by Mark Smylie
A sudden metallic banging started to reverberate through the house. The room froze, then unfroze as several knights and squires rushed to the windows in alarm.
“A battering ram, my Lord,” shouted Sir Helgi. “And the Watch is with them.”
“Well, it’s official, then, my Lord Arduin,” said Stjepan. “And the mob sounds angry enough that they might not even allow the Watch the chance to actually arrest anyone.” Stjepan stepped beside Arduin, his voice low. “Harvald guides us still, from the Heavens, with this trick. He intends her to be our map. Let us make haste and take to flight while we still can.”
“This is insane,” Arduin gasped. “I can’t possibly . . .” He closed his eyes and tried to think, listening to the battering ram at the doors.
Erim held her breath.
Finally Arduin’s eyes flew open. “Prepare our escape. Hurry!”
Everyone in the chamber immediately nodded and bowed to Arduin, Leigh with a grand exaggerated flourish, and most of them exited in haste; Stjepan disappeared into Annwyn’s chambers and then returned, quickly dropping the tools of his trade into his satchels. Sir Helgi had lingered, waiting to escort him from the room, and as they left, he turned to Stjepan and started speaking rapidly. “We might have a little time, we’ve spent the last several hours barricading the front doors, so it won’t be easy for them to break through . . .”
As their voices receded, Arduin stared after them, alone and deep in thought, until finally he turned and walked through the doorway to his sister’s inner chambers.
There was a low brazier set, sending flickers of light throughout the dark room, and a fire in the fireplace burned low. Annwyn was stretched out on the divan, her body covered up by an embroidered tapestry cloth. Arduin turned to Malia. “Summon the rest of my sister’s handmaidens and prepare such of her things as you can very quickly. We will be leaving shortly,” he said.
Malia looked very frightened, but she curtsied and left.
Arduin sat down on the edge of the divan, and slowly turned to his prone sister. He reached out, and slowly uncovered her body as she turned away from him onto her side. He looked at her naked back, watching the words and symbols of the map flicker in and out, as the battering ram banged loudly against the iron doors of his father’s house.
A bustle of quiet but intense activity filled the stables and rear courtyard behind the house of Araswell. Dim lanterns lit a knot of knights with bill-hook poleaxes clustered at the rear gate, watching the rear alley and letting Jonas’ crew slip in and out the sally port, while the loyal remnants of the once great Aurian family hurriedly prepared coaches and wagons and loaded them with what provisions and property they could easily carry. The squires and stable hands were saddling and armoring the best horses in their barding, and tying other horses to the rear of the wagons. Cole and Ruvos Till had taken up positions inside the house behind the boarded first floor windows directly above the ground floor main doors, and the brothers were busy heckling the crowd from above so as to provide the illusion that the doors were to be defended; they’d volunteered to be the last out.
Jonas and Horne slipped through the sally port and quickly spotted Stjepan and Erim beside one of the wagons, conferring with the rest of the knights and squires and the half dozen able men who were to teamster the coaches and wagons. They hurried over and joined them. “Just like old times, eh?” Jonas said with a grin to Stjepan, then quickly turned to the others. “Our friends have been busy. We’ve got a safe route all laid out for you. Once you’re in the alley, head north to the Street of Loria and then head west. Cross the King’s Road as fast as you can into Baker Street, and then follow it to the aqueducts. Follow the Aqueduct Way around and up to the High Promenade, and then it’s a straight run through the Gates of Eldyr and the West Gate, and then you’re out the city and on your way to Pierham.”
“Pierham?” asked Sir Helgi, suddenly looking nervous. “You mean us to take the river?”
“Heth’s curse only strikes when you are on the open seas, Sir Knight,” said Jonas. “The rivers do not bend to his word.”
“Oh, sure, some of us have taken the river before, but it ain’t that fucking simple,” said one tough-looking wagon-driver. “You want us to drive these wagons clear across the city while avoiding the crowd and the Watch? It’s impossible!” Some of the others muttered nervously as well.
“The hard part will be the King’s Road, if you get caught up in the Templar horse, but we’ve got some folks working on that,” said Jonas. “The City Watch threw a lot of men into the Public Quarter today, and that means that the rest of the city is a bit light. Lots of folks looking to take advantage of that right now. The whole city’s in chaos. The route we’ve laid out for you, you shouldn’t see a single Watchman once you’re past the King’s Road. And I believe our enchanter is off trying to keep the crowd from the north side of the High Quarter.” Erim looked around; Leigh was indeed nowhere in sight.
