by Damien Lake
“Watch it!” A lone man abruptly emerged before them, then jumped back at Kerwin’s warning. Dietrik lunged forward, yet the man, having found them, scampered back into his passageway, screaming for his fellows.
“We’ll never lose them like this,” Landon announced when they entered another narrow alley. This tunnel network between closely-packed warehouses held them confined in an anthill’s warren. “We need to hide!”
“How?” Marik demanded. Stomping feet closed from the distance. Soon it would be too dark to see his own boots in the maze’s midst.
“Dietrik,” Landon called. “Find a doorway into one of these buildings. We need to hole up!”
In the lead, Dietrik responded by swinging his head left and right as they ran. A turn onto a wider, twelve-foot road brought them to a possible hideaway.
“This will be a loading area,” he husked, running past two giant hinged doors wide enough for a cart set into a long wall. “Here we are!”
He found a normal door beyond the larger ones. Its hinges were inside. Dietrik launched a power kick and smashed it open. The bolt and padlock skittered across the floor. All five piled in. Marik closed the door as best he could.
They were in an office. Whoever owned it must be struggling. A very old, scarred desk occupied one side of the room, behind which were stacked over a dozen metal lock boxes such as the Crimson Kings used to store their paperwork. Paint and decoration had long since vanished. A second door occupied the opposite wall. It was unlocked, so they scurried further into the building, entering the main warehouse.
There were two levels. Larger, heavier items were stored on the lower, locked away behind metal mesh. Being a storage building, the second floor lofted fifteen feet above the first. A square wooden platform attached to an intricate pulley system acted as a lift, bringing goods to the upper floor. To one side, a spiral staircase wound its way upward beside the vertical rails that the platform followed. Landon pointed to it.
On the stairs, Marik heard Hilliard muttering, “This is not good. Not good at all. The owner won’t be pleased and will hold us responsible.”
“If you’re alive to deal with him, you can count yourself lucky,” Marik snapped.
The storage cubicles along the second floor were all shut. Their mesh prevented them from hiding among the owner’s goods. With nowhere else to go, they crowded into the furthest corner.
“So,” Marik hissed at Landon in their crouched huddle. “Still think Halsey is a hardworking shill?”
“Apparently not,” the archer admitted. “Though he is exceptionally skilled at deceit. He led us into the most deserted district in Thoenar.”
“A front man for the local goon squad,” Marik agreed.
“Is he?” Dietrik asked. “Might these blighters not be from the dark guilds in Spirratta? The target might be young Hilliard.”
“Impossible,” Kerwin countered. Hilliard hung his head. “That bastard Halsey knows this town too well to be a stranger. And those shivs outside also know the alleys. This is their hunting ground. They’re local boys.”
Marik agreed. “I’d say we’re only targets of opportunity.” The heat in his face intensified and he added, “Targets dumb enough to walk right into them!”
“At a guess, I’d say Halsey, or other members in their gang, usually loiters around the stables outside the walls,” Landon mused. “I wonder how many others they have ambushed in this warren after the warehouse workers go home for the day.”
“I’d rather not ask them directly,” Marik sniped. “We need to find a way to the Swan’s Down. How much further is it, do you reckon.”
“Who knows?” Kerwin riposted. “Halsey could have brought us the wrong way, for all of us. It might be the other direction completely.”
That was worth a fresh round of swearing. A fine way to act as a bodyguard! So busy looking behind them, he had completely forgotten to beware the ordinary dangers inherent to the city. Just because a possible threat loomed from afar hardly meant the local hooligans would leave them alone out of respect for their problems.
Before he could ask Landon how long they should remain in hiding, they heard running feet outside the loading doors. They remained quiet and waited for those outside to move on. A voice called out. “Hey! Lock’s all busted up here!”
“Damn,” Kerwin breathed. “That didn’t take them long.”
“Let’s make ready,” Landon advised. He unslung his bow and strung it quickly.
