Vol 5 Chapter 7

Night had fallen over the capital, and nearly all the streets were empty... except for one utterly unremarkable intersection in the craftsmen's quarter.

Between a bakery and a tailor's shop, five carriages and over a dozen young aristocrats from the golden youth had gathered, surrounded by a crowd of servants… and clearly, they weren't here for bread. One servant checked the harness of a team that looked absurdly small on a massive, muscular warhorse. The mighty Detrian, bred to carry an armored knight across the battlefield, snorted with disdain and kept trying to lunge forward, forcing the aristocrat in the driver's seat to curse and grab the box to keep from falling off.

Someone else had hitched two horses to a tiny two-wheeled cart. Though much smaller than the purebred Detrian, these were still warhorses, and being so close to one another didn't sit well with them. They flicked their hindquarters irritably and sometimes snapped at each other. A red-faced servant barked at them angrily, cracking his whip.

But one vehicle stood out in particular: a gilded carriage drawn by a real, pitch-black griffon. The beast lazily dug a hole right into the cobblestone, prying up massive paving blocks with ease.

"Blackie, stop!" the Prince barked at the griffon, still wearing his robe even outside the palace.

I smirked at the sight and gave a kick to check the pressure in a wheel. I hadn't expected the Second to invite quite so many friends to the race… but that suited me just fine.

"I'm not sure this is within the rules," Asha said, gesturing at the griffon.

"Well, there aren't any rules," I chuckled. "Don't worry, I've got a few aces up my sleeve too. Now, repeat what you have to do."

"Let something big and fiery out of both hands?"

"And don't forget to crouch, like this!" I demonstrated without the slightest shame. "Remember, it's a mandatory street-racer move. Though, honestly, you should be wearing something else instead of that robe…"

"Street… what?" the girl asked, puzzled.

"Never mind! Just do as I showed you!" I waved her off.

The wheels were checked, as was the barrel with the surprise inside the carriage. Both horses were liberally treated with potions—ordinary animals, sure, but this would let them keep pace even with Detrian warhorses. Or so I hoped. I gave the reinforced harness one last inspection. Speeding up horses was easy, but making sure my grandfather's old carriage wouldn't fall apart on the first turn when driven by potion-crazed horses—that had taken most of my time.

A bell rang down the street, drawing everyone's attention. It was the Second Prince's servant.

Once the noise settled, the Prince spoke.

"I suppose the Captain of the Royal Guard's son won't be joining us. A pity, but we've no use for the slow, right?" he said with a smile. He hopped down from the carriage and beckoned a servant with a snap of his fingers.

The man handed the bell to another and quickly unfurled a man-height map of the capital.

"My servants have already marked the route with torches, but to be fair, I'll show it to you now. It wouldn't be right if I knew the course and you didn't." The Prince extended his hand, and a quill was placed in it immediately.

"Our route will go from here to the Royal Palace. Through the craftsmen's quarter to the docks, then through the slums to the Guild Quarter, and from there—to the palace!" He marked it with broad strokes. "We'll make a big loop through the city so that the guests can reach the finish in time to see the race!"

"How wise! You've thought of everything!" came a sycophantic voice from the crowd.

"The Second Prince only ever uses his head when it's about entertainment," one nearby aristocrat muttered under his breath.

"Now, take your places!" the Prince ordered cheerfully, rubbing his hands.

But there was a hitch. Even a wide capital street wasn't enough for five carriages side by side. Some would have to start from the second row. Arguments immediately broke out.

"I propose we settle this with a duel!" suggested a flamboyantly dressed member of the golden youth. The detrian harnessed to his carriage snorted approvingly.

"Oh, no-no, no duels. That's boring! For once Condor has suggested something fun!" The Prince waved his hands, then paused in thought. "Maybe we could move the starting point to the Royal Quarter? The streets there are much wider…"

"I'll start from the second row," I said confidently, and the chatter fell silent.

The Prince shook his head. "Absolutely not! This is our wager, after all: we simply must start side by side. Otherwise, it wouldn't be fair."

