by Ashley Capes
Maybe it was the best chance. But could she trust Aren? She carried no fond memories of the cultists... yet no-one else had arrived to offer escape. The man was about to make himself incredibly vulnerable to her and to Mildavir. Flir gave a short nod. “I want Pevin also.”
“He was in a nearby cell. We will be administering medicine he needs at an inn.”
“Fine. What’s your plan? How do we make the exchange?”
“We link our body rhythms, much like the Binding. But instead of you directing me, I surrender and then you draw from me. You will feel it.”
Rather vague. “And after?”
He handed over a pair of pale roots. “Eat these. They will counteract the drug. Once I bequeath you my strength, it will be added to your own. I do not recommend subtlety here – simply charge your way out. Find an inn west of the public bathhouse – the Ocean Wave. You will be given more instructions there.”
“Wait – why don’t I just carry you out?”
He shook his head. “I’d only slow you down, and you can’t afford to waste any strength. The other guards will find me and Tikev, and assume you and Kanis killed us during your escape, leaving no trail back to either of us.”
Flir blinked. “But they’ll bury you.”
“I have done this before. Everything will be fine so long as you return in time.”
A mighty risk indeed. “How long?”
“A full day, no longer,” he said. “You will be able to feel a thread of me. Now we must begin. Take my hands. Breathe with me.”
Flir clasped his hands, which were warm, aligning her fingertips with his wrist so she could feel his pulse. Then she closed her eyes and breathed in and out, calming herself as best she could despite the hum to her own pulse.
“Focus on me,” Aren said.
It took longer than she’d expected but their breathing was soon in sync.
“Say as I do,” he said. “Temir, tkma hu movan.”
“Temir, tkma hu movan.” Surrender, I trust you with my strength.
She spoke with him, matching the pace and inflection of the simple chant until the words lost meaning and became sounds only.
Warmth bloomed in her hands, spreading up her arms and into her chest. It infused her entire body ‒ a welcome rush of strength and power. The lethargy vanished from her limbs; a new energy simmered.
But Aren’s hands had grown cold.
His eyes were still closed, and his body began to slump, even as heat continued to pour forth. “Aren?” Flir found herself supporting him and then the man toppled to the stone floor in his guard uniform. His face had already taken on a deathly pallor and his chest did not rise or fall, his stillness was complete. Was he alive as he’d claimed? If not, she’d just killed him. Flir paused, despite hearing a voice from Kanis’ cell, seeking calm as adrenaline surged within her, trying to locate a sense of Aren.
And there, faint, but the whisper of silver. Of firmness. Determination.
Go.
Flir ducked into the flickering torchlight of the corridor. Each step was effortless, every movement one of suppressed power. She could have sprinted back to Anaskar, across the very waves.
No guards in sight, only a stretching row of steel doors for the cells. “Kanis?”
He stood over the prone form of Tikev, eyes a little wide. “I never knew this was possible.”
“Nor I. Hurry up.” She started for the exit.
Kanis’ footfalls followed. “Will it work? Their plan – it’s madness, isn’t it?”
“Then let’s make sure it works.”
At the dungeon entrance Flir paused on the final step, listening a moment. No sounds lurked beyond the steel door. Should she exercise just a little caution, despite what Aren suggested? She flexed her shoulder, no sense of the wound from earlier, and truly she was aching to break something.
“Knock it down,” Kanis said.
Flir shrugged, then rammed the palm of her hand into the steel. The door burst from its hinges, crashing into a bright guard room. Shouts followed. Flir leapt after the door. Two men were struggling to draw swords from where they’d entangled themselves in chairs and a table. Playing cards lay scattered across the stones.
She charged, backhanding one man. He flew into the opposite wall, bones shattering. The next she kicked; more bones breaking and a scream that became a gurgle as the fellow’s ribcage was crushed behind his breastplate.
Kanis had already dealt with the remaining guard, a fellow she hadn’t even seen. A crossbow lay in pieces nearby. “And now?” Kanis asked. “Once we get out of here, how do we find that inn without being followed?”
