by Aaron Bunce
Julian pulled, his arm numb and bones grinding. Then the collar cracked. A smothering pressure rushed up his neck and into his mind, Pera’s dark presence flooding out to fill his body. Thoughts and questions assaulted his mind, anger, betrayal, and confusion forming like a battering ram, smashing against his constitution. Julian’s left eye burned, the Nym sinking so quickly back into his foothold. But before Pera could tear him down and take control, his gaze fell on the lifeless body lying on the other side of the grate, Tanea’s red hair standing out like a fiery beacon.
Tanea... found her… faceless. His thoughts were broken, but had meaning nonetheless. They are trying to kill her. I need you,” Julian thought, finally mastering himself.
Pera was beyond words, the Nymradic latching onto his most recent memories, flashing through his mind like lightning. Then without warning, the Nym’s voice filled his mind.
Together.
With a sudden twist, Julian coiled and flexed like a snake, not breaking Boar’s suffocating grip like he tried before, but bending with and through it. He ducked under the large man’s grasping hand, Pera reaching out and latching onto Nightbreaker. The sword jumped off the ground and leapt into his waiting hand.
Julian set his feet, turned and lunged. Boar snapped his falchion across and knocked the blade aside, but he allowed his body to loosen, maintaining the pressure on the blade. Pera was there, hovering inside his mind, reacting automatically, feeding his unnatural strength into Julian’s every need. He reared back and swung Nightbreaker at Boar’s midsection, the two blades crashing together like thunder. He doubled forward, pushing the large, curved blade back into Boar’s chest, Julian leaning in with every stone of his weight.
“Do you see now?” he growled, his eye burning angrily with the light of Pera’s presence.
“Im…impossible,” the faceless stammered.
Pera’s will moved within Julian, the power flowing even before his lips started to move.
“Strógna,” he shouted, his fist slamming into Boar, hitting with the force of a landslide. The faceless careened backwards, several pieces of his mismatched armor flying off.
Julian turned, his hand lashing out towards the iron cage, Pera’s preternatural language spinning magical threads in his mind. He felt the thread connect, his understanding of the power and its intent almost instantaneous. The iron groaned and flexed, the stout bars bending and peeling open like a monstrous ribcage. He leapt through and spun, decapitating two gnarls, skewered a third through the chest, and screamed “Rierda vind!”
The light formed in his palm in a heartbeat and burst forward, the cyclone hitting the swarming gnarls and scattering their bodies like leaves. The drakin leapt straight up into the air, dislodging the last of the swarming creatures, its feathers ruffled and dotted with dark blood.
Julian cut down another beast with a violent chop and doubled the next closest with two vicious strikes to its chest, reveling in Pera’s dark strength coursing through his body. The gnarls’ composure evaporated, the beasts dispersing like a flock of frightened birds. The drakin pounced, pinning one of the frantic creatures to the ground, its long claws piercing the gnarl in a dozen places and killing it almost instantly.
Protect them, Julian urged, and spun towards the rent grate.
Pera went to work instantly, building the spell in his mind, threads forming a latticework of intent and potential. The word of power broke loose, the magic abruptly bending the broken grate back together. Julian slid down to the stone, Nightbreaker clattering down next to him. He cradled Tanea’s head and pulled her limp body into his lap, her red hair a tangled, dirty mess. The young, dark-haired man gasped for air, appearing suddenly from the pile of bloody bodies, waving a dagger before him.
Julian reached out and gently cupped the blade, before lowering it. The boy dropped the blade with a sob and fell back, his mangled hand held close to his body.
“Tanea, I’m here,” he whispered, wiping a streak of blood from her nose. She felt cold and lifeless in his arms, horribly broken and empty, half of her face black and blue.
“I’m sorry. I was so stupid…so…unworthy. I never should have left you,” he cried, picking up her arms and wrapping them over her chest. Tears broke loose, stinging his eyes as they bubbled down his cheeks.
