by Greg Curtis
In the old days, when he'd first been running illegal artefacts in and out of the castle, he'd used it to meet his contacts. Old King Byron had never known that he could enter and leave the castle at will. And if he'd noticed things missing from his expensive collections he would have had no idea how they were getting in and out. Because of that he'd never caught the thieves, and he'd never learned that Simon was building his fortune by stealing from him. Or at least running the thieves who were stealing from him.
And Vesar didn't know about it either. But of course there was always the question – would he find it? Despite knowing it was probably just a taunt, he was worried that these creatures could actually hunt him down by scent.
Another explosion shook the castle, sending clouds of dust falling from the plaster ceiling, and he knew he didn't have much time. Whatever was happening out in the courtyard it was destroying the already damaged castle. Soon if he wasn't both lucky and quick, the remains of it would collapse on top of him.
Worried Simon hurried for the bookshelves and pushed the hidden lever. Instantly the bookshelf swung open to reveal the narrow crawlspace between the stone walls, and the stair case leading down from it. Moments later he had shut the bookcase again to cover his tracks and was sidling down it. The gap between the library wall and the hall way wall which it pretended to be was only about a foot, and he had to sidle down it awkwardly. A fat man would not have been able to make it. But fortunately he hadn't had the chance to become fat like the last king and soon he'd reached the underground tunnels. The castle was riddled with them and thanks to his disreputable past Simon knew most of them.
He took the tunnel heading beyond the castle's front wall, pausing only long enough to grab a torch from the wall and light it. It wasn't a particularly long journey, five hundred paces or so, but it took time thanks to his injury, and all the way there he felt more explosions in the castle above him. But at least nothing came crashing down on him and in time he reached the far end.
There he peeked through the spyhole first, making sure that no one was in the room, before pushing the lever that opened the panel leading to the back room of the Badger's Rest. The inn was deserted of course. Its owners had fled before the city had closed and there were no customers. There was no ale or cider either which was a pity because he would have dearly loved a drink just then. But still there was an old travelling cloak still hanging on a peg and he grabbed it. If he was to escape he needed to look like any other citizen, not the king.
The inn also gave him another advantage, as from its upstairs window he could look out at the scene of the battle and see what was going on. Something that was important when the explosions were continuing.
Slowly, crippled by his injury, he climbed the stairs and peeked through the window at the end of the hall. But he soon wished he hadn't. Not when he could see what was causing the explosions.
The steel creature that Vesar had built – the golem as he'd called it – was busy picking up huge chunks of masonry and flinging them at the castle walls. And the massive impacts as they smashed into them were the explosions that were shaking the entire castle. Meanwhile there were still some of his soldiers on the remains of the ramparts firing back at the guards. But to little effect. Their safe bastion from which they could fire down on the enemy had turned into a trap and they were stuck there, waiting for the next stone to take their lives.
Meanwhile more royal guards had arrived – he wasn't sure from where – and the remains of the castle, broken walls and all, was surrounded by them. Some three or four hundred of them were standing there, studying the battle as the golem slowly tore his soldiers apart.
Worst of all, Vesar was still alive. Through the corner of the window Simon spotted him, sitting on a pile of rubble being tended to by more royal guards. Injured but not dead as he should be. The sight made Simon angry. But it also gave him an idea. A target.
When Vesar had kept redeploying all the workforce he could find to build his temple even after Simon's command, it had annoyed him. But more than that it had worried him. Despite his now former advisor's imaginings, he wasn't a fool and he knew that whatever the temple really was, it posed a threat to him. No one would go to such an effort to build a temple so quickly unless it held much more than spiritual value to them. So he'd had his own people, thieves he knew from his old days, placing charges in strategic places. Barrels of gunpowder with fuses leading down to the underground tunnels.
He'd always planned to blow the thing up if it proved dangerous, and especially if and when Vesar turned on him. This seemed like the perfect time. He might not have killed Vesar, but he could certainly make him suffer.
Then something happened right in front of him that shook his confidence. One of his soldiers fell from the battlements, knocked off by another huge explosion of stone on stone. It was a big fall and the man was injured, struggling to get to his feet but not really able. It wouldn't be long before he was dead Simon knew. But he couldn't have guessed how he would die. In his worst nightmares he could never have imagined that one of Vesar's royal guards would simply tear off his own veil, snarl like a wild animal and leap on him, biting his neck out with those terrible tusks.
The man died quickly, barely able to get out a quick shriek. But the image of his death lingered in Simon's thoughts. As did Vesar's words. They had his scent. They would hunt him. Suddenly he knew those words were true. These creatures might walk and talk like men, but they were animals. Wild animals. Animals killed by tearing peoples' throats out with their teeth. Wolves did that. And wolves hunted by scent. If Vesar was right, there were hundreds of these animals with his scent, all simply waiting for the order to hunt him down. Hundreds of them spread out all over the realm.
