They would fail. They would die.
Mane sighed deeply, and Merigold glanced through her hair at the impossibly handsome man. There was something like empathy gleaming in his eyes. “Cryden may yet survive, should you get him to Agricorinor. There are a few who might be able to heal him, if fewer still who might be willing.” The pasnes alna rose to his feet, heading toward his stove to heat more water for tea. He spoke over his shoulder.
“I’ve some business to tend to in Agricorinor. It’s a short trip, so I suppose I could tolerate your company. I might be willing to shield you from some of your pursuers and help avoid other… chance encounters with the Menogans.” He fumbled with his teapot. “Besides, I imagine that the powers that be would be displeased if I let the Slaughterer of Polanice walk free.”
Meri didn’t say anything, but she took a deep, shuddering breath and felt a warm relief spread through her chest. An ally, someone else who was willing to help her. Again, in her time of need, the world offered some sort of balance. Maybe Yetra had not fully forsaken her, though she and the goddess were far from being on speaking terms. She quickly wiped at her eyes before shining her very best smile at Mane’s back, though Lisan seemed to have deflated even further at the suggestion.
“That sounds lovely, Mane. I thank you for the offer, and we would find your company agreeable. If the Sun Guard is lurking around here and looking for us, we will need disguises, and…”
Ill’Nath spun around from the window with a forceful grunt, gesturing wildly toward the window. He reached for his great club and rumbled toward the stairs as Merigold, Lisan, and Mane all headed across the room. Merigold clutched her nail as she rubbed at the fogged windows to get a better look.
“Yetra, you bitch…” she murmured, losing semblance of calm afforded by a brief bout of safety.
Assembled outside the bakery, amidst the swirling snow, milled two dozen Sun Guard, their number supported by another dozen maroon-cloaked Terranice city guardsmen. There was some confusion to be seen, as officers from each factor appeared to be arguing about their approach. Apparently, the Sun Guard they’d killed, who Mane had dumped into the cellar, was missed, or someone had seen the whole thing through that damnable glass window.
“Nanvora should know better than coming here,” Mane said, gripping the sill with white hands and staring at the Sestrian officer. The officer was a stocky woman with short-cropped hair and a scowl that seemed very at home on her face. Two Sun Guard officers—thankfully, not including Tinto—were arguing hotly back while one stuck a sheet of paper in the officer’s face. She threw her arms up and thundered away, though her men remained. The Sun Guard assembled by the front door while the Sestrians lofted light spears… the type that would be appropriate for chucking through a man from a distance.
With a curse, Lisan spun to grab and string her bow. Merigold glanced around for some weapon other than her knife, but there were only bushes, scrubs, and flowers of various shades and sizes. Ill’Nath was positioned at the top of the stairs, club draped over his shoulder in readiness. She knew he must still be in pain from the battle with the Menogans and their metsika, but he did not show even a drop of weakness.
Mane grabbed her shoulder and hissed into her ear, and she felt a thrill at the feel of his warm breath on her ear. “By the time this is done, you will have cost me my bakery. Somehow, you and Cryden will repay me for this, you know. I don’t know how, but you will.” There was a shattering noise from below. “You know something, would-be pasnes alna, something you are refusing to tell me. Something that is crucial to this war. Cryden would not be back in Terranice just to escort his little protege to a place where he is forbidden entry.”
There came a loud shattering sound from below. Mane yanked a miniature tree from its ornate clay pot, sprinkling soil everywhere. He did the same with a bush, and wrapped a vined monstrosity around his neck. Suddenly, he was transformed from a well-groomed baker into a beast that had just staggered its way out of a jungle. He would have looked ridiculous, except that Meri had just seen him blast a beam through a man’s head. He locked eyes with Meri one last time.
“I’ll take care of this.”
“Mane…”
“But, when you get to Agricorinor, tell them… convince them to get off their asses and do something.”
