Gloomwalker

by Alex Lang

  Kyris cursed guardsman Kottsen as the group passed through with scarcely a slowing of their stride. Apparently the gatekeeper wasn’t so willing to be bothersome to a group of hardened men.

  “Hurry,” he urged.

  Tasi looked back again and asked, “Who are they?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The group moved quickly towards them, but they did not run, most likely because they didn’t wish to draw the attention of the guardsmen.

  The bridge had to be near two hundred paces in length. They wouldn’t get away if, or rather when, the men decided to give chase in earnest.

  Kyris squeezed Tasi’s arm. “When I say so, I want you to run with Jahna.”

  “What about you?” she asked, her eyes wide with fear.

  “I’ll hold them off.”

  “Kyris, no,” Jahna said.

  “Don’t worry. They’re common toughs, little better than street urchins. Enough time has passed. If I have to, I’ll enter the Gloom, and I’m sure they’ll scatter from the fright of it.”

  Tasi examined the approaching group with a deep frown.

  They were three quarters of the way across the bridge, nearing the open square at the other end. Music and the sound of crowds could be heard from the nearby taverns.

  He was about to tell the girls to run when one of the pursers called out. “Ho, there!”

  From a hidden sheath attached to his back, Kyris surreptitiously drew a dagger with his left hand as he turned.

  In the group's lead was a bear of a man, face framed by a wild mane and beard of black and gray hair. He looked to be a woodsman ready for battle, attired in a furred doublet underneath which the glint of armor could be seen. The rest of the group was similarly clothed, if not as well-armored. They were some twenty paces away by Kyris’ estimate. He was glad to see that each man wore only a single long knife at their hip. Most likely, their weapons had been surrendered while going through the Wall by way of another gate. Otherwise, they would have retrieved them on their way out. This detail had significance, but before Kyris could ponder further, he was distracted by one of the group standing in the rear, holding a small boy.

  While trying to puzzle out the reason for the child’s presence, he whispered back to the girls, “Get ready to run.”

  “Who are they? Are they Caldir’s men?” Jahna asked Tasi.

  “I don’t know, but they look like trouble,” she replied, with a nervous edge to her voice.

  “There’s no use running, lad. There’s no escaping us. We are huntsmen of the Imperium, and it’s time to answer for your crimes against House Curunir.”

  The first part of the statement meant nothing to Kyris, but he tried to hide his surprise at the latter revelation, for he had been certain this group was in Caldir’s employ.

  “Now, surrender yourself and no harm will come to you or your women.” The man’s angry glare put the validity of his statement into question.

  “Curunir? Curunir? Can’t say that sounds familiar,” Kyris replied, doing his best to sound flippant, though it was a struggle to remain composed with the throbbing in his hand. “I believe you have mistaken me for someone else.”

  “Ha, even if we didn’t have our ways, I’d wager on you being the one we’re looking for.”

  Despite his nonchalant demeanor, Kyris’ mind roiled with questions. How did they find him? Had Caldir been attempting to capture him for the Curunirs? Were these men, these huntsmen, some scion order he hadn’t heard of before? This last thought troubled him. He could handle four knife-wielding opponents with ease if he shifted, but if they were scions…

  “If you’d rather do this bloody,” the big man continued, “we’ll be more than happy to accommodate.” His men grinned at that, and a couple leered at the girls.

  Kyris tried to decide who he should stab first. The big man seemed the obvious choice, or perhaps the one in the back, his hand gripping onto the small child’s neck. Again, Kyris wondered why the boy was here and what significance it held, if any. The strange child stared at him with dark round eyes, and it made him more uncomfortable than any of the grown men’s menacing looks.

  Kyris tightened his grip on the dagger and opened his mouth to yell ‘Run!’, but the utterance died as Caldir, Ellse, and four others came into view behind the huntsmen.

  Kyris vowed that if he survived this night, he was going to pay guardsman Kottsen a visit.

  “You again,” the scarred man spat at seeing the group.

