by A. C. Cobble
Ben faked a movement to his right, freezing the soldier on that side. As he’d expected, the soldier on his left lunged after him. Ben smoothly pivoted and parried the man’s broadsword. He used the man’s own momentum to skewer him on the tip of Ben’s longsword.
The third soldier didn’t waste the opportunity. He attacked. Ben, knowing the blow was coming, tried to twist out of reach, but the man’s low slash caught him on the hip. Searing pain exploded along his side. The steel cut half a finger deep into muscle and nicked the bone. Ben continued his motion, spinning in a circle. The surprised soldier caught Ben’s longsword with his neck.
Staggering to the side, Ben turned to face the one soldier left standing. The man made no rush to engage. Even with a limp, he evidently knew Ben was the better swordsman.
The soldier dropped his sword and ran. Ben started after him, cursing, but immediately pulled up when the pain in his hip shot through his body. He stared after the departing man, knowing the soldier was going to get help. Wounded, there was no way Ben could catch him.
A clash of steel brought his attention back around. If he couldn’t catch the fleeing soldier, at least he could move fast enough to help Amelie.
He quickly saw he didn’t need to.
Lord James was reeling, bright red spots blooming on his arms and legs. He was frantically waving his rapier in front of him, but Amelie was faster. Again and again, she whipped her sword past the lord’s defense and sliced another laceration into his flesh. Ben shuffled closer but he didn’t engage.
If Lord James had charged Amelie, he might be able to take a non-fatal strike and close within her guard. He was bigger than her, and even injured, he’d probably win the fight if he grappled her to the ground. He didn’t. That wasn’t the way a lord fought. Lord’s fought in duels. They followed the rules. Fear shone through his eyes and tainted his every movement. He was stumbling back. Amelie pursued relentlessly.
The lord’s parries became slower and less effective. Amelie sensed he was weakening and batted at his rapier with hers. All her strength was in it, and the lord’s weapon was knocked to the side. His gaze tracked the steel of his weapon, eyes wide in surprise at the strength she’d displayed. Mage-enhanced strength, Ben suspected.
The lord’s guard was open and Amelie took advantage. She stepped forward and buried her dagger in his neck.
Lord James’ body collapsed, falling to the ground near the wagon, out of the light of the moon. Panting, Amelie glanced to Ben.
“Good work,” he said. “Did he cut you?”
“No, I’m fine,” she replied between breaths. She eyed the three dead men near him. “It looks like you did okay too.”
“One marked me and one got away,” admitted Ben.
A bell started clanging.
“That took about a minute,” continued Ben. “Which means—”
“We have a minute to run,” interjected Amelie. She saw the blood staining Ben’s side. “Can you run?”
“I’d rather run than hang from a rope,” he responded dryly.
“Wait here,” instructed Amelie.
She bolted to the wagon, throwing the door open and disappearing inside. Ben didn’t wait. He started hobbling toward the line of buildings furthest from the direction the soldier ran. At his pace, Amelie would catch him quickly. He was only halfway across the green when she did.
“You need to move faster than this,” encouraged Amelie, both of their travel packs slung over her shoulders. “If they see us when they get to the green, we are wasting our energy running.”
Ben gritted his teeth and tried to increase his pace. He could feel the blood steadily leaking down his leg. Already, the sticky liquid filled his boot. Pain shot through his body with each step. He picked up speed. Then the pain grew overwhelming and he slowed again.
“You run,” said Ben grimly. “I can’t go any faster. I’ll hold them off. You can still reach Irrefort.”
“How will you hold them off?” objected Amelie. “If you can’t walk, you can’t fight.”
“I’ll use the wind,” retorted Ben.
“I have a better idea,” declared Amelie. She stopped walking and spun toward the sound of the bell. “Keep going. Don’t worry about me. I don’t intend to be caught.”
He kept going, looking over his shoulder to make sure she wasn’t giving herself up to try and save him. That would be simple foolishness. Instead, he saw she removed the black glass scepter they’d found in Samuel’s cellar. It was the length of her arm with two silver caps on each end. He knew she’d been studying it inside the cart while he drove.