***
“Charlamane de Merin, under the order of the crown prince, you are to release the fugitives into the care of the Sun Guard!” called an authoritative voice in heavily accented Ardian. Merigold could hear clearly from behind the cracked door as Lisan and Ill’Nath rushed down to the cellar with Cryden and whatever meager supplies they’d managed to shove in their bags. Meri should have been with them, but she needed to listen, if only for a moment. The pasnes alna was protecting them, after all. Protecting her.
“Since when does Albun take orders from the monarch?” asked Mane with a wry tone. She could almost picture the sneer on this face, goading the Sestrians into anger.
“It is a partnership, and in this partnership, we are hunting the little Ardian girl and her ugly companions. I trust the rumors are false, but a passerby witnessed a Sun Guard being attacked through your window. And, what’s this? A recently-washed, dark stain on the wood. Blood, perhaps?”
“It is the right of any baker to spill a bit of cherry filling. But, worry not. If you are hungry, I do have the pastries for sale at three flins each. I might even have enough for everyone here. Although, I will expect reimbursement for the broken window.”
Merigold peaked around the edge of the cracked door. Mane stood tall, draped in plants and supremely confident in the face of three dozen soldiers. A number were crowded into the bakery, Sun Guard all aside from the Sestrian officer exchanging words with the pasnes alna. Beyond the broken window knelt soldiers with large tower shields, spear-throwers positioned behind them. Merigold licked chapped lips, knowing that she should be following Lisan and Ill’Nath. Nothing good could come of this.
“Enough of this, Mane. We know that you have the girl. If you make a move to fight, we will cut you down and find her nonetheless. Prince Albun would surely favor you, should you cooperate, whereas he will damn you if you do not.” The Sestrian officer spoke with the easy assurance of someone used to being obeyed. Strangely, he was holding a small cat beneath one arm, as one would carry a parcel. The animal was preening, unaffected by the tension in the room. “Drop your plants or else.”
“Come now. I am merely a simple baker. A baker with a love of fauna and a unique fashion sense.” Mane was stalling, giving his charges more time to escape. Tunnels beneath the cellar were connected to a warehouse several blocks away, outside the city walls. Few pasnes alna would leave themselves without an escape route in the case of a torch-bearing mob. Or, a steel-bearing horde of guards. “There are no girls here. So, leave, soldiers, unless you plan to buy a baked good.”
The tension was palpable. The soldiers were tense, though Mane made no move, and nor did the Sestrian officer. The two Sun Guard officers glanced at each other with uncertainty, while one other, a slender Rafónese man, stepped forward, snapping shattered glass beneath his feet. The guards jumped at the sound.
“See here…” the officer began as a spear whipped by him, flung by an on-edge Sestrian. The projectile flew straight and true toward Mane’s vine-encumbered chest. A yellow flicker, and the weapon was deflected back toward the Sun Guard. With that, pandemonium found a home in the bakery.
Mane shot a green beam of light at the officer, who raised a shield of his own as the cat drooped in his arms. A metsika! The beam deflected toward a Sun Guard, cutting through his shield and his armor, and losing power only after it burrowed partway through his stomach. The man next to him surged forward toward Mane and a misthrown spear took him in the back. The next guard in line whipped around, looking for the source of the spear, and was rewarded by a small disc of power severing his head from his body. The disc, not quite spent, took out another man before fizzing out in the snow.
<
br /> Gray, dead leaves flew from Mane as he deflected a magical attack from the officer, this one appearing to be a simple ball of fire. On impact with Mane’s shield, the fire flew back upon the floor and began to take hold, here and there, on the dried wood. Mane continued to fling discs and beams into the crowd, pausing every so often to deflect a thrown spear. No one could approach him, and he was without care. He turned toward Merigold for a moment, reaching for one of the flowers on his counter, and she shivered at the gleeful gleam in his eyes and the joy reflected in his wide smile. He lived for this, Mane did.
Merigold prayed—to no one in particular—that she never fell in love with killing.
