Vol 4 Chapter 14

◆ Some time ago. Prison of Eagle's Cliff. Kazimir Short's POV. ◆


The city prison was never meant for long-term detention, yet it was never empty. Few inmates stayed longer than a week, since feeding them became a concern in that case. Usually, within two or three days, the prisoner either paid a fine and walked free, or they were executed. Unlike the other vassals of the First Duke, Short rarely sold prisoners into labor. If he needed manpower, he simply seized random peasants from the villages instead of granting such "pardons" to the guilty.

In short, the dungeon was no place for extended habitation: damp, moldy, with a stinking pile of straw in the corner, infested with lice. A place wholly unworthy of a noble… Yet a nobleman was precisely who resided there.

Chained in wooden stocks, Kazimir waited each day, hoping either that his father would pay the ransom... or that someone would summon him for questioning, but all in vain. The surly jailer ignored all of Kazimir's questions. Twice a day, he brought tasteless gruel in a wooden bowl, a chunk of stale bread, and a mug of water.

There were no basic facilities in the cell, and they had to use a bucket. This was especially difficult, given the solid timber clog binding Kazimir's legs, forcing him to hop to move around. As for bathing, he didn't even dare dream of such a thing.

The man snoring in the opposite corner could've used a bath even more, not that the former head of the guard seemed to care in the slightest. Like Kazimir, he was stuck here awaiting the Lord's decision, though it seemed they'd both been forgotten. Only the jailer, who brought food and emptied the bucket, proved otherwise, reminding them the outside world still existed.

For Kazimir, who had always hated confinement, the lack of information was nearly worse than everything else. The lice, the stench, the gruel — he could endure it all if he just knew his father would come for him. That negotiations were underway, and soon he'd be ransomed, able to leave all this behind like a bad dream. But the dream never ended. It dragged on endlessly. Day after day. The ramblings of the crazed former captain. Lice crawling through his hair. The gnawing in his stomach.

The grate clanged. His favorite moment of the day — the jailer had arrived.

A bowl of gruel clattered onto the stone floor. A watery, tasteless sludge crowned with a chunk of bread and a wooden spoon.

"Is my father negotiating yet?" the aristocrat asked without hope. He asked every time, but the jailer never answered.

But today, the grim man slapped down another bowl in front of his former superior and turned to him.

"Eat, don't talk. Or you'll get one meal a day."

"Alright, alright… I'm silent," Kazimir quickly backpedaled, seething inside. Yes, he'd lost, but that didn't mean any peasant could treat him like a commoner. Once he got out, this jailer would pay for his words!

He scooped up the gruel quickly and brought it to his mouth. Eating in stocks was uncomfortable, but he'd adapted. Nearby, the bloated former guard captain slurped noisily. His hands were shackled, so it should've been easier to eat, but this broken man didn't even bother with utensils. He devoured his food like a chained dog, splattering bits of gruel everywhere. Disgusting.

Kazimir carefully scraped the last bits from his bowl. Drinking it directly would've been easier, but he refused to stoop to that animal's level.

A loud explosion echoed from above. Then another, and another. Accompanied by distant thuds, like a crowd of giants applauding something. Crumbs and bits of mold rained down on Kazimir from the ceiling.

"What's going on?" he asked the jailer, but the man silently collected the dishes and left, locking the door behind him.

The thuds continued for another ten minutes before falling silent.

What the hell is happening up there?

Kazimir frowned, examining the door. It was made entirely of wood, deliberately so he couldn't break through it, but... The chains on the guard captain's limbs were iron. He could break the door using that man's body, but... what then? What if he got caught? What if they killed him? No, better to stay here and wait for the ransom. He was sure his father hadn't forgotten him and would rescue him soon.

Voices echoed in the corridor, and the aristocrat rushed to press his ear to the door. Through a crack, he saw two soldiers dragging in a woman bound head to toe in chains. Her armor's neckline was so deep, her chest was clearly visible. Her long legs were barely covered by a chainmail skirt. Obviously, fighting in such attire was a bad idea — blood trickled down her exposed shin.

