He dropped his stolen war sword, grabbed a shield from the wall and took the first attack on its rounded front, then after driving the edge into the throat of the other man, he began weaving through his opponents, dodging attacks where he could, deflecting them when he had to. ‘Three inches lower,’ he added a moment later.
I didn’t bother wondering how Kest could possibly have had the time to calculate the exact angle at which to position a cannon in order to hit a door some thirty feet away, let alone how; it’s just how his mind works. We dropped the barrel by three inches and at Kest’s approving nod as he drove his right elbow into a guard’s stomach, I sliced across the amberlight with the little blade.
It started burning with a bright, sparking flame. Okay, either I’m about to fire my very first cannon, or this escape is going to rapidly come to a sputtering, humiliating end. Either way, I had a few seconds on my hands, so I grabbed my own stolen sword and ran to help Brasti.
A broad-shouldered Avarean woman was in the process of wearing him down, her powerful blows making his parries ever more desperate. I brought my war sword down hard on her back, feeling a little guilty at my unfair attack – but what the hells, it’s not as if anyone was offering us a fair chance to duel our way out.
A crack of thunder, louder than I’d have thought possible, reverberated through the hall and just about made my heart stop. Fortunately, it had the same effect on everyone else. When I turned, I saw smoke and chaos, and through the gloom, not only the main doors but most of the supporting wall of the fort lying shattered in front of me.
‘Time to go!’ I shouted.
‘Hate to think what that’ll do to our armies if we do end up at war,’ Brasti remarked as he ran past me.
Kest and I followed, Trin close behind me. We were almost at the gap where the doors had been when I heard her scream, ‘Filian—? Where’s Filian?’
For a happy moment I thought we’d lost him, but then I caught sight of him through the swirling fog, running towards us with something bundled in his arms.
‘What in all the hells—?’
‘I thought you’d want these, First Cantor,’ he panted, proffering our coats and smiling with such . . . I don’t even know what the word would be, but it broke my heart a little because it reminded me so much of someone else.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
The Trusted Friend
A successful escape requires four things: the right plan, the right tools, a willingness to die, and a little bit of luck.
It’s that fourth part that’s always been the problem for me.
‘Saint Bog-who-shoves-hot-needles-up-his-own-arse,’ Brasti swore as he padded lightly back to where the rest of us were hiding behind a row of outdoor privies.
‘Saint “Bog”?’ Kest asked. ‘You’re not even trying any more.’
‘What’s the point in making up a proper Saint when you’re going to die before you can trick anyone into believing in him?’
‘The stables are guarded?’ I asked.
The one part of our getaway we couldn’t plan for was horses. The chaos we’d set off in the armoury had been an effective enough distraction to get us this far, but it was only a matter of time before someone got up a coordinated search for us. What we needed now was transport. Normally in a camp this size someone leaves a few horses tethered somewhere accessible, but apparently not in this damnably organised compound: warriors and workers littered the place but there wasn’t single horse outside the stables.
‘Guarded?’ Brasti spat in the snow. ‘No, the stables are practically surrounded. Morn’s got a dozen soldiers at every damned door.’
‘What now, then?’ Trin asked. Despite our imminent risk of discovery, she showed not the slightest concern. Doubtless part of that was because she’s absolutely insane, but I couldn’t help but wonder if she had her own plan, just in case I failed her. ‘One presumes we can’t walk all the way through the southern passes into Tristia?’
‘We could try a Blushing Bride,’ Kest suggested. ‘It’s worked for us before.’
I considered it, but quickly shook my head. ‘We’ve already blown up part of the armoury. Even if we could set one of the other buildings on fire, there are just too many soldiers here – they wouldn’t need to leave the stables unguarded to deal with it.’
‘The Sewer Rat?’ Brasti offered.
‘You want to dig a tunnel under the stables?’ I asked incredulously.
‘I thought that was a Burrowing Weasel.’
‘No,’ Kest said, ‘the Burrowing Weasel is when you bury yourself in a pit and wait for the pursuers to pass you by.’
‘Then why isn’t that one called a—?’
‘Shut up,’ I said absently, trying to run through possible options in my head. Even without the distraction of Kest and Brasti bickering, that didn’t take long.
Time was the problem: we couldn’t afford to hang about. If this were a city or even a castle, we’d likely be able to find somewhere to hide, perhaps even disguise ourselves, but anyone who saw us here would instantly know we weren’t Avarean. And since the only Tristians here were Greatcoats . . .
‘All Hail the King,’ I said suddenly.
Brasti’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Kest. ‘Is he talking about the one where—?’
Kest nodded.
‘Forget it,’ Brasti said. ‘There’s no way we can pull off an All Hail the King.’
‘It’s our only choice,’ I said. ‘Look, Morn must have had the other Greatcoats here for ages, and they’re not prisoners, which means they must have the run of the place. I’ll bet they take out horses all the time.’
All Hail the King isn’t one of the most devious tactics we’d ever come up with, but every once in a while it does actually work. And the rest of the time there’s usually enough confusion amongst the people you’re trying to deceive that at least you get a head-start running away.
‘The problem is,’ Brasti argued, ‘that we’re not Morn’s Greatcoats.’
‘The Avareans might not know that,’ Kest pointed out.
‘You think one Tristian looks like another to them?’ Trin asked with a light chuckle.
‘Well, they all look the same to me,’ Brasti said.
‘Perhaps, but from what I gleaned during my negotiations with the poor dear Warlord who died this morning, your former colleagues started arriving two years ago, so a great many of them are well-known to the Avareans by now.’
‘Which means some aren’t,’ I said, stepping carefully towards the end of the row of privies and staring at the nearest stables. If I just walked right up to them, not a care in the world, and pushed past them into the stables, would they buy it?
‘As much as I do love watching your little feats of daring,’ Trin said, ‘I’m afraid this one will end in tears.’
I hesitated, but as I couldn’t come up with another approach, I worked on convincing myself this one would work. Time, I reminded myself, is working against us. Then again, what wasn’t working against us?
A voice called out softly from behind us, ‘I’m afraid the bitch is right, Falcio.’