Chapter 37 Tobias
Tobias
Something clanked in the distance, followed by a slow screech. Tobias stirred, his senses muddled and groggy. His cheek was pressed to the dirt floor of his cell, his throat raw. How long had he slept?
A gravelly voice broke through the haze of his mind. “Your Highness.”
Tobias blinked. A fog blanketed his vision, and he strained to see through it.
“Your Highness,” the voice repeated. “It’s time.”
Tobias hoisted himself to his knees. The silhouette of a towering man was crouched beside him—the warden. If Tobias had been clear of head, perhaps he would’ve fled, but it was all he could manage to remain upright. The warden stood.
“Go.”
He gestured toward the cell door—unlocked and wide open, much like the door to the dungeon itself.
A way out.
Tobias’s vision cleared in an instant, the exit beckoning him, yet he didn’t move. “I can’t.” Fear rooted him in place. “Brontes—”
“Is gone.”
“But his guards—”
“I’ve cleared the path ahead, and I will ensure it remains so.”
Tobias’s heart raced. Freedom. It couldn’t be real. He turned to the neighboring cell, where Pippa sat cradling her knees, her blue-green eyes pointed his way.
“She will be safe,” the warden said, predicting his thoughts.
“You can’t know—”
“I know with certainty.” The warden’s voice had sharpened, an edge of fear in his tone. “You, however, must leave now.”
Tobias’s mouth went dry, panic skittering beneath his flesh. “I don’t understand.”
“She is coming.”
For the first time, Tobias willfully looked the masked man in the eyes.
Leila was here.
The warden took a step back, cocking his head toward the pathway. “Run.”
Tobias glanced once more at Pippa. He’d waited for release, yet still he wavered.
The moment felt unreal, a cruel trick played by his mind, another dream from which he’d awaken.
But soon, his suffering reclaimed his attention—the pull of his scabs, the ache of his broken bones.
The pain was a whisper of what it had been days prior, but it was real.
Run.
Tobias stood, nearly stumbling beneath his own weight before righting himself.
He forced his feet to move, then winced.
Running was nearly impossible, so he trotted instead, limping out of his cell, then slowly up the stairwell.
Each movement was a mile traveled, and He gripped the railing to support his heavy frame, his breathing shallow by the time he reached the dungeon’s doorway.
A room he’d never seen lay ahead—a sparse kitchen with dirty pots and chalices stacked along a wooden table. And directly in front of Tobias, sprawled across the floor, lay a soldier, his neck twisted and armor splattered with blood.
Tobias stepped into the kitchen and over the corpse, keeping his footfalls light.
A stone corridor waited ahead, and he tottered through it, his broken arm clutched to his chest. Another set of stairs waited for him, and he growled as he climbed them, breathing through gritted teeth.
He stopped short. Another soldier lay haphazardly across the steps, and Tobias winced as he maneuvered around it.
Just a few more paces, and he reached the landing, steeling himself before carrying on.
He poured down another corridor, and more bodies littered his path—two guards, a man in a white tunic and colorful drapes, their corpses strewn about as if death itself had paid a visit.
The tiniest inkling of hope pulsed within him, urging him to fight past his torture, to keep going, to survive.
Windows appeared in the distance letting in the light of the outside world, and a door stood nestled between them. He was almost there.
“Stop!” A soldier rushed down a neighboring hallway, spear at his side. “Guards!”
Before Tobias could react, a colossal man appeared behind the soldier, wrapping an arm around his throat. One sharp squeeze, and a loud crack sent the guard collapsing into a pile. The warden stood over him, eyes on Tobias.
“Go,” he said. “Before the others are summoned.”
Tobias shoved the door open and staggered outside.
The harsh rays of the sun blasted over him, and he shielded his eyes, blinking past his momentary blindness. The path ahead slowly materialized—a massive field, its grass withered and yellowed with death. He stood at the base of a hill, and salvation waited on the other side.
Run.
He trotted ahead, agony splitting through his insides, tearing him in two.
Keep going. He had two mostly functioning legs, and he willed them to work faster.
The Thessian heat was particularly sweltering, beating down on him like a heavy storm.
His curls were already plastered to his face, and sweat burned his eyes, tasted salty against his lips.
Still, he scaled the hillside, climbing higher and higher.
Steel clanked behind him, followed by muffled shouting.
Soldiers were chasing him. He channeled his very last sliver of fortitude, forcing his legs to pump harder, faster.
Twigs and pebbles dug into his bare feet, nearly toppling him, but he righted himself.
Hope was alive within him, and he couldn’t crush it.
Thundering hooves joined the distant chorus, followed by a whishing past his ears.
An arrow shot through the air, sticking into the hillside.
Another arrow followed, then another. Tobias broke into a sprint, screaming against the misery of his broken body.
He allowed his pain to empower him, each twinge and spasm a war cry.
He couldn’t fail, not when he was so close.
He saw it then—a small, white light cresting the high ground, a single star in the heat of day.
With it came a rumble, the noise like a tidal wave spilling over the hillside, mighty enough to shake the ground beneath his feet.
Horses appeared ahead ridden by leather-clad warriors with shaved heads, braided beards, and clay handprints marking their chests—Kovahrians, hundreds, perhaps thousands of them.
All the while, the light grew larger, taking shape into something new—a woman riding a horse of Her own.
Leila.
Another arrow shot past Tobias, but he couldn’t hear it.
He was captivated by Leila, the single braid bouncing against Her back like a whip, Her black pants and leathers, the sword at Her hip, and the intensity of Her fiery eyes.
The mass of warriors split in two, leaving Leila in their direct center, and Tobias could’ve sworn Her glow shone past the hillside, Her reach limitless.
She’d arrived. She’d come for him. He ran faster, desperate for Her soft touch, Her smell.
Soldiers were gaining on him, but he was ignited. Just a few more paces.
Leila pulled on Her reins, halting Her horse while Her warriors continued onward.
Tobias didn’t stop. His heart thundered against his ribs, and his throat tightened, strangling him with emotion and deprivation.
Leila, my love. She dismounted, arms outstretched, and he threw himself into Her embrace, the contact a shock to his senses, reawakening everything good and pure within him.
“Darling,” She cooed, Her whisper a healing melody. “I’ve got you.”
His hands raked up Her back, through Her hair, and he soaked up Her presence, Her strength.
For a fraction of a second, nothing had changed—they’d never parted, had never known suffering.
But then the loud clank of weapons rang in the distance, and he was reminded of the task ahead—the war they would fight together, united as one.
“I’ve got You too,” he said.
The blaze of Her holy power surged through him like wildfire, and his body dissolved, vanishing in an eruption of light and darkness.