by Tam Chronin
Refugees
Krecek awoke to a living nightmare.
Before the explosion, he'd placed himself and Keevan in a protective bubble. They'd been thrown a great distance by the blast, and he vaguely remembered being tossed around inside the bubble. Then they'd hit something. Crashed through it, perhaps. Krecek couldn't remember beyond the point of impact.
He hadn't bothered with a powerful, more permanent spell. Hadn't thought they'd need it. The spell ended the moment Krecek wasn't pouring power into it. In this case, when his head crashed into his own barrier on impact with a wall.
There were screams.
There was white-hot pain.
Everything was burning around them.
Everything was confusion and madness.
Krecek knew his arm was broken. It certainly felt broken, useless. What could he do about it? He made a sling for himself with a handkerchief from his pack, tightening the knot with his teeth. Slipped it over his head, lifted his broken arm into it, and cursed from the pain the entire time. Not much good, but it would keep him from trying to use it.
The damn thing was uncomfortable as hell.
His arm wasn't just broken, it was burned. The fabric holding his arm in place was excruciating.
Not that complaining about it would help.
Worse, so much worse, was Keevan.
He'd torn out a chunk of flesh from his back, and what wasn't burned seemed to be bruised.
"You look like shit," Keevan said, coughing weakly.
"And you look ready to take on the world." Krecek had meant to be sarcastic, but he couldn't put that sort of an edge to his voice.
"Feel like it, too," was all Keevan said.
They both gritted their teeth, knowing that to stay in the city was to invite doom.
People were already looting whatever could be salvaged while they were hidden by the dark of night. Maybe they were only grabbing what they could to help injured loved ones. The reasoning behind it didn't matter in the end. Desperation would drive them to other acts soon enough. Survival always brought out the best, and the worst, in men.
There was rubble.
There were abandoned carts and wares scattered in the streets.
This made their journey from the city all the more painful and frustrating. They had to pick their way carefully. Luck was briefly on their side when Keevan found a sturdy stick he could use as a cane.
One stroke of luck.
They'd need so many more. As they rounded a corner and came to sight of the city gates, Krecek feared that luck had run out.
"A mountain city has so many advantages," Krecek said, standing, watching. "They're very defensible against outside attack, for one. Having limited ways into or out of the city safely is a great strategic move in most cases."
Throngs of people pressed through the gates. Only so many could get through at a time, and all were tired of waiting their turn. Fights had broken out, or had continued from elsewhere, blocking the way further.
The carriage doors were wide open, for all that was worth. A wagon lay in splintered ruins, it and its cargo blocking most of the gate.
"It's a gods-be-damned nuisance," Keevan growled. "We can't fight our way through that. Look, priests are in that knot of fighting. And over in that area are some of my own students, losing their damn fool minds."
"One way or the other, one of us will be recognized if we try to walk the main thoroughfares." Krecek was amazed at the calmness he found in his own voice. Was it a carryover from living a double life for so very long, or had he just reached his emotional limits? "We'd be killed."
Keevan nodded. "If we're not killed by design, we'd be killed by accident. We've both seen better days, and neither of us are what one would call tall."
"Both of us, formidable mages, and if we try to magic our way through this mob we'll be worn down to oblivion." Krecek sighed. "But we can't remain here."
"No, we can't. They're going to run out of supplies, soon. The true criminals are going to start running the rubble so they can pick the city's corpse clean." Keevan spat, clearly disgusted.
They watched in silence for a while. They could face these people, or…
"We don't have much of a choice, do we?"
Keevan stared at Krecek with hard, narrowed eyes.
"You want to take an enchanted path in our condition?"
Krecek poked at his broken arm carefully, feeling a giddy queasiness when it just didn't feel put together right. Some of his skin was crispy, and all of it felt like it was on fire just by having air upon it. "I want to see my father. Elves can heal things that humans can't seem to conceive of. Byrek is, hopefully, long gone from here."
"Hobgoblins aren't much good at healing, either. We blow shit up like masters, though."
"Yes, you did," Krecek smiled. The pain was driving him mad, but he still smiled. "We should go. The roads to Naeriloran won't have too many shadows. We'll take our time."
"We'll be sitting prey," Keevan said. "But, die here, or die there…at least it will smell better in that half-realm."
Krecek nodded. What did they have to lose?
Aral looked across the table at Bretav. The young widow had arrived the day before and still looked exhausted. "It seems unreal to me," Aral said with a shake of her head.
Davri had contacted her by spell to let her know what had happened.
She'd been cleaning up after Naran's birthday party. Fourteen.
Such an innocent activity while Anogrin was in the process of being razed.
"I was there, and I feel the same way." Bretav picked up her cup of tea, looked at it blankly, sat it back down. "I just want to go home, and there's no home to go to. No café. No Arlanz. I haven't heard a word about my parents, or my sister. Thousands died, and I don't even know who survived."
Aral reached a hand across the table, resting it on Bretav's arm.
It's the only comfort she had to give.
The refugees who made it as far as Hodarian's Bay were all in good health. If they hadn't been, they wouldn't have made it so far.
