by Jed Herne
Clubhead circled around Fleetfoot’s right. Another few seconds and he’d have a clean crossbow shot. Fleetfoot huddled behind the rubble, shivering. Was it Marogan’s imagination, or could she smell the kid’s piss from here? She smirked.
Breeze struggled to free herself from Marogan’s grip. “Marogan-”
“Alright, I’ll let you shoot, but on one condition.”
Breeze swallowed. “What?”
“Say he’s a pathetic coward who killed Wisp.”
Breeze clenched her jaw and shook her head.
Marogan sighed. “Guess he’ll die, then. I reckon he’ll scream like a baby.”
Breeze cursed and tugged herself out of Marogan’s grip. She fired. Her arrow zinged through the air and sailed over Clubhead’s shoulder.
“Tsk tsk,” said Marogan. “Better stay calm if you want to save your pet.”
“Help me, he’ll die!”
Clubhead grunted in surprise. He whirled around, saw Marogan and Breeze on top of the wall, and loosed a crossbow bolt. The arrow clattered against the stone ten feet below.
The other two men fired bolts. Marogan and Breeze lay flat against the walkway and the arrow hit the wall behind them, sending sparks flying.
Marogan peeked over the walkway’s edge into the courtyard below. Clubhead and his two men hid behind rubble. A standoff, then. Except not quite, because Clubhead’s crew were reloading their crossbows. Within a few seconds two of them could send covering fire at Breeze and Marogan, and then Clubhead could dash to a new piece of cover and shoot Fleetfoot. If they knew how weak the boy was they wouldn’t bother, but they hadn’t the misfortune of knowing him.
Breeze crouched on the walkway, arrow nocked. “Marogan, go through that guard tower and come out on that walkway. You can flank them.”
“I give the orders, girl. You still haven’t followed mine.”
“He’s not a coward.”
“Then when’s he brave?”
“Every time he’s dealt with you.”
Marogan scowled. Did this stupid girl know who she was talking to? Breeze wouldn’t be so snappy with her lungs burnt to a crisp.
Marogan shook her head. The heat of the battle was getting to her. It was always like this. Every time she drew upon the fire, the fire drew upon her. Made her irrational. Angry.
Breeze would never betray Fleetfoot. Even though the boy was an idiot, Marogan respected her conviction.
Marogan stood. “This isn’t for him.”
She dashed into the guard tower, clattered down the spiral stairs, and burst into the courtyard. Marogan sprinted across the cobblestones, vaulted over rubble, and kicked Clubhead as she slid down the other side. He collapsed.
She raised her hand to finish him but he twisted and hit her arm and lunged with his knife but she grabbed his wrist and he flipped her and she was under him and his knife inched towards her throat and she growled and channelled heat through her hand gripping his wrist and his arm glowed red and he screamed and dropped the knife and writhed and Marogan clamped her other hand around his neck and into her hand she channelled fire.
His screams turned into a gurgling squeal. Limpness flooded his body and he slumped. Marogan stumbled up. Through the hole in Clubhead’s throat she could see the cobblestones.
A crossbow bolt punched into her chest. Her ribs snapped. Pain flared through her and she staggered back, growling, and hurled fire at the man who’d shot her. The flames died before reaching him. He grinned, like he couldn’t believe his luck.
Breeze’s arrow struck him in the eye and he toppled and his head cracked on the stone.
The other man dropped his crossbow. He raised his hands, eyes wide, and yelled in a strange language that sounded Obearien. Marogan scowled. Wisp was Obearien.
Fatigue clouded her mind and pain jabbed her ribs as she stumbled towards him, making sure her arms avoided the arrow sticking out from her chest. She faked a smile to put him at ease. Her acting must’ve sucked because the man grew pale and he shuffled backwards. He tripped.
Marogan held her hand over him. “Don’t get up.”
He swallowed. “No.”
“Who’s your boss?”
With a trembling finger, he pointed at Clubhead’s corpse.
Marogan rolled her eyes. “Who’s his boss?”
“The Baron. Baron Earnstain.”
Marogan nodded. She flexed her fingers and the man winced.
She chuckled and pain tore through her side and her chuckle turned into a cough. “Don’t worry. I won’t kill you.”
