Diago banged on the door and shouted.

  “hey, lousy! Did your mother teach you to ride? I could beat you holding on with my pinky!”

  Diago was in the hall of the racer’s quarters. Favorites and those who have sponsors with deep pockets have rooms set aside for their prized money-makers. These rooms, like the stables were carved into the side of the canyon. The more luxurious rooms, like the one Diago was currently in front of, were directly on the side of the canyon and had windows facing the canyon proper. Diago’s room, at the end of the hall, was not like that. It was one of the unhappy rooms left to mere candlelight. Which was better fitting, because, to Diago, it was more a prison than a living space.

  He had a rough night… he was tired. The events from the day before left him spent. Also, not being able to get a good long sleep after that was rough. He knew it was important, but that didn’t change the state it left him in. After the planning had stopped, Diago couldn’t sleep anymore, even though there was a little time left to do so. Without warning, thoughts of Suilien were brought forward in his mind.

  They didn’t make it to dinner.

  “He must be worried,” Diago thought to himself.

  A reality that couldn’t be helped, but still left Diago frustrated. What made matters worse was the inevitable reaction of his thoughts to move from Sulien to his family. He really did love Sulien and his “siblings”, but deep down, Diago always hoped that he’d one day be able to meet his real parents. He hoped that they would take him in, and…it didn’t matter. They were gone. End of story.

  Diago didn’t like showing emotion, they were too complicated and, for him, usually painful. He preferred to goof off. It was easier. But there, in his room alone with no one to watch or hear him, he cried.

  He couldn’t help it. It was too much to bear. Every emotion was taking its turn in inflicting damage inside him and he ached. It wasn’t just the emotional part of it, it was the mental part also. HE was the rightful prince of Eldaren, with a claim to its throne?! How was he supposed to deal with that? He’d always hated Eldaren and he hadn’t quite given that hatred up. If he was honest, right now, he was tempted to hate it even more.

  His tears subsided again to his ever-present frustration. Deciding, it was time to release said frustrations and do something productive with them, he had moved from his bed to the hall and was now outside the door of a fellow rider.

  “Bet you couldn’t beat me if I gave you a half league head start! After all, I am the Shadow of Tunaan.”

  “SHUT UP!”

  The door swung open so hard that part of the hinges broke. For a guy of such short stature, he sure packed a lot of angst. Wrayden stood there, only a little taller than Diago, the early morning sun illuminating his furrowed brow and his heavy breath. His eyes glared at the object of his firey hatred, but also darted to the two guards accompanying him. Now, they were there because Diago was basically a prisoner, but to Wrayden, who didn’t know that, it just looked like Diago was getting special treatment and that he was being passed over for a whelp. He continued his scowl as he said,

  “We’ll see whose talk is bigger after the race tomorrow.”

  Diago cocked his eyebrow, “I didn’t think ‘bigger’ was a concept you’d be able to grasp. You know, considering…” he gestured toward Wrayden.

  That firey glare blazed even hotter. Wrayden yanked at Diago’s collar and pulled him up close while cocking his fist back for a blow.

  “YOU LITTLE-”

  The guards rushed in and detached Diago from Wrayden’s grasp, pushing him back. Diago smirked again,

  “Little. That’s one I figured you knew.”

  Wrayden yelled out and tried to break free of the guard holding him back, but it was no use. With a final shove from the guard, Wrayden backed off and turned around, breathing heavy. He looked back over his shoulder,

  “These guards can’t protect you in the race.”

  He then turned and faced Diago full on. The look in his eye was now crazed. He grabbed at the door, before saying,

  “I’ll make sure this one is your last”

  He slammed the door shut.

  Diago sighed with satisfaction and smiled, “ahh one arrow, two kills. Feels good… productive. You can take me back now Reggy”

  The guard behind him sighed in exasperation, “I told you, it’s Regnin”

  “Whatever” Diago shrugged and walked back toward his room.

