Chapter Sixteen #2
‘Y-your highness,’ another sentry desperately stammered. ‘We have orders to keep it closed. Orders from the Empress.’
Had his mother anticipated that this would be the outcome of the trial? Had her faith in him been so irreparably damaged she had expected a mutiny? And, if that was the case, how had he never sensed her doubt in him before?
He tried to let fire rise in his throat but was again met with that same stabbing agony. He roared against it, making the sentries wince. Willing his eyes to flare, he snarled, ‘I will not ask again.’
They looked at one another a second time, uncertainty swiftly bolting to fear. One of them tentatively stepped forward. ‘My lord, we cannot disobey an order from our Empress. Even for you-’
‘She’ll kill us!’ another blurted earnestly.
Gedeon knew that to be true, had even played executioner for disobeying sentries in the past. He would be an executioner again now, if that’s what it took. ‘Open the fucking gates now,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Or I shall burn you where you stand.’
He let smoke rise from his lungs and curl from his mouth, half snarling, half growling as his spine in turn felt like it was being cleaved in two.
That tiny display of power was enough for all four sentries to back away, and they finally cranked the lever that opened the gates to Dracyg, risking the Empress’ wrath over being incinerated.
‘Now, run,’ Gedeon ordered them breathlessly, and they did without a look back. He grabbed Amala’s wrist. ‘Come.’
‘Wait,’ she said suddenly, tensing against him to stop him from pulling her away. ‘There’s someone coming.’
‘If we wait, we die, now come-’
‘But… Master-’
‘Gedeon.’ A familiar voice graced his ears and he turned to see Sunsi, her curved twin blades unsheathed from their usual home on her back, now clutched in her gloved hands.
She stared at him, her expression grim yet determined.
‘Captain,’ Gedeon said with a slight bow of his head. ‘I do not want to fight you.’
Sunsi stepped forward until she was a metre away, but made no move to raise her weapons. Gedeon instinctively pushed Amala behind him. Sunsi peered at the girl, and her gaze softened ever so slightly.
Then she said in a voice so quiet it was almost indiscernible, ‘The Flaming Falcon. Go. Now.’
Gedeon stared. ‘Is this some trick?’
Footsteps pounded the surrounding hallways.
Sunsi fished a gold coin from her pocket, larger than the normal form of currency and held it out for Amala to take.
The fledgling’s eyes widened as her hand closed around it.
The shouting drew ever closer. ‘No trick, Gedeon, I swear it by the Four. Trust me.’
She turned and ran, shouting orders to throw her sentries from their scent.
By the Four.
‘Master…?’ Amala’s hand tugged on his own.
He blinked, ripping his gaze from the spot where Sunsi had disappeared from view. ‘Come.’
In the slums on the edge of the city, and the furthest point from the Black Castle before the River Emor divided the land, the Flaming Falcon stood.
It was an establishment weathered by age whose patrons were the poorest of Dracyg’s citizens.
Gedeon practically dragged Amala through the back streets, her little legs barely able to keep his pace.
Both were drenched head to toe with ashy-rain.
The unrelenting rainfall was somewhat of a blessing for it was hard to see through, and as it spattered and drummed every surface, their own footfalls were cloaked from hearkening ears.
Gedeon had no choice but to rely on it, for his darkness would not come again without being accompanied by that horrific pain.
A mystery he would uncover if they survived this night.
Sentries were crawling the streets after them; he could hear their shouts, could hear home after home being broken into, citizens cast out into the rain as they searched each dwelling for the two fugitives without care of destruction.
Guilt rose, but Gedeon shoved it deep down.
Wrenching the door of The Flaming Falcon open, his nostrils were assaulted with the smell of clammy, unwashed bodies as he looked upon the sea of people in the tavern, shielding from the dirty rain and drinking their woes away with cheap and nasty ale.
He moved instantly, keeping Amala’s hand tight in his and swiping a holey, moth-eaten cloak from the chairback of an unsuspecting patron. Swiftly donning the cloak, he pulled Amala to the side of the dusty bar, putting her between himself and the wall.
Through the grimy windows, masses of red swarmed the street outside. Gedeon swore. ‘This was foolish,’ he hissed. ‘We have cornered ourselves.’
Without a word, Amala sidled out from behind him.
‘Amala!’
At that moment, the front door burst open and the sentries leaked in, shoving the patrons, demanding his and Amala’s whereabouts, pulling back hoods, smashing glasses-
He rushed to Amala’s side as she waved down the barkeep, and as the grubby man drew close, she slammed the gold coin Sunsi had given her on the rotting wooden surface, desperately glaring at him.
Chaos ensued behind them, a tavern of normality upturned by the royal guard, magic and force used against those who opposed them, the cries of the hurt echoing through the muggy air.
