The Kingdom of Belmar

Chapter 33

Chapter 33

"Philip!" I'm shouting through the door, banging until my palms are bruised, "Philip you scoundrel, get back here!" Deep down I know it's futile. He's gone, and anyone else that may hear me wouldn't want to save me.

So the traitor, this whole time, was Philip. The ambush, the bloodshed, the slaughter, it's all because of him. He's the reason this plan might not work, and it's my fault for trusting him in the first place.

Is Thompson's faction even here? Or did Philip lead them into the onslaught before they even reached the castle? Did he steal the flare to trick us? To lure me away?

It doesn't matter, all that matters at this instance is escape. The door's not budging, no matter how much I throw at it, and therefore my best bet has to be the window. Jumping out of a second-story window isn't the brightest idea, but if I manage to pry it open, I could probably take advantage of something. Anything.

There's an intense amount of dirt trapped in the crack of the window, sealing the pane shut. Jamming the blade of my sword into the rotted frame, I chip away at the grime while listening to the screams of fallen soldiers outside. In no world, this one or the one before, will I allow my friends and fellow soldiers to perish because I was bested by a window.

"Come on," I'm muttering under my breath, sweating as I continue to pry, "come on!" After one last heave, the pane finally flies open, filling the room with the sounds of battle, and the cool air of a raucous night. An expletive is released from my mouth as I stumble forward, nearly falling at the sudden movement.

Without wasting time, I lean out of the window, surveying the area for literally any possible way for me to escape. There's nothing under me but pavement, so jumping isn't an option, but a little more than fifteen meters away from me is another balcony, an awfully important one if I recall correctly. If I can somehow make it over there, I'd be standing outside of Lambhurst palace's throne room. There's no question of if it's possible, it's a question of how I'll do it. I have to, or there's no chance of saving him.

As the air fills with the scent of iron, blood spilling on the ground, adrenaline fills my veins. It's one mad dash to a growth of vines, about two arm lengths away from the window I'm currently trapped in, and leading all the way to the balcony. Well...a footswing length away from the balcony at least. There's no other option than to grit my teeth and bear it.

Without thinking more about it – about whether I'd reach the vine, or whether the vine would even support my weight – I held my breath and launched. One foot pushing off the sill with the same desperation and urgency as when I slashed that man on the field below me, as though my life depended on it.

I force my eyes open. I know that if I looked away, then I'd miss the vine. My fingers would graze the wall and my side would brush the shrubbery, but I won't be able to grab it. Though, I may not have the nerves to saddle myself if I don't close my eyes. I might just crumple into a ball and drop to the ground the second my feet dangle in the air. And I wouldn't be able to help it, of course. It's human nature, fear, and even though I'm supposed to be some dauntless knight, under the armor, fanciful words, and bravado, I am a human.

But my eyes have to stay open.

They have to stay open until my hands close around the vine.

And they both do.

Swinging boundlessly through the open air, allowing some great strength fueled by adrenaline and perhaps a bit of bile, I suck in a breath as I try not to look at my impending death below. If I let go, I'll fall, and I'll die. Simple as that. The only challenge now is making sure I don't plummet. If only my hands could let go of this fucking vine.