He heard her mumbling, “If I can figure out which end…”
Before she finished, two-dozen soldiers burst out from a narrow street onto the green.
“Keep going!” shouted Amelie. “I can hold this many of them.”
The guards saw them and charged. It wasn’t a large space, and for an uninjured man, it could be crossed in two-dozen heartbeats. Amelie let them draw close then raised the scepter.
Balls of blue-green fire erupted from the device. They were the size of a closed fist at first, but as they streaked across the green, they grew to the size of an ox. Blast after blast emanated from the scepter. Ben’s trot slowed to a walk as he watched over his shoulder in shock.
The guards dodged to the side, threw themselves flat on the ground, or were engulfed in the flames. As a unit, the ones who remained scrambled away. Not a single man stood to face the onslaught of fire that poured out against them.
At the far side of the green, the fireballs smashed against the wooden buildings. A wall of flame shot into the air. Scorch marks marred the grass where the fireballs struck. Within heartbeats, the guards had vanished or died.
Ben reached the line of buildings on the other side. It wasn’t much, but the structures could provide a little cover as they fled.
Amelie kept flinging the fireballs after the guards until the scepter snapped in two. The flames began to sputter out as soon as the scepter broke. The damage was still there, but the unnatural fury of the fire wasn’t sustained. Amelie spun and raced after Ben. He took the lead, shuffling as quickly as his injured hip would let him.
“I’m glad you could put it out,” said Ben, huffing and puffing already with the strain on his leg.
“What do you mean? I didn’t put it out,” responded Amelie, easily keeping pace with him.
“There could be people in those buildings,” responded Ben. “I thought you put it out so they wouldn’t get, uh, consumed.”
Amelie blanched. “I didn’t think about that.”
They kept walking.
“I could have killed scores of people!” exclaimed Amelie.
“You didn’t though,” replied Ben.
“But…”
“Maybe we should talk about this later,” suggested Ben.
She nodded curtly.
Ahead of them, a gate on the south side of town stood open. Ben kept hobbling forward, on alert for guards, but none seemed to be manning the gate. They must have responded to the bell or ran when they saw the fire. There was a clear avenue to escape. The rest of the town was silent. This place wasn’t used to violence, and the townspeople were hunkering down instead of rushing out to see what the alarm was for.
“If we can make the fields,” said Ben, “then I think we have a chance.”
“No,” responded Amelie, grabbing his arm. She pointed to a dark, three-story building. “Here.”
Ben looked at it. An iron gate barred a polished wood door. “We can get away,” insisted Ben.
“And they’ll catch us,” retorted Amelie. “You can barely walk. We killed a lord and several guards. I torched half the village green. The entire garrison will be after us. They’ll blanket the countryside. They’ll bring hunters and dogs. They’ll catch us, Ben.”
Ben stood, staring at the open city gate. “You find a way in while I set a false trail,” he agreed finally. “If we hide here, we have to make them think we left.�
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Amelie stepped to the iron gate and placed a hand on the lock. Ben scurried as fast as his leg would let him to the open city gate. Once he got there, he stripped off his blood-soaked tunic and tossed it in the middle of the road. Not subtle, but maybe it would give their hunters cause to think they escaped.
Agonizingly slow, he limped back to Amelie. He was growing faint. Too much blood loss, he knew, but he couldn’t stop yet. She was standing by the building. The iron gate and wooden door stood open.
“How did you do that?” grunted Ben.
Amelie wiggled her fingers then helped Ben up the three shallow steps. As he entered, he noticed the broken pieces of a lock lying on the floor.
The steps almost proved his undoing. With Amelie’s help though, he made it to the top and stumbled inside, collapsing on a plush rug. Amelie bent down and wiped his bloody footprints off the stone steps then shut the door.