"Not with them. She's a woman, after all… put her in the cell across," the jailer ordered, and the soldiers tossed her onto the straw and locked the iron-barred door.

The door to the new prisoner's cell was not freshly cut wood like theirs, but made of thick iron bars — perfect for seeing everything inside.

"Miss!" Kazimir called uncertainly. Her strange outfit and the fact he hadn't seen her before made him polite.

But the girl lay unconscious and didn't respond.

The former guard captain did, though.

"I'm not a miss!" he screeched hysterically and slammed his head against the stone wall. "I'm not a miss! Not a miss!"

"I wasn't talking to you, you peasant!" Kazimir snapped, but the crazed prisoner paid him no mind.

"Not a miss!" he howled like a madman.

He only fell silent by morning.

But even those screams didn't wake the girl. She slept day after day, lay on the straw, motionless, save for the steady rise and fall of her chest — the only sign that she was alive. And Kazimir hadn't been with a woman in a long time...

A healer had come one day, wearing a strange glowing collar, and treated her wound, but he couldn't wake her. Days dragged on once more: damp, gruel, lice, and no hope of rescue.

The former guard captain started to cough terribly. Kazimir, being a mage, didn't have to worry about most diseases that plagued commoners, but even so, he tried to keep his distance from the lunatic. His behavior was becoming increasingly erratic.

The aristocrat had no idea how many weeks had passed in that dreadful prison. Then, one day, he heard the sound of chains clinking in the neighboring cell.

Spurred by this unexpected event, he rushed to the crack in the door, when suddenly a chain looped around his neck.

"Aggh!" Kazimir rasped.

The damned lunatic had seen him lean forward and attacked from behind.

He tried to push the chain forward with his Gift, but it was pulling from behind, threatening to snap his neck. He let go of it, just long enough to inhale and collect himself.

"It's your fault, all your fault! I'll kill you and earn forgiveness!" the lunatic screamed into his ear.

Kazimir focused on a single link. Metal-shaping was difficult, very difficult, he wasn't a Sculptor. Only dribbles of oxygen passed through his crushed throat, but the iron started to yield. The thick link thinned, thinned further and finally snapped. The madman tumbled backward, Kazimir forward, slamming into the door.

His head spun. Nausea hit him. Through the ringing in his ears, he could hear the madman rising again.

He was shouting incoherently and swinging the broken chain like a flail, aiming to crush Kazimir's skull.

Kazimir called on his Gift and hurled the former captain of the guard into the wall with such force that his skull cracked.

The man slid down the wall, leaving a bloody trail. It had worked. The shackles had turned him into a plaything.

Outside the door, metal creaked. The sound was like someone bending a metal grate...

"Help me!" Kazimir begged, trying to rise. The wooden stocks made it agonizingly difficult.

Footsteps drew closer... then the door exploded, showering him with splinters. Kazimir looked up and saw a woman's hand that had punched straight through the wooden door. A warrior.

The boards groaned as her hand tore them away as if they were rotted twigs. In seconds, the door lay in ruins and she stood before him.

Kazimir looked up at the scantily dressed warrior woman. And it was the most beautiful sight he had seen since entering this dungeon.

"Mage?" the woman asked.

"A... Adept," Kazimir stammered, blushing involuntarily.

"That'll do. Let's go." She grabbed him roughly and broke the stocks, nearly snapping his arms and legs in the process.

The aristocrat shook out his arms with pure delight. How many weeks had it been since he could move them freely? It was heavenly.

Above them, noise erupted. The jailer was coming down the stairs. The woman lunged, hand raised...

"Don't kill him!" Kazimir shouted in panic.

Her palm landed on the man's head, but didn't crush it. The jailer dropped like a sack of bricks, apparently unharmed. The woman had obeyed instinctively and held back.

"Why?" she asked. "We don't have time to interrogate him."

"So they won't seek revenge. It'll improve our chances of escaping."

"What nonsense. Who'd bother avenging some flea-ridden jailer?" she scoffed.

Kazimir instinctively brushed his finger along his regrown teeth. He smirked, trying to look cocky, but fear tinged his voice.

"Trust me... This one will."

"To the Abyss. Get these cuffs off me," she ordered, rummaging through the jailer's clothes.