The flames spread and the Sestrian metsika fled, leaving behind the corpse of the cat, as well as that of a rat, to litter the floor. Smoke began to fill the room, making it more and more difficult to see. As Mane reached for another plant, his ammunition supply having turned into desiccated ash, a stray spear caught him in the thigh. With a cry, he spun around and hit the floor. From the ground, he spied Merigold watching from her vantage point.
“Flee, you idiotic girl!” he shouted through gritted teeth. He twisted around, knocked a potted plant off of the counter, and grabbed a pink flower from amidst the shattered ceramic. He crafted a deadly yellow beam to pierce the eye of a Sun Guard who staggered out of the smoke, holding his hands in front of him to find his way. “Flee, girl! Make Agricorinor listen!” Merigold jumped back, torn by her impotence but finally heeding his warning. Coughing from the spreading smoke, she took the steps two at a time to head into the cellar.
She sidestepped the body of the first fallen Sun Guard, the man who’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and headed toward the half-open false wall. It was dark within, and she had no lantern. With a deep breath, she stepped into the tunnel and closed the pivoting door behind her.
The darkness devoured her, and her blood froze. It was cool and damp in here, just like her prison in Dunmore. She gripped her knife, feeling the comforting grip dig into her palm. With a deep breath and a hand on the wall, she started forward with faltering steps.
Every stray sound, every echo in this tunnel, was one of her demons. Saren, creaking his way along the planks above, preparing to retrieve her bucket and lower the ladder to whatever horrors he had planned. A wisping echo of the ashes that swept a decimated Dunmore. A chuckle of a mercenary as he brought her to the back room to ‘negotiate.’ And a small cry that would have been the voice of her unborn child. A wracking sob tore through her body and she fell to her knees.
She would rather face a dozen soldiers in the light of day than this darkness all alone.
The past cannot control you. You are more than what has happened to you. You are more than the things that you have done. Ill’Nath’s quiet voice and words of supposed wisdom echoed in her mind. Easy to say, hard to live. She was alone in this. No one could truly understand what she had been through. Dear Yetra, she could barely comprehend how her life had changed. Since then, she had fought in a war, traveled hundreds of miles to another continent, dealt death to soldiers seeking to imprison them, fought off a magic-wielding Menogan, and bandied words with one pasnes alna while protecting the life of another.
Merigold took a deep breath, rose, and continued forward.
She reached a hand forward and swept it in front of her as if she could part the darkness like a curtain. Her steps became more competent, and she even began to hum a little tune that Ragen had taught her. The cheery notes seemed to chase away a bit of the blackness. A quarter hour later, she could see lantern light outlining two figures—one shorter and muscular, and one much larger and bearing a great burden on his back.
“Merigold! You lagged for far too long!” hissed Lisan as Merigold squinted into the light.
“I’m sorry… I needed to see what happened.”
“And what did happen. Mane, is he alright?” Merigold could see the abject concern in her eyes; the sickening, unreturned love that Lisan had for the handsome, abusive pasnes alna. If she knew the truth, Lisan would go back. She would return to her death and doom the rest of them.
“Mane is fine. He stalled them for quite a while before I left. They were too afraid to attack.” Lisan considered Merigold for a minute, searching her face with the eyes of a warrior. Merigold did not move a muscle, and met her gaze without a twitch. Abruptly, Lisan nodded, just slightly slumping her shoulders.
Lisan appeared beyond exhausted. Merigold had been so focused on her own aches and agonies that she had forgotten the toll that this had taken on her protector. Whatever twisted relationship she had with Mane had only exacerbated her fatigue. Merigold decided to tell another lie—a small reassurance. She placed her hand on Lisan’s powerful shoulder.
“Don’t worry, Lisan. We will be in Agricorinor in just a few short days. And… we will be safe in Agricorinor.”
Chapter 34
Rap. Rap. Rap. Rap. Rap.
“My friends!” Hafgan shouted through cracked lips, his voice dry and hoarse. “Would you like to join me this night for dinner? The accommodations are sparse, but I’m sure I can spare some room.”