“Watch your pace,” warned Stjepan. “Worst thing will be an accident with a wagon or coach, or a horse coming up lame, so go fast but stay in control. If you get stuck or lose a wheel, leave the wagon behind and leg it out of the city or to a friend you can trust as fast you can. Make for Araswell in the coming days if you get separated.”
Arduin, now with gauntlets and sallet strapped on, stood nearby, half listening; he was mostly intent on watching as the household’s handmaidens helped a cloaked Annwyn into the back of the first coach. He looked at the back of the tower-house, his gaze scanning up the stone walls toward its top. I wonder if there’ll be anything left by morning, he thought glumly. He started to worry about what his father might say, and then suddenly stopped. No, you’ve lost the right to judge me on this, Father; you should have been here to see the end of our line.
Suddenly Sir Theodras turned at the rear gates and shouted out. “They’re coming. They’re coming!” Some of the mob had finally figured out there was a back way in.
The rear courtyard burst into frenzied activity as panic set in. Stjepan tossed his extra gear into the back of a wagon and turned to Erim, Jonas, and Sir Helgi. “You’ve got to hold them off until we can get everyone out!” he said, fierce and quiet. Erim and Helgi glanced at each other, and she nodded and pulled her rapier and dagger.
Sir Helgi hefted a great sword and turned toward Sir Clodin and Sir Holgar and the two young squires, Elbray and Enan. “Stay with your liege!” he barked. “Lead the way out!” They nodded and started to mount their horses, big black-coated war-trained Aurian warmblood destriers for the knights and slightly smaller palfreys for the squires.
Sir Helgi, Jonas, and Erim started moving, gathering men as they hit the rear gates: the knights Lars and Colin Urwed, Theodras, and Theodore, all in three-quarter plate harness; the older squires Herefort, Wilhem, and Brayden Vogelwain, nephew to Sir Helgi; Horne, Little Lucius, and Tall Myles; four sturdy Aurian men from the household with bill-hook poleaxes; and three huntsmen with stout yew bows. They gathered for a moment right inside the rear gate, looking at each other, then Helgi was throwing the crossbars up on the gates and they were pulling them open.
Erim walked quickly toward the middle of the alleyway, rapier and dagger bared in the dim light. The narrow street was flanked on each side by tall stone walls and the backsides of tall stone buildings, for all the world a narrow man-made canyon. To her right, coming up from the south, she could see a large crowd rounding the corner and filling the alley, headed toward the rear gate entrance with malicious purpose. Some in the crowd bore torches, and so she could see priests in their vestments in the mix, a few armored Templars with their white surcoats marked with embroidered gold suns and holding swords of war, and a random assortment of the street rabble that had filled the streets before the house. The rabble bore clubs and pitchforks and here and there she spotted spears or short hanger swords.
The rest of the group took up a line on each side of her, the knights and squires in the front rank and the rest backing them up, a
nd they advanced toward the oncoming crowd enough to give those leaving the gates easy access to the alley behind them. She took a quick read; nine across, not quite shoulder-to-shoulder, and eight behind—enough to look like a solid wall across the narrow alley, decked in armor and bristling with swords and poleaxes. But that was a large crowd coming toward them.
Upon seeing the line, the Templars and priests slowed their advance to a crawl and readied their own weapons while the rabble began to show some confusion. One of the Templars stepped forward into the lead and in a gruff, commanding voice he shouted out to them as they approached. “In the name of the King of Heaven, and by order of the Patriarch Exemplar Oslac the Fourth and the High King’s Court, put down your weapons and surrender to us the witch!”
In the courtyard, Stjepan and Gilgwyr were maneuvering a large cart filled with hay, aided by several porters and stable hands. Arduin was seated astride his favorite destrier, Ironbound, caparisoned in a barding that matched his own armor, and he wheeled and approached, the high-spirited horse practically prancing. It could smell fire and fear in the air, and it was getting excited. Arduin looked down at them.
