They rode hard until the sun leaned low. The road fell away behind them, and the walls of the capital shrank into a dark line. Kael felt the wind on his face, but his heart was still clotted with worry. Every now and then, he turned his head and watched the road they had come from, wondering if soldiers would appear at any moment.
From a hilltop they reached, Kael saw movement below. A column of armored men rode toward the city gates, banners snapping in the wind. Their armor shone like cold teeth.
"The king has given the order," Maverick said, watching the riders with flat eyes. "They're spreading patrols across the borders. They want you found — alive if they can take you, dead if they must."
"How fast the command travels," Kael muttered. He felt small on his horse, watching the soldiers become ants far below. "They're even here, searching for me."
"Which means we must not meet them at the gates," Maverick said. He reached up and patted Kael's shoulder once — quick, firm. "We can pass the border, but it will take a trick."
They rode down toward the border. At the high road, they could see the main gate: a thick stone arch, a guardhouse, and soldiers with long spears scanning faces as travel parties queued. Men shouted. Dogs barked. Kael's stomach knotted.
"How would we pass the gate?" he asked.
Maverick thought for a breath, eyes cold and quick. Then he sketched a plan, quiet and sharp:
Hide the horses — There was an old shepherd's walled corral near the main road, half a mile back from the gate. Maverick had seen it from the ridge. They would lead the horses there and lock them inside. The corral was out of sight of the main road patrols but close enough to reach after crossing the border. "Keep the horses here," Maverick said, "they must not be seen with us during the crossing. If soldiers see a pair of fresh mounts, they will follow."
Make a distraction — Maverick would create a noise and a small flare of smoke on the far side of the gate, where a thin row of willow trees crossed a ravine. The soldiers would assume bandits or refugees and rush to check. Maverick's trick would be simple: a tossed cloak, a rolled barrel, a broken lantern — things that look like trouble at dusk.
Use the back lane — While guards stamped toward the commotion, Kael would slip through a narrow merchant lane and pass the customs post on foot. Merchants and peasants always clogged this path at twilight; a small, tired boy could walk among them and not draw attention. They would show nothing but worn faces and tired limbs.
Meet at the desert road — On the far side of the gate, a shallow river and a wide dry track led out toward the desert. Maverick would wait there — unseen — to help Kael pick up the horses later. From that point, they would move across the border and head for the southern dunes.
Kael swallowed. The plan sounded dangerous, but it was the only path out. He nodded.
They rode down a slope and left the main road. The old shepherd's corral crouched like a forgotten thing in a dip. It had a brittle wooden gate and a dry trough inside. Maverick slid off his horse and pushed the gate open. They led the tired mounts in and stacked loose rocks against the gate so it would not bang and draw attention. Kael covered straw and saddlebags with a torn cloak and cursed softly when his fingers slipped.
"Hide them well," Maverick said. "If any patrol asks, a peasant will say these are abandoned animals. No one will look twice." He jammed a long pole across the gate and crammed thorn branches to block a gap.
They left the horses breathing quietly, their flanks heaving. Kael gave each a last, clumsy pat. "I'll come back," he whispered, though neither of them knew when.
Then they walked toward the main road as the light turned red. Maverick kept to the edges of the trees and watched the soldiers at the gate. He held a small, crude flare made from oiled cloth and a tin cup. Kael carried a barrel; together they moved like two peasants.
When they reached a narrow hollow beyond the willow trees, Maverick placed the barrel and rolled it down the slope toward the gate. He lit the flare and tossed it into some dry leaves. It sparked, then a small ribbon of smoke rose. A hooded cloak tumbled from a hedge where Maverick had placed it earlier, and the sound of clattering barrels and a knocked-over cart shouted like trouble in the twilight.
Guards at the gate turned. Voices rose: "What was that?" "Move! Check the ravine!" Soldiers hurried with torches. Kael saw men run like a single moving thing — fast, noisy, certain.
"Now," Maverick whispered.
They slipped from the hollow into the merchant lane. People jostled about with baskets and packs, and Kael folded himself in with a stooped farmer, keeping his head down. A customs guard looked at him once, then at the line of merchants, and let them pass. The smell of spices and sweat was a shield.
At the far end of the lane, past the guardhouse, Kael waited behind a stack of crates with his heart beating loud. He saw the gate soldiers rush by, their torches bobbing, headed toward the willow ravine. The customs man scratched his beard and hammered at a ledger, not looking up.
In the shadow below the southern road, Maverick appeared, silent as a cat. He nodded once.
Kael moved to the desert track where Maverick stood. The border lay just beyond — a low stone marker and an old watch tower. The midday patrols had changed to search parties, but with the soldiers pulled toward the fake commotion, the path looked thin and quiet. Only the wind and the late sun watched them.
They met the horses at the corral as planned. The animals stamped and whickered at their return. Kael's relief made his hands shaky. Maverick pried the rocks away and shoved the gate open. They mounted in silence; Kael felt the world tilt as they took the road that led away from the city and the throne.
The first sand of the southern deserts lay beyond a low ridge. As the city fell behind the final rise, the air changed — cleaner, drier, and harder, smelling of dust and sage. The road narrowed, then turned into a track across pale stones and scrub.
They rode on through the night. Soldiers searched behind them; distant shouts told them the king had discovered the trick. But the desert is wide and the dunes hold their own laws. Under a moon that cut the world into bright and black, Kael and Maverick pushed forward. The horizon stretched empty and open before them, and with every mile the capital's reach grew thinner.
At last, the last dark silhouette of the city sank below the ridge. The wind moved over the sand like a quiet hand.
Kael let out a breath he had been keeping. For the first time since the night the keep burned, he felt a small thing: hope. They had slipped past the king's men. They had kept the horses. They had crossed the border.
But the desert waited — vast, cruel, and unforgiving. Their journey had only just begun.