But even if he managed to sneak outside, Ard was far from free.
Regulation Stockades were always located a respectable distance from the city, with a single gate in the ten-foot-high stone wall. Four octagonal towers, partitioned into jail cells, formed the corners of the perimeter. Atop each of these, a pair of Reggies would be positioned behind battlements. That meant at least eight people in optimal tactical position, armed with crossbows, long-range Fielders, and plenty of spare ammunition.
Ard knew his solitary cell was in the middle of the Yard, a walled-in stretch of compact dirt at least a hundred yards long. He’d have to survive a run across the open ground before even reaching the wall.
From the research Ard had done for the Tasken job, he’d learned that all of the mortar in the walls was laced with Barrier Grit. Any attempt to blast through would result in an impenetrable cloud, sealing the breach and allowing the Regulators to take control of the situation.
Aside from jumping the wall, the main gate was the only way out. But even if he managed to get that far, the field outside was riddled with Grit mines, leaving the single access road as the only safe route to or from the Stockade. If Ard’s research was still current, the mines were small measurements of Blast Grit, meant to kill or disable anyone fleeing on foot. The Blast Grit mines were a brutal defense. And quite hard on the local wildlife, Ard imagined.
The Grotenisk Festival would be starting in the Char soon. Elbrig, Cinza, and Quarrah would be busy preparing for the cantata, readying things for Quarrah’s Illusion Grit departure.
That left Raek alone to make the rescue. With the same knowledge about the Stockades as Ard, Raek had to know that the task was near impossible. Still, if anyone could figure out how to get Ard out, it would be Raekon Dorrel.
The line of daylight beneath the door was barely perceptible when the signal finally came. An alarm horn pealed out, an unmistakable announcement that a prisoner was on the loose. The first horn was answered by a second, and then two more. All the corner towers had responded, locking down their cells to prevent other escapees. Ard imagined the Reggies frantically running through the Yard above, making necessary checks and setting safeguards.
Well, Ard thought, I’m guessing that’s the signal to move out.
The lock at the top of the stairs rattled. That would be the Reggie on guard, checking the solitary cell to make sure that Ard wasn’t the prisoner whose escape had been announced.
Ard crouched low, hurling the Grit pot brooch at the stone floor between his feet. The artificial gemstone shattered, and Ard saw sparks from the Slagstone fragment, instantly igniting the processed powder and throwing a cloud of darkness around him.
The Reggie reached the bottom of the stairs. Above, the door had been left ajar, a rectangle of faint dusky light. Ard held his breath, staring directly at the uniformed man, the cell bars separating them by no more than arm’s length.
The Regulator fidgeted, squinting. His hand clenched and relaxed. Then he quickly drew his Roller. “You in there, crook?”
Ard watched the man’s gaze pass directly over the spot where he crouched in the darkness. He felt completely invisible, though the effect of Shadow Grit was hardly that powerful.
“Ah, flames,” the Reggie mumbled, holstering his Roller and shouting up the stairwell. “It’s him! He’s blazing gone!”
In a final inspection, the Regulator pressed his face up to the bars, scanning the impenetrable darkness.
Ard stood abruptly, his head and shoulders exiting the Shadow cloud. To the Reggie, he would have appeared suddenly, a disembodied head and arms. The Regulator fumbled for his gun, but Ard had the element of surprise. Reaching through the bars, he seized the man by the lapels of his wool coat and jerked him forward.
The Reggie’s face slammed into the metal bars. His helmet rolled off, and he groaned, a cut across the bridge of his nose. Ard pulled him in for a second strike, this one proving too much. The man slumped down, unconscious.
“Maybe I will punch my way out of here, Elbrig,” Ard muttered, reaching for the ring of keys on the Reggie’s belt. Without the cloak of Shadow Grit, Ard knew the Regulator never would have dared draw so close to the cell.
He tested three keys before finding the one that fit the lock. Once freed, he stripped the blue coat from the Reggie and pulled it on. He dragged the unconscious man behind the bars and claimed his Roller and fallen helmet.
Ard relocked the cell and moved quickly up the steps toward the ajar door. He cocked the Slagstone hammer of the Roller and held the gun ready. With only six balls loaded, he’d rather not shoot his way out.
