Blood on Bronze (Blood on Bronze Book 1)

by Gillis, Anthony

  He hoped the sounds of death hadn’t reached four floors down, but knew he had at best some minutes before the rest of the guards down there noticed their comrades were late in returning, and raised a general alarm. He tucked his dagger in the calf straps of his sandal, pulled the sword from the scabbard and the round shield from the back of one of the dying guards, and returned to the door of his father’s cell. He laid the gear down by his feet and spoke.

  “Father, I had to kill two guards, I’m going to try a spell now, stand back!”

  “I heard the noise, my son. That was unwise…”

  Arjun spoke the Words of Opening, modified for what he guessed might be the magic of the wards on these doors. Nothing happened. He cursed under his breath, thought of another combination of magic he imagined could be useful for a prison door, and again spoke The Words of Opening.

  Magical energy seared back along his fingers and hands, with a burning pain that left no mark. From the door, however, wards flashed with a blare as of trumpets, and a gust of wind that knocked Arjun and the plundered sword and shield against the far wall. The wind died, and he heard roars of many voices on the stairs to the left.

  He screamed a curse, hopeless rage coursing through his mind, and threw kicks against the door. It moved not at all, though the alarm trumpets sounded again, this time without wind. Arjun took a step back and spoke, a third time, the Words of Opening. This time the building shook. There were cracking and crashing sounds sound below and to the right. Angry frightened voices roared below and to the left.

  “Arjun, you mad stupid boy… I love you, but stop this!” said Keda hoarsely.

  “Go now, my son, while you still can!” said his father.

  Arjun was in agony, mind and heart, he would not abandon them a second time!

  The other four guards from the fifth floor came running up the stairs to the left with swords and shields drawn. Arjun could hear more voices approaching below. They stopped in momentary surprise when they saw him, a slave in a tunic, and the bodies beyond him. Then with deadly expressions, they closed ranks, formed their shields in a line, and advanced on him.

  Arjun took the shield, advanced, and hurled it like a discus at the head of the third guard from the right. Caught by surprise, the man failed to react in time and the shield hit him square in the face. He toppled backwards, mouth foaming blood. Arjun ducked low and brought his sword up under the arm and into the chest of the guard on the furthest right, who’d instinctively raised his shield to protect his own face.

  Then Arjun spun, parried a stab by the guard second from left, and brought his free hand against the guard’s upper shield arm. Arjun let loose a gout of flame against the unprotected skin, and the man screamed and dropped his shield. Arjun seized the opening and thrust his sword into the man’s shoulder and ducked behind him to dodge the blow from the leftmost guard. The latter overbalanced against his comrade, and fell to the ground. He recovered quickly, but not quickly enough to avoid the slash from Arjun that severed his head almost clean from his body. Arjun then turned again and quickly finished off the wounded.

  “My son!” Roared Ashur, “I command you, go now!”

  But Arjun had obeyed before, and regretted it. Now he stayed. He prepared to try, against his own wisdom, the Words of Opening once more, when up the stairs on the left came twenty or more guards. They formed up and advanced at him at a trot. He fought madly, skillfully, but was driven back. A guard captain appeared with yet more men, looked at him for a moment, then yelled.

  “That’s him men, the prisoner’s son! Get him alive if you can, if not, the reward’s good either way!”

  The guards charged, breaking ranks in disorder. Arjun downed one with a quick stab to the groin, barely avoided death as he deflected the blow of another. In their haste to catch him alive, the guards made mistakes, but he wasn’t going to last much longer. He continued to back up, despite his intentions.

  Then, his footing gave way under him.

  Arjun hadn’t been paying attention to the stairwell on the right, hadn’t seen how much damage his failed casting of The Words of Opening had done, or thought to ask why all the guards came up the left stairs. Now he was slipping down a slide of fallen brick and powdered mud plaster that ran a full level down to the eighth floor. There, a whole section of wall had given way. Some of the loose bricks and debris began to join him, and he lost his grip on the sword. He tried to climb back up the crumbling slope, but only succeeded in starting an avalanche that sent him on his way towards the hole in the wall, and death.

