by Greg Curtis
Of course he was seen. In the darkness the light from his cutting finger of fire was unmistakeable, and the moment the finger burst through the stone to splash on the ceiling beyond people came running. He told them to be quiet and that they were being rescued and simply carried on with his work, hoping that they had the good sense to listen. If they attracted the guards' attention they wouldn't be escaping today. Or at all.
Twenty minutes of concentration cut a wedge a foot wide and five feet tall in the stone allowing him to push the blocks over into the dungeon. Then, once he’d cut through the iron grill he had a full sized doorway. After that things were predictable. He squeezed himself to the other side of the door he'd just cut and people started pushing past him. A couple of them at least had thought to grab the torches from the walls, so they had light, and he hoped they remembered to stick together as they made their way through the sewers and to follow the arrows on the ceiling, but that had to be in their hands. He could only do so much and hope they didn't panic and do stupid things.
There were so many of them! That was the thing that stayed with him as the prisoners squeezed by him one after another. Normally when he found a basement or similar, there would be ten or twenty people under guard. But here they just kept coming and every time he thought he must be near the end and peeked into the dungeon, there was still a thick mass of bodies pressing their way forward. He tried to keep a rough count of how many that was, but soon gave up. It was a lot and that was enough for him.
In time – and his best guess was that it had taken them longer to escape past him than it had to cut the doorway – the main part of the dungeon was empty. But his work wasn't done yet. There were still the actual cells to empty. They'd been filled with prisoners before the others had been forced into the main chamber, and the doors had been locked and bolted shut. They were still trapped.
That required him to enter the dungeon himself.
Edouard didn't like that. He didn't like walking out into the open. He felt exposed. And he didn't like being in a dungeon either. It brought back too many unpleasant memories. But it had to be done, and he forced himself out into it.
Once there his first task had to be to make sure that none of the soldiers realised what was happening. Or if they did, that none of them could come rushing in. So he hurried to the main door, a huge oak and iron hinged monster that had to weigh half a ton, and started melting the iron. It wasn't long before he was certain that the hinges would not bend again and the lock would not turn. But he had to make certain that the door could not be forced open, and that required the use of the rack. Or actually just the chains from it. He simply cut a few lengths from them and then welded them to the iron hinges on both sides of the door and knew that the door was as secure as he could make it.
The thing that kept bothering him as he worked was why there were no guards. There should surely have been some on the other side of the doors. Someone should have been keeping watch. Someone should have heard. But it seemed no one had. Maybe the door was simply too heavy for them to hear what was happening inside the dungeon? Maybe they had simply decided that the door itself was sufficient to keep the prisoners locked up. He didn't know. But it troubled him.
Still, he had work to do. Work that began with cutting open the locks on the cell doors and releasing whoever was trapped inside. So that was what he did.
It was a slow business. Not because the locks were particularly thick or of good iron – they weren't – but simply because there were so many of them. Still, every cell was full and each time he opened one another half dozen prisoners came out looking confused. The wood of the doors was so thick that they hadn't been able to hear what was happening outside. And of course there had been no light. Not even a candle. So after however many days they had spent locked up in the cells without food or water or light, they were understandably confused. It took time and many repeats to make them understand that they were being rescued, and to tell them where to go.
After the twentieth cell door opened though he thought he recognised a familiar face, and it was his turn to be confused.
“Kyriel?” It was a Tenarri woman and she looked like her, but not quite. In the darkness it was hard to be certain.
“You know my sister?” The woman suddenly stood up straight and strode towards him, allowing him to see her a little more clearly. She'd also answered his unspoken question – but given him another one in its place.
“Sister?” He hadn't known that Kyriel had a sister. Or that she was in Therion. But then he knew so little about her that it wasn't surprising. Kyriel said very little about her past, at least to him. He guessed that April knew more.
“Kyriel of House Mystral. I am Valia of House Mystral. Where is my sister?”
“Oh!” That was a question Edouard hadn't expected though he should have, and it took him a moment to find the words.
“I don't know. I'm sorry. She came into the city to help save people from these rock gnomes and hasn't been seen since.” He didn't tell her that she was quite probably dead. He couldn't be that cruel. But he suspected that Valia could probably work that out for herself.
“Now you're trying to save her?”
“I'm trying to save as many people as I can. Theria is about to be overrun by my brother's army. The cannon are tearing its walls apart as we speak. And there are all these people trapped inside it. I have to get as many out as I can.”
Which reminded him that he still had work to do and he gave the rest of the people he'd just freed from the cell the same speech he'd given all the others and then set to work on the next cell door.
“You are close to Kyriel?” Valia didn't leave with the rest, choosing instead to stay behind and ask him questions.