One overdressed hanger-on tugged at the Prince's robe and, loud enough for everyone to hear, whispered, "Your Grace, Viscount Condor is just trying to save his honor. He saw Blackie and realized he has no chance, but if he starts from the second row, he can blame that for his loss."

"Oh… I didn't think of that… Hmm-hmm. I mean, I've already forgiven that incident with the chair: this race idea more than makes up for it." The Prince paused, and the crowd erupted with shouts praising his magnanimity. Without waiting for me to say anything, he continued: "Well, since that's settled, gentlemen, to the starting line!"

The carriages began slowly lining up, and I tugged Asha's sleeve before climbing onto the box.

"Listen, see that little group of aristocrats? Go over there and offer them a wager again. Now that I'm starting from the second row, they'll probably take it."

"How much should I bet?"

"No less than ten thousand gold."

Asha hesitated. "Are you sure? You've never driven a carriage before, and half a day of practice won't give you an advantage."

"Ha! You think they've driven one?" I pointed at an aristocrat who had somehow tangled himself in the reins.

"But…" she began uncertainly.

"No arguing! Go, quickly! And you still have to announce the start, so move it!" I clapped my hands to hurry her along.

The mage sighed, muttered something rude under her breath, and went to collect the bets.

I climbed onto the box seat and rubbed my hands. Starting from the second position would make me even more money, bless the narrow streets! Though, honestly, even in the craftsmen's quarter the capital's streets were far wider than those in Orlin's Cliff. And in the Royal Quarter, they were wider still—wide enough for an entire regiment to march abreast. Too bad I only had a rough idea of the route, as Randal had barely lived in the capital and never got to know it well.

Asha returned with the last bets placed in my name and stood before the carriages, waiting for them to finally line up.

The inexperienced but highborn drivers struggled to manage it. In the end, the griffon, a pair of warhorses, a massive detrian, and a plain horse all stood in a row.

"Just a reminder, gentlemen: there's only one rule—no rules! But please, refrain from direct collisions, at least for the first half of the race. And I give my word my griffon won't bite; that would be unfair!" the Prince announced with a broad smile. "Milady, if you would, start us off!"

"Three!" Asha called out, standing as tall as her short stature allowed.

"Knew I should've borrowed a chimera from my father…" sighed the owner of the plain carriage and horse.

"Two!" Asha raised her hands.

"One!" Flames ignited in her palms, and the owner of the detrian almost made a false start.

"Go!" she shouted, and from her hands flew fireballs the size of large melons.

Blazing fiercely, they shot into the sky and exploded with a deafening roar, lighting up the city in a bright flash. Sure, I'd asked for something flashy, but waking half the capital?! Green spots danced before my eyes, my night-adjusted vision instantly ruined.

The carriages lunged forward, except for the one on the far right. The aristocrat had been right to regret not swapping his horse for a chimera; startled by the blast and the flash, the horse reared up, losing precious seconds.

I whipped my horses forward.

In a moment, I was in fourth place, leaving him behind.

The wheels glided smoothly over the cobblestones, but the pounding of shod hooves still thundered in my chest. Seconds later came the first turn, visible only because it was brightly lit with torches.

I yanked the reins sharply, realizing I couldn't make it in smoothly; the carriage tilted, teetered, nearly tipping over. I hauled my weight to the side, shifting my center of gravity—one heartbeat, and it slammed back onto all four wheels, the turn behind me.

Now I had a couple of seconds to size up my opponents.

The Second Prince was far ahead, the griffon tearing through the streets at the speed of a sports car, while the pair of warhorses vied with the detrian for second place. Sparks flew from under the steel wheels of the two-wheeler: apparently, I wasn't the only one who had thought to reinforce my carriage.

No need to whip the horses; they were galloping on their own, wild-eyed from the surge of strength the potion gave them. Was that fair? Ha, and is it fair to hitch warhorses to ordinary carriages? This isn't a battlefield chariot race!

But the two aristocrats ahead clearly thought they were driving exactly that. Especially the owner of the open two-wheeler, who kept steering his horses into his rival's path, ramming wheels against wheels, but the carriages held.

Fine, let them smash into each other. A race is not just about speed but also tactics. And, as the saying goes, if you've got a tactic, you stick to it.