  Aylah’s task was relatively simple. It just needed to be timed right.

  The day had progressed with a calm while she rehearsed the details of the plan with herself ad nauseum. Though for her, that was the norm. Thatch had told her where to go and when to be there, but getting there would be up to her.

  It was hard to tell time in her windowless room, but she assumed that the races were eminently approaching, based on the bustle that was heard outside her door. There was a single window of time she was waiting on, before she would be brought to Saarsken and after the race had started its final preparations. That was when she would be able to execute her part of the plan. She waited until the clamor outside died down a little, assuming that this meant people were settling themselves and their respective tasks before the race started. It was go time.

  “Guards, I don’t feel good. I need some fresh air.”

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  There was a loud rap on the door, “you’ll get it when Saarsken calls for you.”

  Aylah scowled, but spoke with a weak voice, “please, I’m afraid I will cause quite a mess. You wouldn’t want to clean up bile, believe me.”

  There was silence. Then she could hear the guards muttering to each other,

  “Saarsken said bring her to him before the race, if we take our time it won’t make a difference.”

  One guard scoffed, “I knew you’d say that. You always-”

  “I will not be on clean up duty again!” Said one guard with force, “you know how I get with-…with-” the guard made a gagging sound

  “I know, I know.” There was the sound of a hand patting a back, “its quite the awful loop you find yourself in with clean up…Alright, fine.”

  Aylah smiled, but changed her expression as the door swung open to one quite sickly. They motioned for her to walk forward, an invitation she took readily. Maybe too readily, one of the guards began eying her with suspicion. This was expected, after all, she looked to be in perfect health. However, If the plan went right, what doubts they had would be dispelled.

  Putting on her best guise of someone rushing for air she took a brisk pace toward a hall with lots of windows, all barred with steel caging. She passed three of them until she found the one she was looking for. Masking her movements in the guise of sickness she stumbled over toward the window with a loose stone on its edge. She leaned against the bars, trying to hide her hands as she tilted the rock and groped for what she needed. Her hands made contact with a little leather flask.

  Thatch had pulled through. Now it was her turn. While leaning over she took a second to steel herself and gulped down the contents of the flask before dropping it into the canyon below. She felt the effects building straight away.

  She turned to her guards, looking as ill as she could fake it, “Please, where is the nearest restroom? I- I-” Aylah genuinely gagged.

  One guard smirked in disbelief, “I don’t think so, you-”

  “OH NO YOU DON’T! Waarin! We have to-”

  “Calm down Brant! She’s faking it. Aren’t you?” The guard leaned in, in a confident

  “gotcha” kind of way…big mistake.

  The drought did its work and the contents of Aylah’s stomach were emptied on the guard in front of her. What made matters worse was that some got on the guard behind. He immediately gagged.

  “R- r- restroom-” he steadied himself, “this way!” He rushed forward, not waiting for a reply of any kind. Aylah followed close behind.

  The other guard was too shocked to move for a solid ten seconds. Aylah glanced behind to see him begin to clean himself off while also brimming with rage. The guard leading the way shot for a pair of doors at the other end off the hall and rushed into the nearest one. Aylah followed suit with the next door over and latched it shut.

  So far so good. The guise of sickness should buy her plenty of time to-

  Her thoughts were cut off when she turned inward toward the restroom. It was exactly how Thatch described them. A small ten by ten foot unadorned, carved, stone room with a lone hole on the farthest end for doing business with nature. The only other feature was a window carved high on the wall, facing the fresh canyon air, for ventilation. Only there was a problem… the window. Where the window ought to have been there was drawn rectangle and chisel markings that looked to be only half of the way through to the canyon outside.

  “You have got to be kidding me”

  This window was incomplete.

  “Not good” Aylah said to herself while, she weighed her options. She even considered trying to break through the unfinished window, in the hopes that maybe it was thin enough. She decided that she couldn’t risk being wrong about that. She thought about just making a break for it, but that would ruin the plan entirely. Besides, when she glanced at the door there was now the shadow of a guard standing post in front of it. Apparently, one of them had recovered.

