Crossroad

by Riley S. Keene

  Chapter Twelve

  As they started down the ramp and made their way north, Elise explained her idea in vague terms. When they were only a few blocks away—with the sounds of a bustling camp audible in the empty streets—she found a place where they could climb up on the rooftop of an old tavern or inn.

  They surveyed the camp in silence. Elise focused on counting the folks in the camp, and seeing if there were any particular places where they tended to gather. Ermolt was tasked with looking for sentries, as well as making sure they weren’t spotted.

  After around a quarter of a bell, Elise finally scrambled back from the edge of the roof. She felt a little hopeless. “At least three dozen,” she said, grimacing. “I might be off by around another dozen or so.”

  “And they seem to be on alert,” Ermolt added, siding up next to her.

  “I think it’s still a good plan. If I’m smart—and maybe even a bit lucky—I can stroll through the camp without raising the alert. Three to four dozen is too many to know everyone’s face intimately.”

  “You’ll need to remove your armor.”

  Elise looked down at her gear. Her boots and greaves were in need of a good cleaning, but her cuirass was barely scratched, even after the trek through the brambles, and the fight against the bandits. “What’s wrong with my armor?”

  “Your cuirass is too clean to make you a believable bandit. I know it’s a stereotype, but the average bandit doesn’t care about the state of their stolen armor.”

  She wanted to argue. Her cuirass was in good shape, and it would protect her well if things went wrong. But he was right. At the very least, it would make her stand out, and Elise didn’t want to stand out when she was trying to infiltrate.

  Ermolt helped her out of her armor and put it away for her. Before Elise could argue, Ermolt stripped out of his own hides and almost immediately threw them over her head. She felt ridiculous. They were comically huge, but Ermolt made some adjustments to belts she hadn’t even known were part of the armor, and suddenly they fit much better. The hides still weren’t perfect, but it was an armor of sorts, and so it would provide some protection if she needed.

  Even better, they were light colored, likely provided by some beast of the northern lands. They would help her blend into the dry grasses of the surrounding countryside, and helped sell the idea that she was a hunter or ambusher.

  Or, so she hoped.

  She risked a lot on this disguise, but it was the only thing she could think to do. A full-on assault of the camp would only get them killed, and with them, Athala’s only chance to return.

  There was only a token guard around the encampment.

  Elise wasn’t sure why they bothered, since they were kren from any populated civilization. Perhaps they had taken her and Ermolt as a credible threat, and just didn’t know how to handle that.

  It made her job harder, at least.

  The bandits were only inhabiting a few buildings around what appeared to once be the town square, and the square itself was filled with tents. This made it easy to defend, since only a few sentries could watch almost every ingress to the area.

  There might have been a way to sneak past them, either by travelling through buildings or finding traversable sewers, but Elise didn’t have time to investigate. She’d have to go a bit more of a direct route, and try to disable an isolated sentry.

  The nearest one to where Ermolt was hiding was to the far east of the camp. An older woman was the sentry on duty. Elise surmised that the woman must have been highly respected for her experience, since she was trusted to watch nearly a quarter of the camp’s border alone.

  Elise was sure it was a risk to approach her, since that experience would make her dangerous, but the distance between her and the nearest guards made her the most vulnerable.

  It took nearly half a bell to creep up to the woman’s watch post. Someone had built something of a gazebo atop one of the two-floored buildings. The sentry was crouched low on the top of it. She wasn’t too well hidden from up there, but it did give the woman a clear view of the city before her.

  Elise was grateful for Ermolt’s hides as she began to scale the building. Instead of having to enter and look for roof access—likely tripping whatever traps had been set by the sentry—Elise was able to make her way up the rough stone wall from the outside. There was a crack that bisected the south wall of the building from the top of the first floor up to the roof, and so Elise used it to approach the watch post without having to jump around and make noise that would give her away. Ermolt’s hides did a great job of muffling the sound of her metal greaves, and they were also much lighter than her cuirass.