“My Lord, head west,” said Stjepan. “Ride hard, ride down anyone that gets in your way, and follow the path that our man has laid out for us. Don’t stop for anything, and we’ll be right behind you.”
Arduin looked angry at getting what sounded suspiciously like an order from Stjepan but he turned Ironbound around and went to the front of their slapdash caravan.
“Follow my lead!” he cried out, and put spur to Ironbound’s flanks. The warhorse leapt forward, followed and flanked by Sir Clodin and Sir Holgar, both bearing long ten-foot lances, and then the two squires. The teamsters cried out and cracked whips and the coaches and wagons, piled high with provisions and with frightened members of the household, began to lurch forward, one after the other following the horsemen in the lead. Porters bearing torches and armed men from the household ran on foot on each side of the coaches and wagons, and Jonas ran beside the coach bearing the Lady Annwyn.
Erim heard rather than saw Arduin’s horse come flying out from the gates behind them, then turn away north, and she instinctively glanced over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of massive figures in steel flowing into the narrow alley. The street felt like it was shaking under the hooves of the lead trio of heavily-barded warhorses, and then horses and coaches and wagons and men on foot started to pour out. Gods save anyone in front of that lot, she thought.
The Templar in the lead—she assumed some sort of captain—started to wave his men forward, seeing the column emerging from the rear gates behind the intervening line. “Stop! I order you to—”
“Now!” roared Sir Helgi Vogelwain. Three bows twanged behind her, and she felt something whistle past her right cheek. Screams came from the rabble as the arrows found their marks. “For Araswell!” Sir Helgi cried, and their entire front line charged forward, their weapons raised, Erim amongst them. This seemed to catch some of the rabble in front of them by surprise, and she saw anger and hate rapidly change to shock and alarm as they closed the distance with unlooked-for speed.
“For Orwain!” the knights cried right as they slammed into the first of the Templars and rabble-rousers with a ferocity born from fear and desperation, heavy blades and poleaxes rising and falling to chop and maim or being used, point-first, to pinion men and push them bodily back. Erim couldn’t contribute that kind of brute force, so she ran her rapier and dagger straight in front of her and into whatever soft target she could find, which turned out to be the backside of some poor commoner who’d turned to try to run away, only to discover there was no place to run and got her dagger for his efforts; and then, reaching past him, she drove her rapier directly into the throat of a surprised Templar who hadn’t seemed to realize yet that people were going to die in this fight.
In truth, Arduin’s knights were hardly veteran warriors; they were more like elite sportsmen, their experience of combat and fighting the result of dozens of tournaments and only a handful of actual minor battles. They’d fought by Arduin’s side when he’d had to hunt down bandits from the Manon Mole who had raided their tenant farms, conducted a punitive raid against the Lord of Goldwall on a land dispute, and some had once ridden with the Grand Duke against a recalcitrant Baron Avant of An-Ogruth back when he’d been unhappy about a new tax that the High King had levied. But that already gave them at least two advantages over their opponents: they’d been in combat before, together; and most of them had killed men before.
The Divine King faithful, the pilgrims and the street scum that had joined the fight, caught up in the day’s riotous energies and expecting to be seizing a witch and avenging their fallen High Priest and not fighting fully armored knights in a back alley, were quickly overmatched despite the crush of their superior numbers; even the Templars were surprised by the knights’ stiff resistance and their willingness to kill. Sir Helgi relished the melee, bellowing with abandon as he hacked men down left and right with his greatsword, exhorting his men to fight, laying about him like a man with nothing to lose, and in a sense he didn’t, none of them did; they’d already lost everything, and knew it, and all that was left was to take out their anger and fear on the poor fools that had come to collect their liege lord and his sister. As blood splattered everywhere, Erim almost felt sorry for the rabble.
Almost.
“Hurry, hurry!” Gilgwyr cried as he and Stjepan and several strong men finished loading a dozen small barrels onto the back of the large two-wheeled cart.
