* * *
Ikebod leaned his head carefully out of the corner of the street, and looked up the street to his right. Once he was assured it was safe, he made a gesture behind him. Celia and two trusted guards from House Remis came to his side. The guards wore nondescript armor and clothing: plain, unadorned and utilitarian. Their faces wore stern expressions, exuding an air of determination and professionalism.
Celia looked wary but she felt confident of her guides. She thought Ikebod would even give his life to protect her, if it ever came to that. Something that was more than a mere thought with the City burning under siege. The smoke from the various small fires hung thick in the air, the light breeze blowing through the city of Pyr unable to clear the atmosphere. The rosy red of the coming dusk was mingled with the sooty gray of the smoke, turning the air into a dark crimson red, gloomy and menacing.
They hurried across the street where the shadows would offer them some degree of protection from ever searching eyes. Word around the kinsfolk was that the procrastinators had begun press-ganging people in the streets, eagerly searching for any poor soul that happened to wander. Houses were being invaded and the men forcibly taken away from their families. It seemed that it had all begun quite the other way around from what had been planned.
Instead of leading the revolution, Lord Ursempyre Remis had suddenly sided with the Patriarch. It was more than a bitter blow to the Kin. It was an unimaginable, completely unthinkable event, that nevertheless had come to pass just the night before. From what Celia could gather from the dealings of Ikebod with various people from the kinsfolk while they still remained at House Remis, they were not safe in the estate.
They had to flee, and disperse. The various cells, the people in the organization delegated with some degree of organizational responsibility would convene somewhere else, in one of the places prepared elsewhere according to a carefully laid out contingency plan. No one had thought though that Lord Remis would be absent, indeed turn traitor.
She had not known the man personally, but from the people around him, she could not understand such a thing. Amonas was one such man, and he could never turn traitor; his heart and mind was, she intimately knew, utterly devoted to their cause. He had dreamt of a better future, and he had shared that vision with her. They were planning to raise their child in a bright, hopeful tomorrow. What would become of that vision now that everything seemed to crumble like a wall of dried mud around her? She felt the child kick with vigor, blissfully unaware of what was transpiring in the world it would be born in soon.
They were walking briskly, anxiously throwing gazes all around them, wary of being seen. Ikebod was leading them through the streets instead of the underground passages because he was afraid they might have been compromised. If procrastinators were indeed running around the underground passages looking for kinsfolk, they would be caught like mice with nowhere to run. While running on the streets presented a more obvious danger, it also offered them more venues of escape. It was a gambit they hoped would not fail.
They could hear the distant cries of procrastinators and the thuds of impacts from the siege engines. The army was methodical in its approach, wearing down the defenders of the city, forcing them to occupy themselves with the spreading fires that threatened to engulf them in a firestorm that would burn the city of Pyr to the ground, along with most of its populace.
When the opportune time arrived, they would then probably try to breach the walls in their weakest point, or storm them en masse, whichever would seem to offer the best chances of entering the city. As things stood, it was a matter of time. The most pressing issue though was what the kinsfolk would do in this mayhem. Would they try and rescue the city and its people from certain destruction? Or should they try and flee? Ikebod had seemed reticent to disclose any more of his thoughts on the matter, but he seemed to have his mind occupied with many other unvoiced concerns. Celia hoped he could also propose some solution, some idea that would bring hope instead of the gloomy despair and doubt that seemed to hang in the air.
They had reached another crossroads now and they were about to emerge in a brightly lit wide road. They were hiding in a dark alleyway, the light from the street casting flickering shadows on the walls around them. Ikebod and one of the guards peered over the street. Ikebod motioned the guard to hide again. He seemed agitated when he said:
“Procrastinators. Two, maybe three squads. They are herding a throng of people. It seems they’re going to pass this way soon. Probably headed to a fire. I can see them holding buckets, and jogging briskly. We have to double back.”
