Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or this world that they are in and I am making no money out of this. I just want to write a sequel to a really good book that I wish had one.

Chapter 13

Lavan wasn't entirely sure how long it had been. A few days? Weeks? But he had been working diligently. Heating up the chains and stretching the links. Every time Tyron entered he would stop the fire, containing the dragon. Tyron would just laugh and make comments on how the chains wouldn't melt.

The chains were almost to a length now where he could possibly grab a sword. That was if a guard came within two feet. He was surprised how much he had managed to stretch the chains

Somehow he had to get the guard to come close enough to do that but what, what would drive the guard to come close enough? What motivated pain? What did pain want? Or more precisely what did his pain and rage want when he had burned the Karsite army.

The epiphany came suddenly, so suddenly he felt like he'd been slapped in the face. He was an idiot.

Usually pain wanted others to feel as it did. And Lan had been playing right into its hands. If he could act cheerful and happy, it might enrage Tyron enough that he, or his guards to come close enough.

So with a plan fully formed in his mind he set to work in one final push to stretch the chains.

That day, with renewed energy at having an escape plan, Lavan managed to get an extra foot out of the chains. When he took a look at them, he realised that he had stretched them as much as he could probably stretch them.

The next day Tyron came in, obviously hoping to make Lan feel miserable again. But Lan was determined to be positively cheerful, even if he had to fake it.

So when Tyron stepped through the door, he put on the biggest grin he could muster. Tyron's guards weren't with him, that was a good sign that he was becoming lax and didn't believe Lan could escape.

Tyron was wearing a pair of turquoise trousers and a red tunic, a long broad sword hung at his side. The horrible colour clash mad him want to wince. Was it just him or did the real Tyron have a better fashion sense before he died? He blinked and looked again, the colour clash was awful, yes, but also some what funny. He stifled a laugh.

When Tyron saw his smile, his face turned an ugly shade of red that did not go with his tunic. "What are you smiling about Scrub!"

"Nothing" Lan replied trying not to laugh. "I just think that the real Tyron had a much better fashion sense, who puts red and that turquoise together".

Lavan laughed, hoping his humour would further enrage Tyron. His hopes were not in vain, as Tyron stepped forward and slapped him, a sneer on his face.

"Yes" Lan thought as he lunged forward, grabbing for Tyron's sword, he grabbed the hilt in his left hand as he threw his weight against Tyron's stomach.
Tyron stumbled back, winded and caught off guard. Lan quickly swing the stolen sword at the chains holding his right wrist. The chains shattered as if they had been made of glass. Tyron was recovering his wits, fast.

Quickly he switched hands and broke the chains on his other wrist, shattering them too. He rolled to the side as Tyron charged, trying to knock him flat, reflexes taking over, his muscles remembering the long hours he had spent at the salle with Weaponsmaster Odo, practicing these moves.

Tyron when flying, his momentum sending him right past Lan, crashing to the floor. Lan turned and ran like fury, he dropped and rolled in the doorway. The guards, who were not expecting this move, failed to grab him.

He finished his roll and kept on running, he took a quick look around spying a window to his right, which he glanced through as he ran past seeing a courtyard.

Spying the door to the courtyard through the window, he kept on running. "Idiots, keeping me so close to the exit".

When he approached the T junction he took a right. As he reached the door, he heard the sounds of armoured troops, coming in his direction.

He tried the handle, locked. He couldn't break it down in time. He would have to use his gift, something he was nervous about doing, as he didn't have Kalira to feed and restrict his power.

And to be honest he wasn't sure thathe had the energy. He had barely managed to restrict the space in which the fire would burn, letting loose the full force of his gift on the chains. Or had he? He had vaporised an entire army hadn't he?

Maybe in this coma, his gift was limited by his fear. "I might as well" Lavan closed his eyes, placed his hand on the door and concentrated. He heard a crrackling sound and, opened his eyes a few seconds later, pain lanced through his temple. He would have a serious case of gift overuse in a bit.

He found the door was gone, a pile of ashes on the floor where door had been. The stone frame was now blackened and cracking.

It looked like the frame wouldn't last to long, so he ran through. Right out into the open courtyard, the washed out sunlight shining on his face.

A few seconds later he turned at he sound of startled yells to see the frame collapse. Trapping the soldiers inside. He turned, and ran for the wall, already hearing the troops stationed outside coming to see what all the commotion was about. He just hoped he wouldn't be here when they arrived.

Spying a doghouse near the wall, he changed course, clambering up, he reached the top of the dog house. Taking a second to get his bearings, he leaped. Just catching the top of the wall. He scrambled up and over droppin to the ground on the other side.

Lying there, stunned he heard the guards come into the courtyard, swearing and cursing in Karsite.

After catching his breath, he got up. And ran into a nearby ally, he began taking turns, not caring where he ended up, just as long as it was away from them.

