The False Martyr

by H. Nathan Wilcox

  He turned his eyes to the docks and the dozens of boats that lined them. Though most were riverboats like theirs, every style was present. Along the farthest dock, workers filed back and forth, carrying heavy sacks out to one of the ships and down into the hold. A crew worked the top of the boat, preparing it to sail. The scene was repeated on a dozen other boats. That is what we saw, Dasen realized. Not soldiers going to fight the invaders, soldiers and supplies being delivered to the invaders. And we’ve just added to the effort.

  “Did the Kingdoms surrender ta the invaders?” Dasen barely remembered to use his accent as fear spiked into his throat. He looked at the soldier again, realizing that he was an invader every bit as much as the men who had destroyed Thoren.

  The soldier spit into the river. “To that traitor, Ipid Ronigan.” He spit again. “May the Maelstrom take him. But it don’t sound like we had much choice lest we all want to be like Thoren. Sounds like ya know somethin’ ‘bout that.” With that, the boat bumped sharply into the waiting dock. A soldier leapt from the bow and deftly tied them in place.

  “I’m sorry,” Dasen stammered. He fought to remember who he was supposed to be, to keep his emotions from showing in his voice, to keep from shaking the soldier. “What’s Ipid Ronigan got ta do with it?”

  The soldier shook his head. “I shouldn’t have said anything to start,” he mumbled. “Ya got anything to get before ya leave? I can’t let ya take anything valuable, no food, or tools, or weapons, but if ya have any clothes ya can get ‘em.” He looked at their filthy rags, gaze lingering on Teth.

  Dasen thought. He tried to think of anything valuable that they could somehow sneak from the boat. Before he could answer, Teth leapt from the deck and, with a snuffle and wiping of her nose that left a muddy streak across her face, climbed to the hold. The sergeant motioned to one of his men, who followed.

  Teth yelped a second later. Dasen’s heart leapt. “His head ain’ right,” he explained quickly. “Ever since Thoren, he . . . he can’ get it outta his head, an’ . . . “

  “My men won’ hurt yir brother,” the soldier assured.

  Dasen stammered, but the soldier’s face clearly said that he didn’t want to hear anything more about it, and it was just then that Teth and the soldier emerged from the hold. The soldier looked stern but unwilling to touch the filthy, stinking urchin he was escorting. Teth looked like she was about to collapse, and that is what she did when she got to Dasen. She crumpled beside him into a miserable, weeping ball.

  The first soldier looked down at her with a flash of pity then turned to his fellow. The much younger man held out a wrapped package to his superior. “He’s gettin’ this, sir.”

  “What is it, son?” the leader asked Dasen as he took the rectangular package wrapped in burlap. From the way he held it, it was heavy. Dasen had never seen it before.

  “It’s mine,” Teth sobbed. “The counselor gave it to me. He knew that I’d keep it safe, so he gave it to me.”

  The soldier unwrapped the package and let the burlap fall. In his hand was a book. Even from his place on the deck, Dasen could tell it was magnificent. The cover was silver and gold. The pages were gilded. The embossing was exquisite.

  In awe, the sergeant opened the book and thumbed the pages. He looked to Teth. “A counselor gave this to you?”

  Thinking quickly, Dasen spared her from answering. “He’s always hangin’ ‘round the temple. Wanted ta be a counselor, so he spent all his time there learnin’ letters an’ readin’ when he shoulda been learning the river.”

  “Stop it!” the soldier snapped, his face suddenly stern. “Neither of ya grew up on the river. The way ya handled that boat, yir father would’ve beaten ya to death by now. So let’s drop the story. Where’d ya get this book?”

  Dasen looked to Teth. She was curled into a ball, face hidden in her knees. He licked his lips and dropped the accent. “We were students at the university in Thoren. Our father ran ships on the river, but he didn’t pole them himself and neither did we. When the invaders came, we enlisted like everyone else, but we were pretty awful, so . . . ah . . . they assigned us to protect the temple. When the invaders started destroying the city, one of the counselors gave us the book and told us to get out of the city. We found this boat and took it. That’s the truth.”

