Page 7

Blood pounds in my ears as I creep forward. The chain around my neck drags on the floor with the faintest scrape; I bunch the links in one hand, desperate to keep them quiet. Every breath feels like a risk.

I pass a doorway I recognize as the main kitchen. The door stands ajar, revealing a chaotic scene: two dark elves bark orders at exhausted human slaves who kneel, scrubbing the floor. A large pot boils, filling the room with steam. No one notices me in the shadows. My pulse leaps.Stay quiet, Elyria.

Slipping past, I round another corner and find myself in a small corridor that ends at a heavy wooden gate. Beyond that gate lies the main courtyard.So close.

I rest my hand against the wood, feeling it vibrate with movement outside. My muscles clench as I press my ear to it. Muffled voices, scraping boots on stone. A tremor of doubt wracks me: how many guards are out there? Would it be safer to look for a less obvious exit?

But I’m running low on time. The fortress is frantic, but the dark elves won’t remain so distracted forever. If anyone checks the slave quarters, they’ll notice I’m gone.I have to move quickly.

I ease the gate open a crack and peer into the courtyard. The pale daylight is a welcome change from the fortress’s gloom, but it also means fewer places to hide. Several dark elf soldiers cluster around the far side of the courtyard, deep in animated conversation. One paces back and forth, gesticulating wildly, while the others keep glancing upward, as if expecting gargoyles to descend at any moment.

To my right, a coil of rope sits abandoned near some crates, probably left there in the wake of last night’s confusion. Beyond it, I spot an old well with a dilapidated roof. The courtyard’s walls loom tall and menacing, broken only by a massive gate of iron bars at the far end. That gate usually leads to a drawbridge over a rocky ravine. If I can cross it, I’ll be out of the fortress.But how to get there without being spotted?

I inch through the door, crouching low behind the crates. My chain rattles softly, and I clench my teeth. My entire body feels wired, ready to bolt or fight. The courtyard is damp from last night’s rainfall, puddles reflecting gray clouds overhead. The wind smells like an oncoming storm, or maybe that’s just my imagination.

Something clangs behind me, and I whip my head around in horror. I can’t see what made the noise—maybe a fallen weapon or a scurrying rodent. But the sound draws the attention of one of the soldiers, who barks, “Who’s there?”

I freeze, heart in my throat.Breathe. Don’t panic.

Seconds drag. The soldier stalks across the courtyard, glancing around, hand on his sword hilt. I curl tighter behind the crate, pressing myself as flat as possible. My chain is pinned beneath my knee to keep it from shifting. My lungs burn from holding my breath.

He’s mere steps away. I see the glint of his black armor, the tension in his posture. If he comes any closer, he’ll spot me for sure. My mind spirals:I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m…

A sharp cry echoes from the other side of the courtyard: “Captain! Over here!”

The soldier wheels around. “What is it?”

I remain perfectly still, listening as another soldier calls him away. Something about fresh gargoyle tracks found on the ramparts. The soldier mutters a curse, then jogs back toward the group.Thank the gods.My entire body trembles with relief.

I wait another few heartbeats before I dare move. The soldiers are once again engrossed in discussing how best to repel future gargoyle attacks.They’re not even looking at me.I risk a quick glance left and right. The path to the main gate is too exposed—I’d be seen instantly. However, there’s a smaller side gate along the southeast corner, typically used for supply wagons. Sometimes the watch is minimal there.

I crawl on hands and knees toward the rope coil, snatching it up. Maybe I can use it to lower myself from an outer wall if I can’t get through the main gates. The chain around my collar clinks softly with each movement. My knees ache against the wet stone, but I swallow the pain.

When I near the southeast corner, I see a single guard posted near that supply gate. He leans against the wall, crossbow in hand but gaze distant. He’s younger than most, his expression betraying nerves.He’s probably rattled by the gargoyle infiltration.

Hope surges in my chest. If I can slip behind him…But how?The courtyard is too open.

I tuck the rope under one arm. Then I spot a narrow passage—an alcove that might lead around the perimeter. If I can follow it, maybe I can slip up the steps to the outer wall, then find a vantage to see if any section is climbable.

I dart across a short gap of open ground, every sense screaming that I’ll be spotted. My chain rattles, but the soldier remains oblivious, apparently lost in his own fear. I press myself to the fortress wall and inch into the alcove, finding a steep, twisting stair.Yes.

I climb, careful to stay low, the rope slung over one shoulder. The steps are slippery with rainwater. Once or twice, I nearly lose my footing. My heart is in my mouth each time I wobble.No. Focus.

At the top, I discover a small walkway running along the inside of the fortress wall. The vantage here reveals the courtyard below—and, beyond it, the wide ravine. If I peer carefully, I see the drawbridge is raised. Figures in black armor move along the battlements on the opposite side.No luck crossing there.

A crack of thunder rumbles overhead, or maybe it’s just the fortress settling under its own weight. My thoughts spin: If I can’t use the main gate or the drawbridge, is there a portion of the wall low enough to climb with the rope? The ramparts appear uniform and steep, but maybe there’s a collapsed section…

I hurry along the walkway, searching. My pulse quickens when I spot crumbling masonry near a corner tower. Loose stones jut out, and part of the parapet has fallen away. Rain from last night’s storm must have loosened it further.This might be my best shot.

I approach cautiously, scanning for guards. The walkway is suspiciously empty, likely because the fortress’s forces are gathered elsewhere, investigating the gargoyle infiltration. My muscles tense at the memory: a towering figure of stone and sinew smashing through windows, leaving dead elves in his wake. A flicker of something, not exactly fear, rakes my mind. For a moment, I picture golden eyes meeting mine through the haze of rain—an image so vivid it makes my heart spasm.Why does it feel like I’ve been seen already by those eyes?

I swallow.Focus, Elyria.

I kneel by the broken parapet, checking the drop. The ravine is too far to jump, but the wall itself is about thirty feet high from this point. If my rope is long enough, I might be able to rappel down the outer face, then scramble the rest of the way. The ground outside is rough and rocky, a slope leading into a dense forest.That forest could be my salvation—or a hunting ground for gargoyles.

I tie one end of the rope to a sturdy piece of stone with my shaky hands. The rope looks old but thick enough. I tug on it. Seems it might hold my weight if I descend carefully.

A shuffle of footsteps behind me makes my blood run cold. I spin, chain rattling. A dark elf guard stands only a few strides away, crossbow aimed at my chest.