Relief flowed through me in the quiet that followed, as if a valve had finally turned and let months of pressure hiss out of my bones. It felt as though everything had been building since the first night my father had betrayed me. All the danger, the deaths, and the constant ache of anger. While nothing about me was suddenly whole, the release left me lighter. Not clean, not totally clear, but less buried under the weight of it all.

The moment broke when H edged away from Tom's ruined body and angled toward the door. Ginge caught his sleeve—rightly guessing I'd stop him myself—and that small, practical motion snapped the room back into focus. There was a prison break underway outside these walls, perhaps even the start of a full rebellion, and I was standing in an infirmary with a bloody sword and tears drying on my face. I wiped my eyes with the back of my glove and stepped out of Mistress Maggie's embrace.

"Thank you," I said, voice rough. "I needed that."

Kindness softened her eyes for a heartbeat… then anger shouldered in and she slapped my armour-clad shoulder hard enough to sting through the padding.

"What do you think you're doing?" she scolded. "Wearing a guard's armour in the prison? Do you think they won't notice you aren't one of their own? Foolish boy."

"I needed to," I said, chastised by the tone more than the blow. "I'm breaking out of prison. I have to protect myself somehow."

"You and what army?" She scoffed and glanced toward the corridor like sensible trouble might walk in at any second.

"Um." I scratched at sweat-damp head under the rim of the helmet, suddenly aware of how absurd I must look. "The one that was imprisoned downstairs?"

Her head snapped toward me, shock sliding quickly into a worried look aimed at H, Ginge and Carl. I shook my head to cut that line of thought off at the knees.

"It doesn't matter now. The secret's out. We freed everyone down there."

"Everyone?" she echoed. "They're all free?"

I nodded. "Free from below at least. They're still somewhere in the prison though. I think they want to take the whole place and turn it into something they can hold. Which means this whole place is about to get very hectic."

She stood stock-still, lips parted, as if the room had shifted under her feet. Ginge looked from me to the door and back again, brow furrowed as he thought about the implications. H had both hands on the bedframe and wouldn't quite meet my eye. Carl hovered behind them, looking slightly unsure of how he was meant to be reacting. Outside, distant shouting rolled and broke like surf.

"Oh," Mistress Maggie said, the word small and sharp. "Oh. Right, you three, back to your cells. You don't want to be caught up in what's about to happen."

She pointed at the door, palm trembling. H, Ginge, and Carl didn't move. They looked at me instead, weighing up whether they could go off her permission alone, as if the wrong blink might put my sword back in my hand. For a heartbeat the only sound was the wet drip from Tom's bed ticking onto the floorboards.

I let out a breath I hadn't noticed I was holding.

"You can go," I said, voice roughened by smoke and everything else. "Sorry about threatening you. I just saw Tom there and after he set me up, and seeing you here with him… Well, I thought you might be part of it and… So you can go. It's alright."

They didn't need a second invitation. H reached for the handle first and the others crowded close behind, eager to be anywhere else.

"Oh, one thing," I said, and the three of them froze as if a trap had sprung under their feet. They turned back in slow unison. I shifted my grip so the sword's point kissed the floor and let them take a good look at me and my blood and soot covered armour, knowing it would add to the menace of my threat.

"Tell anyone what happened in this room, and I'll hunt you down," I said, keeping my tone low and steady. "And when I find you, I'll make you look worse than what I did to Tom."

Mistress Maggie's scowl cut across my vision, a quick flare of anger she didn't voice. Ginge swallowed and nodded.

"We won't say anything. We promise." H bobbed his head in frantic assent, and Carl just looked between us like he was waiting for something else to happen. I gave a single nod to seal it, and they slipped out, their footsteps pattering away down the corridor until the infirmary took back its silence.

Letting them go strangely made me feel better. I had no doubt they would do what was best for them but that wasn't surprising. Ours was a friendship built on proximity, not respect or love. And I meant what I said. If I found out they betrayed me, I would show no mercy.

"You need to leave now as well," Mistress said, turning to me the moment the latch clicked. Whatever softness had held me up a minute ago was gone, replaced by the practical woman I knew from the academy. "If they find you here, they'll kill you."