Thera, Daichen, and a few of their compatriots were the first to arrive and take shelter with Aral and Raev.
The smell of smoke and carnage had followed them on the wind for days.
People had overwhelmed the roads leading down the mountain. Many who had been otherwise safe had been pushed off ledges or trampled to death.
"The girl Arlanz saved," Bretav continued. "I don't even know if she made it out of the city. What if he saved her, but she fell when everyone ran? What if her mom brought her right to where the explosion was while they were trying to get safe? What if he died for nothing at all?"
It was heartbreaking.
But...
"What if she's fine? What if she'll be fine?" Aral squeezed her hand against Bretav's arm like a miniature hug. "You can't tear yourself apart with possibilities. It'll just eat you up inside until you do find out one way or the other. It's out of your hands for now."
"You're right," Bretav said. Her voice was small, soft, and the corners of her eyes pinched. "It's not even my biggest worry right now."
Of course not. It must be so small next to losing her home, her family, her husband...
"I'm with child again."
Oh. Given her history and inability to carry long enough, that would be bigger. Yes.
"You're sure? I mean, you don't look..."
"I suspected a few weeks before," she said. "I didn't even want to tell Arlanz, never had the chance, because I couldn't handle disappointing him again. But...I was told...just after he died..."
Damn.
"If there's anything I can do for you, I will. I'm sure I speak for everyone here."
Aral was startled by the sound of someone gently coughing from the doorway behind her. She turned to see Raev, slouching, with a grimace on his face.
"You are not wrong," he said. "Aral...I need to bring up something...that is..." Raev took a deep breath, then joined them at the table.
"Bretav, according to the customs of my people, it is my duty to care for you and treat you as my wife. We are traditionally nomadic, dealing with harsh conditions, and marriage is treated with pragmatism rather than romance."
Wait. What?
It took a moment for Aral to understand what he'd said.
She frowned and pulled her hand slowly away from Bretav.
Then, she laughed. "That's a little fast. The two of you just met."
"Pragmatism," he repeated. "As the closest unwed man of the family…"
"What of intimacy?" Bretav asked softly.
"That is entirely up to you," Raev said, hands held out before him as if to ward away any impropriety. "I will treat your child as my own. I will give all that I have to your care. I ask nothing for myself."
He was serious.
Aral stared at them, back and forth.
They were both serious.
"Since when do you care for old traditions?"
Aral didn't mean to sound sharp, accusing, but there it was, assaulting her own ears.
"Always," Raev said. "I have always upheld the traditions of my people." He looked at Aral sadly. "Were I wed, this would not have even been broached."
What could she say to that?
She'd had the chance.
He'd asked, many times.
No. This wasn't happening.
"Is this what you want?" Aral turned on Bretav. "I know enough of their traditions to know that you can always refuse."
"His traditions are my traditions," Bretav said quietly. "It's what I promised Arlanz when we were married. His family is my family; his ways are my ways. But if the two of you—"
"No." It was probably the firmest no that had ever passed her lips. She stood up. "I have… There are things… Outside."
Aral knew she didn't make any sense. The important word had been the "no."
The answer between Aral and Raev had always been no.
She wasn't a wife. She was a mage with duties.
But it still hurt to walk away from a warm bed and a man who loved her.
Somehow, she managed not to slam the door on her way out.
Too stunned to be angry enough. For now.
There was a spot under a pier that she loved to visit at low tide. It was a good spot to think a while. Her feet took her there without conscious thought.
The anger hit her as she reached the shade of the pier.
How dare he?
Raev could have mentioned it to her ahead of time. Could have warned her last night, even.
Instead he'd...he'd...well, he'd been quiet. Pensive. Troubled.
Aral had assumed it was the stories the refugees had told.
She'd assumed he only grieved for his cousin.
Would it have been better to know ahead of time?
She had no claim on Raev. Had never wanted one. But it stung to be so abruptly and easily replaced.
Well, not replaced.
Displaced?
She had a room in their underground base, but she hadn't used it much.
The base was filling up as more refugees arrived. She'd thought about abandoning the room to make room for others, but now…
The water lapped at the rocks and sand.
She usually brought a bag of food to feed the turtles and the birds, but this time she came empty-handed. She apologized, and after a while the birds flew away.
She sat on her favorite rock to perch from, and she stared out to sea.
Someone was swimming in the water. She wore a dress of seaweed and discarded sails, awkwardly covering most of the expected areas. A bit of the seaweed drifted aside to reveal a nipple, but it was a valiant attempt at normal clothes. The strange girl’s hair trailed to the water, seeming to be made of it. She rose to just above the waist and beckoned Aral closer.
"I am Shista," she said once Aral was within earshot. "I represent the merfolk of the sea."
Merfolk?
They were hardly ever seen this close to a human town.
"It is an honor."
"You are the human Aral of the Tennival family?"
"Yes."
"You lead rebellion against the gods."
Aral’s breath caught in her throat. It sounded like an accusation.
The mermaid wasn't attacking, though.
In fact, all of her words had come out flat, monotone. So, maybe just a statement, not a prelude to an attack.
