A March of Woe (Overthrown Book 3)

by Aaron Bunce

  Aida sat on the bed and nervously picked at the frayed hem of her dress. She watched the door and listened, the stillness in the small room working to slowly unravel her nerves. Her finger poked through a worn spot in the fabric, so she combed her hands through her hair instead, trying to work through the snarled mess. She found a bug, squashed it, and flicked it across the room. The inn was full of them – dastardly little black bugs, always biting.

  Time crept on, and she watched the door, holding her breath as she listened for any hint of movement beyond – a creaky floorboard, the scuff of a boot, or the click of a latch. Her heart ached as she waited, her mind freely spinning and weaving around Balin and his dagger. She wasn’t sure she would look at another man in a cloak the same ever again.

  Abandoning her ratty hair, Aida stood and quietly paced from the bed to the door, and then from the bed to the window, stopping intermittently to listen or peek out through the curtains. He was out there somewhere, watching, listening, and waiting – but where?

  She stocked the fire quietly, watched the flames, and resumed her pacing, the whistle of cold wind and distant chatter of voices the only noise. Aida bit her thumb, turning between the window and the door, the interminable quiet and stillness finally too much for her to bear. She turned to the quiet monk, his form statuesque in the chair before the fire.

  “Piss, Brother. Let us just pack up and leave this place, please! I cannot stand the waiting any longer. T’will drive me mad, or I’ll wear my legs to nubs in the pacing. There be loads of folks out and about, we could easily get lost in the crowds. We’ll be gone and none will be wiser for it.”

  Brother Dalman remained still. He hadn’t spoken in so long that she’d nearly forgotten the sound of his voice. He didn’t respond right away, but she wouldn’t let that stop her from trying.

  “Please, Brother. I ain’t for waiting to die in this little room with the bugs.”

  The monk cleared his throat and shifted, moving for the first time in a long while. He spoke, and yet his eyes remained closed.

  “We must wait, child. Our carriage awaits us at dawn morrow and not before.”

  “Throttle the fish! Damn the carriage. Let us steal horses and ride, or walk. Let’s just be moving out of here, please!” she begged.

  “The longer we wait, the more patience we practice, the greater the chance that anyone watching for us will believe us gone from here. If we steal horses, we risk attracting the wrong kind of attention. If we trek out into the cold and start the long march by foot, we risk attracting attention, as only a fool or desperate person would set off on foot in this cold. So, please, child, try and find a measure of calm. We will be away from here soon enough and making our way to safety. Trust me,” Brother Dalman said, evenly.

  Aida nodded, took a deep breath, and blew out some of the tension. She thought of Dylan then. A toss with him would pass the time and help her work out some of this worry. No! she scolded herself. That was the old Aida, the whore. She wanted Dylan to see her differently – if not pure, then at least wholesome.

  Aida stood just as a crash sounded somewhere beyond the door. Brother Dalman met her gaze, the monk suddenly rigid in his chair. She made for the window, pulling the heavy curtain aside with haste.

  Snow blew, a solitary rider on a horse passing down the lane. Then someone appeared in the lane, stumbling and falling onto their hands and knees. A heartbeat later another staggered and tipped over them, falling bodily into the snow. Aida watched as people flowed out of the inn. She recognized some of them from the common room fire.

  A door banged open below, followed immediately by angry shouts of protest. Aida turned, but Brother Dalman was already out of the chair, his movement purposeful and efficient.

  “What do we–” she started to ask, but the monk silenced her with a look, and stuffed the cloak and traveling clothes into her arms.

  Her heart racing and hands shaking, Aida pulled on the heavy garment. Brother Dalman moved gracefully, hooking one arm into the fur vest, and then the other before pulling on his cap. How did he look so composed?

  “Hurry!” he whispered.

  Aida slipped on her boots, and then the knitted cap, fumbling with the cloak’s clasp. The monk slipped past, pulling her towards the door with a gentle, but firm grip. She tried to hook the clasp again, but her fingers didn’t seem to work normally.

