by David Bokman
Damn it, Dovan. Well done. “Let’s move!” he told his guards, simultaneously giving the family an apologetic look. I’m sorry.
Before the Commander had made his way into the other building, he heard the unmistakable sound of a hand-cannon being fired. So it begins. Dovan still did not fully understand how this new type of weapon worked. He knew that it was filled with a strange powder unknown to him, and that if you pointed it at someone you did not like, they would not bother you much longer. Hell, not even our armor would be any match for it. He did not wish to imagine what would happen to an unarmored bandit.
Commander Dovan shoved a few recruits aside and forced his way into the run-down building. Its interior did not look much different from that of the red house. Were it not for a couple of bandits laying dead on the floor, their daggers and dirks next to them, you could be mistaken for thinking this was just another commoner’s home. Dovan spotted a hole in the back wall, which must have been where a third bandit met his demise at the hands of a hand-cannon. There did not seem to be any more criminals in here, though. “Berny? Where are they?” Where are you?”
“Down here, Commander!” Berny’s voice echoed, coming from underground. “Through the trapdoor!”
Dovan could hear more fighting from beneath. They’re underground? The Sheep must be getting desperate; I’ve never known them to hide down there. “Make way!”
The trapdoor, a small wooden hatch, had been hidden beneath a carpet. Guards were already queuing up to descend the trapdoor, but they all moved over on Dovan’s order. “Remember!” he shouted down, “Try to keep one of them alive!” He took the first step down the makeshift ladder, and instantly wished he had not. This stinks worse than… they’re in the sewers? It made sense geographically; the sewers were vast and free of guards. It did not make sense contextually; both The Sheep and The Sons avoided the sewers. West or East Kardh’Ao, it makes little difference. The sewers belong to The New Port. Knowing his nostrils would be angry with him for days to come, Commander Dovan took the next step down, and the next, and the next… until his feet made contact with the cold, damp sewer floor.
The sound of metal striking metal had grown louder during his descent, and it was now easy to spot the source of it. Over a dozen guardsmen had already made the descent into the sewers and were doing battle with men and women dressed in leather and armed with dirks. The sewer tunnel was no more than a few feet wide, and barely high enough for Dovan to be able to stand upright. Dirty, green sewage water covered his boots as he began making his way down the tunnel, soaking his feet in a mixture of water and filth and rot. The sewage water was not what was on Commander Dovan’s mind, though. He was more focused on handling the bandits in front of him. The tunnel seemed to widen out around thirty feet further in, but until that point, you could not fit more than two men next to each other. That opening in the tunnel was what Dovan set his sights on.
His first obstacle came in the form of a guardsman engaged in combat a few feet in front of him, though the fight looked more akin to a chess game. The guard, with his strong and sturdy sword, had the upper hand when it came to strength and power, but lacked the maneuverability that the bandit’s shorter dirk offered. The bandit, on the other hand, had to move quickly and nimbly to avoid the deadly broadsword. The guardsman, who Dovan recognized as Eior, attempted a lunge. Just as it looked like the blade would strike true, the bandit's dirk found its way up into a defensive position, deflecting the blow and allowing the bandit to step aside. A second blow followed shortly, but this time, Eior went wide. The dirk looked more in control this time as it shoved the blade to the side, making it strike the sewer wall with a thud. This momentary lack of focus left Eior defenseless, and the bandit, taking a quick step forward, almost threw himself towards the guardsman, finding one of the few weak spots in the side of the armor, and burying his blade into it.
Eior let out a cry of pain and fell to the side… which allowed Dovan to pass to his right, blade at the ready. The bandit, his dirk still buried in Eior’s side, proved no match for the Commander’s superior experience and equipment, and he was quickly disposed of. The blood was not enough to change the color of the water for more than a moment. “You okay, soldier?”
Eior gritted his teeth and looked down at the dirk. “I… yes.”
“Stay here, and don’t touch that blade. We’ll be back for you.”
Eior gave his best attempt at a nod.