  She was trapped.

  Or rather, she would have been, if she wasn’t the kind of person that was willing to do whatever it took to complete a task, especially when people are counting on her.

  Still…this was going to be one heck of a test of will.

  She untied a leather strip from her wrist and wrapped it around her hair, tying it into a ponytail. She took a deep breath and steeled herself while she walked toward the hole in the back of the room that lead to the canyon outside.

  Thatch closed the door to the stable as he left it. He was messy with straw clinging to various areas of his clothing. He brushed it off with a satisfied grin. So long as Diago did his part, he didn’t think anybody would able to know what they were up to. Or if they did, it would be too late.

  Finishing up here and getting the drought to Aylah were simple tasks. The difficult one for him was going to be getting out from Saarsken’s nose without arousing suspicion. He was debating how he was going to attempt that one. He figured his best option would be to attempt something he had never accomplished before.

  He was going to try to weave a thought into the mind of a guard. He was going to try and manipulate the mind…an incredibly difficult skill. The end goal would be to have a guard say that Thatch was needed for a mind reading or something.

  This was more than risky. If he failed, there was little hope that he would be able to make it out of here. If Saarsken found out he’d- no, there was no space to be thinking like that. This would work…it has too. For Rayna. Besides, the fades were with them. It would work.

  He was on his way to the deck where Saarsken normally perches to watch the race, but a guard interrupted his stride.

  “Thatch!”

  Thatch turned around to see a guard walking up to him. Thankfully, the guard didn’t seem to notice the last bits of straw on Thatch, or care that he was near the stables.

  “Saarsken will have you meet him at the look out in the bottle neck.”

  The guard did not wait for a reply. He turned and left. His message delivered and mission complete. Thatch shrugged and changed his direction, but something about it bugged him. Why? Saarsken always watched the latter portion of the race. The winner determined his winnings, which was always more important. The decision to watch the beginning instead was abnormal and it confused the weaver. The sound of the first horn blew, which interrupted his thinking. Diago should be ready about now. Thatch picked up his pace. He couldn’t spare to fall behind.

  He walked up the incline until he reached a room that had been carved into the canyon wall above the bottle neck. The room was narrow and had a window on each side. One facing the kill zone, the other facing the long straight. This was a place for people who were less wealthy to come and watch the race. Another reason why the choice to be here bothered Thatch.

  When he entered the room, it was devoid of people. Inside were only Saarsken and two guards. The air was thick with tension. Thatch was uneasy, but he pressed onward, assuming it had to do with Saarsken’s desire to turn Diago into a legend. Which would only be accomplished if he won a second time. If Diago lost, that would bode ill.

  “Closer please”

  Thatch tensed at the voice of his master. It was not normal. It seemed strained. He obeyed.

  “Watch with me”

  Thatch kept his emotionless face steady, but this whole situation was wrong. The location. The lack of people. The voice…

  The sound of the final race horn brought Thatch back to himself. He watched as racers began pouring out of tunnel after tunnel. They were some distance away, which worked in his favor. It was almost impossible to make out distinct features of racers.

  One racer lagged behind the rest, staying near the tunnels. The racer waited. Then from Diago’s tunnel came what looked to be Diago and his jynx. The rider in waiting yelled a battle cry. It was Wrayden for sure. Before Diago and the jynx had made it a foot past their tunnel, Wrayden threw a spear.

  It struck Diago in the chest and knocked him clean off the jynx and into the canyon below.

  Distant groans could be heard from various spectators in other parts of the canyon. The two guards shook their heads reproachfully at the sight. Saarsken was calm. Far too calm. Something was very wrong with him…with this whole situation. However, Thatch had no time to spend on what happened. He threw all thoughts aside so he could focus on attempting to weave a thought into one of the two guard’s minds. It took a moment to focus, but he could clearly see the four minds around him and-

  …wait-