Free The Way Into Chaos by Harry Connolly Page A

“Do you see the fringe of grass?”
    “No,” Treygar said, but he gestured toward Wimnel, ordering him to head in that direction. He leaned over the rail and called down, “A bit farther, my prince.”
    The fringe of grass did not mark a road, but it did hide a broken stone foundation. Wimnel looked over of the rail at it and nodded. He could set down here.
    He lowered the cart gently and deftly at the edge of the foundation, laying the prince and his two friends on the stony slope outside the foundation. Then he rotated and slowly settled the cart inside the shattered walls. Cazia studied the way he handled the controls.
    Treygar clutched at his injured shoulder. “Doctor Warpoole, please help them inside.” Bittler climbed over the rail to help.  
    “What is this place?” the princess asked. Her accent made her sound as though she was talking with her mouth full.  
    “An old storm house,” Ciriam answered. “Once the grasslands were dotted with storm houses, but people don’t drive okshim herds through the mud any more. At least, not on this side of the Barrier.”  
    Lar and Bittler carried Timush into the cart, then laid him in the front. Just behind them came Doctor Warpoole and Col.  
    Timush looked like a waxen doll. The sight of him shocked Cazia so deeply, it felt like pain. Had tragedy managed to strike after all?  
    “Make room at the front!” she shouted, using her voice to relieve her tension while she elbowed Ciriam out of the way. “Squeeze in.” She helped Timush settle painfully on the rough wooden floor.  
    “We must raise his feet,” Vilavivianna said, “to get the blood back to his face.”  
    Of course. Cazia gave the girl a grateful look, then ordered Bittler to sit at the front of the cart and allow Timush’s legs to rest in his lap. He did it.  
    Col settled against the rail. “By your command, o Caz,” he said, not unkindly. Cazia felt herself flush anyway and clamped her mouth shut. There were tingles all over her back and arms as she watched her brother, injured but alive, smile at her. Then she moved toward the back of the cart where the driver stood. Col and Timush, resting on the floor, took up a quarter of the available space.
    “We are overburdened,” the princess declared. “This one is not highborn or necessary, is she?”
    Vilavivianna pointed at Ciriam, and she had a point. Not only was the clerk an Enemy, she had taken Cazia’s quiver. Still, the thought of pitching her over the rail into the unprotected grassland made Cazia a little sick.  
    Lar said, “Betrothed, we are saving everyone we can. Everyone. Sit up close to Jagia and the doctors. We’ll be uncomfortable, but—”
    The sound of distant screaming came through the grasses. Everyone in the cart was silent as they heard the voices of men and women raised in terror and pain. The little princess turned to look up at the clerk’s face, then looked down at the floor.  
    “My tyr?” Wimnel said.  
    Old Stoneface stared into the grasses as though he could see the dying soldiers through them. “Take us away from here.”

Chapter 7

    Something moved through the tall grasses as they slowly rose into the air. Everyone was panicky for a few moments--the Freewell girl held her hands in the first position to cast a spout of flame, and both the Witt boy and the clerk squeezed their eyes shut and muttered prayers for Great Way to clear their path--but nothing happened. Tejohn slid the spike he was holding into his waistcoat pocket, wishing it was reinforced with canvas instead of just a decorative touch to please the Evening People, and took hold of the rail with his good left hand. They’d gotten away. He had done his duty.
    Leaning over the rail, he looked back toward the line of spears and the fleet squad. The soldiers they’d passed was Third Splashtown, the unit he’d served in when he’d broken the guard at Pinch Hall. His unit. They’d lost so many people they’d almost been disbanded,