A March of Woe (Overthrown Book 3)

by Aaron Bunce

  “No, not broken,” Cassendyra said, running a small blade over her palm as if writing. She dropped onto her knees and drew a wide, arcing line on the ground in her blood. She jumped back, chanting one word, before the line of blood erupted in a violent, red mist.

  “You dare use that blood magic here, against your own people?”

  “To protect this boy, yes. If your body were so badly damaged, I doubt you would show half his determination, Altair. But he was not this bad before coming here. It is the totem’s magic. It covers the island, soaking into the soil, the grass, and every tree. It has latched onto the dark moments that crippled his body, and gave them power over him. It has made his fear and pain as real as any monster. Just with the girl. Our presence has heightened her fear, bastardizing her animal urge to flee. It overwhelmed her, transforming her into a frightened animal in flight. She can overcome this. Perhaps it can even make her stronger in the end. But he will not be so lucky. The magic will only continue to feed his fear and pain, until he is consumed by it.”

  “Then why bring him here?” Altair asked, stepping right up to the barrier. He raised a palm and pushed against the mist, but it resisted him.

  “Life is nothing more than the steps between calculated risks. He needs us, Altair, and we need him.”

  “And what can this broken little boy possibly do for us?” Altair reared back and struck Cassendyra’s barrier. The red mist flashed blood red, and flexed to conform around his fist, but held.

  “We can heal his body, make him strong. He can become the emissary we have never had.”

  “Ha!” Altair barked, and turned to the soldiers next to him. He muttered something Luca couldn’t hear. “What healing power do you expect us to tap into? Since the Nym made us immortal, we have had no need of the old healing arts. Why don’t you wrap and bind his wounds, numb him to his pain, and send him back to his home. He can live out the rest of his short life before the shadow of death takes him. There is nothing I…we, will do for him.”

  Luca groaned and leaned to the side, his shocked growl cut short by pain. He knew that the strange old woman’s promises were too good to be true. He felt angry for a moment, partially for the way the stuffy, baby-faced man talked about him – pretending that he wasn’t sitting right in front of him – but also for believing Cassendyra would make good on her promise.

  “Liars.” He collapsed sideways on his bed as he tried unsuccessfully to stand up. Cassendyra turned and bent over him to help, but he bared his teeth and cast her an angry glower.

  “You see, he snarls and gnashes his teeth, just like a little animal,” Altair said, pointing at him.

  “Shut your sugared lips,” Luca yelled. He suddenly remembered someone saying it many times before. His…mother! She told him that someone who talked fancy in order to make someone else feel lower had sugared lips.

  Altair grew quiet, his eyes opening wide in shock. His gaze flashed back to Cassendyra, and he took a breath to speak. Luca spoke first.

  “You’re rude…and stuffy. You talk down to me like I’m not even here. Like I’m not a person. Well, I am. Yes, I’m small. Yes, I can’t walk, or jump, or throw a stick, but that doesn’t make your words hurt any less. I didn’t ask to come here. I just wanted to run and play, and remember who I am. I just want to be a boy again,” Luca said, his face flushing and his hands balling up.

  Altair’s eyes narrowed. He cocked his head, looking to Cassendyra, before moving in a flourish. He pulled a short blade from his cloak and drove it hard into Cassendyra’s barrier. The blade cut into the mist, the rose-colored metal throwing sparks violently into the air. Altair cut down hard, finally driving the blade against the floor and breaking Cassendyra’s line of blood.

  The barrier disintegrated, breaking apart like wisps of colored cloud. The soldiers leapt forward, moving as if they knew exactly when and how Altair would strike.

  “No! Unhand me!” Cassendyra cried out as four armored men fell over her. She bent low and reared back, her body moving and flexing. One of the armored soldiers tumbled away. Cassendyra grunted and cursed – no, Luca realized, she was chanting. Another solider launched straight up into the air, colliding violently with the ceiling. He landed in a motionless pile.

  “Fools! Her mouth!” Altair hissed, backing away, the dagger held protectively against his chest.

