Jonah turned and found a portion of the wall missing, the sections standing beside it ablaze. A man beyond the breach was on fire, screaming as he flailed and fell from the scaffold. With his knife still in hand, Jonah turned back toward his patient. Her eyes were open but vacant, her breathing stilled. Too late. He put the knife away as another explosion struck, this one just short of the garrison walls.
“She’s dead.” He pointed past Chuli. “We need to go!”
Chuli nodded, turned, and scrambled after the other archers as they headed toward the ladder. Jonah stood and peeked over the wall, pausing when he saw a hole in the ground, surrounded by flames that licked the bottom of the garrison wall directly below where he stood. His Shockwave rune was gone, the shockwaves taken with it. Turning, he found Torney’s rune also destroyed. Without the Shockwaves to hold them back, the enemy army would be upon them in minutes.
Jonah ran down the scaffold, which was now empty save for himself. Reaching the end, he sped down the ladder and almost knocked Chuli off.
“Ouch!” Chuli yelled. “Wait until I’m down!”
Jonah shouted, “We have to hurry! The Shockwave runes are gone. The army will be here any minute!”
Chuli reached the ground and ran toward Torney. “We can’t leave him!”
Dropping to his feet, Jonah released a sigh and ran to follow her.
“You heard him,” Marcella shouted, waving to the remaining soldiers. “Evacuate now! To the tunnel!”
Another explosion struck, beyond the original breach, chased by a flash of green flames. Parts of the wall sprayed into the air. A thin section between the two breaches remained for a moment before tipping inward, spilling hot, orange flames into the compound. The remaining soldiers circled around the backside of a bunkhouse and disappeared while Jonah and Chuli knelt beside their friend.
Torney lay with his face down. In the flickering light of the fire, Jonah saw a wound on the back of Torney’s head, his hair matted with blood. Jonah put his hand on his friend’s head and dove straight into healing, only to find a foreign object lodged in Torney’s skull, obstructing the healing process.
Jonah opened his eyes and shook his head. “I can’t heal him without a little surgery. We don’t have time and will have to carry him.”
Chuli grimaced and scooped her hand beneath Torney’s shoulder. Jonah did the same, with each of them looping one of Torney’s arms around their necks before dragging him around the barracks.
“Why couldn’t it have been you who got injured?” Chuli said with a grunt.
“Why would you say that?” Jonah gasped, his breathing labored at Torney’s dead weight. “You do know I have feelings, right?”
“Sorry. Nothing personal,” she grunted as they turned the corner. “I’d just rather carry you instead of him. You are a fair bit lighter than Torney, you know.”
Jonah grunted “Yes. That, I can understand.”
The cave came into view as another explosion erupted behind them. Jonah found himself thankful for it. “At least we know they aren’t rushing the compound yet. I doubt they would try to blow up their own soldiers.”
“True,” Chuli said.
As they drew closer to the cave, Jonah peered at the device hanging above the entrance. The reflection of the fires behind them flickered off the brass housing, the shape of the thing reminding Jonah of a large turtle shell. Secured to a rope, the Chaos trap dangled from a hastily built, twelve-foot-tall frame. Jonah’s gaze followed the rope from the frame to the tunnel entrance. When they reached the tunnel, he slowed.
“We need to stop.” Jonah gasped for air. “I have to draw the rune.”
Chuli nodded, panting as she leaned against the rock wall.
Jonah ducked from beneath Torney’s arm, and Chuli grunted at the added weight. Torney’s head flopped to the side, and he slid to the ground.
“Sorry,” Chuli wiped her brow, still panting. “He’s too heavy to carry by myself.”
Rather than reply, Jonah set himself to drawing a symbol beneath the Chaos trap. Once finished, the Cold rune was six feet in diameter. Jonah stared at it to ensure he had drawn it correctly. The fog bank would engulf the garrison, mask the cave entrance, and provide a clean escape. If he had drawn it incorrectly, bad things could happen.
Bad things could happen.
“Wait,” Jonah said aloud. “Bad things happen if an incomplete rune is used!”
“What are you talking about?”