He was in trouble.
The thought of Vesar's teeth biting into his neck made Simon shudder a little. He was suddenly frightened as he had never been frightened before. And the worst of it was that even if he could control his fear, he knew he probably couldn't stop them. The only thing he could do was run. And he had to start now. Before the battle ended and they started the hunt.
Simon crept back down the stairs, desperately careful not to make a sound in case any of the royal guards were nearby, and then back into the tunnels. They were the only safe place he knew now. And they wouldn't be safe for ever.
Having had a brief rest Simon was able to walk a little more easily and he made good time through the side tunnels, pushing himself as hard as he could. He would have run if his leg would have let him. Instead he had to settle for hobbling quickly. But it was enough and soon he was standing beneath the hatch leading to the underside of the temple. After that it was a simple matter of climbing the ladder and raising the hidden drain cover until he could see the fuses. He could see everything from his vantage point, hidden as he was behind the half built stone walls.
The workers were of course still there. All the excitement at the castle couldn't stop them in their duties. Vesar would never have allowed that. And the veiled guards watching them would make sure that they didn't stop. They were making good progress, with many of the stone walls already twenty feet tall and he could see the shape of the temple rising out of the ground. It was a huge open air arena as far as he could tell. Maybe an amphitheatre. But not a temple. But whatever it actually was, it was being built quickly. Something that could only happen because all of his workers had been stolen by Vesar. That made him angry. If they'd been working for him half the city would have been rebuilt already. But Vesar had stolen them away. Now he would pay for that treason. They all would.
Blowing up the temple was going to kill a great many people. But that he thought as he touched his torch to the fuse was for the best. Without a workforce it would take Vesar longer to rebuild the temple. And the thing had to come down. Besides, many of the victims would be Vesar's own soldiers. Every one of them he could kill was one less that could come after him.
Simon celebrated as the tip of the torch touched the fuse, sending a l
ittle cloud of smoke into the air and then quickly rushed back down the ladder, slamming the cover shut behind him. After that he hurried through the tunnels, knowing that he had no time. When the charges blew they were going to blow big. Very big. He'd made certain of that. Which was why he'd made the fuse as long as he could. He knew that if he lit it he wanted to have time to get a long way away from it before it blew. But when he'd planned this Simon hadn't been planning on limping.
He ran through the tunnels as best he could, heading for the city wall and hoping he'd have enough time to reach it even limping as he was. But when the charges went off he was still a good five hundred yards from it. Still, he was at least seven hundred yards from the temple if his counting was good. And seven hundred yards should have been enough distance.
But it wasn't.
The explosion sounded like thunder; as if lightning had struck right next to him, and the ground shook under his feet. Stones from the tunnel came falling down from above his head, and more shook loose under his feet exposing the sewers below. And then he fell into them, splashing down into the foul water along with half the tunnel above. But he didn't care about the water. Not then. All he cared about as he splashed about in the water was that nothing heavy was going to land on his head. And in the darkness he had no way of knowing what was loose above his head and what wasn't. The torch was gone.
He took a few more knocks as things smashed into him, but none of them were too terrible. None of them broke anything, and that was all that mattered. And in time the shaking from above stopped.
He wished he could have gone up to look, to see the destruction with his own eyes, and most especially the look on Vesar's horrid face as he realised his precious temple was gone, but there was no chance of that. Even if it had been safe, he was at least forty feet below the city's ground level and he doubted there were any stairs or ladders leading up from the sewers. So he'd just have to settle for hoping that it had gone well.
And for somehow finding his way out of this foetid river in the darkness. Still, if Edouard could do it, he could.
Edouard! His little brother's name reminded him of one thing. Edouard was a spark. He had magic. And if what the reports he had been given were true, he had escaped with many others with magic as well. Three maybe four sparks, all trapped in that ugly looking holding of his. But all equally safe in it. Safe from Vesar. And Simon suddenly realised that he had a fall back. If everything went wrong and he couldn't run or hide from the monsters, he could still do the one thing Vesar couldn't do anything about. Find a place where he couldn't reach him. A sanctuary.
Still, that could only be his final choice if everything else failed. First he'd try and escape on his own. If he could get out of the city he could surely escape the realm. He hoped. After all, they had to find his scent before they could start the hunt, and they would have no idea where he was to start looking for it. Assuming that these creatures really did hunt by scent and it wasn't Vesar simply baiting him. And of course they were going to be very busy for a time, picking up the remains of their fallen people and screaming with rage over the destruction of their precious temple. All of that would keep them busy for a time. Long enough for him to make his escape.
Then, once he had escaped he had small holdings in the three cities of Farring Cross. Holdings no one knew about as he'd used an alias to establish them. Given his business it had always seemed wise to have a bolt hole.
As he set off through the foul water Simon knew one thing above all else. That he had to run and run hard. His life if he didn't would be a short one.
