Page 21 of The Scouts

Watching his advance upwards, I arched my neck higher and higher. It was hypnotising, the degree of upper body strength needed to make it appear so sure and smooth. The thrill of seeing him in action dissolved some of the tension that’d cramped my muscles.

Lochan paused upon reaching the top, likely observing the guards on the platform and choosing the optimal moment to pounce on them over the rail.

Even though I anticipated his movement all along, his rapid disappearance still made me blink. I only unclenched my jaw at the rustling coming down the side of the wall. A cord swung in the wind, two elbows short of the ground.

The commander’s audible exhale betrayed his otherwise well-camouflaged relief. “Javyés, Sabre.” He jerked his chin at the pair selected to assist Lochan on his kidnapping venture. “Go.”

The plan was simple. Lochan’s job involved sneaking in, locating Sigrunés and rendering him unconscious to prevent him from activating any Magic. It would then be up to the lieutenant to incapacitate the sod with a sleep charm to ensure a trouble-free retreat. You could never be careful enough around a sly shit like a Creator, never mind a pissed off one. And Sabre, our best swordmaster nicknamed after the weapon he favoured, would provide Lochan with backup in case of close-quarters combat.

A big jump and the lieutenant grabbed the rope, planting his feet high and wide. Hand over hand, he started pulling himself upwards, using his legs to walk up the wall. When he threw himself over the balustrade at the top, the line went slack, freeing it for Sabre. The latter didn’t tarry in joining him.

Their speed had me appreciating Heinnés’ favourite punishment drill for the first time ever.

“Diéyes, Morryés, Kudiyés,” Heinnés hissed. “Go, go, go.”

With our hyneshi—light, half-size bows—on our backs, we climbed the rope one by one.

The fact that we couldn’t sharpshoot upwards at long distance didn’t mean we couldn’t shoot at all. If it came to a chase, a surprise barrage of arrows from the watchtower would provide Lochan and the lads with a solid cover. Besides, the empty gallery would sooner or later attract attention. What better idea than to pose as the guards while keeping a lookout from up high?

Upon landing inside the tower, I noted a neat pile of bodies. A gander over the bannister confirmed that Lochan and his squad were already halfway down the steep, spiral staircase leading out to the courtyard. The benefits of knowing the layout of the place couldn’t be underestimated. I registered but a glimpse of black silhouettes weaving in and out of the cloister walkway. A dead stillness set in below afterwards.

Before settling into positions to keep watch, Kudiyés and I went about adding two more lengths of rope next to the one left by Lochan. That way, we could all get away without having to take turns.

For the lengthiest time, nothing happened—not counting a pine marten scurrying across the roof and a man who came out from an outbuilding to relieve himself. Once done, he even waved at us from a distance. The marten didn’t give a shit.

That part—the waiting—we were well familiar with as archers. For once, however, I found myself having a tough time coping with the inaction.

I blinked into the gloom, my eyes watery from the wind. Every dragging moment escalated my antsiness. How long had it been? Had they been discovered? I forced my brain to quit entertaining all of the disastrous outcomes fucking with a Mage could produce.

After what seemed like ages, I spied movement by the main building. I raised my hand to alert the others.

Two men were yomping towards the wall by the watchtower, making a beeline to where the rest of the unit lay in wait on the other side.

“What the shit?” Kudiyés muttered under his breath next to me.

A valid question, that. Each of the joggers had a limp body draped on them in a cross-shoulder lift. While one unconscious individual indicated success, two meant a casualty.

I squinted, trying to make out their shapes. The crazed gallop of my heart didn’t relent until I recognised Lochan’s lean frame in front. He moved as if hardly encumbered by the dead weight he bore. Right behind him—seeming a lot less spry—trotted Lieutenant Javyés.

Our trio kept surveying the perimeter from the tower. So far, so good. No sign of alarm. No pursuit. Nothing at all. Just darkness and quiet.

We saw the lads reach the segment where a cord ladder had been hung to facilitate their exit over the wall. The instant they made their climb, Diéyes swung his bow onto his back, his gloved hand reaching for one of the ropes. “Let’s split,” he rasped. “And be quick about it.”

He needn’t have told us twice. A swift whizz down and our boots connected with the hard ground.

Heinnés’ whistle guided us to where the unit stood at the edge of a sparse forest, ready to move out.

Mussed braid aside, Lochan presented just as unruffled and replenished as he would be during an evening stroll. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Javyés—bent forward with his hands braced on his thighs—gasped for breath. Four Scouts supported Sabre’s and Sigrunés’ floppy forms, handling them each in a two-person carry.

Only then did the pandemonium break out behind us—a cacophony of yells and footsteps pounding the stone on the other side of the palisade. Out of nowhere, the residency’s protective wards burst into life, flooding the entire place with light. Purple sparkles zinged along the walls and up and down the tower, crackling with the activation of Magic. A tart, bittersweet smell akin to roasted lemon peel drifted over the air. The ropes we had left behind exploded and burnt into nothingness in a flash. My skin crawled at the thought of the end we would’ve met had any of us had still lingered on the fortifications.

Spectacular or not, we didn’t hang about to gawk at the illumination. At the commander’s signal, we ran like hell past the trees, not stopping until we encountered the opening where we’d left our horses.

“How bad is he hurt?” Heinnés demanded, panting away and pointing at Sabre.

Judging by the awful, high-pitched wheezing the swordmaster began to produce, he stood at the gate of death.

Marbles threw himself on his knees, the first one at Sabre’s side.