by Sandell Wall
Aventine did not wait for a response. She broke away from the girl, turning to walk quickly in the opposite direction. Without looking behind her, she ducked around the corner of a shack and then stopped. She paused, forcing her breathing to slow and letting her heart stop pounding.
After a ten count, she moved to the edge of the wooden shanty and peeked around the corner. She spied the enemy agent immediately. He was walking through the camp like he was on some minor errand. The only thing that gave him away was his constant scanning of his surroundings. He was too alert to be a simple laborer. His path would lead him straight to Marthis’s inn.
Now it was her turn to be the hunter. Aventine waited for the man to pass her by. When he was about fifty feet ahead of her, she trailed him from a distance. She had no idea what she would do. The camp was too crowded to force a confrontation and not be noticed.
Her quarry hesitated when he neared Marthis’s tent. Aventine guessed he had just seen the girl enter the inn. She hung back, waiting to see what would happen. Wranger’s agent circled the big campaign tent, but showed no desire to go inside. He deliberated for a time and then seemed to make a decision. Moving like he was in a hurry now, he turned and started walking straight toward where Aventine was hidden.
Aventine glanced over her shoulder at the city walls. The small tunnel next to the main gate drew her eye. Her heart sank.
He’s making for the city.
She did not have time to contemplate the best course of action. The only thing that mattered was that this man did not leave the camp. If he reached the Black Citadel, he would bring Wranger’s wrath down on their heads. Her only chance was to ambush him before he left the crowded sprawl of tents and shacks.
Behind her, between where she stood and the city walls, she remembered an isolated intersection tucked between four wooden huts. If Wranger’s man took the most direct route, he would pass through that section of the camp. Abandoning all attempts at subtlety, she turned and ran toward the city. Her odd behavior drew suspicious stares. She cursed inwardly. They would remember her now.
When she reached the enclosed area between the shacks, she ran through the intersection and ducked behind one of the walls on the other side. The muddy pathways formed a crossroads between the crude buildings. Wide and well traveled, the road led right up to the massive city gates. Wooden walls on all sides made the junction feel claustrophobic. If her target came through here, he would have no choice but to pass by her, or retreat into the camp.
Her back against the wall, Aventine slipped the runeforged dagger from beneath her shirt. She was ready, but not tense. Her palms were dry, her mind clear. A month of brutal fighting in the mountains had hardened her muscles and honed her reflexes. She was no longer a Rune Guard trainee—she was a battle-tested killer. Soon, she heard the squelch of footsteps in the muddy road.
It might not be him. Don’t strike without looking first.
Aventine counted to five, trying to guess when her prey would pass through the middle of the intersection. When it sounded like he was right around the corner, she stepped out with the blade of her dagger held flat against the underside of her wrist. If this was not her target, there was no reason to cause a scene by threatening them with a blade.
That caution almost cost Aventine her life.
The person approaching was Wranger’s agent, and he had a dagger in his hand. As soon as Aventine stepped around the corner, he rushed her. She tried to flick her own weapon around in her hand, but the enemy was too close. All she could do was step inside his attack and try to body-check him into the wall. But he was bigger and stronger. He slammed her against the nearest wooden shack.
Stars exploded in Aventine’s vision. The body of her attacker pressed hard up against hers, crushing the breath from her lungs. He never spoke, never hesitated. From the instant he saw her, he committed fully to taking her life.
She kneed him hard in the crotch—it only made him angry. He used his weight to keep her right arm immobilized, and her dagger’s point away from his body. Her assailant tried to plunge his own weapon into her stomach. Only her grip on his wrist kept the blade out of her flesh. Aventine fought hard to not be overpowered. It took every ounce of strength she possessed to hold off his blade—and she was weakening fast. There was no way she could match his brawn and bulk. She saw in his eyes that he knew it too.