The guards nodded in acknowledgement and turned around to go back the way they came. Ikebod gently pushed Celia to follow them with him right behind her. Suddenly, the guards in front of them froze, and drew their swords. A patrol of procrastinators had seen them, and they yelled:
“In the name of the Patriarch, halt! Show yourselves!”
They had drawn their swords and were rushing to meet them. The guards drew their sword and stood their ground, ready for the procrastinators to come to them. One of the guards turned around to Celia and Ikebod and told them in a quiet, determined way:
“The way is blocked. We’ll handle them. Go now, run. We’ll make it on our own, fate willing.”
Ikebod nodded crisply and took Celia by the arm. She turned around and opened her mouth to protest, but soon her feet were galloping in the pace Ikebod set. His pull became stronger as she seemed to hesitate but she yielded, her instincts driving her body rather than her mind.
They crossed the wide street without caring whether they or not they would be seen. It no longer mattered. They would now have to make haste, they had been seen. As they ran down the streets of Pyr passing through small alleys and brightly lit roads, they realized night had come and the buildings and houses around them were lit by firelight. Pyr was burning. Celia felt a sudden pang of fear grip her heart and instinctively tightened her grasp on Ikebod’s arm. The wizened, trusted servant of House Remis told her soothingly as they ran together:
“Fear not, lady Celia. I keep my promises.”
Her feet felt somehow lighter and despite her carrying, she made good speed and did not slow them down much. Ikebod was also straining himself, though she believed he was leading them with a fast pace, especially for a man his age.
They heard confounded voices shouting directions. Other procrastinators must have been alarmed of their presence. They could hear the galloping of horses on the cobbled streets around them. It felt like an invisible noose was tightening around them and was about to close tight too soon for comfort.
Ikebod urged her to hurry and spoke to her while out of breath:
“They’ll be upon us, soon.. On the next turn.. Take a left, then right.. on the second street, there’s an abandoned.. Blacksmith’s shop in a dark alley.. Knock thrice, and then once more for two knocks.. And twice for one knock.. Thrice, then once for two, twice for one.. Understand, my lady?”
She answered with her brow furrowed from a twitching fear:
“I understand, but why are you telling me this?”
Ikebod was gasping for breath while his pace seemed to slow down, his feet finally starting to fail him.
“I can’t go on for much longer.. I’ll give them someone to catch.. Please, lady. Do not think about it.. Don’t argue, there’s no time.. I’ll manage, somehow..”
Celia’s grimaced with horror at the prospect, and protested:
“Sir Wirf! It’s unfair! I cannot take such responsibility, not for your life!”
“Not your’s to begin with.. Now, go! Think of your child!”
He freed himself from her grip and started heading the way they came. She stood there transfixed for a moment, and then thought of her child indeed. She believed she would feel torn inside, but the decision came instinctively. She ran with all the alacrity she could muster, holding her abdomen with care while she tried to follow Ikebod’s directions to the letter.
She felt like crying, but the
tension prevented her from doing so. She really hoped Ikebod would somehow make it alive out of this ordeal, but she did not really expect him to do so. She wasn’t even sure about herself and her child.
She turned to the street Ikebod had told her and saw the blacksmith’s shop, derelict and shabby from the outside. Wooden planks barely concealed its broken windows and a shrank, worn-out wooden door that seemed only half-closed. A rusty chain and a lock that seemed to be purely decorative in its purpose held the door from falling down.
She thought she heard then the pained cry of Ikebod from afar, echoing over the stones of the streets. She did not stop or look behind, she knew there was no point. She was in the dark alley looking at a rather sturdy-looking door. She knocked thrice and after a brief pause of silence, a reply sounded in the form of two knocks. She hesitated for a second and then knocked only once. Another small silence followed and the door opened, barely a fist wide.
Starlight shone upon the grimy, ugly face of a man, who asked her sharply without even bothering to look at her for a moment:
“Password?”
Celia was surprised and instinctively took a step back. She searched her mind for a moment, and could not recall Ikebod telling her about any password. She was worried she might have misheard or in the panic of the moment forgotten about it. Without anything else to reply, she simply told the man what she could:
“I wasn’t told there was a password.”
