Sons of Plague

by Kade Derricks

  Cagle turned to speak to the others. Little time was left. Half the sun had already dropped beneath the far horizon and bathed the land in bright crimson. “All right, Olinia, show us the fastest way to get there.”

  “Follow me,” she said, and started down a side street to the right of Huir’s men.

  From here on, the plan was straightforward. Between Huir’s troops and Felnasen’s, the bulk of the army would advance through the city in two columns. As they moved north, both groups would draw resistance, which would slow them and, according to Olinia, they couldn’t afford delay if they were to stop this Shade-summoning ceremony. By using back alleys and quiet streets, he, Olinia, his small group of men, and the dwarves would also head for the fortress. As a small group, traveling fast and well clear of the army, they would advance unmolested. If they could arrive quickly enough they could catch the Citadel troops unaware and keep the doors and gates open.

  Well, at least that’s the plan. Cagle sighed. There were no certainties in war, and so far, Iridia had held surprises he could never have imagined. We just need a few breaks to reach the Citadel in time.

  CHAPTER 15

  Interruptions

  Olinia ran as fast as her brother would allow. Cagle himself had no trouble keeping a quick pace; annoyingly, he didn’t even seem to be breathing hard, but the men strung out like errant schoolchildren and he called for a halt. The regular troops could match her pace easily enough. Zethul and his dwarves were slower, though. She might have left them behind entirely if Cagle had been willing to allow it.

  “We’ll need them at the Citadel,” he’d said.

  He’s right, of course. He’s always right. If the Citadel is heavily guarded or locked up tight, we’ll need them. Dwarves are crafty at breaking into things.

  Cagle ran alongside her, silent, eyes searching for danger in every direction at once. Something was different about him. He moved differently. Sharper, somehow. It made no sense, they’d been apart just a few weeks, and yet there was no mistaking it. He’d changed more during the short time she’d been in Washougle than in all the long months he’d been away at the Academy in the north.

  They paused behind an inn to allow Zethul and his brethren to catch up. So far, they’d avoided detection. Twice, they’d passed squads of soldiers, all rushing by on their way to meet the advancing army. Each time, Cagle had called for them to halt in a shadowed alleyway or duck around some building’s corner and allow the enemy to pass. It was uncanny how he sensed them before they arrived.

  They passed the Lion’s Rounds and Olinia paused. She wondered if Jorle and the blacksmith and the other regulars were in there. They might even be watching them now. Likely, though, they were leaned over the counter, drinking their beer, blissfully unaware their city had been breached.

  “How far?” Cagle asked.

  “Just a few blocks. Are you ready?”

  Cagle nodded. He lifted his sword once, making sure it was clear, and let it fall back into its scabbard. He closed his eyes and took a long breath.

  Olinia reached and took his hand. She looked him in the eye. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Thank you for doing this. I know you didn’t want to rush into the city.”

  “From what you’ve told me, Nia, I didn’t have much choice.”

  It was the truth. Turning the Shade loose on him would have been a disaster. Meagera’s abilities might hold it at bay; Olinia knew enough of the mage to respect her and the other spellcasters. But then again, they knew precious little of the Shade. The mage’s spells might prove less effective than even the simple candles.

  “Besides,” Cagle said, “sacrificing children isn’t right, and I am responsible for this.”

  Olinia sighed. “How so?”

  “I sent you in here. If not for that, the Shade wouldn’t have been summoned at all.”

  The last of the dwarves stomped up. This one was a couple of inches taller than the others, younger, too. The wheezing fellow leaned over, held his long black beard aside, and threw up on the cobblestones.

  “Sorry,” he said. He wiped his mouth with the back of his leather gauntlet.

  “Don’t mind him,” Zethul said. “Dek always throws up before a battle. It’s good luck.”

  “Good luck?” Olinia said, cringing.

  “Sure, he’s heaved his guts up before every battle and managed to live through each one so far,” Zethul said.