He spoke while erasing part of one line. “Remember our Chaos lessons? What did Alridge say about a misdrawn rune?” Without waiting for her response, he scrambled beside Torney. “Let’s pick him up and get out of here.”
They both bent, grunting as they lifted Torney as they had done before.
“Does he feel heavier now, or is it just me?” Jonah said between clenched teeth.
Chuli groaned. “Perhaps he stuffed rocks in his pockets when we weren’t looking.”
They entered the black maw of the tunnel, following the rope that held the Chaos trap in place. Twenty paces ahead, a glowstone offered light to help guide the way. The going was slow, the tunnel too narrow for three people to walk astride. They passed the first glowstone and the blue light of another came into view. When they reached it, they leaned Torney against the cave wall and paused to catch their breath.
“You know,” Jonah panted, “I haven’t heard an explosion for a while.”
Shouts arose from the garrison behind them. Among the shouting, Jonah heard the word tunnel. Alarmed, he scrambled for his dagger, drew it, and frantically began sawing at the rope.
“They escaped through here!” A man shouted from the tunnel mouth.
Jonah cut faster, but the rope was thick. It began to fray as other voices joined the first. All of a sudden, the rope snapped, the tail end flying toward the tunnel entrance as a man appeared near the first glowstone.
A thunderous boom came from the direction of the garrison. Red crackling energy engulfed the enemy soldier in the tunnel, his hair and eyes and clothing bursting into flames as he collapsed to the ground, shaking in convulsions. A tremor ran through the tunnel, sending rocks and dirt raining down upon Jonah, Chuli, and Torney. The three Wardens fell to the ground with Torney on top. They covered their heads as debris hit them and left Jonah praying to Issal that they would not be buried alive.
The rocks stopped falling, leaving stirred dust in the air. Jonah freed his arm from the dirt that had gathered and pushed Torney off him. Chuli coughed and wiped dirt from her eyes before helping to push Torney aside. The tunnel behind them had collapsed completely, blocking a retreat. Jonah turned to look in the other direction, and found the tunnel intact. He released a sigh of relief and began working his legs free. With his feet beneath him, he rose to a crouch and pulled Torney off of Chuli. She sat up and checked herself for wounds, appearing dirty but whole.
While he waited for her to clean herself off so they could resume the trek up the tunnel, Jonah put his hand on Torney and closed his eyes to check for any new injuries. He found his own center in seconds and extended his awareness toward Torney, but found nothing. Panicking, he tried again, but Torney’s body was a hollow chamber, devoid of life.
Jonah opened his eyes and gazed upon his friend – dirty, bloody, and lifeless. He opened his mouth, and words came out but they sounded as if someone else, someone distant, said them.
“He’s dead.”
Like a damn breaking, sadness burst through and filled him until it flowed from his eyes. Tears ran down his face, and he rubbed them away with a dirt-covered sleeve. Chuli’s arm wrapped around his back and her chest pressed up against his side. He turned toward her, resting his head on her shoulder while he sobbed.
Losing a fellow warden had always been a possibility. He’d known that. The reality had never truly struck him until now.
My friend is dead.
Acknowledging the fact was painful. Jonah was saddened by the hole Torney’s death would leave in his lif
e. And then, he arrived at a realization – one even worse.
Oh, Issal, what will I tell Rena?
16
Ghost Town
Rena Dimas opened and clenched her mitted hand. Her fingers were stiff, numb from the cold. Every few minutes, she would switch which hand held the reins while attempting to warm the other. The rabbit-fur lining of the mitts helped, but after a full day of riding in freezing temperatures, the cold had found a way beyond her defenses. Even the fur stole wrapped about her neck could not completely keep the cold at bay nor could the wool-hooded cloak that covered her head and shoulders. Rena found herself thankful that the surrounding forest blocked the wind.
Kwai-Lan raised his hand, stopping his horse beneath the falling flakes. Kirk, Nalah, and Bilchard also paused their steeds. Rena gripped the reins, although she couldn’t actually feel them, and pulled. The mare beneath her whinnied, shook her head, and came to a stop. With the horses stilled, silence filled the air – the heavy stillness that often accompanied falling snow.