  Then Arjun made a fateful decision, and one that, however right, he would regret for the rest of his life. He desperately righted himself, moving with the downward slide of gravel, rather than against it. He leapt from rubble to rubble, and, as fragments of brick poured from the broken wall like a lethal waterfall to the ground far below, he jumped across and down, to the rooftop of the tower on the citadel wall. There he clutched desperately as the clay tiles cracked with the impact. He slid down by his fingers to the edge, felt the sill of a window under his feet, and ducked himself under and in. A startled guard was racing up the stairs, sword in hand.

  Arjun tumbled to the ground and dodged the guard’s attack, then swept his feet out from under him. The guard fell headlong into a wall, and rose slowly and disoriented. Arjun paid him no heed and raced down the stairs from which he’d come. Another guard was on his way up the stairs, and Arjun leapt with a foot into the man’s face. It went less well after that, and the two tumbled down the stairs in a heap. Arjun found to his amazement that his dagger was still tucked in the straps of his sandal, pulled it, and knifed the other man under the chin before he could act. Arjun then raced out the door below to the broad top of the wall. The screams of the guard on the stairs and the yells of the one above rang across the pavement. Trumpets were sounding elsewhere. Arjun looked and saw that dozens of guards were running his way from all directions, swarming up stairs and along the wall.

  He ran to the outer edge, which he knew on this side looked over to the high ground of wealthy town houses. There were trees on that side, trees that had long been allowed to grow almost to the edge of the wall, though even their tops were ten feet or more below the parapets. There would be time enough to cut them down in advance of any attacking army. Now though, Arjun was glad for them. He sucked in his breath, steeled himself, and leapt from the wall to the highest branch he thought he might reach.

  For a moment, his body flew through open space, doubtful where it might land.

  Arjun caught the branch, feeling agony as the impact knocked the wind out of him and nearly cracked his ribs. He desperately hung there for a moment, gasping for air, then recovered and climbed down from branch to branch in dizzying drops. Some of the guards above had bows, and arrows began to skitter among the branches. He dared the final drop of more than ten feet, landed rolling down the slope away from the wall, and then forced his tired and pained body to move into a sprint.

  He leaped down the hillside and into the gully at the base of the higher ground. From there, he darted into the busy streets of the inn and tavern district between the temples, the plaza, the bazaar, and the citadel. Startled passersby watched him run. Far behind, he could hear the shouts of guards on the walls. He guessed someone had ordered the gates of the citadel closed to seal him in, and now they were slowed as they sorted out whoever could give the order to open them again for pursuit.

  Arjun kept running for a while, then slowed to a panting walk as his reserves of energy gave out. Then he wandered purposefully, looking for one of his growing collection of usable entrances to the sewers. At last he found it, a loose grating in a debris-strewn alley, pulled it aside, and then closed it behind him. For good measure, he summoned his flame to melt the lead of the grating to its mounting, and then dropped into what was for others dark, and for him merely another means to see.

  As he hit the bottom, he also felt the exhaustion of everything he’d done. That last use of magic had
cost him much of what little energy he had left. But, he thought, even down here he might not be safe for long, not with the vast and angry ant hill he’d kicked up at the citadel. There would be guards, soldiers, and probably magi looking for him all night. He threaded his way slowly toward the remotest back passages he could find, seeking an entrance to, of all places, the tunnels he’d feared like death itself not so long ago.

  He didn’t find one, but he did find a side tunnel in such ruined condition that he thought he could brick it up enough to make it look like it was completely caved in. He did so, and then fell back on the sloping rubble beyond in utter exhaustion. Wretched thoughts raced through his mind. Inina would be afraid for him, and he ached at that, but there was nothing he could do. He hoped she would sit tight, as it was the safest possible choice right now.