  “Ready, then?” Cagle asked.

  Zek nodded, and Olinia led them onward.

  Halfway to the courtyard, their luck ran out. They came around a corner where a great number of Iridin soldiers stood at attention, grouped in a square and taking orders from their commander. The man took a single look at Olinia’s group and cursed. He drew his sword, pointed, and, despite the din, Olinia heard his words clear.

  “Invaders! At them!”

  The soldiers moved forward, and in a flash, Cagle shot out past her, sword sweeping, slashing, leaping. He moved in a blur. He cut men down in pairs or even three at a time without slowing. For a moment, Olinia could only stare.

  No one can move so fast. How is he doing this?

  Zethul and the others followed in his wake like angry badgers, slaying Iridin on either side. Olinia drew her dagger and a sword she’d borrowed from the camp. One of the enemy rushed her and her sword met his. They fought for a time, steel crashing, blades singing. Eventually, he made a mistake, bringing his blade too far back after a quick parry, and Olinia’s dagger made him pay for it.

  She moved on to the next opponent. He swung, and she stepped aside. His sword sparked when it hit the cobblestone street and hers drew blood from his neck. She stepped up to the next man, a tall Iridin wielding a spear.

  The fighting became a blur. There were no battle lines, just a stew of Iridin, dwarves, and Cagle’s select Karthans. Between opponents, Olinia caught short glimpses and flashes of her brother. He seemed everywhere at once. He threw himself always into the thickest part of the battle. Anywhere the Iridin gathered, his sword struck and drew fresh blood.

  They ground their way ever closer to the summoning courtyard. Olinia could see the ancient, crumbling stones just ahead. Darkness was approaching. A bare hint of light painted the highest rooftops in blood red. A band of high thunderclouds raced north, their roiling gray bellies highlighted by arcing webs of lightning.

  Across the battlefield, Olinia caught sight of her brother anew.

  “Cagle!” Olinia yelled. He slowed to look at her. With her sword, she pointed at the ring of stones. “In there!”

  Bringing his sword up and in front of his face, he snapped her a quick salute. Then he whipped the blade to his side, holding it low. An Iridin soldier moved at him and the sword sliced him across the chest, sending him spilling back.

  The man’s armor plate had been sliced clean open.

  How can he cleave armor like that? He cut through it as if it were paper.

  Most of the remaining Iridin broke and fled then.

  “Form up,” Cagle growled. “Defend this area.”

  The Karthans formed up into a hollow square with their wounded inside. Cagle started for the summoning courtyard and Olinia followed. Her brother might be the first there, but she intended to be the second. To her left, a set of weathered steps ran up the outer ring’s broken wall. Olinia took them two at a time.

  At first, she thought the courtyard was empty. There were no crowds gathered, no onlookers hoping for the quickened thrill of the summoning.

  “Is that the priest?” Cagle pointed into the darkness.

  Olinia didn’t see what he meant; then she caught the flickering orange glow of torches. They weren’t at the stone altar; this time, the priest and guards stood in a huddled group close to the Citadel’s base.

 
“Yes,” Olinia said with a nod.

  With that, her brother darted away. Again, he moved in a blur, darting and skipping over tumbled stones and bare earth alike.

  Olinia dropped down off the outer ring and lost sight of the priest and his men. She chased her brother, cursing her own slowness.

  After this is done, we’re going to talk about how he’s learned to move so fast. It has to be a trick of some kind.

  Her lungs and legs ached as she ran. She heard swords clashing ahead. She cleared one of the large gray stones and saw the priest again. Cagle was fighting all four guards at once, battling them to a standstill. One of the Iridin had a wicked cut across his swordarm, but it wasn’t slowing him much.

  The priest and sacrifice, still wearing a black hood, were a few feet back from the others. The sacrifice, of equal height and build with Melios, knelt with his hands and feet bound by a coil of thick rope. The priest stared over the wall toward the dying sun, crystal dagger held close and ready.