A window let in soft morning light between narrow bars. She stood on a chair and looked outside – a narrow alley between tall buildings. Good cover before it led to... somewhere. She stepped down. “Help me.” Flir faced the wall and lifted her knee up to her chest, and then the other, performing a few stretches. She’d certainly broken through walls before, but this seemed a lot thicker than the last time. Even with Aren’s added might, would it work? “Together, right?”
“Good idea.” Kanis took a moment to kick out any kinks in his own legs.
Flir counted. “One... two... three!”
Stonework exploded. The very building shook within the dust-cloud – but it worked. Light beyond, and the vague shapes of a wall opposite. Faint cries of alarm rose from somewhere in the building, but she paid them no heed as she leapt over the rubble and into the cold alley.
The stones were slick with ice but she kept her footing as she jogged down the alley and into grounds that seemed not to be aware that spring was passing into summer. Brown patches of grass were dotted everywhere, and the plants were little better, their branches bearing few leaves. The main buildings of the mansion loomed behind them. Off to the left was what looked to be stables and beyond that, the tops of the gates.
“This way,” Flir said. She ran, and it was effortless; she’d be able to run half a day, easy. Kanis joined her, his eyes alert, gaze sweeping the grounds as they thundered toward the exit.
Shouts echoed from behind.
Flir glanced back. Guards were spilling from the alley. One took a knee and lifted his crossbow. She shoved Kanis even as she angled away. “Split.”
A bolt whirred through the space they’d occupied.
Ahead, a man burst from the stables, horse brush in hand. When he saw Flir, he dropped the brush and pulled a belt knife. His hands were trembling as Flir bore down on him – he was young, too young to be chasing down fugitives. He spread his arms, as if to stop her, and Flir leapt into the air – clearing him easily. Air rushed over her face and then she was coming down again – she hit the ground running, ignoring his shout of shock. Kanis re-joined her as they bore down on the gate.
“Showing off?”
“Just didn’t think I needed to crush a stableboy, is all.”
“Growing soft, I see.”
“Shut-up.”
A paved stone thoroughfare led to the gate, where guards were lining up into formation. Six in all, and four with crossbows – two held long spears. Kanis slid to a halt and grabbed her arm. “Give me some time,” he said, then started driving his fist into the stone beneath him.
“How?” Flir checked on the gate. Four crossbow bolts were about to tear into them.
Kanis was already standing, arm poised to throw. He stepped around Flir and hurled the first piece just as the snap of bolts echoed.
His throw was faster than the crossbows – the hunk of stone tore one man’s head clean from his shoulders in a spray of red. Before his body hit the ground, a bolt struck Flir in the shoulder – opposite to her previous wound – the other projectiles narrowly missing. She swore as blood soaked her tunic. She snatched her own piece of broken stone and flung it at the now scrambling line of guards.
Her stone clipped one man’s leg, shearing through and severing the limb at the knee. He fell to the ground, voice tearing on a scream.
More crossbo
ws snapped. Kanis grunted. A bolt flew by her leg as she spun. A shaft protruded from Kanis’ side but he only ran for the gate. Flir gave chase – her strength in no way diminished, despite the blood and dull pain of her new wound.
Kanis reached the heavy-steel gate first. He swung his fist and blew the door off its hinge without breaking stride. Flir slid through the wreckage and charged after him, glaring at the spots of blood on the stones. It’d make a fine trail on their way to the Ocean Wave if they didn’t bind up first, quick healing or no.
But for now, she was happy enough to put a bit of distance between them and Governor Mildavir’s men, even as a new sense of foreboding began to fall over her.
Just how powerful had Aren made her with his stunt?
14. Flir
Ocean Wave Inn was set off a back street, black ice covering the steps leading to its closed door. Walls of dark stone muffled the sound of a flute, a slow melody, lilting like the sea. There would have been words to go with it, a story about a love lost to jealousy and the ocean but while she could have hummed the melody the words escaped her. Too long since she’d been home to hear such a song.