“I am Edouard Severin of the House of Barris. My house and the Temple of Tyrel are allies.” Maybe it wasn't the answer she'd asked for, or even the one she'd wanted to hear. But he wasn't sure he had the answer she wanted. He had very few answers. Just a lot of work to do.
So he just kept working, opening cell door after cell door, and giving the same speech he gave to everyone to them. Through the door, down the stairs into the sewer, follow the arrows in the ceiling, and dive under the outflow, then see his brother Marcus. And all the time as he worked, Valia was there beside him standing silently; watching him and making him nervous. He didn't quite know why.
Eventually the last door swung open and he gave his short speech for the last time and his work was done. For the moment. But as the last half dozen or so headed for the secret passage out of the dungeon, Valia remained.
“You should go Valia. I don't know where your sister is and I have no way of finding her. And this is a very dangerous place to be right now. Outside others may be able to tell you more. Marcus may know.”
“He is close to Kyriel?”
“No. He's close to Denetta, another handmaiden, and to our sister April who also serves Tyrel. Tyrel would know. I think.” Actually he had no idea what Tyrel knew. Only that he would never dare to imagine that she didn't know something.
“You will bring me to him?”
“No. I have work to do. But just follow the arrows to the outflow and you'll meet some of his soldiers. They'll bring you to Marcus.” Edouard was becoming tired of the questions by then. Surely he'd explained everything. Or maybe he was just tired period.
“But you will keep searching for her?”
“Yes.”
“I can't let you do that.”
She struck quickly, before he was even aware she was going to attack, and her fist connected with Edouard's cheek, knocking him back a step. It was a surprisingly powerful blow and he tasted blood. But it was only a distraction, and even as he was trying to make sense of what was happening she darted low and grabbed his pistol from his holster. A second later he was standing there staring straight at his own weapon from the wrong end.
“What?!” He was slow. The tiredness was getting to him. And he simply hadn't expected the attack.
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br /> “I regret this Edouard Severin of the House of Barris. You seem like an honourable man and our houses are not at war. But I cannot let you rescue my sister.”
Before he could even think of something to say she squeezed the trigger, and for a moment he thought he was dead.
But he wasn't. Nothing happened of course, though it took Edouard a few panicked heartbeats to understand. Until he remembered. He'd been wading through sewers for over a day. Powder didn't work when it got wet. It just clogged things up. So the gun was unloaded. The last thing he wanted was to have to wash out the wet powder from its barrels before he could even load it.
“What?!”
She squeezed the trigger again and then double clicked the other one. But of course nothing happened. And then she stared at him, horrified, realising that she had exposed herself and she was unarmed. She started backing away slowly.
“You wish harm to your sister?” Edouard didn't understand that. Sometimes Kyriel frustrated him to the point where he would cheerfully strangle her, but he wouldn't actually wish her harm. And she wasn't his sister. He would die to protect his sisters – either of them.
“She's not my sister! She betrayed the house! And she killed my sister Staria!”
Suddenly she threw the gun straight at Edouard's head and then sprinted for the hole in the wall he'd made, realising that she couldn't take on a spark unarmed. She was stunningly quick he thought for someone who'd been locked away for however long. Which left Edouard standing there, somewhat bemused and wondering what to do.
He could chase her he supposed. But he suspected she would be much faster than him through the narrow passage way. Something that was confirmed for him a moment later when he heard the distant sound of splashing. She'd already made the sewer and he was still in the dungeon.
But chasing her down would take time he didn't have. He had to keep getting people out of the city before the attack. And if Kyriel was in here somewhere, still alive, he had to save her as well. The best he could do he realised as walked back and picked up his pistol, was to send others with a message for Marcus about her.
And really he thought as he squeezed back into the passageway and then started slowly sidling his way along it to the stairs, it was probably for the best. He could have killed Valia, but would Kyriel thank him for that? He doubted it. Who would thank you for killing their family?
Even if their family wanted to kill them?
Chapter Fifty Six
April sat on the bench of the supply wagon and brooded – something that was made easier by the fact that she was alone, a long way back from the camp. Marcus had ordered that all the wagons coming and going from the encampment remain some distance back from the soldiers. It was something to do with maintaining order, or so she understood. But what it meant in practice was that she got left with the wagons looking after the animals while others had to physically carry the supplies into the camp.
She didn't normally brood. She wasn't one to give in to her darker feelings. But lately there seemed to be so much to worry about.
Edouard was still somewhere inside the city, wading through the sewers and freeing prisoners. He was all alone and though she knew he was clever and would never be so stupid as to risk his own skin needlessly, he had a noble streak. One that seemed to be growing broader these days. That could force him to do something stupid regardless.