  The soldier eyed them for a moment then grunted. “We’ll take the book to the valati. You can see him and ask for a reward if that’s what you want, but its Church property, so we’ll let him decide.”

  Teth let out a slightly louder cry. “I told him I’d deliver it to Sal Danar,” she wailed. “I promised. He was dying, and I promised.”

  The soldier seemed shaken. “It’s not for me to decide,” he said. “I’ll deliver it to the valati myself. You can tell him yir story, an’ he can decide what to do with it and you. You’re not getting to Sal Danar, in any case. The Liandrins have closed the border. An’ even if they hadn’t, that’s a long journey fir a skinny kid in the best of times.” He looked at the book then his captives. “Now, have ya got anything else hidden in there? Anything else ya want to report?”

  Teth shook her head, tried to hold back her tears. Dasen could only join her.

  “Then ya can be on yir way.” The soldier pointed them toward the dock. Dasen stood and helped Teth up. She leaned heavily on him. He tried to breathe through his mouth, tried not to think about the bugs that were making their way into his clothes and hair.

  As they stepped from the boat, the soldier caught Dasen’s shoulder. “I almost forgot. Give this chit to the man in the duty office. He’ll record it so ya can use it to reclaim yir boat when all this is over.” He pulled a piece of chalk from his pocket and wrote a number on the front of the boat. “You’re number two-two-seven,” he said. “Remember that, or he can’t complete the papers. An’ tell him that Sergeant Kellos told him to give ya a meal.” The soldier looked at them a last time then turned back to the boat. “Best o’ luck to ya. Remember what I said, find work. Avoid the camp.”

  Dasen watched him until he disappeared into the hold then turned around and started the long walk down the planks of the dock to the ramshackle buildings of Gorin West.

  Chapter 34

  The 32nd Day of Summer

  Dasen stared at the sign.

  “By the Order,” Teth whispered from beside him. “Can it possibly get any worse?” She sighed long and deep. Her breath shook, but she kept herself from crying. Dasen was glad at least for that. Her latest bout as they walked off the docks had only drawn more attention.

  “We’ve got to get away from here,” Dasen mumbled. He pulled the hat down to cover his face and turned away from his likeness, the script that offered his and Teth’s weight in silver, the signature of his father, the seal that marked him as Chancellor. He turned his eyes and saw the same sign hanging every ten paces along the full expanse of the docks that were the heart of Gorin West.

  They were in a dead space around the docks, but only a dozen paces away, a constant stream of men carried bags and barrels from a warehouse to the boats on the first of the docks. It would only take one of them recognizing him to bring the whole city down on them. Obviously, their dirt and clothes and Dasen’s scraggly beard had served as a good disguises, but that luck was sure to run out.

  “Now what?” Teth asked, her voice inches from cracking.

  “We find some food, someplace to sleep.”

  “How? We don’t have any money. We don’t know anyone. And now this.” She choked back a sob and dropped her face into her hands.

  “The Order will provide,” Dasen grumbled, knowing that Teth had not heard him over her building dejection. He read the sign one last time – at least they had to be delivered alive for the bounty to be collected. That was something. If they got desperate, he supposed they could turn themselves in. And end up in the hands of that old man from the inn. Dasen shuddered at the memory of his greedy, malevolent eyes.

  He looked up to find a man staring at them. His heart lea
pt until he realized the man’s eyes were on Teth. “Our boat’s just been taken,” he explained. “He’s upset, that’s all.”

  The man, a burly middle-aged dock worker, reached in his pocket and handed Dasen a slim disk of copper. “Bad happenings these,” he growled. “Wish I could do more.”

  “Thank you,” Dasen replied in shock. Had he just begged for a coin? The thought was so distant that he nearly returned the shim of metal. He looked up at the man, who was walking away. “Excuse me. We were told to find a work crew. Do you know where we go to do that?”

