The Escape
Kumbuye and I did not move.
For a heartbeat, I wondered if he was guessing, if this was a bluff meant to draw us out. I held my breath, willing the shadows to keep us hidden.
"You were never leaving without me knowing," Ormric said, his voice closer now.
Other footsteps followed. Perhaps the guards. Measured. Encircling.
"Just surrender," he continued calmly. "You have no other choice."
The truth settled in my chest. Slow. Inevitable.
We stepped out of hiding, hands raised. My fingers trembled despite my effort to steady them. There were guards everywhere now, forming a loose ring around us, close enough to strike, far enough to wait.
Ormric's gaze fell to my bag.
"Good girl," he said softly. "Now bring the bag."
My grip tightened around the strap. I did not move.
The guards did not advance either. They watched me the way one watches something dangerous, something that might detonate if handled without care.
"Don't come any closer," I warned.
"Is that it?" Ormric asked, nodding towards the bag. "Is that what gives you power? The key, or the compass?" His brow creased, genuinely puzzled.
"I said don't come any closer." I edged nearer to the stone slab as I spoke, my back brushing cold stone.
"Or what?" He smiled, slow and knowing. "If you could do something, you would have done it already. But it seems... you cannot control your power."
The words landed like a blow.
"Now," he continued calmly, "slowly bring the bag forward and surrender. We will not cause you much trouble if you cooperate."
"He's lying," Kumbuye muttered behind me. "If we go with them, they'll execute us by morning."
Ormric's gaze slid to him, sharp and curious. "Oh?" he said lightly. "That is interesting. Tell me now, how exactly do you know that?"
"You're not going to hurt us," Kumbuye said, his voice steady despite everything. "You can't. You're afraid of what Dana might do while she still holds the bag."
A light laugh escaped Ormric. It rang hollow, a thin attempt to smother what had just been exposed.
Then his expression hardened.
"Guards," he snapped. "Get them."
They moved in at once. Kumbuye stepped in front of me without thinking, pushing me back as he met them. He didn't have his spear, but he still fought good without one. Years of training showed in the way he moved, controlled and precise.
I pulled the strap of my bag tighter across my chest and forced myself forward. There was no time to hesitate. A guard went down near me, his sword slipping from his hand. I grabbed it and joined the fight.
We moved without words, instinct guiding us. There weren't many of them — six at most, Ormric's most trusted guards.
Before long, they were all on the ground, breathless and gasping. Ormric scoffed. "Weak."
He unstrapped his armor for more flexibility, revealing a frame honed by years of battle. Ormric was no ordinary knight, he had won countless wars. Dangerous, precise, relentless. Kumbuye had his work cut out for him.
"I'll handle this one," he muttered, motioning for me to stay back.
"It wouldn't be a fair fight if you have no weapons. Pick up a sword," Ormric said, calm and commanding.
Kumbuye grabbed a sword, and the clash began. Ormric charged, blade swinging with deadly precision. Kumbuye dodged, their swords clanging again and again, sparks of steel flying.
"Run, Dana! Leave through the tunnel!" Kumbuye shouted.
I froze.
"Dana, now! Please!" he urged again.
I forced my legs to move, dragging the stone slab to reveal the tunnel. One guard lunged at me, but I was faster, stabbing him with the sword I held. As the slab slid open, a scream tore through the air. My heart seized, and I turned back.
Ormric had pierced him in the side. Kumbuye fell to his knees, blood spreading across the floor.
"Dana… leave. Don't turn back," he whispered.
Ormric pressed the sword to Kumbuye's throat. "One wrong move, and his head comes off."
My body froze. I couldn't lose him not after everything. My hands shook, my heart thundered in my chest. I couldn't leave.
I turned back, but Ormric didn't relent. His sword rose, aimed at Kumbuye. I screamed, stretching my hands forward, and the power inside me erupted. It surged, wild and raw, slamming Ormric into the wall with a sickening thud. His head struck the stone, but I didn't stop to check if he was truly hurt.