  The monk eased the door open a crack, working the catch delicately, and then peered outside. After a short moment he pulled it open enough to slip out and pulled her along behind him. Aida followed, moving down the hall, but he jerked her back, pulling her towards the door on the opposite wall.

  Heavy boots sounded on the stairs down the hall, the wood creaking and groaning loudly. Brother Dalman fidgeted with the door for a moment, his fingers working a small tool into the crude lock. Aida watched him, but snapped her gaze back down the hall. The footsteps were getting closer. They sounded on the landing, an unseen hand on the handrail, the loose spindles complaining under the weight.

  They were moving then, the monk pulling her through the door and pushing it closed noiselessly behind her. Aida turned, taking in the room in a single glance. It looked identical to theirs, only the two beds were pulled next to one another, a spindly table with a clay vase separating them. A lone figure lay in the closest bed, the heavy blanket pulled up to his chin. He was old, with a wide, red nose, a felt sleeping cap pulled down over his ears.

  “How do you know how to pick locks?” Aida asked in a whisper as the monk moved quietly past the sleeping man.

  Brother Dalman brushed the question aside as he stepped up to the window and flipped the catch open. An echoing knock sounded from out in the hall.

  “Open the door!” a deep voice hollered a moment later, followed by the resounding thump of a fist against wood.

  “Out with you! And hurry!” Brother Dalman hissed, gesturing towards the open window.

  “Are you daft?” Aida whispered, the wind blowing in and stinging her eyes.

  “Go!” he urged, and grabbed her around the waist and lifted her into the window. Aida hiked up her dress and crawled into the white. She looked back as a door crashed open outside in the hall.

  The sleeping man still lay in his bed, his hat pulled down over his ears, only his eyes were open and wide like saucers. He pulled the blanket up, slowly covering his face, like a child hiding from imaginary monsters.

  Aida crawled out onto the small porch roof, the monk clambering behind her and shutting the window. She edged around to the back of the building, her shoes slipping and sliding. A trellis appeared, running from the ground up past the second floor roof. Skeletal ivy covered the ratty wood slats, the dry leaves rattling and humming in the wind.

  She grasped the wood and swung her leg out and around. Brother Dalman said something, but she wasn’t really listening. Her foot caught the first slat and she shifted her weight out. The wood sagged, but held.

  “I said, that will never hold your weight,” the monk said.

  “I think it will hold,” she said, dropping her other foot down and catching the next slat down. The entire trellis shifted, and then Aida was falling. She hit the ground hard, the snow catching her in a freezing embrace.

  Life is our most precious commodity.

  We protect, strengthen, and horde over it.

  Some share it, others waste it.

  And yet, it is fleeting, like a slippery rope in hand.

  The young grip it recklessly, while the elderly struggle with a failing hold.

  Undervalued by fools, and cherished by the virtuous.

  Only the wicked take it.

  From –The Sacred Understood

  Denil Master Ragnar Folksbreath

  9th winter thaw of the 2nd Age

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Find Me

  Tanea waited, letting the heavenly light dim until it was a barely perceptible glow. She watched the gnarls crowd in, their eyes, teeth, and claws glistening in the light. The
beasts bunched together, filling the cavern from one wall to another. They clawed, raking the air, fighting to crawl over one another like a black wave of death.

  “Do it!” Father Pallum hissed, pulling on her tunic. The fabric, stained and battered, tore under the pressure. “Do it, now!”

  Not yet, draw them in just a little closer, she thought. She understood the limitations of her abilities, and felt the strength in Mani’s gift already waning.

  “Get ready. Cover your eyes,” she hissed, the gnarl’s stench filling her nostrils. Two of the beasts fell, instantly disappearing under the weight of the creatures behind them. A claw flashed through the air, the breeze disturbing her disheveled braids.

  Now! The glowing bird flitted forward on command, igniting in a sudden, searing burst of light. The gnarls howled and screeched, falling and tumbling, their wide eyes unaccustomed and ill prepared for the bright light. Father Pallum cursed and stumbled, despite his hands shielding his face.