Flir led Kanis up the steps and knocked lightly. A booming followed, and she muttered a curse.
“Closed until noon,” came a curt reply.
“Aren sent us,” she said.
The sound of a chair scraping over wood followed and the door opened; a short man in a paint-splattered smock appeared. His eyes widened when he saw the blood-covered bandages and the broken-off crossbow bolt in her shoulder. “Come in, quickly.”
Inside the inn the scent of paint fumes stung her eyes and nose – it came from the walls and the roof, a pale tone with a hint of blue, almost like ice. But why replicate the image of the most unpleasant part of home?
“Dilar.” The man knelt before Flir, then stood to face Kanis. “Dilar.” He knelt again.
“That’s enough,” Flir said with a sigh. More cult members – she’d expected as much but it had been too long since she’d had to deal with their misplaced adulation. At least Aren hadn’t bothered with all of that.
He rose. “Yes, dilar.”
Kanis rolled his eyes. “Don’t ruin it for him, Flir. It makes him happy.”
“He’ll have to get used to it. What’s your name?”
The man smiled. “Gravateka. I assist Aren here at the inn. We have your servant upstairs, dilar. Would you care to see him?”
“He’s recovering?”
“Yes. The fever is fading. Shall I show you the way?”
“I can manage.”
“Of course, dilar. Up the stairs and first door on the left. We will discuss Aren as soon as I am able.” He looked to Kanis. “Dilar?”
“I’m sure Pevin’s fine. How about some food – what have you got here, Grav?” Kanis said as he took one of the only seats not covered in cloth.
Flir glared over her shoulder as she started toward the stairs. Damn fool. No good could come of his taking advantage of the poor folk who’d deluded themselves into thinking dilars were truly blessed of Mishalar.
She missed Anaskar.
Flir entered the room at the top of the stairs and found Pevin abed, sleeping. His chest rose and fell in an easy rhythm, and though his hair was dark with old sweat, his skin was no longer hot to the touch. She sat on the chair beside him and exhaled slowly. At least something had gone right. Water and cold broth sat on a nightstand beside the bed.
Flir tapped her foot. Hard to sit still; Aren’s energy still hummed in her veins. “Let’s hope our luck holds, Pevin.”
Before long she left Pevin and joined Kanis at his table.
The flute player was gone but now there were more cultists in the inn. Some sat at other tables, additional folk worked in the kitchen while yet more tidied the room. All cast she and Kanis glances as they worked, several going to one knee the first time they passed. Few seemed inclined to speak to them and she had little to say to Kanis while he ate; meat, potatoes and gravy.
Instead, she watched the cultists.
Some bore the snow-leopard tattoo, small markings on their wrists or for those wearing vests, on their shoulders. Flir had to shake her head at the vests; a silly imitation. Without furs, they’d probably freeze in winter. Though it didn’t appear to be much of a summer so far either. The capital would probably be worse.
“Timid, aren’t they?” Kanis asked when he finally slid his plate aside.
“Maybe you could Bind them all then.”
He folded his arms as he leant back. “I thought you’d gotten over all that by now.”
“All of what?”
“The Binding. It’s just a part of who we are, another way to stay ahead of bad luck.”
She shook her head but did not answer. Grav had approached, a steaming plate of food in hand. “Dilar, it is my honour to serve you.”
“And you don’t have to do that,” she said, as she accepted the food.
Grav sat near them and spread his hands. “Would I be correct in assuming neither of you possess full knowledge of your heritage?”
Flir pointed her fork at him. “If this is more of that rubbish about being Mishalar’s Chosen you can save it, Grav. Just tell us how to restore Aren and Tikev and we’ll be on our way.”
He raised a hand. “No, dilar. I mean knowledge that we Surrogates have passed down and protected. I am sure, had you met the right Surrogate in the past, you’d be more aware of this.”