  “I am afraid I have some unfinished business with your quarry, leasher,” Caldir said, his voice carrying across the bridge.

  “I don’t give a whit what you have. He’s got crimes to answer for, and we’re taking him.” The huntman’s voice was near a shout by the end.

  “I cannot allow that.” Caldir’s tone was firm and even.

  “Allow? You have no say.” At some unspoken command, the group of huntsmen drew their knives and turned, trying to keep an eye on both Caldir’s group and Kyris’.

  “I suppose we are at an impasse, then, but I would have you consider your numerical disadvantage,” Caldir said as his group also drew their weapons.

  The big huntsman scoffed. “All I see is a gaggle of trash. You stand against veteran armsmen. Any one of us is worth three of you. So you should count again.” Turning to Kyris, he said, “You take another step, assassin, and we’ll chase you and your women down. We were ordered to take you back alive, but only you.”

  Kyris had been inching backward as the two men spoke. He stopped dead at the threat before a thought occurred to him on how this new development might be a fortunate turn of events.

  “Hunter. I surrender, to you. But I don’t think that lot will let us go. They don’t seem keen on sharing the bounty,” Kyris said.

  The burly huntsman looked at Kyris and then Caldir. “What are you playing at?”

  “Yes, Kyris. What are you playing at?” Caldir asked.

  “You let the girls go free, and I will come with you.” Kyris gestured to Caldir’s group. “Those are not my allies.”

  The big man seemed unconvinced, but the rest of his group had turned to face Caldir’s men now.

  Tasi yelped in surprise as a band of men came streaming onto the bridge from the square. Kyris counted a dozen and noted Adar among them. “Vos take me,” he muttered. This new group was armed with swords and axes, and two even had crossbows. They surrounded Kyris and the girls, cutting off any hope of escape.

  “Ah, impeccable timing, Jolso,” Caldir called out.

  “You called, and I came,’ drawled one of the new arrivals, a white-haired old man with pocked cheeks and a gaunt stature.

  The huntsmen were now distinctly concerned, glancing back and forth between the two groups, though their leader only seemed more angry by the new development.

  “Well, even by your own accounting, I would say the scale has tipped in our favor,” Caldir said. Calling out, “Kyris, please, allow me to explain. Hear me out. Afterward, I promise, you can go if you choose.”

  “And what if I said we choose to leave right now?” Kyris challenged.

  After a long pause, “Then you may leave. Neither I, nor my men, will bar your way. But that means these huntsmen are also free to conduct their business. They tracked you, Kyris. Even if you get away tonight, they will find you again.”

  The lead huntsmen fumed, and it seemed he was ready to attack despite the likely outcome.

  “Kyris, I assure you, you will want to hear what I have to say,” Caldir finished.

  Kyris looked at the huntsmen, then Caldir’s band, deliberating. Would Caldir let him leave? Surely that was just a ploy. But twice now there had been mention of a method by which he was being followed.

  “Very well. I don’t suppose I have much of a choice. I’ll listen,” Kyris finally said.

  The scarred huntsman let out a loud growl of frustration. “I will not allow—”

  “Leasher! You are absent your hounds, and you are outnumbered, an
d I would rather not see blood shed needlessly. My friend has decided to go with us. I suggest strongly that you and your men step aside,” Caldir advised.

  The large huntsman pointed at Kyris, his face clouded with fury. “Know this, assassin. You can’t hide. Where ever you go, we will find you. And you!” The man whirled on Caldir so quickly that Kyris wouldn’t have been surprised if a crossbow bolt was let loose in response. “By the blood of the gods, you will pay for interfering with our bounty. This, I swear.”

  Caldir, for his part, looked unaffected by the threat. He led his group, circling wide around the huntsmen, to join Kyris and the reinforcements. Further down the bridge a group of guardsmen were gathering, having noticed the strange congregation. When Caldir and the new party merged, they all turned and moved east out of the square, leaving the huntsmen staring at their backs.

  As they moved farther away from the bridge, Caldir held a whispered conference with Ellse, Adar, and the old man, Jolso.

