Rising Ch.5

The nobleman cursed under his breath, feeling the heat of the flames closing in around them. Already the walls had caught. Flames licked hungrily up the wood panels. The ceiling creaked and groaned in protest, the beams crackling lively as the flames caught along their lengths Methaniel shoved the bloodied dagger into his belt, shouldered his traveling pack, and gathered the frightened Wingling girl into his arms.

“Keep calm and don’t move,” he murmured into her ear. She shook and quivered in the circle of his arms but made no other movement. He couldn’t be sure if she was complying with his orders or was simply in such shock that she was utterly motionless.

Methaniel picked her up and held her to his chest with one arm. He strode to the window and kicked it open. The swung outward on their hinges. A glance down revealed thick layers of snow padding the ground below. The drop was not so very long, but had just enough distance to damage someone who would take the plunge.

A long terrace laden with thick growths of vines clung to the wall, winding and twisting sinuously upward to create an intricate length of strong, healthy cords. Methaniel saw the flames creeping closer along the walls, and quickly swung his legs out of the window, gripped the length of vines, and plummeting downward.

The vines strained and snapped, separating from the wall and dragging along more of the thick creeping plants, pulling the wooden trellis from the wall along with them. Their decent was rough and jarring, and when they touched upon the ground Methaniel had to hold a grunt back as the shock of impact ran through his body. But their fall was slowed enough to take away the brunt of the landing, and the snow padded the ground just enough to keep the impact minimal. He stood straight and shifted the woman in his arms. Ahma had gathered her wits enough to wrap her arms about his neck and hold fast to his body, but was otherwise still paralyzed by fear and horror.

master Methaniel sprung into motion, his free hand pulling his blade from his sheath in a quiet hiss. Snow drifted down through the sky, and the white powder was beginning to melt about the burning house. The nobleman crept silently through the darkness, his heavy booted feet surprisingly silent and smooth as he trod through the snow. Ahma clung to him and shiver, partially out of fear, partially from the chill of the night upon her body as her dress did precious little to keep her warm.

He brought them to the stables, holding back in the shadows, his eyes peering into the ring of light cast by the single lantern hanging on a post in the doorway to the stables. Three men stood within or around the lantern light, standing casually, their weapons sheathed and their attention lax. Apparently they were fairly convinced that the attacking force raging through the mansion would more than do their job.

Methaniel pushed the tip of his blade into the snow, propping it up and yanking the dagger from his belt. He sent it flipping into the farthest man, the blade sinking deep into the man’s chest with a hard thunk, impacting so hard it sent the body jerking back and sprawling to the ground. The man gurgled and spasmed his life out.

The two soldiers stupidly turned to regard the body upon the ground, staring dumbly in shock at their dying comrade.

The leftmost soldier’s head flew to the side, smacking roughly into the wall, smearing it with blood. The last remaining soldier turned to face the looming attacker, his hand almost closing around the hilt of his weapon before Methaniel’s massive sword plunged into his chest, sliding hotly out his back and staining the snow with bright red blood.

Methaniel yanked his blade from the limp body and quickly wiped it clean before sheathing it again. Ahma yelped and jerked in his arm as the hot blood splashed across her angelic face and slender neck. She was still trapped in her own personal nightmare. She thrashed and struggled for a moment, haunted by memories of bloodshed and fire and agony. The Master pulled her closer, keeping a firm grip on her, and reached up with one hand to smooth her tousled hair as he stalked quickly into the stables.

The girl quieted after a moment, but seemed as removed from reality as ever. The nobleman thanked his luck that she had at least calmed and glanced around the stables. If he bolted out, a solitary form dashing through the lengthy yard and into the city, he would stand out like a beacon.

Thinking quickly, he ran to each pen in the stable and threw the door open wide, kicking the wall and jolting each horse into frantic action. The smell of blood and smoke and the orange glow of the flames a few yards away finished his work and the horses bolted, charging out of the stables and scattering in fright.

When he came to Lanion’s pen and opened it the enormous warhorse sat calm and alert, his equine eyes shining wetly in the darkness as he gazed at his Master.

“Time to go Lanion. Out into the wilderness and as far away as you may carry us. We’re being chased, so you must take us far and fast from this place.”

Ahma shifted in Methaniel’s arms as he gathered her and lifted her up, putting her onto the back of his tall, powerful horse.

“M…Master?” she stuttered, seeming to come out of her daze as if waking. She was groggy and uncertain and teetered upon the horses back before correcting her balance. She shivered and drew her wings closer.

“I know you do not like other riders,” Methaniel whispered into his mounts ear as Lanion stamped softly on the ground. “But you will have to make an exception. Settle and prepare.”

Having no time to saddle his mount, the nobleman gripped the horse’s withers in one hand and put his hand on its rump with the other. He vaulted himself up as lightly as possibly, swinging his right leg over the horse’s wide back and settling on his steed. Ahma was settled infront of him, and he reached around her with one arm and gathered her close to his body.

“Whatever happens,” Methaniel whispered into Ahma’s ear, causing her to instinctively huddle closer to his warm body. “Whatever this horse does, don’t move. And don’t panic. I have you. I will not let you fall.”