The man gaped. He glanced at Fleetfoot and Breeze, who’d walked over to join them.
Marogan pointed at Fleetfoot. “This kid will.”
Fleetfoot’s eyes widened. “No.”
Marogan pressed her knife into his hand. “You’ll do what I say, or I’ll burn off your arm.”
He gulped. “You don’t get your money if I’m hurt.”
“No. We don’t get it if you’re dead, but a little burning won’t kill you.” Marogan prodded his blistered forehead. “We’ve done this before.”
“I’ll do it,” said Breeze. “Give me the knife, Fleet.”
“Give it to her and I’ll burn your hand, boy,” said Marogan.
Fleetfoot’s eyes twitched from side to side and sweat streaked down his temple. At Marogan’s feet, the man frowned. He must’ve been fresh from Obearia, because he seemed confused.
Marogan thought of Wisp. He’d tried to teach her Obearien, but she’d grown bored and it seemed like a waste of time. Time she could spend mastering her power.
She scowled at Fleetfoot. “You’ve already killed enough people on our side. Time to balance the scales.”
Gulping, he dropped Marogan’s knife. Fleetfoot clenched his hands into fists, looked up to meet her eyes, and shook his head.
So the boy had some guts. Too bad for him. Marogan grabbed his forearm and channelled heat through her palm. Fleetfoot yelped. He tried to pull away, but he was a twig compared to her.
“You’re hurting him!” said Breeze.
Marogan kept glaring into Fleetfoot’s watery eyes. “That’s the idea.”
Flesh sizzled and Fleetfoot screamed. The boy struggled but Marogan held him tight, so he knew there was no escape, and when she was satisfied Marogan released him. He collapsed, sobbing.
Marogan pointed at the Obearien on the ground and colour drained from his face. What, had he expected to survive? Fool.
A thin stream of fire leapt from Marogan’s fingertip to the man’s head. It engulfed his face. He shrieked and tried to roll but Marogan slammed her boot onto his chest and held him while he writhed.
Fleetfoot huddled on the ground. Breeze cradled his waxy, blistered forearm, rubbing ointment onto the wound.
The Obearien kept struggling underneath Marogan’s boot. She stomped and cracked his ribcage. His struggles weakened.
Marogan’s lip curled. “Better hope your father wants you back, boy. This isn’t a world you’ll survive.”
“Leave Fleet alone!” said Breeze.
“Touchy, eh? Sorry about your pet. I thought you wanted help putting it down.”
Breeze glowered. “Were you always an arsehole?”
The Obearien’s flailing arms dropped to the ground and Marogan stepped off him. “I was always a survivor.”
Marogan yanked the arrow out of her side. Pain shot through her and blood spurted from the wound. Gritting her teeth, she turned away from Breeze and Fleetfoot, popped some painkiller leaves into her mouth, heated her hand, and cauterised the wound. Stung like a bitch but for a cut this big it was her best option. She clenched her jaw to stop herself screaming.
No weakness.
When she’d finished, she turned and kicked Fleetfoot. “Get up. Time to search.”
Breeze helped him stand. Fleetfoot’s legs quivered, his eyes watered, and blood dribbled from his mouth. Must’ve bitten his tongue.
“Search for what?” asked Breeze.
“The Skull,” said Marogan.
“I thought you found it!”
Marogan scowled. “Don’t know where it is.”
“No,” said someone else. “But I do.”
Marogan turned. A figure stood in the keep’s shadowy doorway. Smoke swirled around them, distorting their shape, and the wind fluttered their ragged cloak. Hard to tell, but it looked like a woman.
Clubhead’s crew had nine members, and they’d killed all nine. Had they hidden an extra person?
Breeze nocked an arrow.
Marogan raised her hands and prepared to hurl fire. “And you are?”
The woman stepped out of the doorway. Her tattered cloak hid most of her skin, except for her scarred, burned face.
The woman’s lip curled. “I’m Xaphess.”
The woman’s voice was dry and broken and rasping. Fleetfoot stiffened. Breeze’s hands shook.
Marogan smirked. “Like the Pyro from the stories?”
“Worse.”