  Kyris edged closer and caught a bit of what was spoken. Caldir was asking for something, but Jolso considered his obligation fulfilled and was not inclined to offer any more aid. That is, until Caldir made it clear that he would be in the old man’s debt. Jolso grinned, and the two men clasped hands.

  Jolso commanded his men to hand their weapons over to Ellse and the others. She gave Kyris an unreadable look, then the newly armed group peeled off down a side street, running. Kyris wanted very much to ask Caldir what they were up to, but he held his tongue.

  Mannahar shook with barely contained rage as the band of lowborn trash strolled off with his bounty. His murderous glare bore into the back of one individual, the focus of his hate. Caldir, the assassin had called him. The pompous pretender, speaking with that superior tone, playing-acting above his station.

  A strange sort to be leading a group of street toughs. Regardless, Mannahar vowed the man would pay for the provocation given tonight.

  “What now?” Treven asked, interrupting the spiteful musings. When Mannahar did not reply, the leasher continued, “There’s no need to worry. We’ll find him again. He can’t escape.”

  “I know that!” Mannahar snapped. He jabbed a finger at Treven, then at Timmin. “What are you two good for without your hounds?”

  Both men avoided meeting his glare.

  He shook his head in disgust and said to Treven, “Make yourself useful and grab the accursed child.” He then marched off the bridge, catching the last glimpse of the assassin and his rescuers before they disappeared around a corner. They were heading east.

  Mannahar turned south, walking at a brisk pace. His men hurried to catch up.

  “We’ll head back to the Oak gate and pick up Ladis and the hounds, and our weapons. Then—” He pointed at the boy, “you better lead us straight to him. No more games.” The leech had led them all over Vigil this day, and Mannahar was convinced that it had purposely been circumvent, taking them to one random place after another. It wasn’t until he’d struck the boy and threatened a true beating that they were guided to the Dockside warehouse.

  The child liked to play dumb, like now, returning that empty gaze of his, as though he had no comprehension of Mannahar’s words. But that would no longer work. Mannahar was at the end of his patience. “We’ll get our bounty tonight and—”

  Three armed men emerged out of an alleyway some ten yards in front of them.

  “Hello, fellows,” the slight man in the middle said, pointing a sword. The other two flanking him leveled crossbows.

  Were they being robbed? No. It took a moment for Mannahar to recognize them as the street toughs from the bridge.

  “I wouldn’t do anything rash,” the man added, somewhat winded. They must have run along a parallel street to catch up.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” Treven asked, and Mannahar wanted to strike the man for asking the obvious.

  The slight man shrugged. “The boss isn’t keen on letting those that threaten him simply go about their night, I suppose.”

  Pran looked to Mannahar expectantly, wanting him to say something or give some signal as what they should do, but Mannahar knew talking was useless. He didn’t know why they hadn’t attacked already, but he took the opportunity to scan the street. There was no easy escape or cover, except…

  “We’re servants of the Imperium,” Pran said, voice cracking. “You lay a finger on us, and you’ll all hang in gibbets.”

  “Noted. I’ll keep my fingers to myself,” the slight man said with a wicked grin. At a gesture from him, the other two let loose their bolts.

  Mannahar had waited, anticipating, and whirled into motion, grabbing Pran and simultaneously pulling him close and dodging behind his fellow huntsman. He heard the familiar thwacking sound of taut strings being released of their tension, and Pran grunted. There were shouts and cries from his companions. Mannahar pulled his long knife out and sought a target, only to find their attackers fleeing up the street.

  He took a moment to assess the situation. Pran was on the ground, groaning and clutching his stomach where a bolt protruded. Treven had thrown himself down against the nearby building and appeared unharmed. The boy was pulled low by his side. The other bolt must have missed.

  “You two, with me,” he ordered of Timmin and Sepp, then charged after their assailants. As they ran, Mannahar slowed after a few strides, and the other two quickly passed him. Something didn’t feel right. They had to pursue and counterattack, otherwise their attackers would have time to reload and harass them further, but why had only three been sent to begin with?