Defensive spells sprang to mind, but Aral stilled herself. She nodded, unmoving.
"Your rebellion and your plight are known to the free people of the sea. If you have need of us, we will be there." Shista then turned and slid back into the water, discarding the makeshift dress as soon as she was clothed by the water again.
Aral continued to stare.
That had been abrupt.
Unexpected.
Merfolk never came to the land. Never. They tricked sailors sometimes, or aided others, but they never concerned themselves with humans who did not travel on the sea.
What was she doing to do with an army of merfolk?
Aral heard the crunch of sand behind her. Someone new approaching. She closed her eyes, hopeful and afraid that it was Raev.
"Sorry!" Not Raev's voice, at least. "Hope I didn't startle you!"
As Aral turned, she realized Shista must have a magic of her own. Aral started to shiver. She turned and rushed as fast as she could out of the frigid water, toward the stranger. "What's going on here?"
The newcomer was short and stout, covered from head to toe in thick clothing. He carried a thick canvas parasol and wore a floppy, wide-brimmed hat, despite the sun being firmly hidden behind a thick layer of clouds. Bits of beard stuck out of the fabric here and there, and tinted goggles poked through as well. "We’ve been gathering."
"We?" She was still shivering, surprised it hadn't made her stutter.
"I met your brother and your friend Davri a few years back," said the little man. "They told us what happened. My uncle took them in for a time. We dwarves have been gathering information on the priests and their movements ever since. We try to keep track of the gods as well, but there’s not much of a point to it."
Aral nodded and returned to the rock she’d been sitting at before. "Do I have you to thank for bringing the merfolk?" There was a bit of driftwood laying around, but it was waterlogged. Damn it. That wouldn't burn well, and it would smoke horribly if she forced it. She'd have to use a pure magic flame, which would take more energy. But, she had to warm up and dry out.
"You have yourself to thank," he said, sitting next to her. He stared at the sudden flame warily, then looked at her legs and realized what it was for. He relaxed. "I did come across her on my way here, but she was already searching you out. You've earned quite a reputation. Disappearing from Anogrin was one thing. Surviving this long…amazing. But you brought Anogrin down, you destroyed the temples, without setting foot in the city."
Aral felt she had to demur. "I didn't do that last myself. I was throwing a party when it happened."
"A party?"
"Celebrate when you can, right? It was my brother's birthday. I just happened to have all the right people in the right place when the priests initiated the attack."
"That's what a leader does."
"Anyone could have done it. If I hadn't, someone else would have."
"Would they, though?" The dwarf shook his head. Well, he seemed to. The fabric shifted, and the bits of beard that poked out moved back and forth. "In all this time the gods have remained the same. And in all this time, no one has struck such a blow against them."
That was something Aral couldn't refute. The idea made her uneasy, and that must have shown on her face.
"Every good leader feels like they’re in over their head, but that doesn’t make them stop being leaders." He nodded at his own sage words. Again, it seemed like a nod from how the fabric moved. "I've heard many times that without you the whole rebellion would never have happened. That without you making decisions,
the rebellion wouldn’t have a chance. You've done extraordinarily well at knowing who to trust with what. Even over a distance, you've coordinated the escalation of hostilities like a master. You even managed to get Byrek and Davri to the right place at the right time, and I think I'd go sober a month to learn how you managed that.”
"How do you know all of that?"
"We dwarves are resourceful, and my uncle is Deeg, master of spies. I am Breev, one of the greatest spies we have. Perhaps you have heard of me?"
"I’m sorry," Aral said, shaking her head. Great, she was about to insult a dwarf on their first meeting. That always went well. "No, I haven’t."
Better to insult him than lie. Right?
"OF COURSE NOT!" Breev shouted. He then howled with laughter, either at his own joke, or the expression on her face. "Some spy I’d be, if anyone knew my name!"
"Then why are you telling me?"
"Because you’re a leader, and you have a need to know." Breev sobered quickly. "I’ll be honest. It seems that Davri sees himself as a leader, but not the leader. You’ve others beneath you that seem similar. Thera, who only made local decisions for Anogrin. Sirale, out in Fenrenborough. How did you get him on your side, anyway?"
"He was a friend of my father’s," Aral said. "We ran into each other the last time I went to my parents' grave. He said a certain god sent him. I’ve learned to trust that, if they know his name."
"You’ve got a god on your side while you fight the gods?" Breev jumped up and took a step back, nearly tripping over a dangling piece of fabric.
So. Agruet hadn't had a hand in sending Breev or Shista. It had been unusual a year ago, but more and more people were coming to her without divine intervention.
"Do you honestly think we could win without some help?" No sense revealing another was involved if he was distrustful of mention of one of them.
"You trust him?"
Trust. That was a hard question to answer.
"I don't know," Aral said at last. "I need to trust him to some degree, but I know he's doing this for his own purposes. He's helped us a lot, but in the end, well, he's a god. If that makes him our enemy..." She spread her hands before her.
"Then what are your plans?" Breev looked momentarily frustrated. "I thought it was just to get their attention and get them to change, and why would you have help from other gods if that was all you were doing?"