Commander Dovan did not make it more than another fifteen feet before he was met by another guard fighting another bandit, although he did not know this particular guardsman. Whoever he was, he was far more adept than Eior when it came to handling a sword. It is easy to see which guards see the sword as nothing more than a blade, and which ones see it as a tool, an instrument that can be shaped to fit their needs.
The guard was up against a bandit twice his size, but in a tunnel like this, size was no guarantee of advantage, as the guard quickly proved. As the bandit parried his strike, the guard quickly prepared for another one, but this time he feigned high, before changing his grip mid-strike, almost flipping the sword around, and striking the pommel into the chest of the bandit. As the bigger man bent over double, gasping for air, the guard delivered an elementary strike, not making it more excessive than it had to be.
“What’s your name, soldier?” asked Dovan.
“Garl, sir.” The old soldier did not look at the Commander when addressing him; he was already scanning the tunnel for additional threats.
“What’s our status?”
“We’ve got them on the run, sir, but they know these tunnels well. We believe a big force of them are huddled up further in, not too far from here. Tore and some others,” Garl pointed at the guards furthest down the tunnel, “are already advancing.”
“Good work, soldier. Let’s clean this up, then. For the Townmaster.”
“For the Townmaster,” Garl echoed.
The Townmaster better know what she’s doing, Dovan thought, advancing towards the vanguard. There were now no more bandits in eyesight, or at least none that were alive. Dovan suspected they had not yielded just yet, however. He converged with Tore and three other soldiers a bit further up the tunnel, right as they were going around a bend. “Let’s wait here for a moment, men!” Dovan ordered. “Give the others a chance to catch up, so we don’t walk into an ambush.”
After a few moments of nervous waiting, the full force Dovan had brought with him, save for a few men stationed outside and a few men who had been sent to Haara’s domain, were all marching through the sewers. “I saw them turn that way!” Tore had said, which was information enough to make him the group’s guide. Dovan had almost gotten used to the stench of the sewers by now, though he suspected it was because his sense of smell had decided to abandon him.
Before long, Tore reached an intersection, and another one, both of which he decided to turn right at. The footsteps of twoscore guardsmen marching through the sewers must have made the people above ground think some sort of ancient monstrosity had awoken below, but at the moment, Dovan was not particularly interested in the people above ground. Where are you hiding? Wherever they were, the criminals would certainly have been alerted to the Townsguard’s position by now; the sound was impossible to miss. Dovan just hoped he had managed to corner them. Zena will not be happy if they escape, and if she isn’t happy, I won’t be either.
They continued their expedition for a few more yards, until the tunnel widened once more, leaving the group of guards in what could almost be described as a room. The tunnel was no wider than three feet both behind them and in front of them, but where they were standing, it was a circle with a diameter of roughly thirty feet. Strange, Dovan thought. Why would there—
“Now!”
Commander Dovan had not attended Stonehand’s funeral, but if he had, he would have felt a sense of déjà vu as bandits, like they did in the temple, suddenly jumped out from nowhere, weapons at the ready. It seemed Dovan’s prayers had been answered, for
why else would the bandits attack them instead of fleeing? They were appearing both from ahead and behind the group, rushing in from the tunnels. Either the soldier at the back of the marching order had been asleep, or the bandits had done a good job avoiding attention while following them. But why would they be following us in the first place? This was not the time to worry about that, though. Within moments, a force of bandits had run into the room, ready for battle. The guard who had been bringing up the rear, armed with a hand-cannon, was easy prey. Although the cannon was designed with mobility in mind, it was still a heavy piece, and he had not been ready for the attack. Before he had even thought about firing it, a big man, hatchet in hand, was upon him, instantly bringing him to the ground.