Before the strength in her muscles was completely sapped, she twisted hard in the enemy’s grip. At the same time, she stopped resisting his stabbing blade. The dagger whispered past her flesh, missing by the width of a whisker. The point stuck fast in the shanty wall, and for an instant she had the initiative. Her opponent was good—he did not let her weapon arm free. Aventine slammed her left palm up and through his chin. She heard the clack of teeth as his head jerked back.
A lesser man would have been out of the fight, but he did not go down. He released Aventine and leapt back, using his weight to wrench his dagger from the clinging wood. As soon as the press of his body was gone, Aventine launched off of the wall behind her, barreling straight at her attacker. She could not let him regain his footing. When he landed, his left foot slipped in the muck of the road. He dropped to one knee, and watched, helpless, as Aventine’s dagger slammed up through the softness under his chin, then into his brain.
Aventine yanked her weapon out of the body as it slumped into the filth of the street. She stood over the corpse, shaking with adrenaline. Fear surged through her. In the mountains, she had engaged entire squads of soldiers on her own. She had been unstoppable, tearing through the First Legion like a rune-powered demon. But here she was just a refugee with a blade. If her attacker had not slipped, it might be her blood pooling in the mud.
She forced herself to move. With quick swipes, Aventine cleaned her dagger on the dead man’s shirt and returned it to its sheath. No one else had entered the intersection yet, but she knew she did not have long. She tried to pull the corpse by its arms but could not get the leverage she needed on the slippery ground. After falling twice, Aventine gave up that approach and tried lifting the limp cadaver off of the earth. Half carrying, half dragging the body, she was able to shuffle out of the crossroads and dump the corpse in the doorway of an open shack.
Fate was with her: the hut was empty, but it showed signs of habitation. There was no telling how long the body would stay unnoticed. Aventine dragged the corpse into a corner and covered it with a ratty blanket. When she was finished, she was covered in mud, sweat, and blood. That was the last dead body she ever wanted to wrestle.
She looked down at herself. There was no way she could walk through the camp like this, and there was no way to get clean. Seeing no other option, she stripped off her clothes and turned them inside out. When Aventine was dressed again, the filth underneath scratched and smeared her skin, but at least she just looked dirty, and not like she had murdered a man in the road and then grappled with his bloody corpse.
Aventine stepped back into the street. She could not believe her good fortune that no one had come along. The junction was close enough to Umgragon’s walls that the refugees avoided it unless they had good reason to travel this way. There was an obvious trail in the muck where she had dragged the body into the shack. Shuffling her feet in the mud, she made several passes through the intersection. It was a pitiful ruse, but at least it confused the evidence of the struggle. Convinced she had no more time to waste, she left the crossroads behind and made for Marthis’s tent.
No one stopped her, but she no longer felt anonymous and safe walking through the bustle of the camp. Soon, she found herself at the back wall of the inn. She glanced around to make sure no one was watching. When she looked to the west, she froze. Above the refugee dwellings, the black standards of the First Legion bobbed and swayed. They had returned from the mountains. Aventine jerked the wall of the tent up and slipped under. Inside, Saffrin and the girl from the kettle were waiting for her.
When the girl saw Aventine, her eyes went wide.
“Do I look that bad?” Aventine asked. “I tried to cover it up.”
“Are you okay?” Saffrin said. “What happened?”
“I followed Wranger’s man until he came to the inn,” Aventine said. “He scouted the place and then made for the city straight away. I couldn't let him leave the camp. I ambushed him before he could reach Umgragon’s walls. I killed him in the street.”
At this, the camp girl’s eyes got even bigger.
“No one saw me,” Aventine said. “I stashed the body in a nearby shack, but it’s only a matter of time before it’s found.”
“You did the right thing,” Saffrin said. “If he had reached the city, he would have returned with reinforcements and arrested Marthis and everyone else in the surrounding area. Listis here says that Wranger has agents all over the camp. At the first hint of collusion with the rebels, a special squad of the First Legion sweeps in and abducts everyone involved. They’re never seen again.”
“Can she get a message into the city?” Aventine asked.