I grabbed Kumbuye, pulling him toward the tunnel, letting instinct guide the rest. The power was still thrumming in me, dangerous and unpredictable.
The tunnel yawned before us, dark and cold, the stone walls slick under my hands. Kumbuye leaned heavily on me, each breath shallow, his body trembling from the pain. My heart thumped — not just from fear, but from the raw pulse of power still thrumming inside me. I held a small flame in my palm, the only light cutting through the dark.
I forced myself forward, dragging him through the narrow passage, my mind spinning with dread and adrenaline. Every shadow, every echo made me flinch. The power inside me murmured, wild and restless, like it wanted more than just defense. I had to keep it in check, or it could rip us apart as easily as it had thrown Ormric.
"Kumbuye, stay with me," I muttered, more to steady myself than him.
He nodded, teeth clenched. "I'm here. Keep moving. Don't stop."
We rounded a corner, and the faintest light flickered ahead — the end of the tunnel. Freedom. My chest lifted, but the hope felt fragile. Ormric could be behind us.
The ground shifted beneath my feet. My power flared instinctively, and I stumbled, pressing a hand to the wall for balance. Kumbuye caught me instantly, his grip steady and sure. "Focus, Dana. Almost there."
He limped beside me, blood seeping through his hand, the side of his gut still staining his tunic.
Another step, another breath, and we burst into open air. The full moon hung high, silver and cold, spilling bright light over everything, casting long, sharp shadows across the land. For a fleeting moment, I thought we'd made it.
Then I froze. Behind us, the heavy echo of armored boots. Ormric.
My chest sank. The chase wasn't over.
We were cornered, caught between the sea and the guards forming behind us. We hadn't thought this far ahead. Reaching the shoreline had felt like freedom but the situation made it clear: freedom wasn't that simple.
The power inside me thrummed, unstable and fierce, refusing to leave. It crackled, alive, dangerous.
The guards surged forward, far more than before, their numbers pressing us from all sides. And behind them, Ormric stepped onto the sand, stumbling, a chilling smirk on his face.
"You're trapped," he said, sharp and mocking. "Ah, yes — that power. Quite… impressive." Madness danced in his eyes.
I clutched Kumbuye tighter, his weight grounding me. I thought only of escape, of leaving this place behind, anywhere but here.
And before I could think, before I could even plan, the power inside me answered. The world blurred, reality fractured, and I was gone — dragged through the veil.
I stumbled through the strange, shifting haze of the Veil, Kumbuye clinging to me as the wind of power roared around us.
When the world finally settled, we were somewhere else. Not the sea, not the sand, not the mocking smirk of Ormric.
The air was colder, heavier, pressing against my chest.
Then it hit me like a bomb. I had just veil-walked!
My heart stuttered with joy. Finally, my powers were responding, attentive to my call.
I looked at Kumbuye, still wincing from the wound in his side. I placed my hands over it, muttering the healing spell. As usual, it barely did more than ease some of the pain and slow the bleeding. How long it would hold… I didn't know.
"Where… are we?" Kumbuye whispered, his voice weak.
I shook my head. I had no idea. I only knew we had moved through the Veil, though I didn't yet understand so much of its rules or limits.
Everywhere around us was dark, the shadows thick and unwelcoming. I dipped my hands into my bag, checking to be sure the compass and key were safe. The compass glowed, spilling sharp blue light on my palm. It had become keener, more precise, signaling that we were getting closer to the Cranium.
Kumbuye groaned softly, leaning heavily on me. "We can't stay here," he muttered. "We need… shelter, or at least somewhere to rest."
I nodded, still scanning the darkness. The veil always had rules, limits, boundaries. Stray too far, and you could end up lost.
We moved cautiously, searching for a place to wait out the night. Kumbuye was weak, barely keeping upright, so we stopped suddenly at a spot that seemed safer. It wasn't deep woods or bushes, it felt more like a settlement. We crouched beside what looked like an abandoned shop at a corner.
