A noise behind her drew her attention to the southwest tower. The lazy southwest guard must have forgotten a dinner roll, because he was descending the ladder yet again, failing to look about as he did so.
Fortune favors the bold. With a quiet breath, she waited, once again. A moment later, the guard was out of sight and she was at the window, removing the padlock as softly as she could. The hinges at the top of the window creaked as she pushed it open. Over the sill and into the building, careful to avoid bumping her bow on anything, she soon found herself crouching on a dirt floor, a hand still holding the edge of the window above. She pushed it back to the closed position. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the room. She found a table with some papers, several boxes, and several side rooms. Moving ahead, no louder than a mouse on her boot liners, she passed the barred window and headed toward a stairwell that went down. As she descended, she engaged her vision to catch what appeared to be two cells on her right, each secured with metal bars and a solid steel door with a built-in lock. One prisoner slumbered in the far cell, the other remained empty. Yury? She hadn’t been able to keep a constant watch on the building since they brought him here, and couldn’t be sure.
To her left, there was a single room, secured by a large, wooden door. She wondered what they did in that room that required such secrecy. She tried the latch, but it was secure. Out of her pocket came the picks and she was wrenching on the torsion bar a moment later. Click.
She replaced the picks in her pocket as she pulled on the door, opening it to reveal worktables, with items on top. Moving closer, she examined the items. A bone chestplate sat on one table, fashioned with hooks and straps. On another table, she found an ivory blade, runes carved on its surface. It bore no handle, just a crude haft. Unfinished. Someone was following in the footsteps of the king. Bone weapons and armor. With runes. That would change the balance of power, for sure. Anne needed to know this.
A sound from across the basement distracted her – the prisoner turning in his cot. She left the room, latched the door, and went to the cell with the prisoner. Long hair, like Yury, but it wasn’t him. His light was different, very different. It looked more like Mykel’s. Brighter. He was larger than Yury, too. Much larger. Not just wider but taller. In fact, it looked as if he barely fit on the cot. She looked at the prisoner’s thigh and saw a tear in the fabric of his trousers where he had been struck by the arrow. And a bloodstain, but no bandage.
So, it was Yury. But what had they done to him?
Anne told her to follow the boy, and she had agreed. She had her swords and a bow with four arrows. That wouldn’t buy an escape, especially since she couldn’t expect Yury to walk with his injury, much less fight and climb walls. But she had to try. The scorched wood around the lock would invite increased security and she would not get another chance.
She pulled out her lock picks and went to work. The latch on the metal door was stiff, but not frozen, and the tumbler moved when she used a heavy hand. The door came open with a creak, and the prisoner bolted up.
“Yury, it’s me, Gwyn.”
He just stared at her. A rune on each of his thighs flared and Gwyn’s hand went to the pommel of her dagger. Runes! This was a bad idea. Either this wasn’t Yury, or he didn’t recognize her. She stepped back, intending to close the door behind her when the prisoner moved, blindingly fast, and in an instant he was behind her, an arm around her neck in a headlock, blocking her airway. She reached for her dagger and stabbed him in the arm, but as soon as she pulled back the blade, the flesh closed. She tried to speak, to tell him it would be okay, that she was here to rescue him, but she couldn’t speak. He was huge, so there was no way to overpower him. And with speed like that, he must be a racer as well. Health and speed without a cepp, just like Mykel.
She felt pressure against the side of her head. He inhaled, smelling her.
“Your name is Gwyn,” he grumbled, relaxing the arm around her neck slightly. His voice was deep and gruff.
“Yes, yes. It’s me,” she said, voice strained. “Put me down, Yury.”
He paused a moment. “Yury.” It was more a statement than a question. As if the word was an acknowledgment. He dropped Gwyn, and she landed awkwardly.
She turned to look at him, dagger in one hand, the other rubbing her neck. He was much taller, almost seven feet now. And wider, but disproportional. One shoulder was higher than the other, his back was slightly hunched, and his face was misshapen, slightly twisted. Like the monster he had fought in the woods, but not as bad. That’s what the kidnappings were all about. Experiments. Kayna was making cursed.