  The man’s face fell. He rubbed it with his huge, hairy hand and sighed. “Ain’t no jobs left. Too many fleein’ the fightin’ and you’s the last. And now they’ve ordered everything taken up north fir the invaders, there’ll be even less.” He sighed again. “I’m ‘fraid that coins just ‘bout worthless. Ration papers ‘r the only thing’ll get ya anything. Ya can try comin’ back in the mornin’, but the line ta join a crew stretches three hundred men with not a job fir any of ‘em.” He looked at Dasen and Teth again. “Even those who’s ready fir hard work. Best I can tell ya is ta go ta the temple. They’s lettin’ folks sleep in there an’ offerin’ some soup. I’m sorry. I really am.” The man spat on the ground and cursed silently under his breath as he walked away. Dasen would have sworn that his father’s name was included in the curse.

  Dasen felt his insides shake to match the constrained sobs coming from his side. Teth was absolutely right. They had no money. They knew no one. They were not fit to work if there were jobs available. They were trapped in a city with too many mouths to feed and not anywhere near enough food to feed them. And to make matters worse, they were wanted. Dasen’s picture was posted every ten paces. His name was anathema. Even if his father had an office in the city, he could not seek help there without telling them who he was, without getting arrested in his own father’s name.

  “Come on. Let’s find the temple.” Dasen barely managed the words for the lump that had formed in his throat. He took a deep breath, looked at Teth, dirty, stinking, snuffling, and whimpering, and felt resentment. He wanted to shake her, to tell her to get herself together, to stop crying, to help him. He felt his teeth clench, his face harden. Teth did not see him. Her eyes were fixed on the ground. It looked like she might crumble there. Dasen wanted to leave her, to just walk away and be done with her, but then she looked up at him, and his heart broke. She was still Teth, and he could not help but see the same girl he had held in the night, had kissed in the grass. I told her I would protect her when we got to the city, he heard himself say. Now, we’re here and that’s what I have to do. She was strong in the forest. Now, it’s my turn. He adjusted the boatman’s hat he still wore, ensured that it was shading his face and started down the first street he saw.

  “Don’t cry,” he said to Teth with all the compassion he could muster. “We’ll figure something out. Maybe the chit they gave us for the boat will have some value, or we can stay at the temple. But crying only draws more attention and that’s the one thing we don’t want.” He fingered the wooden chit in his pocket. The old man at the duty office had burnt the number ‘227’ on it and told them to keep it safe. He had said that it would be the only way to reclaim the boat when all this was over. Dasen wondered if he could sell it. Was the possibility of claiming a riverboat after the war worth anything? In a desperate, starving city, he doubted it.

  Teth nodded and wiped her nose on her caked sleeve. She took a long shaking breath and straightened. “So I’m Reth?” she asked, voice husky and barely audible.

  “Yeah. You’re my bother, and I’m Jason. It’s close to our real names but believable. We’re from Thoren, but just let me do the talking. “I don’t trust you to lie.” He looked at Teth as he said the last, expecting a smile at having turned her insult around. He got one, but it lacked any warmth, was such a shadow of a smile that it was more heartbreaking than her tears.

  “Have you ever been here?”

  “No. Only to Gorin East, and we obviously can’t use my father’s name.” He looked up at the sun nearly falling to the rooftops. “I guess we should try the temple. It’s got to be better than standing around here.”

  Teth nodded. “I’m so tired,” she whined. “I just want to go to sleep. Let’s find something soon.”

  You slept all morning, Dasen wanted to yell. And maybe if you’d eat something, you’d have more energy. Even sitting outside the duty office, not knowing when their next meal would come, Teth had simply pushed the fish stew around with her bread, had not eaten more than a few bites. Again, he forced his anger down. It wouldn’t do him any good now. He turned them toward the barren street that led from the docks and started to walk. Teth followed close behind.

  The first several blocks were warehouses, big wooden structures closely spaced with heavy doors, heavier locks, or even guards. Outside one, a line of wagons were parked as workers unloaded them into the waiting gloom. With nothing to lose, Dasen approached them hoping to beg a job. A scowling guard waved him off before he was even able to ask. It was the same at every other warehouse. Guards eyed them warily, discouraging any approach.