  In that momentary, sun-like burst, Tanea made out the cavern, her throat clenching and strangling her breath. There weren’t just a handful of beasts hounding them. There were hundreds, the tunnel seemingly crawling with their greasy, fur-covered bodies.

  “Run! Run now!” she gasped, turning and pushing the aged priest forward in the passage.

  Lead me to him! Lead me to Julian! Tanea prayed silently, urging the magical bird forward, using it to light the path before them. But she could feel Mani’s gift weakening, its luminescent feathers falling free, before clattering to the ground as pebbles.

  “I can’t run anymore,” Father Pallum wheezed, staggering.

  Stopping only to pull the old man upright, Tanea wrenched on the bindings holding his hands together and threw the rope aside. Then they were off again.

  “This place…is…a maze,” the old priest gasped as they came to an intersection in the path. Two side passages branched off to either side, while the route directly ahead of them ended in a cave-in.

  Tanea stopped only to consider both routes, before abruptly turning right and following the glowing bird. A wave of noise rose up behind them. The gnarls had recovered from her blinding attack and were hunting them again.

  The passage stretched ahead, curving ever so slightly to the left, the floor relatively clear. Shafts appeared to either side, sloping down and into darkness, their walls roughly chiseled out of the mountain.

  Mines? If there are mine passages leading down, then there has to be stairs leading back up, she reasoned. Julian’s heart beat out of sync with hers, but it felt strong and true, so close she felt that she could close her eyes and pull him to her.

  The passage ended abruptly. Tanea watched as the glowing bird flickered, before going dark and striking the end of the passage. She rushed forward and bent low, scooping it off the ground. The bird flapped its wings one final time, its feathers crumbling to sand and trickling through her fingers. She squeezed the rock tightly in her palm, its surface warm against her skin.

  Oh, goddess, what now? Tanea thought, the panic tearing at her insides as the passage fell into an absolute darkness. Father Pallum gagged and wheezed. The rock closed in around her, the confined space and darkness quickly becoming a suffocating presence. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, fighting to master her nerves and keep from falling bodily into panic.

  White Lady, I am lost without you. Please, guide me. Push back against the darkness that opposes you. Bless me with your gift once again, Tanea asked, and squeezed the rock. She felt a response, but it wasn’t as strong as before. The rock abruptly grew hot and started to glow, but this time it did not sprout feathers or fly.

  The noise spilled into the passage behind them, spurring Tanea into action. Pushing Father Pallum, Tanea moved down the small passage to her left, letting her heart, not her head, guide her.

  Holding the glowing rock out before her, they moved as quickly as possible. The tunnel flowed into an antechamber full of rusted bins and piles of rock. Two small passages sat off to her right, while a solitary door sat straight ahead.

  They ran between the bins, the gentle light of the glowing rock exposing dark, moisture covered stairs in the doorway ahead. Up, she thought in desperation, running up the stairs and dragging Father Pallum behind her. The old man staggered and wheezed, but managed to find each step in the gloom.

  Tanea’s legs cramped, her heart raged, and her lungs burned, but she refused to stop, even when the stairs seemed to go on forever. The noise followed them into the claustrophobic stairwell, claws scraping loudly against stone, the gnarls’ angry bellows terrifyingly close.

  Father Pallum fell into a violent coughing fit and pulled against her hand, trying to stop, but she wouldn’t let him. The rock’s gentle glow exposed the next stair, and then she stepped again, her weight tipping forward as she probed for another stair and found only air.

  Father Pallum pulled her back, anchoring her and keeping her from pitching face first into the ground. She turned, the gentle glow falling on the old man’s face.

  “Go!” he wheezed, his body suddenly jerking back into the dark stairwell. Tanea fell onto her rear and slid forward, her feet spreading and just catching the wall on either side of the stairwell. Tossing the rock behind her, she wrapped both hands around the old man’s wrist and pulled, his white, papery hand slowly pulling back out of the darkness.