“Can you fight?” she asked.
He paused, his eyes squinting in the darkness. He nodded.
She slid one of her swords out of its sheath, slowly. Yury didn’t move, thankfully. Gwyn gave him the blade, handle first, then turned to ascend the steps. He was strong, but his mind seemed addled and she hoped he wouldn’t attack her again. At the top of the stairs, she turned to look behind. He was following. Good. Escaping a compound filled with guards wouldn’t be easy and she needed all the help she could get. But she had a sword, a bow, and a big, cursed racer wielding amnesia and an edged weapon. Should be interesting.
She turned to go to the window, then realized how narrow the opening was. Yury would never fit through. The fight must begin with the guard outside the main door. She wheeled to direct him but before she could say anything, he had opened the door and was face-to-face with the soldier. Before the man could sound any alarm, Yury put the sword through his throat.
Gwyn rushed past the dying guard, heading around the south side of the building and directly for the southwest tower.
“Alert!” the lazy guard’s voice boomed from the platform above. Surely, the entire compound had heard it.
The bow went to her hand, an arrow nocked, and the lazy guard’s eye socket suddenly sported the back half of a wooden arrow shaft. No more dinner rolls for that one. He fell forward, slumping for a moment, then fell off the tower and hit the ground below with a thud.
Gwyn sprinted for the wall but Yury was faster, climbing the ladder in a heartbeat. He stood sentry at the top as Gwyn moved up the wall, the shouts of armored men in the distance behind her. If anyone had a bow ready, she’d get an arrow right in the back. A few moments later, she reached the top, then was over it, breathing intensely as adrenaline coursed through her. Her feet hit the ground on the other side, and she sprinted across the open area, Yury just a few steps ahead. As her footfalls pounded the earth in retreat, she wondered how many innocents she was leaving behind tonight. Yury seemed to barely know his own name, so he probably didn’t remember his sister, either. Good thing, because there was no time for a rescue. Saving one boy would have to be enough.
She glanced behind to see several guards leaving the north gate. They held torches and were moving in pursuit but would have no chance against Gwyn’s vision and Yury’s speed. A short time later, they stopped running, having far outdistanced their pursuers. It was dark, and they would need a place to make camp.
“Well, big fella, I guess it’s you and me, now.”
Yury said nothing as he quietly towered over Gwyn, seemingly looking for direction.
“Let’s build a shelter and get some sleep. Tomorrow, we find food.”
“Sleep,” he said.
“I hope you have some stories you can share; it’s going to be boring around here. We must wait for someone, and it could be quite a while.”
26
Ankar
Nara led her men to Keetna where Able Wileman, the former banker, made purchases of food and extra wagons before they hit the road. She paid a visit to Nilly, finding her playing with a passel of little ones in the center of the town.
“Nara!” Nilly said when she saw her, running full speed and colliding with Nara and spinning in a huge embrace.
“Wow, I’ve been missed.”
“I have something for you,” Nilly said. She held up her hand, urging Na
ra not to move. “Wait right here.”
As Nilly dashed away, Nara mussed the hair on some little ones, pinching a few cheeks and laughing. When Nilly returned, she held a piece of fabric draped over one arm, with strings and ribbons over the other.
“This is a skirt,” she said, handing the fabric to Nara. “It’s not tight, so you can still fight in it. And these,” –she held up the strings– “are for your arms.”
“What are they?”
“Some designs I made. Let me show you.”
She helped Nara put on the skirt, which was soft yet very sturdy. Nilly wrapped the strings and ribbons around Nara’s forearms and upper arms, taking her time to fasten them firmly. The strings and ribbons were woven together in beautiful, intricate patterns that decorated Nara’s skin without being uncomfortable. “Tight but not too tight. Don’t want them to slip off when you’re beating up the bad guys.”