Kumbuye eased himself down, tugging off his blood-soaked tunic. He winced but tried to mask the pain, forcing himself to be strong. I sat beside him, strapping my bag close, and we agreed to rest until dawn, at least until it felt safe to move again. Sleep came fast, heavy and uninvited.
I barely had a moment before a noise jerked me awake. An old woman, her voice sharp and unfamiliar, spoke in a language I didn't know. But the way she waved and pointed made it clear — this was her shop, and we were blocking her door.
I sprang to my feet at once, apologising as I woke Kumbuye. He was still terribly weak. When his eyes fluttered open, he forced himself up, grabbed his tunic, and we moved on.
Misery settled deep in my chest. We had nothing. Just the clothes on our backs and my bag, holding only the compass and the key. My stomach growled with hunger. I was exhausted, shaky, and stretched thin, but Kumbuye was worse. His steps faltered, his weight sagging against me. Then, without warning, he collapsed.
"Kumbuye," I breathed, panic rising fast.
His eyes struggled to stay open.
"Hey," I said quickly, keeping my voice steady even as my hands shook. "Stay with me, alright. You will be fine. I will find help. I will find a healer."
The spell I had cast the night before had slowed the bleeding, but by morning it had started again. Not a rush like before, just slow drops, but enough to frighten me. He pressed his tunic against the wound as we moved, searching desperately for help.
Dawn had only just broken. Most shops were still closed, shutters drawn, streets quiet and empty.
Then I saw it, an apothecary. The only one along the street.
I pulled him toward it, his weight heavy against me, every step a struggle. Inside, an old man sat behind a worktable, his hands stained with herbs and ink.
"Please," I said, my voice wavering despite my effort to stay calm. "I need your help."
The old man lifted his eyes, studying the scene before him. "Your friend is in critical condition," he said flatly. "That will cost you money."
My heart lurched. I had none. Not even a single coin.
"Please," I said, my voice breaking. "Help him first. I will find a way to pay you back. Please."
"I am sorry," he replied, already turning away. "I collect payment before service."
"How much?" I asked, needing a number, something solid, something I could fight against.
"For his condition, twenty silver coins," he said. "And another fifteen coppers for herbs to maintain the treatment."
My head spun. It was expensive. Far too expensive for someone with nothing.
"Please," I said again, the word tasting bitter. "Just take him and heal him. I will find the money. I swear I will. Just help him."
The old man looked at me again, really looked at me. Perhaps he saw the truth in my eyes, or the fear I was trying so hard to hide, because after a moment he sighed.
"Alright," he said. "Set him down on the table there."
Relief hit me so hard my knees nearly gave out. I hurried to do as he asked, laying Kumbuye carefully on the worktable. The old man leaned over him, examining his body, his gaze settling on the wound where the blade had pierced him.
"Something has covered this wound, partially," the old man said, his eyes narrowing as he examined Kumbuye. He was likely recognising the remnants of the healing spell I had used the day before. I said nothing.
He crossed to one of the cupboards, pulled out a bundle of dried herbs, and began mixing them with a dark liquid, grinding everything together in a shallow bowl. I watched his hands as he worked, steady and practiced, as if this were no different from any other morning.
When he pressed the mixture into Kumbuye's wound, Kumbuye cried out, his body jerking in pain. The old man held him down firmly, keeping him still.
"You can go now," he said to me without looking up. "Find a way to get my money. I will work on your friend."
The words cut deeper than I expected. I did not want to leave Kumbuye. Not like this. Not when he could barely stay conscious. But I had no choice. The treatment had a price, and I had to pay it.
Even if it meant stealing.
At this point, morals felt like a luxury I could not afford.
I stepped out of the apothecary with no direction and no plan. My thoughts drifted to Doya as I walked, the ache of missing him tightening in my chest. If he were here, he would have known what to do. He always did. Without him, I was lost.