I slowed my horses slightly, staying on their tail and waiting for the right moment to overtake. A couple of minutes later, the craftsmen's quarter gave way to the docks. The smell of salt water and fish filled the air, and a cold sea breeze struck my face. The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, reflecting in the water and illuminating a warship.

But there was no time to admire the view. I had to weave between cargo stacks, keep an eye on the torches marking the route, and watch my rivals, who were still trying to shove each other into the sea.

"…Lady Andre wouldn't even look at you, you scarecrow!" shouted the lean owner of the two-wheeler, shaking his fist.
"At least my father's richer than yours! Ha, you couldn't even get a detrian for the race!" the young aristocrat sneered, pulling on the reins to force his horse into pressing the pair toward the water.

Settling personal scores, are they? Well, none of my business.

Spotting an opening to overtake, I was just about to urge my horses on when I noticed the torches ahead were moving. A few seconds later, I realized it was a patrol guarding the docks, taking up most of the road. I yanked the reins hard, hugging the edge of the pier. The detrian's owner did the same. The muscular horse's hindquarters slammed into the pair of horses and forced them aside.

But instead of trying to shove the larger horse back with the combined weight of both, one of them suddenly bit the other. The other tried to pull away, but dragged the two-wheeler with it… toward the sea.

Hooves struck air for a split second of weightlessness, then, at full speed, the two-wheeler flipped and splashed into the water. Splash! A pillar of seawater rained down on me, soaking my doublet.

Faces of the startled guards flashed beside me; they were lucky, with the first racer out, there was now just enough space on the pier for our carriages to speed past without knocking them over like bowling pins.

"Ha-ha, tonight Lady Andre's sleeping with me!" the thin aristocrat shouted at his floundering rival in the water, making a mocking hand gesture.

A sharp turn, and we plunged into the slums. Even the capital has its quarter of paupers and failures. Maybe it looked better than in other cities, but it was still the slums: dilapidated buildings, no guards, the stench and puddles of something foul on a bumpy, potholed road.

Oh yes, the road was awful! Even I was being jolted around, never mind my rival.

There were far fewer torches here, making navigation harder. At the first turn I saw some ragged types trying to pull a torch out of the ground. Ha, looks like the navigation torches had simply been stolen.

Startled by the clatter of hooves, the ragged thieves darted into narrow alleys. Using the straight stretch ahead, I began closing in on second place.

"G-g-g-get lost!" the thin aristocrat shouted, his teeth chattering as if they might break. His whole carriage shook violently; the powerful horse was charging forward, utterly unconcerned with nuisances like potholes.

One wheel splashed into a puddle, and I barely managed to pull the reins in time to avoid a reeking fountain. Oh, really?

I gave his carriage a light ram, making it shake even more. Once more? Snap! The detrian's teeth clacked shut right beside my horse's ear. My own steed, high on potions, merely glanced sideways without the slightest sign of fear toward its larger cousin. Let's just say the potions had sent it into some sort of zen state where nothing mattered… Still, getting too close was risky, since potions won't save it from a bite.

"I-I-I'll get you!" the aristocrat threatened, trying to shove my carriage away with magic. Naturally, it didn't work; everything just fed into my temporary horned ally. Still, that wasn't exactly sporting.

I glanced around for a solution. Up ahead, a window opened, and in the moonlight I caught a glimpse of something like a bucket. Right side, but could I make it in time? I'd have to hurry.

I made a rude gesture while spurring my horses. "Is that all you've got? Even my grandmother walks faster!"

"Th-th-th-that's an in-in-insult! I d-d-dem-mand a du—ow…" He shut his mouth and clutched it with his hand. Looked like he'd finally bitten his tongue.

Serves him right for talking at full speed... at least without decent suspension!

Scowling in rage, he lashed his whip at his horse, and we sped up. I even started to worry I wouldn't make the turn at this pace… but no, my timing was perfect. Just a few more seconds and he would be right under the target window, where a pair of hands were slowly but steadily raising the bucket.

Three. Two. One. A stream of filth glistened in the torchlight and poured down — onto what looked like an empty spot… directly into the path of the oncoming carriage! The horse passed under the first drops, but the rest of the foul cascade drenched the chatty aristocrat.

