We steadily drew closer to the gate while I tried to look for danger in all directions at once. The breeze had stopped and the sun was beginning to bear down. I had become a cave dweller, unaccustomed to the daylight. The cumbersome coat and helm intensified the stale heat. As I pushed myself forward, step by heavy step, sweat began to pour.
I glanced ahead and could see the faces of the guards beneath the wall. They were grim and their eyes seemed locked onto us, in complete contempt of the hordes on the other side of the road. It was like walking into a trap. Then, as my frantic gaze shifted to those hordes, I saw someone I had never wanted to see again.
Ramzi.
I would have recognized him anywhere, with his shaved head and thick beard. He was standing in the oak-lined median, staring at the travelers who entered Valemidas. A troop of five men in heavy dark armor surrounded him. He wore a heavy purple robe and leaned on a gnarled, black staff a head taller than he was. If he was trying to look like some sorcerer to terrify the people, he was sure to succeed. His sinister glare and the tattoo of tiny stars by his eye made sure of that, even when he wore normal attire.
The sight of him brought all my anger rushing back into my mind. He was the true source of this evil, the one who had corrupted Tryst from the beginning. He deserved to die a painful death. But I fought against that urge. To fight him now, even if we won, would mean losing the battle against Tryst. I needed more time to prepare, to gather my supporters.
I forced my eyes to look at the ground. Ramzi’s attention was on the other side of the road, so I thought we would be able to slip by without notice. As we plodded forward, though, the pounding of my heart was joined by the pounding of horses galloping from behind us. I looked back and saw four riders approaching quickly. I glanced forward and saw Ramzi’s stare turn to the riders, and then to us.
In that moment, my enemies were collapsing on us just as the men had collapsed on Lucian and me. The sun was blazing, and the bucket on my head was getting smaller. My honed survival sense screamed. I could not go down like this. I had to cause a distraction before Ramzi had a chance to figure out who we were, if he had not already. He had begun walking in our direction with urgency. He was twenty feet away when the riders drew even to us.
I turned and swung my club at the front legs of one of the horses. It tumbled forward and the rider spilled to the ground. The air filled with dust and screaming and furor.
I just glimpsed the brothers’ surprised faces as I leapt onto Yorst and charged towards the gate, as fast as the mule could go. I swerved past Ramzi and his guards, while hurling my club at Ramzi. It cracked into his shoulder, and the pained but otherwise blank look on his face suggested that he had not recognized me. His guards gathered close to protect him, rather than trying to pursue me.
I risked a look back and saw the brothers riding out of the cloud of dust. Jon had blood on his lance, and no riders followed.
Two guards were charging toward us on foot, spears lifted to block our advance, while others rushed to close the city gate. A quick glance to my left showed stillness. Where there had been a crowd rambling into the city, there were now astonished faces watching the fight.
In a matter of moments, Jon and Wren had passed me and pulled ahead. They were going to hit the two running gate guards at almost full speed. Their cloaks were flying. As Jon raised his huge lance overhead, in perfect form, the two guards chose life over courage and dove to the side. Yorst and I rode through the gap before the guards were back on their feet.
Other guards were frantically cranking the wheel that closed the city’s gate. It had been lowered two-thirds of the way down and was about ten feet from the ground. I thought of giving up on Yorst and sprinting on my own legs, but it seemed too late.
A host of guards was between me and freedom. It was not going to end well if they stopped me—the former, decrowned prince, returned from death and trying to flee the city on a mule.
The brothers suddenly halted before the gate. In the moment of pause before the guards attacked, with travelers forming a circle around the action, Wren reached into a bag at his side and pulled out a handful of glimmering gold coins. Each one could feed a person for a month. He held the riches high for all to see and flung them at the guards.
The surrounding crowd—guards and travelers alike—dove to the ground. While all heads followed the gold, Jon began flinging daggers at the few guards who stood their ground and tried to crank the gate down.