Kazimir stepped closer and touched the manacles. Melting them fully would be too difficult, and he couldn't find the rivets. These were mage-made, clearly shaped by someone with far more mastery over form than him. At last, he found a solution: he split the metal, creating a narrow gap.

"I'll handle the rest," the woman said, slipping her fingers into the gap and prying the manacles open.

The cuffs fell away and she resumed her search.

"What's this?" she asked, pulling a strange steel tube from the unconscious man's belt.

"Something to smoke with?" Kazimir guessed, frowning.

Come to think of it, it did look like the ones...

"Abyss, he doesn't even have a rusty dagger. Hey, make me a sword. Out of this breastplate. The steel's decent, unlike the junk around here." She ripped the straps and her decorative armor clattered to the floor, revealing her toned chest and sculpted abs.

"I... I'll try," Kazimir muttered, eyes locked on her chest.

She swiftly stripped the jailer and covered herself with his shirt, hiding the treasure.

The aristocrat picked up the still-warm breastplate. It was shaped... impressively. Just how was he supposed to make a sword? He wasn't a Sculptor. If only it were his bloodmetal...

Cursing under his breath, he folded the plate again and again, until it resembled a crude cleaver, then sharpened it.

"What crap," she scoffed, giving it a test swing. "Well... it'll have to do.""

"Just... don't kill anyone," Kazimir reminded her.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it."

They climbed the stairs, opened the door with the jailer's keys, and came face to face with two soldiers.

The first immediately leveled a steel tube at them. One swing of the cleaver, and he dropped it with a scream and a spray of severed fingers.

Before the second soldier could raise his weapon, Kazimir knocked it from his hands with a pulse of magic. The soldier panicked, reaching for his belt. A strike, and he collapsed against the wall. His hand remained at his waist, while blood pulsed from the stump, soaking the corridor.

"What? I didn't kill him," the woman retorted, catching Kazimir's disapproving glance.

They rushed down the hallway toward the exit.

But with every step, the adept's intuition screamed louder and louder.

"Stop!" he shouted, focusing.

Ahead, beyond the gates, a massive chunk of metal. Further off, something even larger and stranger. It vibrated like a living thing, making the mage's body tremble.

Chuh chuh chuh, it thundered, breaking Kazimir's concentration.

"What is it?" the woman asked, licking the blood from her cleaver.

"An ambush. We need another way."

"But there's only one exit," she said, tapping on the wall, assessing its thickness. "Yeah, we're not getting through that."

"Wait," Kazimir ordered sharply.

He gathered all his strength. The iron object was right nearby, outside the building, which meant... He clenched his teeth as blood trickled from his nose.

Obeying his will, the metal hulk lifted into the air and crashed aside. Shouts of panic erupted outside.

"Go, now!" he cried, wiping the blood from his face.

The woman hurled herself at the gate like a catapulted boulder, bursting it open. Outside, a group of men scrambled around a toppled steel pipe. Broken wheels and wooden debris littered the ground.

"Shoot them!" one of the soldiers shouted.

Kazimir called on his Gift again. His chest burned. Too much, too often, there would be consequences, but better that than death. The strange weapons flew from the soldiers' hands into the sky.

"Look, what the hell is that?" the girl gasped, pointing upward with her cleaver.

"What the..." Kazimir muttered.

Something hovered over the city. A colorful, previously unseen monstrosity. A swollen, balloon-like body was tethered to a rope that vanished behind a nearby building.

His thoughts were shattered by a piercing whine. Something zipped past his ear, and a heartbeat later, a deafening bang. He turned and saw another soldier aiming a long tube at him, demonic smoke swirling around him.

"Take this!" Kazimir shouted, shoving the weapon with his last ounce of strength. The metal tube tore from the man's hands and smashed into his forehead, dropping him.

"Run, run!" the woman yelled, grabbing Kazimir's arm and pulling him forward.

The soldiers hesitated to engage them in close combat and instead raised the alarm. Someone clambered onto a rooftop to retrieve a weapon.

"Wait, I know this city — that's the wrong way!" Kazimir cried, but the woman dragged him toward the square.