  The soldiers swarmed back over Cassendyra, clubbing her with their gauntlets. One of the men wrestled an arm around her neck, before hefting her back and off the ground in a suffocating hold. They moved quickly, binding her body with an odd-looking rope. It glowed, pulsing brightly like stars on a clear night.

  “Keep her bound…especially her mouth. Take her to the sted å glemme, and throw her in the darkest hole you can find. We will tell the Matrons of her heresies – no doubt they will be amenable to leaving her there to wither away in the dark. One less kin traitor to threaten our people,” Altair said, quietly.

  Cassendyra’s eyes went wide and she shook her head, trying to speak, but they had gagged her too tightly. Luca watched the strange rope pulse brighter and brighter, the dark-haired woman’s body starting to shrink. After just a few heartbeats, her clothes bunched up, grew slack, and fell to the floor.

  Luca stifled a cry, and pushed away from the bizarre scene, his back pressing up against the wall. He tried to look away, but his body denied him. Cassendyra’s body continued to shrink, shriveling until she was shrunken and wrinkled, like an ancient, weathered mockery of a person.

  Luca flinched and tried to fall back as a pair of soldiers approached, but his legs felt like they were made of stone. The dalan grasped him by the arms and easily lifted him aloft, his ravaged body screaming in protest.

  The dalan man, identifiable only by the long braid of white hair hanging out the back of his helm, turned back and hefted Luca towards Altair, his large, strong hands like crushing vices around his throbbing arms.

  “Do you know that you are the first non-dalan-borne to step foot on this hallowed ground? This place we have spent life and blood to protect? I can’t expect you to understand the significance of that, though. I am…” Altair paused, his eyes flicking away for a moment, as if plagued with a sudden thought, before smiling crookedly, “…curious why you are so important to the white fox. Important enough for her to come out of hiding, and risk her own life to bring you here. So I ask you, child. Why? Why are you here? Why did she bring you?”

  “Please…” Luca grunted, wanting only for the men to put him down to ease the strain on his body.

  “I know you are in pain. That you are suffering. I would know it without looking at your face. I can hear it on the air, the agony of your bones and body, the smell of it. Pain is such a florid sensation…so wonderfully honest. We can take away this pain, for a time, but only if you tell me what I want to know. Why did Cassendyra bring you here?”

  Luca squirmed, his ears filling with the throbbing beat of his heart. He didn’t really hear the man, but he answered anyway, desperate to be free and back on the ground.

  “I…she told me. She could heal my body. That is…all, ouch. That is all I know.”

  Altair stepped forward until he stood so close they almost touched. Luca took in every detail – his haunting, colorless eyes, slightly curving eyebrows, and his downturned mouth. Up close he didn’t look like any man Luca had ever seen. Not like a man, but a smooth, stylized statue of one.

  “A pity, that Cassendyra filled your head with such fanciful tales. But I will not have you think us all to be monsters. We do not possess the power to make you as you once were. I am sorry. This place…our home, will only make you worse. It is our essence, the magic permeating from the totems that is polluting you. Your presence here also endangers my kind. We have survived only because we have isolated ourselves from your people’s treacherous and violent nature. It is for both our peoples’ sake that you leave this place.” Altair turned and swept gracefully out the room.

  Luca winced as the dalan soldiers hefted hi
m from the ground and followed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Pulled Back

  Afirm pressure closed around her wrist, snapping her out of fear’s grip and tearing her back to clarity. She was vaguely aware of Balin’s horrible eyes, their simmering green fire threatening to seize her again, but then the pressure on her wrist returned and she tipped sideways.

  “Sir? This weather is indeed treacherous. Lots of folk have been in and out of this inn recently, for sure. You see, our room is as drafty as a barn and with only a small hearth we’re afraid of taking ill, so we’ve holed up here before the fire. We’ve noticed all the comers and goers, if only because of the horrible draft every time the door opens. That’s why I do not believe that your companions have been here,” Dylan said, his tone warm and friendly.

  Aida caught herself and sat up a little straighter, although Dylan’s hand lingered on her wrist. His grip wasn’t firm, but steady – reassuring. She took a measure of strength from his presence, and reached up, straightening the kerchief on her head. Thankfully, the masked man’s gaze was no longer directed at her, but at Dylan, sitting next to her.