The man opened the door widely and ushered her in with fast motions. As he led her through the darkness of the shop, he asked her:
“Who was with you, lady?”
She replied without hesitation, a hint of grief was in her voice though:
“Sir Ikebod Wirf. He.. stayed behind.”
The man was taciturn in his reply:
“I see. Come.”
He reached for the floor then and pulled a hatch, then lowered a small ladder from somewhere nearby. Dim light filled the place. He motioned her inside with a wave of his hand. She hesitated and asked him:
“Sir Ikebod said the passages might be compromised, fraught with procrastinators.”
“This one’s not connected. In you go, lady.”
“Where do I go from here?”
“It’s a straight line. No doors or anything. You’ll see.”
She nodded and went down the small flight of steps hearing the hatch close behind her. She was standing in a corridor carved in rock, with lit torches affording the place barely enough light for someone to walk without running onto a wall. In the distance she could only see darkness, but she thought she could hear a din of sorts like men talking, some of the voices louder than the others.
She walked with an almost wary pace, not knowing where the corridor led. She felt unsure now, vulnerable. She thought of Ikebod and renewed her trust in him and his words. She should be safe here.
As she walked towards the dark end of the corridor, she could see light pouring in from one side. The din grew louder, and the sound of quarreling voices became evident. She felt pain in her lower abdomen, and flinched. With every step she took, the voices grew clearer. She could now hear men having a very loud argument, many people trying to speak all at once.
She reached the end of the corridor and stepped through a narrow opening into a wide, much more brightly lit cave that seemed large enough for hundreds of people. Large stalactites hung from the ceiling, mirrored in some places by their corresponding stalagmites. Some stalagmites seemed cut by man and others had joined with the stalactites forming columns; some were thin and others thick as pillars. The bright light was coming from numerous torches and braziers, casting enormous shadows on the walls of the cave.
She could see more than a hundred men standing with maybe a dozen of them to a separate side from the others, forming somewhat of a circle around a brazier that seemed to stand squarely in the middle of the cave. They were shouting at each other and she could not make out a single phrase. It was as if the market of Pyr had secretly gathered in here, each man trying to sell his wares to no avail.
She took a few more steps closer and she felt pain in her lower abdomen again, this time more acute. She let out a single cry as the pain came to her with a stabbing sensation and made her gasp. A couple of men that were standing closer to her almost isolated from the throng of people, must have heard her and turned to look. They were surprised and quickly strode to her side.
They seemed wary, even suspicious of her. As she stood there with an expression of pain still written on her features, one of the men grabbed her gently by the arm, noticing she was carrying. She asked her then while the other man was overlooking and the cacophony behind them continued unabated:
“Who are you, lady? Who sent you here?”
“Sir Ikebod.. Sir Ikebod Wirf!”
The pain welling up from inside her numbed her senses; she gasped and struggled to stand on her feet clutching the other arm of the man for support. At the mention of Ikebod’s name they seemed to relax somewhat, but scowls appeared on their faces. The man who hadn’t yet spoken asked her:
“Where is Ikebod, lady? Why isn’t he here with you?”
She breathed heavily as if it would keep the pain at bay, but that did not hold any truth. Another pang of pain came and she gasped without crying this time. She managed to answer:
“We were seen. We ran and he stayed behind.”
The man to whom she clung asked her then with worry in his voice:
“Lady, you seem to be in pain. Are you hurt?”
She shook her head without uttering a word. The other man spoke again:
“What is your name?”
“Celia Ptolemy.”
The two men looked at each other with understanding. One of them said:
“Amonas’ wife.”
And then the other pointed to the ground at her feet and said in disbelief:
“Lady Celia, you are bleeding.”
Another sudden wave of pain washed over her, the unwanted sensation lingering with damnable intensity. She looked down at her feet and she could see droplets of blood running down her feet, starting to form a small layer. Under the cacophony of the crowd in front of her, she whispered with anxiety to herself:
“The child is coming.”
Forge of Stones Page 34