With lightning speed, Xaphess raised her hands and fire erupted from her. Breeze dove behind a rock, pulling Fleetfoot with her. Marogan hurled a blood pouch at the fire and the inferno consumed the pouch and energy filled Marogan and she drained the flame but the fire kept rolling towards her. Marogan’s guts clenched. She was stealing the fire’s power as fast as she could but it wasn’t enough.
The flame swallowed her. Redness clouded Marogan’s vision and she collapsed and pain consumed her and she tried not to shriek, no weakness, no weakness, but the pain devoured her and she opened her mouth and screamed.
Part IV: Fleetfoot
12: FLEETFOOT
Fear surged through Fleetfoot. Xaphess had turned Marogan into a flaming corpse and now she strode towards them.
“We’ve got to run.” Breeze squeezed his hand. “For the gate, alright?”
He swallowed. When Xaphess attacked, Fleetfoot and Breeze had dived behind a pile of rubble. While they crouched here, they were safe. Fleetfoot knew that wouldn’t last long, but the fifty-feet dash to the open gate seemed wider than the Falmedan Ocean.
“Ready?” Breeze asked.
Fleetfoot nodded. He realised, for the first time, how close they were huddled together.
“Alright-”
An enormous fireball roared overhead and landed in the gate. It swallowed the broken wooden door and flames leapt into the air, filling the opening and blocking their only escape route.
“The tower!” said Breeze.
She stood and tugged him up and dragged him along as she sprinted for the tower in the corner of the wall.
“Don’t run,” said Xaphess. “I haven’t had new toys in a while.”
Fleetfoot’s boots pounded against the cobblestones. His heart hammered. All his focus went into holding Breeze’s sweaty, calloused hand, and making sure he didn’t trip.
Heat smacked into his neck. He glanced back and a tongue of flame roared towards them and he yelped and ran faster and now he was dragging Breeze behind him. They bolted into the tower and slammed the door. Fire smacked into the other side. Wisps of flame shot through the keyhole, but they died before reaching too far inside.
Fleetfoot panted. They were safe for now, but smoke rose from underneath the door and the smell of burning wood clogged his nostrils.
Breeze pointed up the spiral stairs. “I saw a rope before. We can climb down the walls.”
Fleetfoot hated heights. He opened his mouth to tell her but she sprinted up the stairs and dragged him along. They twisted up the spiral staircase, feet pounding on stone. Breeze’s long, graceful legs let her take the stairs three at a time. Fleetfoot struggled to climb two at once.
Smoke rose from below. The door wouldn’t last long.
They reached the landing. Breeze put her hand on the doorknob and turned to check that Fleetfoot had kept up. He had, but only just. Gasping, he doubled over and rubbed his stomach. A stitch knifed into his side.
“The rope’s twenty paces away,” she said. “I’ll tie it, then you climb down, and I’ll follow. Soon as you reach the ground, run.”
“I don’t like-” Fleetfoot stopped and realised this was their best chance of escape. “Okay.”
Breeze opened the door. After the darkness of the stairs, the bright sky made Fleetfoot squint. They stepped onto the walkway.
And fire billowed towards them from the courtyard.
Breeze tackled Fleetfoot and they collapsed back into the stairwell. She slammed the door shut. It groaned and shuddered as fire sprayed against the outside.
“Damn it!” said Breeze.
She’d dropped her bow. He looked under the door to see flames engulf the weapon, along with the entire walkway.
Breeze cursed. “How does she have that range?”
Fleetfoot’s heart hammered. There were only three ways out of this tower: the door at the base, and the two doors leading onto the walkways. Every exit led to death.
His mouth was dry. “Breeze-”
“Stay calm, Fleet.” She examined an arrow slit which looked onto the forest. “No, too narrow, can’t climb through.”
Nausea swelled through Fleetfoot and his hands trembled. “We’re going to die. She killed Marogan and she’ll kill us and there’s no way out of-”
Fleetfoot froze.
Breeze frowned. “Fleet?”
He ripped off his shirt and wrapped it around his face.
Then he raced down the stairs. “There’s a way out! Come on!”
