Marysvale (33 page)

I marveled at the fortress. I had seen
it when we first arrived in Marysvale, but had no idea of its
magnitude or impressiveness.

Somewhere from behind the wall, a horse
whinnied.
Stables
. My heart sank with the realization that
Smoke was certainly locked safely away—out of my reach. This
revelation presented a whole new set of challenges. To break out of
one wall would be difficult enough; but to break into a
well-guarded fortress, procure horses, escape back out, and then
abscond through the town wall was next to impossible.

A feeling of hopelessness washed over
me and, for the first time since arriving, I personally felt the
despair that saturated the town and engulfed it in bleakness. I
truly empathized with the people who felt completely powerless,
knowing you were at the mercy of those behind the wall. Should they
decide something evil for you or a loved one, there was nothing you
could do, and nowhere to turn. I hated this place.

A soldier on the wall turned around and
waved into the courtyard, breaking me from my self-pity. A moment
later, an officer appeared at his side—one whom I recognized even
at this distance.
Lyman,
I muttered to myself as if it
were a cuss word. I wouldn’t have thought him the type to spend his
nighttime hours supervising simple guard duty. I could only assume
this to be a punishment of sorts, and smiled at what he must have
done to make his father angry.

He turned to his left, withdrew his
sword, and beckoned somewhere off to my right. To my horror, he
then aimed his sword in my direction.

A deep voice drifted through the air,
much to close. “Bloomin’ waste o’ time. How many shadows do we ‘ave
ta’ chase?”

My heart beat rapidly in my chest.
Was I spotted?

“
Yeah,” said another voice,
though not so deep as the first. “He’s just making us run around to
get a laugh.”

The deep voice returned, “Don’t know
what he’s so ‘fraid of. If it were a Brean, the town guard would’ve
alerted us. Nothin’ gets by them.”

They both laughed at the
joke.

“
Yeah,” said the other one
again. “Just keeping us from badly needed…”

They turned the corner, saw me, and
froze in surprise. It took a moment for their brains to comprehend
that something actually hid in this shadow. Fortunately, their
hesitation wasn’t contagious. In an instant, I reached up and
grabbed the musket of the smaller one with both hands.
Simultaneously, I pulled myself up while pulling him down, and
jammed my knee hard into his gut. An unnatural popping sound came
from him, and he fell back, grasping his stomach with one hand
while still trying to hang on to his weapon. The bigger one unfroze
and started to draw his musket on me. Quickly, I twisted the gun
free from the small soldier and, continuing the same movement,
slammed the butt of my acquired musket into the large soldier’s
face. The blow connected and he fell unconscious to the
ground.

A high pitched scream pierced the air;
it was Lyman. “Kill him! Kill him!”

The small soldier weakly made it to his
feet; but he was in no condition to put up a struggle, let alone
kill me.

“
What are you waiting for?”
screamed Lyman more frantically. “Shoot, you imbeciles!
Shoot!”

A volley of musket fire erupted from
the soldiers atop the wall. Lead balls whizzed by. One pierced the
ground to our side, causing a small eruption of dirt; another tore
into the house, blasting bits of wood and plaster into the
air.

The smaller soldier joined me in a
desperate scramble to get out of the way of the deadly balls—but
his attempt was in vain. Two steps into our flight, a small cry
escaped his lips. His arms flailed, back arched, and then he fell
forward onto the cold, hard ground. His hat tumbled from his
head.

The sight of the fallen soldier made a
good motivator. I dashed across the open fields with renewed speed,
whipping by houses. My cloak streamed and flapped wildly behind
me.

Out of nowhere, two more shots came
from my left. I hadn’t time to react as two balls rushed
harmlessly, but frightfully, close by. Realizing they had missed,
the soldiers gave chase.

I ran hard and fast, desperate to reach
the town below, hoping I could lose my pursuers in the narrow,
winding maze of streets. A risky glance back revealed the soldiers
losing ground. However, taking my eyes off the path in front of me
proved a mistake. My foot caught on a stone, and I rocketed
forward, cartwheeling into a tangled mess of arms, legs, cloak, and
musket.

The soldiers’ angry shouts drew close,
their breathing labored. They were yelling at me to stop. Ignoring
their words, and the thumping, burning pain in my neck and chest, I
rolled over, grabbed my weapon, leapt to my feet, and sprinted
on—spitting out the unpleasant taste of dirt was met with limited
success.

Our chase resumed down the hill and
into the town. My lead had evaporated with the fall. Tall, dense
buildings enveloped us in a small, man-made canyon. Our feet
pounded the cobblestones and reverberated off the surrounding
structures. My lungs screamed in agony for want of air. The
soldiers were also tired; their heavy gasping just inches away. At
any moment, I expected to feel the painful stick of a bayonet in my
back, and felt grateful that the shot from their muskets had
already been spent.

A gentle tug around my neck slowed me,
then it released. Another risky look back showed one of the
soldiers grasping at the tip of my cloak with one hand, still
fingering it, trying to get a more solid grip; the other man was
only a few paces behind. I reached up with one hand, undid the
knot, flung the cloak back, and kept running. A painful sounding
thud, followed by a string of curses and profanity, caused me to
look back again. The cloak had apparently wrapped around the head
of the first man, causing him to run off course and full force into
a house.