His arms reached forward and lightly took hold of the massive horses withers then and he squeezed at Lanion’s sides with his thighs. The horse quickly began forward and walked its own way out of the stables. Methaniel ducked low to avoid the beams cris-crossing the ceiling. Ahma’s face paled from her creamy soft complexion to a sickly, almost gray-white as they exited the stables and the burning manor came into view. She felt herself falling toward a swoon, but held on, more in control now. As they passed the doorway the Master reached out and plucked the oil lantern from the hook on the door post.
“Take this,” he instructed as he pushed the warm lantern into Ahma’s frigid hands. She sighed, at first thinking him trying to help her warm however he could.

“Wrap your wings around it and suffocate the light,” he continued. “Hand it to me when I say.”

Ahma nodded numbly, somehow able to register what he told her even through her shock and vacant state. Methaniel bent forward as he squeezed his horse tightly with his thighs.

“Slowly, Lanion.”

The horse trotted forward, jerking forward, carrying them quietly across the few acres of the front lawn. The estate walls soon loomed ahead, and Methaniel guided his horse right up to the wall before turning him toward the gate. Three men stood before the ornate gate, standing utterly still despite the bone-deep cold of the night. They were nearly invisible, cloaked in dark robes and hoods as they were, and would have escaped all notice had Lanion not slowed his steps suddenly to signal something was not right.

“Now,” Methaniel suddenly breathed into her ear. 

Ahma pulled her wings back and quickly handed the lantern to the Master. He took hold of the chain it hung by and twirled it several times over his head before launching it forward, his powerful arms pumping and bulging as he put all his considerable might behind the hurl. It smashed at the feet of the men, exploding as the glass shattered and the oil burst outward, ignited by the fire. It doused over their dark cloaks, igniting and catching up trailing garments.

The men screamed in shock and surprise, jumping and dancing about as they flailed wildly, trying to pull off their flaming clothes or diving into the snow and rolling about frantically in an attempt to snuff them out.

“The gate, Lanion!” Methaniel cried urgently. The horse charged forward, his head bent low and his ears tucked back against his head. A gasp caught in Ahma’s throat as the looming gate hurtled toward them, promising a brutal and jarring impact.

At the last moment, as the horse leapt through the flames and his speed carried him through the licking tendrils of fire before they could do harm, Lanion reared back, neighing sharply. He kicked out with his front legs, his hooves plunging wildly and crashing into the gate with all twelve hundred pounds of muscled might behind them. The lock on the gate shattered easily under the grievous blow, and the gates swung wide. The nobleman upon his back grinned victoriously as Lanion settled back onto four legs and plunged past the Manor gates.

Ahma gasped as they jerked forward and Lanion charged down the road looping from the Manor’s hilltop down into the main city. Her heart leapt into her throat. So fast he was! Ahma knew the Nehlendeim’s reputation of being swift mounts surpassing any others, especially ones of their great statures, but had never thought such quick movement possibly from such a massive beast. The dark night around them blended into a dizzying swirl of movement and the stars overhead seemed to streak past.

They sped up the avenue and into the capitol city itself. The horse’s feet were still shod with silver shoes that clinked against the cobble stones and kicked up a shower of sparks. The looming buildings of the industrious mountain city wrapped about them as Methaniel guided his horse into the heart of the city. He knew the easiest escape routes would be watched and guarded, and so he drove them deeper into the winding maze of streets in the city core, certain that he could work his way outward from there.

“Hold tightly to me. Lanion will take us from the city and into the wild,” Methaniel whispered into Ahma’s ears. The young girl didn’t argue, whimpering softly, still not recovered from the shock of it all as she pressed closer to the Master’s broad chest.

The charger turned quickly down a side alley as a cry went up several yards ahead. Methaniel rubbed his hands roughly along the horse’s long neck, urging him on as he clung tightly with his legs. He had stopped giving commands, trusting the horse’s superior reflexes and intelligence, knowing that Lanion could work them through the dense heart of the city and back around to the northern part of the capitol, near the Royal Castle. It was a bold move, too bold, Methaniel hoped, to be considered as a sane route of escape by his pursuers.

And pursue him they did. Shadowy men lurked all about the city, raising a shout of alarm as the tell-tale horse, the only one of its kind in all the Kingdom, raced across their path. Methaniel would have worried that word of his progress would spread through the city, but he was confident that his trusty horses speed would outrun any report of his passing far before it could do any harm.

The market sprawling across the center of the city suddenly spread out before them as Lanion came barreling out from one of the many winding side-alleys of the city. The horse ran unconcerned through a large fruit-stand blocking his forward progress. Methaniel put an arm firmly around Ahma to protect the small frightened woman from the debris, shaking his head as a large board scraped over his forehead. He ignored the thin leak of blood from the new cut on his forehead.

Several of the shadowy men stood in the middle of the market, blocking their way. Blades gleamed in the torchlight of the market, clutched in sickly pale fingers. The nobleman narrowed his eyes at the group and squeezed his legs tightly around his horse’s side.