Toward something loud and terrifying.

An iron beast puffed steam in the square. It groaned and writhed from within, as if possessed by a demon. As if? No, it was possessed. The thing was so unnatural it inspired dread.

"We have to get out of here!" Kazimir pleaded, but she wouldn't release his hand. Panic surged. Was this maniac planning to sacrifice him to the monster to save herself?

She jerked his arm, raised the cleaver, and brought it down on the rope with such force that the makeshift sword stuck in the iron spool.

"There are people up there," she explained. "We're exposed from above. They won't let us escape. You said you knew the way. Where to?"

Shouts rang out behind them. A bell tolled. Alarms echoed across the city.

"That way... yes!" Kazimir pointed, and the girl yanked him forward again. His legs tangled beneath him. He couldn't keep up, and she had to hold back. The pursuit grew closer.

"Useless weakling," she spat, then swept him up in her arms. Kazimir squealed like a girl.

"Just point the way!"

"There!" the younger Short shouted, burning with shame.

They raced through the streets. A few passersby turned to stare. At full speed, the woman barreled into a narrow street packed with people.

A balding man with an egg-shaped head stood on a barrel, preaching passionately to the crowd.

"Learn, learn, and learn again. Knowledge must not be the privilege of the aristocracy. Every cook must know her letters, must learn to read and write. With great joy, I declare that this weekend our gracious lord will open a school for all. Everyone who attends will receive—"

"Don't stop, move!" the younger Short smacked the entranced woman's head.

"But the street's blocked."

"Then that way," Kazimir pointed at a narrow alley.

They dashed in. Charred planks crunched beneath their feet. Burnt boards were stacked across the cobblestones, and the foundation of a nearby house gaped empty. It looked like there'd been a fire, and the ruins had been cleared.

"What the hell? Damned Condor, what did you do to my city?" Short raged as they raced past the ruins.

"Shut up!" the woman barked.

Their pursuers had fallen far behind. They had a chance to escape the city.

The outskirts were close. The girl sprinted at full speed, then veered suddenly behind a building.

"What?" Kazimir cried, slamming into the ground. The impact knocked the wind from him.

"Quiet," the girl hissed, peeking carefully around the building.

"What is it?" Short whispered, but she didn't reply. He scrambled to his feet and peeked as well.

Where there had once been open fields, the land was torn up. Long trenches, coils of something metallic glinting in the sun, sharp-edged. Gray rectangular structures, as if conjured by an earth mage. And a mass of soldiers. Dozens, maybe more. All armed.

"When did they manage to... That wasn't..."

"Shut up!" The girl barely restrained herself from smacking the aristocrat.

The door creaked, and a puzzled peasant appeared on the threshold. He must have heard them and come out to investigate.

The warrior's hand shot forward like a snake, clamping over his mouth. Her other hand dragged him behind the wall, out of the soldiers' line of sight.

"You stay quiet, and I won't snap your neck. Got it?"

The peasant nodded.

"Good."

She removed her hand from his mouth, but the other remained on his throat, a clear warning that she could crush it at any moment.

"So... tell me. That hellish junk out in the field, beyond the houses — is there anywhere it's not?"

The peasant clenched his teeth and glared at her.

"Look, I won't break your neck if you answer, but if you stay silent, say goodbye to your life."

After a few seconds of silence, the peasant spoke:

"The whole city is ringed with fortifications, guard posts are everywhere. It's impossible to sneak past."

"Great."

The girl tightened both hands around his neck, and the peasant started choking.

"Hey, I said..."

"He'll live. Just choked him a little. Damn, what now... try to force our way through?" She plopped down onto the grass, glancing into the distance.

Hoofbeats echoed down the road. An old man drove a cart full of reeking dung straight toward the soldiers.

"Perfect! Let's go!" the girl brightened.

"No, no, no! I'm not climbing into that filth!" Kazimir protested.

"Then stay here. Let's see if that precious 'mercy' of yours gets you anywhere," she scoffed, leaping into the passing cart.

"Agh, damn it all!" the aristocrat cursed and followed her.

