Page 15 of Light Locked
She nudged his shoulder and without looking, he seemed to nudge her back on reflex, but with twice the force. She caught herself against the crate with a loud thud, and she and Ryson both stared at each other in surprise as they listened for signs they’d been heard. Ryson returned his attention back to her bonds as the soldiers approached casually.
She held her breath as they fixed the new hook onto the side, wondering if they’d notice the unlocked hatch.
Ryson finished his work and returned his dagger to its scabbard. He leaned back against the crate, resting his elbows on his knees.
Clea inched forward and whispered, “They are going to throw us over the wall!”
Ryson watched her through the grates in the helmet, but offered no reaction.
The soldiers mounted the crate, and one shouted, “Lift!”
The kennel groaned as the chains tightened around it. As the crate lifted from the ground, it rocked unsteadily. Clea shot Ryson a worried look, but he did nothing, staring up at the ceiling. The crate steadied, and she fastened the medallion around her neck, hiding it under her shirt.
“How did you find it?” she mouthed, gesturing to the medallion. That question and more demanded answers. She reached for his helmet, fishing her fingers through the grates and tugging the helmet downward to force him to look at her.
Clearly surprised at the gesture, he smacked her hand away, but didn’t respond.
Rubbing her reddening hand, she pushed, “How will we escape?”
Ryson leaned forward, and in a barely audible, but clearly irritated tone replied, “We are. Now be quiet.”
Clea continued to rub her hand as she watched him, the back of her head still throbbing from his early attempt to silence her. The brute clearly had no sense of gentleness or restraint.
She gripped the leather bag in her lap, feeling its contents as she noticed a weapon strapped across his back. It was stored in a leather casing attached to a strap that wrapped over his chest. The weapon was a type of scythe. She wasn’t sure if it was his, or if he’d stolen it like the armor, but knew she wouldn’t get an answer if she asked.
“What is your plan?” Clea urged again anxiously after another minute.
“Wait,” one of the soldiers said, and she heard them both shift their weight. “The locks.”
A moment of silence passed between the first comment and a series of whispers. She stared at Ryson with wide, questioning eyes, and he continued to look on impassively. The boards groaned above them as the soldiers repositioned themselves.
Clea jolted as Ryson shot up and hurled the door open. The men yelled in surprise, knocked off the top of the door. The chains holding the crate rattled, and it swayed to one side as one man caught himself on the edge. He struggled to pull himself up as the crate swung. Ryson delivered a quick, focused punch, and Clea flattened her arms against the crate walls as the man fell, the crate swinging with the change in weight.
Ryson reached for the crate door and closed it over them with a clattering bang. As he resumed his former position, Clea couldn’t help but watch him with her mouth open.
“Is something wrong?” he asked in a snide tone. “How strong did you expect me to be?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “As strong as a human?”
Clea opened her mouth to protest but stopped when the crate came to a halt.
Ryson gestured for her to stay down. “They’ve just stopped the pulley for a moment to investigate. They won’t risk you escaping back into the city. They can only bring you closer to them.”
“You can’t read their minds,” Clea challenged.
Ryson laughed a short, mocking, laugh.
Pompous jerk, she thought.
The crate jerked again, and they moved upward. Ryson lifted his hand and placed it on the handle of his weapon. It wasn’t long before they stopped a second time with solid stone beneath them.
Ryson burst from the crate, using a hand to hoist himself over the side as he drew his weapon in a simultaneous motion. The sounds of clashing blades filled the air as the six soldiers atop that portion of the wall stumbled back into a defensive line.
Clea spotted another soldier running for the warning bell to bring in reinforcements, and she quickly hoisted herself over the side of the crate. She joined Ryson in the midst of a growing crowd of soldiers. Despite the wall’s great width, the bustling clamor and congregating bodies were suffocating.
Ryson warded off the opposition with threatening swings of his weapon. His scythe swept over Clea’s head as she ducked, blessing the ground and creating a weak, flickering barrier of brilliant white lines between them and their opponents. With one sweep of his scythe, Ryson hoisted the pile of gathered chains on the wall and tossed them over the barrier at the wall’s edge. They grew taut against the pulley.
The warning bell clanged in the distance. The area would soon be flooded with new opposition, and Clea’s blessing was beginning to fade as soldiers hacked at the wall of light with their weapons. She was already lightheaded and wouldn’t be able to cast another one.
Ryson hopped onto the barrier near the wall’s edge, coiling the chain around his weapon as he placed one steel-toed shoe on the curve of the scythe blade.