There was no answer, of course. Perhaps his caretakers were mute.
“Hafgan?” asked a quiet and familiar voice. Hafgan shuddered at that voice; hearing it almost caused greater pain than what he had experienced in the Pwoll. Rian had come.
“Hafgan? Answer me…” Rian called softly into the darkness.
“Rian.” His voice was heavy with emotion. He’d never expected to hear another voice aside from his own, let alone hers.
“Can you climb? Well, you don’t have a choice.”
A heavy rope crashed into his head, and he groped at the thing. There were thick knots every couple of feet. Almost on instinct, he began to lift himself up, arm over shaking arm. He had such little strength; twenty feet felt like climbing to the summit of Limner.
He crested the rise and felt himself being pulled the last feet by a few willing hands. He didn’t see any of them, though, his filthy and aching body being immediately embraced in a fierce, familiar hug. Rian’s shining hair tickled his nose, but he welcomed the discomfort.
She pushed him away, and he began to make out his surroundings in the wan light of a lantern. There were fourteen Wasmer surrounding him, none of whom he recognized. Wait, there was one… Hafgan stared at him dully, with a vague recollection.
“I told you I would tell you more about Traisen, boy,” Ulin said with a wide, toothy grin. The old Offeir who Hafgan had met in Loch Creed all those weeks ago held a bloody spear. Hafgan guessed it was stained with the blood of his caretakers. He felt a surge of grief over that; they had been good to him, or at least not cruel, and he felt like he’d known those men, though they had never seen each other or spoken.
All of the people who he could see now were Offeirs, men and women in gray robes, the medallions of their various gods hanging around their necks. Despite their different deities, these people were united and moved with a unified purpose.
“What’s happening here?” Hafgan asked quietly, his eyes darting around. Even the confined and crowded hallway felt like too much for him. Too much space. Too much… everything. He felt a sick urge to return to the Pwoll.
“We’re rescuing you, you bleeding dimwit!” Rian said, but without much real rancor. She had blood on her mace, too.
“We’ve gotten to be a bit bleeding tired of this Flawless God,” said Ulin. “There’s little more sickening than using the powers of the heavens to drive men to madness. The people are terrified into submission, but we faithful don’t fear a good fight.”
“You rallied and united Loch Creed?” Hafgan asked slowly, trying to process this change in circumstance. He hoped to all the false gods that this wasn’t a dream.
“By Oletta, you are stupid. Yes, hence the weapon-wielding Offeirs in front of you. Now, eat this.” She handed him a bag of dried meats and potatoes, a veritable feast. “We will be safe here for a little while
, but you need to get your feet underneath you.” Rian, her eyes glistening, reached out and squeezed his hand for the briefest second. She smiled silently.
Then, her face grew hard.
“We are getting you out of Hackeneth.”
***
Restless activity turned into silent inactivity as they took their succor with few words. After dressing in some fresh war robes, Hafgan paced; what was the point of sitting after spending such a long time enclosed? One of the Offeirs handed him a spear—an ancient, beautifully-crafted blade meant for a warleader of great repute. Traisen’s symbol, a raging beast of unknown type or origin, decorated the blade. This haft, of a hard steel alloy as opposed to oak, would not split under pressure during battle.
There was something special about this spear, too, which was evident by the way the Offeir handled it. He cradled it with the care someone might show a newborn, gifting it to Hafgan with a slight reluctance. Maybe it was a sacred artifact, blessed by a pantheon of false gods. But, really, it did feel so very natural in Hafgan’s hands. He had trouble putting the thing down. It made him feel… it made him feel much stronger than he should after his imprisonment.
Rian was off scouting and attending to her little rebellion, having left him with the dozen or so Offeirs. Most were dedicated to Traisen, though there were an Oletta and Denzo mixed in. This handful would be able to do little against the Leyr’s warriors, let alone Leyr himself. In Hafgan’s prime—meaning, before he’d been shoved into the Pwoll—he could have bested all of them single-handedly. There wasn’t a true warrior among them.
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