Rulers of Westover (Book 1 in the RoW Series)

Chapter Forty-Five

8:8:13 Light 

The doors of the keep were closed and locked, of course. He smashed right through it. Dead silence was the only thing that dared to meet him. Blake's jaw tightened as he looked at the emptiness. Fort Bayline was different from other castles. Tightly surrounded by a bustling cliff-side city, all of its buildings were one, with kitchens connected to stables connected to great hall connected to kennels connected to library; a labyrinth that he was only not intimidated by because his mother had shown him round when he was a small child keen on learning tricky paths.

Each step he took echoed and sounded unnaturally loud. He could still hear everything happening outside, of course, but he wasn't concentrating on it, so it slowly disappeared into the background and he heard nothing but his own ragged breaths. And then.... Blake came to a halt. That had sounded like a scuffle - a slide of one's heavy foot. He took in a breath. "Hiding, Quentin?" his voice rang loud and clear and bounced off the walls and round corners. Blake began to hum again, as he had when he'd began walking towards Dahstin Garrit. It was a song well known in the east of Westover - a song about a young man who killed the lord he had sworn to protect. In the song he ended up dying too - killed by the lord's vengeance thirsty son. Quentin would have heard the song sung as he ate his meals many a time, Blake was sure. 

There was another bump as somebody banged into a wall. Quentin was not one for stealth, it seemed. Blake kept his slow pace, suddenly enjoying himself. "Today we are both going to die," he said, "But you're going first." He held his already drawn sword behind him, ready to slash, and turned the corner with a grin on his face. Movement. The fool; he was going to fly right into Blake's sword- Blake's eyes grew wide. He pulled the sword away, but... NO... He could only stare into her green eyes and watch as she slid off the blade and onto the floor, mouth open wide. 

Quentin stepped out only now, a grin on his face. "How tragic," he said in a tone that Blake could only link with his own snarky, mocking voice of long ago. If Quentin had been smart, instead of mocking him, he would have attacked him while he stood there staring at the life flowing out of Tandy on the floor. Blake looked up slowly. "The Gods truly were fucked up when they allowed you into the world." He lunged.

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Maxwell had seen the end of them: the heels of one of their boots before they completely disappeared from view. On the ground lay a girl with long brown hair - a servant most like. The blood told him she was almost certainly dead. Another innocent gotten in the way, he thought sadly. It'll be over soon. It had taken him a while to get to the Fort. He was not an expert on Bayline's city and he'd had to kill so many Maynets and Aubers that he was literally dripping blood everywhere. 

There was a creak as somebody else pushed past the broken doors. Maxwell turned, sword ready, but it was Irving Vaughan he met; not a foe. He was splattered with blood, not dripping, but his skin was so pale it looked like he'd seen a ghost. His equally green eyes could barely be seen beneath creased brows. He must have moved fast to catch up with Maxwell. "You weren't crushed by boulders, my king," he said, a little out of breath. 

Maxwell shook his head. "No."  

Irving gave a thin smile before his eyes flicked over to the girl on the floor. He frowned. "Her," he murmured. 

Maxwell looked at the girl too and began to walk over to her. "Her?" he questioned. 

Irving followed and nodded. "She was something of a favourite of Blake Auber," he explained quietly.

Maxwell scowled. He wasn't going to waste time on this. "I wish I knew this place better than I do," he murmured. He would shout, but Blake and Quentin were somewhere not too far away. He would search every corner, but Blake and Quentin were somewhere not too far away. He turned to Irving. "How much does Blake hate Quentin?" he asked.