The corridor on the other side was dark and narrow, the walls made of stacked up large stones pressed so close together that Wil had to turn on his side at some points. He heard Tseren following close behind, her shoulder pads scraping against the walls at points, her breath hot on the back of his neck. Of all the things to happen today, Heddwyn disappearing from his hands, a man healing a deadly wound in seconds, the fact he’d allied himself with a barbarian was the most impossible thing. Not just any barbarian either, but the King’s personal Knight.
He was a dead man.
The corridor opened into another hall, this one holding no windows, but torches lined the walls, throwing long, flickering shadows across the floor. No-one met them on this side, but Wil noted an intersection in the hall ahead, and didn’t like the idea of taking the wrong path only to end up where they just were.
Tseren pushed the door closed behind her, then leaned up against it, panting heavily. Her shoulder was a blackened mess of dried blood, still weeping fresh red down the front of her armour. She made to pat at it, then flinched away.
‘How bad is it?’ Wil asked, though he could see the answer. The blade had gone through to the hilt. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see another opening on her back, though she had broad and bony shoulders so he could see the bone stopping it too. Either way, it needed care.
‘It hurts.’ Tseren’s voice was tight.
‘You saw them coming,’ Wil said. She’d reacted before he’d even heard the marching. Before the little slave girl noticed too. She still held the sword in her hands, and up close Wil could see the same puffs of red mist breathing out of the scabbard. He felt nervous just standing near it; he had no idea how she felt brave enough to hold it. ‘You are a Mysica, aren’t you?’
Tseren nodded. ‘Are you really a spy?’
Wil flinched. How long had Faustus known? It was impossible to know, but if he’d been damned from the start, it explained everything. Had it always been a trap? Or did he not know anything, and just needed someone to blame. Like the man who his son ran to in panic. Heddwyn had run to him. Grabbed onto him and held tight. Was that why the hollow feeling had returned? It ate at him, shoving everything else aside to make room for nothingness. It ate at him over an entitled, bratty little turd of a kid who named him after a dog. But he was still a kid. A kid who didn’t need to pay while his parents walked free, and Faustus didn’t even care. The only one not about to gut him was a Bulartuug girl with fucking mystical powers.
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What was he supposed to do now?
Get out of here. He had to get out of here.
He reached over and pried the other half of the shears out of Tseren’s hands, and balanced them in each hand. They weren’t made for any battle, but a blade was a blade. Tseren pulled at her undershirt, tearing a strip off and tying it awkwardly around her shoulder, before nudging Wil into motion.
They’d come out near the kitchens; Wil could smell the shadows of dinner wafting from one of the halls. At the other end two regular palace guards shuffled down the hall, seeming way too ordinary after everything. They had padded armour, missing the splints that had covered them out in the battlefield. The bronze coloured leathers were topped with bucket helmets of actual bronze, and each had a spear in their hand, hanging loosely in their grip. Wil slowed as he and Tseren reached the cross between the two, and the two guards slowed as they noticed each other. The guards hesitated, growing weary. Wil’s grip tightened on the blades.
‘Can I help you two?’ one of the guard asked.
Tseren stepped towards them, but Wil stopped her. ‘I’m the Retainer to the Eldwylle Prince,’ he said. ‘We’re just looking for the way out of here.’
‘Sir, I didn’t realise…’ the guard glanced down at the broken shears in Wil’s hand, and his eyes narrowed in question.
‘Don’t worry about that,’ Wil said quickly. ‘I broke them in the garden, I didn’t want the Northen-- the Resei to take the blame for it.’
‘Why?’ the guard said. Then, at Wil’s glare, he swallowed. ‘Sorry, sir, I… you needed help with something?’
He heard the footsteps behind him at the same moment the second guard readied his spear, and Wil parried the tip as it came at his face. The first guard swore, but Tseren caught his attack with the still sheathed sword and grabbed his spear, snapping it over her knee before smacking both ends of the wood into his head.
‘Duck!’
Wil dropped at the new voice, feeling the rush of air as another spear whirled past his head and sailed down into the guard’s knee. The guard howled as Mala rushed forward, scooping up the broken part with the tip and holding it up in warning. The second guard froze, his own spear ready. He then paled.
‘What is this?’ the guard demanded. He then stepped back, his gaze falling past Wil. ‘Help!’ he called. ‘Someone! The Resei are—’
Aric leapt out of nowhere, throwing himself at the guard and driving both of them into the floor. Aric growled as his hands closed around the man’s throat, tightening his grip until the face beneath turned blue.
‘Remember me, Raemon?’ Aric hissed. ‘Do you remember me?’
Footsteps rushed down the hall, and Wil turned as a dozen more palace guards rushed towards them, these ones fixed onto him and his companions, angry and coming fast.
‘Okay, we’ve gotta go.’ Wil motioned to the two women as they regarded each other, then grabbed Aric’s shoulder, half tapping him and pulling him. Aric whirled on him, glaring, then noticed the guards approaching fast and scrambled to his feet. He then turned back to the guard on the floor and smashed his foot into the guys nose. The guard howled as the bone crunched in on itself, blood exploding across his face.
‘Follow me,’ Aric said. ‘I know a way. Follow me.’
We’re going to die. Wil watched as Aric tore down one of the corridors. The guards descended on them, and Wil swore, then charged after the crazed Northender. Tseren and Mala followed close behind.
