The King Trials 2: Beyond.

We wade through the foliage of the forest, rustling bushes as we move, causing the undergrowth beneath our feet to crackle. Proficiently using the cover of night like a shroud to keep us all hidden. Between the glimpses of bark and branches I can see the black bars of steel. No-one is posted outside the gate like before but shifting silhouettes move along the interior.

Everything bathed in shadows.

We are at the treeline right before the side grating, several meters from the main gate. We all hunker down, gathering together. Vince and Solaris are draped with hooded capes, both of them fully drawn, Kelan has on his sleeveless cloak over his uniform, his face cast in darkness. Treyton and I have scarfs knotted around our heads. Every wisp of hair tied tightly to fit in the shrouds that wrap over both of our noses and mouths, only exposing our eyes.

“Once we manage to get over the gate, how will transport the stolen goods?” Solaris queries.

“We can only manage what we can carry.” I whisper back. “Our exit strategy is that we are going to walk straight out of the gate, the guards will be rendered unconscious, unable to stop us.”

Treyton nods and his gaze glides up the towering line of defence. “So it begins.” His gaze levels and his eyes bounce between Solaris and I. “Shall we?”

I nod and rise to full height. I inspect the nearest tree, my fingers feeling the protruding grooves that are perfect for climbing. I slant my head to the side to look ahead at Treyton clutching a tree readily, and Solaris behind me. They both break a nod. Simultaneously we surge up the trees, scaling up them until we reach the peak.

Once I do, I tread lightly on a fairly stable branch that extends like an arm right over the ridge of metal. For support, I hold unto a thinner limb above my head to ensure stability as I lean over to peer down at the guards.

Two guards are directly beneath me, conversing blissfully, and a lone one is closer to Solaris.

I glance at my one flank to Treyton, and he gives me a determined nod. I look to Solaris who emerges on the brink, on his haunches, both hands gripping the branch he is squatted on in a feline stance. He lifts one hand to stab a finger in the direction of the guard near to him, then pokes it at his chest in gesture.

I look forward, cautiously I stand to full height.

Not sparing my mind time to spore doubt, I leap over the gate with arms spread like wings, the ground rushing at me. I plummet down on the two guards like an explosion, using the one’s back as a landing pad, their frames compressed on the ground. The other is near my legs, groaning agonisingly as he hauls himself up on both of his knees. I slam my boot into his stomach, and he crashes back down unto the ground with an oomph.

I flop over to move off the guard. When he tries to rise, I rapidly hook my arm around his neck, grabbing him to my body and locking him in a chokehold. Frenzied, too panicked to think aptly, he flails wildly in my grip, arms flailing erratically. He tries to snatch at me, but I jerk my head away.

I tauten my hold, muscles straining.

My eyes dart to the other guard, but Treyton already stands over his motionless frame, and Solaris has subdued the other. Promptly, his thrashing diminishes with his verve, consciousness slipping him from him with every breath slain.

His shoulders slacken, and he sags in my siege.

The claws of guilt dig into my stomach. A ruthless flood of suppressed memories comes rushing back, nearly overawed by the dormant trauma that awakened. The guard’s arms drop to floor and I throw his body off of me.

I scramble up to standing, and Treyton is suddenly right by me to assist my ascent. “Are you alright?”

I manage a nod.

“You did not kill him, if that’s what concerns you,” he tries, and I appreciate the attempt.

But I know that I didn’t kill him. That is not what ails me.

Solaris shuffles over to the gates and sticks his arm through the gap, making an all-clear gesture to Kelan and Vince. Once he does, he walks back to Treyton and me.

Shortly, a great shadow vaults over the apex and barrels to the ground, landing with a roll before he coolly stands at full height, pushing his ebony strands back in place with a quick comb over. Then he draws his hood back on.

Vince follows, falling. He propels himself into a forward flip before he lands nimbly on both feet, blowing a stray strand of hair from his eye with one exhale.

Even in the dark, I can see Treyton’s unimpressed frown. “Was all that truly necessary?”

Vince’s smile pierces the gloom. “The colour of envy does not suit you, my dear friend,” he says, flipping his hood over.

“Shh,” Solaris fiercely hushes. “We do not know if there are any other guards manning these woods.”

