Sons of Plague

by Kade Derricks

  There were no proper boots to be found, but they found a good supply of sandals.

  “Pretty common at sea,” Pal Turas said, turning one of the sandals over in his large hands.

  Cagle tried a pair on, decided that they fit well enough, and then sat down to eat his fill. When everyone was dry and fed and rested somewhat, he moved to the door. Morning was still a few hours off, but they needed to get into position now.

  “Time to go, we’ve work to do,” he said. Turning to Pal Turas, he continued. “We’re a day late, but we’ve got to hope Felnasen starts the army forward again at dawn. If we can get the gates down, he’ll see it and walk right in.”

  “That’s a big if,” Pal Turas said.

  The captain was right, of course. The longer-than-expected swim had wrecked the original plan. Cagle sighed and put himself in Felnasen’s shoes. He wished he had some way to communicate with him. Without that, he’d just have to trust in Felnasen’s judgment. What would the man do next?

  Doesn’t matter, we’ve only two real choices—forward, or back into the sea. We’ll open the gates and hope the army is ready. If not, we’ll make a run for it.

  “Douse the fire,” Cagle said.

  They crept out into the night again, this time swathed in the cloth they’d found. The darker bolts melded into the shadows like shrouds. Slowly, they stalked through the city, avoiding the little circles of warm torchlight and the scattered half-asleep guards. Once, they paused in an alley while a pair passed by.

  “I told you I smelled smoke down along the wharf,” the nearer of the two said.

  “You’ve gone daft! No one lives down there anymore, and all the shopkeepers and fishermen are gone for the night.”

  “Well I smelt it. I know smoke well enough. My father used to be a woodsman when we lived outside the wall, and that was a cozy little cedar fire if ever I’ve smelled one.”

  “Prolly just someone left a fire going and then went to the wall. Then he prolly forgot to go back and douse it. Those damn invaders marched all day and kept everyone on alert. Never even got within bow range, stupid bastards.”

  The conversation followed the guards on down toward the piers and into the inky black.

  Cagle, Pal Turas, and the men waited until they were out of earshot, then continued on.

  It was almost morning by the time they stopped across the lane from the gatehouse. Cagle waited, studying the situation. They’d been lucky all night. None of the roving patrols had stumbled into them on accident and no dogs had barked.

  A single dog is all it would have taken.

  That luck was at an end now. Facing the lane were four guards at the bottom of the gatehouse stairs. He could see two more, each armed with bows standing watch at the top. The men on top faced out toward the waiting army, but they’d turn quick enough once the fighting started below.

  And fight they will. The lane is at least fifteen feet across and there are torches all along it. We’ll be seen the moment we step out.

  Dawn was less than an hour off—the eastern sky had the first tinge of pink rising up. If they were to act, it needed to be now, before the town awakened.

  Cagle tapped Pal Turas on the shoulder and whispered. “Hold half the men back to guard the stairwell. I’ll take the other half and fight my way up the stairwell and into the gatehouse.”

  “Good luck, sir,” the captain said with a curt nod.

  A rooster crowed and the first narrow wedge of warm sunlight shone from the far horizon. The sky was overcast with thin, lace-like clouds bathed in morning’s crimson reds. Cagle smiled grimly.

  Even the sky promises blood today.

  He unsheathed his sword, keeping the blade low and out of the light. He heard the gentle hiss of steel as the others followed his lead. Kneeling, he picked up a small stone and tossed it against the wall behind the guards.

  Two of the men turned their heads, and Cagle leaped out of the shadows and across the lane. His sword struck at the closest man. The blade drove into the narrow gap between the guard’s leather helm and chest piece, killing him instantly. One of the sailors didn’t have so much luck. He slashed with a clipped hacking motion and his sword glanced aside, skimming off the leather. Shouting a warning to his fellows, the guard drew his own sword; his arm moved up over his shoulder to strike and Cagle stabbed at his exposed ribs. At first the tough leather resisted his sword, but with a pop the tip finally slid through, and then the blade followed almost to the hilt.

  Cagle withdrew his sword and looked for other opponents, but the guards were all down. An alarm bell rang continuously from the tower and he could hear boots clanging down the steps above.

  We have to strike hard now, and fast—before they dig in.

  “Hurry, with me!” he called as he vaulted up the narrow stairs.

  He didn’t pause to see how many followed.

  Halfway up, he met the first defender. The man jumped. “What are you doing? Get back there and—.” He cried out in alarm, realizing his mistake too late as Cagle’s sword drove through his chest.

  Cagle cleared the top step and emerged into a room lit by torchlight. There were two men inside, neither armored. One was pumping a rope for all it was worth. The bellman, no doubt. Cagle swung his sword at the closest, but the room was small and the tip struck the stone wall, slowing enough for the guard to slip away and out of reach.

  The other guard dropped the rope and came forward, dagger held low, point up. He grunted and jerked the dagger up in a quick strike.

  Cagle brought his sword to meet it, and again the weapon struck stone and slowed. Jumping back with a yelp, he took only a shallow cut across his forearm.