“Circle formation!” shouted Dovan, corralling his men close. Getting into formation was easier said than done, though; most of the men were already occupied. And soon, so was Dovan. A man decided to engage the Commander, and another quickly joined. Dovan took a few steps back, trying to join the circle he was desperately trying to form. One of the men lunged at him with some sort of blade. Dovan deflected. The other began to strike, but Dovan spotted him well before his strike landed. Before it had a chance to land, Dovan brought an armored elbow to the man’s head, rendering him unconscious. The other man lunged again, this time to greater effect. He struck, but only on the Commander’s armor. That was the only chance he would get. Dovan slashed at the bandit’s chest, seeing the life pour out of him. Dovan had no time to waste. The second man fell down on the floor, and the Commander once more assessed the situation. It was not optimal, but it was not as dire as it could have been. Most of his men, on account of their superior gear, were faring well, but a few were getting overpowered. Very few were focused on forming a circle.
“Commander! Behind you!” Dovan did not know who had shouted, but whoever it was, they deserved a promotion. He turned around and saw two other men approaching. He looked around and, with his free hand, grabbed the seax of one of the fallen bandits. After quickly weighing it in his hand, he made his move. Dovan was not particularly used to throwing weapons, especially not with his weak hand, but the result was more than satisfactory. The seax flew through the air, piercing it as it went, before embedding itself in the collar bone of one of the bandits. While not enough to kill him, it was more than enough to stop him in his tracks. Alone, the other bandit did not have much of a chance against the Commander. He struck, Dovan parried, and then disarmed him. He hesitated for a moment, then regained his resolve. These people dishonored Stonehand. Save your pity. His sword claimed another victim.
The tide of battle had now turned. While the bandits had indeed surprised the guards, their inferior firepower left them hopelessly overpowered. As their resolve broke, and the Townsguard regained their composure, the guards could make short work of the remaining criminals. Soon, thanks to Dovan and the hand-cannons, all bandits were taken care of. All but one. The Commander walked over to the man he had elbowed earlier, and found that he, to Dovan’s delight, was still breathing. “You,” Dovan said with a smile, “will be very helpful to us.”
⧫ CHAPTER XXVII ⧫
It makes sense, sort of. Isa Sharktooth, the previous Townmaster of Kardh’Ao, was a middle-aged, short woman who had not been seen for the past six months or so. The description, as well as the timeframe, matched. It would also explain how she was made Herald, or rather how she was able to obtain an emblem. But why? thought The Dart. Why go here? What is she after? What is her play? She did not ask those questions. Instead, she asked, “If you are who he says you are, tell me this. Why did you resign as Townmaster? The people all loved you, from what I saw and heard.”
It was not Isa who answered, but The Atlas. “I believe that was—”
“Didn’t ask you.”
Isa looked around the room, although it was impossible to say what for. “That was a different life. I do not wish to dwell on it.”
“A different life? It was six months ago.”
“Was it?” Isa sounded surprised. “I couldn’t say. Time is a strange construct. In any case, I can wait a while longer before becoming Townmaster again.”
That seemed to catch even Cadwell’s attention. “You planning a coup? This sounds more like my language.”
“I have given you answers to your questions,” interrupted The Atlas. “The only thing that remains for me…” The Atlas looked at The Dart’s piece of Undying Ice. After a moment of pondering, he opened the vial, grabbed the ice with his bare hand, and closed his eyes. No sooner had he closed them than the piece of ice began changing form in his hand, extended into what looked like a blade of a longsword. At the other side of the blade, a hilt made from fine leather appeared from thin air. The clear-blue ice shimmered and shone even more powerfully than before, and the blade must have measured at least three feet, even though The Dart’s piece had been no more than an inch. “I believe that is everything, and that you have stayed long enough.” The Atlas’ voice was stern and cold. “Leave through the portal whence you came.” He threw the blade over to The Dart.
“Did Zena blackmail you? What is her endgame?” Na barely seemed to notice the blade; she was fixated on Sharktooth.
“I—” Isa began.
The Atlas sighed. “Goodbye.” He brought up his left hand, three fingers raised, and gently exhaled onto them. What struck the heralds was not a gentle exhale, but a strong gust of wind. It pushed them, no, guided them back towards the entrance. It did not make them fall, nor did it hurt, it just seemed to transport them against their will, and they were powerless to fight it. Further and further back the cave it brought them, before throwing them through the portal, temporarily blinding them.