The dung was fresh and utterly revolting. Kazimir nearly vomited. Worst of all, he had a sneaking suspicion about where all the waste he'd produced in his cell had ended up...

The worst day of his life.

"Halt. Old man, what are you hauling?"

"Dung, sir."

"Yeah? You sure?"

Footsteps approached, and the fugitives had no choice but to dive headfirst into the muck.

"Yep, real dung. Never seen such a big pile from you before!"

"Well, today I swung by the gryph... uh, what do you call a gryphon stable? A gryph-house?" the old man mused.

"I think 'Gryphon-yard' might be more accurate," the soldier suggested.

They laughed.

Kazimir trembled with disgust and fury. Stop talking, you idiots, just move on already. But the pair kept chatting.

"Anyway, you get the idea. Made a hell of a mess, I tell you. Imagine how much he eats."

"He eats like our whole regiment. I saw them bring him an entire ox once. The healer said once he recovers, he'll eat less, but still... Man, I wish we got fed like that."

"Well, you're not exactly starving now."

"That's true, can't argue. Just hope you're not smuggling anything?"

"No, sir. Nothing but dung in this cart."

"No offense. Just a heads-up. If someone offers, don't take the job. You'd be surprised how much you can sneak in a dung cart..."

"I'm an honest man, sir. I haul dung, and only dung — horse, gryphon, even human!" the old man exclaimed, a bit too passionately.

"Easy, no need to get defensive. I'm warning you, that's all. The new city governor can smell lies a mile away. If there's an inspection and they ask if you've carried contraband, you won't be able to lie. Under the old regime, you'd just get whipped. Under the new one... Let's just say, don't risk it."

Silence fell.

"Thanks for the advice, sir. I'll keep it in mind. But there's nothing in this cart but dung, I swear."

Something creaked.

"Alright, move along," the soldier finally said, and the cart rolled on.

Once they were far enough away, the fugitives scrambled out and disappeared into the nearby field.

"Praise the One! We slipped out of Condor's claws!" Kazimir beamed, filthy but elated.

"Yeah," the girl replied. "We need to head for the river. Gotta wash all... this off."

"Wait, what's your name?"

"Monica."

"Ahem." Kazimir cleared his throat. "Thank you for helping me escape. I swear I'll repay you honorably."

She shrugged.

"Fine. Gold's always welcome."

Suddenly, the aristocrat raised his fist to the sky and shouted with fervor:

"And I will punish everyone who made me endure this! The One heard me and granted salvation. I will not fail Him! I'll destroy this treacherous city, burn it to the ground with all its people. I'll kill them all, especially Condor! I'll torture him for days and nights, then drown him in a cart full of—"

Something whistled down from the sky and struck Kazimir right on the crown.

BANG!

He staggered and collapsed like a sack of bricks.

A cloud of dust rose, covering the fallen Short. In an instant, he looked less like a dung demon and more like a mythical sand golem.

Monica quickly raised her hands.

"Oh One, please don't punish me! I wasn't planning anything, thank you for helping me escape!" she babbled, then looked up and spotted the now-familiar floating monstrosity.

"Oh shit..." she muttered, grabbed the unconscious Kazimir, and dragged him in the opposite direction, away from the descending creature.

After several hours of crawling through fields and bushes, hungry and exhausted, she finally reached the river far from the city.

"Finally!" she groaned, dropping the aristocrat from her shoulders with immense relief. Even for someone of fourth rank, carrying him for hours had been too much. No endurance could make that pleasant.

With unfiltered joy, she scooped up water and washed away the dried filth.

The distant clatter of hooves made her tense. She dragged Kazimir into the bushes, picked up a stone, and crawled toward the road. Pursuers?

No. A group of riders galloped toward the city, not away from it. Their armor gleamed, their banners fluttered. White horses. And at the head of the platoon of fully armored knights, a blonde noblewoman.

Of course. The Klaus family.

What the hell were the Klauses doing up north? Their lands were far to the south.

Ah, screw it.

She waited until they passed, then went down to the river and splashed water on the aristocrat's face.

"Ugh... My head... What happened?" he whined pitifully.

"The One punished you for your words," Monica declared with satisfaction.