The distant rumble they haven’t yet noticed grows louder. I dodge a swing of the woman’s blade just before the stone floor beneath their feet splits open. Two of the guards go down hard, hitting their heads. I snag the last by his arm before he can swing his sword and hit him hard enough to leave him woozy. Woozy enough to be susceptible to my sensic power. It’s just a matter of persuasion to guide an already groggy mind into deep dreams, ones they won’t wake up from for hours.
Looking down at the prone bodies snoring away, I’m rather proud of myself. Three guards dealt with, and I didn’t kill a single one. I’m practically a saint. I pull the keys from one of their belts and move to the corridor. My earthquake was isolated enough that I doubt anyone beyond my cell noticed it. It was nothing like the damage I used to do. Before my enemies got wise to the telltale rumbles, I could clear whole battlefields in a matter of minutes. But all the Trovian soldiers from those days are dead and gone, and my Nightmare name has drowned out the one they used to call me: Prince Leon, Earthsplitter.
It doesn’t take long, and only a few more unconscious guards, to find Alastor.
“I was starting to wonder if you were going to turn up at all,” he says once I’ve unlocked the cell door and removed his gag. “Then I worried they’d tried to chop your head off already.”
“It would’ve been their mistake if they had.”
“Well, that’s what I was worried about,” he says.
I dangle the fabric that was tied round his mouth a few moments ago.
“I take it from this that you’ve been getting to know our hosts?”
“Bits here and there. I had to be careful once they started only letting me open my mouth for meals.”
It’s a tactic we’ve used many times in our unit—let Alastor get captured, then rescue him when he’s talked all the useful information out of our enemies. Unfortunately, while the average mind might struggle to notice the sudden honesty they develop in Alastor’s presence, smart people tend to realize what’s happening to them, even if they can’t stop it. The gag means someone got wise to his tricks.
“And the way out?” I ask.
“Probably through the gardens. There’s a section that’s all hedge near a statue of Winnivus. Two of the guards like to meet up for a rendezvous there sometimes.”
“Nothing more specific?”
“He likes the man a lot, but doesn’t know if he’s looking for anything serious.”
“Alastor.” He should know we don’t have time for jokes.
“Oh, you mean about the way out? Left at the staircase from the dungeons, I think. I had to listen to twenty minutes of brooding just to get that.”
The less direct Alastor is in his line of questioning, the harder it is for people to notice his magic. I nod. It would be unreasonable to expect a perfect map of our way out of here.
“Alright, let’s go,” I say, handing him the extra sword I took from one of the guards and unsheathing the blade I picked up for myself. He squints at my weapon, confused.
“There’s no blood on it.”
“I knocked them out instead of killing them.”
“Really? Seems time consuming.”
“Blame my grandfather, not me. He’s the one who insisted I play nice. We’re going to try to get out of here with as little death as possible.”
Alastor tests out the weight of his new weapon, looking doubtful. “Ok, I’ll try my best. I worry more aboutyouthough. Sometimes I think you can’t go a week without stabbingsomeone.”
“Your faith in me is touching.”
We return the way I came, slinking up the stairs into a wider hallway. It’s late at night, the moon shining in through a window. That’s useful. Most of the palace will be tucked up in bed, only leaving guards and the odd servant to contend with.
Remember, you want them to think you’re innocent.It’s my brother Fairon playing the voice of reason in my mind again.If you plan to convince them of that, don’t undo it all by murdering several of their citizens in the process.
There’s a hallway opposite us that looks nicely empty, so I lower my sword and beckon Alastor. A few more feet, and we can see a window at the end with a promising border of trees visible through it, hinting that this might be the garden we’re seeking. We proceed with caution but grow bolder when we pass turn after turn without a guard in sight.
Then a sharp, cutting panic dashes through me, stopping me in my tracks. The emotion isn’t my own, I know that much, but it’s impossible to ignore. The panic evolves, spinning swiftly into dread. Someone nearby is having a nightmare so vivid and terrible, it’s like a net, reaching out to engulf me.
“Captain.Leon,” Alastor says when I don’t respond. “What are you doing?”
I listen, expecting to hear someone call out—dreams that violent usually have people talking in their sleep, but all I hear is a door clicking shut in the next room and someone moving soft-footed through it.