  As soon as the thought occurred to him, he glanced back to see two figures approaching Treven.

  “Behind you!” Mannahar yelled.

  Treven must have read the expression on his face because he’d whirled before Mannahar even had the words out of his mouth. That saved his life, as he just managed to dodge a sword thrust from the woman that had been on the bridge earlier. She pressed her attack as Mannahar ran to his aid. Treven lost his balance in the onslaught and fell on his rear, holding his long knife out in front of him in a pitiful defense. Mannahar lunged at the woman, preventing her from running Treven through. She danced back and avoided his knife with ease.

  “I’m going to cut your head off, girl,” Mannahar sneered. He rushed in, trying to overwhelm her, but she was calm, completely composed, and skilled. More skilled than he thought any street trash could be.

  Noticing that Treven was still on the ground, Mannahar snarled, “Get off your ass and help me!”

  Treven did as commanded, and the two huntsmen rushed the woman. It didn’t take long for Mannahar to realize things would not go as he had hoped. Even with two on one, she danced around them, avoiding their thrusts and slashes, returning in kind, and nearly mortally wounding the two men a half dozen times in the short exchange. Only their armor saved their lives.

  Things would be different if he only had a proper weapon, Mannahar raged.

  There was a momentary lull in the battle as the woman eased back at the approaching footfall of Timmin and Sepp. Mannahar could tell from their expressions that their chase had not been successful. Let’s see how she fares with four on one, he thought.

  “It’s been fun, boys, but we’ll have to finish this another time.” She turned and ran.

  Mannahar thought to follow, but she was fast like the wind. Even unencumbered by armor and completely fresh, he would never be able to catch her.

  It was only at Treven’s frantic motions and panicked look that Mannahar realized the boy was gone.

  Chapter Fourteen

  To Kyris’ surprise, Caldir and his men escorted him and his sisters to a place he recognized; the tailor’s shop in the Halcyon district where he had woken after the fight with Ellse.

  Jolso and his men had departed before they’d entered the Old City, leaving Caldir with only one man who Kyris didn’t know, the rest having run off with Ellse. They had passed through the Forger’s Gate unmolested. Caldir seemed on friendly terms
with the guardsmen on duty.

  Not long after, the four of them sat in a small parlor above the shop, the other man remaining outside the door. The girls seated themselves next to each other on a small velvet sofa while Kyris chose an armchair. Caldir sat in the matching chair across from them.

  Kyris had contemplated escape when Jolso left with his men but decided against it because the risks to Jahna and Tasi were just too great. He considered it again now. He still had his knife, but he couldn’t decide if Caldir was showing him trust by being alone with them, or if the man had some assurance of safety that Kyris wasn’t aware of, and given what little he knew of him, he leaned towards the latter. And, being honest with himself, he found that he wanted to hear what Caldir had to say. Even so, he was prepared to slit the man’s throat, if necessary.

  Caldir’s attendant appeared carrying a tray loaded with a steaming pot of kef, cups, and a tiered plate filled with an impressive array of candied nuts, cut fruits, and pastries.

  “I have it, Wilen. Thank you,” Caldir said.

  Wilen nodded and left as Caldir filled four cups and set them out.

  “Kyris, I want you to know that Sandamar, the fleshmender you… met earlier tonight has been called, and he is on his way as we speak. He will heal your hand.”

  Kyris wanted to shout in relief, but he only gave a curt nod. It was astonishing to him that not only had the fleshmender survived, but the man was well enough to travel and then heal him. He hadn’t realized the full extent of what Ormossans were capable of.

  “Please, help yourselves.” Caldir waved towards the food. "I think formal introductions are in order,"he said, looking at the girls. “My name is Caldir.” He extended a bow to Tasi, who, after a brief pause and a glance at Kyris, did the same.

  “Tasi,” she said.

  “A pleasure.” He turned and bowed to Jahna, and at Tasi’s gentle prompt, Jahna nodded in his direction.