  The man with the dagger smiled and started forward again. Thinking he’d be better off with his knife, Cagle tossed the sword at him. It took him a moment to get the small knife free, but the shock of the thrown sword slowed his attacker. The guard attacked again, dagger coming from up high this time.

  Cagle brought his free hand up to block the guard’s wrist and stabbed forward with his own knife. The weapon was short, but it struck clean in the guard’s bicep. When the guard yelled and withdrew, Cagle seized the wrist holding the dagger and stabbed twice again with his knife, connecting both times. Bleeding from the arm and two holes in his chest, the guard fell, his dagger rattling to the floor.

  Panting with effort, Cagle only just had time to look up before the second guard tackled him. Both went down in a heap.

  Cagle kicked and punched and fought and couldn’t break free. The guard slugged him in the jaw and grabbed for the fallen dagger. Cagle tried stabbing him with his knife, but the guard pinned down his wrist.

  Cagle bucked, panting, sweat pouring into his stinging eyes. The guard was heavy, though, and he hadn’t swum across the bay and then dangled by a belt around the chest for hours in freezing water all night.

  Suddenly, the guard had the fallen dagger in his hand. He stabbed down. Cagle stopped the dagger’s decent with his forearm. The guard leaned in and the dagger started lower. Cagle roared.

  I will not die like this, I will not.

  The daggertip bit into his shoulder. Cagle roared again. He had to get free, had to escape. He shoved with his legs and fought to bring his own knife up. He slammed his eyes shut against the pain in his shoulder.

  Both the pressure and his opponent were suddenly gone. There was warm, sticky blood on his face.

  “What in all the hells?” he muttered, forcing his eyes open.

  “Sorry it took us awhile,” a smiling sailor said. “A dozen more guards were coming up to relieve those others we jumped. When they heard the fighting, they came running and delayed us.”

  The sailor offered a hand down to Cagle and helped him to his feet.

  “We’ve got to get the gate open for Felnasen,” Cagle
said. “Hold the stairs.”

  “Yes sir,” the sailor nodded. “The captain was holding fast when we saw him last.”

  The hoist for the gate was on the far end of the room, and Cagle crossed over to it. Wound around a wooden spool was a chain, and one end vanished through the floor. He looked along the thick links, then the spool piece, trying to determine how the mechanism worked. By leaning out a small window, Cagle saw the chain and decided that the gate opened by cranking it clockwise. The spool was almost four-foot-high with worn spokes each two-foot-long and extending out around it for handles. Cagle took hold of one and tried raising the heavy gate.

  It didn’t move.

  “Go get me a couple of men. We’ve got to lift this to raise the gate,” Cagle said to the man closest to him.

  The sailor nodded once. “Captain!” he yelled outside.

  “Captain’s busy,” a voice echoed. “We’re fighting a damned war out here.”

  “Well, send up two men or you’ll be fighting all day.”

  In moments, two men joined them in the gatehouse. They were covered in nicks and cuts and bruises.

  “Help me turn this,” Cagle said, wasting no time.

  Together, all four grabbed the hoist and slowly cranked it. Cagle watched the chain as it came up through the small hole in the wall. Link after heavy link, it slowly wound tighter. After what seemed an hour, they could turn the hoist no more. There was a heavy wooden block to his side, and Cagle wedged it beneath the spool with his boot. To be sure, he found a second block and jammed it in alongside.

  “Now, no matter what happens, you three hold this room,” he said. “I’m going down to check on your captain.”

  “How will the army know to come?” one of the sailors asked.

  “Felnasen will be watching the gate. By now he’s heard the alarm and seen it open, and he’s sending everything he has toward it. All we have to do is keep it open for him,” Cagle said. He hoped he sounded more convinced than he was.

  He took the stairs two at a time, racing to the bottom. Swords clashed below. Men cried out in pain, others in triumph. Pal Turas and a ring of men held the lower stair. Half his sailors were down or leaning against the wall, bloodied and bruised, unable to continue. Dozens of Iridin, all clad in leather, surrounded them, pressing inward, trying to crush the ring and gain the gatehouse.

  Cagle jumped in beside Pal Turas, his recovered sword slashing and thrusting. Dodging his blade, one of the Iridin jumped back. He crashed into one of his own men, both fell, and a sailor struck down at them.

  “Glad to see you could make it,” Pal Turas said.

  “The gate is up. We just have to hold,” Cagle responded.

  “Is the army coming? Could you see them?”

  Cagle was struck momentarily speechless. In his rush to help Pal Turas hold the stairs, he hadn’t thought to look out the window again to see if his army was coming.

  Does it matter? Whether they are or not, we still have to hold.

  “Didn’t see,” he said between sword strokes.

  “Uh!” Pal Turas grunted by way of response. He swatted aside an axeblade and killed his attacker with a slash to the man’s unprotected face.

  From off to their left a great horn rang out, clear and true in the thick morning air. A second horn answered it. A third joined in. Cagle fought on. Between opponents he stole a glance to the left.

  He glimpsed a Karthan banner, then a towering figure rising up above the rest. The figure swung a great axe, hewing men aside as if he were scything through ripened wheat. Vlan! Two more Yoghens were with him, one on either flank, and then in their wake still more. They marched in a wedge shape, parting the gathering crowd, batting aside and cutting down anyone who rose up to oppose them. Arrows stuck in Vlan’s great shield. Several made it around and into his hide, but they were as pinpricks to the giant’s thick skin.

