A March of Woe (Overthrown Book 3)

by Aaron Bunce

  “We have no bows, no arrows. Sixth arm, Nirnan, we haven’t armor, or suitable blades. Say we bar the door. Great, but Tristan is right. What are we to do, beat off the beasts with candlesticks and dusty tomes when they get in here?” Banner asked angrily, “and they will get in here. Either breach their way in through the windows, or hells, pull down the stinkin’ walls. One way or the other, they will.”

  “Didn’t you hear me? There is–” Tanea sputtered, desperately.

  “Enough!” Nirnan growled, his neck flushing a deep shade of crimson.

  Tanea stepped back and went quiet. She could tell the big man was struggling to maintain his composure, and knew they could ill afford the conflict. She stepped forward and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

  Another bang sounded in the wide sanctuary, only this time it sounded closer. The pitch was different too, as if someone pounded on stone, rather than wood.

  “This place is a fortress. We need only shore up the doors and windows, and we can hold out for a time,” Nirnan said.

  Banner and Tristan instantly started to argue, pointing out the futility of defending the Chapterhouse, when the city was crumbling around it.

  “We will be on an island,” Tristan argued, “by the time Thatcher can march here from the lakes, or DuChamp from Laniel, they will have leveled this building down upon us.

  Another boom filled the space, punctuated by tearing wood fibers and cracking stone. Tanea jumped and turned, a prayer already forming on her tongue. She lifted her hands, leaping forward, preparing to bring down Mani’s fire when the next boom resounded. Tanea found herself on the ground in the next moment, coughing and gagging on rock dust.

  “Ee figure if the ground were fixin’ to open up unter us, t’would already’a done so,” Gaston said, stepping forward and helping her off the ground.

  Nirnan and the others sputtered and cursed, crawling to their feet around her.

  “What did you do, halfman,” Tristan said angrily, his knuckles white around the shaft of his halberd.

  “Half…man,” Gaston said, drawing the insult out. “Yeah, ee am short. But half the blood pumping in me veins is dwarf blood. Dwarves work the rock better‘an anyone else. Craft it into block, buildings, and statues. ‘An rock be heavy, right?”

  Tanea’s eyes moved past the short man, across the cold floor where the dust was still settling. The once gleaming statue of Mani, perched just inside the doors, now lay in a pile of rubble against the door.

  Of course, why hadn’t I thought of that? Tanea chided herself.

  “Sacrilege! You’ve defiled a statue of the goddess in her own Chapterhouse?” Banner cried out as the doors shook, the force now deadened by the pile of stone.

  Tanea forced her way past Nirnan and helped El’bryliz up, who struggled against the wall. “It is only a statue. The white lady will understand. It might just give us enough time to find a way out of here.”

  Nirnan spun on the spot, but before he could speak, Tanea cut in.

  “Gather everyone in the library. The doors are chained, but they will open. You have to trust me,” she said.

  Tristan let the halberd come to rest against his shoulder. He cast a sidelong glance at Banner, before turning back to Tanea. He gave her an impatient “where are we going?” look.

  Tanea lifted El’bryliz’s right arm over her shoulder and pointed towards the door on the far wall, just as a chunk of the ceiling broke loose and crashed against the floor a few paces away. The Chapterhouse was being torn apart. She was losing the only home she had ever known, piece by piece.

  “I told you, there isn’t a way out through there,” El’bryliz said, quietly, when they started to move. He moved gingerly, clutching his mutilated hand against his chest.

  “I’ll mend that as soon as we have a free moment…” she paused, the young man’s dark brown eyes flittering closed, before meeting her own. Stubble had appeared beneath his nose and around his mouth. Along with the dark rings around his eyes, he looked significantly older than when she first met him. Pain could do that to a person.

  “What is it? It looks as if your tongue was a cat and caught your thought before you could speak it,” El’bryliz cracked with a pained smile.

  Tanea shook her head. It was another vision, just a flash of light and an image breaking into her mind. She didn’t want to consider it. She wanted to leave the wretched man tied to his chair and leave him to the beasts overrunning the city.

