By the time he made it to the queue, there was a shout from the other side of the camp. Several loud pops and bangs rippled through the air as bright orange and yellow flares shot up over the tents.
“What the devil is that?” one of the soldiers asked.
“Some idiot set his tent on fire, probably tried to light a smoke while in bed or something,” another said.
“A smoke? What kind of pipe shoots flares and colored smoke into the air?” the first shot back.
BOOM! POP!
The second fire had reached the powder, and now all the camp was abuzz.
“I’ve seen this before,” Wren told the other two. “Looks like magic to me,” he added.
“Magic? Can’t be. There aren’t any wizards in these parts, not anymore.”
Wren had his arms folded across his chest, hiding the fact that his fingers were working a bolt into place on his mini-crossbow. As soon as the soldiers nearest him turned, he angled the crossbow to aim at a fire some twenty yards away and fired. The bolt flew fast and true, striking a log in the flame and shattering a graphite head that held the same special powder inside. A blast of flames exploded out, catching two soldiers next to the fire and sending others scrambling for cover.
“By the maiden’s knees, it is magic,” one of the soldiers cried. “Come on Stax, let’s get out of here!”
“Hold your post!” another soldier shouted as he gripped the first’s arm. “Get your weapons and take up your battle stations.” Wren saw it was the guard that had let him into the camp earlier that day.
“What should I do? Where can I be useful?” Wren asked. He worked the cobalt bottle into his right hand, approaching the guard with his left side to cover his actions.
“Just stay out of the way, courier!” the guard shouted.
Soldiers jumped to action as their officers barked out orders, leaving Wren free to do as he wished. For good measure, he tossed the cobalt bottle into one of the fires beneath a large cauldron behind the mess tent. He didn’t run, for he didn’t wish to draw attention to his escape. Instead, he positioned himself closer to the mess tent, making sure that two large men were next to him, blocking the fire.
All the other explosions had been caused by less than two grams of powder, but another forty-five grams were left in the bottle. The heat needed only to get through the specially treated, thick glass.
Two seconds later an explosion that would have made the cry of the god of thunder sound like a child’s bell in comparison rocked the mess tent. Shards of metal, accompanied by boiling soup flew through the air as flaming bits of woods scattered about, pushed outward by a ring of orange and green flame that leveled both man and canvas alike. The two men in front of Wren were thrown into him, and he was knocked to the dirt, losing his breath as a touch of scalding soup hit his shoulder and right cheek. He couldn’t help but cry out in pain. A wave of silence followed the explosion. Wren looked around, watching several pairs of boots running this way and that.
An unfortunate soldier was flailing about, tangled in the burning canvas of the mess tent. Something gripped Wren’s left arm and tugged. He looked up to see the same guard that had been barking orders moments before the explosion.
“You all right?” he asked in what felt like a muffled voice, his words barely cutting through the ringing in Wren’s ears. Wren wiped off the hot soup and nodded with a grunt as his breath returned to him.
“I’m… I’m okay,” Wren said, trying to sound stunned. It wasn’t difficult to put the stress into his voice as part of his disguise, but then, being close to a large explosion will do that to even the most seasoned veteran. That was the beauty of not running away from the largest explosion. No one ever suspected a man who appeared to be a victim.
“Good to hear it. Come on, we have to help the others,” the guard said. He yanked Wren up to his feet and then dusted off the assassin’s shoulder.
Wren took a moment to better assess the situation now that his senses had returned to normal. Many bodies were lying on the ground, strewn about by the blast that had caught them unawares. Add to that the chaos and confusion from the other side of camp and it was a nearly perfect disaster.
“Captain Ratts is dead!” a young voice shouted.
Wren turned toward the voice and saw the young porter running, frantically trying to get other soldiers to listen to him, but none of them stopped.
Perfect chaos. Wren thought as he fought the smile trying to creep onto his face.
The guard turned to face him then, his eyes narrowing. “Ratts is dead,” he said flatly.