Julian hugged her body close, pain and despair tearing him open inside. Gaston rolled over next to him, his shirt covered in filth and blood. Banner and Tristan appeared from beneath the half-blood. He had shielded them with his body. Asofel was there too, his face as white as fresh snow. They were alive. Hells, somehow, they were alive.
He hugged Tanea closer and kissed her cheek, his glassine tears falling onto her face. A fierce pain erupted in Julian’s chest, just as Tanea gasped, her body going rigid in his arms. She wheezed painfully, and then her eyes slid open. Her bright, hazel eyes blinked blindly in the light, and then focused on his face.
“Julian?” she croaked, her voice weak and distant.
“Yes. I’m here,” he said, pulling her in and kissing her cheek.
She was alive. Goddess. She was alive.
The drakin yowled behind him, and he turned, just as bodies started clambering up the grated barrier. Julian pulled the dark-haired young man over and laid Tanea into his arms. “Protect her with your life!” he said, meeting the young man’s dark eyes.
The boy nodded, clutching the dagger with his one good hand.
Julian grabbed Nightbreaker off the ground and stood, wiping his eyes dry before turning. Tanea was alive, and by Mani, he would keep her that way.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Flight
Brother Dalman slowly crawled over the edge of the roof, hooking his feet around the column, and carefully shimmied down to the ground. Aida lay in the snow, her body pressed deep by the force of the fall.
He dropped down next to her, clutching her under the arms and helped her to sit. She mouthed breathlessly, her eyes wide and pleading. The snow had cushioned her fall, but the impact undoubtedly still hurt.
“I am dying!” her eyes told him.
“Do not panic, the fall knocked away your breath. Relax and it will return,” he said.
Her eyes remained wild for another few moments as she wheezed ineffectually to draw breath, and then finally, she inhaled. Aida coughed and sputtered, gagging down deeper and deeper breaths.
Brother Dalman pulled the girl up and helped her along, shushing her gently. He wished that he had the time to set her down to recover, but they were moving on borrowed time as it was. They plodded up next to the inn, using the building as cover. The crowd on the lane had grown in size, a few wailing or complaining, while two men broke into a fight, knocking others to the ground and causing a larger commotion.
They tromped quickly across the gap between buildings, using the distraction of the fight to their benefit. Once they put several buildings between them and the inn, Brother Dalman ushered Aida back towards the lane, stopping to brush the powdery snow from her cloak before stepping out from cover. He silently wished that he had the opportunity to see to her filthy, ratty hair, and perhaps buy her some new clothes. She looked like a street derelict now more than ever.
“Nice and easy…just out for a stroll,” he whispered as they stepped out behind a small pushcart. A young man strolled next to the small cart, stopping periodically to scoop horse droppings off the road and deposit them in the back. He noticed them and gave a small tip of his hat, before returning to work.
Aida shook under her cloak, so Brother Dalman pulled her in close – not as a lover, but what he hoped looked fatherly. They headed north, until they came to the last shop on the lane, the very one where Aida had acquired his clothes. They turned right and looped back around south, careful to appear unhurried as they worked to put distance between them and the inn.
“We cannot traipse around until dawn on the morrow. We’ll freeze,” Aida whispered, her teeth chattering as she leaned in close.
“We’re not to wait,” Brother Dalman re
plied, nodding in greeting as they passed a group of well-dressed men and women. “We’re to wait until dusk, and then we will…” he started to say, but a commotion filled the lane ahead of them.
They pushed to the far side of the lane, blending in with the crowd of onlookers. The scene wasn’t unlike that from their inn. A small group of people clustered on the ground before the building, several small trunks dropped haphazardly around them, their contents strewn about.
“He’s dead!” a young woman bawled, her dark hair blowing in her face. Several men in armor appeared through the door, black leather scabbards hanging from their belts. They grunted, heaving a sizable man’s body down the stairs, before dropping it onto the cobblestones. Although he was larger and sported a whiskery beard, the dead man looked oddly similar to himself, his silver hair cut close to the scalp in the economic fashion of his order. The young woman, although cleaner in wardrobe and hygiene, could have passed for Aida’s sister.
