A March of Woe (Overthrown Book 3)

by Aaron Bunce

  I knew this was coming, dammit. I should have been faster, he cursed himself. Have they enslaved the entire city already?

  Julian didn’t have to wonder long. They moved around a makeshift wall of rubble, the Old City opening up. Half the buildings here were gone, a swarm of figures working to clear the rubble. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of people stood in the wide-open spaces, bunched between damaged buildings, the thoroughfares, and even clustered in the cleared out foundations of collapsed buildings. Many were soldiers, still fully dressed and ready for battle. He watched as helpers scurried over the rubble, pulling people from the crowds and ushering them to makeshift smithies.

  Julian’s group walked by one of the shacks just as a man screamed inside. He braved a look. A handful of gnarls held a squirming man down on a table, the wretched bracelet still smoking against his exposed wrist. The large smith plunged the man’s arm into a bucket, the hot metal squealing and hissing in the cold water. The man’s cries grew frantic, but then went abruptly quiet.

  They moved through the maze of temporary shacks and milling people, marching deeper into the Old City. A cold dread filled Julian’s insides. He was surrounded by a city of people, and had to consider most, if not all of them, hostile. He couldn’t fight his way through an entire city. How would he find Tanea without being spotted? Beyond that, how would they get back out of the city?

  Julian slid his left shackle open a bit, driven by a claustrophobic need to run, but closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Calm. You are here because you need to be. There is a way, he told himself.

  Closing his eyes, Julian concentrated on Tanea’s rapid heartbeat, relishing the blissful silence in his mind. Her heartbeat grew stronger, the darkness behind his eyes breaking as a faint, silver thread appeared. Nightbreaker hummed in its scabbard, the heavenly blade ringing in time with the pulse of the ghostly thread, beseeching him to pull it free and put it to use.

  I’m here, Tanea. I’m here. Please, tell me you’re safe. Please tell me where you are!

  The response was immediate. A wave of relief flooded into him, but turned quickly to panic and terror. Images of darkness followed – a tunnel of black, broken by periodic beams of bright light. Her heart thundered. She was running, chased by something…he became aware of noises, echoing in the darkness. It sounded like dogs barking…growling, snarling, and claws scraping over stone and loose rubble. No, not dogs. Gnarls.

  Something jerked him forward. His eyes snapped open, his hold breaking on the precarious thread connecting him to Tanea. The injured woman in front of him stumbled and fell, the length of chain between them snapping taught and almost pulling him off his feet. He moved to help her, but the whip swung in first, splitting the air with a violent crack. Gnarls converged on them in a rush, the large faceless pushing through, shoving the slathering creatures aside with little regard.

  “On your feet,” he growled, his deep voice muffled by his dark mask.

  The woman moaned and gagged as he rolled her over, before succumbing to a violent coughing fit, blood spattering out over her chin and onto the man’s hands.

  Julian felt Nightbreaker growing warm at his side, the blade humming a desperate cry to be unleashed. The faceless cocked his head to the side, the yellowed tusks jutting from his metal face a macabre addition. Julian’s breath caught. The blade. Can he hear the blade? He flinched, desperate to smash the sword to his body and muffle its plea.

  A heartbeat later the faceless returned his attention to the woman. He grabbed her roughly by the dress and pulled her off the ground, before shaking her violently.

  “Wake up, little flea. Boar says wake up, now!” the faceless said.

  The tusks suddenly made sense.

  The woman coughed again, gagging and shaking violently. Julian looked up. People were starting to take notice. Gnarls, soldiers, and smiths turned to watch, some even crowding in around the roadway. Boar tried to pick her up and place her back onto her feet, but she collapsed immediately, crying weakly.

  “If you can’t walk, little flea, you’ve got no value, and if you’ve got no value to Boar. Well, then you’ll die that much sooner,” the large masked man said, laughing horribly as he shook her impatiently. The woman’s eyelids started to flutter irregularly.

  She was dying. What she needed was a healer and a soft bed. Not to be abused and ground into the dirt. Julian’s shackles rattled, his hand involuntarily twitching towards Nightbreaker. He wanted to rip the sword free and cut the faceless bastard down. But if he did, they would swarm over him.

