The Horlock Chronicles

Chapter 68 - Racing to Dillon


Panic shot through me instantly at the revelation. Dillon being at the Invader's Gate was basically a death sentence.

"How many days has it been?" I asked.

"What?" Erick blinked, thrown off by my question.

"How long has the Challenge been running?"

Understanding clicked into place behind his eyes.

"Six days. Tomorrow is the last," he replied sadly.

"No. No." The word an obstacle I was momentarily unable to overcome.

"I might be too late." I was on my feet before the chair finished scraping back, moving for the door with Erick on my heels.

"Brandon!" he called as I wrenched it open. "Slow down. You can't be thinking of going there. They'll kill you on sight!"

"I have to," I said, already in the hall. "I can't leave him there. You don't know what they're like."

I glanced back once to see the mountain of a man with a worried frown on his face. "I'm sorry—and thank you."

He said my name again, but I was already past the driver, past the chandelier's soft hum, and into the morning. The street air slapped me awake. I ran. Neighbors could stare, guards could be warned, bells could ring; none of it mattered next to the image my head kept trying to hand me of Dillon falling to a horde of demons. I would not—could not—let that thought settle. I couldn't allow that to be a reality. I had to get to him and make sure he was safe.

The city blurred into a string of corners and courtyards as time played games on my mind, making it feel like every street took both seconds and hours. By the time Sea Drop Gorge opened before me I was breathing hard and my legs were hot wooden things that didn't quite belong to me. I went down too fast, almost pitched myself into the rocks twice, but refused to slow because slowing made room for thoughts I couldn't entertain. Any notion of survival chances and the tactics used by the Wallowhackers were pushed firmly from my mind. Kept away by a determination to save my friend. Anything else was a threat to that idea that I couldn't abide.

Fortune favoured me and the horse and the armour were where I'd left them. The animal pinned me with a look that passed for annoyed and stamped once as if to mark the hours. I talked nonsense at it while I buckled plates and cinched straps and it let me up with some minor disobedience only.

The climb back was somehow much worse than getting down. The narrow ledges, loose stone, and the horse's weight turned every awkward step into a choice, both of us sweating by the time the rim came within reach. Twice I nearly ditched the beast in a flare of frustration and twice I swallowed it. We crested at last. I put heels to its sides and the world narrowed to the hammer of hooves and the straightest path to the nearest gate. Dillon was somewhere beyond it, and the only thought I let myself keep was that I had not missed my chance yet.

If I hadn't been in such a state, I might have thought longer about how to clear the gate. Word had finally spread about what had gone on in the prison and as I approached I noticed the walls shined with more steel than usual, men posted in pairs along the arch, and others hauling up barriers and shouting to runners as they braced for the trouble boiling out of the prison. The officer in charge lifted a palm as I thundered toward them, a calm, practiced signal to slow and state my business. I didn't accept the instruction. Panic had me in a chokehold that I wasn't even trying to escape. If anything, I stoked it myself by refusing to settle down long enough to think.

The nearer I came the more the officer's composure frayed. His eyes widened, his mouth first spoke a warning, and then he barked it, voice cracking across the yard. Too late. My horse, already stretched thin with fear, lunged when I asked and we slammed through the gap. Hooves rang against cobble and then dirt; a half-built barricade flashed up and the animal gathered itself and leapt, clearing the obstacle with a jolt that rattled my teeth. We were through the arch, into open air, and still moving.

I didn't look back. The only warning I had that I'd left danger behind and galloped straight into another was the horse's scream as it found a fresh speed I hadn't asked for. A heartbeat later it began to buck. The world tilted. I hit the ground hard behind a tree, the impact knocking the wind out of me and turning the sky into a white smear. By the time I clawed up on an elbow the horse was a blur of motion veering away down the road with two arrows quivering from its flank. For a long breath I watched the empty space it left behind and understood how close I'd come to being meat on the stones.