The barkeep looked at the coin, then at the sentries, then finally his gaze rested on Gedeon.
He swiped the coin from the bar and tossed it back to Amala, then lifted a hatch just to the left of them.
‘Quickly!’ he spat. Amala ducked under without a moment’s hesitation, and Gedeon, seeing as they had very little other choice, followed her through.
‘Down the stairs,’ the barkeep murmured, nodding to a narrow door in front of them.
‘Trapdoor under the empty barrel. Use the coin. Don’t delay! ’
Amala went first through the door and into a very narrow staircase, with Gedeon in close pursuit.
At the bottom of the stairs was a room, the only light source a singular torch on the wall.
It smelt of a mixture of spilt old ale, mead and wine.
His eyes adjusted to the darkened room almost instantly, and in the corner opposite the singular torch, was a number of wooden barrels.
He shoved at each of them, until the third one wobbled, the contents empty as promised.
With ease, he shoved it out of the way to reveal a small outlined square in the concrete beneath. It had no handle, nor hinges, nor any sign that it opened at all.
‘The coin!’ whispered Amala, then hastened to place it in the centre.
Light beamed from beneath her hand upon contact, and the seams of the square glowed like fresh magma. She took her hand away, coin gripped in her fist, and the square lifted slowly from the floor until it floated high above their heads.
Being their saviour aside, it was truly beautiful magic.
Amala swung her legs into the hole, ready to climb down the rickety ladder to the mass of blackness below. Gedeon put a steady hand on her shoulder. ‘Me first. Grab that torch from the wall.’
She nodded and jumped up.
Raucous noise continued above them, though thankfully, no sentry had made it past the barline.
Yet.
Gedeon descended the ladder feet first. ‘Stay there until I reach the bottom,’ he called up to Amala. She nodded again, her face illuminated by the torch now in her hands.
A door smashed open. Gedeon’s head snapped up to see Amala whirl around, her face set with terror as the sentries flocked down the stairs, bound for the cellar.
‘Come, Amala! Now!’ It would be mere seconds before they rounded into the dark room and caught sight of her.
With the torch in one hand, she frantically began to climb down, but as her braided head cleared the square hole, the puzzle piece hovering above fell back into place with a resounding bang, making Amala jump with fright and lose her footing.
The torch whizzed past him and hit the ground beneath. Gedeon relinquished his hold on the ladder, catching the falling Amala and pulling her into him as they plummeted over three metres to the ground, Amala gripping him with scarcely a cry.
Gedeon landed hard on rough chiselled stone, his weakened knees buckling from the impact of the fall.
Their combined fast breath was all that filled the silence, and for a moment, neither moved. Then Amala slowly peeled herself away from his taut grip and whispered, ‘Thank you.’
Gedeon peered up at the ladder, at the trapdoor now shrouded in darkness above, hoping that whatever magic had sealed it shut would not reveal the secrets beneath it, should the sentries realise what it was.
‘Don’t thank me yet,’ Gedeon said gruffly, picking up the still flaming torch from the ground. ‘Stay close.’
The light cast from the torch revealed another staircase, wider than the other, that spiralled steeply down for what seemed an eternity. Damp clung to the walls, and the air became denser as they ventured deeper and deeper underground.
Light blazed in the distance, and the nosing of the staircase came into view.
The ground flattened into a narrow corridor with a lengthy line of steel doors on either side, each with a different number soldered into the metal.
Candle-lit bone chandeliers hung down the centre of the domed ceiling above, alighting the path ahead.
Some sort of forgotten prison, Gedeon was sure, and yet the sounds that accompanied its appearance were not prison-like at all.
Laughter.
From wide open doors at the end of the corridor, was the unmistakable ring of raw laughter.
Gedeon glanced down at Amala. She was staring at that door too, with tears pooling in her dark eyes, and he knew it was not with fear that her eyes welled, but with hope at the promise of what might lie ahead.
Even so, he remained by her side, stepping with caution as they drew closer.
The laughter became louder, the buzz of countless conversations rippling in and out of his ears, and as they reached the arched entrance, revelling at the scene before them, Gedeon could not help his jaw from dropping with astonishment.
A rotunda, cavernous but warm and bright from the abundance of chandeliers dripping from the beams above, stood before him.
An underground tavern of sorts, full of an array of people of different sizes, races, genders and ages, with rows of wooden tables and chairs and a canteen on the left hand side with steaming hearty stews, and fluffy, freshly baked bread.
Every single person in the room fell quiet as they stared at the newcomers, food in their bowls forgotten, conversation topics forgotten, everything forgotten but the two most unlikely companions to enter their haven, sodden, worn and beaten.
The Prince of Fire and the fledgling.