Their brief search had uncovered no other entrances. There was no back door for them to slink through. Marik crept to the second level’s edge overlooking the warehouse floor and considered the square platform. It had been left aloft and the local goons might happen to walk under. He discarded the notion before it completely formed. One look at the ropes running through the pulleys and he knew it would take several minutes to saw through them with his knife. Dropping the platform on their heads, should they be dumb enough to pass beneath it, would not be an option.
Scrapes sounded in the office. They pressed their backs against the mesh cubicles, waiting to see what would happen. The lift faced the storage area but the stairway was off to the side. If their pursuers chose to check above, they must come around a corner to find them. Landon nocked a shaft when soft noises told them people had moved into the gloomy warehouse proper.
Scant light penetrated the few filthy windows set high along the wall. If a fight erupted, it had better be sooner, before they lost it altogether. At that thought, Marik suddenly cursed himself for a simpleton and switched over to magesight.
Faint purple illumination brightened the warehouse’s interior. Very little etheric mist hovered within the building, probably due to the paved streets everywhere choking out natural plant growth. Enough people wandered through during the day to leave behind energy in the form of mist. No other living things in or around the building contributed. A battle between true mages here would be short before the available energy was expended. There was a valuable lesson; other magical talents would have a natural advantage over mages in a city setting.
He let his sense of self drift, which allowed his point of view to float away from his body. Forward enough to see around the corner, he could scarcely believe it when two men crested the steps. How in the world had they managed to climb the slat stairs while making no noise? The sounds from below must have been made deliberately in order to deceive any lurkers hiding above.
Marik quickly flew past the lift to study the warehouse floor. Two others searched the ground. The depleted mists made it difficult to be certain, but the weapon silhouettes all appeared to be the long knives of the ambushing group. He tapped Dietrik’s arm, twice on the shoulder, then twice on the elbow. In the dim gloom, his friend nodded, understanding at once, then passed it to Kerwin.
Landon stepped away from the mesh. He paused only until he fixed his mark then loosed a shaft into the darkness. Though he was an excellent shot at the worst of times, the arrow barely missed over his target’s shoulder. The clatter and alarmed shout brought the two below running. Marik and Dietrik stepped forward, the latter leaving Hilliard’s bag behind.
Kerwin stayed by Hilliard’s side, and not just to protect the young man from sudden appearances by enemies. He also stayed to prevent the youth from acting foolishly. Their charge had begun to silently run his thumb along his blade while they huddled, a sign the mercenaries each noted and uniformly disliked. It might mean nothing, but by silent agreement, a beneficial ability stemming from many shared battles, they decided one should stay near him.
The two by the stairs flung their bodies against the wall, waiting out the moments their friends needed to make the climb. Once they regrouped, their bravado return. All four charged.
Marik had hoped for this and signaled for Dietrik to stand aside. He swung wide. The thugs were unable to accurately gauge his sword’s length in the darkness. His sword tip ripped through one, the red aura suddenly splitting when the flowing energies swirled away int
o the ether.
The thug’s falling body tripped his friend, inadvertently saving the fellow’s life from Marik’s follow up. The cut swished through the air over the second’s head. Dietrik engaged the third while the fourth stopped to avoid tangling in the first two.
Marik cut through the second man’s shoulder on the ground to take him out of the battle. Another arrow whistled past between him and Dietrik. It caught its mark this time, making Dietrik’s foe double over in agonized howls.
These are no fighters! They’re back-alley cutthroats, no better than the worst E Class! So much grass to be mown down by our blades.
Dietrik whipped his rapier in a fluid movement and ripped open the throat of his arrow-struck opponent. He spun, following the swing, which left him facing the fourth man, who had been attempting to circle the fight. The deaths of his partners happened so rapidly he only then fully realized his danger.
