closing-up market stalls before the guard even realised he was holding an empty vest

-

The fireworks hung on display from the canvas roof of the market stall in a riot of different colours, shapes and sizes, and lay invitingly on the tabletop. The stall vendor was busy packing up his wagon for the night. Beside him was a herbologist selling bunches of dried fierlion weeds.

It was almost too easy.

The gods wouldn’t have put such an easy opportunity in his path.

But, Gray didn’t have time to question it.

His heart thudding, Gray darted out his hand as he sprinted and snagged the last firework on the table. A small golden one, in the shape of a lion.

He snatched a whole bunch of fierilion herbs.

And he tossed the whole lot into the closest brazier.

Gray knew it could backfire - hell, to have such an easy diversion practically handed to him on a silver platter? Maybe there was a small chance everything would turn out, maybe his luck was turning around - even if you did not mix fierilions and open flames.

Longwark had given him detention for this.

And you really did not mix those with fireworks.

Gray did not expect it to go off like a bomb.

But, damn, it did.

-

Gray was knocked flat on his back.

His pulse roared in his ears.

Golden light blinded him.

He staggered to his feet, not caring that he couldn’t see, that he felt like he’d been run over by a stampede of horses.

Stumbling, Gray groped forward, something light and soft fluttering down onto his skin.

Ash.

Huge firework lions were exploding in the sky and they spilled out of the brazier, loping down the street. They were running through the whole city, looming over the rooftops, roaring, lighting up Sirentown so that Gray glimpsed it for the first time, bathed in golden light.

Gray looked back at the mouth of the side street just in time to see Lyrie, Oliver and Sorena’s guard fighting. They fought over Sorena in a messy, furious tug-o-war.

He ran towards them.

People were getting up from being knocked over by the blast.

So many people were screaming.

Gray reached Lyrie and Oliver. He savagely kicked the guard in the knee and the guard buckled.

Lyrie and Oliver got Sorena, they were dragging her back, back-

The guard staggered upright and lashed out at Gray with a huge fist.

He clipped Gray's ear and Gray fell, stumbling down the steps he’d just been dragged up. The guard advanced.

There was no time to think.

Gray ran.

-

The guards were fast, and they knew this city.

Gray wished he could run, run, run like he used to. Wished he knew which streets were dead ends, and which ones were busy enough to provide cover.

The golden light from the lion fireworks had quickly faded and was replaced by the growing red light of dawn.

And the city was awake - startled by the explosion, pulled from their beds by the emergency bells tolling - and the people were alert on the streets.

Gray knocked over a cart of fish, spilling them over the road behind him. He scaled a stone wall, and he slipped through an impossibly narrow space between two buildings.

His chest would burst.

He couldn’t keep this up.

He’d been travelling for days. Farhening was brutal. He’d been fed on a diet of oats and water, and knocked around for days before that. The firework blast had messed up his hearing, his balance, his skin.

One tight corner led to another. Another.

The guards kept coming.

They got closer.

The longer Gray could keep them chasing, the longer Lyrie and Oliver had a chance to drag Sorena to safety.

He had to keep going.

It didn’t matter how much his lungs burned. It didn’t matter that his ankle was on fire, or that his legs shook.

Stopping wasn’t an option.

Somehow, with the blurred backdrop of the city of Sirentown sprawling below, and the endless stretch of the ocean beyond, Gray had stumbled into the rich part of town.

Which was bad.

The streets here were wide and provided no cover.

And Gray stood out a mile.

The people here wore brightly coloured silks. They kept their hair neat, and they were expensively groomed. They turned, clutching their jewellery, as Gray flew past.

There were more guards.

Some kind of palace.

Gray pressed himself into an alcove, the rucksack digging into his back, and his chest heaving. Sweat dribbled down his temples. His hair hung lank.

The guards shouted. Gathering more men.

They were getting closer.

He had to run now, or be cornered.

Gray sprinted again, pushing against the pain, his ears thudding with his blood.

He knocked over a shop’s display of expensive rolls of brightly-coloured silks, and they spilled behind him, in tangled, slippery colour.

It wasn’t just the guards shouting now. It was the people. A man stood in the street, in front of Gray, and Gray had nowhere to turn. He couldn’t go back. He couldn’t even stop, he was running too fast.

The man stood, his arms stretched, his stance wide.

Gray skidded through his legs. He rolled. Grazed his cheek, his palms. His ankle buckled as he tried to get back to his feet.

Hands were on him.

He wrenched free.

Stumbled.

Kept running.

And fell, spectacularly, down an impossibly steep set of stairs.

Down, down.

He bounced hard against the stone of the steps. His skin bled as he fought to right himself, to stop.

He kept tumbling down.

He bounced against a hard timber door. It was painted bright red, or maybe Gray’s vision had turned red, because he couldn’t breathe, and he’d hit his head, his shoulders, his knees.

The door opened, and Gray rolled in.

He kicked the door shut behind him just as he heard the shouts of the guards from the top of the stairs.

Gray staggered to his feet, leaning against the closed door.

And looked up.

A tall woman stood before him, in long skirts and a crisp apron. She had her hair twisted like a northerner but enough glinting jewelry to be a mage.

The room had large posters of human anatomy on the walls, and diagrams of herbs and plants. Shelves stuffed with books and papers and jars were shoved underneath the steep stairs leading to the upper levels. An empty table stood in the middle of the room.

But it was the woman that had Gray’s attention.

She swept a long glance over Gray in complete silence. Her gaze was intelligent.

Gray couldn’t have spoken even if he wanted to. He had no breath, no strength.

She stepped closer.

Her gaze narrowed. It was on Gray’s hands, his face, his hair.

She seemed to be having an internal battle.

Outside, the stomping of the guards' boots were closing in.

‘Did you kill somebody?’ she said.

Gray shook his head.

She jerked her chin at the steps leading up. ‘There’s a hatch that leads to the rooftop.’

‘Thank you,’ Gray gasped.

Gray kept running.