“Perhaps killing me wouldn’t do you any good, but alive I would be quite the bargaining chip. You might even get your charter back.”
“Don’t be foolish. The Babachenko knows my ambition now. He’ll never let me live to challenge his authority.”
“Maybe you’re right on that count,” Alexander mused, carefully lowering himself back to the floor.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to take a nap … my head hurts.”
“Are you insane? We have to get out of here.”
“Even if I trusted you, I’m in no shape to travel. I doubt I could even stand up right now without falling over.”
“Unbelievable. You’re supposed to be the great and powerful Lord Reishi, Sovereign of the Seven Isles, and you’re just going to curl up and take a nap?”
“Seems like the thing to do,” Alexander muttered.
But he didn’t take a nap. Instead, he sent his mind to Chloe and spent the next half hour searching the warrens of the Andalian palace, mapping a way out of the dungeon and exploring the routes he might follow to reach the forges that lay even deeper still. Satisfied with his understanding of the layout, he sat up cautiously, testing the pain in his head. While it hadn’t subsided as much as he would have liked, it had diminished to a manageable level … so he started making plans.
His objectives hadn’t changed. The king was dead. Hopefully, that would put an end to the Lancers, but he wanted to be certain, and that meant destroying the forges and the Crown. After his reconnaissance, he was confident that he could reach the forges without too much difficulty, but he’d have a fight on his hands once he did. Twelve guards were stationed at the entrance when he and Chloe had floated past in the aether. Once he reached the forges, he faced the problem of destroying them. Each was an enormous magical construction fashioned from steel and stone. He would need more than his bare hands to undo them.
While he was considering his options, he heard an odd noise that sounded like it was coming from behind the wall he was leaning against. He stood quickly, pain surging in his head. Leaning up against the bars opposite the wall, he looked through with his all around sight and saw who was coming.
The Thinblade could destroy the forges.
Tyr stabbed through the wall at the back of the cell between Alexander and Grant, cutting a section away and letting it fall to the floor with a thump that reverberated down the dungeon hallway. He stepped through the hole into the cell, slowly looking this way and that, smiling with satisfaction at what he saw.
“Got you!” he said, cutting a hole through the bars of Alexander’s cage with several haphazard strokes, sections of metal clattering to the floor.
“I have to say, I wasn’t expecting you to ride to my rescue,” Alexander said with a mocking smile.
Tyr leveled the Thinblade at Alexander, who just smiled as he gingerly tested the point with his finger, provoking Tyr even further.
“Don’t test me, Pretender. This isn’t a rescue. In the end, you’ll end up at Phane’s mercy. This way, I get paid and the Babachenko gets to suffer Phane’s wrath.”
“Well then, I guess we should be on our way,” Alexander said.
“Cut me loose, Tyr,” Grant said, his hands gripping the bars tightly. “I can help you. I have friends that can help you escape Andalia.”
Tyr whirled on Grant. “So do I. But even if I didn’t, I like the idea of you losing your head. Just wish I could be there to see it happen.”
“I can pay you. I have silver.”
“Again, so do I.”
“Not this much,” Grant said. “I’ll pay you one million silver sovereigns if you help me escape Andalia.”
“Do you really think I’m that stupid?”
Grant hesitated for just a moment too long. Tyr spat at him and turned back to Alexander who had stepped into the cell with him and was waiting patiently.
“What are you looking at,” Tyr snapped, sheathing the Thinblade. “Get moving.”
Alexander stepped into a dark and unused passage, the far wall completely unfinished, then went to his knees at Wizard Edric’s feet, his collar constricting around his neck. He tried to turn around and step back into the dungeon, but Tyr shoved him to the ground. The slave collar closed off his airway and left him struggling for a breath that couldn’t get through. He tried to regain his feet, but Tyr kicked him to the ground again, laughing at his predicament, letting the darkness of suffocation start to close in around him until he lost consciousness.
He woke with a gasp, the ruined collar lying next to him on the dusty floor.
“Get up,” Tyr snapped.
Alexander raised himself to his hands and knees, but Tyr kicked him in the gut, sending him toppling to his side, gasping for breath.
“Lord Tyr, this is neither the time nor the place for this,” Wizard Edric said. “The Babachenko will learn of this quickly. We have precious little time to escape the palace or we risk being apprehended.”
Tyr squatted down so he could look Alexander in the face from just a few inches away, the smell of his acrid breath turning Alexander’s stomach.
“When I’m finished with you, you’ll beg me to give you over to Phane,” he said, droplets of spittle spraying Alexander in the face.
Tyr roughly hauled him to his feet and shoved him down the passage. Alexander stumbled and only avoided falling by catching himself on the wall. He didn’t look back, he didn’t need to … his all around sight told him that Tyr and Edric were right behind him.
“Tyr! Don’t leave me here,” Grant shouted just before Edric caused the ceiling to collapse, sealing the passage behind them.
“That should slow them down,” Tyr said, shoving Alexander forward.
They followed a path rarely traveled in recent centuries, only the footprints of Tyr and his wizard visible in the layer of dust coating the floor. At every turn, Tyr commanded a direction and Alexander obeyed. If the temperamental, would-be king of Tyr had a plan to get him out of Mithel Dour, Alexander was happy to have him do the heavy lifting. It would be a simple matter to turn the tables on him once they were away, especially since Alexander was no longer constrained by the slave collar.
They delved deeper into the bowels of the ancient palace until it became apparent that they were approaching the level of the city itself. Alexander smiled to himself. Even if the passages they were traveling didn’t lead to a door, the Thinblade would be able to open a passage for them without difficulty. Whatever else Tyr was, he seemed to have thought his escape plan through.
“I believe this is the place,” Edric said.
“Stop,” Tyr commanded, drawing the Thinblade and cutting a section of the wall away. It took several minutes to open a passage through the six feet of granite.
Alexander was surprised to see that they were still a hundred feet above the city.
“Cast your spell,” Tyr said.
Edric nodded respectfully, muttering a few words before taking both Alexander and Tyr by the wrist. They all stepped out into the open air and fell gently to the streets below, where a carriage was waiting for them nearby, manned by two of Tyr’s pirates.
Alexander went along for the ride; his moment hadn’t arrived yet. The carriage traveled through the back streets, twisting and turning to avoid streets that were more frequently patrolled, until it came to a stop.
Tyr opened a shutter to the driver’s seat. “Why did we stop?”
“The river has been diverted down the switchback road,” the driver said. “There’s no way out of the city.”
“He knows,” Edric said.
Tyr seemed to have an emotional meltdown right in front of Alexander without ever saying a word. His face contorted and changed colors while he struggled to master his distress. Alexander almost laughed, but thought better of it. Tyr was still his best bet for escape and testing his temper now would only result in rash and unproductive decisions.