*COMPLETE* "People don't believe in us anymore. They don't believe that in the end we will do what is right. We can't let them down. We can't let Ben win."
Decisions made on top of the lonely, wind-swept cliff of Lethinor reverberate around the five...
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It takes only one mistake.
A negligent guard, a moment of pause. A slipped fork and quick, careful movements.
Breaking the manacles is the easy part.
The air feels different with them off; crisper, lighter, deeper. There are so many more possibilities in the world when they melt off, so many more avenues.
He takes one.
It starts with a crumpling guard, the utensil lodged in the jugular. It's easy to pull on his clothes and the sword—clumsier than a preferred knife—is still something substantial. Something dangerous.
Next is Meg. He heard her one day, somewhere up above his head. Angry and loud— a consequence of the ever-preaching Ruben's presence, he would wager. He noted on the ceiling tiles where he thought the sounds came from. He follows it now.
Her chains are harder, her remaining hand sunk in bitter metal.
This is the first bump.
It all almost falls apart when the guard comes in. There's not enough time to unsheathe the sword and ram him before he raises the alarm, not enough time to throw him down.
Meg solves this problem.
He's asking something—demanding in a shifting, suspicious way, when she kicks her foot out, sweeping it up into the air between them, and a chunk of rock punches up, smashing through his face.
She gives a one-armed shrug.
"Been bored," she answers Ben's wide-eyed stare. "But I've got no precision yet."
They break the steel glove with a little pressure and a pick.
Iaves, then.
Meg thinks he's on this level, and they slink through the shadows. She looks forward, he looks back, watching the exit, cataloguing all the doors he saw on the way down here, all the steps they took and how many up they would have to go to breach the earth.
Not too many.
They have Iaves in a blind and Meg breaks it while Ben works off the manacles. The Beast-caller blinks in the twilight, brow scrunching and limbs swaying as his eyes try to take in the feeble light.
They're up a flight of stairs when he tells them to stop.
"There," he grunts, pointing to a worn, wooden door. "Mess hall. Kitchen in back. The rats say there's a flimsy door to the back alley."
They kill a cook, sleepy-eyed and muddled but mouth already opening in alarm, before they find Iaves' door. Ben notches the sword in the crevice and the other two ram.
The blinking twilight is cool and clean against the face, the soft breeze a caress Ben had almost thought he'd never know again.
Freedom. He breathes it in like a physical thing, taking in down deep in the lungs and holding it there, this low, simmering feeling of quiet wild, silent violence. All the purpose in the world has returned and his hands flex with it because it is back, the thing long denied to him.
Choice.
"Where do we start?" Meg asks and they both turn to him, waiting.
The bow flits to mind; the black book; the king and commander, somewhere in that high tower; Allayria.
He looks up at them.
"What do people follow?" he asks.
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In other news, we are rapidly, rapidly approaching the end of Partisan! The end is nigh, good sirs and madams, and then the real fun begins. 😈
Any guesses for what the next book is titled? 😁
Also, apparently I'm a moron and literally just forgot to upload this chapter on Sunday. (To be fair, I was subjecting my friend to the Two Towers, extended version [naturally] for the first time and I may have been distracted by her frequent assertions that Gimli was going to bite it. [🤷♀️]) So I owe you all an extra chapter this week.