Kelan turns abruptly and pioneers ahead, we all pursue, thawing into the forest and staying clear of the pathway. We trek the long journey to the storehouses; the journey extended without horses to accelerate our speeds.

“What if they catch us?” Solaris whispers furtively. “And they send for reinforcements and try to have us detained?”

“Then we fight our way to freedom,” Vince says easily, like the solution is just that simple.

“This is wrong, so wrong.” Regret dominates his tenor.

“Is it wrong to assist a helpless village?” Treyton asks challengingly.

“Enough of that excuse,” Solaris snaps. “The one reason that seems to justify this crime. And have you stopped to think that what if we succeed? We pilfer the grain and feed the town. How gallant of us,” he says with unbound derision. “Since Bumlot cannot punish us, he will crucify the very same village that we have sought to salvage.”

A breath seizes in my chest.

I had not thought of that. The unintended consequences of our actions.

“Well, it is a bit too late to abort the mission now, Solaris,” Vince says, a distinct note of irritation in his voice. “If you felt that way, you and your cowardice should have remained behind.”

Reaching the shores of the evergreen sea, on the left side with the one storehouse ahead and the other across, with the paved pathway that splits the pools of verdancy, situated directly opposite the storehouse before us.

Suddenly Primus drops to a crouch position and we all mimic without question. One of the guards meander around the storehouse with his hand stilled on the hilt of his sword. Both of the storehouses are guarded by four armed moving figures, patrolling them like talents of gold are stored inside.

Vince chuckles lowly. “They make it too easy.”

As he is about to stand, Primus Kelan clamps a stalwart hand down on his shoulder, forcing him back down to his stooped position. Curtly, Kelan signals to the double door entrance of the manor. The threshold separates and two guards appear, walking through. They close the doors behind them and post themselves on the flanks.

Vince glances back at him and thrusts his shoulder forward to rid it of Kelan’s hand.

“Ten against five, the odds are in our favour,” Vince whispers harshly. “We battled a small army of Spartans; ten miserable guards are nothing. All we have to do is cause a distraction, nothing loud, just enough to draw them to us.”

Kelan matches his glare in kind. “And how do you suppose we do that?”

“I know.”

Treyton’s eyes brighten with an idea. “But you all need to hide and be ready.”

Hesitant at first, we remain crouched as we disperse into the woods, locating places of cover. I conceal myself behind a thick trunk of a tree, sloping marginally to the side to stare curiously at Treyton’s back.

His arms lift to cup his hands round his mouth, and he starts to make a sound. I am uncertain of the noise he is conjuring but by the tell of the strenuous, long draws of howling. I am going to assume he is trying to imitate a wolf.

“What sound is that?” I hear Vince mutter. “You sound like a dying cow.”

“You complete idiot.” Solaris spews from a close range. “How could a sickly animal breach the guarded gates?”

However, his awful howls demand the attention of the on-duty guards. The ones that are patrolling round and round the perimeter come to a gradual stop. The guards on top of the staircase exchange baffled looks.

Pair by pair, they start walking in our general direction, white-knuckled grips on hilts.

“You do realise some of us are unarmed.” Solaris.

All ten guards consolidate in the centre interspaced between us and the storehouses. Treyton instantly ceases his irksome howling. The one guard directs them, issuing instruction before they divide, five of them troop in the other direction.

Treyton whips around to search for Solaris. Once he finds him, he frantically points to the other guards. Solaris nods, and they both skulk after the oblivious five.

The five approaching us are nearly aligned with Kelan. Once they pass, Kelan moves like the shadow of the moon, darkness like a second layer of skin as the gloom itself envelops one of the guards. His cries are muffled as Kelan drags him behind a tree, seconds later, he quietly lays him on the ground.

Vince silently ambushes the one at the end, vanishing with him.

Suddenly the remaining guards spin around, scanning feverishly for their lost peers. With a metallic ring, they both unsheathe their swords, circling each other back-to-back.

“Who is out there?” the one asks.

“Show yourselves,” the other demands. “I admit, I am impressed you have made it this far and even if you succeed, rouges. You do not want to make an enemy of the Noble of this estate. He is vindictive and holds a grudge like no other. You may escape today, but you shall rue tomorrow.”

