“You have grown!” he said when he saw me, “and you are more beautiful even than when I saw you last, though I did not think it possible!”
I felt my face flush at the praise, but I quickly laughed it off. I walked with him through the city, folding my wings and stepping delicately upon the stones so that I could remain by his side as I showed all that had been done during his absence. He in turn told me of his doings, of the brilliant Houses of Lights that he and Akilun were building throughout the Near World.
“Mortals cannot hear the voices of Lumé and Hymlumé,” he explained to me. “Not on their own. But when the doors of a House are opened, and the sun and the moon shine inside, even mortals may hear and know the truth of the Song Giver, the Lumil Eliasul.”
Everything he said was wonderful to my ears. I rejoiced with him at his successes and boasted to him of my own. At the end of the day, he bowed and said to me, “I am pleased to see you so well, dear queen, and shall gladly bear word of you to my brother.”
“Will you leave so soon?” I asked, startled.
“I must,” he said. “I have duties elsewhere.”
“But you will return, won’t you?”
“I will,” he replied.
So I found myself obliged to live upon another promise.
It was only a small movement. One hand scraped along the table. One eye twitched.
But it was enough.
“He’s coming awake!” Mouse cried. “Run!”
Alistair took hold of her hand and leapt onto the table and over, dragging Mouse along. The Chronicler ducked underneath, took a few paces after them, then stopped and darted back. He took up the manacles chained to Corgar’s belt and clamped them around the leg of the huge table.
A snarl, and Corgar’s hand crashed down beside the Chronicler’s ear. Trembling fingers tore away a chunk of the table board. The Chronicler looked up into white eyes as Corgar struggled to push himself upright, his sagging jaw working and his lips contorting.
“Idiot!”
That roar belonged to Alistair, who grabbed the Chronicler by the collar, hauled him off his feet, and hurtled across the great hall. They flew across the dark room even as Corgar, screaming animal rage, lunged from his high seat. But his belt, clamped to the table, dragged him back down, and he was still weak from whatever drug Eanrin had slipped him. His roar grew, and though there were no words, the sound carried throughout the castle.
By the time they reached the big doorway leading from the hall, the passage outside was crowded with oncoming goblins. There could be no escape that way. Without a choice, they slammed the door, threw the heavy bolt, and sped toward one of the servants’ entrances, praying it would be empty. Corgar, straining at the chain, hurled a chair at them. Alistair narrowly missed a braining as it crashed into the wall beyond his head.
They raced down the servants’ corridor, making for the inner courtyard. Goblins roared at their heels, and Mouse expected to feel the thrust of a stone lance through her rib cage. Alistair dragged the other two behind, his long legs making tremendous strides. The Chronicler would scarcely have made five paces before being overtaken, and Mouse, encumbered with skirts, could not have fared better.
This passage, like all others in the castle, was dark. But suddenly a rectangle of faint light appeared before them as the far door opened. Alistair redoubled his pace, his heart surging. To reach that opening was all that mattered in the tiny space of time that was now their whole existence.
A goblin loomed in their path, blocking out the faint light. Alistair yelled in rage. Nothing would keep him from his one, final goal! He dropped the hands of the other two. In three strides, he tore the helmet from his head and swung it like a club. By some luck or blessing, he struck aside the blade of the goblin’s weapon, which clanged against the wall. He pushed into the goblin at full speed, and they both fell, landing in a tangle of limbs. Alistair lay stunned, his world exploding with bright, flashing lights. It didn’t matter. They’d reached the goal. Let him die now, if he must; the doorway was gained, and he lay on the courtyard cobbles.
Hands grasped his neck. He felt himself raised up, smelled the stench of goblin breath.
“Can’t be having any of that, now, can we?”
Eanrin’s voice danced with the sparks in Alistair’s brain just before he was squashed beneath an inert goblin form. The monster’s face pressed against his cheek, one jutting tooth driving into his skin.
Mouse and the Chronicler fell through the doorway even as Eanrin clubbed Alistair’s attacker. The Chronicler immediately turned and slammed the door, but the oncoming goblins fell against it, straining its hinges.