Wren could hide his smile no more. The moment of action had come, and now was the time of judgment for the camp of slavers. He lashed out with a savage punch to the guard’s throat, crushing the man’s windpipe. A flash of his left hand put a dagger into the guard’s temple, finishing the job. He then raised his mini-crossbow and fired at the nearest soldier. The man caught the bolt in the back of the head and stumbled into a tent.
The young porter stopped and stared at Wren, but the assassin smiled as he reloaded his weapon. “Don’t worry, I don’t hurt children.”
“I’m no child!” the porter shouted as he reached down and pulled a sword from a dead soldier lying next to him. “Drop your weapons!”
Wren sighed and walked toward the young porter. The young man raised the sword and came at the assassin. Wren pulled the trigger and sent a bolt into the porter’s hand.
“GAH!” the porter shouted as he fell to the ground, dropping the sword and clutching his wounded hand.
“You’ll live,” Wren said. “Now listen, and listen well. Go home, boy, and find honorable employment. If I find you helping slavers ever again, I will not be so lenient.”
“B-b-b-but… you said you didn’t kill kids,” the porter said.
Wren gave a wry smile and winked. “You won’t be a child forever, and if you are still mixed in with these kind of scoundrels when you mature, I will be waiting in the shadows to finish what I started.”
The porter blanched and scrambled back to his feet, screaming his head off as he ran toward the camp’s exit.
Wren moved quickly through the pandemonium, taking a shot here and there as opportunity presented itself to take down more of the dishonorable scum that had helped Ratts build a slave trade. After a few moments he came to the young woman swinging in the hanging cage. She took one look at him and began shouting insults and threats.
He smiled and put away his weapons before approaching the cage. “I’m a friend,” he said as he patted the air. “If you will kindly shut your mouth and move back, I will open the lock.”
The young blonde was struck speechless, her mouth hanging open for a second before she pulled her hands and feet away from the front of the cage.
Wren pulled a set of tools from a pouch on his belt and then set to work on the lock.
“Hurry, they’ll catch us,” the young woman said.
“What’s your name?” Wren asked.
“Knell,” the young woman replied.
“Knell? That’s a rather unusual name,” Wren said. “I suppose your parents are from the southlands, am I right?”
“Ryr, we live in Ryr,” she said impatiently. “Though I don’t see what this has to do with anything.”
“I know you live in Ryr, but I am talking about your ancestors, those who lived generations before. The only people I know who would give a name like that to a woman are the Ramines in the southlands, beyond the southernmost borders of Kresthin.”
“Who cares?” Knell shouted.
Wren chuckled as his deft fingers responded to the shifting tension in the pins and worked his tools accordingly. “I find that idle chatter calms the nerves in stressful situations, I thought it might help you.”
“You know what would calm my nerves?” she shot back. “Not being in a cage in the middle of this camp! Just open the door before someone catches us.”
Wren smiled wider and then pulled back as the lock popped ope
n. He pulled the door to the cage and said, “Your friends will be making their way to another young woman out in the fields to the east. Come with me and I will escort you to the camp exit.”
Knell worked her way out of the cage, her shirt snagging on the metal and tearing a small hole as she dropped down to the ground.
“GYAAAAH!”
Wren turned to see a soldier charging them. He launched a front kick that caught the soldier in the chest and dropped him to the ground. Knell screamed and scrambled backward as Wren pounced on the soldier and pulled a knife from the soldier’s belt to slash his neck.
“By the divine!” Knell shrieked.
Wren rose and wiped blood off his hand before grabbing her arm. “War is a nasty business. I suggest you stay away from the border after we part ways.” The assassin turned her toward the front gate and gave her a gentle push before he pulled off his chest armor and tunic with the insignia on it. Other escaped prisoners were now tangling with the few soldiers that remained, and Wren was not about to undo his good work by drawing the prisoners’ ire. It was doubtful any of them aside from those he spoke with would recognize him, especially not in the heat of the moment. He ducked into a tent, pulling Knell inside with him, and rifled around until he found a plain tunic. He cut a couple of slashes through it, tore one of the sleeves off, and then threw it on the dirt and stomped on it a few times for good measure.