Between the gold and the daggers, the gate slowed enough and everyone lost track of me. Still moving at Yorst’s pace, I trotted around the people scrambling for gold and out of the city.
The brothers caught up with me just outside. They looked shocked.
“What was that?” Jon asked.
“What were you thinking?” Wren demanded at the same time. “I thought we were not going to pick a fight until we gathered some support. That was three versus twenty or more.”
“Ramzi was there,” I said. “I could not risk him seeing us.” It was true, but I tried not to reveal how I had panicked like a man still in the Gloaming. “Now we must go!”
Archers were arriving on the wall above, and guards were charging toward us. With just the two horses and Yorst, we had no chance of outpacing them.
“You go,” Jon said. “We will distract them.” He and Wren turned and rode into the danger.
I spurred my mule to flee due west, away from the wall. A stretch of open fields separated us from the dark forest of the Hibernia Glade. Staying on the road was out of the question. It packed with travelers entering the city, and I had to take the straightest path to the trees. It was my only hope. I needed a labyrinth, where I was trained to survive.
Yorst reached his quickest pace yet, but it was not fast enough. The archers started letting arrows fly within seconds. The brothers had fanned out, splitting to either side behind me. I glanced up and saw arrows darken the sky above. I knew these archers had spent years of practice hitting marks just as small as me from just that range.
My next move was all reaction, instinct taking over. I slipped off of Yorst’s back and tried to yank him to a stop. He charged on, dragging me on the ground below him.
Then the arrows struck.
The mule screamed. A dozen arrows stabbed the ground around me. None were far off, and several had met Yorst before the ground. I jerked to my feet as the poor mule collapsed.
Looking up, I saw another salvo released from the ramparts. Without pause I ran with everything I had, varying my path to lose the arrows.
The archers were good, but they could not predict my movements. I did not look back and did not slow in the slightest when an arrow sliced the air just above my head. The next thing I knew, I was crashing to the ground from a blow to the right side of my head, and my left leg was screaming in pain. At least a dozen arrows stuck out of the ground behind me.
I staggered to my feet and slid off my helm. It had deflected an arrow and saved me, leaving ringing in my ears. My leg was cursing me, but I sprinted all the same. The arrow must have sliced my thigh but not struck directly.
I risked a glance over my shoulder and saw another flying set of arrows and, for the first time, a small group of soldiers charging towards me on horseback. Jon was riding in pace with them, fighting to slow their advance, and Wren was further ahead. It seemed that I had become the most important target.
Hope surged as the forest drew closer and the next set of arrows came up short. I was out of range. The riders were closing on me, but I knew I could beat them to the front line of trees. My body was quick and my feet light, fueled by the escape.
Entering the forest felt like entering a cave. My pursuers would have no chance in this dense territory. I ran fast through the ancient and alive wood. Some of the trees were almost ten feet across. They reached up for what seemed like a mile. Along the forest ground were velvet beds of moss, interrupted by roots that reached out of the dirt for air. A few gnarled plants dotted the gaps between
the trees and caught the dappled light that cascaded down from the canopy above. I had dreamed about this kind of place while everything died around me in the Gloaming.
The nobles called it the Hibernia Glade and had preserved it for centuries as an elite hunting ground. Jon, Wren, and I had spent many days adventuring in the forest as youths—me by adopted right, them by coin. I headed towards the place where I thought they would most likely rendezvous.
Each of my glances back showed quiet forest, but I could still hear the men far behind me in the woods. The best part of their noise was that there were no barks. They must not have had time to bring the city’s hounds. There would be no tracking me—at least, not yet.
My body began to lose energy, and my leg needed attention. I slowed my run, careful to avoid making tracks. It was hard to do with my leg dripping blood, but the Gloaming had given me plenty of practice with leaving no trail. I pressed my hand over the wound and kept moving. Eventually the sounds around me had died. My breathing was like a bass drum playing the rhythm to the ringing in my head.