  But not only had he brought the wrath of the city down on himself in force, he’d failed utterly in his purpose. He cursed himself over and over to visions of his father and Keda dying by the executioner’s hand, until his mind faded to a darkness of its own, and sleep brought him such relief as it could.

  When he awoke, he had no real way to know how many hours had passed, but it felt like many. He waited further hours, until he guessed a day or more must have passed since he’d crawled into this hole, but at last thirst demanded he leave. He cleared the rubble from enough space to crawl through, slid down the other side, stumbled over the debris along the rest of the side passage and emerged into the larger hallway. If guards had come down here looking for him, he saw no sign of it. On legs that ached with each step, he turned, and started the long way toward home.

  ~

  Inina hear the first conflicting rumors well in advance of the soldiers and guards that fanned out across the city. Arjun dra Artashad, the criminal son of a traitor father, and now apparently, paid agent of the Empire of Sarsa, had made some sort of mad raid at the citadel, and against all rational expectation, had escaped. In less than three minutes she heard five different versions of the story.

  All of them in another way told her the same story – time to get home. She’d promised Arjun she would be ready to flee if they had to, and now, with a few last supplies, she would be. She’d packed the strange magical space behind the seal stone with all their valuables, some useful tools, extra clothes, and some food and water. She would fill the last remaining spaces with what she’d bought today. Anything they might need more immediately, like weapons, they should carry.

  She made it home safely enough, whispered the news to Lurshiga, and hid in their room with window and door barred. For hours she waited hopefully for him to arrive. Unlike most returns home, she kept her disguise on this time, her face marked with false pocks and scars, her hair matted, and dirty loose clothes concealing her body. It was well that she had, for though he failed to arrive, at last a squad of guards did so. They were searching room to room, knocking on doors, and kicking in those too slow to respond. She heard them coming two floors down, and hid the seal stone in a small place under a false bottom they’d made in the secret space in the corner, under a handful of dusty gravel to make it look old and unused, and hoped it all would hold up to scrutiny.

  When the guards arrived, she unbarred the door and bowed and scraped before them as they searched the room as thoroughly as men who were of serious intent, but in a great hurry, might do. They questioned her, but she had a plausible story prepared, and of course knew no Arjun dra Artashad. Without a word of apology or thanks, they moved on the next room, and then left. Once they’d been gone a while, she replaced the bars, then waited no longer in hope, but in fear of the news of death she expected to hear.

  Inina slept fitfully, but after hours more Lurshiga knocked on her door, with that news of death. However, it was not the death she imagined. Arjun’s father Ashur, and his old nursemaid Keda, had been executed, and their heads planted on stakes in the old, now rarely used manner, in the so called square of justice where the East Road crossed a great bridge, and passed near the citadel. Though she’d never met them, she wept for Arjun’s sake, and then for him.

  16. The Tale of Harvests

  In the dark hours before dawn, Inina awoke to a knock on the door. She grabbed her bronze dagger and crept to the door. On the other side, a weak voice was speaking in a whisper.

  “Inina, it’s me.”

  Arjun!

  She opened the door, let him in, and hurriedly closed it behind them. She was shocked at his appearance. He was cut, scratched, and bruised all over his body, and the patches not visibly hurt were still masses of grime. He wobbled unsteadily. She pulled him into her arms and kissed him. A faint smile appeared on his parched lips, and he collapsed. She was strong for her size, and lowered him as gently as she could to the floor, grunting under the strain.

  Inina peeled the filthy, blood-soaked slave’s tunic from his body, looked in shock at the sword cuts underneath, and even more at their terrible condition – raggedly caked with black grime and dried blood. She poured water into a bowl, infused with some herbs she’d gotten from the healers of Inkiddu, and used it to clean his battered body. He alternated between sleep and groggy consciousness, and mumbled thanks to her. She gave him sips of fresh water from a pitcher, and kissed him as she bound his wounds.

  When she thought he was ready, she spoke, “Come my love, climb into the bed. Here, I’ll help you.”

