Sons of Plague

by Kade Derricks

  To her eye, the whole place looked chaotic. She didn’t know how they managed to avoid running into each other. Are they always like this, or has something happened?

  “What are you doing here?” one of the guards stopped in front of her to ask.

  “My master sent me up to see about the mantels,” she said.

  “The mantels?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, go on, then. See about your duties,” the guard said.

  “Thank you, sir,” Olinia replied. She started down the corridor, walking quickly and putting the guard behind her. She kept her head tilted forward and down, stealing glances into the rooms on either side as she passed. None looked like a temple. Jorle might have lied, the bastard.

  At the hall’s end, she turned left into a second corridor. This one was quiet compared to the first. There were no doorways to either side and it led to a pair of tall doors made from a pale white wood. They looked promising.

  Keeping her gaze down, she continued straight on. Hesitantly, she reached for the door. It swung open on silent hinges, and she was grateful for it.

  Inside, she found a welcome relief from the Citadel’s barren walls. Paintings of mountains, the sea, and dark forests hung on the walls, and there were shelves with small bronze sculptures reflecting an assortment of animals. Some she knew—horses, oxen, fish—and others were foreign to her. One looked like a shuffling bear but with scales and a long, spiked tail.

  There was a great deal of light here, streaming in from a row of windows to her right. Rows of dark wooden benches stretched across the room. A few taller chairs were also scattered around the room. A line of large gilded pillars cut the room into thirds, each covered in symbols she didn’t recognize. In the room’s center, a raised dais stood. This had to be the temple. Again, she wondered what manner of priest might commit murder to call on a creature like the Shade. By the look on the man’s face, he’d been enjoying himself when the strange dagger had done its work.

  Olinia closed the door behind her and set aside the bag of tools. She drew her dagger and kept it close to her leg, hidden within the folds of her clothing.

  Using the columns for cover, she crept across the room. There were several good places to hide. She was patient; if need be, she could wait here a long time.

  Sooner or later, the priest has to come.

  From behind the dais came a shuffling sound. Olinia crouched behind one of the columns near the room’s back. A man entered from a hidden doorway to the left. He was hunchbacked, walking with a heavy limp and working with a broom. The bristles whisked along the floor, raising faint motes of dust and cobwebs that glistened in the golden light. The hunchback whistled to himself as he swept; a slow, sad song.

  Olinia watched him work. He moved closer to the window, leaning on the broom’s handle, and paused to look out.

  “What a glorious morning,” he said to himself. He heaved a deep sigh and continued to stare.

  While he was distracted, Olinia slinked into the doorway he’d entered from. Inside was another room, almost as large as the temple itself, decorated in bronze and silver, with a table in one corner and several shelves holding thick books. There were smaller rooms branching off to either side. A bed lay in one. The priest’s personal quarters, no doubt. Holding her knife ready, she went inside.

  Again, empty. The priest was nowhere to be found. Olinia cursed her luck. Where else can he be?

  She straightened.

  Behind her, the broom had stopped whisking.

  “Hey, who are you? What are you doing? You aren’t supposed to be in here,” the hunchback called. His eyes slipped down to her dagger and, without waiting for an answer, he ran for the outer door. Olinia raced after him. He pulled at the first door, but the stolen tools wedged and stopped it. He opened the second as Olinia leaped over the last bench. He slithered through a half-second before she reached him.

  “Guards!” he cried. “Guards, help!”

  A soldier in clattering armor stumbled into view at the end of the hall. The hunchback carried on past him, still screaming.

  Olinia swore. She started after him, dagger ready. If she could somehow clear the hall and make it to the nearest stairwell, she might take another shape and escape.

  The guard swung with his sword and she ducked beneath the blow. He drew the weapon back for another try, but it would never come. Olinia’s dagger found a gap in his armor beneath the armpit, where leather connected the shoulder and breastplates. She drove the blade deep, and the man howled and fell.

  Olinia tore her dagger free. She snatched up the fallen guard’s sword; she wanted the extra reach, as her daggers wouldn’t be enough to get her down the hall. Three more guards came around the corner. Armor clanged and echoed behind them—more were coming.

  Too many to fight. There has to be another way out. A passage through the priest’s rooms, perhaps.

  She turned and raced back to the temple. She closed the door behind her. The discarded tools were nearby, and she jammed one of the iron chisels between the handles of two doors. It wouldn’t hold them long.

  Crossing to the window, she looked for a way out. The wall below was tall and steep without purchase of any kind. The Old Courtyard and easy escape lay at the bottom, with no way to reach it.

  She moved from the temple to the priest’s quarters. At the end was another door, one she’d missed earlier. Olinia opened it into a long, dusty hallway. She ran the length of it. She heard the guards still pounding against the temple doors.

  Off to one side, she found another doorway and a storeroom beyond. Olinia searched the storeroom quickly, finding a set of white, dust-covered robes. Slowing only to beat the dust free, she draped the loose robes over her own clothing; the material was thick and concealing. She tried to remember what the priest she’d seen looked like. Older, thin, with long gray hair hanging in loose wisps and a narrow, drawn face.

