Except he hadn't handled that, not one bit. He'd admitted he wanted to kiss and touch and fuck his twin brother, and he'd fleddinner with the king, and now he was here.
All right, breathing exercises werenothelping.
Still gripping the board he'd pried off, he crept to the door and pressed his ear to it. No more talking, but he could hear at least one person shuffling about, could faintly smell the cigarette they were smoking, one of the cheap ones like his father enjoyed so much, an import from Gollen decades ago that had swiftly become popular.
He returned to the window and tried to take in more information. He seemed to be on a second floor, which was good, but there were still too many boards for him to be able to jump out, and he couldn't pry them off without making too much noise.
So he would have to go through the door, which meant getting past the guard.
Boring the man to death with seventh century Tavamaran architecture and its superiority to past and present styles probably wouldn't work. He couldn't seduce someone if he tried; his few sexual encounters had been instigated by other people. Nadir could probably seduce his way out, get their guard down, and then clobber them or something.
Anyway, he couldn't seduce them until he got them in the room, which was the problem he was trying to fix.
Could he raise a ruckus about being hungry or needing to piss? They'd probably just ignore him, and given the bucket in the far corner of the room…
So he'd just have to wait for them to come inside for their own reasons. That might be too late, though, if more than just the guard outside came in. He wasn't even certain he could handle one person. More than that was completely out of the question.
He had to get that guard in here now, and he had to hope he'd be able to follow through on…on disabling him. Killing him. He didn't want to kill anyone, but they were going to killhim.
Tears stung his eyes, but Ender forced them back. He could cry and scream and lose his mind later. Right now, he had to get free—
That was it. He was stupid. If the guard thought he was trying to escape, he'd come to investigate. Striding over to the window, Ender used the piece of wood he was still holding to bang against the boards, making all the noise he possibly could.
Sure enough, after just seconds, he could hear a key turning in the lock. He darted over to stand behind the door, gripping the board tight. He would only get one chance at this.
The door creaked as it swung open, and an enormous man stepped inside—and froze when he didn't see Ender, who swung right as he went still, bringing the board down on the man's head as hard as he possibly could.
Only as the man dropped like a puppet with its strings cut did he remember one side of the board had a nail sticking out of it.
Gagging as the smell of blood filled the room, pouring down the top of the man's head to pool beneath him, Ender cast the board aside and stared. His mind was frozen. Blank. The guard was dead. Killing had been easier than he'd anticipated.
Later. He had to think about this later.
Shoes. The man's shoes were far too big for him, but he couldn't walk across the sand barefoot. He yanked the boots off and shoved them on his feet, stuffing fabric into the toes to try and mitigate their size. Then he pulled off the man's short cloak and headwrap. They smelled of sweat and cigarettes, but they were better than nothing.
Giving the body another look, swallowing the rock in his throat, Ender also took a dagger, a waterskin, and the keys to the room. There was also a pouch he noticed right before turning away that held food. Taking that too, he stared cautiously into the hallway, then stepped out and closed the door behind him. Locking the door, he weighed his options, torn between the nearby stairs and the window at the end of the hall.
Window seemed the safer bet. Tucking the keys away so they wouldn't rattle, he climbed into the window and looked down. Only one story. Easy drop. He'd jumped from the loft of the stable plenty of times, and that was much higher than this. Swinging out, he lowered himself down as far as he could and then let go.
He landed in the sand with a grunt, and slowly picked himself, brushing sand off as he started walking, following the only crude road he could see. If only he had any idea where he was going. Would this take him to the royal city, or somewhere else entirely? How long before his captors noticed he was missing?
What if he got lost out here and died from exposure? Had he killed a man and escaped just to die an even more horrible death?
He didn't really have a choice though. If he stayed, he would die. If he walked, he might live.
So he walked.
Every second he was alert for the sound of people coming after him, waiting and waiting for the moment when his captors would drag him back. He'd been so focused on everything else, he was only now noticing how much his face hurt from the earlier backhand in the cellar. Ender reached up to touch it, and flinched as that obviously caused it to start throbbing anew. Dumbass.
At least they hadn't done worse, like tie him up or chain him to a wall. Strange they hadn't done that. Stranger still no one was coming after him. He'd thought he'd have minutes at best to get a head start, but so far… Surely they must have noticed by now? There was no way they would have left him alone with just one guard. On the other hand, he was in the middle of nowhere, with no hope of rescue and no sign of shelter.
Just as he was starting to relax, he heard it: horses, men shouting. Heart jumping into his throat, Ender bolted off the road and scrambled up a shallow dune, throwing himself over it just moments before the riders came into view. He watched, barely breathing, as three men sped past. If he wasn't mistaken or paranoid, they were dressed similar to the man he'd killed, though the clothes were so common, that wasn't saying much. Still, who else would be coming from that direction at such a frenetic pace?
He waited several more minutes to be sure they were well,wellahead of him, then slid down the dune and back onto the rocky, barely-there road. The kind of roads he was used to traveling back home, rural roads that rarely saw any sort ofofficial upkeep. Wherever he was, it was remote, though that had already been clear.
Tension raised anew, he listened painfully for further riders. As day turned slowly to dusk, though, none came—and then he saw the first good thing to happen to him since managing to escape: a windcatcher, bright blue and marked with three white waterdrops, signaling a rest station, just visible in the fading light.
He'd found water, a place to rest, which meant he must be headed somewhere useful.
