The prospect of spending time in prison for committing no crime whatsoever did not sit well with Garinor. His frustration at all the events that had led up to that moment boiled within him and a terrible rage overtook him. The guard was much taller and broader than he was, but Garinor decided that injustice would be defeated by his own two hands.
Clenching his hands into fists, Garinor spun and landed a hearty punch to the guard’s face. Taken aback, the guard was stunned for a moment, but he recovered quickly. A large gloved hand reached out and grabbed Garinor’s hair, wrenching his head back painfully.
But Garinor felt no pain. Fire coursed all along his veins. He let out a demonic cry and brought his knee crashing into the man’s groin. The man released a yelp of surprise and also released Garinor. He was free to pounce over the guard and run out the door.
However, anger clouded his judgment and Garinor lingered to kick the man in the face and land a few more punches. He grabbed the man’s hair and yanked on it forcefully, then threw the man to the side, where his head hit the wall and he fell unconscious.
Garinor went for the door and flew up the stairs at the end of the hallway. He didn’t know where he was going, but he needed to get out fast. The only thing that gave him any hope of escape was that the guard admitted to belonging to the prince and not the king. Maybe Garinor could still get out.
Hall after hall sprawled out before him and it was only then he remembered how immense the wall surrounding the entire palace was. It had taken him over half a day to circumvent it, and here he was stuck in the maze-like inner sanctum.
He didn’t care. Fury was with him and nothing was going to get in his way.
His feet pounded on the stone floors and he ignored those he passed, especially the guards who wondered what the ruckus was about. None of the guards gave pursuit, though, for he was only an unarmed village boy and what harm could he do anyway?
Garinor sped so fast around a turn at the end of the hall that his feet slid out from under him and he skidded into the wall. Scrambling upright, he continued his frantic pace, but he knew that soon he would be stopped and questioned. This section of the castle was busier than the others and he wouldn’t be able to run as freely.
Still no one followed him. He was in luck. He dashed down another corridor and turned toward the right after seeing the sun peering through a window ahead of him. Turning right meant he would be heading south, and he remembered the exit was to the south. Some of his sanity remained with him, at least.
A maid jumped out of the way as Garinor sprinted past and she called out for the guards to seize the boy. This caused Garinor to lower his head and push even faster. He was no criminal, but he doubted he would be allowed to explain himself.
Two guardsmen clambered into the hallway and demanded he stop. But he couldn’t stop. The image of the prison cell was stuck in his mind and he refused to be taken back there under any circumstance. He also didn’t know which guards were the king’s and which were the prince’s. It seemed that not even the king was aware of the traitors.
He couldn’t break through the two guardsmen who stood in the center of the hall with lances crossed. Yet his panic wouldn’t let him stop and try to reason with them. And so, as he approached, he did the only thing he could do. He dove to the ground.
The slick, polished floor carried him swiftly between the guards and they were so shocked by his move they didn’t react in time. He rolled to his feet and pushed through the doorway, pulling the doors shut behind him by snapping his arms back. He heard a satisfying thud as they banged shut. It would only give him a few extra seconds, but the beast inside of him didn’t care.
Onward he pounded. His feet were getting tired, but at last he saw one doorway that was familiar to him. It was the one that led to the initial waiting room. He had been taken off to the side from there, but the door was open now and he could see inside of it clearly. Relief gave him one last burst of strength and he pounded ahead into the room.
Just one door remained.
Ten steps. Nine steps. Eight steps. His hand reached out for the door handle. Seven steps. Six steps. Five steps. Someone shouted in the hallway behind him. Four steps. Three steps. He was almost there. The magnificent iron handle was almost in his grasp. Two steps. One step.
Crash!
He hit the door with the force of his entire run. He hadn’t opened it correctly. The handle didn’t turn down. It pulled up. His shoulder burned in agony, but he tuned it out. Pain was irrelevant. He needed to escape. He needed to be free. He couldn’t remember why he had even come to the palace in the first place.
Footsteps thundered toward him. They were in the room with him and they were closing the distance rapidly. Trembling, Garinor pulled up and the door swung open.
The gate guard spun around in surprise. Garinor couldn’t avoid him. He plowed right into the poor man and bowled him over. The other gate guard leaped into action, but Garinor escaped his grasp and in the process blocked the exit for the other pursuers.
Garinor kept his feet moving beyond all hope. Only the thought that he was the true king kept him moving any longer.
The road spiraled away to the southwest, but he would never make it. They would be able to follow him all too easily. There was a steep drop to his left and he had no other choice but to head for it and dive.
Down, down, down he fell. It felt like he fell forever, but it also seemed like it was over in an instant. A crack sounded in his head as he crashed down and sparks flashed across his vision, blinding him completely.
The whole world changed at that moment. His fast, frantic pace turned into a slow, lumbering one. He tried flailing about, but everything was sluggish and unyielding. He didn’t know what had happened to him. His head and arms hurt terribly and he found that he couldn’t take in any air whatsoever. His chest burned and he tried so hard to open his mouth and gasp, to breathe, but something else prevented him.
His arms and legs pumped desperately and finally the world changed again. It sped up and he launched forward and air flooded into his lungs and he could breathe again. It was a glorious moment—until it all disappeared again a moment later.
It took a few minutes for Garinor, who was completely bewildered from the impact, to realize that he had landed in the River Cross at the bottom of the ravine. He was bobbing up and down and the force that had kept him from drawing in air was his own survival instinct, which knew better than he did that breathing would have killed him. He floundered about in the water until it curved sharply to the right and his momentum brought him limply to the southern bank.
He spent some time coughing and sputtering. His body was so spent from the exertion to get out of the castle that he simply could not move. His eyes sank closed against the sun.