  But he managed it on his own, sweating with the pain. He turned over, climbed onto the bed, and then sat looking at her for a moment.

  “Sit with me,” he said, eyes shining with love underneath their exhaustion.

  She did so. Then strain caught up with them both, and they fell asleep curled together, his arms around her and a hand on her belly, protectively over their unborn child.

  ~

  For many days they hid in the room, dealing only with Lurshiga or one of the urchins who helped her keep house. When she thought he was ready, Inina told Arjun of the execution of his father and Keda. He’d expected it, and took it a grim expression and no tears, but his eyes burned. Lurshiga passed them such news as she got. The manhunt for Arjun had died down again, but things in the city were getting worse. Bal-Shim had been invited to the city council, and was making speeches and urging the people on against what he claimed were foreign conspiracies behind all the recent turmoil. Rumors of conspiracies of all kinds were spreading in the city, and informers were said to be everywhere.

  Arjun was unusually quiet, and more than normally tense. He spent a great deal of time reading the clay tablets he’d gotten from Shirin. In the cloistered confines of their little room, it became hard for Inina to take, and at last she said something.

  “My love… what are you planning?”

  “Revenge on Bal-Shim, and all of them.”

  “Someday, but for now you’d best stay hidden with me.”

  “I am.”

  “By all of them, do you mean the names we heard in the tunnels?”

  “That is what I need to figure out. I already knew some of them were working together. Shalmansar is high priest of Ur-Laggu in Zakran, Ayab iru Heb is the largest slave trader outside the Empire of Sarsa, Mada dra Keshil is head of one of the old landowning families, and Naram dra Zash-Ulshad is head of another even older family, and from what I’ve heard, has his hands in a lot of things behind the scenes.”

  “It is an odd collection, all right,” she replied, “and hard to see what would bring them together on the same side, let alone work together closely enough on the council to be part of some secret little group, but there it was.”

  “One thing that unites them,” he replied, “might be a desire for power, though they might have different ideas about what to do with it. Perhaps we can find out more.”

  “While we’re at it, and in disguise, we might want to spread a few rumors of our own, about you fleeing the city,” said Inina.

  A faint smile crept into his expression, for the first time in days.

  “You amaze me, as does how mu
ch I love you!” he said, and pulled her to him for a kiss.

  ~

  The next several weeks fell into a pattern. Arjun and Inina, in various disguises, roamed the city collecting information and spreading rumors that he’d fled the city. Beyond that one basic point, they were deliberately varied and contradictory, as one could expect from rumors. In one version, Arjun had been smuggled in a caravan to Har. In another, he’d left on a ship for Hektaris, an island in the west where the pale-skinned blue-clad folk had strange customs and were deeply devoted to Jamisa, goddess of the Sea. In yet another, Arjun had gone to Sarsa to receive rich rewards from his master, the Great King. In Arjun’s favorite, he’d leapt madly over the city walls, as he had at the citadel, somehow lived, and fled north on foot across the hills and dusty plains beyond, to some city or other in the League of Kasim.

  They were careful never to walk the streets outside together, or to visit the same people under different disguises. Nor did they spend much time talking with anyone in the area near the street of vipers, where they were too well known to succeed at disguises. However Inina’s very absence was raising notice and concern among her widespread group of friends. One thing they feared was that not all those friends were all that reliable, and someone might put her absence together with other pieces of information.

  When not engaged in their efforts at espionage, Arjun studied magic in Shirin’s tablets, or studied combat on sporadic visits to Enlil iru Geb. He tried teaching magic to Inina, but quickly realized he didn’t know enough himself to do so safely, and in any case she’d seen enough of magic now to make her want to avoid it rather than use it. He had better luck teaching her to read, and she proved a quick student. For her part, Inina spent every hour she could spare working her growing new networks of contacts in other parts of the city, but as her pregnancy advanced, she was finding walking long distances more tiring. There was also the problem of keeping in disguise, it was going to be a lot harder when she grew too full to conceal, and in every costume, she happened to be with child.