The Fifth Knight(80)
He gestured for her to run.
“I’ll count to three, Palmer.” Fitzurse’s voice, so clear in the open air.
She nodded, her heart torn. She slid across the roof to the side opposite the waiting knights, terrified the small snaps and rustles she made would be heard.
“One.”
The thatch moved beneath as Benedict tried to jump up. But there was no one to help him.
She got to the edge. The ground was double her height below. Rough rocks poked through the thin layer of grass. What if she landed wrong? Broke her leg? Fitzurse and his sword would be on her in a moment.
“Two.”
The thatch bounced again. She looked back. Benedict’s hands clawed for purchase at the opening, then fell back. Theodosia focused back on the ground. She had to do this. If she failed, his selfless bravery would’ve been in vain. She launched herself off. The ground came up to meet her. Sharp stone stung her outstretched hands, and fire shot up one knee. She scrambled to her feet and set off toward the fort at a run, a complaint from her knee with every stride.
An oath came from Benedict.
She glanced over her shoulder, and her heart leapt. Benedict had levered himself up through the roof, his chest and shoulders clear.
“Three!”
She slowed. He had to make it.
He was out. He threw himself across the roof and rolled off.
Le Bret’s roar of murderous intent echoed across the barren slopes as Benedict hit the ground.
The crash of the door was followed by another shout, this time of surprise.
Benedict rose and sprinted toward her.
Fitzurse appeared round the side of the shelter. “They’re here, le Bret!”
Theodosia turned and ran up the steep hillside, Benedict’s rapid steps behind her.
“Keep going.” He caught her up and grabbed her hand.
“We’re done for. We can’t outpace horses.”
He stumbled on a loose rock. “They won’t use them to chase us on this. Too risky.”
“You’re on a fool’s errand, Palmer!” said Fitzurse.
“Not as foolish as yours, Fitzurse.”
Tendrils of mist draped around the fort’s forbidding silhouette as they raced toward it. With fast, shallow breaths, they neared the top of the slope. Then the ground fell away beneath them in a great dry moat, three times the height of a man and twice as wide. The other side rose even higher.
Theodosia glanced behind her, Benedict too. Their pursuers closed the gap with every purposeful step.
“What do we do?” she said.
“We slide.” He yanked her down with him as she screamed, flat on her back. Wet with dew, the grassy sides were like oil. Bumped and jarred by stones, she landed, winded, at the bottom of the huge ditch.
Benedict splashed beside her into a slime-filled puddle. He got to his feet at once and pulled her with him in a swift movement. “We have to climb. Now.” He propelled her to the final slope.
Close up against it, she could see it rose to ten times Benedict’s height, topped off with the high stone wall.
“A section of the wall’s collapsed.” He pointed. “Make for that.” He bent to grab her around the hips and boosted her up to give her a start.
She grasped at the coarse long grass with both hands. It held her weight. Just. She reached for another one. It barely held.
Benedict was already past her. He climbed with swift movements, hand over hand, never letting the grass bear his weight for more than a second.
With gritted teeth, she tried to follow suit. But her arms wouldn’t do it. She pushed with both feet. Better. Another handful. And another.
“Hurry, Theodosia.”
She tipped her head back.
Benedict stood atop the fort’s wall, hands on both hips, breathing hard. The mist had closed in; he looked like he stood in a cloud.
A thump and splash sounded beneath her, then another.
Le Bret and Fitzurse had made it to the bottom of the ditch.
Dear God, she couldn’t fall now. She grabbed another slippery handful. Stronger-looking heather bloomed to her left. She took hold of the sharp little branches.
“Not that!”
Benedict’s cry came too late. The plant’s delicate roots lifted right into her hand.
She slipped with a scream and slid back down the slick moat side. Somehow she halted. She looked down past her skirt.
Le Bret was closest. He stretched to his fullest height to grab for her ankle.
“Use your sword, man.” Fitzurse.
A shadow flicked over her, and a grunt of pain came from le Bret. The rock that struck him dropped to the ground with a soggy thud into the wet ground.
Another rock flew past her head and clipped Fitzurse’s sword.
“Thank you, Palmer, it needs sharpening. It’s blunted from that Abbess. She was a tough old bird.”