The Red Towers loomed over the small party, the forest’s presence thick and foreboding, unable to be ignored. While a narrow strip of gray sky was visible above the road, shadowy gloom ruled the forest. Rena found it difficult to see beyond fifty feet, despite the blanket of white that covered the forest floor. A quarter mile ahead of them, light waited, an opening that beckoned. She wondered why they had stopped so near the forest’s edge.
Kwai-Lan frowned, his thin mustache bending with his lips. “It is quiet.”
Kirk snorted. “What a brilliant observation.”
The combat instructor gave Kirk a flat look. “Perhaps you should use your wits toward something constructive. What have we seen since we entered the wood? What have we heard?”
Kirk pulled his hood back, revealing dark, shoulder-length hair. In silence, his narrowed eyes surveyed his surroundings. The man’s face was unshaven, his complexion swarthy. Rena knew little of the espion other than he was among the eldest wardens.
“I see nothing and hear even less.”
“Precisely.”
Kirk huffed a sigh, his breath swirling in the air. “Enough of the cryptic talk, Kwai-Lan. What’s your point?”
“My point,” Kwai-Lan’s tone was serious, his glare heavy. “Is that we have seen nothing. No animals. No tracks in the snow. Nothing since we entered the Red Towers.” He held his hand out, pointing south. “The edge of the wood is just ahead. Doesn’t it seem odd to you that we have seen zero signs of life all day?”
The man’s comment stirred memories of the farm they had passed before entering the forest. All that remained were broken fences, a destroyed barn, dilapidated outbuildings, and the shell of a farmhouse that had burned to the ground. By then, the weather had already cast a melancholy shadow over the party. An abandoned farm and a foreboding forest had further darkened Rena’s thoughts and left her longing to return to the safety of the Ward. Why did you leave me, Torney?
“Even though we are leaving the forest, I suggest everyone remain alert.” Kwai-Lan said, his expression grim as he paused to look each companion in the eye. “Something is wrong here. I can feel it.”
He kicked his horse into a trot and the others followed. The light ahead called to Rena and urged her toward it. When the tall trees fell away and more typical-sized trees replaced them, Rena felt a sense of relief. A breeze hit her and found its way into her cloak. The return of the wind gave Rena the impression that even it avoided venturing through the ominous forest.
A rise appeared and the horses climbed it, reaching the top a half hour later. They crested the hill and a town came into view. A cluster of a few dozen snow-covered buildings waited in the valley below. Vallerton.
The idea of a warm fire and a soft bed stirred a whisper of hope inside Rena, the emotion fleeting, losing out to melancholy. If only Torney were waiting there for me. The thought left her with a hollowness that screamed to be filled. I need someone to trust. She thought about her companions. I hardly know these people. I don’t even know their last names.
Kwai-Lan led them toward the quiet town, the tracks left by his horse disturbing the virgin snow. It was growing late, the gray sky darkening. Without tracks to guide them, not even ruts from a wagon, it had already been difficult to follow the road. In the dark, it would be near impossible.
Rena surveyed the houses as they drew nearer. The first was a farm beside the road, strangely deserted. The fence was broken, the barn door missing. The house stood whole, but it was boarded up and lacked signs of life. No tracks ran to the door, no smoke came from the chimney. The idea of smoke caused Rena to turn toward the approaching village and the chimneys among it. Nothing. A chill ran down her spine – a chill unrelated to the cold weather.
“Why are there no fires burning?” she said aloud.
Bilchard’s brow furrowed. “You’re right. I knew something was missing. Every one of these homes should have a fire going in this weather.”
The group fell silent again as they reached the edge of the city.
Continuing what the group had repeatedly observed throughout the day, all was quiet, not a single person or animal in sight. They passed a bake shop, the front door and window smashed in. The butcher shop across the street was even worse, the building damaged to the point that the roof had collapsed and snow filled the interior. The party then came across the town’s inn. A sign marked Wishing Well Inn clung precariously by one nail as it hung upside down at an odd angle. The front door had been smashed in, the windows shattered. A breeze whistled through the building, a howl that added to the eeriness of the place.
