“Orlando?” Darius gained his feet, swaying slightly in the grasp of the soldier for a moment before stabilizing. “Why not Lady Shireen?”
“Shireen has gone on a…mission. Orlando is temporarily in charge of House Towering Oaks.”
“I see….”
Darius began to sweat. The suggestions he implanted into Samuel were to spy on Shireen and report back to him. If he couldn’t reach him soon, Samuel would begin to try to find out where Shireen went, and follow. Darius needed to get to work to switch those suggestions to Orlando, or better yet, whoever was holding the post of Head of House at the time.
“I think I can walk,” he said, and took a faltering step forward.
“We will go slow,” Willow replied.
Which was exactly what he couldn’t afford to do.
Damn Malachi. He might have made it impossible for Darius to do what he needed to, the very thing that Malachi demanded of him.
The man really was a sadist. Perhaps it would have been better to support Melanie and that Thaddeus character.
As soon as that thought entered his mind a flaring pain bloomed in his chest, directly below where Malachi had sliced him open the first time. It grabbed hold of him and squeezed, stopping him from breathing, stopping his heart from beating.
He couldn’t even cry out as he collapsed to the ground.
“Darius!” Willow scrambled to him, her hands moving around him but to no avail. Whatever Malachi had done to him was beyond her skill, at least if she didn’t know about it.
He could tell her and—
The pain increased. So badly that his vision turned red and dark shapes fluttered at the edges. He was going to die. Malachi wouldn’t care either. He would simply get someone else to work Samuel.
There was no beating him. Malachi was too strong, too smart, to be brought down.
The pain lessened slightly.
“I won’t tell!” he screamed inside his own head. “I’ll be loyal!”
The pain slowly receded, until first he could see again, then feel the dirt he was writhing around on. His heart began to beat and with an agonized gasp he drew in breath.
“Darius? What’s wrong? Tell me what it is?” Willow sounded concerned. Kind of nice, really.
“I’m okay,” he panted. “It’s nothing. Sudden shock, or something. That damn thing really got me. But I’m all right.”
Willow was looking at him dubiously.
“Really,” he said. He reached out for her hand. “I’m all right. It’s passed. But I don’t know if I can walk all the way to Towering Oaks from here.”
“Then you won’t,” she said.
Two soldiers made a makeshift litter from a cloak and carried him. He hated it. He hated appearing weak in front of Willow, but he didn’t have a choice.
He needed to get to Samuel before all his hard work was undone. If he didn’t, Malachi would really go to work on him.
Chapter 55
The rats were around. Solomon could hear them rustling in the dry grass and see the occasional movement as one of them dug into one of the fresher bodies strewn about the ground. From his vantage, it seemed that maybe whatever was holding people in Dunfield was getting stronger. The newer victims were all gathered closer to the gate, while those that had been there longer were spread out further.
He looked back, adjusting the rope tied around his waist as he did. They were all there. Celia, Friedrich, Greta, and Christoph and his crew. All holding on, ready to start pulling if he got in trouble.
So far, Solomon felt no differently than he ever did. He could move freely and his mind was still sharp. Whatever was affecting those who tried to leave, it either hadn’t had time to get to work on him yet, or it only affected those from Dunfield, or maybe this world.
He turned, took a step, and still felt nothing.
The rats didn’t seem interested in him either. None of them approached him, and he knew better than to get too close or try to chase one away this time. Maybe they only came to those that seemed helpless, as long as you didn’t antagonize them.
He looked back one final time, smiled and blew a kiss to Celia. She smiled back but didn’t return his kiss. Rather than let her see his smile falter, he checked the rope one more time, and then began to run.
He started out in a jog, testing his theory that it was only the people of Dunfield that were being held there. There was still no resistance.
Running faster, he encountered nothing that would slow him down. Soon, he was going all out, running as fast as he could and still maintain his pace. Once, he stepped directly on a rat, but he was gone before it even registered. He didn’t know if he killed it or not, its brief squeak being the only indication that it even happened. Then he was past it and still running.
A couple of minutes later and he was brought up short by the rope. It snapped tight and cut into his waist, causing him to bend forward with a whoosh of air.
“Ouch,” he muttered.
He knew that was going to happen, but it was better than being stuck out here while the rats came for him. Turning back, he saw that he had made a good distance from the gates. Those kids really did do a good job finding a lot of rope, and Friedrich had done a fine job of splicing it all together.
In the shadows of the ruined gates it was difficult to see them. He untied the rope and let it fall, then lifted his hand and waved.