Kanis nodded. “They do know some things, Flir. How do you think I learnt of the Binding?”
“You said it was some girl you met.”
“True. And who do you think told her?”
She gnashed at a piece of meat. “Well, the Surrogates who took me in were not exactly interested in sharing lore. They wanted a weapon.”
Grav cleared his throat. “Yes. Well, such... unfortunate times are well-behind us now. You will see, Aren has changed much about the Order.”
“He is your leader?” Kanis asked.
“Only after Mishalar.”
Kanis waved a hand. “Of course. I will say, it’s impressive that he’s taken such a risk for us.”
“It is a risk we would all take,” he said, not a trace of hesitation in his voice.
“Let’s get to the point, Grav. Aren told us a little of what’s possible. He also said we only have a day. Shouldn’t we be preparing to recover him? And Mildavir will have people searching for us, you know.”
“We are watching the manor. Rest assured, we will mark the gravesites and once darkness falls we would welcome your help in rescuing them. As you say, the governor will have people searching so it might be safest to remain inside the Ocean Wave until then.”
“Agreed,” Kanis said as he stood. “I think I’ll go lie down. Can someone wake me when it’s time?”
“Of course, dilar,” Grav said. “I will show you to your room.”
Flir did not follow. Instead, she waved to a young woman in an apron, who dashed over and took her order for spiced wine, which she sipped at with a frown. Her dark mood wasn’t just Kanis’ old willingness to take advantage of the cult members. Nor was it wholly the changes in her home, or that for now, Seto’s mission had to fall by the wayside. It wasn’t even the frustration at being captured, or that she was remembered by the wrong people in Whiteport – for that she had expected.
No. It was the undeniable chill that came from what Aren had shown her.
And he was still present, if she focused. That thin, silver thread of determination. Was he even now being placed in a cellar, limbs arranged just so and a shard of granite placed beneath his tongue, to protect him from the Ice-Walker?
It was a thing of evil.
How simple it would be to abuse such power. The Binding was bad enough, but this... Bequeathing was far worse. And, of course, Kanis seemed unperturbed but that was him just being a self-absorbed fool as usual. What he should have asked himself, as Flir finally did now, was just who had Aren been practising on?
What other dilar or dilars were involved with Aren’s band of cultists?
By the time darkness had fallen Flir was upstairs, pacing her austere room, stretching, trying to keep moving and wear off the extra energy – though it had been fading. There was still more than enough time to retrieve Aren and Tikev, but it seemed there was a limit to just how long she’d benefit from the additional strength of a Bequeather.
When Grav knocked on her door she was ready.
She, Kanis, Grav himself, and two other cultists whose names she hadn’t caught, set off into the chill of night, shovels in hand.
“What’s our story if Mildavir’s men stop us?” Kanis asked. His breath steamed. “Five people walking the streets with shovels at night isn’t exactly the stealthiest group, you know?”
“We must not be seen,” Grav said. “In fact, if we are – we will surrender and detain the governor’s men so you two can escape and finish the task.”
“Very well,” Kanis said.
Flir strode along at the rear of the group, her gaze flicking from alley mouth to darkened doorway. At intersections with blazing torches she examined the faces of those they passed, but no-one paid them much attention. She watched for the smart uniform of the governor, focused beyond the laughter and sea songs from the taverns as they climbed the hill on the edge of the city, beyond the haggling of the Fire Markets, but there was no tread of booted feet.
Not until the cemetery came into sight.
In a pool of light from ancient braziers, a pair of guards, armed with axes and short swords, were escorting an older woman from the iron gates. Only a few steps from the entry and she collapsed against the low wall, a sob escaping.
Grav had already brought them to a halt beside the last building. Flir fought the tension rising in her body. There was little threat from two guards. They’d be silenced quick enough if needed, but there was no way she was going to go digging through freshly turned earth to drag up a coffin with Tikev’s mother nearby – for that was who it had to be. Had the poor woman stayed in the cemetery so long? When had the funeral taken place?