The thug wanted to pass by Dietrik to the staircase so he could escape. Marik’s friend would have none of it. They could not afford this fool to raise the alarm. With his usual enthused cry of ‘ho’, Dietrik attacked using both his rapier and its companion main-gauche dagger. Caught with no retreat, the last thug met the attack.
He proved capable where the others had been fodder. In each hand he wielded long knives, the steel nearly long enough to be a short sword. With fantastic speed he skillfully controlled the blades. It was enough to deflect Dietrik’s rapier. His precision with both blades would have qualified him for the Kings, Marik believed, but though he fended off Dietrik, he found no opportunity to counterattack.
Instead, Dietrik pushed him backward by unleashing his full speed. The fight was impressive as Marik switched back to normal vision. The steel reflected what little light the dirty windows allowed through, filling the air between the two combatants with a tempest of silver raindrops. Steel clashing off steel sounded twice a second if not faster until it seemed an entire spectral squad battled within the darkened warehouse.
The thug continued back-stepping. Dietrik pushed hard. They came to the edge.
Dietrik forced him onto the lift, then followed, intending to finish the man. When his foot touched the lift platform, Marik realized his friend had made a serious mistake.
“No! Dietrik!”
When both men’s weight pressed upon it, the platform’s closest edge sank two inches. It threw them off balance. Both teetered, their fight halted while they strove for equilibrium. The lift fell away beneath them before they could achieve it.
Either the tracks were grimy or the platform was no longer level, but the lift did not quite plummet in a total free fall. The thud below still sickened Marik. Before he reached the edge he saw Dietrik’s rapier imitate the office padlock by skidding across the floor to bounce off the loading doors. Both men lay tumbled together.
Marik barely touched one stair, frantic to reach his friend. When he dropped to a crouch, Dietrik groaned and clutched at his arm. He still lived, much to Marik’s vast relief, so he quickly checked the other. That one also still breathed, although for only a short while longer. His own knife had penetrated his gut. Soon he would be dead.
Dietrik shouted briefly in pain. The second knife had gone clear through his arm. Landon examined it closely upon his arrival.
“Lucky,” he decided. “The blood’s the right color. Missed all the greater veins. Must hurt like a damn, though.”
“Oh, is that so?” Dietrik hissed through gritted teeth.
“We need a binding. And a tourniquet.”
“Use this,” Hilliard offered, quickly unlacing the leather thong holding his shirt closed.
Landon decided it would do. Kerwin handed him a length of cloth he pulled from the top of his pack where any experienced mercenary would keep such items handy. The archer snapped one of his shafts into a piece several inches long.
“Best to do it quickly, I think.” Landon grasped the knife and yanked hard to free it from the suction of living tissue. Dietrik nearly passed out with a tortured gasp.
Landon quickly wrapped the cloth tightly around the wound, leaving several inches free on both ends. While he wrapped the leather thong around Dietrik’s arm above the injury, Hilliard knelt with his water skin.
“Drink a healthy dose of this,” the young noble ordered. “Your body will be trying to make up for the blood loss, and so will be burning fluids. Keep as much down as you can until we find a good Healer.”
Landon slipped the broken arrow shaft into the leather circles and twisted. Dietrik groaned pitifully when the tourniquet tightened. Once Landon felt satisfied it had tightened enough, he immobilized the shaft with the dangling cloth ends to prevent it from untwisting.
“That’s as good as you’ll get for now. Up you go.”
Hilliard tugged on his other shoulder and the two brought Dietrik to his feet. Hesitant moments later, Dietrik could stand without support.
“Can you walk?” Marik worried about running through the alleys in the dark with his friend so wounded.
“Sure thing, mate,” he replied with a weak smile. “Though…I think we should come back tomorrow. Have a little chin-wag with the owner about securing his bloody pulleys before locking up.”
“It’s a deal. How’s the arm?”
“I can’t seem to move it a great deal, but it’s not my sword arm. I’ll have to prevail upon one of you to carry Hilliard’s baggage.”
