Lorellia (Everlasting Legends, Book 1)

Ch. 29 - For What's to Come

Ardaik 12th – Malton, Lorellia

The thunder of Artus and Bhalthier's footfalls as they darted through the ground floor of the Milton's manor rivaled the pounding gate of the prince's heart in his head. Artus had never moved as fast in his life, nor had he ever felt so desperate to live.

His mind worked its own kind of magic to keep him moving, replacing the Milton manor with his own home in La'Trest.

He wasn't trying to navigate a maze of unfamiliar halls while fleeing the terrifying reavers pursuing them. He and the marquis were dodging the venomous, crafty predators of the Lorellian royal court.

The grotesque, multi-jointed appendages were nothing more than ballgowns and coattails. The twisted grins of elven-like faces housing needle-thin fangs and multiple sets of red eyes—which seemed to almost emit light of their own within the darkest crevices of hallways—were nothing more than the familiar false smiles of nobles he'd grown up under the scrutiny of.

The distant sick thwacks and shrieks of men and beasts locked in combat were court musicians' dull, rhythmic notes, fruitlessly trying their best to artfully entertain the unappeasable. And Artus...

Artus only needed to escape to the garden for a short reprieve. Not because he himself was in any danger, of course, but because he was in the company of a handsome man. One he'd probably spent far too long conversing with or smiled too genuinely at for his actions to be excused as innocent and without suggestion.

Just as the set of exterior doors he'd been looking for came into view, Artus was jerked to an abrupt stop. His wrist had been caught by a perfectly shot line of webbing, and his mind's illusion was shattered.

The prince screamed as he tugged with all of his might, switching the blade to his unencumbered hand to hack frantically at the line with his dirk. Before he could cut it entirely, the reaver responsible tugged on the line, and Artus lost purchase. His boots slipped from beneath him, sending him hard onto his side, hip and elbow meeting the floor in a painful landing.

"Help me!" he yelped, tears springing into his eyes and stinging them horribly. "Please!"

Bhalthier stooped to aid the struggling prince, limbs trembling as he swung his rapier at the piece of webbing. The tension was immediately released as it snapped, and the marquis clumsily aided Artus in scrambling to his feet.

When they reached the garden doors, Artus threw them open so hurriedly and with so much force that some of the glass panes on them shattered as they met the extent of their range on their hinges.

Artus and Bhalthier were breathing so harshly and labored as they made for the side of the massive house that Artus feared neither of them would make it far enough to find the others. His side felt like it was splitting open, and the marquis looked as though he felt just the same when Artus risked a glance.

"Here!" Bhalthier bellowed suddenly, startling Artus so much that he leaped away from the man. Before Artus could even manage a question, the marquis had called out again, and the prince was left to only hope that it was in response to the others because the reavers had given chase and were making far faster work of traversing the garden.

Artus had been raised to believe in the saints, but when the shape of a dragon appeared in the sky above them, he easily believed he could worship it instead. The sight of the winged creature alone caused the reavers to recoil, most of them retreating back to the confines of wherever they could tuck themselves, at least for the time being.

"Artie!" The first glimpse of bright red hair was enough to draw a sob of relief from the Lorellian prince as he threw his arms around Flann without reservations. "Yar alright, Artie. I gotcha. Shhh," Flann soothed as he ushered Artus closer to Orath.