Saint: Prison Breaker Book 3, page 1
Saint
Prison Breaker
Book 3
Georgia Wagner
Text Copyright © 2024 Georgia Wagner
Publisher: Greenfield Press Ltd
The rights of Georgia Wagner to be identified as author of the Work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved.
The book is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
‘Saint’ is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, and events or locations is entirely coincidental.
To Jeremy Wagner,
One of the most saintly guys I know.
The chicken-feta ravioli sounds heavenly.
Table of Contents:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
What's next for the Prison Breaker?
Chapter 1
One hand extended towards me across the cracked flagstones before Ares' throne of bloody flesh and iron. A soft smile turned Augie's lips, his fire-red hair motionless in the eerily still air.
“Well, brother?” he murmured, his light, Swedish accent a gift from Bleach Viddagost, his childhood bodyguard. His manners and regal posture came from the palace we'd grown up in. “Do you have anything to say?”
I was still breathing in ragged puffs, limping forward, my mind mid-capitulation. Compared to Augustus, in his marvelous, silky blue armor, I looked little more than a wandering wretch. Covered in blood, mud and filth, I was still missing my left boot. Oh, how I missed soap. My muddy sock left a footprint on the flagstone beneath me.
The god of war scrutinized us Rex brothers, his marble features rigid. Ares resembled a Greek statue, currently only fifteen feet tall, reclining in his throne, a gilded goblet in one hand, red liquid spilling past his stony lips and dripping down his chin and carved chest.
Through the garden paths, amidst statuary and fountains, the other guests watched. The vermen steward was there, his amputated parts replaced by jeweled appendages, like his bulging, pearl eyes. He'd hidden behind an overturned table with his kin. The dryad queen in her poison green dress reclined in the boughs of a marvelous oak centering the garden beneath flitting pixie lights. Nearby trees sprouted rapidly from the dirt, green buds turning to saplings in a span of seconds. While some trees grew, others wilted about her in an untamed tapestry. Warchief Magrub, of the satyrs, also watched with an indeterminable look in his rust-ringed eyes, surrounded by his herdsmen. Thick, scab-textured ropes of leathery skin crisscrossed between patches of jutting, gray fur that—even from here—exuded a nose-twitching odor. Lancelot, the Knight Commander of the Round Table, also wore form-fitting, light blue armor provided by my brother. A weapons deal, by the sound of it. King Arthur and his brood had their own troubles with the Endeavor.
Beyond these notable few, many other sets of eyes, from giants to dominions and their ilk, watched from the gardens, gazes fixated on my brother and occasionally flitting towards me.
This was my fault, after all, wasn't it?
I'd claimed the throne.
In order to survive Ares' birthday tournament, to save my own skin, I'd declared as my father's heir.
The missing generals of the once Grandest Imperium would gather to the lost heir. I was a rallying call, and I'd witlessly wandered into my brother's designs.
He had everything he needed to make war.
Everything except the oaths of the gathered guests. But this wasn't far off, either.
Bleach Viddagost raised a hand suddenly, missing three of its knuckles, and gave a sharp whistle as if calling a hound to heel.
My gaze swept over the shrub where Baron O'Shea's corpse lay. Mr. Meadowfax, his bodyguard, still stooped over his master's form, his shoulders shaking in grief, his head bowed.
I felt a twinge of pity for Meadowfax. O'Shea had wanted to kill me, and so my brother—ever protective—had retired him first.
Another body on my encumbered conscience.
The sound of marching feet redirected my attention.
“Ah, yes,” Augustus called out. “Right on time, Admiral.” He nodded in gratitude towards a blunt-faced man leading a row of soldiers.
My stomach imitated a yo-yo as I beheld the newly arriving regiment of Gentle Hand. Nearly twenty of them, all told. Six alone had once brought low a drakin bank, outnumbered ten to one. Not just human soldiers, though—I also spotted a gray-skinned, stony-faced troll, marching head and shoulders above the others, also wearing a black uniform with blue trim and a golden numeral on his lapel.
Among the soldiers, I eyed a goblin's hunched form. The mine-dwelling creature had jutting ears attuned to picking up tremors in the earth, fingers calloused from work, and hunched arms—oversized along the forearms but thin near the shoulder. The goblin's rose-colored eyes fixed ahead. The eyes of the human soldiers in the regiment, though, were all—to a person—tinged with indigo. Every one of them an eternal talent. Ebony skeletons with etchings and swirling patterns in their spindly bones marched alongside the new arrivals, hands outstretched, touching the exposed skin of the soldiers to allow them passage through Ares' realm.
The twenty Gentle Hand hefted their burdens: thick, locked chests in hand, satchels over shoulders, and a stretcher laden with metal lockboxes. Each soldier flaunted the form-fitting silk blue armor, along with other odd gadgets in belts or visible on wrists or around their necks.