  “You sound certain of his. Many people come and go, how can you be so sure?” Balin replied, conversationally.

  “I’m observant, for sure!” Dylan replied with a humble laugh. “You see, I’m a hunter by trade, just like my father before me. I’ve learned the hunter’s way from him. One of his first lessons was knowing the terrain around you, and learning to read it. He’d oft say that when a person truly learns to do this, he becomes one with the land. And so you see, sir, I’ve developed the skill of observation. When you do it enough, you start doing it without thought. I sit outside, and for no reason, I’ve already counted the trees, the buildings, but also the spots where a deer is likely to bolt. Yes, there’ve been lots of people in and out, but I haven’t seen the people you’ve described. And trust me when I say that I would notice if a young woman entered! Surely, as my love here would like throttle me for letting my eyes linger.”

  Balin shifted his weight, before leaning ever so subtly towards Dylan. The air grew heavy around her, as if an invisible blanket suddenly fell over her body. Aida slid a little deeper into the seat, subconsciously moving away from the strange man. She knew what would happen, and cringed, waiting for Dylan to fade and crumble under the pressure. He would tell the man who she was – he would be a fool not to, after all, he had only just met her and only a fool would risk their life and well-being for a girl like her.

  “You are observant. Not many common folk have been traveling the road, nay…almost none have traveled in this weather. A man of thaws, silver in hair, and a young woman would catch any’s attention. Would they not?”

  “Truly well,” Dylan responded, cordially. “King’s Fall is a crossroads town, so there are several inns in town…and taverns that rent beds to travelers. Could they be there?” Dylan responded right away.

  “Certainly. Other inns and taverns, only a blind man wouldn’t know that. But they are obvious to the searching eye. This place is tucked away, buried in the side streets of this rotten little town. This is exactly the kind of place someone would go if they were looking to avoid being noticed. This is a place of illicit meetings, whores, pickpockets, and liars. This is a place of hiders, a girl…a girl, just like the one next to you, and a man of many seasons. They are here, somewhere,” Balin said, his voice dropping in volume, and increasing in intensity at the same time.

  Aida’s head swam from his voice, the undercurrents of promised violence enough to send her to the safety of her cottage and its thick doors and shuttered windows. Her eyes dropped to his robes and she imagined him pulling the gleaming dagger free, the thought making her legs twitch. But again, Dylan’s grip on her arm anchored her, providing a small measure of strength.

  “Apologies, sir,” Dylan said with a tension-diffusing chuckle. “I sympathize with your plight, truly. At the same time, I would hate for you to confuse us with your quarry, while at the same time, those folk you are looking for go lost in the cold and snow. You see, my girl, Aida and I have been here in this inn for a fortnight, sir, waiting for the blasted snow to settle. I can tell you that she is not one of your companions based on that alone. We are from a small, secluded town north and far to the east of here. We know so very few people, and are headed south with my father and uncle, both of whom have hair as silver as moonlight. In fact, Aida here just took my uncle for a little stroll up the road a bit, hoping the walk would ease the ache in his legs. And so you see, I don’t want to confuse you, sir. Together, we’re headed to the south coast for warmer weather and a meeting of our kin. Aida and I are to wed then, and take up a family home left when my cousin passed of the cripple’s rot. Gods willing, we’ll settle and start a family of our own,” Dylan offered, pulling Aida in affectionately. She smiled, leaning her head against him.

  Balin slowly crept to his right, towards Margaret and Gerald, only stopping when he came to stand before the fire. Aida watched his shadow, never letting her eyes creep past his boots.

  “Ah, I see,” the rogue said, “For your sakes, I hope the weather affords safe and expedient travel. I would suggest you take care with whom you place your trust. These roadside inns are filled with people willing to spin falsehoods into truths and mislead others to their gain,” he said, turning his dark visage onto Gerald, the bearded man crumpling under his gaze.

  Aida’s skin crawled as Balin moved behind Margaret, the tip of his shiny dagger appearing from the cloak, and ever so gently dipped under the older woman’s jaw.