The charger didn’t hesitate even a moment, launching himself forward at the group. The cloaked forms tried to react, one even managing to raise his sword, but it was too late. The massive horse crashed into them, sending two men flying back through the air and smacking into the ground. The horse neighed his fury and lifted up, kicking out with his forelegs and cracking through the sternum and ribs of the nearest man. The warhorse danced and shimmied, knocking another man from his feet.

A hand suddenly reached up and gripped tightly around Ahma’s wrist. The girl screamed, pulling frantically at her arm and wailing with fear. Methaniel reached down with one hand and grabbed the man by his face, lifting him off the ground as his other hand wrenched the dagger from his belt and plunged it into the cloaked man’s throat. The attacker gurgled, his hand releasing Aham and going slack. Methaniel pulled his dagger free and dropped the limp body heavily to the ground.

He caught the shift of another man several paces away on the horse’s other side, a sword poised to plunge into the horse’s thick side as he lunged forward. Methaniel flipped the dagger at the man’s face, the steel point smashing through lip and teeth, slicing his tongue and thunking into the back of his throat. A gurgled scream rose and Methaniel kicked Lanion into motion. The warhorse fled from the market, hurtling at dangerous speeds down the main street before turning down a side alley a moment later.

Methaniel glanced down at Ahma to be sure she was alright. She shook more than ever now and her eyes were shut, her face buried into the Masters chest as she willed the nightmare to stop. She seemed otherwise unhurt.

The sounds of pursuit wafted on the wind blowing through his ears, men shouting and scrambling to catch them and the clatter of many hooves beating along the cobbled roads. A crossbow bolt zipped past just above his right shoulder and shattered on a wall ahead. Methaniel grimaced and squeezed his mount’s sides with his legs, directing him down a narrow side alley barely wide enough for the large horse to fit. 

Lanion carried them in a blur through the city and for the rest of their desperate flight down the twisting street ways and alleys. He darted and turned, moving down one side alley and another, galloping desperately up a main road before turning once more into the twisting labyrinth of narrow back roads. Methaniel guided his horse on a looping, turning path that for all appearances seemed maddeningly random, all the while slowly and subtly making his way north. His plan seemed to be working, as the further north they went and the more twists and turns they took, the more the signs of pursuit died away, the hoof beats and shouts falling away behind them. Methaniel smiled with grim satisfaction. He had to admit to himself, it had been a massive risk, for his home was by no means close to the northern Durinum gate, and he had risked further chance of being captured by taking the more complex escape route through the city. Luck had been with them to have made it this far. That the pair had escaped the ambush at the market was due only to the underestimation of Lanion’s ferocity, and more than a little luck.

Still, despite the lack of pursuit or watch put up for him this far north he was taken aback upon finding the Northern gate open and manned only by the regular guard. A handful of nightly travelers were making their way in and out of the city.

Methaniel’s instincts told him that the gate must be trapped, that surely they could not be so stupid and sloppy as to allow any exit, even a difficult to reach one, completely unprotected. But he shook his head as Lanion impatiently stamped at the ground, and loosed the horse, letting him charge through the gate. The single pair of night guards, a customary and pathetic pre-caution that had nothing to do with the hunt for him, let out a startled shout as Lanion ran through, charging past the gate and out into the brief plain lands surrounding the Durinum Capitol.

Now out of the city walls and fully exposed, the freezing wind whipped over them, chilling and bitingly sharp. Methaniel pulled the shaking Ahma closer to him, wrapping an arm around her and keeping the other at the horse’s withers. Her teeth chattered and her flesh felt like soft ice against him, but he did his best to warm her and shelter her from the whipping breeze. The torchlight of the city faded behind and the Nobleman’s eyes adjusted to the guiding shine of the brilliant stars and half moon. 

He hardly dared to believe that they had escaped. Hardly dared to think that they had passed the seemingly baited gate without incident. The more he thought of it, however, the more he wondered. An unreasonably large force had been set against him, from the soldiery invading his house and its surroundings to the men lurking in waiting through the streets, the small squad massed in the market and the doubtlessly even larger groups guarding the southern and eastern gates, the gates closest to his estate. Doubtless it seemed foolish that he should make for the northern gate, and nearly impossible that he could slip through the ambushes and patrols along the way.

Lanion ran on through the night, tireless and focused, knowing somehow in his sharp, intelligent mind that to slow would prove disastrous for his Master. Yet even without the pressing need, the night, the run, the open land had caught him fast in its grip, and he joyously ran, his heart racing and exhilarated at the wild gallop he made.

Methaniel let the horse run, knowing than Lanion was wise enough to keep them going in a straight line till he directed otherwise. His mind worked quickly through a number of possibilities. He knew not who the cloaked, hidden men were, but he felt certain that he would be unable to turn to his King and Country for support. This enemy that hunted him was too cunning, too subtle. They had infiltrated the city, burned his Manor down and pursued him relentlessly without a single guard appearing in his defense. Either they were skilled beyond compare at subterfuge and espionage, or…