by GM Gambrell
Fourteen
It had never actually occurred to Duncan to run before Marissa had so urgently told him to do so. He’d imagined a public trial where he simply had to submit to another truth spell and then he’d be freed, his and his family’s name cleared. He began to have his doubts after what his father had said about the history of the Lord Probates, but even then, he’d resigned himself to his fate. What else could he, a non-magical person, do but accept his fate? But Marissa telling him to run had spurred something in him. He couldn’t, of course, stay in the city. He’d be found quickly, even if he hid in the debris fields around town. They could find him anytime they wanted with simple magic.
Unless he wasn’t in the town.
He didn’t have the equipment that Diamond Jim had when he’d made his first historic trip into the Wastes. He didn’t have an All Terrain Vehicle or even food and water to take. He didn’t actually have anything besides the clothes on his back.
But he was Duncan Cade, and he was proud of his ability to survive.
“I can do this,” he whispered to himself as he stepped into the ladder tunnel, ready to make his way up and out of the school.
As he did, he saw three Magistrates blink into the room and surround Marissa. He cringed, wanting to go to her aid, but knowing he’d be caught. They questioned her for a few moments, his heart racing the whole time, and then blinked out of the room. She looked at him and managed a small smile. He nodded and headed up the ladder.
Fortunately, the first floor was filled with mostly first-year students who either didn’t recognize him or didn’t know he was wanted. He slipped quietly out of the school and into the streets as the sun began to fade. He wanted to go home and, at least, say goodbye to his parents, but he knew that if he did he would be caught. He turned and headed for the nearest border debris field instead. He kept his head down and tried not to look like he was running.
The Lord Probate’s image appeared at every street corner, on top of every building, and on every sign. An announcement on this grand a scale was unusual, so people stopped what they were doing and watched as his image came to life.
“Friends and neighbors, today is a grave day,” the Lord Probate began. “As you know, our fair city was recently the target of a terrorist attack perpetrated by those who, as in the Last War, would strip this world of magic and all the good it has done. These vile criminals seek to kill us and our children and threaten our very existence. This man,” the Lord Probate said as an image of Duncan appeared next to him, “is wanted in connection with those attacks. He has been convicted of terrorism and murder along with wanton destruction of public property. He is armed and very dangerous, and if you should see him, please summon a Magistrate immediately. Please keep off the streets and out of harm’s way, my fellow citizens, until we can clear the city of this menace. Be with your families and pray for the ones that we’ve lost. Good evening and stay safe.”
Duncan cringed, thinking the Lord Probate splashing his image all over town would lead to his quick arrest, but it was quite the opposite. The citizens took his warning seriously and went indoors, leaving the streets empty. He made quick time to the debris field, then to the edge, where the shimmering shield was—and as far as he’d ever gone.
He stood there for a long time, looking at the shield and wondering how he’d get through it. As he hesitantly touched it, his hand passed through. It was cold on the other side and he quickly withdrew his hand.
“Okay, so it’s cold in the wastes,” he whispered. “I can stand a little cold.”
He pushed his head through the shield and grimaced as the wind swept his face, chilling him instantly. Duncan was looking down the edge of the city hundreds of feet below. He’d had no idea the city was floating, like his parent’s house and the hundreds of homes above, and gasped as the wind took his breath away. It must have taken insane amounts of magic to keep the entire city hovering like that, he thought. There were long pipes running from the city to the ground that shimmered a dull blue. They also caused a constant vibration outside the field, like they pulsed with some great energy. He thought he could shimmy down one, through the bitter cold, to the ground. It wouldn’t be all that different from the brass pole at his parent’s house, though the distance was much, much greater.
“Halt!” he heard someone scream from inside the shield and pulled his head back in, staring at a pair of Magistrates. One’s hand was already forming a fireball.
“Wait,” he pleaded. He couldn’t go back and he was scared to go down.
The Magistrate flung the fireball and Duncan hurled himself sideways, narrowly avoiding the streaking sphere of fire. He slipped and tumbled, rolling out of the shield and only barely catching the edge. His feet dangling below him, he screamed for help, but there was only the wind.
The Magistrate leaned through the shield and looked down at him, smiling.
“Goodbye, Golem.” He raised his foot, meaning to stomp on Duncan’s fingers to make him let go so he could plummet to the ground below. But just before his foot touched Duncan’s hands, the boy was blinked away, teleported and saved by an unknown comrade.