As they neared, Augustus wore an inscrutable expression, part vainglorious, but also... worried?
“At your orders, Captain,” Admiral Manthe, the Blessed, said in his usual lazy drawl as he halted in front of his leader. Something about Manthe's stooped posture suggested a haughty ease.
“Fareye,” said Augustus with a nod. I remembered my brother's fondness for ascribing nicknames to his beloved subordinates. “Is this everything? Place it here, please.”
Admiral grunted in response. His nose ring shifted, muscles strained beneath his black uniform as he marched towards Ares' throne, came to the indicated flagstone and dropped his wooden chest with a thump.
A puff of dust scattered, and Admiral sneezed.
Silence hung over the gardens.
Then, Augustus raised his voice, momentarily forgetting me. “As a show of our intentions, we've come with gifts,” he called. “We all know,” he continued, his voice projecting as he fondly patted his troll soldier's shoulder, “how wars are fought. Not just with courage, but also with coin!”
At this, he kicked out.
His foot struck the lockbox lid, snapping it open.
At the same time, the other soldiers in the regiment dumped satchels on the ground or opened chests. The troll, carrying the largest lockbox, barely made a sound as he dropped his cargo.
A bold, yellow glister of gold illuminated the flagstones. Rubies, gemstones of unfamiliar variety, jewelry with diamonds and blocks of silver and precious metals rested in the containers. The gems all pulsed... in an odd way, as if light were emanating from within.
“Funds,” called Augustus, smiling. “For our little venture. The Endeavor, as we all know, are bleeding resources. Their little coup is running on empty coffers. They employ strategies to accrue wealth which they lambasted under my father's regime. Proving,” he said, his voice stern, a finger jutting skyward, “once again, this was never about idealism, but rather about power.” He gestured towards the pile of treasure. “We found the old ship, Wakemaw's Lee! Some of the mysteries, the more precious cargo, are still to be unearthed as my Gentle Hand searches the ruins. This is but a taste of what we've discovered!”
Augustus stood proud as he declared this, but my little brother always did have a tell. His fingers were now absentmindedly tapping at
The others gathered around us didn't seem to notice. Why would they?
But with my recognition came realization.
Standing surrounded by old gods and new, the second son from the house of Rex was nervous.
The arrival of the load of treasure heralded something... But what?
A low whisper broke among the spectators—the vermen crowding near their steward muttered and squeaked, the satyrs stepped off amidst the trees to whisper to Warchief Magrub, the dryad queen leaned quizzically in the low boughs of the trees as small squirrels nipped fondly at her fingertips and scampered towards the top of her sheer blouse.
In that moment, caused by the sudden buzz, I felt a flicker of... hope. Now, things were beginning to make sense. Augustus was here on a recruitment mission. He hoped to forge alliances, using the promise of treasure and riches as enticement.
But that meant one thing—well, perhaps many things, but one stood out to me.
If he was offering treasure, it meant the alliances weren't set in stone.
Not yet.
My fingers prickled where I pressed my hands against my thighs, as if braced. What could I do about it? How could I interrupt negotiations?
Even as I considered this, my gaze flicked to Ares, and I realized my premonitions were correct.
The god of war stared at the pile of treasure. But instead of the same dark contentment he'd carried earlier, now Ares' immovable features had split into a frown.
Augustus' fingers continued to tap nervously. The many private conferences, whispers rising like crackling fire, didn't seem to please him.
My brother brushed a single strand of loose, ruby-red hair from his eyes. He glanced back to me and shrugged, coughing delicately. “Perhaps if they heard from you,” he murmured. He made a shooing gesture forward, towards Ares' throne and the gathered guests. I froze stiff. “Nothing?” Augustus said, wincing. “Brother, please—Leon, come. Don't you have anything to say?”
This only further confirmed it. The price was offered, the deal presented... but nothing was agreed on.
Not yet.
My eyes darted towards a sudden movement past Augie's shoulder. I stammered once, feeling my stomach turn from anxiety. As my gaze settled on the motion, though, my eyes suddenly widened.
“Ah, so you do have something, perfect,” Augustus said, nodding with a pleased look. “Make sure to project, Leon. I know it's been a while since you've addressed—”
“Watch out!” I shouted, surging forward on instinct alone and shoving my brother out of harm's way.
He hit the flagstones with a clatter. The whispering suddenly ceased like a doused fire. For a moment, the only sound came from Mr. Meadowfax's spluttering form.
He was no longer crouched over Baron's body. Now, eyes blazing, teeth set, the once-bodyguard growled like a wounded creature. His eyeglasses had been removed, and I could see where they poked from his breast pocket.
“You killed him!” Meadowfax screamed, spittle flying towards where I'd knocked my brother.