  Tanea heaved again, her hair swinging around and into her face, but she ignored it, wrenching on the old man until his face appeared again. His eyes were wide, his mouth working open and closed but not making any sound. A black hand shot out of the darkness behind him, wrapping around Father Pallum’s face, the claws sinking into his pale skin. Another appeared around his neck, and slowly he was pulled back into the darkness. Tanea’s feet slid, her back spasming as her body failed.

  Another dark hand flashed forward, the claws raking down her forearm before sinking into the old priest’s hand. Tanea rolled back abruptly, the priest disappearing into the dark stairwell, his terrified, dying screams punctuated by ravenous screeches and claws tearing into flesh.

  “No!!!” Tanea screamed at the darkness, rolling numbly away. She scooped the glowing rock off the ground and stumbled into an ancient bin, the heavily rusted metal giving way under her weight. She fell over the dilapidated container, her tunic and leggings catching and tearing on the jagged metal.

  Tanea managed to break free, her clothes tearing wide in the process. She staggered against the far wall, her lip quivering, thrust the glowing stone out before her, and stumbled forward into a run.

  She was alone now, with only the darkness and stinking death snapping at her heels. They were all dead. Why should she run anymore? Why should she fight it?

  Sobbing, Tanea ran down the solitary tunnel, the walls closing in around her, the ground beneath her feet now dry. Julian felt closer yet. So close she felt as if he hovered somewhere in the darkness before her. But the glow exposed only more rock. Was he ever there? Or was he just an illusion? A carrot dangled before her face?

  Another trick! her despair told her. They all left you, but you are not alone. Death is the companion that will never leave you. She heard death approaching from behind, and felt a momentary pang of longing. “Make it quick. Release me from this march of woe,” she spat at the approaching darkness.

  A strange formation appeared in the rock’s glow as she turned back to the tunnel. It was a tree. A tree? Underground?

  The tree broke off into three branches, each one holding a stone plaque. One arm pointed behind her, another to her left, and the last straight ahead. Tanea couldn’t read the writing.

  The gnarls howled and snarled behind her, but as she turned to run, her numb leg refused and her foot snagged on a lip in the stone, sending Tanea sprawling hard to the ground. She rolled and sat up. A strange, rattling noise echoed out of the passage to her left. The beasts weren’t just behind her. They were all around her.

  “It’s over! Do you hear me? I’m done!” Tanea screamed.


  Another noise echoed out of the side passage, the beasts distorted by so much stone. Tanea watched the black void of the tunnel mouth, waiting, her arm pulling back and ready to throw the glowing stone at whatever appeared. Tears filled Tanea’s eyes, blurring her vision and stinging her cheeks.

  A host of disembodied faces appeared in the darkness, floating towards her out of the side passage, glowing with an eerie yellow light. They flowed out of the passage, surrounding her, mocking her as they cackled and hissed in their approximation of the common tongue. Tanea’s arm slumped to the ground and she buried her face in her arms.

  She refused to watch as they ended her life. Rough claws wrapped around her arms and she was violently shaken upwards. The beast hissed and gasped for breath. She flinched, anticipating the killing blow, from either tooth or claw.

  “Tanea! Tanea!” the voice hissed, rough and out of breath.

  She blinked over and over, the tears finally clearing. A candle hovered by her face but pulled away quickly. Not claws, but hands. She struggled through the realization as a hand latched onto her face and pulled her close. Large, brown eyes met hers, the young man’s hair messy beyond belief.

  “El’bryliz?” Tanea stammered. The young man flashed a brief, but weary smile, and then roughly pulled her around and behind him.

  “We have to move, now!” he gasped, pulling a shiny, curved dagger out of a scabbard.

  “Where did you…what…how?” Tanea stammered, falling into step next to him, the light from her glowing stone falling over him.

  His brown robe was gone, replaced by heavy padded jacket, trousers, and boots. Shiny gold and red armor had been strapped on above that, half the leather bindings dangling unclasped.

  “Form up!” Nirnan bellowed behind them. She turned and caught sight of the big man standing amidst a small group, just as the first gnarls streaked in.