23

Escape

WYNN WOKE WITH A START.

Squinting through her searing headache, she scanned her surroundings. She was still in the dingy cell next to Lance and Beryl, who now slept against the walls.

As her vision cleared, she gazed towards the small crescent window. The full moon peeked behind gray clouds and the outlines of stone buildings.

Wynn sniffed the air.

Magnolias—burnt kindling, she thought blearily.

Her head was jolted with a fresh wave of pain, similar to the one that woke her.

Wynn, still wincing, tried to focus.

The scent was fresh, and close.

Wynn backed away in horror.

We need to get out of here, and now.

“Lance!” she dashed over to the two, her leg chain rattling against the stone floor. “Beryl!” she shouted.

Lance stirred, and Beryl snored softly, but they continued sleeping.

Wynn felt a rush of panic. She darted over to the bars and peeked out.

There was a guard stationed at end of the corridor, slouching groggily.

Wynn turned back to the two sleeping larks.

Wynn took a deep breath, closing her eyes.

She yowled at the top of her lungs.

Lance leapt up, nearly tripping over his leg chain, while Beryl hovered, looking around frantically.

“Sorry,” Wynn said, walking up to them. Behind her, she could hear other cellmates loudly complaining at the racket.

Lance looked at her like she was crazy. “What are you doing? Are you trying to get us in trouble—ow!” He held his hurt cheek.

The guard grumbled in the darkness, “Keep it down!”

“You wouldn’t wake up,” Wynn said, glancing back nervously. “Lance, you need to use your magic.”

Beryl yawned while Lance looked even more bewildered. “What are you talking about?”

“Look,” Wynn said, “sometimes I can sense when someone is using magic and I feel like that fake captain is on his way here. I even picked up a scent drifting from the window.”

Beryl’s head snapped up at that. “Is he on his way now? I thought the guard said we’d be summoned in four sunrises.”

“I know,” Wynn said, “but I am sure of what I picked up—we need to get out of here!”

Lance rubbed his eyes groggily. “Wait, slow down. You did what?”

“I can sense and sniff out magic,” Wynn said, “and I know Brume is on his way. We need to get out of here.”

“Wait,” said Lance, skeptical, “how long have you been able to do that?”

“A while,” said Wynn. “I’ll explain later, but you need to use your magic right now.”

“How?” Lance asked.

“Can’t you like blast a hole through the wall or something?” Wynn asked.

Lance shook his head. “No, I can’t. I can’t do much without my staff.” He eyed her with concern. “Are you sure you didn’t have a weird dream or something?”

Wynn’s heart pounded. How long did they have? She had sensed the magic a few minutes ago, but what if it had been lingering in the air for hours? How long would it take for him to show up? Wynn glanced down at the chain around her leg. We won’t stand a fighting chance like this. She looked around frantically.

“Wynn, are you okay?” Beryl asked, he cocked his head at her. “You’re acting really strange.”

“Okay, okay,” Wynn said, taking deep breaths. She closed her eyes. You must be calm and collected, like in act three of The Splintered Halberd when Cordelia Moor had to creep past those massive moss-giants to retrieve the splintered halberd.

An idea came to her.

Wynn opened her eyes, “I have a plan,” she said.

Lance blinked. “wait, what?”

Wynn walked over to the bars and glanced back at the duo. “Be ready.”

“Wait,” Beryl said, hovering, “ready for what?”

“What plan?” Lance asked, startled.

Wynn gripped the bars and sharply inhaled.

And with all her might she yelled, “I need to go right now! And if a guard doesn’t let me out, I’m going to yowl all night!” She yowled again for extra effect.

The other prisoners began to clamor angrily.

“Pipe down!”

“Shut up, will you!”

“I’ll give you something to cry about!”

Beryl glanced over at Lance. “I guess being locked up got to her.”

A guard appeared in front of the cell. He was tall and looked like a large walking shrub, with log-like arms and legs from which branches sprouted. He tiredly held his halberd.

“All right.” He raised his hand to cover his yawn, long leafy beard moving as he spoke. “Which of you is causing a fuss about needing to go?”

“Me,” Wynn said, stepping forward.

The guard grumbled, “Next time don’t drink after supper.” He pulled a ring of keys from his grass-woven belt and started cycling through them. He found the key and with a sharp click he unlocked the cell.

He then stooped over and unlocked her leg cuff.

“Five minutes,” he grumbled, “and next time, yowling will send you to a worse cell.”

Wynn nodded eagerly. “It won’t happen again.” She followed the guard out of the cell, noting where he tucked his keys after he slammed the cell door shut.

As they walked down the corridor, Wynn spoke. “So, what made you want to become a guard?”

The guard shrugged. “Oh, it just sort of happened after the culinary academy didn’t go so well.”

Wynn nodded, carefully curling her tail closer to the key ring. “Why didn’t it go well?”

The guard frowned. “It all started with the baking exam. It was one of my rivals—let’s call him Pine. So Pine adds wattlespice to my thorn-flour when I wasn’t looking and I accidentally—hey!” he barked as Wynn looped her tail around the ring. With a dash she took off, the guard in hot pursuit.

“Bring that back!” he boomed.

Wynn looked ahead to see Lance peeking out of the cell.

“I have the key!” she said.

Lance reached out his hand. “Toss it!”

Wynn grabbed it from her tail and hurtled it as hard as could. It made a jingle as Lance caught it.

Wynn yelped as the guard grabbed her from behind. “The key is A-8!”

The guard looked around furiously. “Where did you put the keys?” he demanded.

He held her as Wynn struggled frantically. She sank her teeth into his arm, and he yowled and released her.

Wynn darted for their cell just in time to see the door swing open. Beryl happily flew out. “Freedom!”

His eyes widened as the large guard barreled towards them, “Get back in your cell!” he yelled.

Lance hopped out and glanced at Beryl. “Swift -reverse!”

Beryl grinned and nodded at him.

He looked at Wynn and gestured at the cell door, tossing her the key. “Be ready!”

Wynn nodded.

Lance charged at the guard. The guard swung his fist at him and Lance ducked. Before the guard could plant his foot on the ground, Beryl flew in front of his leg, sending him tumbling into the cell. Wynn slammed the door, locking it as the guard stood up.

The guard roared and pounded the bars. “Let me out at once!” he snarled. “Your sentence is going to be a lot longer for this!”

More prisoners clamored, filling the corridor with noise.

“We better get out of here,” Lance said, pointing to the door at the end of the long row. “Before his friends show up.”

Burl blinked. “What about your staff?”

Lance furrowed his brow. “We’ll have to leave it behind.”

Wynn gave him a sympathetic look. “Sorry about that, Lance.” The thistle-hopper sounded pained.

“Never mind that,” he said. “We need to leave. Now.”

And with that, the trio took off down the corridor, leaving the guard ranting into the darkness.