  This close to the bandit camp, Marska lost some of the echoing emptiness. There were the sounds of sparring, drinking, and carousing. The ambient noise covered what little sound Elise made as she finished the climb to the rooftop.

  She watched the sentry closely. The woman wore no armor, but was instead bundled for warmth in a long fur-lined coat. Her crouching perch let the long tails of the coat gather at her feet. She had no weapon at her hip, but a bow almost as tall as Ermolt was resting nearby, and a quiver of arrows on her back was nearly three fen long. The weapon would make her deadly from over hundreds of fen away while also risking no injury to herself. No wonder she had been put in charge of such a large part of the encampment’s guard.

  As Elise crept closer, the woman stood abruptly and grabbed her long bow. Elise panicked and froze, but the woman didn’t turn. Instead she smoothly pulled back her bow string in a single movement, aiming at something in the distance.

  Elise wasn’t sure what had captured her attention, but she knew she could use the distraction to her advantage. With barely a moment of thought, Elise swarmed up the side of the gazebo, stealth abandoned. The older woman turned in panic at the sudden attack, fouling her aim as the arrow left her bow far off to the right.

  Before she could hope to recover, Elise closed her hand over the woman’s ankle, using her lower position to drag the sentry down off her perch and over the edge of the gazebo floor. The woman cried out as she hit the roof hard on her side.

  Elise wasted no time and dropped onto her, pouncing before the woman could recover. There was a brief scuffle before Elise was able to pin the woman beneath her weight. A swift blow from one of Elise’s gauntleted fists rattled the sentry long enough for Elise to bind and gag her.

  Defiance burned in the older woman’s eyes, but she lay still, as if knowing she had been bested. Elise could see right through it. She would be struggling against the knots as soon as Elise walked away, and nothing she could do—save for killing her in cold blood—would stop it.

  Instead of fretting, Elise stood up and walked back to the gazebo. She was curious what it was the woman had been aiming at.

  Down below, at the edge of an alley way, Ermolt was dragging a bandit out of the open and back into cover.

  Elise frowned. She’d likely saved his life just now by disrupting the sentry’s shot, but what if she hadn’t been up here in time? Elise turned and looked at the sentry, who glared up at her. This woman would have killed him and, with him, Elise’s chance at getting Athala back.

  The sentry deserved to die, if only to keep her from being a problem in the future.

  Elise stood there for a long moment, contemplating murder. It must have shown in her eyes, for the sentry’s gaze dropped away. To her bow. Elise followed her gaze and smiled. She left the weapon on the roof. Instead, she took the quiver of arrows off the woman and tossed them out into the city as far as her arm could fling.

  When the woman freed herself, she would be unable to take a shot at Elise’s back, or at Ermolt if he blundered into her sightline again. Elise hoped that they’d be long gone before she could get free and alert the other bandits, but it was highly unlikely.

  And so, before she could regret her decision to keep the woman alive, she left. It pained her to do so, knowing the woman was a liability. But outright murder for the sake of
convenience just seemed so against the ideals that Ermolt and Athala had spent the last few months beating into her head.

  Elise just hoped she wouldn’t regret it.

  She found the hidden trapdoor that led down into the building, and made her way down to the ground floor. The traps that had been set up were easy to disable on her way out, and Elise exited the front door of the building, and into the middle of the bandit camp. She walked quickly, keeping her head down.

  In the center of the square, a few bandits huddled around a giant campfire. There was some conversation that Elise barely paid attention to, but was mostly dissent. It sounded as if the bandits weren’t paid in much more than food and shelter and it was causing some complaint that was likely going to go nowhere.

  Elise was reminded of how Hern ran the Badgers. He brought them in with the lies of equality and hard work begetting higher pay, but in reality, all the good stuff was kept for the leader and his cronies. And those who risked life and limb were given a meal a day and a stinking cot in some communal space.