After what felt like candlemarks he finally stopped and looked around. He was in a square where what appeared to be a market was going on, the smells of the food were intoxicating, the sales calls of the stall keepers distracting, but he had to ignore them. It was hard, really hard, but he kept reminding himself that he had to wake up. Had to escape this coma.

He shifted his gaze casting it around until he caught a glimpse of the palace and collegia. He started toward it hoping that he might be able to find a way to the stables. He hoped he was right and that Kalira's bridle would release him from his coma.

As Lan neared the palace, legs aching, side's heaving, he found he was greeted by the palace walls, and judging by how far away the palace still was, and by its orientation. He guessed that he was at the edge of Companions Field.

After walking around for a half candelmark, the sun was starting to set when Lavan had found everything he was looking for. A couple of empty crates and a few large stones, which he moved over to the wall and started stacking. One atop the other… Then he added the stones.

If this was real, he would have already been arrested by the many guards that should have been posted at the wall. But, stepping on the last stone he just managed to grasp the top of the wall as his crates gave way and crashed to the floor.

Hauling himself up and over the battlements, he landed on the walkway with an exhausted grunt. Slowly, looking around, he got to his feet, there were no guards on the walls, and, in the dim light of the torches on the walls, he quickly found a set of stairs. Going down he noticed, again, the absence of the guards, there should be at least a few on the stairs.

When Lan reached the door at the bottom of the staircase, he tried the handle, and to his surprise it was unlocked. He opened the door and walked through, into Companions Field.

He turned around, hearing shouts, the Karsites had found him. He turned and ran. He ran and kept on running, eventually he stopped trying to catch his breath. After a few moments, he looked up and kept on running. Eventually he found himself stumbling through a grove.

He dimly recognised it as he ran through. It was the clearing where Rolan, the Kings Own's Companion, had offered him sanctuary should he ever need it.

It felt like lifetimes ago. As he left the grove, he heard the scream. It was a call for help. The mind voice seeming familiar. He looked up and saw Pol's face in the sky.

He was nearby, and he was calling for help. Lavan stopped and turned around. Rolan had promised he would be safe in the clearing, he hoped it would keep him safe from Tyron and his minions.

He turned around, returning to the clearing. He looked around, and, in the fading light, he saw something glittering on the ground. He bent down and picked it up. It was a companion hair bracelet, it looked to be one of the one his sister, Macy had made. Maybe this would get him out, even if it wasn't Kalira's bridle. He closed his eyes. Concentrating on his memories of Kalira and the Heralds.

Then with a sudden gut wrenching twist, he felt like he was falling.

Lavan jerked awake. He could tell awake by the, fact that the colours of the world weren't washed out. The sky was nice and blue, and the sun was warm overhead. It looked to be around mid afternoon. The trees were a rich green, birds were chirping. It looked to be mid spring.

He sat up for a second locating Pol, "where is he." There, there he was, Lan leapt off the stretcher, ignoring the startled old lady mounted atop a goat, running in Pol's direction hoping that he would get there in time. He could already feel himself slipping, his coma trying to drag him back in.

He was crashing through the underbrush when he heard a shout. He slowed down. Sensing the minds of Pol's attackers, he began to grow angry. Suddenly, he felt fear, fear that his gift would go off, running wild again, and killing everyone. And, just as quickly, shoved it away. He would have to use his gift.

He continued on trying to make as little noise as possible.

Finally, he reached what appeared to be a clearing, with something he recognised as a Heralds Waystation. The he saw Pol, Elenor and Ilea, standing before a group of brigands, with what looked to be cheap swords pointed at their throats. Satiran was rearing and prancing. One of the brigands was shouting at him.

Then he spotted the brigands horses, twenty three meters away. Further back into the forest, no doubt to keep them hidden from prying eyes, one still had a sword strapped to the saddle. Maybe he could get it.

Sneaking through the forest, Lan got a few scratches, from bushes with thorns and sharp twigs. It was harder than it looked, trying to move fast, whilst trying to stay quiet and unnoticed.

When he got within one meter he heard voices being raised, quickly he grabbed the sword, testing it's balance, then he turned towards the group of brigands, and, taking a deep breath and a quick glance around the camp, he stepped into the clearing, preparing to face the brigands.

A/N: This it the longest chapter I've written yet. Over 2,000 words (not counting the A/N), it took me two month to write it, I generally write a few chapters ahead as I am writing this, Brightly Rising has 9 chapters posted on . And I know you guys are leaving reviews, I am just having some difficulty finding them. I only just found the reviews section & finished writing this chapter today (31/10/19)

A/N: TMI Fairy thanks for the reviews I really appreciate them, I looked into the typos you mentioned and couldn't find them. I am Dyslexic, and I apologise for any that pop up.
As for Lavan not burning the thugs alive, well in Brightly Burning, Lan always had a problem burning people alive, and in the next chapter it will be explained in a bit more detail. (I hope I can explain it well enough)
Also sorry if anyone or out of character, I'm not good with people.