As Augustus arose to meet this new threat, Bleach Viddagost surged past me to lunge at Meadowfax.
But the Hilbilly Godfather's bodyguard only looked mild-mannered, with an average stature, average features, and average appearance.
What he was, though, more than anything, was quick.
Augustus had been taken by surprise. He raised a hand, flicking it lazily towards Meadowfax's reddened face, but before he motioned completely, I screamed, “Don't hurt him!”
I don't know why I chimed in. It wasn't like Meadowfax or I were particularly fond of each other. I didn't disdain the man—he seemed dutiful and honorable in his own way.
Perhaps I was simply sick of killing in general.
At my shout, though, my younger brother hesitated. He half glanced towards me, his hand going still. Instead of attacking, he raised a forearm to defend himself.
I felt a flicker of relief. If my brother had wanted, he could've killed Meadowfax where he stood.
Now, though, in that brief hesitation, responding to my shout, Augustus wasn't prepared for Meadowfax's onslaught of fury and blows.
The howling bodyguard slipped Bleach again. Her fingers were turning to metal, a white-silver substance spreading over—or perhaps replacing—her skin. But he didn't care. His eyes were only on Augustus, the man who'd killed his boss.
“You want a piece of the skinting champ!” Meadowfax howled, his voice ringing with a bravado that hadn't been there only ten seconds before. Gone were his tears, gone was his grief. Now, all that remained was rage.
And the bodyguard was coming straight at Augustus, fists raised to strike.
Chapter 2
The gods and kings and chiefs around us just watched. Nary a soul twitched to intervene, as if the spectacle were a continuation of the day's amusements. Bleach surged for Meadowfax a second time, her metallic fingers swiping, but again, Baron's bodyguard was too quick, darting out of the way.
Before I could shout, Meadowfax kicked my fallen brother in the gut, but the blow tinged off the blue armor.
“Leonidas,” Augustus said, completely ignoring his assaulter to look at me now. He sat propped on the flagstones with an elbow. “Be reasonable. Look at him.” He gestured towards Meadowfax, which only sent the bodyguard into a rage. Baron's bodyguard lashed out again, kicking my brother's wrist.
But Augustus avoided this blow as well, knocking the foot away with a lazy slap.
“Get away from him!” I yelled more for Meadowfax's sake than Augie's. I lurched to grab the bodyguard, but the enraged man ducked and shoved me.
I hit the flagstones, pain lancing up my tailbone.
“You did this!” Meadowfax screamed, his finger jamming towards my head. “You did it!” The bodyguard took a step towards me, his hand forming a fist. I realized now he brandished the ornate, pale walking cane Baron had often carried. Thin twine curled up the cane—the wood itself naked and stripped of bark. He hefted the fine thing like a cudgel, pointing it at my head, teeth set, spittle flying.
I began to reach out with my thoughts—exhausted as I still was—nausea twisting my gut.
“Bleach!” Augustus yelled, alarmed for the first time, “My brother!”
I glimpsed the small, white-haired Sergeant shoot a pained look towards where Augie massaged his wrist, then another look towards where I'd been sent sprawling. The rest of the garden's occupants all watched, expressions ranging from stunned to predatory. The Gentle Hand was moving to intervene, but at a narrowed eyed look, then nod from Ares, they were impeded by the ebony skeletons escorting them. The skeletons lifted their spindly fingers from the elbows and arms of the black-clad soldiers.
They all instantly froze.
The troll was mid-step, mouth open in a snarl, small nubs of tusks jutting from his lips, spittle flecking the air—suspended like frost. Admiral Manthe was in the middle of trying to grab the nearest skeleton's neck, having sensed Ares' intention. But even he was frozen now, both hands spread like claws. All twenty of the soldiers were motionless.
They were in Ares' pocket realm, after all. The guests, the rest of us, were still sustained by the will of the lord of war, but Augie's soldiers were no longer so fortunate. They'd only just arrived and had yet to acclimate to this new flow of time.
“Be still,” Ares growled. “Let us watch and see.”
Bleach didn't seem to notice any of this. She was clearly torn between her affection and loyalty for Augustus and a direct command to protect me. Her fingers with the missing knuckles twitched, but then she growled and hotfooted towards me as Meadowfax brought his walking stick swishing at my skull.
At the same time, I rolled swiftly to the side but was caught by shadows. A blanket of black and darkness swaddled and pulled me away from Meadowfax. I felt a cool hand on my cheek, and another gripping my shoulder. A gentle voice whispered in my ear. “Are you okay, Leon? Please say you're okay.”
Disoriented, confused, it took me a second to focus, my eyes blinking wildly.
Bleach had jumped to protect where I'd been sitting moments before. Meadowfax's walking stick struck her extended metal arm. I, on the other hand, had been grabbed by the shadows and carried nearly twenty-feet away.