  “The boss is the boss for a reason,” one of the bandits said to the dissenter as she fetched a chunk of roasting chicken from a spit over the fire. “He said the stuff in the Temple is dangerous, and I think he knows better than you.”

  “I’m not asking for much!” the dissenter shouted, crossing his arms. “It just seems to run counter to the philosophy that brought us all here!” He pointed northwards, and Elise followed the finger to a much larger tent amid the rest of the camp. “Not saying he played us for fools, but when was the last time we actually got a fair share that was something other than a hot meal?”

  “You idiot. Most of our loot comes from the farms to the north. All we have to share is food!”

  Not one to lose an argument, the dissenter continued his rant as if the woman hadn’t spoken. But Elise drowned him out and walked past the group. No one looked in her direction.

  If the leader was hoarding the goods stolen from the Temple, it was likely he was keeping them close. Especially if the bandits were openly discussing their opposition to his authority. If the keystone to the Temple was anywhere, it would likely be there.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Elise approached the leader’s tent, and she tried to think of what a reasonable excuse to enter would be. She could pass herself off as a new recruit, sure, but why would she need to speak with the leader? What if he had a well-informed lieutenant who would recognize her as an intruder? Or perhaps even an overly-protective lover who would never let a stranger into the tent alone with him?

  The entryway was on the west side of the tent, and Elise was dismayed to find there was a guard posted there. It limited the things she could try.

  If anything happened, one shout for help could bring the entire camp down on her. And because she was so far from Ermolt, he might not even know something had gone wrong.

  It had been years and years since Elise had to build a plan to steal something. She didn’t know if her skills had held up over the years.

  The very skills she’d given up to serve Ydia.

  And all she had to show for those wasted years was a pile of garbage in a ditch outside of Jirda, and one lost friend.

  Elise sighed heavily.

  What a waste of a life she’d had.

  “Hey!” the man guarding the door shouted. “Is someone over there?”

  Elise winced. Of course she had screwed things up already, before she even had a plan. She tried to think fast. If she was able to distract the man for a moment, she might be able to get close enough to overpower him and then force her way into the tent. Perhaps holding the leader hostage could get her out of the camp alive. With or without the keystone.

  “Sorry, just walking by,” Elise said, trying to push the frustration out of her voice as she came around the corner. “Did you need something?”

  “Yes, desperately.” The man hurried to Elise’s side, dropping the gruff tone. “I need you to watch my post for just a moment.” He grabbed Elise by the shoulder with his free hand, dragging her to the side of the entrance to the tent. “I was up into the wee hours drinking since I didn’t need to be on duty until midday, but I overslept and haven’t gotten a chance to, ah, take care of things. Be a darling and keep watch so I don’t lose my head?”

  “Um.” Elise stared at the man, incredulously, as he thrust his spear into her hand. “Sure?”

  “Oh, Ydia bless you!” He turned before he could see Elise flinch at his words. The man dashed awkwardly away, stride stilted. Elise watched after him until he turned around a corner, presumably towards the latrine.

  For a long moment, Elise stood still, dumbfounded by what just happened. Could she have been so lucky? After dealing with Auernheim’s Prison Guards, the Temple Guards, and Ibeyar’s fanatics, she was struck by how much simpler things became when she was just dealing with a bunch of bored highwaymen. With a small chuckle, Elise dropped the spear to the ground and turned, walking into the tent.

  Elise immediately understood the dissenter’s complaint. The inside of the tent looked more like a home in Lublis than a campsite in the ruins of a long-dead city. Across the ground were plush carpets—though they were marked with the dirt and debris of the camp that had been tracked in—and the walls were defined not by canvas tent, but by bookshelves and wardrobes. Curtains hung from the ceiling, covering the tent poles and giving the whole place the luxurious feel of a noble’s bedroom.

  There was even a true bed—not a cot—and in one corner was a fine wooden desk, though the high-backed chair didn’t match the desk.