The alarm bell kept ringing, but so far, they didn’t hear the stomp of soldiers in the street. Ben, half-delirious, figured they wouldn’t be in a hurry after seeing the damage the giant fireballs left. Lying on the floor, he glanced around the entryway. In addition to the thick rug he was bleeding on, the place was decorated with silver sconces, crystal candlesticks, and polished-wood paneling. It looked like a wealthy merchant or lord’s home.
“Let’s get you upstairs,” suggested Amelie. “We need to stop the bleeding and then get some food and water in you.”
Ben grunted and rolled to his stomach. Wincing in pain, he forced himself onto his hands and knees. Then, gripping a finely carved wooden table, he dragged himself up. He could feel a fresh torrent of blood leaking down his leg, but he ignored it. It was about to get worse.
“I could have helped you,” chided Amelie.
“Save it for the stairs,” mumbled Ben.
Consummation
Ben woke up in a soft, canopied bed. Late morning sun streamed in from a window, lighting the thick embroidery above him, heavy blue fabric with gold thread. He stared at an intricate rising sun pattern and wondered how long it took someone to sew it.
He glanced to his side and saw Amelie lying in the bed next to him. She was still wearing her clothes from the day before and was sleeping deeply, snoring softly. The collar of her tunic had fallen across her cheek. Ben lifted a hand and gently pushed it off of her face.
He blinked. She was still wearing yesterday’s clothes. His arm was bare. Cautiously, he reached under the sheet and traced a hand down his body. Definitely no clothes. He could feel raised flesh where the soldier’s broadsword had cut him. It was tender and painful to the touch, but he couldn’t feel stitches. Amelie must have healed him. She must have stripped him too.
Ben slid out of the bed, trying not to disturb her. He surveyed the room. The sheets of the bed were sticky with blood near where he lay. On a small table by the bed, bloody linens sat next to a washbasin that was filled with pink-tinged water.
He grunted. He was thirsty and famished. He felt a slight tremor in his hand and a wave of dizziness swept through him when he moved. Amelie healed him, but she couldn’t replace what his body needed after losing so much blood.
He found their packs and dug out a change of clothing. With fresh tunic and britches, Ben checked on Amelie again and found her still sleeping. Resting after expending too much energy with the fireballs and healing him, he guessed.
Downstairs, the larder was near empty, but Ben found an uncut wheel of cheese, pickled fish, and water. It was sustenance, if not much else.
He limped up the broad, carpet-covered, oak-railed staircases until he reached the third floor. Peeking out the windows he saw a few people moving about, but the streets were mostly empty. He tried different rooms until he got the angle he wanted. He looked down at the southern gate, a block away from the manor they were in. Unlike the night before, it was now shut tight. A dozen soldiers milled about. He and Amelie weren’t getting through that anytime soon.
He explored the rest of the house. There wasn’t much to find. It was clearly the residence of a wealthy family, but it had been closed for weeks or even months. Finely polished tables were coated with dust. Food rotted in the cellar, though there was some that was still edible. There were no clues as to whom the owners were or where they had gone, but, for Ben’s purposes, it didn’t really matter.
By evening, Amelie finally stirred. Ben helped her transfer to another room that wasn’t quite so blood covered. He fed her a broth he’d made using dried beef and lentils. Once fed, she fell back asleep. Ben let her rest.
He moved down to the lord’s game room, his solar, and lit a lamp. The room was on the first floor but in the center of the house so he wasn’t worried about anyone spying the light through the windows. The room had a table for cards, a target set in the wall for throwing knives, and a game he’d never seen before involving small balls and pegs. He studied it briefly, trying to guess the rules. He was just wasting time.
He went to examine the bar and found it was still stocked. Bottles of wine lined one shelf. A crystal decanter filled with brown liquor sat on a small table. He opened the stopper, smelled it, and poured himself a glass. It felt odd using glass instead of a wood or earthenware mug, but that was all he could find behind the bar.
Sitting in a comfortable, overstuffed chair, he rested his feet on the linen-covered ottoman. Amelie’s display of power had facilitated their rescue, but it would draw every soldier, hunter, or mage that was in the area.
