by BJ Hanlon
“An aqueduct, to transport water…”
Peals of bell ringing erupted in the distance, Edin couldn’t tell the direction. Another bell, somewhere else, then another. They began to blare in different directions. Dorset gripped his forearm and dug his fingers into Edin’s exposed skin.
“Stop that,” Edin said.
“That’s the warning bell, we’re under attack.”
“Attack?”
Around them, people began sticking their heads out of windows and doors. They gave curious glances and yelled. Softly at first, as soft as yelling could be, but as the bells continued it changed.
Edin could see fear rising in them like a water in a kettle. Suddenly, people exploded onto the street running in all directions. The bells were drowned out by the sounds of screaming.
A young woman with gold bows in her bronze hair caught his eye for a moment. She was near the center of the road trying to go left when she was swallowed up by the crowd. The last thing he saw was her hands flying up as she disappeared.
It took him only a moment to realize she fell. People trampled all around, some stumbling, others hollering unabashedly.
Get up, Edin thought. This was a stampede and no one was stopping to help her.
“Blast it. Come on,” Edin shouted and ran toward her. Edin pushed into the crowd and began to feel like a ball being bounced between a gaggle of children. He nearly lost his balance, stepped on something or someone, and looked down. It was a man’s foot. He stared at Edin, but his eyes were more frightened than angry. He pushed away.
He barely remained standing. A thick elbow or fist hit him in the back of the head. The world blurred for a moment then he opened his eyes.
To the right, he spotted a group of people stumbling. Through the colorful river, he noticed a pale white hand on the ground. A foot stomped on the underside of the wrist and the hand clenched.
He pushed through, taking the random slaps, elbows, and knees to his body. A few feet away, someone grabbed him by the wrist and pulled. He thought it was Dorset at first and glanced back.
“She’s…”
It wasn’t Dorset. The man wore a dark robe with a red fist on the chest. He had the sudden thought of a Por Fen, but the man had brown hair. His nose was upturned as if someone had tied a rope from the top of his head to the tip and pulled back like a fishing line.
Edin tried to yank his arm away.
The man held tight and yelled something. It seemed the man knew Edin and wanted him to do something but that didn’t matter.
The girl needed his help. Edin twisted his wrist down, gripped the man’s hand and stomped the top of his foot as hard as possible.
He felt the bones cracking underneath and the man screamed like a child who fell while running and didn’t know that the ground would hurt.
The man let go and Edin turned back toward the woman. He was feet away. Through the crowd, he could see her dress, what had once been a light pink or yellow was now splotched with dark stains, boot prints, and blood. He dropped next to her and put his hand on the woman’s arm and closed his eyes.
His gut twisted as the culrian shield appeared around him and the girl. People hollered and were pushed backwards by the bubble. There were screams, angry and afraid. But moments later, they were in an open space.
Edin checked her and saw blood trickling down her face from a cut on her cheek. Other rivulets came from her nose and one from her ear turning her hair a darker shade. The woman’s chest was barely rising. Edin lifted her, she needed a healer or someone who knew healing spells…
“Dorset!” Edin screamed and looked around. He spied the aqueduct and for some reason it was in the opposite direction from which he thought it had been.
Edin carried her past some people who stared, others jumped out of the way and dragged friends or onlookers. They parted for him, though it was partially due to the large ethereal bubble that pushed through.
He spotted Dorset perched on a crate next to a stone pillar that supported the structure. He had a confused look on his face as if he were trying to figure out a riddle.
Edin released the shield as he approached. “Can you help her?”
Dorset didn’t say anything.
Edin kicked the crate hard, it rocked back. “Hey, help her!”
Dorset nearly fell off but it seemed to work. The stupor he’d been in ended and he leapt down next to Edin.
He laid her on the stone ground and Dorset knelt over her and started to move his mouth while he put his hands above her body. Slowly, the blood began to stop flowing and her face gained a small amount of color.
Dorset nearly fell backwards, he was pale and breathing heavily. “She needs a healer, but I stopped the bleeding,” he huffed.
“Where?”
“That way,” a woman yelled pointing down a small road. She was older, sixties or so.
Edin scooped up the girl with hands under her neck and knees and followed the woman down the descending road. They reached a white brick building with the healer’s sigil burnt into a round wooden sign. The throngs of the crowd had quieted and they parted to let them pass.
The word, ‘philios,’ came in soft whispers like a moaning echo from deep in a haunted tomb.
At the shop, the door flew open and the woman stepped inside motioning for Edin to leave her on a carved stone table as she began yanking shut flowery curtains.
She closed her eyes, moved her hands over the body as Edin watched. A soft glow was emitted from her hands as they followed the length of the girl’s body. Only her rising chest told she still lived.
Dorset appeared in the doorway, “how is she?” He looked out of breath and tired just like after he’d tried the Oret Nakosu.
Edin shrugged and the woman made no movement or sound. After almost fifteen minutes, the healer opened her eyes.
“She’ll be fine.” The woman ambled toward a long couch and laid down. “You did good Dorset.”
“Thank you, Madame Caesum.”
“You too, Edin,” she said to Edin. “The girl almost died.”