“That’s it, that’s all we have!” shouted one of the porters. With a torch, Stjepan touched flame to the hay while another man split the wood of several of the casks with an axe, spilling oil everywhere. As the hay ignited, they all grabbed either the sides of the cart or its pull-shafts and they pushed it toward the entrance, and then out into the street. It took them a frustrating moment to turn it, and then they were pushing the flaming mass toward the melee. “Ho. Beware, behind you. Out of the way!” the porters cried as they covered the last ground, and then bodies and dark shapes were leaping out of the way. The alley suddenly got bumpy as they ran the wheels of the cart, themselves almost five feet high, over the bodies and body parts of men dying or dead upon the alley cobblestones. The rabble, already breaking under the ferocious assault of Arduin’s knights, broke completely upon seeing the flaming cart hurtling toward them, and fled en masse. One of the wheels jammed in a torso and suddenly it was overturning and spinning out of their hands, flaming hay and barrels of oil flying and smashing into the ground, and a great whoosh went up as flames filled the alleyway.
Erim looked up from where she had sprawled after jumping out of the way of the wagon, and then toward the roaring flames. The spilled and burning cart had effectively cut the alley in half, throwing up a barrier of fire across the narrow street between them and the retreating rabble. Couldn’t have planned it better, she thought to herself, until she glanced to her right and realized that the man on the ground next to her, also looking back dazedly at the burning cart, was an armored Templar. They looked at each other in shock for a moment, and then she started stabbing him in the side of the face with her punch dagger as he screamed. The first couple of stabs got her into his cheek and an eye and some teeth and tongue, and the man was screaming and scrambling trying to roll and crawl away from her, and she had to pin him down until she could get the dagger into his throat.
When she was done killing him she staggered to her feet. Several of the knights were finishing off a few other stragglers caught on their side of the fire, while Jonas’ men and some of the porters and huntsmen were hauling off two of their own wounded, one of their archers with a ruined leg and then one of the young squires. She winced as they passed; the squire looked pale and wan, blood pouring from a head wound. He’s not going to make it, she knew at a glance.
Gilgwyr stood in the middle of the alleyway, bent at the waist with his hands on his knees, sucking air into his lung
s to catch his breath. He finally straightened and walked up to join Stjepan where he stood glaring at the fire and the rabble beyond; Erim joined them a moment later, and the three of them contemplated the fiery scene, out of breath. Behind them the rear guard was gathering in front of the gates, mounting their horses or clustering around the last horse-drawn cart, into which they were loading their wounded compatriots. Several of the porters were bearing torches and preparing to run alongside the horses and wagon. Cole and Ruvos Till popped out the gates, having finally abandoned their posts inside the house, and looked askance at the carnage in the alleyway before joining Horne and Little Lucius and Tall Myles beside the wagon.
“We are leaving!” cried out Sir Helgi, and the rearguard lurched into motion.
Gilgwyr glanced over his shoulder, and then turned back and grinned at the burning wreckage, gasping for breath and laughing at the same time. “You keep trying to burn this city down, Black-Heart. One of these days, you’ll get it right!” he said, clapping Stjepan on the shoulder. “Fuck, I haven’t had this much fun in ages. I have to get out more!” He turned and started up the alley. Erim turned and hesitated. Stjepan still hadn’t moved.
“Black-Heart,” she said. “We have to go.”
A voice came calling out to them, then, out of the dark from beyond the flaming wreckage. A deep voice filled with malice and fear and pregnant with power. “You are cursed. Cursed in the name of the Sun Court and the King of Heaven! All those who aid the witch, hear me and weep!” cried the voice.
Stjepan turned and walked away, fury on his face.
The trio started moving up the alley at a run, leaving the street on fire behind them.
Erim was tense and nervous as they hit the Street of Loria and turned west, following the rearguard; her blood was still boiling hot and she kept expecting for them to run into a wave of street rabble or a company of Templar horse. But all they saw was smoke in the streets, a layer of thick, still smoke like a fog that made her feel frightened and nauseous. Leigh’s work, no doubt, she thought with a shudder. Occasionally someone would come wandering toward them through the smoke, and upon encountering a group of fast-moving armored horsemen guarding a wagon, would immediately shrink back from their path. Too far to go, far too far if we’re aiming for the West Gate, we’re having to run the entire city, she thought, panic in her belly. They passed quickly over the King’s Road, leaving the High Quarter behind, and the smoke started to dissipate a bit, and then they were on Baker Street. She could hear whistles and strange barking sounds coming from rooftops and alleyways as they rode down Baker Street, and she frowned, uncertain what to make of it, but the streets were eerily deserted.