by Brandon Mull
Thag and Fet came running from the stable. Del climbed up to ride double with Nia. Aram rode around the side of the stable, looking too large for his newly captured horse even though it was the biggest of the four.
“They messed up,” Jason told Corinne. “They were trying to make sure we didn’t have any horses, but they left just enough for us to keep moving. Nobody will be chasing us on horseback. Not from here.”
She nodded. He noticed that her hands were trembling. It took him a moment to realize that the shock of her combat with the lurker must still be setting in. She had been so brave.
“You sure you’re okay?” Jason checked.
“I’ll be fine,” she replied. Her voice didn’t sound very convincing. “The swordplay wasn’t too hard. The mental side of it was . . . very taxing.”
“Thag and Fet,” Jasher instructed, “follow us on foot. Hopefully, we’ll find enough mounts for all of us.” The seedman picked a direction, and they took off at a canter, forcing Jason to drop his conversation with Corinne. He enjoyed the wind in his face and the feel of Corinne’s arms around him. A guilty part of him hoped it would be some time before they found more horses.
They did not encounter any of the scattered horses quickly. The noise of battle receded. Behind them the town was silhouetted against raging sheets of flame. Beyond the blaze, too many ships crowded the modest port, red highlights reflecting off sails. Jason felt bad for any innocents who would have to rebuild their homes or businesses.
Jasher repeatedly leaned down to check the ground. Three times he dismounted to study the tracks more closely. Once they doubled back a short distance, having lost the trail.
Eventually they found seven horses grazing together. Apparently, the terror of the torivor had left the horses, because they did not shy away as the group approached.
Aram claimed the largest, transferring his saddle. With some rearranging, they soon each had a mount. Jasher, Farfalee, and Del were prepared to ride bareback. And they had four extra horses for Thag and Fet to choose from.
They had not ridden their horses hard from the stable, since three were carrying double and one was carrying Aram. Plus, they had paused a few times, and there was no sign of pursuit, so they decided to wait for Thag and Fet to catch up. Before long they heard the drinlings approaching at a sprint. A moment later they heard a galloping horse.
“One horse?” Farfalee asked.
“I only hear one,” Jasher confirmed.
“Could Thag or Fet have found one?” Del asked.
“I heard two runners,” Jasher said.
“Heg or one of our crewmates?” Del wondered.
“Maybe,” Jasher said.
“The soldier at the stable named one other mounted man besides the captain,” Aram reminded them. “A mercenary.”
Farfalee slid off her horse and set an arrow to her bowstring. Aram dismounted and drew his sword. The hoofbeats of the approaching horse slowed, then stopped. Thag and Fet ran into view. “A lone rider,” Thag called. Then he pitched forward to the ground, a long arrow in his back.
“Take cover,” Jasher warned, dropping from his horse, putting the animal between himself and the archer. Jason did likewise. After Jason landed, his horse walked forward. He hadn’t kept hold of the reins! Lunging, he grabbed them and held the horse still. Near him, crouching behind her horse, Corinne pulled out her sword. Aram and Farfalee took positions behind boulders.
Jason’s horse sidestepped restively. He patted the animal and murmured soothing words. Shield held ready, he stayed low, peering under the neck, worried about getting hit by an arrow. He still couldn’t see their enemy. Glancing over at Corinne, he drew his sword.
“I’ll ride him down,” Del volunteered.
“No,” Aram said. “You’ll be an easy target. You won’t get near him.”
Running low, Thag and Fet reached them. The arrow still jutted from Thag’s back.
“Hold fire so we can speak?” a deep voice called from the shadows perhaps fifty yards away.
“Your arrow told us all we need to know,” Farfalee replied.
“I am alone,” the voice responded. “Truce for a moment?”
“He just wants to learn our numbers,” Jasher whispered.
“I count nine,” the deep voice said. “One injured. All with horses. Shall we speak?”
“He’s stalling us,” Jasher whispered more quietly.
“We have nothing to discuss,” Farfalee answered. “We must hurry. Run away, leave your horse, and we’ll not harass you.”