Cautiously, Ard peered outside. It was almost fully dark already, and Ard hoped the rescue plan wasn’t too far behind schedule. He had a date with Quarrah in the palace. And she was under a tight time limit.
The Yard was in a fair amount of chaos. Since the alarm triggered the lockdown of the towers, the final group of prisoners who had earned time in the Yard were suddenly left in the open as darkness settled in. It was a rare opportunity to be out of the towers in the dark, and one of the prisoners must have grown bold.
Ard spotted one prisoner on his hands and knees a short distance from the others. A few Reggies surrounded him while more struggled to maintain control of the remaining prisoners.
Ard ducked his head low and took a militant Reggie stance at the door as a searchlight panned across the Yard. He had forgotten about those. Atop each tower was a parabolic mirror mounted on a swivel. The Regulators could detonate a powerful blast of Light Grit, intensified by Compounding Grit, which would be further magnified by the mirrored bowl. The Reggies could then direct the brilliant beam in any direction across the Yard or the field outside.
The searchlight passed, and Ard decided to make his move. He walked purposefully from the cellar-like door, around the mound of dirt that comprised the top of his underground cell.
One of the four searchlights was trained on the gate—the only practical exit. Ard squinted. There was activity over there, and not just from the Regulators standing guard.
There was an open-top carriage parked inside the Yard. Two nervous horses were hitched, stamping their hooves in the compact dirt as they fidgeted at the repetitive blares of the alarm horns. And there, crossing slowly behind the carriage, was a man in sea-green robes, his silvery hair looking brilliant in the searchlight.
By the Homeland! That was Isle Halavend! It would seem Raek was not making the jailbreak totally alone.
It was customary for members of the Islehood to visit Criminal Stockades to provide spiritual guidance for the inmates, since they could not visit the Mooring. But it was no coincidence that Isle Halavend now stood fifty yards away, casting an anxious glance toward the mound of Ard’s cell. The old man had risked a great deal with this rescue. He really was much braver than Ard gave him credit for being.
A Regulator appeared behind the carriage, conversing in an urgent manner with Isle Halavend. A middle-aged Isless joined them a moment later, and the three seemed to agree on something. Halavend cast one more furtive glance over the darkening Yard. Then he accepted the arm of a young Reggie, who helped him and the Isless climb into the carriage.
The Regulators snapped into a practiced formation, weapons facing inward at the Yard as they cleared a perimeter for the large gate.
Sparks! Ard tensed. They were going to open the gate!
But of course! With a prisoner on the loose inside the Yard, it wasn’t safe for two visiting members of the Islehood. It would be Stockade protocol to escort the Isles safely away. It must have been Halavend’s plan for Ard to climb aboard the carriage. But his opportunity was quickly slipping away, and Ard doubted that Isle Halavend would be bold enough to stall for him.
Ard would have to sprint. It was fifty yards at the most, and the path was clear. As long as one of the searchlights didn’t pass over him, he might make it to the carriage unnoticed.
One of the Regulators was on the driving bench, taking the reins.
The metal gate began to roll open, its heavy wheel carving along a well-worn groove in the hard earth. Ard quietly clicked the gun’s hammer closed so he wouldn’t accidentally pull the trigger.
Speed and stealth. It was time to think like Quarrah.
Ard sprang from his spot against the dirt mound and set off toward the Islehood carriage. His boots pounded the packed earth, each step throwing puffs of dirt like mini detonations beneath his feet. Spurring him forward. Faster.
He saw a searchlight coming in on his left. Ard hesitated for just a moment, wondering if he should stop and let it pass, or try to outrun the light. In his second of deliberation, the magnified beam passed directly over him.
He froze, grinding to a halt, watching the light continue on its course across the Yard. Maybe the watchers from the tower hadn’t seen him. From that distance, he surely looked like a legitimate Reggie. Then the searchlight suddenly swiveled back around, the oppressive beam shining right on him.
Was there some sort of procedure he was supposed to follow to let them know that everything was okay? After a moment of squinting against the light, Ard tried a simple wave.