“I can,” Listis answered for herself. The girl had spine. “I’ve a brother in the First. Not all of them are happy with Wranger locking the refugees out of the city. Some of them have family out here. My brother can get a message inside, even into the dungeons were Saffrin’s brother is held.”
“And this is enough for you?” Aventine said, turning her gaze to Saffrin. She did not need to hear the answer. The fight in her eyes and the set of her jaw made Saffrin’s feelings clear. The other woman had no intention of abandoning her brother to Wranger’s torturers.
“I know you’ll say I should escape with you and Holmgrim,” Saffrin said. “But I cannot. I will not. I would never be able to live with myself if I left my only brother to rot in the Black Citadel’s dungeons.”
“Is your word worth so little?” Aventine asked, her voice harsh. “Don’t forget your oath. You swore you would leave with us no matter what happened.”
Saffrin’s face twisted in grief and anger, but before she could lash out at Aventine, Marthis hustled around the divider that hid them from the rest of the big tent. Out of breath and alarmed, he stopped short when he saw three women where he expected two.
“Listis, what are you doing here?” he said. “Don’t tell me you’re the rebel contact.”
Listis’s eyes flashed. “What if I am?”
“If you are, then you're a damned fool. And you need to leave, immediately,” Marthis said. “The First Legion has returned from the mountains, and someone’s been murdered in the camp. The First is furious, I’ve never seen them so stirred up. I can only guess that it was one of their men. They’re going door to door, searching every shack, tent, and piss hole.”
Listis looked at Saffrin, the apprehension clear on her face.
“Go,” Saffrin said. “We’ll be okay. Remember the message.”
Listis nodded, ducked around the partition, and was gone.
Marthis looked Aventine up and down. “I’ll not ask what you know about the corpse they found, but there’s no way you’re walking out of here. They’d be on you in an instant, and I’d be arrested with you.”
“You have another option?” Aventine said, her voice hard.
She saw alarm on Saffrin’s face. The other woman must have detected the same implied threat in Marthis’s words that she had. His next words would decide if he lived or died.
“Aye, I’ve another way,” Marthis said. “It’s not a sure thing, but it’s the best chance you’ve got. I pulled my supply cart up beside the tent wall behind you there. If you crawl outside, you can climb up into the wagon from underneath. There’s enough junk to keep you well-hidden if they don’t go digging.”
Aventine relaxed. “You can’t just leave us parked outside the inn.”
Marthis snorted. “Of course not. If you go now, I can pull the cart to the outside border of the camp before the First reaches the inn. What you do after that is up to you. I would suggest staying hidden until nightfall and then finding Holmgrim in the flatlands. But you need to go, right now.”
Aventine looked at Saffrin, who nodded once despite the tears flowing freely down her face, and then they were scrambling for the leather tent wall. In no time at all, they were jammed into the cramped space at the bottom of Marthis’s supply wagon. There was just enough room for the two of them as long as they did not try to move.
Outside the cart, they could hear Marthis’s voice. “Pull it out to the edge of the camp. I don’t want those First Legion bastards tearing apart my precious stores. They’re like to steal half of it and destroy the rest.”
“Sure thing, Marty,” a voice replied.
A few heartbeats later, the wagon lurched. On creaking wheels, Aventine and Saffrin were smuggled through the camp.
“I’m sorry,” Aventine whispered.
In the cramped space, Saffrin wept quietly into her hands.
Chapter 6
REMUS STOOD IN THE RUINS of the Legion camp and stared down his challengers. Odisian regarded Remus and his soldiers with contempt. The old man obviously had no doubt that his own cause was just, and the strength of his force superior. Bolstered by Pricker’s presence, the Legion survivors crowded around Remus. But Remus knew something they did not. Pricker had saved his life and then followed him into the Legion. The gaunt man’s motivations were a mystery, but Pricker seemed intrigued by Remus. He did not think the enigmatic stranger would turn on him now.
“You sure you want to do this, gray hair?” Remus said, one eyebrow quirked.
“Pricker,” Odisian said. “Deal with this traitor.”