Ben took a sip of the liquor. Heat filled his body. Not fire like cheap liquor, it was the kind of warmth you wanted on a cold night or when you had death hanging over your head and no options. He thought about the fireballs again and grimaced. Mages. He didn’t know how many existed in the Coalition, but he knew of at least one who would hear about the incident and come searching. Eldred.
If she were within one hundred leagues of Morwith, she would come find them. They suspected she had been able to track them using Amelie’s blood. Now, Ben’s blood was scattered all over the town. He briefly thought they should issue a distress call through the communications disc Amelie carried, but Eldred might be able to track that as well.
Without knowing why, Ben was certain the mage wouldn’t be fooled by his ruse with the tunic. Even if she couldn’t track them, she would know they hadn’t left town. It was too obvious, too simple for someone like her to be taken in by.
He finished his glass and was pouring another when he decided they had to move. There were too many eyes in the city, and it would be too easy to search. He’d estimated a little over two-hundred buildings when they rode in. The captain of the city watch could demand a search and get it done. The house they were in was covered in blood. Even if they hid somehow, it would be obvious they had been there. Ben thought they couldn’t count on more than a day or two before someone took control and started going door to door. Mages or soldiers, it didn’t really matter. When someone came to search, they had to be gone.
Ben finished the glass and grabbed the decanter. He walked out of the lord’s solar and stood in the center of the house. The broad staircase wrapped its way from the first floor to the third. On the third, it ended in a high cupola.
With nothing better to do, Ben climbed the stairs. He looked up through the glass panes of the cupola at the night stars above him. There was a narrow walkway circling it. Glancing around the landing, he saw a narrow door. Opening it, he found a ladder.
Ben took another drink, tucked the decanter under his arm, and climbed the ladder. At the top, he found a door that led outside. He went out, too nervous to stay inside because the walkway had no railing and there was a three-story drop below it. Outside, the cold wind sliced into him. It felt good though. It made him feel alive.
From the roof of the manor, he studied the city gate. It wasn’t much of a barrier, arm-thick logs bound together with iron straps. It would be almost as easy to scale as the shoulder-high stone wall that surrounded the town. If they wanted, they could get ou
t, but where would they go? Ben grunted in frustration at the gate. Such a flimsy thing, not even an obstacle, really, but he knew they wouldn’t try to get out that way. It was pointless.
He took another swig of the liquor, feeling its heat slide down into his chest. He circled the cupola, looking out at the town of Morwith below. It was well lit, more so than he recalled the previous night. Likely a response to what they did.
Guards patrolled the streets, men in clusters of half a dozen carrying torches, pikes, and wearing armor. If they weren’t any more skilled than the soldiers the previous night, Ben thought he and Amelie could surprise a group and defeat them, but as he watched, he picked out more and more of the patrols. Six, seven, maybe eight of them. He lost count. The scepter Amelie used was spent. Without that kind of power, they couldn’t hope to fight that many soldiers.
Ben looked at the green. The two wagons were still sitting there, their cart and the tinker’s wagon. Only one of them had a light on. From a distance, he couldn’t tell, but it looked like a lantern hanging off the back.
Ben frowned. He tried to orient himself. The southern gate was to his right, so the wagon on his left must be to the north. He raised the decanter to his lips and dropped it without taking a sip. When he’d pulled onto the green, he’d turned the wagon to his left, to the north, to where the one with the light was sitting. He stared at the wagon for another half bell, expecting something to happen to resolve the mystery, but nothing did. Either someone had removed their wagon, and a new one parked in the exact same spot, or someone was occupying theirs.
Eventually, the liquor no longer warmed him enough to keep the cold wind at bay. With a last look at the cart, Ben climbed back in the cupola, down the ladder, and down the stairs. He peeked in at Amelie and saw she was resting just like he’d left her. He left her door open and went in to the room across the hall. He left that door open as well and promptly fell asleep.