With Landon slinging his bow, Marik’s two-handed sword and Hilliard already hauling his matching luggage, Kerwin was stuck holding the bag. They were worried about the noise from the fight. It would be best to move on. Hilliard retrieved Dietrik’s weapons. Marik drifted etherically through the loading door to scan the road for auras.
He took the lead at a slower pace owing to Dietrik’s arm. Blood loss would take an eventual toll. Forcing his body to move would only hasten that condition. Marik relied on his magesight to find people wandering the warren and he brought them in an easterly direction. That was probably the direction they had come from. Being the only part of Thoenar he knew, he wanted to find the ancient city wall. From there it would be a simple matter to follow it and locate a decent inn near a tunnel. Janus could bill him for the cost if the old man disapproved of the expense. Dietrik needed to rest.
Tomorrow they would look for the Swan’s Down and resume their schedule. It seemed the best possible course. He explained it to the others, and they agreed.
Now someone needed to explain it to these bastards running around everywhere. Since drifting the etheric while walking was beyond his ability, he was forced to keep a watch from ground level. As a result, the thugs who still had not abandoned their search were closing in.
Twice they fought briefly when auras, hidden by buildings, suddenly rounded a corner. Landon killed one. Hilliard lashed out, felling the second, claiming his first kill for the night.
That had been an accident. Their formation had stretched out while their attentions fixed on other dangers. The would-be attacker had exited a narrow alley not five feet from the noble. Marik endured an eternal moment envisioning himself explaining how they had lost their charge to a local ruffian when Hilliard demonstrated his sword skill, honed under so many of the duke’s masters.
Moving instantly, he dropped his bag, followed by the neat separation of the masked head from its supporting shoulders. It happened so quickly that Marik, still in mid-vision, almost missed the bouncing head rolling along the ground in the dark.
A blood geyser sprayed from the neck stump while the body collapsed. It landed near Hilliard’s bag. The canvas was soaked under the torrent despite the youth’s sudden cry and snatching up of his possessions. His halfhearted attempt to shake the bag clean met with little success. Hilliard glanced down at the body. Marik saw starlight reflecting from his widened eyes.
Must be the first time he’s killed a man. It’s a far leap from the ‘civilized’ swordplay practice you upper classes like to play with, kid.
It was a cruel thoug
ht, yet Marik’s sour mood nurtured it. He pressed on with fording a path back to the real world.
The dead bodies they left in their wake could hardly have been clearer beacons for the remaining gang members. Marik paused often to drift upward on the etheric mists, each time discovering additional auras closing in on them from several directions. They were being pushed north every time he changed direction to slip out from the tightening noose.
Around them, the buildings underwent subtle changes. The alleyways were still a narrow maze. No longer strictly warehouses, a scattering were businesses, closed for the night. Others appeared residential, though they kept massive dogs tied to posts near the doors. At times Marik saw people sitting by open windows, candlelight illuminating them so they were floating portraits suspended on night’s wall. He considered asking them for help, but what could they do? Run for the cityguard? The thugs would cut their group to pieces before they were halfway back. Mobility was their greatest asset.
Though that one advantage would soon vanish. Dietrik began to stumble. His injury drained him the longer he walked. These deserted streets stretched on without end. Scuttling from alley to alley, Marik bitterly asked the gods where they had stolen the teeming crowds away to. What had they done with the largest population in all Galemar?
Dietrik would have gone to his knees if Hilliard had not caught him before he tumbled. Marik studied his friend. They must stop soon or else. No help for it. One of these buildings would have to provide shelter.
The group began checking doors for an unlocked one. Marik drifted skyward and was alarmed to find several auras closing in from everywhere. He bent all his prayers on an open door. If they forced one as before, their pursuers would notice the damage in no time.
Marik angled north again to avoid several auras in the next alley. Always north! Were they being driven like cattle in a chute?
“Here!” Kerwin whispered loudly. Blessedly, an open door! The building was large, its function a mystery. Marik did not care.