  She changed her face to what she remembered. The match was far from perfect, but it would have to do. Her head ached with the effort. Too fast. Too many changes. She struggled to keep the new features in place. She just needed to hold it long enough to get out of here.

  Another door waited at the end of the hall. A loud crack sounded from the temple door. They would be on her soon. She pulled the door open and then eased it shut behind her. Another stairwell. Below, she heard guards shouting and climbing. Above was quiet.

  Up it is. Olinia started to climb.

  She passed the fifth floor without slowing and made for the sixth. The stairs ended at a little landing, and she found herself on the Citadel’s roof. She slowed her pace to a walk and stepped out onto the flat stone top. A ballista stood on each corner beneath a wooden structure. There were four guards stationed on the roof, each leaning on the wall near a ballista. At her appearance, they jerked to attention. None met her eye.

  It seems they fear the priest.

  Across the roof was a second set of stairs leading down. Olinia crossed to it. Unseen men shouted from below. Heavy steps were pounding their way up the stairs.

  What now? Go on below to try and fool them, or wait up here and hope to escape in the confusion? In these robes, she’d draw attention like a magnet. She decided to build some credibility with the soldiers up here, and how better than to send them after the intruder herself?

  “You there, and you,” she said to the two nearest. “There is a disturbance in the Citadel. Invaders in the temple. Go below and search the next floor. You’re looking for a man of young to middling age. Beware, he is quite dangerous.”

  “Yes, sir,” the two guards saluted. Each disappeared down a stairwell.

  “And you there,” she pointed to the remaining guards. “I want you to guard the stairwells.”

  “Of course, sir,” they said. Each moved to one of the
landings and started peering down.

  Olinia crossed to the nearest ballista. A dozen iron-capped bolts lay stacked on a rack built into the wall. A chest sat nearby. She opened the lid to search inside. If there was a spare set of armor about, she could impersonate one of the guards. Then she could just join the search party and vanish after they gave up.

  She cursed again. The chest didn’t have any armor inside. Instead, she found a long length of rope with a loop on one end and a thick metal ring on the other. She lifted the rope from the chest. This might be even better. Now she needed something solid to tie to.

  Head-high, near the ballista, anchored into the wall, was an iron hook. Olinia dropped the rope’s metal ring over the hook. A perfect fit. She threw the coiled rope out over the side. Even if it didn’t reach the bottom, she could climb down and bust in through a window lower down where they’d already searched and where there was more confusion to vanish into. From there, getting out would be easy.

  There was a pair of old leather gloves in the chest, and she put them on. Olinia moved to the edge. With her feet planted on the Citadel’s wall and the rope held tight in both hands, she eased over the side.

  A guard stepped out from the stairwell across the roof; one of the men she’d sent below earlier.

  “Where is-” he started. Then he saw her and started forward. “Your Grace, no!”

  Another man, a broad brute with thick shoulders, armored boot to waist but bare-chested and carrying a sword, strode out onto the roof. Dozens of long, white scars crisscrossed his arms and chest. His hair was shaggy and black streaked with white. Olinia recognized him at once; she’d seen him at the summoning.

  Marshal Krona.

  Krona pointed with his sword. “That’s no priest, you idiots. Look at his boots. Bring him to me!”

  Olinia took a breath. No time to back down.

  She held the rope fast. Then she kicked free of the wall to let her legs dangle below. She swung out and then back, slamming into the wall and bruising her ribs. She winced. No time to feel the pain. She wrapped one leg around the rope, putting it between the soles of her boots. She eased off her grip and suddenly shot downward. Dropping fast, the rope buzzed around her thigh, in her gloved hands, between her feet. The leather soles of her boots grew warm.

  She passed by a set of windows, then a second. The gloves grew painfully hot and she eased her grip again. Faster, she fell.

  She could see the ground approaching over her shoulder. The courtyard lay below. The rope seemed just long enough to reach it.

  Looking back up, Olinia saw the guard peer out over the edge, his mouth open in disbelief. She passed two more sets of windows. Too fast. She needed to slow down.

  If I hit the ground going this fast, I’ll break an ankle or leg, and they’ll catch me before I make twenty paces.

  She squeezed one foot down hard on the other, pinching the rope between them. Her descent slowed. She looked down over her shoulder again. Less than fifteen feet below, the ground and sweet escape waited. She was still going too fast, though.

  Olinia clenched the rope in her hands, grunting with the effort. The heat from it burned her palms. For a brief instant she slowed again, then she landed with a whumph. She kicked the rope free, took one last look at the roof above, and tore off the priest’s heavy robes before running across the courtyard and vanishing into the city.

  Olinia ran for three blocks to make sure she was well away from the Citadel.