Far off shouts cut into the silence of the day. We had put good distance between us and the gatehouse, and no fresh shafts chased the bark above my head, but the reprieve wouldn't hold if I lingered. Dillon's name beat time in my skull. The horse, sensible creature that it was, had had enough of my ownership and fled both me and the archers. That left me with the only choice that ever really belonged to me. I spat dust, pushed to my feet, checked that the guards hadn't caught up already, and started running. The armour sat heavy and honest on my shoulders, the road sloped away toward the Invader's Gate, and every step that carried me closer felt like one more towards my friend's safety.

The run was long and mean and hurt in ways Sebastian's torture hadn't got to. Without my healing I wouldn't have made a quarter of the distance. As it was, I kept feeding mana into the machinery of my body whenever it threatened to lock. I bled the ache from my calves, loosened the fire in my hips, unknotted the muscles along my spine until my stride settled into a blunt, ugly rhythm that I could keep. Hours dragged, the road unspooled, and when thirst started rasping my throat raw I did the stupid, necessary thing and spent deep to clear it, the same for the hollow in my belly that made my knees wobble. It cost more than I wanted to pay given what was coming up but I didn't have a choice. The gates inside me felt emptier each time, but there was no well to drink from and no time to scavenge crusts when every minute not moving was a minute Dillon might be dying.

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Twice I went to ground as patrols and messengers rode by. Each time the thought jabbed at me to burst out and attack them, hope that I could steal a horse and escape without pursuit but I knew how that would end. All it would take was the one man bolting and then they'd be bringing a dozen more down on my back. Luck had already held longer than I had the right to ask. It was a small miracle the guards at the gatehouse hadn't tracked me down, inviting another group to hunt me was a waste I couldn't afford. So both times I lay in scrub, counted boots, listened to the road take their weight away, then rose and pushed on.

By the time the sun slid down and left the world dark once more, I had circled the other forts and their wide-eyed sentries. It took the kind of care that frays the mind with the intense concentration I needed to ensure no nasty surprises awaited me, and it left me tired in my head as well as my body. A natural second wind took over when I finally caught sight of the Invader's Gate. Doubt had been snipping at the edges of my thoughts as night came on, whispering odds and aftermaths, laying out the neat arithmetic of death as my resolve weakened to a reality I desperately wanted to ignore. I shoved it away. If Dillon was gone I would know soon enough. Until I knew, there was work to do.

Like each place I had passed, the guard presence there was inflated beyond the norm. Men clustered along the wall, but their bodies pointed to the prison, the way a dog's nose points to the scent that's caught it. It was amateurish, and exactly what I expected from Brutan's lot when the time for real fighting came. As I slid into the long shadow of the curtain wall, I wondered how many of them were grinding their teeth to keep from running off now, to trade posts for vengeance. Maybe they were picturing faces the way I was. Maybe they were doing their own quiet math about friends they had guarding the prison. Wondering whether their enemies had gotten the better of them or whether they had somehow lucked out against the odds. I knew the answer for their friends and I prayed it was not the same for my own.

I found the area I had marked for my escape plan a year before, a run of blocks where the mortar was cracked and brittle, not quite ready to fall down but easy enough to push in that direction. I listened silently for any signs of patrols. When I was sure there was no scrape of a boot above me, nor a rumble of a cart on the parapet, I drew my sword and set to work. The first bite made a sound that rang up my arm and into my teeth. After that I learned to angle the blade, to shave rather than chip, to keep the sound of it low. Dust stung my eyes and turned the saliva in my mouth to paste. The edge wasn't meant for this and I could feel it complaining, a new nick with every gouge, but the blade was the least of my worries. Either way, I preferred a ruined sword to a closed wall.

Time thinned into work. Shave and pry. Pause to listen. Shave and pry. Every so often I folded myself into the shadow and let the night settle again, counting heartbeats, tasting the air for the sour tang of lamp oil that meant someone was close. When the first block loosened, it was like a tooth giving and I practically felt the relief. I eased it free and lowered it to the ground, fingers burning with the strain of control. I waited then, standing still as a post, ears straining for the shout that didn't come. The dark held and so I went back to it.