  If Cagle couldn’t break through the four guardsmen in time, she would have to stop the priest herself. She wouldn’t make it. Only a thin sliver of light touched the Citadel’s highest ramparts now. In moments, it would be gone—as would Melios, along with their only chance of saving him.

  One of the guards cried out suddenly; his sword rattled to the ground and he hunched down, holding his wrist. Blood flowed around his fingers in a steady stream. He retreated a step back. Cagle’s blade whipped out with a flick and tore open his throat then.

  The guard behind Cagle sprang forward. Olinia cried out to warn her brother, but his sword was already snapping around to parry. A second guard brought his blade to bear, and it caught Cagle across the back. Her brother’s leather armor parted, and a line of blood appeared along his ribcage.

  Cagle countered hard with his sword, and the Iridin’s blade snapped clean at the hilt.

  Olinia was almost to her brother then. One of the remaining guards had his back to her, and she planted the dagger in the center of his muscled neck. He dropped instantly, and then she was beyond him.

  The third guard was dead now, broken sword still clenched fast in his fist, and Cagle had the last one backpedaling. Further out, across the courtyard, three more armored Iridin were running their way.

  Ignoring them, Olinia pelted for the priest.

  The white-robed man let out a howl of triumph—the sun was gone now, and he held the hooded sacrifice by his shirtfront.

  The strange crystal dagger started its downward path.

  Olinia’s sword caught the priest’s forearm mid-swing. He screamed, and the black dagger skittered away into the dark. The priest dropped to his knees, clutching the wound tight. Olinia kicked him in the gut and then stopped in front of Melios.

  “Melios! It’s me, Olinia. Hold out your hands.”

  The hooded figured extended his bound wrists. Carefully, Olinia used her sword to cut through the bindings. His hands came free with a pop. They were painfully bruised, chafed red and sore around the wrists. Olinia removed his hood.

  “Melios, I’ve got Agare free at my brother’s camp. Now we need to find her-“

  It wasn’t Melios. This boy was younger and thinner, with a shock of flame-red hair waving up in all directions. His eyes, a brilliant green, were frightened. They looked first at her and then swung to the priest. He screamed despite his gagged mouth.

  Olinia pulled the gag down over his chin. He continued to scream, louder now, pointing at the priest. Olinia seized his chin in her hands and brought his gaze to meet hers.

  “Listen to me. Look at me. He can’t harm you anymore. You’re safe. Now, where are Melios and the others?”

  “He’s with them, the two smaller boys. They are all together. They kept us in cells inside the Citadel. High up.”

  “They’ve sealed up the fortress by now,” Cagle said from behind her. He’d finished off the last of the guards. “Barricaded the door. We have this, though.” He held out the black crystal dagger. “I don’t think they’ll be summoning anything without it.”

  They still have Melios, and Agare’s brothers. I’ve failed them. Olinia shook her head to clear it, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. No, we can still get them out. We just need to break into the Citadel.

  “We need to get inside quickly.” An idea came to her. “The priest might know a way in.”

  “Where is he?” Cagle asked.

  Olinia looked around. He’d been screaming just moments ago, holding his bleeding wrist and trying not to die. But for herself, Cagle, and the child, the courtyard was empty.

  The priest was gone.

  Cagle followed the priest’s blood trail like a sniffing hound. Over the usual city odors—sooty chimneys, boiling evening stews, alehouses, the day’s hard sweat, soap from the laundries, wax from a hundred candles—he could smell the man’s blood easy enough, and when he looked to the ground, there were dark splotches running in a spotty trail. After leaving the redheaded boy, he and Olinia had followed the trail through the courtyard and up to the Citadel’s smooth outer wall.

  The trail ended abruptly, dead center of the Citadel.

  “It stops here,” he said.

  “What do you mean it stops? There’s no door,” Olinia said. She smacked her palm on the rough stone.