“You have plenty of mounts without claiming mine,” the deep voice replied bitterly. “I despise incompetence. They should have left all their men at the stables until every horse was dead. Instead, they ran to the dock to fight the fire and watch the incoming ship.”
Fet and Del were creeping toward the unseen speaker. A sudden arrow took Fet through the throat. Del fell flat behind cover. Jason pressed a little closer to his horse.
“Now you have eight,” the voice informed them. “Sure you won’t talk? You can’t ride away if I keep putting arrows in you. I have plenty. I seldom miss.”
Jasher gave his wife a nod. “Very well,” she said. “Truce.” She took her arrow from the string, but kept it in her hand.
A tall man dressed as a conscriptor strolled out of the night, using a metal bar like a staff. He wore no helmet, and his head was shaved bald. The glow of the burning waterfront shone behind him. He held a large crossbow at his side. A bow and quiver were slung over one shoulder. His armor and gear jangled softly with every stride. With a pang of distress Jason recognized him.
“Groddic,” Jasher said.
“I know most of your names as well,” the big man replied. “Farfalee, Jasher, Corinne, Aram, Nia, Dead Guy, Injured Guy, the other drinling who got down just in time, and of course my old friend Jason.”
Jason remembered Groddic from Felrook. The tall conscriptor had brought him to his holding cell after his audience with Maldor. Suddenly the horse seemed like pathetically insufficient cover. Jason tightened his grip on his sword. What kind of chance would he have against a soldier like Groddic? He was the leader of the conscriptors. He was the conscriptor who had defeated Galloran. Apparently, Maldor was very serious about stopping them.
“What do you have to say?” Farfalee challenged.
“First, I want to congratulate you,” Groddic said.
“He wants to stall us,” Jasher repeated.
Groddic glanced over his shoulder. “Your crew tried to hold us at the docks. They were promptly overwhelmed. Many men are coming for you, but they lack mounts. Getting rid of the local horses was how we should have stopped you. We didn’t get the job done, so we won’t stop you here. Not unless I kill all of you myself.”
Jason found Groddic’s nonchalance distressing. He was a lone man approaching a sizable group with several proven fighters, but not only did he act unconcerned, he almost seemed exasperated. Jason glanced over at Corinne. She watched solemnly.
“Please try it,” Aram invited.
“You’re a large man,” Groddic complimented. “None of you are incompetent. We keep losing torivors. That alone speaks volumes. It would be an interesting contest. I brought in Galloran, you know, years ago. I’ll bring you in as well.”
“Still stalling,” Jasher warned.
“Let’s get him,” Corinne whispered angrily.
Releasing his horse, Jason crossed to her and placed a hand on her arm to still her. He could feel her trembling.
“I joined the chase in Angial,” Groddic said casually. “The Intrepid waited for me to board her. Might have been a mistake. We just missed you at Windbreak Island. Nice work there. I never thought we would see the end of that Maumet. If you hadn’t—”
“What have you to say?” Farfalee demanded. “Stop prattling.”
Groddic’s expression hardened. “I don’t have tempting offers. Any of you could have access to Harthenham. You could have close to anything at this
point. But I know you won’t quit. Jasher was right. I was stalling. I intend to slay the lot of you. I’m just picking my moment.”
“I could put an arrow in your throat before you took a step,” Farfalee said.
He gave an easy chuckle. “That would officially end our truce. I would like to see you try.”
Quick as a blink, Farfalee pulled her bowstring back and let an arrow fly. It took Groddic through the throat. Thag and Del charged forward. Nia as well. Jason raced around Corinne’s horse. He didn’t want to wait for Groddic to come to him. He was tired of hiding behind others. Corinne charged alongside him.
Staggering, Groddic raised his crossbow and shot Thag in the center of his chest. The thickset drinling went down hard. Gurgling, Groddic blocked Del’s sword—once, twice, three times—before Nia ran him through with her sword from his blind side and Farfalee pierced him with another arrow. Del stabbed Groddic as well.
