Dragon Heartstone > Chapter 40–Red Dawn

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Larah padded up the stone steps, her whiskers brushing the damp walls. Outside the guard room, she caught the mingled scents of stale bread, leather, and unwashed human. She lifted her head and let out a series of plaintive meows, which bounced off the stone walls with satisfying volume. Her sensitive ears caught the scrape of a chair inside, followed by heavy footsteps.

The door creaked open, and a guard’s boots appeared at eye level. His scent carried traces of onions and ale. “Had enough smelly prisoners, did you?” he asked.

She placed one paw against the door, letting out another pitiful mew. The rough wood caught at her sensitive paw pads.

“Okay, come on out.” He wedged the door open with his foot, leather creaking. Larah slipped through the gap, her whiskers automatically gauging the space. In one fluid motion, she sprang onto a nearby barrel, her claws finding purchase in the weathered wood. From this vantage point, she could see the entire guard room—the scarred desk, the ring of keys hanging on a far hook, the narrow window letting in threads of moonlight.

The guard shut the door with a solid thunk, making her ears twitch. He turned and startled slightly at finding her at eye level. “Okay, make yourself at home.” The chair groaned as he settled his bulk behind the desk. “Are you going to keep me company?”

Larah forced a luxurious yawn, struggling to suppress her revulsion at playing the pet. She curled into a tight ball, keeping her ears pricked for any sound. Every muscle stayed coiled beneath her seemingly relaxed pose.

The outside door’s hinges protested as another guard entered, bringing with him the sharp scent of night air and torch smoke. Larah raised her head with calculated feline curiosity, studying him through slitted eyes.

“You got a friend?”

The seated guard’s yawn carried the sour note of boredom. “Yup. What do you want?”

“Got a message from Brother Dathon. Except for the members of the Brotherhood, all prisoners will be released at dawn. Those belonging to the Brotherhood will be taken to the marketplace for execution.”

The guard at the desk nodded, his keys jingling at his belt. “Good, I’ll be glad to have the jail empty.” The messenger slipped out, the door whispering shut behind him.

Larah dropped silently onto the desk, her paws landing in patches of moonlight. She made a show of investigating an empty plate, her nose wrinkling at the lingering smell of fish stew. The information about the executions pounded in her head like a war drum, but she kept her movements languid and casual.

“Hungry, are you?”

She turned to fix him with wide eyes, letting out a soft, beseeching meow that disguised her churning thoughts.

“Okay, I need to move around anyway. I think I can get something for you.” The guard’s broad hand stroked down her back. Every fiber of her being wanted to recoil, but she forced herself to arch into his touch, rubbing against his calloused fingers.

The heavy ring of keys at his belt clinked as he stood. With a grunt, he unhooked them and hung them on a peg. “Can’t have these weighing me down while I raid the kitchen,” he chuckled, patting his ample stomach. He scooped up the plate and ambled toward the outer room, leaving the keys swaying gently on their hook.

Larah allowed herself a moment of satisfaction as he disappeared through the door. The guard would be gone just long enough.

* * *

Gall leaned against the jailhouse wall; his teeth set on edge from the Council’s anti-magical wards. The enchantments felt like hornets crawling beneath his skin, nullifying even the simplest spells he tried to summon. His magical senses, such as they were, felt dull and distant.

Riasean’s head snapped up. “Someone is coming.” His whisper barely carried across the cell.

Soft footsteps approached, and a cloaked figure in red robes materialized from the shadows. Metal scraped against metal as a key turned in the lock. The door’s hinges protested with a low creak that seemed to echo forever.

“Come on,” a feminine voice urged, barely above a whisper. The figure tilted back her hood just enough to reveal a familiar face in the dim light.

“Larah!” Riasean crossed the cell in two strides and pulled her into his arms. Their embrace turned into a desperate and quick kiss, speaking of fear and relief in equal measure.

“Ahem.” Gall’s throat-clearing bounced off the stone walls. “Do you mind? Save that for later.” Every moment they delayed sent prickles of anxiety down his spine.

Riasean stepped back, color flooding his face even in the dim light. Larah glanced at Gall, embarrassment and determination warring in her expression.

“We must go,” she said, tugging them toward the door. “Before the guard returns.” In the hallway, she caught Riasean’s sleeve. “I heard the guards talking. They are going to execute all members of the Brotherhood at dawn.”

Riasean froze, but Gall cut through the moment with a sharp gesture. “That’s the chance they took to align themselves with the Council. They will pay the price.” The words tasted bitter but necessary. “We must hurry.”

Larah’s fingers dug into his arm; her grip surprisingly strong. “We cannot leave them here to die; it is wrong.” The torchlight caught the fierce gleam in her eyes.

“So is getting caught here because of your mercy.” Gall’s teeth ground together as he glanced toward the guard room door. Every heartbeat seemed to thunder in his ears. “If the guard returns before we leave, we will be trapped.”

The ring of keys clinked softly as Riasean snatched them from Larah’s hand. “Look at it this way: if we release members of the Brotherhood now, they can help us escape the city and cause trouble for the Council.” He strode toward the nearest cell, purpose in every step.

Larah shoved Gall toward the guard room, her touch burning with urgency. “Go to the guard house and keep the way open for us. We will join you as soon as we can.”

He met her gaze, those damn soft brown eyes pleading with him. Something in his chest twisted. “Fine, I will do so.” His voice came out rougher than intended. “But you had better hurry.” The threat of dawn hung over them like an executioner’s axe.

She nodded once, already turning back to help Riasean. Gall sprinted for the guard house door, his footsteps oddly muffled by the anti-magic wards. Behind him, he heard the quiet symphony of cell doors opening, one by one.