  Patience. Your moment approaches. You will know, the handmaiden’s voices whispered on the breeze.

  “We have no use for such weakness,” Boar growled before ripping her shackles free, not bothering to unbolt or open them first.

  The woman gasped weakly as the shackles tore her skin, but did not fight as the large man picked her up and tossed her unceremoniously to the side of the road. Boar snorted as he returned to the front of their line and resumed their march forward. Julian reluctantly walked forward. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the woman’s body, now heaped in an ungainly, twisted mess in the filth. She didn’t move, the rise and fall of her chest undiscernible in the shadow.

  Just like the people in the pool, Julian thought, his anger festering and tinging his vision red. Just like Stark and the men at the eastern fire line. Just like Sky. The thought of his best friend, reduced to ash and crushed under a boot almost toppled him fully from reason.

  Julian would find Tanea, get them out of the city, then he would find Spider and his masters. He would make them answer for the lives they’d taken.

  “Fleas. Behold your precious city, so easily overthrown. Your stout buildings reduced to rubble. Your defenses and fighting men conquered from within their own walls. We will unburden your people from chaos and uncertainty, gracing them with the bliss of a purer purpose,” Boar said as they walked.

  Julian couldn’t deny the impact of Craymore’s fall. The city bolstered some of the mightiest defenses of all the cities in Denoril. Its walls were tall, thick stone, and its people hardy. That mighty city was dead, its people brought to their knees, and there hadn’t even been a siege. The truth was terrifying.

  “My masters will forge an army from your people, just like they are doing in Ban Turin at this very moment. They will temper them with their strength, freeing them from fear, indecision, and pain. We’ll march on Laniel and Pinehall, until every city in the north is ours. Then we will sweep south to the lakes, toppling every stronghold on our way to the Dagger Coast.”

  Julian wanted to ignore the man, his pompous, gloating speech, just like Spider before him, turning his stomach. But his words caught, just like in Ban Turin. Impossible! Ban Turin was the Council seat, an enormous city hardened against siege on all sides. It was impenetrable. All five provinces garrisoned soldiers in the capitol, bolstering the already sizable force of city guard. Beyond all that, the Silver Guard was headquartered there.

  Ban Turin couldn’t fall. That would mean his parents and his family were…he didn’t want to consider any of it. The masked wretch was lying, twisting his mind around to manipulate him. Spider did it, making him believe that he’d captured Tanea. Julian squeezed his hands into tight fists, the chains jingling mockingly.

  No! He’d come too far, lost too much. He would not be played again.

  “Unfortunately, you fleas will never see any of it!” Boar said. He stepped aside and allowed the line of people to pass by him and file into a large building. “Fleas are vermin. Vermin! They hide, cringing in the dark places…coward-like, feeding off the blood of more worthy beasts. They show no bravery, exhibit no courage. None of you fought for your city…your people. None of you sacrificed. Boar had to root you out of your holes, like fleas, like stinkin’ grubs.”

  Julian approached, his gaze lifting to the large masked man, an ample, pale belly sticking out from beneath his stolen armor. A perfect place to stick my blade.

  “Just lik
e mindless grubs, you’re nothing but skin, bones, and muscle to us now, clay for the skinsmiths to mold into something more worthy. They’ll tear you apart and throw away the worthless bits,” Boar said, spitting the words as Julian walked past.

  The space beyond was dark. Heavy tapestries hung over the windows, the light barely illuminating the upside down family crests. It was done for offense, as no honorable or noble person would hang a family’s crest over a window, let alone upside down.

  The building looked like a banquet hall, its long, highly polished tables all smashed up against the far wall, their surface covered in a mess of what looked like blacksmithing tools, saws, and other instruments. Large fireplaces sat on both sides of the long space, their hearths cold and dark, the stone stained by the soot of innumerable wood fires.

  Several large cages sat at the end of the long space, forms thrashing about against the bars. Several vats sat in the middle of the floor, fires burning quietly beneath them. Their thick contents bubbled and popped, dark steam lazily drifting into the air. It smelled earthy and sour.