He took a few steps toward the gate, and the searchlight tracked him. Well, this simply wasn’t going to work.
Get off me. Get off!
Ard needed to draw the searchlight away. Give them something else to point at. How about this risky idea? Ard cast his glance back toward the center of the Yard, making it look like something had drawn his eye. Then, to really sell it, he drew his Roller and fired twice into the dirt mound of his solitary cell.
Instantly, the searchlight moved off, snapping over to the mound to see who Ard had supposedly been shooting at. It was a simple tactic that would buy him only a few seconds. He knew when the searchlight came back, it wouldn’t leave him.
“Over there!” Ard shouted to a pair of Reggies running toward the sound of the gunshots. It was easier to fool the ones in the Yard who didn’t have a bird’s-eye view.
Ard sprinted toward Isle Halavend’s carriage, not even slowing as he reached the edge of the searchlight that hovered on the activity at the gate. Ard used his momentum, throwing himself down, landing on his side, and sliding directly under the back axle of the wagon. He lost his Reggie helmet in the stunt, and his teeth felt gritty from dust as he came to a halt beneath the shadowy undercarriage.
The harness bells jingled, and Ard heard the horses pick up their feet. He swiveled onto his back, discovering two long metal rods installed on the bottom of the carriage.
Well, that was blazing convenient!
Ard didn’t even have time to tuck the Roller into his pants. He grabbed one end of each rod, while tucking his feet into the other ends, and hoisted himself off the ground as the carriage rolled forward.
The Reggies at the gate might have taken more interest in the unclaimed helmet, or the loaded Roller left behind in the dirt, if there hadn’t been a sudden explosion in the field outside the Stockade.
Ard saw the Blast Grit detonate, maybe fifteen yards on his right as the wagon rolled onto the illuminated road. It was clearly an activated mine, spraying chunks of earth and rock in every direction. The blast of fire and smoke was certainly enough to blow the legs off whatever unfortunate individual had misstepped. No sooner had the explosion occurred than two of the large searchlights honed on the mark.
The Islehood carriage didn’t slow, the escorting Regulators jogging alongside for protection. Ard saw a handful of other Reggies pass through the gate with Fielders raised to their shoulders.
Ard craned his neck toward the spot where the explosion had occurred, bracing himself to see whatever bloody mess might be left of the person that had tripped the mine. But on the other side of the smoking aftermath, Ard saw something that nearly caused him to drop off the carriage.
Ard saw himself.
He was standing upright, defiant, with feet spread wide in a haughty stance. His face was turned upward, gazing directly toward the powerful searchlight that illuminated him.
One of the Reggies on the road called a command, and half a dozen Fielders cracked, their hammers sparking and long barrels flashing. But the version of Ard that stood in the minefield didn’t so much as flinch. At the same moment that the guns fired, a dome of Barrier Grit detonated around the stationary Ard.
The carriage was moving at a good pace now, and Ard—the real Ard, hanging under the carriage—could barely see as the Regulators reloaded and fired again. But firing on a cloud of Barrier Grit was futile. The other Ard was safe for the moment. Trapped, and pinned down, but protected from gunfire for another ten minutes or so.
After a moment, the Regulator escorts who ran alongside the Islehood carriage shouted something to Halavend before peeling off to return to their posts at the Stockade.
Ard hung in silence as the carriage rumbled down the road. He wasn’t sure if Isle Halavend knew he’d climbed aboard, but Ard didn’t dare reveal himself now. The Reggie driving the carriage wouldn’t be happy to see him, and the middle-aged Isless was unfamiliar to Ard. It was likely that Halavend was using her as an alibi. By taking an Isless who knew nothing of the ruse, Halavend would increase his chance of making the whole thing look coincidental.
Isle Halavend had risked a lot, coming to the very Stockade where Ard was detained. If anyone was suspicious of their connection, it wouldn’t be hard to connect the dots from Halavend’s Islehood visit to Ard’s timely escape.
The Light Grit detonations that illuminated the road were fewer as they moved farther from the Stockade. Ard knew there would be a stretch of dark road before they reached the outskirts of Beripent.
