Standing, taking deep breaths, she donned the garb, her eyes scanning the floor, her glance seeking to avoid the Guul’s head, not finding what she searched for. “The whip, Thork. Where is the whip? I cannot see it in this darkness and I will need it.”
Kneeling down and peering under, Thork’s Dwarven eyes quickly spotted the lash beneath a bench, and he retrieved it and held it out to Elyn.
Drawing the hood over her coppery hair, her face falling into shadow, Elyn took the whip and caught up her pack and gritted, “Let’s go.”
Down the stairwell they went, stepping through viscid dark blood and past the beheaded corpse of the Guul. On the way across the alchemical laboratory, shifting his axe to one hand, Thork caught up an igniter lying nearby and shoved it into an outer pocket, then with his free hand he scooped up one of the glass burners filled with zhar.
And on down the stairs they pressed, and came into the bottom chamber. Setting her pack beside the open door, Elyn peered out through the dark portal, the wind moaning past. Still the ranks of the wayguard formed a chariot pathway to the open gate, the swirling chill breeze stirring cloaks, and there was a restless shifting among the ranks. “The honorguard seems on edge, Thork; mayhap they suspect that something is amiss; mayhap they are just cold. Regardless, the chariot seems our best way out. But look you: there are two uneasy attendants at the rig to be dealt with first. Your crossbow. Stay hidden in the doorway. As I take the one on the left by saber, shoot the one on the right, then grab everything and come running.”
Thork set aside his axe and the glass burner, and unslung his bow and cocked it, placing a quarrel in the groove, nodding to the Princess when he was ready.
Tugging the hood down over her features, Elyn stepped forth from the doorway, whip in her left hand, saber hidden under the cloak in her right, her fingers clutching the cloth to keep the sharp eddying wind from revealing the blade. And with her heart hammering, she strode down the steps and toward the chariot.
The instant the cloaked, hooded figure emerged from the tower, all eyes in the wayguard snapped to the fore, each warder staring directly across the living corridor into the face of the warder opposite.
As Elyn approached the chariot, the two Spawn attendants grovelled on the cobbles. Yet when the Princess stepped next to the Rutcha on the left, he quickly glanced up, cringing, expecting a blow, and in that moment his eyes widened in surprise; but ere he could call out, Elyn’s saber took him through the throat, and he died in astonishment. Elyn spun, bringing her blade to bear upon the remaining Rutch, but even as she did so, he crumpled to the cobbles, red quarrel jutting from his left eye, and Thork came dashing down the steps, his hands bearing axe and crossbow and burner, Elyn’s pack looped over a shoulder.
The Warrior Maiden sprang into the chariot, catching up the reins, stabbing the point of her saber into the wooden floorboards, for she had no time to sheathe the blade. And as Thork leapt aboard, sliding forward and down, tucking in behind the shieldwall of the vehicle, concealing himself, with a sharp crack Elyn lashed the whip onto the Hèlsteed, crying “Yah! Yah!” and with irate squeals, the ’Steeds surged forward, gathering speed, and in but a few strides were running full tilt, the chariot racing toward the wayguarders, toward the gate, toward the bridge, toward the road, toward freedom.
But just as the vehicle thundered into the honorguard corridor, Fortune turned Her grim face down upon the bailey, and the swirling night breeze and the swift wind of Elyn’s passage combined to blow the cloakhood back from the Warrior Maiden’s head, and her clear features and flaming red hair sprang forth for all to see! And as they hammered past, those behind also could see that a Dubh lay concealed within!
And shouts of alarm rang out as the chariot thundered between the ranks; behind, Guula on Hèlsteeds reined about and plunged after, while ahead, corpse-foe rode outward to bar the way; the guards atop the barbican saw the turmoil and the red-haired imposter, and began cranking frantically, and the great portcullis squealed downward, the fangs of the iron barway plummeting toward the socket holes in the stone road below. “Yah! Yah!” cried Elyn, “Yah!” cracking the whip, and the trio of Hèlsteeds crashed through the Guula barring the way, the chariot jolting behind, thundering past, slamming across the cobbles toward the plunging teeth of the falling iron barrier, Guula racing after, Thork inside banging about, hanging on for all he was worth. “Oowwahhh!” cried Elyn, ducking down inside the chariot as the Hèlsteeds hurtled under the plummeting fangs and through the passage below the barbican, the rig and Elyn and Thork hurling after, the plunging teeth of the great portcullis glittering wickedly, crashing down just behind with a juddering DOON! cutting off pursuit. And Elyn swiftly stood and haled hard leftward on the reins just as the ’Steeds emerged from the fortress, for a thousand-foot drop was but yards ahead. Squealing in pain, left veered the Hèlsteeds, the chariot careening behind, swinging wide, wheels skidding sideways across cold stone, the iron rim of the rightmost wheel slamming along but mere inches from the sheer drop. And toward the drawbridge hammered the juggernaut, and black-shafted arrows hissed from the fortress battlements, striking all about. And then cloven hooves and iron-rimmed wheels boomed onto the wooden span, and as they thundered across the way, Thork threw the glass burner of zhar onto the bridge, the vessel flaming. How he had managed to light the wick while jolting about on the floor of a bouncing chariot cannot be explained, yet light it he had. And now the burning flask shattered as it smashed upon the wooden bridge, and fire splashed outward, the incendiary zhar blasting into intense flame, the span ablaze. And in its ruddy glow, down the companion spire raced the Hèlsteed chariot, Elyn and Thork aboard, on the road to freedom, spiralling down the dark stone, now beyond arrow shot. And Elyn cracked the whip and cried, “Ah god, but Ruric told me that chariot training would be of no use. Would that he could have seen this night!”
Yet ere they reached bottom, Thork, now standing, gripping the warrior rails, pointed upward, sounding warning, for dark shapes galloped out from the strongholt above and thundered across the span, leaping over the windblown flames and dashing down the crag.
The portcullis had been raised, and Guula were in pursuit.
Down to the foot of the spire sped the chariot, while above, Guula on Hèlsteeds raced after, looping ’round the black rock, hurtling downward. Out onto the road across the open flat hammered the troika, haling the chariot after, Elyn letting the Hèlsteeds find the route, for it was yet too dark for her to see aught but ebon shapes in the waning night.
“Your eyes, Thork!” she cried. “Guide me!”
And Thork peered through the darkness and shouted directions, as down the road they thundered.
Southward they ran to the bend in the road, then swung northerly, thundering alongside a crevasse. And as they fled northward, the Guula reached the bottom of the crag and hammered cross-’scape, Hèlsteeds aimed on an intercept course.
“The Khōls cut across the land, Princess,” called Thork, taking up his crossbow and bracing himself as he cocked it, “seeking to cut us off.”