* * *

Larah and Riasean moved methodically through the cellblock, releasing prisoners, until only one cell remained sealed. Riasean’s hand hovered near the key, then pulled back. “Your choice,” he said quietly.

She approached the cell, recognizing the hunched figure. Coronados sat with his back to the wall, one arm ending in a scarred stump, his bearded face a map of bruises and resentment.

“Should I let you go?” Larah asked.

Coronados raised his head, his eyes burning with resentment and calculation. “Do whatever you like.”

Riasean’s response was immediate and sharp. “No. He stays.”

Larah studied Coronados. The man who had kidnapped her, who had sworn vengeance against Riasean, now looked diminished—broken, yet still dangerous. “Will you try and get revenge on Riasean or kidnap me again?”

A bitter laugh escaped Coronados. “I guarantee nothing,” he said, eyes fixed on Riasean.

She felt Riasean’s tension behind her. His hand was likely on his weapon, ready for any sudden movement. But Larah saw something else in Coronados—a pragmatist who understood survival meant adaptation.

Mustering up as much gravitas as she could, Larah said, “Give me a reason to let you go.”

A glimmer of hope crossed the man’s face, and Coronados stood and hobbled over to the locked door. Larah drew back, seeing the bruises and scrapes on his face and hands. He looked at her, “Give me back my hook, and I will use it wisely.” He looked at Riasean and smiled crookedly. “But only on those who deserve it.”

“We will if you help us escape the city.”

Coronados studied her, weighing the offer. His gaze flickered to Riasean, then back. “I will do so.” He glanced at Riasean. “But take him with you. Otherwise, I might change my mind.”

“We have an understanding,” she said. Not a question. A statement.

Coronados nodded, the first hint of respect crossing his weathered face.

Larah pushed the key into the lock and turned it. With a click, the door opened.

Riasean whispered to her. “This is a bad idea.”

“Trust me,” she whispered back.

“Better listen to her,” Coronados added with a smile as he pushed past them.

Riasean frowned, but followed Larah as they moved toward the guard room with the other prisoners in tow.

When Larah pushed the door open, a guard lay motionless, his neck twisted at an impossible angle. Spilled food scattered across the stone floor like a fractured warning.

Gall stood next to the door leading outside, buckling the sword belt of his battered black pommeled sword. He glanced at Larah as she navigated around the guard.

“What happened to him?” she asked.

“Complication resolved,” Gall replied dryly.

He then pointed at a pile of red robes on the desk. “These might help us escape. Grab one and head to the armory.” He waved an arm toward an open door on the far wall door. “All our personal items are in there. Get them quickly. We must escape before they discover us.”

Prisoners moved with practiced efficiency, grabbing robes and equipment. Larah spoke loudly, “We will try to leave the city through the southwest gate. You are free to come with us. I only ask that you avoid raising the alarm until we’re clear. Does everyone agree?”

Whispering filled the room, but then Coronados stepped forward. “Yes. Some of us will help you. The rest will go into the city and stay out of sight until dawn. “

Larah nodded. “That sounds good.” She looked at Gall. “We’re ready.”

Gall peered into the pre-dawn streets—a canvas of deep blue shadows and lurking silence. “Move,” he ordered.

The group dissolved—some vanishing into darkness, while a small contingent moved south.

* * *

Red hood pulled down, Gall hid his face as they approached the city gate. The guards noticed them, and their leader stepped out. “You’re early. It is not dawn yet.”

As the rest of the group came up behind him, Gall looked up. “Early for us, but too late for you.” Knives flickered like silver ghosts. Bodies dropped silently. He dropped another guard’s body to the ground as Riasean wiped a blade on the nearest body. They nodded to one another. The Gate was clear.

Behind them, Larah trembled—her hands pressed against her face, muffling a soft, broken sound. Riasean moved to her side, his voice gentle. “We had no choice.”

“I know,” she whispered, tears cutting paths through the dust on her cheeks. “But the cost…” she said, pointing toward where the last guards’ bodies were being dragged.

He pulled her into a gentle embrace. “I am sorry you had to see that, but we must go.”

Coronados emerged from the shadows, his gold tooth catching the first hint of dawn. “Goodbye,” he called, his hook raised in a sardonic salute. “I am off to cause trouble for the Council.” He tipped his head toward Larah. “Take care of her.”

Riasean nodded. “I will.”

“Not because you deserve her,” Coronados added, “but because she deserves better.”

Riasean smiled. “Good luck. You’re going to need it.”

Coronados smiled back, his gold tooth gleaming in the faint morning light. “I don’t need luck. I just need the opportunity,” he said, waving his hook at the young man. “Until we meet again.”

Riasean nodded. As Gall held the gate open, Riasean and Larah darted out.

“Are we going to the pass?” Larah asked.

“No, we head toward the mountains,” Gall said. “The pass is being watched.”

As they made their way up the trail, dawn broke over the Krador Mountains. Clouds of morning mist embedded in the valleys and crevasses began to warm up and disappear, revealing intricate valleys and rocky terrain. On a rocky outcropping, they paused to catch their breath and dispose of the telltale red robes.

Larah wandered to the edge of the outcrop and looked south toward the pass, the same she and Riasean had passed nearly two weeks ago. The clear morning air filled her lungs, but her breath almost disappeared as she looked.

Below, some miles away, a blanket of campfires glowed, their light probing through the mist as black and gray uniformed troops milled around them, stretching out until disappearing into the morning gloom.

 “Come look at this,” she said, trembling slightly.

They ran over and peered over her shoulder.

A faint series of trumpet calls carried in the air, and the fires disappeared in plumes as water doused them. The figures gathered in columns, ragged at first but firming up in a snake-like pattern. A steady drumming established a cadence as they watched the columns move toward the pass.

 “What is happening?” Larah asked.

Gall replied in a grave voice. “The invasion of Bretagne has begun.”