“Such faith in me,” Nara said.
“You’re going to win, I know it.” She finished the last pattern. “There. Perfect. Now you look like an angel.”
“Thank you, Nilly, but you’re the angel. These are beautiful.” Nara touched Nilly’s cheek. “Thank you so much.”
They embraced again. “I have to go now,” Nara said.
“Come back and visit me someday.”
“I will. I promise.”
A few minutes later, Nara was far down the road, out of sight of the small village and again among the men of her growing army. Ninety-five soldiers now–if they could be called that. More had arrived from the north, bearing sticks and axes. Word spread quickly in these parts, even if military prowess did not.
“What’s with the new outfit?” Mykel said as he approached.
“Nilly made it. What do you think?”
“I like it, especially the arm things. Never seen anything like those. Should probably get some shoes, though. Not very dignified.”
“Maybe later. Bare feet aren’t that bad. Ready to head out?”
“To Ankar.”
The trek south was slow but went more quickly than before, the roads seemed in better repair the closer they got to the large city. The freezing and thawing of winter months created terrible ruts and frost heaves, but Ankar had money and money filled potholes. As the days passed, they came upon many more villages, but only two were burned. The dead had already been buried, probably by neighboring villages. The Great Land was becoming accustomed to the terrible new state of things.
“The northernmost Ankar outpost is on this road, only half a day’s march to go,” Jahmai said from atop his horse. “If we keep going, we’ll hit it before dark. It’s the smallest one.”
Mykel turned to Nara. “Do you want these men to fight tired?”
She looked up at Jahmai. “How many will we face?”
He shrugged. “Fifty to seventy-five men, maybe a little more,” Jahmai said. “At least one gifted, maybe a pair.”
“I want to win,” she said. “Let’s not be rash. If we take the outpost tonight, we may have two more to fight in short order, and I don’t want to take on three outposts in one day. We rest soon, eat well, get a good night’s sleep. Early tomorrow we go straight at them.”
Another hour of walking took them within sight of a large river, huge snow-capped peaks on the other side. A wide bridge crossed the water in a narrow spot, and, in the distance, they could see the ocean.
“Those are the biggest mountains I’ve ever seen,” Nara said to Mykel. “Other than the Twins.”
“Yes. Ankar is beautiful. The river is the Sitna, which dumps into Kinnik Arm,” said a voice behind Nara.
She turned to see Martel standing nearby.
“Then the water goes out into the Landian Gulf,” he said.
Beyond the river and the bridge, along the far shore of Kinnik Arm, she could see buildings. Maybe only a few hours’ march. Ankar. The second largest city in the Great Land and where Anne had spent a big part of her early life.
“It’s beautiful,” Nara said. “We camp here tonight. Fight tomorrow.”
They made fires and ate well, and they passed a fair amount of alcohol around—brandy, ale, and wine. Nara enjoyed a glass of wine. Able Wileman joined Ferron, an archer, and they both got very chatty after a few ales, then sang together in an ill-advised duet that brought many laughs and more than a few jeers. It was good to see the stuffy banker lighten up and enjoy himself. Sentries stood watch in the event a patrol might wander by, but nobody bothered them and most laid themselves down in time for a good night’s rest.
Nara woke early and found Mykel sitting on a rock, watching the sun rise over the mountains in the east.
“Gorgeous,” she said.
“I’ve heard stories of Ankar,” Mykel said. “But they never mentioned the mountains.”
“First time we visit this beautiful place, and we come to start a fight.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Think we can take seventy-five men and a couple gifted with this ratty crew?”
“I think you could take seventy-five men and a couple gifted by yourself,” Mykel said.
She laughed. “I’d like to recruit a few, if they’ll come. I can’t just bury them all under an avalanche and expect to get much loyalty afterward.”
“True. So, we overwhelm them, get them to surrender, and make a ‘come to the light’ pitch. ‘Redeem yourselves’ and stuff like that.”
