Out of the other wall, the lights of the city dance and flickering in the night. A long street leads out from in front of us and ends in a long towering shadow similar to our own. The almost full moon reflects in a rippling feature at the end of the street, it is so far away that it is merely a shimmering dot, it must be the fountain at the entrance.
We are directly above the inner limit’s gate, I realise. So where is the bridge that granted us entrance so long ago? I have to head over to Orrian, still by the chained wheels, before it all clicks into place.
“Do they-?” I whisper. I know we need to keep moving but curiosity has temporarily gotten the better of me.
“I think so,” Orrian replies, unable to keep the impressed awe out of his voice.
No. Surely not. How is that even possible? These chains, surely they can’t be the same ones connected to the bridge that we crossed, because that would mean...oh. They’ve raised the entire bridge, pulled the whole thing off the ground to serve as an extra gate between us and the outside world. The feat is incredible, I wonder at the sheer audacity it must have taken to even attempt such a build.
“What are you waiting for?” Horas snaps pointedly at the pair of us, pulling us out of our daze as we marvel at the ingenuity before us.
The pair of us run over to the door where the others wait, from what I remember from ground level we must be in line with the top of the wall now, meaning it shouldn’t matter which of the doors we go through. As it is, Horas waits by the one nearest the stairs. Orrian readies himself opposite the doorway as I repeat my position to the side, grabbing the handle. He nods, and I swing the door inwards, using it to pull myself round as soon as Orrian passes.
Two guards turn to us, they wear the same expressions as the ones downstairs, but they are considerably faster at drawing their swords. They stand side by side, identical to Orrian and myself. The other armed prisoners stand at the ready behind us.
Orrian leaps forwards as one of the guards shouts over to a neighbouring wall where several of his companions stand watch. Orrian holds one blade in a defensive position whilst the other arcs high to bring down upon his opponent. I charge beside him, he may have two swords but with both soldiers before him, he’s still going to leave himself exposed.
“On your left!” I shout, making sure the tribal warrior next to me doesn’t accidentally cut me down.
I go on the offensive as I target the closest soldier, forcing him backwards despite his armour. We dance atop the wall, trading strikes as I desperately try to defend myself. Despite our travels, the sword still feels clumsy in my hand, by no means an extension of my arm like it is when in Orrian’s grip.
We have rotated so that we are perpendicular with the ramparts, me with the city at my back, and my opponent with the castle at theirs. Next to us Orrian is having some uncharacteristic difficulty with beating his opponent until an armed man I don’t know manages to get a lucky shot in the soldier’s side. The guard goes down crying out for help. In the corners of my eyes I catch shadows flickering out from behind the distant stone as more soldiers run down their own walls in our direction.
The remaining guard turns at his comrade’s pleas. Seeing an opportunity, I smack his blade aside, driving my shoulder hard into his chest. Orrian hasn’t wasted a moment on his previous victim and immediately joins me throwing his momentum forwards. Together we force the last man backwards, with one final shove he falls backwards and out of sight over the wall’s edge.
He screams as he falls, I cannot help but look over the edge after him. The tin man is crumpled on the ground far below, hidden in the shadow of the wall. His helmet has come off and his limbs are spread, twisted at awkward and unnatural angles. I’m relieved that I can only see his vague outline, no doubt it’s a more unpleasant sight from close.
“Hey!” cries a distant shout. The reinforcements from the next wall over have arrived. They hurry towards us from the nearest guard tower, still far away but approaching fast.
“What now?” he asks. I grab him by the shoulder and head over to the others, pointedly looking down at the moat.
“Yeah I thought that might be it,” he says grimly, “come on we need to do it quick then.”
Orrian swings one leg over the wall, clinging to one of the wooden poles jutting upwards. I remember seeing them when we entered, unable to identify the objects at their ends. I can make them out all too clearly now. Each one hosts a different head, some decapitated victim turned into a decorative warning to others. The poles disappear beneath the jaw and remerge as spikes out of the tops of their skulls which are in various stages of decomposition.
I shudder. Had we stayed in the dungeon and Orrian not been able to give up his pride, this is the fate that had been promised to him. The scene is replaced with another as my mind pictures Orrian’s head up there. His alert, bold eyes now lifeless and left to