"They'll try," I answered before the sense of the room caught up to my mouth. Her eyes flicked to Tom's body and back to mine, and the word tasted wrong. I dipped my head. "I know. I'll go."

"I don't know how to help you get out, Brandon," she said, apology tugging at her features. "Everywhere is watched. It's always so well guarded and I'm… I'm not used to this." Her hands fluttered once, uselessly, then clenched at her sides.

"Being a criminal?" I tried, tilting a smile that didn't fit. She rewarded me with an embarrassed scowl that felt almost like old times.

"Yes. Being a criminal," she said. "But if you do manage it— if you get clear— you can hide at my place."

The offer came out in a rush, as if saying it fast made it less dangerous.

It took me a second to understand she meant it. The weight of that trust pressed at something tender inside me as she once again proved to be in my corner.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

"I can't do that," I said, gentler than before. "It puts you at risk. Besides, I've got places to go." I tightened the strap on my gauntlet and glanced toward the corridor where the echoes of the prison rose and fell like a storm. "I'll be all right."

"You better be Brandon Horlock," she said, raising her hand menacingly. "If anything happens to you, I'll track you down and give you a seeing to. Do you hear me?"

"Yes Mistress," I replied, an echo of the old schoolboy I once was. Making promises we both knew I'd never keep.

She gave me one last gentle look before turning to face the mess of Tom's body and I took that as my cue to leave. I probably could have stayed behind and cleaned up or something but the thought of putting her in danger stopped that idea dead.

Outside the infirmary the noise had thickened, the distant clash of metal growing teeth, stone giving way somewhere with a crack that rolled through the corridors, voices rising and breaking into screams when they met something hard. I didn't know the prison well enough to count on a side passage or a smugglers' door, and that left me with the same plan Amerigo had once laid out: walk out through the front gate. It sounded like madness until you remembered there weren't many other doors between here and the world.

I set off at a fast walk, the pace of a man on an errand rather than a fugitive. Mistress Maggie had been right in that no one would mistake me for a guard if they looked too closely but people rarely looked closely when everything around them was on fire. A helmet rim shadowed my eyes, the sword hung easy at my hip, and I let the armour creak and the keys at my belt jingle just enough to sell the shape of me. It was enough to buy me a few seconds of distraction and that could be more than enough to turn a fight my way.

The first intersection told a story in gouges and stains. Stone had been carved open along one wall, as if a blade had shaved a long, ugly curl from it. Blood splayed in fans where bodies had spun and fallen. Rubble littered the flagstones, gritty under my boots, and there was a metallic tang in the air that spoke of lightning or hot iron. By my estimations, the prisoners had won there as well. Even without bodies you could read it in the mess, in the way the debris lay, in the absence of orderly retreat. It made a sort of sense that they might actually take the place if they kept their pace and their courage. With mana coming back to them and the Houses busy dealing with the Challenge, there was space to plant their flag. I hoped their flag didn't need me under it.

I turned my attention back to the corridors I did know, and took the route I remembered led toward the gate. The sounds grew louder and more specific as I went on. A barked command cut short, the scrape of a weapon across stone, a body dragged, someone laughing, breathless and a little mad. Once, a knot of prisoners rounded a corner, saw the shape of me in armour, and flinched like rabbits. They scattered back the way they'd come without waiting to see if I raised a blade. It helped with my confidence, knowing that I'd fooled someone with my look. Thoughts of fooling the wrong person were far from my mind.

As the air grew fresher in the small, stingy way indoor air does when it has a road to run along, I started rehearsing lies under my breath. Report from the lower wing. Fire in the west hall. Healer requested by the cells. I tried on Knapper's short, ugly cadence and spat it back out, settled for the flatter bark I'd heard from a dozen other mouths and trusted I could land the first two sentences without stuttering. Ahead, the corridor widened into a broad antechamber I remembered as a waiting place for deliveries and inspections. Beyond that, if the world hadn't moved the walls in my absence, would be the kill-box where the portcullis hung and the main gate took the weather.