Kwai-Lan swung his leg over and dismounted. “Bilchard, Nalah, you’re with me. Kirk, you stay here and make sure nothing happens to Rena. She’s our only healer.”
As commanded, Bilchard and Nalah both climbed down, Bilchard drawing his sword, and Nalah ready with her short bow. Kwai-Lan produced a glass stick filled with glowing powder. A quick shake and the stick flared to life, the powder inside shining with a blue light.
Stepping over the smashed door, the trio entered and faded from view. Rena stared at the doorway for a moment and then turned to study her surroundings.
The streets were quiet but for the wind. She watched Kirk for a moment, fearing the moment alone with him. The man’s horse shuffled beside hers. Upon it, he remained alert, his eyes flicking this way and that, but never at Rena. With an effort, she looked away, and her gaze settled on a building made of stone at the south end of town. Unlike the other buildings, it appeared intact. There was no smoke rising from it, but perhaps it was occupied.
Moments later, Kwai-Lan emerged with Bilchard and Nalah trailing him. The combat master’s face was fixed in a grim expression. Bilchard’s eyes appeared a bit wild. Nalah appeared shaken. She scurried toward a snow bank, leaned forward with her hands on her knees, and began to retch.
“What did you find?” Kirk asked. “Is anyone here?”
Kwai-Lan climbed on his horse. “No. At least, not anybody who’s alive.”
“Someone…or something killed some people in there,” Bilchard said, sheathing his sword. “Worse, what’s left…something has been chewing on them…eating them. The smell…”
The imagery caused Rena to clench her eyes closed and think of something…anything else. She recalled the stone structure, opened her eyes, and addressed Kwai-Lan.
“There’s a brick building at the other end of town,” Rena pointed toward it. “That must be the town keep we read about in Thiron’s report.”
Without a word, Kwai-Lan urged his horse forward and rode toward the keep. Rena and the others followed, each of them warily watching the buildings they rode past. Houses lay vacant, some partially destroyed. A smithy stood to one side of the road, or what remained of it. Only the forge was intact, but it was blackened by soot. The building that had surrounded it was gone, and nothing but dormant black coals remained.
The keep itself was a modest, square, two-story building. A wooden pal
isade had once surrounded it, but most of the logs had fallen, some outward, some inward. Snow-covered shards of what remained of the gate lay between the broken palisade and the keep itself. Similar to the rest of the city, no tracks had disturbed the area until Kwai-Lan dismounted and walked to the door.
Kwai-Lan’s heavy knock echoed inside the building. Seconds trickled by, and he knocked again. Minutes passed. No response.
“Locked and no answer.” Kwai-Lan turned toward Kirk. “Can you get us in?”
A smirk appeared on Kirk’s face, the first smile Rena had seen since they left Selbin. He slid off his horse and drew a set of needles from a sheath on his hip. Kirk knelt before the door and began picking the lock.
Rena and the others climbed off their horses, each following Kwai-Lan’s lead as he tied his mount to an intact section of the palisade wall. Removing her mitts, Rena flexed her fingers and looped the rope around a post before securing it. She then blew warm air into her hands and rubbed them together. Kirk stood, stepped aside, and turned the knob. The door swung open with a deep creak.
The interior was dark, quiet.
Kwai-Lan drew one of his strange star-shaped knives from the sash that hung over his shoulder. Holding the knife ready, he crossed through the open doorway.
Without looking back, Kwai-Lan called out instructions. “Nalah, you follow me. Rena, you’re in the middle. Kirk and Bilchard can take the rear. Remain quiet and ready.”
Everyone except Rena held a weapon, Nalah with her short bow, Kirk with his knives, Bilchard with his longsword in one hand, shield strapped to the other. Kwai-Lan produced his glowstick and entered the building while the rest trailed him.
They passed closed doors with Kwai-Lan stopping to open them. The first was a sleeping quarters with six beds, stacked in pairs. The room was cold and appeared unused. Across the hall was what appeared to be an armory, severely lacking anything that resembled a weapon.
An Imperial Gambit (Wardens of Issalia Book 3) Page 14