The carriage slowed, then suddenly lurched to a halt, causing Ard’s feet to slip off the ends of the rods. Why were they stopping here?
Ard lowered his back to the dirt, giving his cramped and trembling muscles a needed rest. From this position, Ard glimpsed the feet of three horses in the road ahead, though he couldn’t see who was saddled on them.
“Here, now,” spoke the soft voice of an old man. Isle Halavend. “We don’t want any trouble.”
“No trouble, indeed.” This second voice was even more familiar to Ard. It undoubtedly belonged to Raekon Dorrel. “We’re good Wayfaring chaps, humbled to come across a pair of traveling Isles on a lovely night like this.”
“Let us pass.” This was an unknown speaker, but Ard placed it as the Reggie who drove the carriage.
“Just wondering if you have any extra cargo you’d like to drop off,” said Raek. “We’d be happy to take any valuables off your hands.”
Ard smiled, finally letting go of the handhold rods and lying flat on the dirt beneath the carriage. He felt a little bad for the Isless and driver, who wouldn’t know that Raek’s threat had a harmless double meaning.
“Drive on!” Halavend cried to the driver in a bold voice. “Have faith that the Homeland will deliver us!”
The reins snapped, and the carriage rolled forward, forcing Raek’s horses to the side of the road. Ard was left exposed, lying on his back in the dirt, but Isle Halavend didn’t even look back.
Ard sat up to look at his rescuers. One horse was riderless. On the back of another was Raek. And the final rider was the forger, Tarnath Aimes.
As Isle Halavend’s carriage faded into the darkness, Raek dismounted and crossed to where Ard sat. “Fancy, finding you lying around in the middle of the road out here.” Raek offered his gloved hand. “You look just like a wanted fellow they’re keeping in the Stockade.”
“Must be a handsome chap.” Ard clasped his old friend’s hand and leapt to his feet. “That was bold of Isle Halavend.” Ard shed his Regulator coat and tossed it to the roadside.
“Protecting his investment,” replied Raek. “The old man got a message to me, offering any way he could help. Of course the handles under the wagon were my installment. I figured you’d know what to do. It was just like the Unther ruse, when you hitched up under that carriage and got into his manor. That’s why I painted L
ord Unther’s symbol on the back of the Islehood carriage.”
“Hmm. I didn’t even see the symbol,” Ard admitted. “I was just doing what came naturally. Mostly, that involved not getting shot at.”
Tarnath leaned forward in his saddle and studied Ard’s face. “I think my version was better looking.”
“Absolutely,” answered Raek.
“Your version?” Ard followed Raek to the horses.
“Who did you think was standing in that minefield back there?” Tarnath asked. “Unless you have a twin that the Short Fuse didn’t tell me about.”
So it was a wax figure. One of Tarnath’s incredibly lifelike statues. “There’s only room for one face like this in the Greater Chain,” Ard said, stroking his chin. “I insist you melt that imposter at once.”
“I’ll take that as a thank-you,” replied the burly forger.
Ard swung into the saddle of the horse beside Tarnath. “My wax double detonated Barrier Grit. How did you do that?”
“The whole body is embedded with fragments of Slagstone, and the clothing is full of Barrier Grit,” Tarnath said. “The moment a ball strikes, the Slagstone sparks and detonates a pocket.”
Clever. The wax figure hadn’t detonated the Grit to prevent the balls. It only appeared that way because the Barrier cloud formed at the same moment that the first Fielder ball made impact.
“We used a series of Drift clouds to float over the minefield and position the wax double,” Raek explained. “That explosion of Blast Grit was my own, rigged up with a really long fuse. Got their attention. And once the searchlights lit up the place, they thought they’d found who they were looking for.”
“It ought to keep those Reggie fools busy for a while,” Tarnath said. “They won’t dare venture into the minefield, so they’ll keep taking cracks at him from the road. Any time they hit the target, a fresh Barrier cloud will surround the wax figure.”
“Hopefully, that’ll buy us enough time to get back to Beripent,” said Raek. “None of those Reggies will be too anxious to report to the king about your escape. As long as they think they have you pinned down, I don’t expect they’ll send word to Pethredote.”