Stone by stone the hole widened. Scraped mortar powdered my hands until they felt like I'd been sifting ash. When my wrist could fit, I cleared more. When my shoulder squeezed through and the rough edges caught the armour, I bit back a curse and forced myself through. The gap admitted my ribs with only minor bruising and too loud scratches on my armour but it was enough to let me in. I set the sword through first, then slid in after, one arm ahead, one pressed tight to my side, cheek against gritty chill.

I paused halfway, breath held, senses flung wide for any sign of danger. No alarm. No rush of feet. Just the small, tired noises of men who have been awake too long and are listening for news they can't yet have. I wriggled the rest of the way in. I didn't bother to cover the hole up. It was a huge warning sign to anyone that came by but I was unequipped to do anything about it. Even putting the stones back into place would be noticeable to any one passing through.

Speed was the name of my game anyway. I'd already wasted too much with the lost horse and the stubborn wall, and every heartbeat I spent catching my breath felt like a theft from Dillon. I forced myself still for one count of five, smoothed my face into a soldier's mask, and walked out as if I belonged. Chin up. Pace brisk. Eyes busy but not wild. Confidence is a uniform, and I needed to wear it well.

The sound of battle swelled as the space opened with shouted orders, the hiss and thunk of arrows, the dull, heavy notes of bodies hitting stone filling the air. The enemy was at the gate in earnest, and the fortress had poured its blood to the walls to meet them. Knowing what had happened when I was stationed there I thought that if Dillon was anywhere, he would be there. I took the stairs two at a time and stepped into the wind and noise at the parapet.

Leather caught my eye as I briskly walked along, leading to a rush of hope filling me. If there was one brown jerkin at this height, there would be more. Dillon had to be among them. I swept my gaze along the run of the wall, skipping past crested helms and House colors I didn't want to see. Women stood among the line now, teeth bared in the same hard effort as the men, and more than one tabard bore a rival sigil. It took me a moment to understand. The other Houses had sent help. It was obvious why when I allowed myself to think about it. Brutan's prison had been overrun, their commander dead by unknown hands, their pride under siege. They would need all the help they could get to survive what was coming for them. I didn't find Dillon in their borrowed ranks. Panic swirled inside me as I reached the far end of the wall, ignoring the barked questions that snapped in my direction. If he wasn't here, then where—

A knot of conscripts walked out from the direction of the mess hall. There. That's where he could be.

"Waves ran out!" A man on the wall cried. "Just these left to go, lads. Kill the bastards or hold till dawn—either way we've done it!"

The cheer that followed rolled along the stones. I would have added my voice to the welcome announcement but there was only one thing on my mind.

I vaulted down the steps, shoulders catching bodies that weren't fast enough to get clear, apologies swallowed before they reached air. The mess hall was loud and close, heavy with steam and meat and the sour tang of sweat. Soldiers from three Houses sat shoulder to shoulder with conscripts whose faces still looked too much like boys in bad light. The room was a churn of color and noise. I cut through it on the line panic drew for me and there, in the corner, I found him.

Dillon sat with his back to the wall, bowl in both hands, leather jerkin scuffed and too big at the shoulders, hair longer than I remembered. He looked thinner and older by years that had only been months, but the shape of him was still the one I knew. His eyes were down, fixed on a spoon as if it might hold a map out of the life he'd been given. When he glanced up, quick and reflexive at the movement in front of him, the world narrowed to the space between us. For a breath I couldn't hear the hall at all. It was just my friend, alive in a room that had been built for men to leave it as ghosts, and the tight, bright relief that hit me hard enough to sway my knees.

He was alive.

Shocked and dirty yes, but alive all the same. It was all I could to get a handle on my emotions and keep up the pretense of being a soldier that was meant to be there. Though as I looked around, I realised that was a lot easier than anticipated with all the new faces and sigils. All I had to do was find a way to get my friend out.

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