Just then, Lieutenant Martel played a bugle to rouse the men.
“Time to go,” Mykel said, getting to his feet.
They broke camp, tucking tents into packs and gathering the wagons. Then they crossed the bridge over the Sitna River, skirting the mountain range as they approached their target, passing a few merchants and travelers. A few hours later, the outpost’s walls could be seen to the southeast.
“There,” Jahmai said, looking east and pointing. “Enemy lookout.”
“Nara followed his gaze. A rider on horseback galloped along a ridge-line trail at the base of the nearest mountain, heading for the outpost.
“Want me to stop him?” Martel asked. “I could intercept on horseback.”
“No,” Nara said. “Let him warn them. We will approach with confidence, speak with them, and give them a chance to surrender.”
“They won’t give up,” Jahmai said. “Not right away.”
“Just because you didn’t, doesn’t mean they won’t.”
“As you wish.”
It was almost midday when they formed up on a field that straddled the road just north of the outpost. Shoe prints and scuff marks on the nearby turf indicated that soldiers had used the area to train. The outpost was just beyond reach of their bows, sporting high walls and multiple sentry towers, archers at the ready. Nara counted at least a dozen bowmen standing proudly.
“Going alone?” Mykel asked.
“You and Jahmai can come but stay back a few steps. This is my show, but I want them to see his uniform so they know they are up against some of their own.”
Nara and Mykel walked up, while Jahmai followed on horseback, tabard visible over his chain mail. Less than a hundred paces from the outpost, they stopped.
A man on the top of the wall shouted, “Surrender as traitors, submit to the authority of the crown, and I will give you quick deaths.”
Nara turned to Mykel. “Want to surrender?”
“Nah,” he said.
“Me neither.” She turned back to the outpost. “No thanks. I’ll give you a counter-offer. You surrender, and we won’t raze your outpost and deliver the justice your soldiers have earned. We rise against the Queen, and we will have victory today.”
The man shook his head, then said something to another. Nara heard Jahmai spur his horse into action just before a volley of arrows launched into the air. She flared sight and speed as the arrows approached—slowly, now that she was in her magic. Five came straight at her. She dodged four and caught the fifth, whirling, flaring strength and sending it straight back at the leader who ga
ve the order, sinking it deep into the wood just inches from his head. She then burst into a run at the gate, hoping that Mykel and the rest of the army would follow. As she sprinted, she flared earth and the northern wall lurched and buckled, the front gate cracking with rising stone that shifted it off its hinges. That would provide entry for her men, but she had another way in.
Arrows came at her again, but she was moving too fast and all went astray. She flared strength, leaping high in the air and landing on top of the damaged outpost wall. Two soldiers were near her landing spot, swinging swords clumsily at her racing form. Strength, speed, and protection alive in her mind, she engaged the first soldier, dodging his sword strike, then smashed his wrist with a fist, disarming him.
Before he fell, she was beyond him and on to the next, grabbing a spear and breaking it with ease, then punching the man in the gut before spinning and moving down the line. The next fell. Then the next. Five were down almost before they knew what was happening. She looked down to see Mykel just now entering the gate, followed by Jahmai and the rest of her army.
“Gifted!” screamed a man on the western wall.
Nara leaped down into the outpost’s common area, feet hitting the earth near at least three dozen soldiers who awaited what they likely thought would be a siege or at least a lengthy exchange of arrows. Swords came out of their sheaths, and she felt a wave of fatigue. Dropping all of her runes, she flared sight to assess, just in time to predict arrows about to come her way from archers on the eastern wall. Flaring speed again, she dodged the arrows just as they approached. Where were the enemy gifted? Then she heard a call from behind her.
“Racer!”
She didn’t recognize the voice but now chided herself for entering the outpost so quickly. Her desire to make a strong impression had left her men unprotected—an amateur move. Several of the enemy soldiers now surged to attack her, and soon they would be upon her. She couldn’t take so many at once in a melee.
Finding Kai Page 16