I run past them before they can react – scanning the jail cells as I hurtle down the hallway.
I pass row upon row of human prisoners, and for a moment I’m worried this is the wrong cell block – that I won’t find the Aurelians here…
…and then I spot them, each locked in their own cell at the end of the hallway.
I run to the first cell and press the dagger’s Orb-Blade against the bars.
I didn’t have to press. The Orb-Blade cuts through the bars like they’re tissue paper, and instantly the thick metal clatters to the flagstones beneath my feet.
I rush into the cell and use the Orb-Dagger to shear apart Forn’s cuffed hands. He instantly grabs the dagger from my hands and leaps through the broken doorway – towards the guards who are thundering down the hallway in pursuit.
The guards instantly drop their guns when they see Forn bearing down on them – turning tail and fleeing for their lives.
Fear grips me too, as I imagine Forn charging after them; into the gun barrels of a hundred more soldiers stationed upstairs.
Mercifully, Forn is smarter than that. He lets the soldiers flee, and then my blood runs cold as I hear a volley of shots ring out from the stairwell behind the dungeon door.
I can’t believe it! The rest of the guards had expected Forn and the other Aurelians to come running up the stairs, and so had lain in wait for them with guns aimed…
Instead, it was the fleeing guards who’d run into their gunsights.
Before the soldiers had realized their mistake, they’d already squeezed the triggers – and executed the prison guards instead.
As for us – the guards had escaped without their weapons, which now lie on the ground all around us.
As I stand there, Forn carves open the doors to two other cells and frees his blood-brothers. As Darok and Hadone come staggering out of their cells, they glance down at the pistols with distaste. Nevertheless, they scoop them up – before staring at the weapons as if they don’t understand how they work.
What? You’ve never seen a pistol before?
I remember how Forn didn’t even flinch when Edgar, may his soul rest in peace, pointed a rifle at his chest and fired. Somehow, these Aurelians don’t seem to have a grasp on even the most basic modern technology.
Where the hell did they even come from?
That thought is useless. Right now, we have to concentrate on getting out of here, and then we have to get the orphans to come with us before it’s too late. I can’t leave them here, not with the Viceroy knowing about my betrayal. He’ll barter them away to families who want to pretend they are socially conscious, but will only be using the four children as political tools.
While the Aurelians might not know how to use guns, I do – and I reach for one of the two pistols.
Hadone is holding it in a tight grip. I point to the trigger, and he moves his finger to curl around it. As he does so, I place my hand over his and guide the end of the weapon towards the opposite side of the room. Together, we squeeze the trigger.
Blam!
My ears ring from the echo of the gunshot in the tight dungeon. A hole explodes in the back wall of the room, where the guards had sat just minutes earlier.
These weapons are infinitely more powerful than Edgar’s handmade rifle. This pistol has hewn a chunk out of the wall as big as my fist.
This is no fancy Orb-weapon – but it’s certainly effective. The Capital is more affluent than the periphery states, but they still use combustible sources, just like we used to for millennium back on Old Earth.
We hear the thump of booted feet echoing down the stairway, and so I grab Hadone’s hand, pulling him the other way. The other prisoners call out to be freed. They are a ragtag lot – blinking groggily – but I have no idea if the crimes they’re locked up for are real, or just manufactured transgressions like those which led to the Aurelians being imprisoned.
“Wait!” A voice rings out as we rush towards the rear entrance. I turn, and find a young woman begging through the bars of her cell. She’s my age – barely in her twenties – and unlike the other prisoners, crammed together in their cells and dressed in threadbare clothes that are covered in dirt, this woman has a cell to herself.
Even stranger, she wears a beautiful blue dress that hugs her body, and around her neck is a circlet of diamonds and precious jewels.
“Who are you?” I say brusquely, looking over my shoulder to see if a new wave of less-cowardly guards are closing in.
Darok sees me talking to the woman, and barricades the doors shut behind us.
“I’m Diana Pooler, of the Pooler family,” the woman says, her voice haughty. The moment I stopped to listen to her, her voice lost all desperation. I can tell she’s long-practiced the art of public speaking for the royal courts.
I’ve heard of the Pooler family before. They’re one of the only true rivals to the Aeron dynasty. From what I’ve heard, the Pooler family is just as adamantly anti-Aurelian as Lord Aeron is.
Forn walks to the bars to get a better look at her, and Diana’s haughty veneer instantly crumbles. She takes a step back from the bars, trembling.
“P-please – the Viceroy took me from my estate because my father was opposed to a disastrous trade deal. Lord Aeron wants only to enrich his own coffers at the expense of the people. He’s worse than an…”
Diana trails off, and I realize she was going to finish the sentence with: “…worse than an Aurelian.”
She looks nervously over at Forn, and I realize that the word Aurelian is used as liberally as a curse word
