Leda

Chapter Twenty-Three: A Glimpse of Freedom

Hal began to think she was dreaming. After all, they'd been trudging down tunnel after tunnel for so long now that it was entirely possible she had fallen into exhausted, hunger-wracked sleep, collapsing unseen in the darkness. So when she saw a pale sliver of light ahead, she told herself she'd imagined it. And when it quickly bounced out of view again, she cursed herself for a fool. But then it returned, widened and grew intense enough to believe in. And the others saw it too. Even Jools sighed with relief, Lord Roc whispering a hoarse "thank the spirits!"

How Roc had made it this far, she could not imagine. Clearly the man was stronger than she'd suspected, in spite of his lumbering mass. He sweat and shivered as, she suspected, his hangover ran its course.

"Is this the end?" she whispered.

"Of this tunnel, perhaps." His breath stank of stale ale. "but what lies beyond? Castor and a troupe of guards waiting to round us up and take us back?"

The light now seemed to menace. Roc's fears were all too probable. Castor would take their escape as a personal defeat ˗ one he could not brook. She had already witnessed how malicious he could be: in fact, bloodletting seemed his only pleasure. He would hunt them down like dogs, and then he'd make sure they were well and truly executed. The prospect made her pause and appraise the light, which now coalesced into shapes and colours ˗ ashen sky, dull green grasslands, the forlorn skeletons of trees. Open country, on which they could be picked off like grazing deer.

"Move, Hal." Magda prodded her in the back. "Or we'll leave you behind."

"You could have done that anyway," Hal muttered to Magda's departing back.

"At least I'd not have had to listen to your whining."

Tired, fractious, her temper flared once again. "So why did you do it then?"

"Ladies, please!" Jools threw them both a pained look. "As Lord Roc said, we don't know what's waiting for us out there. Keep quiet!"

They trudged on, Hal simmering. This was all Magda's fault anyway. If she'd not left the carriage, if Meracad hadn't run after her, they might have outrun Castor's guards.

"You think this is all about you, don't you Hal?" Magda stretched out a hand to Lauré who grasped it, stumbling with weariness and fatigue. "Typical."

Before she could reply, Salvesté whistled and they flattened themselves against the walls. The tunnel had now widened into the mouth of a natural cave ˗ a high arch of dark, gritty rock above, and boulders strewn across a dusty floor. She sniffed the air, scenting the heavy wetness of autumn: dead leaves and clay. Jools risked a quick glance outside the cave, then beckoned to Salvesté. Hal held her breath. Nothing to do but wait, as rain pelted the fields beyond and her anger burned and brewed. She looked at Magda once, but the duellist rested against the cave with half closed eyes, her arms crossed. Does she expect me to get down on my knees and thank her? Hal thought. I'd sooner go back and hand myself in.

Salvesté snaked his way outside inch by inch. The rain fell, ever heavier. She strained to listen for sounds or voices over it, but heard nothing. Eventually, she crouched on the cave floor and waited, tracing patterns in the dust with her fingertips. After another low whistle, Salvesté reappeared, a grin stretched across his rat-like face.

"Looks like we're alone," he said.

"Good. Alright, now listen." Jools beckoned them into a circle. "Once we're outside, we run. This is open farmland. We can't linger and be seen. There's a cluster of rocks you'll see in the distance. Make for those ˗ I've weapons and food stashed there. It's where we'll make camp, and if Castor's men do come looking, it's easy to defend. Got any questions?"

"Where the hell are we?" Roc asked, scratching at his beard.

"We're about ten miles west of Colvé, my Lord. And we'll continue heading west for now ˗ as agreed."

Hal's mind flashed with suspicion. "What do you mean, as agreed?"

Jools shrugged. "The mountains offer better cover than the northern moors," was all she said. Hal smelt evasion. "But..."

"No time for buts, Hal. Follow me. Keep quiet and low."

The thief was planning something. And Jools' plans generally spelt trouble. Hal longed for home ˗ for time to contemplate her mistakes. To see Leda and Meracad both safe. To apologise to them both. Whatever Jools was scheming, she wanted no part of it. And she'd let them all know that as soon as she could.

For now however, she had no choice but to stumble out of the cave, the light almost blinding after so many hours spent underground. An ash trail of starlings sprang from the grass in alarm as they ran across dull green plains fringed by leafless trees. She prayed that Jools knew where she was going, for there were no crags in sight ˗ only field after field, the occasional ruined shelter or barn breaking the monotony. And then at last the rocks loomed on the horizon like spectres ˗ dark, menacing and high, crested with grass and shrubs, pockmarked, wrinkled and flaking. Behind them lay the outer fringes of woodland. She ran harder, expending her final reserves of strength now the end was in sight.

Lauré had fallen. She helped Magda pick her up, and then they moved on, dragging the girl between them, her long hair plastered to her face with rain and sweat, her face pale with exhaustion.

But from somewhere behind them came the sudden thud of falling hooves. For a brief moment they all froze, mouths open in shock, eyes wide, shaking their heads, as the clamour of guards and horses drew nearer. As if this were a nightmare or a hallucination brought on through lack of sleep, nerves and hunger. It couldn't be, Hal told herself. After all the running, the baying crowds, the darkness and horror of the catacombs ˗ after all of that, to be rounded up and caught within sight of freedom.

"Bloody Hell!" Jools bellowed suddenly. "Run!"