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Once I’m through the gates, I should veer right through the Foul Falcon Forest, stay there until sundown, then pass through the village town square of Madmaz, staying away from street torches that attract the spine-toothed eagles.
“They’ll send out units to find you, probably accompanied by hordes of Blood Mammoths sent to catch your scent of blood if you get injured,” he goes on, pulling something long and dark out of a chest attached to the wall behind him. “Keep yourself from being wounded, and head north out of the village, toward the north side of the East Vexello Mountains. You’ll find the shore that your reinforcements are gathering near.”
I take a breath. I can do this. It must be in the prophecy that I’ve already done this.
“Put this cloak on to cover your hair. And I suspect you’ve been missing these.” After pulling a dark silk cloak over my shoulders, he hands me a pair of leather gloves with spikes running along the knuckles.
“Demon’s Teeth.” I smile, remembering the day Garanthian gave them to me to hold for the day I’d learn how to fight. And now I can. Now I can lead the fight to my friends.
“Lead your army through the East Vexello Mountains; you’ll find rebellions already formed there that may want to fight with you. If you go straight through the villages, it’ll be a trap, and everyone on your side will die.”
“Got it.”
“You ready?”
I pull the satiny hood over my head, tucking the strands of blonde hair away from my forehead, and nod quickly. Kaspias hands me two daggers and assures me that he left Dessin’s weapon’s belt hidden in his cage until they get to escape.
The stale air chills my damp skin as we keep fast strides through the empty hallways of the prison. He gruffly nods to a few sentinels on guard at different posts; they salute to him sternly, bowing their heads as the commander and his Persecuting Caretaker walk with purpose.
I lower my head, letting the soft hood hang over my eyes so that I am not recognized. My pulse contracts wildly under my skin, hammering into my throat, making a noisy racket in my ears.
Moving down the long and twisty stairwell, I tune out the screams pinging around from wall to wall. The void pushes memories against my mental barriers, tempting me to watch all of the evil that has happened here. But I pull back my shoulders and focus on my breathing rhythm. In and out. In and out. Slower. Relax. Focus.
“There are three towers that are connected around a square courtyard. That’s what makes up the prison. The towers are built on small brimstone mountains. The only way down is to scale the length of the side after we sneak out of a side door. I know it’s unconventional, but if we take the soldiers route of the designated pulley system, there will be too much traffic, and you might be caught.”
I jog to keep up with him as we must have already gone down a dozen flights.
“Is scaling the side of the small mountain what you were worried about?” I ask.
It doesn’t sound ideal considering how weak this captivity has made me. The lack of sunlight, inconsistent nutritious meals, and physical activity. Not to mention the constant state of abuse. But I’m willing to jump off the side of a cliff to save the ones I love. I can do this. I will do this.
“No, actually.” Kaspias sounds hesitant, like he’s unsure if bringing it up is even worth the headache. “I’m concerned about the swamp dawpers.”
The name sours my stomach. “Cousins of night dawpers,” I say, recalling Helga Bee giving us this information, though she was unsure if they were merely rumors.
“Yes. They only attack if they catch the scent of a prisoner. Soldiers can come and go without setting off that barbaric alarm system, but your scent will set them off.”
We round another flight of stairs, breathing heavily from the lack of breaks.
“How am I supposed to get past them?”
He shoots me a look over his broad shoulder. “I’ve given them a feast at the other end of the courtyard, by the tower furthest from us. They should be distracted long enough for us to get past them.”
“Good.” I pause with a thought creeping in. “What if that doesn’t work?”
“It will be difficult to get away from them,” he admits, scratching his beard. “They are trained to leave the prison gates and hunt down the stray at all costs.”
Great.
Kaspias motions for a wide, rusted door with slight exhaustion drooping his shoulders.
“This is the side door.” He latches something heavy on to the toe of my boots, then black straps on to my elbows and hands. “Hooks to scale down.”
I look down at the heavy metal formed into sharp, curved nails sticking out of my shoes. Is this all we get to keep us from falling to our deaths?
“It won’t take as long as you might think,” he justifies.
But that doesn’t ease the burning knots forming in my stomach. I’d say I’m a good climber, based on the many times Kane and I used to find tall trees to scale when we were children.