The other soldier, ignoring his fallen
companion, leapt over his covered, flailing body and continued the
pursuit. Through streets and alleys we ran. Slowly, I gained more
of a lead, but the stubborn bugger wasn’t giving up. A plan formed
in my mind. I sprinted to the next corner, rounded it, and emerged
in a small square. When safely around the corner and out of sight,
I slid to a stop. Seizing the musket by the barrel, careful to
avoid the bayonet, I waited for a split second. I checked my timing
and then, with all my strength, swung—right as the man was about to
burst into view. In the split second before the blow, the soldier’s
eyes went wide. Realizing the unavoidable, he cringed, tensed his
muscles, and prepared for the worst. It came.

The weapon connected with his chest,
along with the sickening crack of breaking ribs. The man’s legs,
arms, and hat kept their forward momentum, but the upper half of
his body arched back and even retreated slightly. For a moment, he
hung in the air like a rag doll, before crashing down hard onto the
cobblestones.

He lay on his back, mouth opening and
closing like a fish gasping for air—small croaks escaped his lips,
but not much else. The air had been knocked out of him. I was sure
that, combined with the exhaustion and broken ribs, he wasn’t much
up for a chase anymore.

Walking a little way off, I slumped
against a building and tried to catch my own breath. The rest was
fleeting. Footsteps and a man’s voice echoed through the small
man-made canyon. “This way,” he yelled. “He went this
way.”

The soldier who had been tangled up in
my cloak emerged from around the corner. Blood from a broken nose
was smeared across his face, and he looked furious. He made no
attempt to rush me. Instead he stooped, grabbed his companion by
the arms and dragged him out of the alley. The fallen man, having
recently found his breath, gritted his teeth and groaned in agony.
Hooves clattering on cobblestone echoed in the small square and
grew louder at an alarming rate.

My shoulders sagged and an involuntary
curse escaped my mouth. Gathering my courage and strength, I
launched off my resting spot, raced across the square, and into an
alleyway. I ran between the two seemingly endless towers of rock
and wood. At the halfway mark, charging horses entered the alley
behind me. The sound of hooves on stone reverberated through the
air. In the midst of all the noise, I heard the unmistakable sound
of steel on steel; it was that of a sword quickly drawn from a
scabbard.

The end of the alley may as well have
been miles away. There was no way I’d make it before the thundering
horses closed the gap. I had one shot in my musket and no reload;
now seemed a good time to use it.

You’ve only got one chance. If you
miss,
I thought to myself,
you won’t have time to regret
it.

I stopped, swung the musket around, and
greeted the horsemen for the first time. There were two of them,
one right behind the other. Both donned uniforms like the other
soldiers, except that they wore tall, black boots and a pointy
helmet with a plume of what looked to be horse hair coming out the
top. The lead horseman stood on a large animal that nearly filled
the alleyway—his gleaming, silver sword poised, ready to
strike.

I aimed for the center of the horse, or
the best I could under the circumstances. And with no time to
steady myself, I pulled the trigger.

U
NDER
normal conditions, the firing of a musket was a
relatively fast experience; but under duress, it seemed to take an
interminable length of time. The hammer fell painfully slow,
leisurely striking the flint, which then ignited the powder; and
only after all that, did it finally resume its normal speed. The
weapon forcefully expelled the deadly, little black ball. Even
before it left the barrel, I knew I’d missed my target. It sped
down the alleyway but not far enough. The ball blasted into a side
wall, in front of the charging horse. However, despite my poor aim,
the shot still devastated the soldiers. Fragments of rock and
mortar peppered the horse’s head. The deafening roar and smoke from
the black powder proved too much for the poor creature. It slid to
a stop and reared up in terror, tossing its head and very nearly
its rider. The soldier dropped his sword and desperately clung to
the saddle in an effort to avoid falling off and possibly under the
hooves of the panicked animal.

With no time to stop, the second mount
charged straight into the hindquarters of the still rearing lead
horse, causing its master to launch over its neck and into the
front horseman. The momentum toppled the first horse backward and
onto the second; and the whole group of them came crashing down
onto the hard, stone street in a chorus of crunching bodies,
snapping bones, and screams of pain.

Not wanting to watch the ghastly wreck,
and desperate to get away, I continued my flight. Street blended
into street and I prayed that I was traveling in the right
direction.

“
Over here! I see him!”
cried a soldier somewhere behind me.

I turned at the next street and
sprinted down it, only to hear the clamoring and cursing of
soldiers at the other end. I slid to a stop, and desperately looked
for another route. There were no side roads or alleyways, and there
was no going back the way I had come.

With nowhere left to run, I braced for
a fight, with a spent musket as my only weapon. Fortunately, it
still had a lethal bayonet attached, and a very solid butt that had
already proven useful.

A long, moonlit shadow of a soldier
passed across the homes at the far end of the street. At any
moment, a soldier, or soldiers, would appear at both
ends.

A hand grasped my clothing. I jumped in
surprise. However, before I could whirl and attack, I was drug back
through a door that I hadn’t noticed.

“
Shhh,” said whoever it was,
while silently closing the door. An old man, with a shaky but
cheerful voice, said, “Very lucky ya ended up here—very lucky
indeed.”

He was wearing a nightshirt, and had a
shock of long, white, scraggly hair jutting out from under a
cap.

“
Looks like they just about
had ya.”

“
A few times,” I
muttered.