Chapter Eight: Escape from the Mansion
At that moment, Lucas turned toward the corner of the stables, where the horses were still tied. Daniel and Amadou caught his gaze instantly, and the three of them rushed toward it without a word.
Each mounted a horse. Inside the room, everyone was too distracted by the chaotic mess of the wagon—fighters, clingers, and half-dead passengers. And so, as the wagon barreled through the gates of the mansion, the three riders slipped out behind it, galloping so fast that anyone left behind didn't even consider trying to catch up.
They passed the wagon, keeping a safe distance. As they did, they saw the faces of those clinging to it for dear life—faces warped by fear, despair, and utter defeat.
Daniel caught their eyes, heard their screams:
"A thousand gold coins! Half of everything we own!" they cried out, offering bribes in desperation.
When no reply came, the offers turned into threats, then into vile curses shouted into the wind.
But Daniel and the others paid no attention. They kept riding forward. Amadou took the lead, while Daniel and Lucas followed close behind. It was the first time either of them had ever ridden a horse, unlike Amadou—who clearly belonged to this world.
Luckily, the terrain was a vast, open desert. Their lack of experience on horseback wasn't obvious yet.
Once the wagon had fully exited the mansion gates, and the three horses followed, the screams from behind grew louder. The others had finally realized their fatal mistake—they had forgotten about the horses.
Someone shouted, "The horses! Damn it! We left them the horses!"
And in a split second, everyone turned toward the corner of the stable and rushed, scrambling to seize whatever mounts remained.
But they stopped abruptly.
The heavy wooden door of the room they had come from was thrown open with a crash. One of its sides cracked from the force. From it emerged a massive, muscular man, walking with heavy, deliberate steps. Two others followed behind him.
When the three new arrivals saw the corpse on the floor, the scattered prisoners, the fleeing wagon, and the three horses speeding after it… their expressions twisted with rage.
Their faces froze. Their hands trembled, then clenched tight, as if vengeance had suddenly awakened inside their veins.
When the two accompanying men saw the back of the leader in front of them, their fear mixed with fury.
The leader curled his massive fist, which looked like a cracked boulder from the strain. A glint of energy flashed across it. Then he slammed it into the stone wall beside him. It wasn't a weak wall—it was made of solid rock. But it shattered like a brittle cookie.
He spoke in a deep, gravelly voice, "Go… fetch the beasts."
One of the two men bolted without saying a word.
The leader began walking heavily toward the remaining people in the room. Then he growled, "Anyone who moves from now on… dies."
Silence.
Everyone froze. Then they slowly sank to the floor, as if the air had been sucked from their lungs. Terror took over their faces. Defeat hung like chains over their heads.
The second man stepped forward more lightly and bowed slightly in respect.
"Boss… what do we do with the ones who killed the Tall One? Allow me… I'll handle it my way. They need to be an example—so no one ever tries something like this again."
He had guessed that it was a group effort. The state of the Tall One's corpse made it clear that no single man could've done it alone.
But the leader shook his head. "No… we gather them. We deliver them to the Madman."
Two people in the room shuddered at the sound of that name.
The man beside the leader grinned, eyes glittering.
"Oh yes… they deserve that fate."
The leader stepped out onto the balcony. He stood there for a moment, watching the speeding carriage ahead and the three horses before it.
Then came footsteps. The man who had left returned—this time with two strange beasts.
They were smaller than typical desert creatures, barely two meters from head to tail, with slender bodies covered in sandy skin that mimicked the texture of dunes, giving them incredible camouflage.
Their four limbs were long, ending in flattened claws that let them run across sand without sinking. Their heads were slightly flat, with large, darting black eyes that sparkled with constant alertness.
Their split lips revealed rows of small teeth, though they rarely used them.
On their backs, wide shallow dips had been fitted with light leather saddles—crafted carefully to avoid limiting movement.
They were called "Slips." You never really saw one—only the dust trail it left behind. It ran over the sands like the wind itself. In the heart of the desert, where only the swift survive, this fragile-looking beast was among the best ways to move.
The leader mounted one Slip. His companion mounted the other.
The leader took off after the carriage. It didn't take long.
He caught up. With one sharp motion, he cut the rope connecting the horses to the carriage and raised his voice:
"Anyone tries to run again… dies."
The passengers shrank back into the carriage, paralyzed with fear.
He handed the two horses to his companion, then turned and continued forward… toward the three who had fled.
Meanwhile, Daniel and bespectacled Lucas were doing their best to stay in control of their horses. They were exhausted, tension weighing on their shoulders. Amado, with his mustache and steady hands, rode ten meters ahead.
Amado suddenly glanced back and slowed. His face turned pale.
"Look behind you," he muttered.
They turned—and gasped.
In the distance, behind a swirl of dust, they saw the carriage, now stationary. And two riders speeding toward them on beasts neither had seen before.
One was the leader. The other, his companion—dragging the two horses behind him.
Daniel squinted, voice strained:
"What are those… things? Are they faster than horses?"
Amado responded instantly:
"Yes. Especially on sand."
There was a moment of silence.
Then all three spoke at once:
"...We need to split up."
It was the only plan that had even a chance of working.
Amado spoke quickly,
"I'll head straight forward. If I'm lucky, I'll reach the kingdom's borders. From there… they'll see me."
He yanked the reins and bolted ahead like an arrow.
Daniel glanced at Lucas, then up at the sky, trying to remember the kingdom's direction.
"I'll go right," he said seriously. "Goodbye… not that I ever want to see you again."
Lucas smiled, gave a slight nod.
"Likewise."
Then veered left. And they all scattered.
The leader saw the sudden split and barked an order:
"Go left… I'll handle the rest."
His companion obeyed, dropping the horse's reins and tying them to a strange desert plant. Then he charged left.
The leader continued forward—toward Amado.
Time passed.
Amado rode with everything he had. The outlines of the kingdom began to appear ahead. Hope surged inside him. A smile crept onto his face…
But it vanished as he heard thunderous steps growing behind him.
(No… I don't want to see this.)
(I'll make it… I have to.)
(Just a little more. The guards will see me… Come on.)
He didn't look back. He couldn't bring himself to confirm the nightmare.
He gripped the reins tighter. His screams grew louder, fueled by sheer desperation.
"GUARDS! I'M—"
A single blow to the back of his head ended everything.
He collapsed, unconscious.
The leader hadn't meant to kill him—just to silence him.
He hoisted the body onto the horse, gave it a slap to send it back to the palace.
Then mounted his Slip again… and turned right.
Toward Daniel.
In the distance, Daniel was now just a shrinking silhouette in the desert haze.