  “Father Pallum. You said he frequented the chambers beyond the library. Is it possible that he knows of a secret passage out of the Chapterhouse?”

  El’bryliz shook his head, and at first she thought he was having a fit, but then they locked eyes again and she could clearly see the pain and fear gripping him. Even the mention of the withered old man’s name seemed to damage his constitution.

  “No! There is no…way…you can trust that deceitful old wretch!” he argued, thumping his bloodied hand against the side of his head.

  Tanea had already turned, however. She pulled El’bryliz along, summoning every ounce of strength she could muster. Tristan called out behind them, the slapping of his boots echoing through the chamber until he bounded up beside them.

  “You said it was back there?”

  “I have an idea,” Tanea hissed, straining with the effort.

  She pulled El’bryliz into the hall, leaving the sanctuary behind them. The young man clutched at her desperately as they moved, his breath coming in short, clipped gasps, as if he was trying to strangle the pain with sheer determination. Tristan followed them quietly, the pole of his halberd tapping a steady cadence against the ground.

  When they reached the door leading to the cellars, Tanea lowered El’bryliz gently to the ground and propped him against the wall. He quickly pulled his robe down to cover the red marks marring his shins and calves. She would heal those for him too, once she had the time.

  The door opened with a groan. She dashed down the stairs, running unabated into the gloom. Tristan fumbled noisily behind her, helping El’bryliz along now.

  “What are you…why are we?” he asked, before stumbling and cursing dramatically.

  Tanea jumped with a handful of steps remaining, landing with cat-like grace. Her heart hammered in her chest, driving a warm confidence into her veins. A young man jumped out away from the wall, leveling a spear at her as she approached.

  “Halt! Stop right there!”

  “Put that thing down before you skewer someone!” Tristan yelled as Tanea jumped to the side.

  “Argh. Sorry! Why’d you leave me down here! I told you that I didn’t want to stay down here alone. What’s happening up there? It sounds like the whole cursed building is coming down.”

  “It is, just be thankful you’re down here. Less chance of being crushed,” Tanea smirked as she helped Tristan ease El’bryliz against the wall, before opening the door.

  “Don’t. You can’t,” he said, but gave up and slumped to the floor.

  Tristan followed her into the room, Asofel filtering in last, and uncertainly shifting his weight between feet. Father Pallum and his two acolytes sat in the center of the room, their hands and feet bound with copious lengths of rope. Tanea smiled genuinely, reliving the experience of gagging the old man.

  “Pick them up,” Tanea said firmly.

  Tristan and Asofel obliged, hefting the three men off the ground, before pulling their gags free. Father Pallum spat on the ground, before turning his icy-blue eyes onto her.

  “Apostate, deceiver…witch!” he snarled, but Tanea stepped up to him, so quickly and determinately that he flinched back and almost fell over.

  “The city is under attack, old man. The Chapterhouse is under attack. I have an offer to make, but we don’t have long,” Tanea whispered, staring unblinkingly into his eyes.

  “As a man strong in the true faith, I fear not the end of this life, for my true path extends before me,” Father Pallum hissed, and tried to sit back down, but Tristan caught
him by the robes and yanked him upright again.

  “I am going to lead these people to safety – every one of them.”

  The lines around Father Pallum’s mouth tightened just before he smiled, but she cut in before he could speak.

  “You will show us the path hidden in the passage beyond the library. If you do, we will help you and your understudies reach safety beyond the city,” Tanea said, a sour taste accompanying the words. She hated the idea, but could see no other option.

  Father Pallum chuckled, cleared his throat to retort, but paused. He tried to appear bored with her offer, but his face betrayed him.

  Tanea felt the ground shake as an audible rumble split the silence. Asofel muttered something behind her. Perhaps it was another building falling, or maybe the beasts found another way into the Chapterhouse. If they had already tunneled under them, it was possible that the noise was one of the outer walls falling away. She cursed every possibility, and the fear that made her blind to the truth of it.

  White Lady, just grant us time to find a safe path. Whatever you need of me, I will see it done!