Then when he was safe he would find a way to kill the treacherous little monster who'd stolen his throne. Because Vesar had to die.
Chapter Thirty Six
“Bastards!”
Simon was angry when he spotted the patrol. But he was more than just angry – he was frightened. This time he'd thought, he'd hoped – this time he was finally going to get away. To crawl through their lines and escape. But he wasn't. Once more they were waiting for him.
How had they known to set up their check point just there? Right at the point where he would exit the wildlands, cross the trail and enter the wheat belt of Midfield? It was madness. No one should have thought he might try to escape through the Midfield wheat belt. But they had. Somehow they'd guessed that he planned to crawl through the three leagues of wheat on his hands and knees and decided to stop him. That or there were now simply so many of them that they were everywhere. And by the looks of things they didn't care what it cost them to catch him. Not when he could see torches in the hands of some of the soldiers and knew what they intended to do. They were going to burn the fields and take away his cover. Even at night he wouldn't be able to crawl through a burnt wheat field unnoticed.
Simon became very frightened as he lay in the bushes staring at them as they harassed anyone passing by on the trail while preparing to set the fields alight. Not that there were many passing them by. The guards had set up camp in that part of the road not to stop traffic but because it had a view. They could spot anyone in the surrounding fields trying to escape through the fields and reach the safety of the forest on the other side. Anyone trying to make their way through to Bitter Crest.
They weren't looking for just anyone he knew. They were looking for him. He knew that, though he didn't dare go up to them and ask. He didn't need to. His name and likeness were posted in every town he'd been to. Every town in Therion. And there was a hefty reward offered for his capture by the Regent. A hundredweight of gold. A reward far too great to be true. Vesar would never pay it. He could never pay it. But that didn't matter. All that mattered was that enough people were stupid enough to believe that he might.
Vesar, the Regent! The thought made him see red. What right did that disgusting creature have to call himself Regent? To steal his throne! But rights didn't matter anymore. What mattered was that Vesar now sat on the throne – his throne – while his soldiers scoured the realm hunting for him. And his soldiers were everywhere.
For eight long days he'd run, dogged at every step by them. By the hounds as Vesar had called his inhuman soldiers. And they did have his scent. Everywhere he went they were behind him. Every road out of the realm was blocked by them. They were scattered across the countryside too. And even if they hadn't guessed who he was they still would have instantly chased him down if they saw him. And they would have seen him. He was the only man walking anywhere.
All of Therion was locked down tight. There were no merchants travelling the roads. No farmers transporting their food to the markets. There were no pilgrims, bards or priests. Not even wandering peasants hunting for work. The towns were blockaded. Movement was stopped. And no one could travel any further than the fields they tended – provided those fields were close to their homes. That was why so few people were being stopped on the road in front of him.
As if that wasn't enough there were other soldiers riding the land. Those who had fled Theria and found themselves new homes in the nearby realms, had started sending patrols riding through the land. They weren't looking for him – yet. But they were checking the movements of his former royal guards as they took control of the realm. And sooner or later they would know he was a wanted man. If they didn't already. They were no friends of his. He had no friends.
He had no allies either. None of those he'd once hired to do his dirty work could be trusted. Nor those he had once dealt with. They would happily take his coin. But they would also betray him in a heartbeat for another's coin. That was the trouble with criminals.
To add to his troubles he had no one he could turn to anymore. Once he had had many who wanted to spend time with him, even if it had mostly been for their own selfish purposes. No longer. No one would show him kindness or sympathy. Even if there hadn't been a price on his head of a hundredweight of gold, he was despised so greatly that they would have cheerfully handed him over to the veiled guards. Sometimes at night as he lay in the bushes outside of the towns he overheard
the conversations of the people as they passed by. It seemed he was truly hated. Apparently there wasn't a man, woman or child he hadn't hurt in some way.
That annoyed him. But more than that it confused him. How could it be? Sure there had been executions. But it couldn't be as many as they claimed. And it was necessary to maintain the rule of law. The people had to know that. And the mammoths and the sprigs, that had been Vesar. The black priest was the true monster here. But he had been the figurehead and the people blamed him.
They blamed him for this latest disaster too. For the veiled soldiers blockading every road, preventing them from travelling anywhere.
He was on his own.
It wasn't fair. But Simon knew that fairness didn't matter. This was about survival, and he wanted to survive. Nothing else mattered.
For the first couple of days he'd tried to take the back roads to Farring Cross. But they were guarded. Then he'd tried the fields and valleys only to find they were guarded too and he'd been forced to turn back. In desperation he'd tried the forest between the realms, but that had been a terror in its own right. He'd been chased, lost his way among the endless trees, run around in circles and ended up still in Therion with the hounds somewhere behind him. After that he'd run in the opposite direction thinking Bitter Crest might be an easier destination. But now he knew that wasn't to be either.