  Reaching Pal Turas and Cagle, Vlan stopped and smiled.

  “The army is through. I think we’ve won!” the big man bellowed.

  CHAPTER 6

  A Battle Won, a War Begun

  Cagle slid two fingers beneath his collar and tugged in a vain attempt to stretch it. Tight collars were bad enough by themselves, but before the battle ended he’d picked up a scratch on his neck and it itched terribly.

  Serves me right, though. A good reminder not to get sloppy, he chided himself. Three days had passed since they’d claimed the city. So far there hadn’t been riots or any sort of uprising, but the people were restless. They had to be.

  “Ready to meet with the Guild?” Sansaba asked. She’d been watching him from a plush chair for some time now. Rather than merely sitting in the chair, she lounged on it like a panther, one leg draped over the other, both bare and shapely and tan from her delicate toes to well above the knee.

  With effort, Cagle forced himself not to look or think of them. I am all but married to Nuren.

  “How are they?” he asked. “You’ve spent some time with them.”

  “Only a few moments. They would say almost nothing to me. They are afraid.”

  “Afraid? Why?”

  “You frighten them. No one has conquered and held one of our cities in many years, not since the great Irid fell, and never a foreign power. These are proud men. Powerful in their own ways. They are not used to being under someone else’s control. They are not used to feeling afraid,” she said. She held a goblet of wine and was cupping the stem between her fingers, swirling the liquid slowly round and round.

  “I am not interested in making them afraid. I only want to save my people.”

  Sansaba laughed. “I expect most conquerors started out talking like that.”

  “I am not a conqueror.”

  “If you say so,” She sipped at her wine. Her lips shone red and full.

  “Did you meet with the traders? That was our arrangement; information from you in exchange for full trading rights for your family.”

  “I did. Crow’s Bay has many needs—little to trade—but there are a number of markets inland for fish oil, and they do take a good number of pearls from the waters here. Their terms were quite generous after they discovered our—” she paused, took another sip, and her eyes smoldered at him over the cup’s rim. “Our association.”

  Cagle felt the heat in that look, and his face warmed in answer.

  Felnasen arrived, sparing him further embarrassment. “Oh, I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he said. Cagle could swear he detected a hint of humor in the man’s dour face.

  “Of course not,” Cagle stuttered.

  Sansaba only laughed softly.

  “All is ready down at the docks. Just as you requested.” Felnasen sat down in a plain chair, rigid and straight-backed.

  Overnight, the man’s attitude had changed. The siege had cost them less than four hundred men in total. Most to arrows. Once the gates were taken and the Yoghens loosed in the city, every ounce of fight left the defenders. The almost bloodless victory seemed to have impressed Felnasen. They might never be friends, but it seemed the older man now gave him a measure of respect.

  At least he knows I’m not an incompetent.

  “And the army?” Cagle asked. “Have the men found housing? I want no one removed from their homes.”

  “They have.” Felnasen cleared his throat. “Several of the warehouses near the docks were empty, and I have teams out scouring the city for an inventory on food. We’re giving the tally to Creighten. I’m sure he’ll have accurate numbers for you soon.”

  “Good,” Cagle nodded. They’d found precious little food so far. An initial inspection had turned up far less than they’d hoped. There were rows of granaries along the piers, but none had been more than a third full.

  There has to be food. We can’t have come all this way for
nothing.

  “Is it time?” Cagle asked, pulling at the biting collar one last time. He just wanted to get this all over with.

  Sansaba laughed deep this time, a throaty, pleasing sound that warmed his cheeks anew. She saluted him with the glass. “When you conquer a city, its people run on your schedule.”

  Cagle swept out with Sansaba and Felnasen trailing in his wake. In the street, an honor guard formed up around them.

  They marched through the city, heading down toward the seaside warehouses. The streets were lined with thousands of faces. Some hopeful. Some full of rage. Most frightened. Each stared at him, and Cagle felt the weight of their eyes. He had some measure of responsibility for these people now. He wondered how long they would fear him.

  How long they would hate him.

  Crow’s Bay was ruled by the Shipping Guild, twelve men who controlled the fleets, both trading and fishing, for the city. They met in a domed chamber near the docks. Today, they’d meet again for the first time since he’d taken the city. Today, he would find out from them what had happened to Iridia and, if Crow’s Bay lacked what he required, they would tell him where to go next, and then Cagle would finally learn the full measure of the challenge that awaited them.

  When he reached the building, Cagle paused. Vlan, Meagera, and Reeve waited for him there. Vlan and Meagera seemed nervous while Reeve just looked bored. The shaggy hunter leaned against the wall, sticking to the building’s shadows and studying the crowd. As always, his bow lay close at hand.

  I suppose I’ll have to trust him now. Surely if he is to betray us it would have happened by now.

  “Captain Pal Turas?” Cagle asked Meagera.

  “Seeing to the ships. Most seem seaworthy, but they’ve precious little cargo,” she said.