Cloth tore. Breeze must’ve also ripped off her shirt. He wished he could look, but that would be a great recipe for breaking his neck on these stairs, so he focussed ahead. Smoke filled his vision as they descended. The sweaty shirt against his mouth helped filter the stench, but the smell still churned his lungs and watered his eyes.
They reached the ground. The air was clogged with heat and smoke and the stench of burning wood. Before, Fleetfoot worried Xaphess would storm into the tower. Now, he realised she’d let them cook to death.
But not anymore.
Fleetfoot dropped to the ground, where the smoke was thinner, and crawled under the spiral stairs. Ash covered the floor. He wiped it away, revealing a square seam.
Breeze used an arrow to lever open the trapdoor and a dark tunnel appeared below. Fleetfoot looked at Breeze.
“I’ll go first,” she said.
She stepped onto the ladder inside the shaft, gripping Fleetfoot’s shoulder for support. He smiled. Her touch made this whole thing worth it.
Fleetfoot climbed after her. At the last moment he thought about Xaphess, and he pulled the cover back over the trapdoor. Darkness swallowed them.
Fleetfoot kept climbing and his backside hit the wall. He adjusted position. Elbows scraped against stone and he swallowed and realised this tunnel was tiny and it was pressing against him on all sides. What if he got stuck? What if it was blocked?
A hand gripped his shin. He flinched.
“It’s alright, Fleet, we’re almost there. Deep breaths.”
Fleetfoot swallowed. He was panting so loudly the sound echoed through the shaft. How hadn’t he noticed?
As he put his feet down to hit the next rung, there was nothing to support him. He lost grip. His stomach lurched and he fell on top of Breeze.
“Sorry.”
He rolled off her, glad the pitch-black darkness hid his reddening cheeks. He felt around him. There wasn’t much space between the walls, but there was enough room to stand.
“How did you know about this?” Breeze asked.
“The plans,” he said.
“What plans?”
Blinded by the darkness, all he had to focus on was Breeze’s voice. He’d never appreciated how beautiful it was.
Concentrate.
“This is all my fault,” he said.
“Fleet, you didn’t kill Wisp. Marogan was … an idiot.”
“No, not that. This mission. See, you know how they said my Fa- I mean, Baron Hargrieve, knew the Skull was in this Castle? Even
though everyone thought it’d been destroyed? I got that information.”
“How?”
“Calculations. The Baron had spies draw plans of this Castle, before the Gutting. Always liked knowing about his rivals. And I was looking at the plans, and the structures, and it was inconceivable that this place couldn’t protect their Hearth from a fire. The Baron didn’t believe me when I told him a year ago. But in the last few weeks he must’ve got proper engineers to look at the sums.”
“And now we’re here.”
“Yeah.” Fleetfoot wiped his sweaty brow. “I didn’t know it’d be so hard. I’m such an idiot.”
Breeze laughed. “Fleet, if you hadn’t remembered this tunnel, we’d be dead. If that makes you an idiot, then I don’t even know what that makes me.”
Fleetfoot smiled. Thank goodness she was alive, and thank goodness she forgave him for creating this mess. He’d read a lot about how surviving conflicts made strong relationships. They’d have a really strong one if they escaped this. Hopefully.
“So.” Her hand found his and sent a pleasant buzz of excitement across his skin. “Where now?”
“Right.” For a moment, he’d almost forgotten about the murderous Pyromancer. “This tunnel should lead to the keep. This way.”
13: FLEETFOOT
They crept along the tunnel. The air was damp and cold enough to make Fleetfoot shiver. Slime coated the rocky walls. He pictured water flooding into the corridor and rising above their heads-
Stop being so imaginative!
They kept walking. Apart from their soft, echoing footsteps, the corridor was silent. Whatever was happening above, they were too far underground to hear. He gulped. Had Xaphess realised they’d escaped? What if she’d found the trapdoor? What if she was descending the ladder, ready to spray fire along the tunnel? Water would be bad, but fire was worse. If only Breeze had her bow. Maybe if they were armed, Xaphess would kill them quickly, and not draw it out.
Fleetfoot stubbed his toe against something heavy. He grunted. Breeze knocked into him from behind and he fell against something hard.
“Sorry,” she said.
He was so distracted by her pressing against him that all he could say was, “Uh.”