Jason and Corinne stopped short. The fight had ended as they arrived. The tall conscriptor went down and did not move. Del hurried to Thag. Nia checked Fet.
Jason could hardly believe the speed of the fight. He stood frozen, eyes roving from Groddic to the fallen drinlings.
“We need to go,” Jasher called. “His purpose was to harm us and slow us. Soldiers are coming. They will be on our trail. They will try to loop ahead of us. They will scavenge for horses.”
“Fet is dead,” Nia reported.
“Thag won’t make it,” Del said.
Jason could see Thag feebly waving for them to go. Jason’s eyes became wet. They were losing so many good people! The stirrup creaked as he climbed onto his horse.
Farfalee mounted up. “We must away.”
Nia stabbed the fallen conscriptor once more on the way to her horse. Jason wanted to add a stab or two of his own. That was the man who had blinded Galloran! He had just killed Thag and Fet! But there would be no point. It would restore nothing. Jason nudged his horse forward, following Jasher into the night.
CHAPTER 21
TREACHERY
Nedwin had to fight his way awake. His senses knew that something was amiss, but he was in the middle of agony such as he could only suffer while asleep. After he’d lost the ability to feel physical pain, the sensation had begun to find new life in his dreams. The trauma had started innocently—a bone broken in combat, the dull ache of a bad tooth, a tumble into a campfire. Over time the dreamed pain had come to feel increasingly authentic, and nightmares of torture and the attending anguish had grown more common. After the worst dreams he would wake up shivering and drenched in sweat.
Nedwin had always been a light sleeper. The condition had spared his life more than once. But as the excruciating nightmares grew more immersive, he found himself snapping awake at minor disturbances less often.
Tonight he was once again imprisoned in the dungeons of Felrook. Some nights he suffered at the hands of Copernum, other nights Damak, and other nights Maldor himself did the honors. Currently he was under the power of a tormentor called Grim. It was the only name Nedwin had ever heard him called. He was a small man, with dexterous hands. Nedwin suspected that if Grim had learned the violin, he would have become a virtuoso. Instead, Grim had studied torture.
On occasion, while he was in the midst of dire torment, the pain and despair would be interrupted as Nedwin realized he was dreaming. In the past he had found ways to use that recognition to claw his way to consciousness. Over time, as the nightmares became more intense, it was getting harder for Nedwin to deliberately rouse himself from the agony. But the task was always easier when aided by outside stimulation.
Nedwin wrenched himself onto his side and opened his eyes, gasping, feeling like a drowning man who had finally found land. He did not sleep in his decadent bed. The softness felt foreign and made it harder to wake. Instead, Nedwin slept on the floor beside the bed, wrapped in some of the covers.
His hearing had been sharpened by years of receiving nervesong, a pain enhancer responsible for many of his most mind-rending agonies. Even after losing one ear, Nedwin still heard much better than he had as a child. Occasionally he would experience auditory hallucinations, but they tended to be inexplicable angry voices, and he had learned to separate them from actual sensory input.
Right now he heard faint noises rising from the city below—weapons clashing, glass shattering, assorted screams and shouts. The bells were not yet ringing, but they would probably start soon. A riot? An attack?
He detected disturbing clues from within the castle—the splintering crack of a forced door, dogs avidly barking in the kennel, the jingle of armor, a shout that cut off abruptly. Then he heard a sudden scuffle down the stairs from his room.
So the violence was inside the city, inside the castle, and already inside his quarters. Nedwin resisted a jolt of panic. He felt no fear for his life, but ample concern that his opportunity to fail Galloran had arrived. He had known in his gut, in his bones, that his position governing Trensicourt would come to this. He was too new to the politics involved, and too many schemers had stayed behind with feigned sicknesses.
The bells should be ringing. Had they been compromised? How had his opponents orchestrated this so quietly? Nollin had been working his growing network of contacts, and Nedwin had spent most of his time snooping privately, but neither had caught wind of this coup. Nedwin had expected treachery eventually, but smaller in scale and not so soon. He needed to start moving. He needed to learn the extent of the trouble and to see if there was any action he could take.
