Fortress Walls

Chapter IX, Part 2

It was beginning to grow dark when the boys reached the end of the rolling farmland that surrounded Toragon, a good five miles wide. They hadn’t covered even half as much ground as Tariq would have liked, but Phineas was tired and unused to traveling on foot, so when dusk began to fall, they stopped just on the edge of the Wilderness.

Tariq hadn’t spoken much to Phineas during the day’s journey, only the fewest necessary words. His escape had certainly been discovered by dawn at the latest, but word of it hadn’t yet reached the countryside. Tariq warned they should still be discreet, though, as it would be harder to track them if they weren’t memorable.

Phineas knew nothing about either trekking or camping. He’d worn himself out in the first couple hours, and after that they had had to stop frequently to rest. Tariq struggled to keep patience, and he often found himself walking too far ahead and would have to trace his steps back to walk beside Phineas again. He thanked heaven Phineas at least wasn’t a whiner. By midday he looked ready to lie down right on the road and die, but it was Tariq who called the halt and not him.

That was how it took them over twelve hours to cover only five miles.

When they reached a spot Tariq thought good enough to camp, Phineas dropped his pack and collapsed on the lumpy ground with a moan, closing his eyes. Tariq looked down at him in silence for a minute, then took off his own pack, dug out his machete, and went to get wood and water without disturbing him.

A few minutes later he was back, and he nudged Phineas with his toe. Phineas opened his eyes grudgingly.

“Did you bring a waterskin?” Tariq asked.

Wide-eyed, Phineas shook his head.

Tariq suppressed a sigh and began to turn away.

“Didn’t you?” Phineas asked, almost accusingly.

“Don’t own one.”

“Oh.” Phineas closed his eyes again. “I’m sorry, we stopped at so many wells on the way, I should’ve thought of what we’d do once we reached the wilderness.”

Tariq shrugged. “The fault’s both of ours. We’ll make do.”

He headed for the edge of the woods again and disappeared.

By the time he was back with a good armful of dry wood, it was almost fully dark and Phineas was asleep with his head pillowed on his pack. Tariq dropped the wood, cleared an area of bracken and leaf litter, and built a fire.

He paused, though, crouched before the woodpile with the unlit match poised over the sole of his boot.

A mere moment of hesitation. He shook his head as if to clear it, lit the match, and threw it into the depths of the woodpile, inching backwards on his knees as the flames licked at the tinder and caught. He stared, mesmerized.

He turned away at last. There was the problem of water. There was a stream nearby, but no waterskin, not even a pot to fill. He gritted his teeth. They wouldn’t be cooking tonight. They’d make do.

Outside the circle of firelight, a twig cracked, and his back snapped up straight. Feeling for his machete, he moved over to where Phineas lay, putting his feet down carefully, and stood over him, scanning the woods. His lips moved in an inaudible prayer to ward off evil spirits. They were only on the edge, but the edge was enough.

It wasn’t a monster that stepped into the camp, though, but a redheaded boy with a round, freckled face, smiling awkwardly. Tariq frowned, lowering his weapon, but he didn’t put it away.

The boy waved his hand. His smile was big and dimpled, like a child’s. “Hullo! Fin’s brother. I mean, you’re Fin’s brother.”

Tariq remembered the boy who’d accompanied Phineas on the jailbreak. His frown deepened. He didn’t say anything.

Sutton wilted beneath Tariq’s glower. “I don’t think he’ll be cross?”

“Is the other one with you? The young prince?”

Sutton looked over his shoulder guiltily. Cass came into the light, his lip curling.

“Young prince? I’m older than you, jailbird.”

Tariq thrust his machete into his belt. “I hope you brought your own food. I don’t think he packed much.”

Sutton bounced on his toes. “So…we can come, then?”

“I didn’t say so.” Tariq had turned his back and gone to sit on the other side of the fire. “It’s not up to me. Ask your friend.”

Sutton took that as a yes and promptly sat down by Phineas, dropping his pack and pulling out a bread roll, which he bit into without further ceremony. Cass wasn’t satisfied, but it didn’t seem that they would get an answer right away, so he stepped out of the firelight again. Tariq, sulking, ignored him, but when Cass came back leading two horses and began tying their reins to the nearest tree, he got up angrily.

“What are you thinking? You can’t bring horses to the Wilderness.”

Cass gave him an arch look. “How else do you think we followed you, jailbird?”

“We moved at snail pace.”

Cass spat on the ground, and Phineas stirred and woke.

“Tariq?” he murmured, and then he saw Cass and Sutton.

He sat up, waking fully. “Sutton? Cass? What are you doing? How did you get here?”

“We rode.” Sutton smiled at him innocently. “Can we come?”

Phineas looked at Cass, horrified. “But your brother—your family—”

“Your brother—your family—” Cass mocked, folding his arms. “Don’t make me regret coming. I don’t feel good about you running off into the wilderness with a convicted murderer.”

“He’s not—”

Cass waved a hand. “To hell with it. We’re here now, and we’re coming whether you like it or not.”

Sutton nodded enthusiastically.

But Phineas shook his head. “Cass, I don’t understand. Hilary—”

“Hilary’s fine,” Cass shouted, his face going pale. “He’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

Sutton looked alarmed, and Phineas backed off. “I’m sorry.”

Cass turned away.