  Cagle felt the stone. “There has to be a way in. There’s no more blood in either direction.”

  Olinia lowered one of the torches they’d recovered to study the ground. There was a small puddle of blood at the wall’s edge and none—not one single drop—on either side.

  Cagle looked up at the tower.

  The puddle means he stood here for some time. No trail on either side, and he didn’t double back. It’s as if he grew wings.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  “Hidden door.” Olinia said.

  “No chance they lowered a rope from one of those windows?”

  “Not the way he was bleeding. He couldn’t have held on long enough to make it.”

  Cagle rapped on the stone with his sword. If there were a secret door, then there had to be a latch or mechanism of some kind. His back stung from the guard’s lucky slash, but he knew the wound was already healing. Despite the day’s exertions, he found he still wasn’t tired.

  He’d given up control when he fought the guards, moving on instinct, flowing with the sword, becoming one with it. It felt good to let go. Seductive, even, like the sway of Sansaba’s hips or the promise of adventures beyond imagining just around the next bend in the road.

  Only when the last man was down did his control return. He shivered at the thought of it. He couldn’t afford to slip. If I let myself go too far, I might not come back.

  Olinia started pounding with the base of her hand on the stone. Frustration shone on her face. She mumbled to herself, but with his new hearing, he caught it plain as day.

  “Melios, I’m coming,” she said. “Just hold on.”

  Cagle started. He’d never seen his sister like this; not over another person, at least. She genuinely cared for this boy. She felt responsible for him. He couldn’t imagine how she’d formed an attachment so strong in such a short time.

  Her eyes grew moist as she hammered the stone in vain. If she kept at it like that, she’d break the bones in her hands. I’m not sure I like this new Olinia.

  Light shone from above. A flat-nosed man with a torch leaned out one of the Citadel’s windows. He saw them and then vanished back inside. In moments, he reappeared, this time armed with a bow.

  “Archer!” Cagle called.

  Olinia turned to look, and the man’s first arrow fell wide by ten paces. Cagle took the torch from her hand and threw it out beyond where the arrow had struck.

  “Why’d you do that?”

 
More bowstrings snapped. There were archers in every window now, a few on the roof, even, and arrows plunked all around the torch.

  “We need to be away from here; there has to be another way in. Zethul will find it.”

  He thought Olinia would argue with him, but she only nodded. They moved away from the Citadel’s base swiftly. Arrows struck around them. The archers were blind in the darkness. So, apparently, was his sister. After she ran into a broken pillar, cursing, Cagle took her by the hand.

  “Follow me,” he said. A few minutes later, they were back in Washougle’s streets and surrounded by Cagle’s troops. Zethul hailed them.

  “All done here,” the dwarf said. He sat smoking a pipe carved in the shape of an angry boar. His axe rested beside him, leaning on the cracked stone. He’d already cleaned the weapon, and looked for all the world as if he were bored. Only the bloodstains on his armor and an open cut across the bridge of his nose gave any sign that he’d recently been in a battle.

  “Did the boy find you?” Cagle said.

  “We put him to work helping bind up a few of the wounded.” Zethul pointed with his pipestem to a group of dwarves and lowlanders with bandaged wounds. The redheaded boy walked among them, carrying a pail of water.

  “Good,” Cagle said. “We still have a small problem, though.”

  “We need to break into the Citadel,” Olinia interjected.

  Zethul threw a long glance at the tall structure. “Felnasen and Huir are almost here. I’ve seen green and blue flashes from Meagera and those other damned sorcerers. Though I think these Iridin might have a few casters of their own. The Yoghens or their mages should be able to get in there pretty easy.”

  “We need inside now. There are lives depending on it,” Olinia said.

  “There are lives depending on a lot of things, girl. We lost a lot of good men taking this worthless courtyard of yours, and now you want to rush into some tower and lose more? We aren’t grain to be cracked and ground into flour,” Zethul said. The dwarf’s eyes were hard.