Kyriel was in there somewhere as well, either alive or dead. April hoped she wasn't dead, but there was no guarantee. And as Edouard seemed to free more and more people every day and she wasn't among their number, the chances that she was dead grew ever greater.
Meanwhile Marcus was in a sour mood – tense she guessed as he waited for the final battle. He now had a huge army. The forces from the north side of the city had stopped their assault there, and joined them on the south west. Now they had over a hundred cannon firing in unison and tearing down the walls. The continuing assault was having a major effect on the walls. It seemed that once the stones started cracking they became much more vulnerable to more impacts. So every cannon blast that hit raised entire clouds of dust and sent small rivers of stone flowing down to the ground. The crenelations on the tops of the walls – and she assumed the ramparts behind them – were completely missing in places and little by little the stone underneath was being pounded to rubble. The walls were crumbling almost in front of her eyes.
Complete collapse was only a day or two away at most, and when it happened, a combined army of ten thousand would tear through the city, her brother at their head. The Seven only knew what they would face inside it. More of these magical suits of armour? Armies of summoned beasts? Thousands, maybe tens of thousands of rock gnomes? It could be anything.
In a matter of days she could lose two brothers and a friend. And if that happened she suspected her father would be not far behind. He was looking more than tired lately. He was looking seriously ill.
The worst of it though was knowing that there was absolutely nothing she could do. She just helped to deliver the supplies now, driving them from Breakwater to the soldiers in the wagon trains. But when the attack came, she would not be allowed to do even that. She hated that. She hated that the sun was shining too. It was summer. The sun was supposed to shine. But still she couldn't help but feel that some rain would be more fitting. Maybe even a little hail.
“Are you April?”
Surprised April jumped a little in her seat, then looked down to see a woman standing beside the wagon. A Tenarri woman who though she didn't know her, still looked somewhat familiar.
“Yes?”
“I'm Valia.”
Valia? April didn't know the name. But she still knew the face. The woman wasn't one of the Tenarri from the temple. There were only a score of them and she knew them all. Besides, she was too young. She looked to be about eighteen. Most of those who came to the temple were in their twenties, though of course there were some children living there as well. And she wasn't dressed as a handmaiden either. In fact she was dressed in rags that had once been leathers and she smelled as though she had been rolling in pig dung. Though she had washed her hands and face, she looked as though she was covered in it too.
“I'm pleased to meet you.”
“As am I. But is there any word?” The woman looked up at her, her blue eyes wide with concern.
“Word?”
“Of Kyriel.”
“By the Seven!” In that instant April knew her. She recognised her face as a slightly different version of Kyriel's. A little younger and a little harder. And she knew her words were a lie. The woman had no care for her sister. She wanted to kill her. Marcus had told her the story that he in turn had got from some of the escapees of the Tenarri woman there to kill Kyriel. Apparently she had tried to kill Edouard too, but had obviously failed.
“You know me?” The woman seemed surprised. But more than that she seemed guarded. Ready.
“I know you're trying to kill your sister!”
“Dung!” Valia cursed her and drew a sword from out of nowhere before leaping for her with murder in her eyes.
April screamed and rolled off the other side of the wagon, realising that Valia meant to kill her. And even as she hit the ground and ran around to the back of the wagon, she knew the woman had a fairly good chance of succeeding. She was unarmed and Valia was an expert with the blade. She might not get away with the crime – they were in a military encampment surrounded by soldiers – but not enough of them were close enough to stop her.
Once Valia dropped lightly to the ground behind her though, April knew it was time to stop screaming and start thinking. Kyriel might not have been able to teach her much about blades so far, but she had taught her one thing that she remembered. You always had to think. And the first thing she realised was that she couldn't win by running away. The woman was fast on her feet.
Victory for her would have to come by staying out of the way of her blade for as long as possible while the soldiers came running. That meant d
ucking and weaving between the row of wagons. So that was what she did. Running instantly to the wagon behind her and diving behind it. Then, when Valia came sprinting around the corner with her sword ready for her, April sprinted around to the other side. If she could keep the wagon between them she figured, she would be safe.
Then she screamed again, determined to bring the soldiers running, and dashed back behind the first wagon while Valia raced around to the other side of the last wagon. She figured that doing a figure of eight around the wagons was her best chance. But she also knew from the way that her breath was already coming in gasps, that it wasn't enough. Not forever. Kyriel had been right damn her. She simply wasn't fit enough.
But as April wove her way around the horses at the front of the wagon she'd just been sitting on, another of Kyriel's lectures came back to her. Or two actually. Choose your battleground. And use it. She hadn't chosen her battleground – it had been chosen by circumstance. But she could still use it to her advantage.