“What are you doing? I’m getting out of here!” She reached for the flap of the tent.
Wren grabbed her arm. “We need to blend in,” he said quickly. Wren pulled the tunic over his torso, covering his weapon belt and then gave a nod. “All right, now let’s run for it,” he said with a wink. He grabbed her arm once more and they darted from the tent, Wren screaming and yelling to play the scared escapee. Within seconds they joined in with another group heading for the gates. Knell screamed and ducked down as arrows took down a couple of the fleeing prisoners, but Wren pulled her along and the two were able to make it out and to the fields in the east without another incident. Wren was the first to spy the others waving at them and calling for Knell.
“I believe those are your friends,” Wren said.
“Who are you?” Knell asked.
“Doesn’t matter. No one will ever remember my name after the passage of time has laid waste to my body.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Has anyone ever told you that you talk like you’re reading an ancient book?” Not giving him time to answer, she continued, “I will remember you, and so will my friends. It won’t be easy to forget what you did for us. Will you please tell me your name?” she repeated.
Wren reached into his pocket and pulled a small brown feather with white spots. “If you want a name, then you may call me Wren,” he said as he handed her the feather.
She twirled it in her fingers and then narrowed her eyes at him. “But that isn’t your real name is it?” she said.
“Of course not,” Wren said. “But, it’s as good as any I can give you. Now go, and keep away from the border, understand?”
Knell nodded. Without another word, Wren turned and ran toward the north, eager to reach the river and be done with this assignment.
Chapter 11
Looking around the open plains east of Freyr, with the army camp a week behind them, and the mountain range starting to appear in the distance, Liden should have felt like a kid who had just chewed on sugar cane for the first time, but instead, he couldn’t help feeling a burden he didn’t carry before. He had failed to get them out of the camp in every possible way, and they only escaped because, as luck would have it, the mysterious man from the bakery in Astyr had shown up and literally opened their cages. All his planning basically meant nothing; what ended up being important was how fast he could run.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if there was something he had to offer the group, but at this point he felt like more of a burden than a help. It was Debir who had gotten them on the ship to Astyr, Hunlok who worked like a horse every day, Knell who hunted and kept them fed, and even Sarta made things interesting with her constant flirtatious pestering of Hunlok and her dry, sarcastic humor. It seemed to Liden that his role was quickly becoming, if it wasn’t already, the bumbling fool who made things worse for everyone.
Knell nudged his arm as she passed by, giving him a grin. He half-heartedly returned the look, then returned to looking down at the ground as they walked. While it did nothing for his mood, looking at his feet all day did help him avoid spraining his ankle in the prairie dog holes that were pretty frequent, but starting to thin out a bit now that the ground was starting to have some rolling hills that led up to the mountains.
Other than some idle chatter, and a few outbursts from Sarta, the group walked in near silence again for two more days before they came to the foot of the mountains and made camp in preparation for the trek through the mountain pass that opened up west of Kyt. Liden poked at the fire with a stick and ran his fingers through his hair.
“Hey Liden.” He looked up to see Knell nodding her head, beckoning him. He shook his head and looked back at the fire, but she came and sat next to him, then whispered into his ear. “Get up off your sorry butt and come over here, or I’ll lay a pounding on you in front of everyone.”
Shocked by her sudden abruptness, he looked up into her eyes. She was smiling sweetly as if she had just said something nice to him. Not sure what she was up to, but not wanting to test her patience, he stood up and they started walking to a more secluded part of camp.
“Nice!” Sarta said, poking Hunlok. “You see that, they’re going to the bushes to kiss before we are! I blame you. You’re as bashful as a preacher.”