When they opened their eyes once more, they were back in the tunnel in the Cold Peaks. “How did he..?”
“He said he was an archivist. If I were to guess, that was probably as elementary as when you or I lift a stone.”
Cadwell was staring at the rock wall as if he was intending to bring it down with his gaze. “Well, this is a problem. Stuck in the middle of a labyrinth of tunnels. How the hell are we…” Cadwell’s words drifted off, and his eyes changed from angry to confused. “Hang on… I know… what the devil?”
The others all gave a look of equal confusion. “I know the way out of here,” said Na.
“I do too,” said Sam. “I could recite it in my sleep. But how? I didn’t keep track of it when we went in here, but now I’m certain of it. I can see every turn in front of me, clear as day.”
Cad and Mae nodded in agreement. “Perhaps even I underestimated The Atlas. I’ve never heard of this kind of magic before. I don’t even know how he managed to get one of these portals out here to begin with.”
“It’s the least he could have done for us. Now, let’s see that blade, Mae.”
“I haven’t had a chance to see it myself yet.” She took a look at the long, curved blade of Undying Ice, shimmering with magic and power. Somehow, although the ice was unimaginably cold, holding the hilt of leather did not hurt whatsoever. Another one of The Atlas’ tricks, presumably. Whatever the hilt was made from, its leather was the most exquisite any of them had ever seen. It seemed to be a different shade of brown every time you looked at it, and looked so finely worked that you could trade it for a golden ingot. A golden ingot would probably offer less protection from the cold than whatever this leather is, though.
“It looks like a blue sword,” Cad observed.
“I thought you said this ice was rare? But The Atlas just turned your tiny piece into an entire blade, just like that?”
“And I wish he hadn’t. I don’t use blades this size. I don’t think any of us but Cad do. So it’s yours, if you want it.”
“I already have a sword. Townsguard steel. I don’t like the Townsguard, but they have good equipment.”
“Try it out, at least? If you don’t like it, I’m sure we can sell it for a nice profit.”
“Sure, but how do I even carry it when I’m not us
ing it? The Atlas didn’t see fit to give us a scabbard.”
Mae stopped for a moment. “Good point. I guess just wield it until we find a scabbard for it.” She reached the blade out to Cadwell, but as soon as he grabbed it…
“What the hell? Where did it go?”
The icy blade disappeared as soon as Cad tried to grab it. It was as if it had never even existed to begin with.
“Well that solves that problem,” laughed Sam. “I think someone got tricked by The Atlas.”
“No… hang on,” said Mae. “It’s still here.”
“The sword?”
“Yes, I can… It’s here.”
“Oh, great. An invisible blade.”
Mae had a brooding look on her face. “Not invisible. It’s…” She looked down at her closed palm, and slowly opened it. Upon slightly lifting her arm, the blade materialized in her grip once more, inch by inch.
“Okay, fair enough,” said Cadwell. “Townsguard steel doesn’t do that.”
Florianna had asked the same question for the entire trek back out of the tunnels. “What do you think the riddle meant? What does ‘taking the last step’ mean?” Nobody had a good answer for her, so she constructed one herself. “Maybe it means we have to step down into the rifts! He did say we were at a precipice, who is to say he didn’t mean a literal precipice?”
“And who is to say that he isn’t absolutely insane?” countered Cadwell.
“Mae?” Na hoped she would at least get support from The Dart.
“Don’t know.”
“You… don’t know? Mae, you’re the one who’s been intrigued by these rifts since day one, or even before then, and now you don’t know?”
“I think I was maybe too eager about the rifts.”
“Too… what? What did The Atlas say to you?”
“That’s none of your business.” Mae did not sound hostile, just… distant.
“As much as I hate the idea, I think you might be right, Na,” said Sam. “The Atlas spoke of taking the last step from the precipice, and the song spoke of a leap of faith. I don’t think we can dismiss it as coincidence.”