  “Fine!” she growled and spun on her heals. “Leave them here. Get El’bryliz up and make sure everyone is in the library, and make sure you lock the door to this room. We wouldn’t want the beasts finding them too easily.”

  Tristan was already out the door, while young Asofel, his dark, brown eyes wild and unruly hair askew, stood like a deer caught in a clearing. She grabbed him by the shoulder and gently turned him, before pushing him out the door. Tanea lifted the ring of keys from Tristan’s extended hand, and without looking at the bound men, slammed the door shut and locked it.

  “To the library,” she yelled, urging them along.

  She followed, managing only a few steps before a muffled cry rang out in the room behind her. Tristan turned, El’bryliz hanging like a limp doll at his side.

  “Take him upstairs. Gather everyone you can find, and get them to the library. Use the left door, the handle is cut where the chain loops though. I’ll meet you there in short order.”

  Tristan took a half step forward, his face scrunching up, but she turned and headed back towards the door. She fumbled the keys loose, slid the key in the lock, and paused. The old priest groaned again. Eyes closed, Tanea drew in a quick breath, and silently prayed that she was making the right decision.

  Make this be the path, she whispered, and turned the key. Her hand slipped into her tunic, and closed around the dagger she’d found on the ground outside, and pushed through the door.

  The door closed behind her, the cold handle and stone beneath her feet rumbling with an unsettling, distant vibration. An image of a building collapsing into the ground formed in her mind. Father Pallum and his two acolytes sat hunched against the far wall, their wrists and ankles twitching in the heavy bindings.

  Another tremor shook the building, knocking dust and rock loose directly overhead. Tanea brushed it off her face and sneezed, but it had already gotten in her eyes.

  One of the three mumbled something through their gag. Tanea blinked away the grit, her tears wetting her cheeks. The dagger tucked securely in her tunic, she approached. Father Pallum, unlike his two younger counterparts, did not move, save for his icy blue eyes, which tracked her approach.

  “The tunnels, beyond the library, you will show us the path out of the city.”

  The old man laughed noiselessly, his withered frame bobbing slightly.

  “Show us the path, or I will leave you here.”

  He shook his head, his gaze sliding up from the floor, before meeting hers. He tried to say something, but the gag was too tight.

  Despite El’bryliz’s staunch warnings against it, Tanea moved in and pulled the cloth free. Father Pallum turned his head, working his jaw and licking his lips.

  “No,” the old man said, his voice gravelly and hoarse.

  Tanea rocked back on her heels a bit, taken aback by his tone. She’d expected threats, pleading, maybe even an attempted bribery, but not such a staunch refusal. The ground shook again, so hard it unsteadied her and she fell back on her rear. The two younger acolytes’ eyes went wide, and they started chattering nonsense through their gags. Father Pallum didn’t move, or speak.

  “So you would rather stay here, to be crushed when this building comes down? Or would you rather be torn apart when those beasts finally get in here? I hear they like to keep their prey alive as long as possible, when they feed,” Tanea asked.

  Her heart stuttered, and the distant, gentle pulse of Julian’s became stronger, jumping and matching the rhythm of her own. He felt so close she thought she could almost smell him. She wanted to close her eyes and draw him closer, to revel in their connection.

  Is he close? Oh, Mani, what is happening? Please bring him to me!

  A crooked sneer creased Father Pallum’s wrinkled face. Tanea cleared her throat, realizing that she’d put her hand to her chest. Did he know what she was doing?

  “I will neither be crushed, nor torn apart by wild beasts. I said ‘no’ because you were incorrect, abomination. The tunnel beyond the library doesn’t lead out of the city.”

  Tanea felt her face pull tight, but she tried to hide the shock and disappointment. “…where does it lead?” she asked, stepping forward anxiously.

  “Out, abomination.”

  Her fists balled up, and she breathed, “Out of?”

  The entire building shook, jarring loose a rock in the ceiling. Tanea had to jump back to avoid being struck. When she looked back up, the elderly priest was holding out his bound wrists.