Liden slowed down and was about to look back at them when Knell grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the light of the fire and behind a large tree. “You’re not going to try to kiss me are you?” he asked his friend.
“Only if kiss is a code word for putting my fist into your kisser,” she replied.
“So is that what’s going on? You brought me back here to beat me up? Really?” Was there any way that this trip could get worse? A fat lip might just be a good start.
She leaned forward and smacked him with a backhand in the chest. “If that’s what it takes, then yes I will lay you out. I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that.”
Liden ran his hand through his hair and sat down on a large stone. “I don’t know what you’re getting at. What’s your problem?”
Knell sat down next to him and put her hand on his shoulder. She reached down and took his hand in hers. It was so strange, and he started to realize why she had pulled him aside. She wasn’t going to pound on him, or try to kiss him. This seclusion was to keep the others from knowing something about herself. She was about to share her feelings. “Have you noticed that the group has been pretty quiet lately?” Liden nodded his head slightly. He had no idea where this conversation was going, but it seemed important to her, so he held her gaze. “Why do you think things have been so… dreary?”
“Maybe everyone’s realizing it’s not all the fun we expected it would be, or maybe we’re tired of Sarta’s jokes, or sore feet, or … I don’t know.”
“I think you do know,” she argued, still gripping tight to his hand.
The conversation wasn’t going to go anywhere if she asked questions he didn’t know, then told him that he did know the answers. “It’s finally sinking in that you’re following a complete loser.”
“What?” She released his hand and looked up in complete surprise. That obviously wasn’t what she was expecting.
“That’s right. Every plan I’ve had has ended in disaster. If I’m not getting us thrown off a ship, we’re being manhandled by a soldier and locked in a cell. Every step of this trip I’ve been a failure to all of you. You followed me here and I’m letting you down!”
Knell leaned back and breathed out a sigh that sounded like relief. “Is that what this sulkiness is all about? I thought this might be a serious problem.”
Liden got to his feet and started walking away into the woods a few steps before he spun on her. “You don’t think this is serious? You don’t think it’s a problem that one of you could have died escaping the camp because I didn’t get us out earlier?” he shook his head, not sure what to think.
“Ha ha ha!” Knell held her stomach and started to laugh. Liden’s patience with this conversation was quickly dwindling, and although he wanted to walk away, he found himself smiling as he watched his friend having a near fit of laughter. “You honestly think I followed you out of Ryr because I thought you’d have a good plan? You’re a riot!”
“Now just hold on one minute! That’s going a bit far!” He didn’t know whether to join in with her laughter or be offended. What was happening?
Knell stopped laughing and sat down, trying to catch her breath. “Back in Ryr we went down a hundred dead end tunnels you insisted were paved in gold. You encouraged Sarta to develop her skill of snatching anything that isn’t nailed down, just so you could have a spare roll or two from my ma’s baking.”
“What’s your point?” Liden narrowed his eyes at Knell.
“My point is that if I was following you because of your ability to make good plans, I would have stopped being your friend when you tried to shoot us to the moon using a taught clothes line.” She walked up to Liden and again grabbed onto his hands. “We’re here because it’s always an adventure with you. We’re not expecting a smooth ride.”
Liden tried to turn away, but she pulled him back. “Someone could have gotten hurt,” Liden argued. “Back in Ryr it was all fun, but out here it’s different. We’re not talking about doing an act in the Zulholm festival while in the safety of my parents’ basement. We were dodging crossbow bolts while people around us were dying.”
“Then let someone else make the plans,” she argued. “You’re the heart of our group, you don’t need to be the head as well.” She waited for a silent moment, letting the words sink in. “Stop beating yourself up about things that are out of your control, and start enjoying the trip again.” Her eyes lit up and she pointed up to the mountains. “We’re standing at the foot of the mountains! We got Debir and Hunlok away from those men back in Ryr and now we’re about half way to Zulholm, we might even make it in time for the festival.”
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