The streets were slowly coming alive now. Shops that had been shuttered at dawn were beginning to open, voices rising, doors creaking, life returning.
Even if I wanted to steal, I realised bitterly, I did not know how.
I lingered near one of the stalls, pretending to study jars of dried roots I didn't recognise. My stomach twisted painfully, hunger gnawing at me, but it was Kumbuye's face that stayed in my mind. Pale. Barely conscious. Bleeding onto a stranger's table.
"Twenty silver coins," I whispered to myself.
My fingers trembled as I reached out, brushing against the edge of the stall. There was a small pouch tucked beneath the counter. Carelessly placed. Easy, I told myself. Just this once.
I waited for the merchant to turn away.
When I moved, I moved too slowly.
A hand closed around my wrist.
"Thief!" he screamed.
The word snapped through me like a whip. I froze, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst through my chest. The merchant's grip tightened, not painful, but unyielding. People nearby began to stare. Murmurs followed.
"I—please," I stammered, shame flooding my face. "I wasn't—"
"Save it," he cut in sharply. "You think I didn't notice?"
My bag slid forward as I struggled, the strap digging into my shoulder. Panic surged. I thought of running. Of using my power. But fear held me still. I could not afford attention. Not here.
"Let her go."
A voice came from behind me. Calm. Steady.
The merchant hesitated, glancing over my shoulder. I followed his gaze, breath caught in my throat.
"Let her go," the man said again.
The merchant frowned but loosened his grip slightly. "And why should I?"
"Because she's desperate, not a thief. That's my sister," the man replied calmly. "I've been looking for her for a while now." He leaned in just enough for the merchant to hear him clearly. "And if you make a scene, the guards will come. You don't want that."
The merchant clicked his tongue in irritation and shoved my wrist away. "Get out of my sight," he snapped. "And don't come back."
I stumbled back, clutching my arm. My face burned with humiliation. I kept my head down as I turned away, refusing to meet anyone's eyes.
"Walk," the man murmured as he fell into step beside me. "Don't thank me. Don't look back."
I obeyed.
We didn't stop until we reached a narrow street the morning light barely touched. Only then did I dare look at him.
He wasn't old, not like the apothecary man. Not young either. His clothes were plain, worn but clean, the kind meant to blend in. His eyes were sharp, assessing.
"Why did you help me?" I asked, my voice low, uncertain.
"Because people who try to steal at broad daylight in the north usually have nothing left to lose," he said. "And people with nothing left to lose are useful."
A chill crept up my spine.
"You're not from around here," he added, studying me more closely. "So why were you trying to steal?"
I didn't answer. He might have helped me, but I wanted nothing more to do with him.
"Thank you for helping me," I said quietly, lowering my head as I tried to step away.
His hand closed around my arm, firm but not rough.
"Oh, yes, I helped you," he said. "But that wasn't for free."
Dread settled in my chest.
"What did you need the money for?" he asked.
"My friend," I said, my voice tightening. "He's sick. He needs treatment."
"How much?"
"Twenty silver coins and fifteen coppers," I replied, forcing myself to say it aloud.
He nodded once. "I'll give you the money. But you'll owe me."
My heart skipped. Another debt.
"If you give me that much," I said carefully, "I won't have any way to pay you back."
"Oh, I don't want money," he said lightly. "There are other ways to be repaid."
I swallowed hard. "What do you want?"
His gaze moved over me, slow and deliberate. Not leering, but calculating. "You'll come work for me."
My breath caught. "What?"
"Do you want to save your friend or not?" he said evenly. "You won't get that kind of money any other way."
He sounded certain.
"I think I'll try my luck," I said, stepping around him.
His hand caught my arm again, stopping me.
"You won't," he said calmly. "And when you realise that…" His grip loosened, but his voice didn't. "The offer will still stand."
I hesitated.
"Come by the Honey House," he added. "I'll be waiting."