  She’d always had a long stride, and it didn’t take her but a few minutes to cover the distance. A bell rang in the Citadel, echoed by others all around Washougle. Lungs burning, she finally slowed to a quick trot. She ducked into an alleyway to catch her breath. Running drew too much attention. Now that she was clear of the soldiers, stealth was required. She followed the alley down and then turned left at an intersection. The second alley brought her out to a busy street.

  She emerged at a walk; the Citadel was almost out of sight now. The bells still rang. Soldiers raced through the streets, weapons bared, eyes fierce and searching. Onlookers either gawked or scurried about like frightened mice, keeping their heads bowed and clutching their children close.

  A minute more and they might have caught me. How did they get word out across the city so quickly?

  Olinia had left her hood down; her hair was different now, a dingy white-gray, and a web of wrinkles lined her face. She struggled to hold her new face, her head pounding with the effort, but it helped that her face was a familiar one. Tilda, her and Cagle’s former nurse from childhood. One of the soldiers met her withered gaze and slid on by without a second look. There was no way this ancient crone had scaled the Citadel’s walls. She shuffled her way down the street, holding to the general direction of the Lion’s Rounds.

  She’d failed miserably. And at everything. The priest still lived. She hadn’t even seen him. She hadn’t learned anything of use about the Shade. Tonight, there would be another sacrifice, and her adversary would grow stronger.

  Strong enough to break through the candlelight? Or smart enough to know it was her? Either possibility was frightening.

  The street was alive with talk, none of it about the events at the Citadel, and much to her surprise, none about the Shade. She passed by a gaggle of women gossiping outside a bakery.

  “Gives me the shivers,” one woman said. “Marshal Krona will sort them out though. He knows war. He took care of the gangs and nobles easy enough, even though he’s been no better.”

  “No better? There’s less starvation now, less crime.”

  “Less freedom, too, and he still hasn’t tamed the Grind. He promised he’d clean out the gangs and retake the whole city,” an older woman said.

  A younger woman at her side patted her arm. “Hush, mother. The Marshal’s got spies everywhere. You don’t want to be reported.”

  “Well, either way, he’ll destroy these cursed invaders easy enough.”

  “Have you seen them?” one of the women asked.

  “No, but my husband said there are thousands of them. Did Plete come back with the foragers?”

  One of the other women shook her head. “I’m worried. He’s a week overdue.”

  “I heard they’re savages. They have monsters with them, and they eat their dead.”

  “Like the Karoon?” the first woman asked, eyes wide.

  “No, not lizard men. These are short half-men with beards, and bloodthirsty giants, too.”

  “When did they arrive?”

  “Last night, I heard. Camped just before dark.”

  One of the women eyed Olinia suspiciously, and she shuffled on before she could hear more. Still, she’d gotten enough to learn why the soldiers were so excited. They weren’t after her—not yet at least.

  Cagle. He’s here with the army. If he takes the city, he can stop the summoning.

  She needed to get free of the city to tell him. First, though, she needed to gather her belongings from the inn. She couldn’t afford to be without her candles tonight. She’d also made a written list of Washougle’s granaries and warehouses and carefully hidden it among her things. The city didn’t seem rich enough to bother with, he’d been very specific about how much food he needed to ship home; she would have to convince him to take Washougle anyway. She couldn’t afford for the Shade to be chasing after her from now on.

  She also needed to get Melios and the other children out. The thought of them down in the Grind surviving on rats or whatever else they could kill while the people here had so much sickened her.

  Once she explained about the Shade and the children, Cagle would help. She knew her brother’s heart.

  She started past the building where she’d left Jorle earlier. She wondered if he had broken free yet. Maybe I should check.

  Jorle lay tied just as she’d le
ft him. She’d cut the bindings almost through, but she must have overestimated his strength. His eyes flashed as he saw her. He took in her grandmotherly face and heaved a sigh of relief.

  “Help me,” he said. “Please help me, good lady.”

  “What happened to you?” she asked.

  “A pair of men knocked me over the head and tied me up.”

  “Why did they do that?”

  “They stole my coin pouch.”

  “Really? How awful.” Olinia circled behind him and cut the bindings the rest of the way with her knife.

  Jorle jerked his hands free. He rubbed at his raw wrists. “I thank you. I’ve been yelling all day and no one’s heard me.”

  “The city is in an uproar. Someone broke into the Citadel, and there’s an army camped outside the walls.”

  “By Ghanris, and me tied up this whole time! I thank you, good mistress. I surely do. If there’s anything I can do for you, you just let old Jorle know.”

  “Oh, of course,” she laughed. Olinia took Jorle’s arm and let him lead her out to the street.

  Once on the street he apologized, offered thanks again, and tore out for the stables where he’d left his horse and cart the day before. After he was gone, Olinia changed her face once more. Her head split with the effort, and she paused to rest near the door. Gathering herself after a few minutes, she made her way to the Lion’s Rounds to retrieve her belongings. In the safety of her room, she laid on the bed and let her face relax.