I continued my stride, but every step brought more pain. My thoughts began to outpace my movements. Surely they would not send more guards. For all they knew, I was a petty thief…of course Jon and Wren would know where to meet me, we had played this game before…the destination would not change just because the hiding was life-or-death serious this time. I thought again of the strange, regulated flow of people on the Path of Princes, and Ramzi’s oversight of the order. Never had there been such rigidity on the streets of Valemidas. The people had certainly not looked happy back there. A smile came to my face as I remembered my club slamming into Ramzi. That should have given the people something to cheer about.
I covered more ground and thoughts until I finally heard the River Tyne. It was narrowing here, but flowing at a languid pace as I reached its north bank. I followed alongside it, heading upriver and enjoying the sound of the rolling water amidst the forest. Perhaps a hundred miles away, it sprang out of rocky cliffs and thundered down from the mountains. Yet here, just before Valemidas, it began opening into a bay that was often as flat as glass. It was a picture of serenity beside the bustling city, and of turmoil among the desolate and calm mountains.
The wound in my leg had forced me to a limping walk when I finally glimpsed my destination. Ahead was a massive tree trunk lying on its side. I thought of how excited the brothers and I had been when we first discovered this place as boys. The tree was old and covered in mushrooms as big as a man’s shield. It was nothing out of the ordinary for a forest like this. But at its upturned roots there was a small crater, and the bottom of the crater had a tiny hole, a few feet across and sealed by a rotting wooden door.
It was just as I remembered it. The door was nearly invisible to anyone walking by without seeking it. We had hidden it years ago with large pieces of bark, and moss had since grown to obscure it completely. I slid down into the crater and began to feel around the door. I felt an edge and lifted gently, making sure the moss stayed in place, and then lowered myself into the earthen cavern.
It was almost pitch black inside, but all I had to do was follow the right wall. I blindly hobbled about twenty feet, guided by my hand sliding over the damp earth. I then slid down to sit on the cool, soft ground. My leg was relieved, almost numb from how I had pushed it. My head still throbbed, but I thanked that helmet for keeping me alive, or at least for letting me keep my right ear. Yorst deserved credit too, may he rest in peace.
I tried to focus my thoughts on the brothers. Of course they would find me. This was the most obvious and safe place for us to meet. They had been on horseback, so they were sure to arrive soon. They could handle those guards. Our escape was just a beginning, a taste of the threats ahead. I had made it alive. I had survived the Gloaming. The brothers would find me. My leg was on fire. My mind was restless. It drifted to dreams in the darkness.
The dreams brought a vision of dim shapes. I was hanging, and my arms were aching. Hands were grabbing at my legs as I clutched some thin bar above me. I knew I would die if I fell. The hands would kill me, I saw nothing but hands. Out of the sea of hands a face appeared. It was a noble face, reminding me of myself, but more severe. It was sharp and dark, full of remorse and sorrow. Ignoring the surrounding hands, fighting through them, I reached down to rescue the face, the person with the face, but it was too far away. A hand caught hold of mine and jerked me down. I swung at it wildly and connected with something solid. The impact to my fist sent shivers up my arm, but I was free. The face was lost.
I awoke to the sound of yelling and groaning. “Nice punch!” A small flame lit the burrow, and Wren was smirking above me. Jon was a step back, holding his face.
“We are, um, here to rescue you…” Jon stammered. Looking down at my hand, I realized that I must have punched him in the midst of my dream.
“My apologies, Jon. I was dreaming, and meant to knock something away. They were trying to kill me.”
“You hit me right in the face, and hard.” Jon made a small grin. He would be fine, except maybe a black eye.
I laughed, trying to hide my concern about the dream. “What took you two so long? You were on horseback.” I rose to my feet. My leg did not seem to be bleeding, but it ached badly. The room spun at the effort, so I kept my hand pressed onto the wall. Wren helped me up.
“And you had Yorst,” Wren said. “Where is he? And what happened to your leg? It looks awful.”
“Yorst saved me, shielding the arrows. I had to leave him behind. I think that helmet saved me too. One arrow hit my leg.”