  Finally, the warehouses gave way to something even less inviting. When they passed the final storeroom, the road turned from stone to dirt. The buildings changed from uniform blocks to a ramshackle amalgam that leaned on each other like the drunks falling from their doors. The people went from rugged guards and porters to the drunk, dirty, and deprived. Dust rose to cloud the air where it was not dampened by the filth that littered the street where it had been cast from a window or expelled directly to the ground. Though no two of them matched in materials or style, every building was a tavern with a boarding house above. These were the places that housed the river men and dock workers when their days were through. They were rough, seedy bars, dark and dirty, with even more signs of their depravation waiting outside, the only colors to be seen beyond the peeling paint of their signs.

  Gambling and prostitution were illegal throughout the Kingdoms and condemned by the Church, but that, by no means, meant that they didn’t exist. Typically, such activities were well hidden, isolated to the back rooms of taverns or brought directly to their customers. Here, Dasen could see the women standing in the alleys in the middle of the day. The boldest stood right outside the doors, showed their legs, plumped their breasts, or motioned with their fingers, but not all of them were eager. Most wore dresses that clearly denoted their profession and would be suited for nothing further, but others stood in the background in the simple dresses of peasants, or workers, or shopkeepers, or tradespeople. The veterans teased the newcomers, pushed them toward potential customers, and laughed whether they were accepted or rejected. To Dasen’s relief, he was not even worth their propositions, but that did not stop him from feeling sick as he watched them wipe their tears and force their smiles.

  And those women were just the beginning. The alleys, streets, and sides of buildings were littered with people. Small clumps gathered every few paces. Ragged looking women held crying children or whispered in the ears of older ones. Men gathered in grumbling packs and eyed the sporadic carts that were the streets’ only traffic. Porters walked in downcast columns between the carts with soldiers tramping alongside, seeming only slightly more enthusiastic for the part they played in the city’s pillage.

  “Spare a coin, sir,” a hand, more dirt than skin, blocked Dasen as he watched a line of wagons pass. He could not imagine how desperate a person would have to be to beg from the likes of him. He looked down and saw a boy of no more than eight. His brown eyes were huge in his sunken face. His hair was a muddy nest. His too-big front teeth were brown with dust. His clothes were rags.

  Pity nearly overtook Dasen. He reached to his pocket, felt the single shim of a coin that he had, himself, begged, and nearly gave it to the boy. Then he remembered where he was, remembered what was around him, and turned his face away. “Sorry,” he mumbled as he pushed past.

  He was scanning a
n intersection a few minutes later, trying to decide which road to take, when another boy ran into him. He fell into Teth and nearly tumbled to the ground. “’Cuse me,” the perpetrator mumbled as he brushed past. Dasen saw the boy dash past then duck into an alley before he could even focus. A second later, another boy hit Teth from behind. She crashed into Dasen with a grunt as a third boy brushed him from the front.

  “By the Order,” Dasen cursed as he gathered his bearings. The streets were crowded, but almost no one was moving, leaving plenty of room around them. Then he realized that something was missing. He felt his head. His hat was gone. His hand went to his pocket. The coin had disappeared along with the chit that would let them reclaim the boat.

  “My knife,” Teth moaned. “I got it off the boat without the soldiers seeing. How’d they even know it was there?” She seemed on the verge of a new set of tears. Dasen cringed reflexively, wishing he could be away from her. He wrapped his arm around her instead, tried to hide her and his face from the attention that she was drawing.

  Then he thought about what Teth had said. The begger, he realized. He remembered reaching to feel his coin. At the same time, Teth’s hand had gone to where the knife was tucked behind her shirt. But more than anything, Dasen missed his hat. Without it, he felt like a spotlight was shining on his face, as if every person on the street were staring at him then to the ubiquitous signs.

  He looked behind them, thought about chasing the boys down the alley where they’d disappeared, but he knew that he was far more likely to lose his shoes down that alley than he was to regain his hat. If Thorold were here, he thought, then nearly choked at the image of his father’s bodyguard lying in the Randor’s Pass green with a half-dozen arrows jutting from his chest. He forced himself to breathe. It was hard, it came in a shake that seemed to extend to his entire body. “Let’s find the temple,” he said, trying to sound strong.