The two guards stationed outside his room were reliable men. He should warn them. They could leave with him. If they stayed to fight, they would die.
Nedwin rushed to the door on light feet, but paused as he heard the clamor of swordplay. Too late. Eli and Tomlin had already engaged the attackers. “Nedwin,” a voice shouted, “treachery!”
Belting on his favored short sword and placing a pair of orantium globes in a satchel, Nedwin dashed to the balcony. He never stayed anywhere without scouting multiple escape routes. If he got away, there would be time to return and face his enemies on his own terms. Best to disappear while they had the advantage.
The night was cool, the moon bright. Nedwin took a moment to stare from his balcony. Outside the castle wall Nedwin glimpsed a trio of giants rampaging through a cluster of soldiers. The overmatched humans stood no chance. Elsewhere a pair of riderless horses galloped wildly along a side street. Down in a courtyard Nedwin observed a large group of men driving back a smaller group.
For a moment he could not move. The event he had expected and feared had arrived—a massive coup on his watch. The city had fallen, the castle was falling, and he was the last to know. It had taken murderers at the door of his bedchamber to rouse him.
Even without hard evidence leading up to this night, he had no right to be shocked. How had he missed the giants? He had been vigilant! Clearly, he had not been looking in the right places. The giants must have been smuggled into the city as dwarfs. But when? How? He had watched for dwarfs! He had watched for conspirators! He had intercepted messages! He had eavesdropped on conversations! He had not been complacent.
Never badger a badger. Never squirrel with a squirrel. Never swallow a swallow. When enduring torture, Nedwin used to play word games in his mind, finding interesting combinations. In times of strife, strange word patterns would surface. If you can’t bear the bare bear, bore through the boring boar.
This was no time to get flustered. This was no time to analyze his mistakes. There would be plenty of time later to rationally sort through what had gone wrong. He did not need to comprehend any of it yet. He had to act first and think later, or he would end up dead and no use to anyone.
A rope dangled beside the balcony. Nedwin had left it there deliberately. He quickly used it to climb to the top of the tower. The steeply sloped roof was not built for walking, but Nedwin was in no danger of falling. He loosed the rope and tied it again elsewhere, then climbed down to a lower roof that
could take him places.
Nedwin could have claimed the king’s quarters, but he had opted for the third tallest tower instead. Among other features it afforded better rooftop access to the entire castle.
Above him he could hear men trying to force the door to his room. It would take some time. The stout door was thick, and Nedwin had added three interior locks. Nedwin tugged on the rope. He wished he could take it with him to make his disappearance more mysterious, but he knew he had tied it well.
Where to now?
What allies might need him? Despite his high position, Nicholas had refused to relocate to the castle. A savvy decision, considering the present circumstances. Nedwin decided that he would go directly to Nicholas after escaping the castle. The forces behind this coup would not leave Nicholas untouched, no matter where he chose to live.
Nedwin started running along the rooftop, using a smooth, sliding pace and deliberately choosing where to place each step to minimize sound. He had to sacrifice a little bit of stealth for speed, but with all the commotion in and around the castle, he doubted anyone would notice his subtle creaks.
He should try to reach Nollin and Kerick in time to help them escape. Their quarters were reasonably accessible. They had shunned the towers in favor of proximity to the garden courtyard.
Nedwin worked his way along a narrow ledge, ducking to avoid a couple of windows, his toes hanging over the brink. He leaped, grabbed a jutting beam, and swung onto a new rooftop. If he fell, he would die. Same if he were caught. But ever since the dungeons, most danger had lost its edge.
He arrived at the garden courtyard, then jumped from the rooftop into a tall tree. Leaves and twigs slapped at him as his hands and feet found limbs to halt his fall. There were no continuous ledges around the courtyard walls, so Nedwin took three quick steps along a thick bough, sprang with his arms outstretched, and caught hold of a windowsill.
Pulling himself onto the narrow shelf, Nedwin found the window latched, but he forced it easily. The room was not occupied, although the bed had been slept in. He listened at the door, then peered into the hall.