“How’d you know my name?”
A thud on the door turned their attention toward it.
“Be a dear and get that for me,” Madame Caesum said.
Dorset began to move when the door shot open and three men with dark black cloaks with the clenched red fist emblem on their lapels burst inside.
Edin began to feel the connection to the talent weaken as they approached.
“Grab him,” A man commanded.
Edin recognized him as the one who tried to grab him.
“Brosons?” Dorset gasped. “What are you…” the first man punched Dorset in the gut and the thin boy doubled over, coughing as a glob of blood flew from his mouth.
“Get out of my clinic!” Madame Caesum yelled.
They came at Edin. “Don’t try anything.” The man outside called over their shoulder. “You’re under arrest for disturbing the peace and starting a riot.”
Men and women were peering in through the opening. There was a look of concern and fear on their faces as they stared at the confrontation.
“Shut up wench!” The leader called as his three companions moved forward.
“You are silencing my healing spell, Cannopina will die!” Caesum yelled.
Edin clenched his fists, he was unarmed and they held short swords with black stone handguards. Wan stones, fashioned into weapons.
Edin could fight, it was close quarters and he had no weapons. It was a fight he could not win. The leader glared as if expecting Edin to fight. It was as if he wanted himself or his men to stick Edin with one of those blades. He released his clenched fists and nodded.
“Fine,” Edin hissed.
7
Dungeons are a quiet place
Shackled and cut off from the talent, Edin was led from Madame Caesum’s clinic and paraded down the streets. People whispered about him as the shackles around his wrists rattled like loose coins tucked in his tunic.
<
br /> The bells were no longer sounding and the roads had quieted to an eerie silence.
Crack. Edin barely registered the sound before another, then another. Crack, crack… no, not crack, clap. He glanced to the side and saw people clapping for him. The leader of the broson’s head was churning back and forth, a deep scowl on his face as he hobbled before the group on a makeshift crutch.
“Silence!” He shrieked as the sounds grew louder. “Or I’ll arrest all of you!” Another shriek… shriller.
Edin chuckled and glanced at the two men next to him. The third was directly in back of Edin. Somehow, these men kept straight faces.
The leader tried spinning around, he must’ve put too much weight on his injured foot and stumbled. After a moment, he stood before Edin and pulled a blade.
“Are you laughing at me?” Even the other members of his group were taken aback. “I can gut you right here.”
Edin stared at the beady eyes of the man, his nostrils flared and his eyes burned with hate. With his cloak pulled back, Edin saw thinning black hair that looked to have been combed over the top of his head from the side.
The crutch was in his peripheral vision, all it would take was a quick kick and the man would go down. Edin took a deep breath but said nothing, he did not blink and he did not look away.
A hooded man stepped from the crowd approaching from behind. He was Edin’s height with a thin chin.
Suddenly a knife glinted in the sun and was instantly at the man’s throat.
“Worian,” the man whispered just enough for the two of them to hear. It was Le Fie. “The FAE’s laundrymen have no jurisdiction to arrest anyone. Release him.”
“We were commanded…” Worian said but his words were choked off by the pressing of the blade at his neck.
“If my uncle wishes to see him, then he’ll have to make an appointment with me. Understand?”
Edin saw the hesitancy of the two brosons next to him. They looked nervous.
“You, unshackle him or my men will leave you bloody. The Darsol Rose takes no prisoners.”
“Give the criminal to Le Fie.” He grumbled. “I’m still taking credit for his capture.”
One of the men moved in front of Edin and pulled out a small key. He unlocked the shackles and let them fall to the stone road with a loud clang.
An unexpected shove hit Edin hard in the upper back causing him to stumble forward. In that moment, Le Fie pushed Worian to the side.
The gimp cried out, and fell to the ground shrieking.
Le Fie caught Edin. “You okay?” Le Fie said.
Edin nodded.
“You’ll pay for this…”
“Cratmonger,” Le Fie said as they walked past Worian on the ground. Le Fie accidently on purpose kicked his broken foot causing another cry of pain.
“What’s a Cratmonger?” Edin said as the suffocating feeling of the wan stone began to dissipate.
“A man who eats animal manure,” Le Fie said as they walked up toward the castle. “You haven’t told anyone about… the talents.”
Edin shook his head then looked up at him, “I thought you were going back to Bestoria?” Edin questioned. Despite Le Fie keeping him unshackled, they continued up toward the castle.
“I was…” Le Fie said. “A friend requested I take a vacation. It’s long overdue.” They reached the open castle gates. The guards said nothing as Le Fie marched him across the stone path, around the fountain, and straight up toward the castle.
“What are we doing?”
“We need to see someone.” Le Fie said. As they turned a corner,
he thought he heard his name but a rustle of wind through thousands of leaves covered it up.
Just before the front entranced, Le Fie turned down a smaller stone path that led to the left opposite of the Praesidium. They reached a door with the crest of a yellow fist. It was at the base of a tower attached to the castle. He opened it and stepped inside.
“Where are we going?” Edin said as Le Fie led him up a circular stairwell.
After a few flights, they stopped at an oak door though the stairs continued upwards.