He thought these two were us, he realized, struggling through both the shock and horror.
One of the guards stood sentry over the dead man and the obviously distraught woman, while his counterpart milled about the crowd. He approached before Brother Dalman could break free of the crowd.
“You lot been here long?” he asked the crowd as a whole.
Brother Dalman shook his head, the rest of the group returning shocked, blank stares.
“Any of you see who came or left?” he said, gesturing back to the inn, a sign swinging above the door identifying it as the ‘Royal Reception Inn’.
The crowd murmured, jostling against one another awkwardly, but no one responded.
“None of you saw anyone coming in or out of this building? The one that murdered this man, and made an attempt on his lady,” the guard yelled, his contempt for Brother Dalman and the crowd on full display.
“No, sir. We just happened by as we were on a stroll,” he said, when it became clear none would speak.
“Then you’ve no business here. Off with ya! Get off the street, you lot, and lock yer doors…lest you want to end up like him!” he shouted, the group scattering.
Brother Dalman pulled Aida along, the two flowing against the current. Aida tried to look back at the crying woman and her slain counterpart, but he pulled her around.
“Mind your interest, child. If they thought those folk us, then we might just be safe. But if not, then they’ll be watching for those that do what you just did,” Brother Dalman whispered.
Aida nodded, but he could only hope that she understood. They made their way down the lane, stopping periodically at a few shops, pretending to inspect their wares. Then he pulled her into a bakery. Brother Dalman directed Aida to a table, where they sat. A stick-thin woman bustled over, her apron smeared with batter and dusted white with flour. Aida threw him a curious look, but the monk purposefully ignored her.
“We’ll have a pot of hot tea and some biscuits, please,” he said, fishing the last coins from his purse and dropping it into the woman’s bony hand.
“Very well,” she responded, absently, and bustled off.
“…and after?” Aida hissed.
He shook his head gently, thanking the woman as she set a platter containing a steaming pot and plate of hot biscuits between them. He immediately went to work buttering a biscuit and pouring a cup.
“The snow looks to be lifting,” he said, conversationally, gesturing towards the food and drink.
“Aye,” Aida responded, leaning forward and fumbling awkwardly with the food.
They ate slowly, enjoying the warmth of the little shop. He casually watched the people around them, listening to their conversations while pretending to stir a little cream into his tea. They all seemed to be talking about the same thing. Or were they?
The couple to their left talked about the man murdered in the Royal Reception, but he caught snippets from a trio of young men seated two tables over. The young men, barely Aida’s age, spoke animatedly of rumors they’d heard that very day, of folk all through town receiving shadowy visitors at night. The boys believed specters or ghosts haunted the town, maybe even nightmares born of drink. They all agreed that the phantasms sounded real enough, plaguing dreams and demanding knowledge and favors. Brother Dalman didn’t know what unnerved him more, the idea that Djaron had sent his hooded servant to kill them, or that he had likely already killed at least one man, and the young men were excited by the news.
If only they knew, he thought, sadly.
By the time they finished eating and sipping their tea, afternoon was finally giving way to dusk, and Brother Dalman believed he’d heard enough. He swiped his sleeve across his face, dislodging any stubborn crumbs, and stood.
Aida watched him, hastily grabbing the last biscuit from the tray and stuffed it into her mouth. The monk bade the shopkeeper a good day and stepped outside. The old woman scuttled forward and hastily cleaned off their table, her mouth pulled into a frown, likely angry they’d lingered so long.
King’s Fall had changed in the time they spent inside. Not only was it getting dark outside, the already biting wind growing colder by the moment, but the streets appeared abandoned. They could no longer mask their movements within the crowds of people. And yet, there were now far less idle eyes to spot them moving around.
“Come!” he said, and made quickly south.
“For what? To find a place to hole down for the night?” she asked, bobbing up next to him, her worn boots crunching in the crystalized snow.