“You made quite the scene back there,” Wren said as Jon began to pull out bandages from his bags. “Valemidas is not like it was before. There are more rules, and there is a lot less tolerance for breaking them. It was risky to be the only ones leaving the city, if that even would have been allowed. But you broke all order when you saw Ramzi and started attacking guards.”
Jon knelt down to my leg and peeled away the stained cloth of my trousers around the wound. It looked like the arrow had sliced deep into my thigh. He began cleaning the cut.
“We were lucky to escape without more damage,” Jon said. “Wren and I confused them enough by splitting up, and our horses are as fast as they come. I look forward to hearing your ballad about it when this is all done—two merchant brothers galloping on their steeds, outracing hordes of guards, and generally saving the day.” He tied off a bandage and looked up with a wide grin. “You owe us.”
“Yes, my debt to you grows with my gratefulness. Perhaps I can pay it back someday by helping heal our city. I imagine that ridiculous rule about the lanes of the Path of Princes is just the beginning. Ramzi found his perfect tyrant in Tryst.”
“You are right about that,” Wren answered. “It is not good, and much has changed in the short time that you were gone. There is a law for everything now. The city is strict and regimented, much like Tryst’s newly donned military, the Lycurgus. I can see why the soldiers and knights in the Lycurgus need to be that way, but not the civilians. Our preparation for war gives Tryst an excuse to build up an army around him for the sake of defending us. Of course, he’ll then have an army for the next conquest—it might as well become perpetual war.”
Jon finished wrapping another layer of bandages. My leg ached from whatever he had done. He looked up at me with some hesitance. “Your leg will hurt,” he said, “but it will heal. We have time to rest here now. Please tell us more. Other than mentioning this Gloaming place, you still have not told us what happened all that time you were gone, but we can see that it weighs heavily on you. We would also like to know more about your plans, so that we can do more to help you.”
They both stared at me, as if trying to read me. I did owe them more of an explanation.
“I imagine it is dusk out there now,” I said.
They nodded.
“Then we stay here tonight. It will be just the three of us, like when we were young. You tied the horses far e
nough away from here?”
“Yes, but…” They both said at the same time. Wren continued. “Yes, the horses are tied to a tree by a steep bank on the Tyne. We lost the men following us, but we think they will send more. Like I said, there is little tolerance for disorder. Even a suggestion of disruption is stamped out, and we caused quite the uproar. Ramzi will not let this rest, even if he did not recognize you. I do not know whether anyone recognized us.”
“On the other hand,” Jon chimed in, “Ramzi is leading a festival at the Cathedral tonight. His small group of zealots will join him. Maybe that will be more of a priority than searching for us. Ramzi uses these gatherings to steal the pulpit from Father Yates and make bold promises to those who are loyal to the prince and to him. It is an unprecedented intrusion of the prince’s concerns in the Cathedral, the one place where the prince’s power does not reach in Valemidas. You can see why Ramzi and Father Yates have growing differences.”
Wren smirked and spoke with sarcasm. “Ramzi is such a gracious leader of the faith under Tryst.”
“I will make Ramzi suffer for what he has done.” My tone must have been harsh, because it wiped the smiles off the brothers’ faces. “Yes,” I said, “we can rest here for a few hours. It is safe enough, but we will leave in the middle of the night.”
They nodded in agreement, and I leaned back, resting against the wall. “Jon, let’s have some of that food your mother packed. Wren, do you remember when we first found this place? You were trying to catch one of the wild stags here in the Glade and you fell straight into the hole. It feels a little like home to be here now.”
We talked of old memories for a while longer. The snacks of cheese and flatbreads were as good as I had remembered them. Wren lifted up an aged bag of wine with a smile, and I took it gratefully. The decadent and spicy flavor danced over my tongue. Wren had always had impeccable taste, and now it seemed he had the fortune to indulge it. The small feast and conversation helped relax me enough to ease out some of my painful memories.
Light in the Gloaming (The Gloaming Book One) Page 9