  The man seated there didn’t seem to mind.

  He wasn’t what she thought of when she pictured a bandit leader. For one, he was clean shaven, and his light skin seemed soft, as if he bathed regularly. His long, dark hair was pulled back into a braid, with flyaways that escaped tucked behind his ears. The man had a handsome face, at least from profile, and he had a slim physique. Elise could tell he was likely a man that led through charisma and intelligence, rather than a force of arms.

  Ermolt had once told her that some barbarian leaders held their position through flyting, in which they verbally bested their rivals with mockery and insults instead of physical strength. Perhaps a similar practice was at work here. If he was well liked, and his rivals were mocked into submission by quick wit and derisive smirk, he wouldn’t need to raise a finger to keep his position.

  The man looked over his shoulder as Elise stepped forward, and Elise could tell he was studying her carefully. She felt a flush of self-consciousness, but forced it down.

  “Who are you?” he asked in a sharp but nasally voice. “Where did Royce go?”

  “That’s not important. There’s a problem. Well, two, actually. Where’s the crystal from the Temple door?”

  “What do you—” The man stopped speaking, but his mouth kept moving as he processed what she said. His pale features blanched and he whirled around and grabbed at the bottom drawer on the other side of his desk. With a grunt of effort, he ripped the drawer open, almost immediately collapsing with a sigh of relief. “It’s still here. Oh, thank the Gods.” He shot a glare at Elise. “Don’t scare me like that!”

  “My apologies,” Elise said, putting on her best underling voice as she approached him. “I overheard a few of the others talking about staging some kind of coup and returning to the Temple. Seems like they want some loot to fill their tents instead of their bellies.”

  The man sneered at her, and the look reminded Elise so much of Ibeyar that any attraction she may have felt to him dissolved. “They’ve been planning that coup for most of the season.” He turned his back on her, turning his attention to the books strewn across his desk. “They won’t act on it. Come back when you have something that needs my attention.”

  “You forget—I did say there were two problems.”

  “What was the other? Because if you’re here to warn me about the intruders from the west that I heard about nearly three bells ago, don’t.
” He shoved one of the books out of the way to reference the tome beneath it. “I have it well in hand.”

  “Do you?” Elise asked. He looked up at her and she smirked at him. Just as a moment of doubt flickered across his gaze, she snapped out with a gauntleted hand and closed it around his throat. Her muscular arm pinned him against the high-backed chair. “Because it seems that I have you well in hand, instead.”

  He struggled, first grabbing at her hand and then her arm, but just as she expected he was physically feeble and unable to break her grip. With a little gurgle of effort, he fumbled at his belt, producing a dagger to threaten her with, but Elise struck him across the face with her free hand and the weapon flopped from his grip. He held his hands up in surrender, making little choking noises.

  “I am going to loosen my grip,” Elise said, seeing as how his pale complexion was quickly turning into a bright crimson one, “but only because I don’t have reason to kill you. If you try anything, well…” She trailed off and bared her teeth at him. “I might consider it reason aplenty.”

  The man under her gauntlet nodded as best he could with her fist clamped under his chin. Elise released his windpipe, and the man gasped for air before devolving into a coughing fit. The red color drained from his face quickly. Wisely, he kept his hands where she could see them, although his eyes rolled around in his head as if he could find a way out of this situation in the middle of his tent.

  “What do you want?” he rasped, grimacing as he tried not to cough more. “Money? Revenge? Justice?”

  “Just that,” Elise said, kicking open the bottom drawer of the desk. Inside was a rectangular block of grey-white crystal. The keystone.

  Elise grabbed it with her free hand and held it up to the light. It didn’t seem like anything special. Clouded glass, at a guess. But if it were as old as the door, that would mean it had endured the elements for centuries without a single chip or crack. Even the edges weren’t worn down from the weather. It was as perfect as the day it was made.