Brother Dalman shook his head even before she finished. They crossed Tavern Way and spotted the first people since leaving the bakery. A group of men stood clustered around the steps of the Merry Fool, smoking pipes and sharing in boisterous conversation. The men caught sight of them and turned.
“Oi, girl! You! Leave gramps and come cozy up to us! Might we buy ye’ mug for yer company?” one of the men yelled, cupping his hand around his mouth.
Brother Dalman set off at a fast walk, Aida shrinking next to him. Her eyes locked on the ground and she paced well ahead of him, as if she was running from the men and their advance, running from the horrible realities of her previous life.
“Easy, girl,” he said, taking her hand. She fought him for a second, but the monk refused to let go.
“You should let me be, Brother,” Aida spat, a tear running down her left cheek. “Ye should be off and deliver your message. I’ll just stay here and pleasure folk. It’s all I am…it’s all I know.”
Brother Dalman stopped and anchored her as she tried to continue. She turned back towards the tavern, again trying to pull free.
“If that is all you are, then how did you manage to save me?” he asked. She stopped pulling, but refused to meet his gaze.
“If that is all you know, then how have you helped this old man get this far, on foot, in this cold season?” he asked. She only sniffled in response.
“Aida, I gave you that coin in Ban Turin so that you might break free from that wretched cycle…prize yourself away from the gutter and the men preying upon you. You are smarter than you know, craftier than half the men I’ve met, and hardier than almost all of them. What you were didn’t break you. I can see that when I look into your eyes. You can be anyone you want to be now, do anything. Forge yourself anew, child,” Brother Dalman said, lifting her chin with a finger.
Aida sniffled and nodded. “But how do you know?” she asked.
“I haven’t always been a monk,” he said, “my mother was a seamstress, until my father died suddenly. He left her with so much debt that she was forced into servitude. Her master was not a gentle man. He took everything from her, and not just wealth and possessions, but claimed her very body and soul. She ran away and gave birth to me in secret. Her master found us when I was naught but four or five thaws old. I hid in the wall while he ravaged and then murdered her. I spent the next thaws thieving for a group of pickpockets, stealing to eat and to earn their protection. They taught me how to move in the shadows, to look
out for myself, and to fight. I broke into a wealthy man’s manor while he slept, or so I thought. He was blind, and yet with all of my youth and agility, he found and caught me. I sat in the stocks for a fortnight, the town taking pleasure in pelting me with rotten food, sticks and rocks, some even going as far as to relieve themselves on me.”
“That is horrible,” Aida said, finally, “they brand thieves where I am from.”
“Aye. They were set to brand me, and beat me with clubs. The night before my sentence was to be carried out a man visited me. It was the wealthy blind man. He sat with me for a long while, sharing the silence of the square, and finally spoke. He said, ‘you’re at a fork in the road, my boy. You can turn left, or go straight. One path will lead you some place better, while the other will see you into the ground…or, worse, to a place where you lose all sense of who you are or where you came from.’ And then he unlocked the stocks. By the time I could stand, the man was gone, a single gold tribute shining in the moonlight where he sat. I picked up that gold and walked right out of town. I walked until my feet bled, and at the first crossroads, I turned left. I came to the Citadel months later, and never looked back. That is how I know, child.”
Aida nodded, her eyes large and fearful. “I would have never thought it, Brother. You are so proper. You put it all behind you, the thieving, just like that?”
“Truthfully!” he said, smiling, “it has been many thaws since I was that slippery little thief…and the time does change you. If you want it to.”
“So what now?” she asked, the hopeful glint returning to her eye.
“We’re going to steal a carriage.”
* * * *
Henri paced back and forth, the horrible ache in his body growing with every step. And yet, he couldn’t stop moving. If he did, he worried that he would never be able to again.
He gave a quick glance back to the other side of their small prison, where the delirium writhed and convulsed on the ground, their rotten, fleshy bodies falling apart around them. Their horrible, sucking noises were eating away at his mind, and worse, they smelled like death.