  They walked by a series of tall racks. Several women worked diligently scraping hides pulled tight over the frames. Julian didn’t have to look closely to know that they weren’t animal pelts.

  “Haven’t finished with the last lot, Boar, and you’ve already brought more! What’s the hurry? Skinsmith work takes time. Ain’t no hurry,” a large man hollered, emerging from behind a wall of crates and barrels.

  “No shortage of fleas. They hide in their homes like the shadows will protect them,” Boar replied, walking back up the line.

  Prepare. Fight. Up, over, down, and down, to where the dark underneath meets the sun.

  Julian’s muscles tightened in anticipation, his right hand starting to shake. His mind raced, the handmaiden’s strange instructions feeling more like a riddle. A strangled, horrible cry echoed from the cages at the other end of the room.

  “Lock ‘em over there against the wall, with the others,” the large man said, wiping his ruddy face with a rag. Julian didn’t spot a bracelet on either large arm, although an odd mask covered the top half of his face. Strangely, it had no eye slits.

  Boar led them to a wall, pushing each to the floor in turn, before hooking the chain connecting them to an open hook in the wall. Julian watched the man approach, and realized that he likely wouldn’t be able to keep the armor covered, let alone the long, shiny scabbard. Just then an enormous figure appeared from between the cages.

  Taller and wider than any person Julian had ever seen, the skinsmith looked more animal than man. With wide, burly shoulders, wild greasy hair, a thick neck, and arms longer than its legs, it was truly an intimidating sight. It approached their line, its face wide, with sunken, dead eyes, a flat nose, and pocked, dirty skin. Julian watched as it pulled two people off the ground, its bloodstained hands large enough to wrap almost all the way around their waists.

  The two women screamed, the chains falling away as they were lifted into strong arms. Julian watched as the skinsmith lumbered back towards the cages at the far end, the large man with no eyes tromping along behind him. He didn’t want to think about the horrors awaiting those poor women.

  “On the ground, flea!” Boar roared, as a blow knocked Julian back against the wall. His knees buckled, but he didn’t fall. The gnarls standing at the front of the line turned towards them, their noses working the air.

  “A resilient flea!” the faceless grunted, driving his knuckles into Julian’s chest as he straightened, his fist thudding hollowly against the hidden armor. “What in the hells…?” he stammered.

  The gnarls crowded in behind their masked leader, their breathing loud and labored, their spears and cudgels waving in the air before them.

  Julian wriggled his left wrist halfway through the shackle, and eased the locking cylinder open on the right. Something froze his arms beyond that and calmed his racing heart. Hold.

  “I don’t remember snagging any armored fleas.”

  Boar grabbed ahold of Julian’s tattered robe and ripped, the fabric tearing loudly. The gnarls crowded in closer, their leaders curiosity feeding their bloodlust.

  “What the…” the faceless sputtered again, groping at and tearing his shirt underneath, exposing Julian’s armor through the torn fabric. The runes suddenly glowed with an intense, white light. The large man pulled the fabric clear, tearing his hood free, just as something landed on the roof above them, cracking beams and sending fragments of broken planks raining to the ground. The gnarls jumped, the faceless lifting his head towards the noise.

  Now!

  The shackles fell free, Nightbreaker sliding free before the manacles could even strike the ground. The blade swung up, catching the faceless in the chin, just as he was turning back to Julian, cutting cleanly through skin, metal, and one of the tusks. He kicked out, catching the reeling man in the midsection, sending him tumbling backwards, and used the forward momentum to run the nearest gnarl through.

  Nightbreaker hummed gleefully as he pulled it free, pivoted, and turned to his right. The gnarls to his left recovered, and lifted their weapons up to parry, but the heavenly blade cut through a spear shaft, decapitated the first beast, and knocked aside the second creature’s weapon, before biting deep into its neck. Julian yanked the weapon free as a spear stabbed into his side, the armor deflecting the sharp tip harmlessly away. The prisoners chained to the wall behind him cried and moaned frantically.

  The two remaining gnarls pressed in, apparently confident the attack had wounded him. The first kicked the air between them and swung its cudgel, but the attack wasn’t even close. The second beast stabbed immediately, evidently hoping to score a crippling blow while Julian was preoccupied with its fellow.