“Are you going to leave me in a tower cell?” Edin said.
“What are you a damsel being held by a dragon?”
Through the door, they entered a short hall flanked to one side by doors, the other by windows. He could see a courtyard, and a blond woman being escorted down a path by a dark-haired man. Flowers were in full bloom and the man had his hand on the small of the woman’s back.
Edin felt his heart sink.
Le Fie stopped at the end of the corridor and took out a small pair of needles and dug into the locking mechanism of the door. He entered. “Placisus?”
“Can’t you ever knock man,” said a thick man who sat behind a large oak writing desk. He was clearly in the middle of penning some sort of missive.
The room was rather bare, a small rug was sprawled on the floor, behind the man sat a large picture window. Off to the side was a file cabinet next to a weapons rack. There was a sword, spear, halberd, and other war instruments. A crossbow hung on a wall as someone else would hang a painting.
“I could.”
“Placisus, Captain of the Guard,” Le Fie said to Edin. “This is Edin. Rihkar’s boy.”
Placisus sat back and pulled a pair of spectacles up from a chain around his neck before eyeing Edin up and down. “I can see it, why is he here?”
“The brosons tried arresting him and taking him to the FAE.” Placisus was silent, “it is incumbent upon you to keep order over the city and not have those thugs running around like mongrels off their leashes.”
Placisus rubbed both hands down his face. “There was a decree… I cannot interfere with them. They are under the sole authority of the FAE.”
Le Fie crossed his arms. “Are you not the head of the guard? You answer to the Praesidium.”
“I’m doing paperwork in my quarters while the bells toll. What power do you think I hold anymore?”
“Blast it.”
“Indeed.”
Le Fie stared out the window for a moment. “I need to take him before the Praesidium. All of the Praesidium. If someone wants to bring charges, I don’t want my uncle ruling without a proper hearing.”
“They haven’t gathered,” Placisus said frowning. For a long moment, the two just stared at each other then Placisus sighed. “You want me to call them, don’t you?”
Le Fie nodded.
Placisus sighed, “stay here, lock the door.” He stood and left the room muttering something and shaking his head.
Le Fie went around the desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a black corked bottle.
“Whiskey?”
“I thought you didn’t… what was the word… partake?”
“I don’t… usually.” He poured two glasses of the drink and offered one to Edin.
His mouth suddenly felt dry as he stared at the drink, Edin licked his lips wanting it, nearly needing it. After all that had happened today, there was no reason not to. Edin took the glass and drank. Le Fie sat in Placisus’ chair.
“What is happening?” Edin asked. “What were the attack bells for?”
“How do you know what they were?”
“Dorset,” Edin said looking toward the cabinet again. On top, he saw a thick book. Delrot Constitution and Law. The thing was as wide as his palm. Edin pulled it out and set it on the desk.
“I have suspicions… but they are unfounded at this point. My mentor…” He stopped and Edin looked up. “Never mind.”
Edin raised an eyebrow watching the spy and absently began leafing through the tome. The words were small and full of legal jargon. Edin recognized some of the terms but soon his eyes glazed over.
An hour or so later, keys sounded from the other side of the door. Le Fie had begun pacing and Edin had taken the seat behind the desk.
Le Fie drew his blade and positioned himself behind the door. It was probably just Placisus, but Edin took Le Fie�
��s movement to mean he should probably do the same. He knelt behind the desk and spotted a hand crossbow strapped beneath it. Edin pulled it out.
Placisus entered. “Fie?”
Edin didn’t have time to warn Le Fie as the head of the guard stepped back and revealed himself. Behind Placisus, were four men in guard uniforms and another in the uniform of the brosons.
Le Fie stepped back and pointed his blade, Edin aimed the crossbow.
“Wait!” Placisus shouted throwing his hands up as if they could stop either weapon.
“Explain.”
“He is to be put in the dungeons until the trial. Under guard.”
“What trial? And under whose guard?”
“For starting the riot… and under my guard,” Placisus said, “I convinced a group of the councilmembers to give me the authority.”
“Why is he here?” Le Fie said pointing the blade at the broson.
“The FAE insisted… for Edin’s protection,” Placisus said with a sour tone.
Edin watched the two men in what amounted to a staring contest. It was something Berka and he did as kids. Edin rarely won.
Finally, Le Fie sheathed his blade and nodded but Edin still aimed the crossbow. Not at Placisus, but at the broson behind the three guards.
He imagined what the bolt would do. Edin could see it pierce the man’s throat, knocking him to the ground where he’d choke on his blood. The gurgling of his breaths, the tears in the eyes as the man slowly died from drowning… murderer…
Edin lowered it, grabbed the glass, and downed two fingers of whiskey to keep his jaw from shivering.
“Come with me,” Placisus said waving his hand at Edin. “We will talk again.” He said this in Le Fie’s direction.
Edin went but kept his eyes on the broson. The man moved with purpose as he led them through one of the side doors, through another corridor, and down three long flights of dark stone stairs.
Edin was completely lost.
At the bottom, he began to feel the presence of a wan stone.
A pair of guards stood behind a metal gate. They opened it for the broson followed by Placisus and then the remainder of the troupe.