Vince unsheathes a hidden dagger; he sneaks up on the verbose guard and holds it to his neck by surprise. The guard grudgingly outstretches his arms in surrender, dropping his sword to the ground with a stifled clunk.

“You talk too much,” Vince grumbles.

His partner swivels and lunges for him with an overhead strike. Suddenly Kelan peels from the shadows and launches two fingers at the back of his neck. The guard freezes like he is completely paralyzed, his arms frozen above his head with the sword still in his grasp. Kelan then jabs his middle and index fingers into both sides of his neck, his arms merely blurs of burgundy.

The guard lapses into numbness and crumbles to the forest floor, unconscious.

Vince sheathes his dagger back into a scabbard integrated at his back, at the base of his leather camisole. The guard revolves around to look back at him warily, wide-eyed.

“What are you fiends?”

Vince grins and with breakneck speed he smashes his fist into his face, knocking him out cold with a single blow. He collapses to the ground like a fallen log.

As a trinity, we all make our way ahead to the storehouse in front us. The grey stone, square shaped structure with a triangular ceiling, spurting a slender squire, it’s frame is compact but levelled with three tiers.

“What did you do to the guard?” I ask, and I demonstrate the rapid jabbing with my index and middle finger pressed together. “How did you did do that?”

“Pressure points that target vital nerves that induces temporary paralysis, incapacitating a target,” he says, his voice smooth and calculated. “The effects are different on different being, I do know how long it will last so we must make haste.”

We round the flank of the structure and trot up the narrow and short staircase to the large wooden door with a chain bolted around the handles with a sophisticated lock.

Solaris and Treyton emerge, racing towards us.

“Perhaps one of the guards has a key?” I suggest.

Kelan moves to the door and fists the lock in his hand.

“What do you think you are doing?” Vince lifts his leg to stomp his boot on a step one higher than the one he is on now. “You do not possibly think that you can—”

Kelan crushes the lock of sheer metal, crumbling it in his grasp like it is a flaccid parchment. He yanks it down, breaking the chain, and it slips to the ground, then he chucks the crumpled lock over the staircase.

“The perks of being a meta,” Treyton comments from our rear.

Kelan holds the handles of the doors and swings it open, casually breezing inside.

I glimpse the seething look on Vince’s face that he poorly obscures under a stoic facade. We all follow and briskly make our inside of the storehouse.

“Alright,” Solaris says, like he’s going to make a life-altering announcement. “I renounce my remorse, Bumlot is a selfish bastard.”

All three levels of the storehouse brims until the ceiling with sacks of grain, barley, wheat and other plantings seeds. Each tier can barely withhold the piles of heaped stacks, mountainous mounds of food that can surely last him several winters.

“Was he planning to devour all these himself?” I ask, I go and grab the closest sack.

“Of course not,” Treyton says. He lugs up a sack to his shoulder with a grunt. “He has twenty-five children; he will likely share it with them and their mothers.”

I slide out a sack—much heavier than anticipated—I hoist it up to sling it over my shoulder.

“Take only what you can carry,” Kelan says, effortlessly picking up sacks, piling two on each shoulder without breaking a sweat. “We need to be gone by the time the guards wake. A second confrontation will be a lot less friendly.”

When we return to Umtera, at the dead of night. All is silent, all is still.

The horses trot through the vacant streets of the village, making our way to the courthouse, two sacks of grain on my lap. Out of nowhere, two nameless Avangard soldiers appear and flank Kelan’s horse, wordlessly journeying with us.

When we reach the steps of the courthouse, we all dismount and offload the sacks at the foot of the sealed doors, one by one. Primus’s soldiers inform him that they made an encampment outside the village, just beyond the bridge, in the forest.

The others mount back up whilst I deposit my last load to the pile. I scamper down the steps, but someone pulls my gaze in my periphery. I look to my right, round the corner of the courthouse, a gaggle of mischievous-looking adolescents hide behind the wall, peering over at us, whispering indiscreetly, their heads peeking in and out like moles.

A gasp sounds from one of them once they spot me staring back at them. The group runs off, but an older boy remains gaping at me.

I press my index finger on my veiled lips. The gaping boy nods dazedly.

I return to the Arabian, hooking in my boot, I pull myself up to settle on the saddle.

Kelan does a skim of us all before he whips the reins and leads his horse into a steady trot, and we all follow behind him.