  “I don’t need you. We’ll find our way own way out,” Tanea said.

  “You’ll never find it, abomination. I only know of it because my Eldus Vicar showed me when I first came here as a young man. You will look for it, but one way or another you will all die down there.”

  “If it doesn’t lead out of the city, where does it lead?” she asked.

  “Bring my understudies and I to the library. I…will guide you to the path.”

  Tanea turned on her heels, her face growing hot. She would sooner see the wretched old butcher rot in the storeroom than trust him for anything. Guide me, show me the path. I trust you, my goddess. Please do not make me trust in him!

  Julian’s heartbeat continued on, slow and steady, the warm sensation filling her growing ever so slightly. But it provided her no wisdom or guidance. She was on her own.

  Avoiding his gaze, Tanea pulled the old man and his understudies off the ground, wrenching them up by the ropes rather than their hands. She knelt down and cut the bindings around their ankles, before straightening and brushing her hair out of her face. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a bath. She had to look a mess.

  “Lead me. But if you try to run, I will–”

  “You won’t, abomination. You lack the conviction needed to strike when, and where, it is needed. Despite your claimed pure connection with the goddess, you are weak in faith. We will lead you to the path, and when we are away from this madness you will answer for your heresies!”

  Tanea stared hard into the old man’s withering gaze, refusing to back down or look away. Her confidence, she found, wasn’t quite as steadfast as her anger, and to her shame, she looked away.

  “Move!” she whispered, jabbing the dagger out towards them.

  Father Pallum and the two younger men hobbled up to the door and waited for her to unlock it. The key slid in as a frightening rumble split the silence, her breath fogging the air heavily. She grasped for the ring handle, twisting the key just as the floor heaved beneath them. Tanea shoved desperately at the door, and in the next moment, she was tumbling, head over feet into the darkness.

  * * * *

  El’bryliz staggered, winced, and pushed forward again. The archer, he thought his name was Tristan, pulled him up. The man was short, with greenish brown eyes and a squared jaw covered in shadowy stubble. He looked pleasant enough, and if Tanea trusted him, he should too. El’bryliz wa
sn’t raised that way however. He was raised to suspect everyone, question everything, and dig until a thing’s true nature was revealed.

  A face is truth – everyone sees. But eyes are the portal to truth, he thought, reminiscing on his mother’s favorite Ishmandi proverb. It was a necessary reminder that things weren’t always as expected, nor were people who they appeared to be. It was the practical…the Ishmandi way of thinking.

  El’bryliz tried to flex his injured hand, the dull pain igniting in his fingers and throbbing up his arm and shoulder. He grunted, trying to ignore it. The pain isn’t real. They aren’t there anymore, he thought, reminding himself bitterly of his mangled hand and missing digits.

  “Come along, boy. Faster,” Tristan grunted, dragging him forward. “I can’t say I’m thrilled about the notion of staying here one moment longer than I have to.”

  El’bryliz shook his head. He’d been slumping towards the ground, his toes dragging. He felt so weak, so horribly heavy. Perhaps it was the blood that stained his brown robes. He lost so much of it, after all. Or maybe it was the strange herbs Father Pallum rubbed into his eyes and nose. The ones he said would break his constitution, and make him talk.

  “I am sorry. I just…need a…moment of rest, to claim my breath.”

  “You and me both. I look forward to the time when we can find that rest, but it isn’t now,” the archer grunted back.

  El’bryliz sucked in a deep breath, tucked his throbbing hand tighter to his chest, and straightened his back. He would trust these men, because if they didn’t trust one another, they would all die. They would accept him for the meantime, if for no other reason than Tanea’s word. Unless he showed them that he was worthy of not only trust, but respect. He found that he wanted that very much. To be accepted.

  This whole ordeal was bigger than him and Tanea now. It was bigger than his matron, the brotherhood, and his assignment. Hell, it felt bigger than the whole of Denoril. Many people were dead, more soon would die, and he very much wanted to avoid joining them.

  “The creatures…the gnarls. What do you think they want?” he asked, breathlessly.