The Catalyst

Chapter 21

Their escape from the dungeons had to happen tonight. Matt was so jittery he hadn't touched his meal. They would be out of here soon anyway and if he never saw a bowl of porridge again in his life, it would be too soon.

It turned out that Arthur's plan was a little bit insane. But Matt didn't have a better one.

Tonight the pompous lords and ladies upstairs were distracted, celebrating Queen Tessa Nightvale's engagement to Myzian D'Azuriani, eldest son of Emperor Shezenos and heir to the Azurian Empire. Although many of these nobles haughtily disapproved, nobody wanted to miss the party. Fewer guards patrolled the dungeons as a result, all too busy up there. No way in hell they would get another chance like this.

"Did Fang find the key?" Matt asked through the wall that separated his cell from Arthur's. He hoped to see the old mage's bat demon reappearing any time now. Soon, preferably.

Across the hall, Moira clutched her cell bars with pale hands, eyes big and blue, her hair like fire in flickering torchlight.

Arthur's hushed voice betrayed his annoyance, "The guard is awake."

Matt cursed. They'd heard the bastard snoring earlier and had hoped he'd be asleep.

"I'm ready," said Matt.

Soon after there was a metallic clink followed by a grunt.

"Get back here you little shite!" The guard ran up the hall, attempting to grab at the small darting shape that had snatched his key set.

Matt realized he'd been clutching the bars as tightly as Moira, his hands aching as he uncurled his fingers. He jutted his hands forward as far as the narrow bars would let him slide his arms.

"Come on, come on," he breathed.

Fang flung himself towards his outstretched hands. Matt's fingers closed in on the keys. Heart hammering, he flicked through and found the big bronze one.

"Hurry," Moira hissed as the guard ran.

Matt turned the key in the lock and stumbled out of his cell.

The guard was a big man in black and blue uniform, with short cropped hair and currently a snarl on his face. "You little—"

Ducking the big man's blow, Matt delivered a kick to his midriff. Doubled over, the guard was an easy target for Matt, who whirled with a second kick that hit the man's face and sent him sprawling. You won't always have your weapon with you, Captain Tomas Clay often warned them, ensuring they didn't slack off in hand-to-hand practice.

Barely containing the shaking of his hand, Matt used the key to free Moira then Arthur.

Clothed in rags, the old mage was limping, had lost a lot of weight, was covered in dark magic marks, as well as faded burns, cuts, and bruises from torture. Matt thought of Arthur in his herbalist's shop in the Bayou, wearing colorful robes and a hat, smoking pipe, smiling. Matt felt a stab of anger.

"Let's get out of this shithole," Matt said.

There was a time when Arthur would've reprimanded Matt for his language. Not today.

"Follow me," the old man said.

Matt took Moira's hand and they dove down the narrow hall behind Arthur, who had Fang perched upon his shoulder.

"Hey!" a prisoner called from his cell.

"What's going on?" another asked as they ran past her.

Another threw his hands out the barred door. "Let me out!"

Matt winced every time, really wishing they'd keep it down, though how could he blame them for trying? He would've done the same.