  Julian sidestepped and deflected the spear aside with Nightbreaker, and continued the motion, catching the second’s cudgel with a vambrace, and driving his sword hard into the beast’s chest. He pivoted back out of range of the remaining gnarl’s spear, shaking his left hand, the force of the creature’s strike, although partially absorbed by the armor, stinging him from elbow to fingertip.

  Fool, you’re not fighting with a shield. Be smart!

  “We’ve got a stinkin’ hero flea, hiding in old man clothes!” Boar rasped, stepping up behind the remaining gnarl, blood dripping freely from the cut in his chin and mask. Julian meant to strike under the jaw, what would have been a killing blow, but in his haste, he’d missed his mark.

  “I’m not the one hiding behind a mask,” Julian spat.

  “I like you. You’ve got a bit of spirit. I think I’m going to enjoy watching that die…slowly, as I pull you apart, piece by piece,” Boar replied with a raspy chuckle, a heavy falchion in one hand, and a short, but incredibly wide-bladed dagger appearing in the other.

  “I think I’ll hold on to what I’ve got left, thanks,” Julian replied evenly, and lifted the blade to strike.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Not My Home

  Dennah cast Roman another confused look, silently pushing for some clue as to what happened. Roman shrugged and mouthed “I’ll tell you when we’re alone”, and nodded his head towards the young woman walking just ahead of them, but wasn’t sure she understood. He wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t. In truth, he didn’t know what was happening, and didn’t know what he would tell her if he could.

  Their plan to simply put one foot in front of the other had worked up to this point, but now they had to start seriously considering where they were going and why.

  He glanced over to Dennah, just as her head nodded and she teetered on the saddle. His hand flinched towards Freckles’ bridle, but she caught herself first. She’d stayed awake all night, sitting a frozen, terrified vigil, guarding him while he slept, and now looked the worse for wear. Dark shadows ringed her eyes and her face was ashen. She needed to get warm and rest or she would collapse. Roman owed her that and so much more.

  The young woman led them out of the trees, the curly, papery bark of
the aspen and birch crunching and breaking off as the horses pushed through. The walk was all too familiar. It should have been comforting, but felt more than a little wrong.

  Roman took a breath to speak, to tell the young woman that they wouldn’t be welcome here. That riding openly into town wasn’t the most prudent course. But he knew that if she didn’t already know why, she would ask. He would have to tell her that the people believed they were responsible for Frenin’s, and so many other deaths. That would only lead to more uncomfortable questions, and Roman was just as tired of lying as he was of running.

  His knuckles grew white around the reins as the last, gentle hill crested before them and Bardstown rose into view. The town sat quiet and dark, snow falling in large, drifting flakes. They passed the mill, its open door left to creak and groan in the breeze.

  “I’m…” Roman said, his voice failing him. He took a deep breath and tried again. “I’m not sure many people will be happy to see us.”

  “Rest easy,” the young woman said, casting him a crooked smile. “You’ll find rest, warmth, and safety here. It looks like you are in need of all three.”

  “Thank you, by the way,” he said hastily. “When you appeared through the trees, I was sure that thing would kill you. I’ve never seen anyone move like that before.”

  The young woman nodded, but with most of her face covered he could tell little else.

  “Can I ask you…what is your name? You know me, or at least my name,” Roman continued clumsily, instantly wishing he’d just stayed quiet.

  “Yes, I do know your name. We met before, back in much younger thaws. You always seemed so considerate. I am disappointed you don’t remember me,” she said.

  Roman sputtered for a heartbeat, but decided it best if he didn’t continue and risk offending her. They passed by buildings, the windows all dark or shuttered and the doors closed. Lucilla and Noble’s shop appeared, a warm light glowing inside. Noble stood in the large window, his solitary, dark form framed by smoked sausages and dried herbs. Roman’s arm lifted halfway, but he suppressed the wave, his face screwing up somewhere between a smile and a grimace. The man didn’t move, not to wave, bite his thumb, or shake an angry fist. Strange, Roman thought, his insides clenching up even more. A young woman I can’t remember and now Noble…