  “They will try and convince you that the sky is red, that night is day, and what you believe to be wrong is really right. Their words will spin you in circles, and before you know it, they will have robbed you of something more sacred than your gold. Trust,” he said.

  Margaret choked out a strangled sob as the knife pulled tighter against her throat. Aida’s mind spun, every warning bell in her head ringing loudly.

  “I will find who I am looking for – one way or another. And if I cannot, then someone far worse than me will come – a man who killed his own uncle for not telling him the truth…sat on his chest as he lay dying, and watched the light leave his eyes. A man that killed his hounds when he failed in a boar hunt. They displeased him. A man that dismissed maids when they couldn’t follow explicit instructions. He had his men break into their homes while they slept to be ravaged and killed. They displeased him. And now you see? I want a small thing, really…to know about a silver-haired man. Such a small thing, really. A minuscule token…a pebble under your feet. It would please me greatly, and when I am pleased, you all stay safe. I am looking for a man I know entered this village, and walked down this very lane. You have seen him, haven’t you? You want to please me, don’t you?” Balin asked, his eyes boring into Gerald like dark, smoldering coals. His hand twitched, pulling a stray lock of Margaret’s hair of her face, so her husband could better see the blade against her throat.

  “I haven’t…not tonight. I’m so sorry. I haven’t seen the man,” Gerald gasped, deflating as tears bubbled down his cheeks.

  “Now that wasn’t so hard. Was it Gerald?” Balin asked, letting the dagger fall away from the woman’s throat. But Gerald couldn’t respond. He sobbed into his hands, drained of all bluster and strength.

  “You will watch for them, and if you see them, you will tell me. I will be at the tavern down the lane, waiting at the first table,” Balin said, his voice washing over her like a cold wave. “If you don’t, and I find out that any of you have lied to me, I will…be…very…displeased! You will never see me coming.”

  “Yes,” Aida said, before she could stop herself. Everyone in the small group nodded, their eyes all trained on the floor – everyone save for Dylan.

  Balin walked off then, his cloak billowing behind him, the tremendous pressure on her body and soul instantly starting to lift. Aida cleared her throat and sat up, not realizing that she was almost lying in Dylan’s lap. Sh
e swiped at her face, surprised to not only find tears covering her cheeks, but a dribble of blood running from her nose and staining her upper lip.

  “I don’t know what to…” she started to say, but Dylan leaned over and silenced her.

  “Shhh,” he hissed, before whispering, “Is he gone? Is he out of sight?”

  Aida turned nervously, pretending to stretch, taking note that the strange man now stood at the desk, waiting for the innkeeper to make her way slowly down the steps.

  “No. He’s standing by the desk, waiting for the innkeeper.”

  “Alright. Calmly stand, and lead me around the seats and to the first floor hall,” he said, quietly.

  Aida stood after Dylan, taking note that the others seated before the fire were watching her. But they weren’t just watching her, they weren’t blinking. They looked like terrified, spooked animals ready for flight. She hooked a hand under Dylan’s arm and started to lead him through the chairs.

  “Lead me without making it too obvious,” he whispered as they rounded the fire. “Laugh at whatever I say, and act as if we’re just out for a stroll.”

  Aida pulled in close, realizing it wouldn’t look strange for them to be walking so near. Dylan staggered next to her, his hand held subtly against her lower back, and his other casually sweeping out for obstacles.

  “Can you fathom it? A few more turns, and we’ll be in Daneshall. Just imagine taking a bath and not having to melt the ice first,” Dylan said, a little louder than otherwise necessary.

  Aida chuckled, nodding her head as the innkeeper mounted the top stair, a bucket in one hand, and a broom wedged under the other arm as she started to descend.

  “Aye. It’ll be nice to hang my dirties on the line to dry – well, without them freezing stiff as a board,” she said, after Dylan poked her side.

  Balin stood at the little desk by the front door, his shadowed face turned towards the approaching innkeeper. Aida fiddled with her kerchief, before pulling it straight, fighting the urge to look him in the eyes. They passed by the bottom of the stairs just before the innkeeper, who labored breathlessly under her awkward burden.