“But Cass,” Phineas tried again. “You and Sutton really ought to go back. My brother and I, we’re wanted criminals now. If we’re caught, he’ll be killed, and me—who knows. You shouldn’t get mixed up with us. My father’s position isn’t hereditary, not necessarily—it’s different for you two. You’re heirs. You can’t get mixed up in this.”

“I’m not an heir,” Cass snarled.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

Cass sighed, collecting himself. Some of the color came back to his face. He went over to Phineas and put his hands gently on his shoulders.

“Fin, you have to understand. Your brother, he’s a murderer. He should have been left in prison where he belongs and hanged like he deserves.”

“You helped,” Phineas interrupted angrily, glancing at Tariq to see if he was offended. He didn’t seem to have heard.

“It doesn’t matter now. What’s done is done—you’ll only get in more trouble if we try to bring him back. But Sutton and I don’t feel good about you wandering the Wilderness with someone who’s a killer and probably mentally unstable.”

“He’s not a madman, and he’s not a murderer,” Phineas said, choking on his own words. “He was defending himself.”

Cass ignored him. “We want to make sure you’re safe, Fin. That there’s someone watching your back. You’re our friend.”

“Besides,” Sutton put in, “going back to school without you would’ve been awfully dull.”

Phineas blushed. “Thanks. But…”

He looked from one to the other. “Did you tell anyone you were leaving?”

“My father thinks I’m still at university,” Sutton said with a snicker. “My family won’t notice anything till Yuletide.”

“Hilary,” Cass said in a low voice. “I…told Hilary.”

There was a long silence.

“He won’t give us away,” said Cass.

Phineas shook his head. “No. This is all wrong. This is only my brother’s affair and mine. You have to go back.”

Sutton folded his arms. “We won’t. We’re coming with you. You’re not allowed to have fun without us.”

Phineas opened his mouth angrily, but Cass cut him off.

“He’s right. Case is closed. This isn’t your choice. Like I said, we’re coming whether you like it or not. You can’t make us leave.”

Phineas went and sat down by Tariq. “Fine. But you better have packed your own food. We’re not sharing.”

Sutton let out a war whoop. Cass didn’t even smile.

~

Military Archives, Toragon

That morning

Alaric Zarael sat passively at his desk listening to the usually quiet Thierry rail his heart out at him, but he had to cut off as there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Zarael said. He looked at Thierry. “Do sit down.”

Thierry sat, and the door opened.

They both shot up again. “Your Majesty!”

“My king,” said Zarael, bowing. “How can I help you?”

Cillian smiled thinly. “I’ll tell you. Captain Thierry, I’m glad you’re here too. This concerns you. You both heard about the escape last night, I’m sure?”

“Captain Thierry was just telling me,” Zarael said, smooth as butter.

The king slid Thierry an amused glance. “Yes, I heard him just now.”

Thierry didn’t deign to blush.

“You can both sit, and you needn’t offer me a chair,” Cillian said. “I sit most of the day. Now, how much do you know? Of the boy’s escape, that is.”

“Only that it happened.” Zarael sat down at his desk again. Thierry scrupulously stayed standing.

“Phineas Clade is also missing. Went missing the same night. It seems he had something to do with the escape. Sir Beaufoy and his men are working hard to find out more about the incident. But for now, the main thing is to recapture the prisoner. He’s dangerous and shouldn't be on the loose.”

Thierry and Zarael glanced at each other, uncomfortable.

“Isn’t that right?” Cillian asked, a little too smoothly.

“Of course,” Zarael said with a frown.

“Dangerous,” Thierry agreed, nodding. “Trained him myself.”

“Which is why, Captain, I’m putting you in charge of his recapture.” He turned to the general. “Alaric, I meant to have you issue him an official order, but since you’re both here, I can do it myself. Here.”

He handed Thierry a crisp document, which the captain examined unhappily. It was straightforward—a simple command to send his best recruits after the renegade soldier.

He realized the king was saying his name and looked up from the paper. “Your Majesty?”

“I called you several times,” Cillian said, annoyed.

“I’m sorry.”

“Is there a problem with the document?”

“No, Your Majesty.”

“Is there a problem in general?”

Thierry hesitated.

“You can be honest with me, Isaiah. I hope you know I don’t bite.”

Zarael covered his eyes with one hand, grimacing. “You do, though,” he muttered, too low for anyone to hear him.

“Your Majesty,” Thierry began slowly, “I don’t think...such extreme measures are necessary. I don’t think the boy will cause any more trouble."

“The point is that he already has, and he must be punished. I appreciate your input, but my orders stand.”

“Yes, Your Majesty."

Cillian moved towards the door a bit, where his guards and attendants waited just outside the office. “Isaiah, I'm sure you know that your special operations corps is in danger of disbanding because of that ‘harmless’ boy.”

“I do, Your Majesty.”

“Good.”

They both bowed as the king left the office, then stood looking at each other.

“He does bite,” Zarael said wearily.

Thierry nodded, looking at the document in his hand.

“What do you think about this?” he asked Zarael.

“What do you think?”

They eyed each other warily.

Zarael sighed and sat back in his chair. “Seems we’re both harboring illegal feelings about those orders.” He waved a hand. “Do what you think’s best, Isaiah. I won’t have a say one way or another.”

After a moment, Thierry ripped up the orders and went to feed them into the low fire in the grate.

Zarael did his best to hide his smile. He sent up a silent prayer that the boy would make it off the continent safely.