Closer now, the noise braided into a sound I was learning to recognize: battle. I slowed at the last bend and drew a careful breath of cold air, then turned the corner into a space that should have been orderly and was anything but. Doors hung open that should have been barred. Beyond them two ragged forces tore at one another, prisoners in scavenged plates and torn cloth against guards in full kit. The lines had collapsed into knots and pockets, men grappling in twos and fours, steel flashing where torch and moonlight found it. The prisoners had the numbers and the fury, but not all of them had gifts, and I recognized faces among the fallen who'd relied on muscle alone. It was the kind of chaos that was perfect for my needs.

I slipped out through the open door without offering so much as a challenge, angling right where the press thinned and the guards were fewer. Helmets turned as I went, curious glances thrown by anyone with the breath to spare, and I felt the danger of my disguise should any of the prisoners deem me to be an enemy. Before a suspicion could harden, I took an opening and punched my blade at a guard who had drifted within reach. The cut was nothing to boast about, but it shocked him sideways and let two prisoners swarm him cleanly. One spared me a wary, grateful nod as he finished the work and I kept moving.

The courtyard gate was closed, as expected, and a group of guards held ground before it. Two riders sat their horses near the winch, the animals restless, the men trying to look like bulwarks. I was still trying to solve the problem of getting through them when light flared from the corner tower. It was one I recognised from earlier before and I knew my problem was about to be solved.

Hoping luck would keep favoring me, I lengthened my stride toward the gate as the fireball leapt. Even if it wasn't meant for the men before the doors, the shock of it would buy me a heartbeat to get close. For once, luck obliged. The fire curled down into the formation and hit with a bellow, swallowing shields and tabards, smashing into the gate itself. One rider and horse went down in a flurry of sparks and screams. The other mount reared and danced, half-throwing its man and then catching itself with shuddering steps.

He managed to keep a seat, jaw clenched, hands sawing at the reins until the horse stopped thinking of flight. Then I was there. My dagger went into his thigh just above the greave, and he yelped, boot jerking free of the stirrup. The horse flinched and I shoved at his hip, adding the animal's fear to my weight. Momentum did what my strength might not have, and the man slid off the saddle to hit the stones on his back. Prisoners surged toward him and I let them have him.

I had never ridden but didn't see how hard it could be. I grabbed the reins near the bit and hauled myself up. I missed the first time and stumbled into a half-run as the horse sidled and picked up speed. I jumped again, got a knee over the saddle and slid gracelessly back to the ground. On the third try I found a stirrup, pushed hard, and threw a leg across, landing in the seat with a bruising thump. The older rider was already being buried under angry bodies and no one came to contest me. I gathered the reins, found the horse's eye, and turned its head toward the gate where shattered planks and a buckled bar gave way to freedom. An escape route I wasn't going to pass up.

I urged the horse forward and fought its every instinct to shy from the wreckage. Leather creaked under my grip as I kept its head straight, murmuring nonsense and hauling the reins whenever it tried to crab sideways. After a few tense seconds of coaxing and ugly adjustments, it gathered itself and lunged, smashing through the splintered ribs of the gate. An arrow hissed past my cheek close enough to sting.

I ducked flat against the horse's neck, making myself smaller and shielding the animal as best I could. I didn't look back to learn who had loosed it or why they would be targeting me with all that was happening. Forward was the only answer I had.

The outer yard flashed by and then we were on the road, hooves striking sparks from stone. The horse's fear made up for my lack of horsemanship skills. It stretched into its speed with a musician's rhythm, breath ripping at the night, mane whipping my face as the wind rose around us. Dogs took up the chase almost at once, their baying shouldering aside the clangor of battle, and for a while the sound ran beside us like a shadow.

Soon though, those sounds fell to the background as we galloped on at a pace the dogs either couldn't or wouldn't match. When they finally stopped, I knew I was in the clear. After two years I had finally escaped. Two years of pain and suffering but I was finally able to say goodbye to the Dungeons of Achrane. The taste of air never felt so fresh.

My next destination was already in mind. I needed to find my friends, needed to see how they had been getting on. After that, I would look for a way out of Radan, away from the war that was about to kick off.

The night opened before me, wide and indifferent, and for the first time in a long time the choice of where to place my next step felt like mine.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.