Remus spread his arms and smiled. “How about it, Pricker? Will you fight me?”
No one moved as every eye turned toward Pricker. His only response was to stare, his bulging eyes twitching from face to face. Remus dropped his arms as a worm of doubt slithered from the abyss and wrapped itself around his guts. Maybe he had read Pricker wrong. There was something broken inside the man, and Remus did not think it was insanity.
As the pale man scrutinized each face, glimmers of an incomprehensible intelligence flashed in Pricker’s eyes. But these glimpses lasted only an instant, immediately replaced by the blank, emotionless stare that Pricker usually wore. The only indication that he was thinking at all was the twitching of his spider-like fingers.
In that instant, Remus’s fear returned. Pricker was a complete unknown. He could snap and kill them all, or turn and walk away without saying a word. And whoever—or whatever—was locked inside his head might be worse.
Who were you before you were bound by runes?
Remus’s hand crept upward to where his axe rose over his shoulder. Odisian was not the fool Remus had thought him to be. The old man backed away from Pricker, the same fear Remus felt plastered on his face.
Finally, Pricker spoke. “Pricker does not need your blood. You showed Pricker kindness. You had no fear of monster entombed in earth and stone.”
Monster in earth and stone? Is he talking about the gigantic insect fossil I hacked out of the quarry wall?
“There, you see?” Remus said, recovering from his fear and hoping no one had seen it. “Pricker is not your dog to command as you please.”
All the fight had gone out of Odisian. “We meant no insult, we’re merely trying to survive as best we can.”
Remus threw back his head and laughed. “You’re a coward. What happened to your grand talk of loyalty to emperor and empire? Without the killer maniac for protection, you grovel like the mongrel you are.”
“You’re Lorent’s man, then?” Odisian said, defeated.
“It might be better for you if I was,” Remus said with a feral grin. “We come from the Wilds.”
Odisian’s eyes went wide.
“Aye, you know of what I speak,” Remus said. “There’s no mercy for washed up legionaries to be found in that savage land. But fate has granted you a boon. I found you before the Volgoth did. Round up your men, you’re coming with me.”
&nb
sp; Remus spoke to his nearest soldier. “Disarm the lot of them and bind their hands. Once that’s done, march them back to the rendezvous point. They’ll travel back with us.”
The soldier nodded and went to work. Remus turned away and laid eyes on Tethana. She had not spoken since leaving the rubble of Holmgrim’s smithy. Now she stood as still as a statue, terror in her eyes. Her face was so pale that Remus stopped in his tracks.
“You look like you’ve seen some fell spirit,” he said.
“Drathani,” she whispered.
“What?” Remus asked, his senses going on full alert.
“He. Is. Drathani,” she said, emphasizing each word.
Remus followed her gaze and realized that she was talking about Pricker.
“Him?” he said. “You’re sure?”
“Without a doubt,” she said, finding her voice. “His kind are the mortal enemy of my people. If you take him back with us, they’ll slaughter him.”
“I’d love to see them try,” Remus said.
“I’m serious. You can’t bring him with us.”
“You think he follows my orders? You try telling him!”
Tethana glanced at Pricker, and then quickly away. “I’m not talking to him.”
Remus sighed. He stepped forward, planting himself in front of Pricker. “My companion here says that if you travel with us back to the fort, they will attack you on sight. I can’t tell you what to do, but you should probably go your own way.”
Pricker cocked his head as Remus talked.
He seems to take a very long time to understand anything that’s said to him.
“Pricker comes,” Pricker said at last into the tense silence.
Remus turned toward Tethana with his palms held up. “See? I can’t stop him from coming with us any more than I can hold back the rain.”
Tethana did not answer, and the fear did not leave her eyes.
Soon the captured Legion soldiers were secure. Remus had the information he came for. Delgrath was fallen, and there would be no resistance to slow the Volgoth advance. It was time to leave. Accompanied by his men, he led the prisoners back to the meeting place near the academy.