Almost perfect! Only the tip of the horse's tail got a little wet.

Blinded and reeking unbearably, he made incoherent noises for all of five seconds. It was already time to take the turn — not that he could see it, of course.

The horse, however, saw perfectly well and, being a sensible creature, had no intention of breaking its neck. At the last moment it twisted aside in a leap, its muscles even overcoming part of the carriage's momentum. But the rest of the carriage still pushed forward, driving it straight into the building. Crash!

A cloud of dust, a loud bang, the house shook, and the detrian galloped on alone, proudly dragging part of the harness. Everything else lay scattered on the ground.

One more down.

The wheels squealed as my carriage drifted over cobblestones slick with mud and filth, but my faithful horses pulled us straight, and I kept going, urging them faster. I had to catch the Prince.

The slums gave way to warehouses, and then to the merchants' guilds. Something golden gleamed ahead when I heard the pounding of hooves behind me. I glanced back. Seriously? How had he caught up?

It was the carriage of the racer whose horse had panicked at the start. Lathered and foaming, it galloped forward, eyes rolling wildly.

I sighed. "This isn't even funny. I'm not racing you."

Switching the reins to my left hand, I drew my sword. A few swings at the wooden signs hanging over the guild street, and they fell, swinging like the pendulums of a clock, blocking the road. The sign of the Azure Guild was especially effective — they hadn't skimped on wood, making it enormous, so it dropped like a guillotine blade. Thud!

Angry shouts rose behind me, but I calmly sheathed my sword. Time to finish this race.

The golden carriage was closer now. Spotting the pursuit, the Prince eased up on the griffon to let me catch up.

"I honestly didn't think anyone would. I even regretted taking Blackie instead of a horse!"

"And rightly so — you missed all the fun," I smirked.

"Hah! Judging by your look, you're not lying!" the Prince laughed, easily switching to familiar terms. "But I still intend to win. See you at the finish."

He whistled to the griffon, and it spread its wings, taking up most of the guild street. Whoosh! A blast of air hit me in the face. Was it taking off? Not quite. The carriage kept it from truly flying, but the front wheels kept lifting off the ground. The griffon wasn't running anymore — it was bounding forward, using its wings to help. I had no idea how the Prince managed not to fall from the driver's seat; at that pace, you'd need to be a real acrobat to stay on.

No matter how I urged my horses, I couldn't close the gap. The gusts from its wings even blew out the torches ahead. Luckily, I didn't let him pull too far away.

That's how we reached the Royal Quarter.

"In the name of the King! Halt!" The second guard squad of the day moved to block our way. This time they weren't shabby dockside patrols, but professional guardsmen.

They rushed to cut us off, swinging halberds, and if the streets here hadn't been so wide, we'd have been in trouble…

Tightening the reins and weaving side to side, I skirted around the flashing steel. Whew.

The palace loomed ahead. One last push. The final straight. The Prince was about a hundred meters ahead — which meant it was time.

Reaching behind me, I found the rope. Here we go.

I pulled, and was instantly slammed back into the driver's seat. Despite the intoxicating potion, my horses screamed in panic, their legs churning the air with wild power.

The rope was tied to the lid of a barrel mounted on a steel frame running the length of the carriage. And the potion inside… heh, I'd remembered that recipe while trying to figure out the mystery of the mad bottle of scorched who-knows-what.

Finding the ingredients in the capital had been no trouble.

The alchemical booster worked perfectly, belching foul smoke from the back of the carriage. Who cared about the smell when it gave you that kind of speed? In seconds I was overtaking the Prince.

"WE CALL THIS NITRO!" I yelled as I shot past.

The aristocrats gathered at the finish line scattered from the mad carriage, and I suddenly remembered I'd forgotten something: brakes.

"Ahhhh damn! I knew I forgot something! Da-a-a-a-amn!" I screamed as I tore past, deeper into the palace grounds.

At last, the potion ran out, but that didn't help — my speed wasn't going anywhere. All I could do was watch the royal gardens rushing toward me and hope there were no trees in the way…

Fortunately, it was only bushes that met me.