Looking back, he didn't know how he had done it. If he would have told the tale that very night, he wouldn't be able to explain. In the moment, he didn't question. With smoothness and grace, he pulled his feet up and balanced on the back of the horse, shifting his weight and bringing the sword up ahead of him as it began tumbling to the ground. He allowed the momentum to pull him forward, throwing him forcefully towards the two soldiers, still in the middle of notching another arrow.
Then he was in the air, sword raised over his head, approaching the men fast. He could see their shocked expressions when he arrived, and his sword came down and around in a wide arc. He felt the blade biting into the flesh of their necks, first the one on the right, and then the one on the left, his arm getting yanked by the resistance of bone. He was forced to let the blade go in order to come down, tucking his front shoulder under and hitting the ground with more agility than befitted a man his age.
He rolled off the velocity and jumped to his feet, turning to check on the soldiers. They had both fallen from their horses. One still had the sword wedged in him.
Silas shook off the pain in his left arm and ran back to the men, reaching down and retrieving the blade, and then pulling himself onto the saddled warhorse.
"Thanks for the ride," he said to the corpses, whirling the steed about and heading away. He wished he was safe, but he still heard shouting; the soldiers at his rear catching up to their downed comrades.
He pounded through the town, leading the soldiers through Root, and taking a circular route to the Wharf. He needed to lose them before he dared enter the area.
Silas screamed and shouted as he crossed through Apple Square, a smaller outpost on the east bank where a small crowd of people were buying fresh produce brought in from the nearby farms. His new mount was a soldier's steed, and it charged towards and through the crowds without hesitation, forcing the people to jump out of its path before they were trampled. The soldiers chasing him were falling further and further behind, his lighter clothes proving to be very beneficial in the overall speed and stamina of the mount.
As he turned the corner out of Apple Square, a soldier jumped out in front of the horse, sword raised. Silas knew what he intended to do, so he pulled back hard on the reins and shouted at the horse, a command he didn't know he knew and couldn't recall after he had said it. The horse reared up and lashed out at the soldier, catching him in the face with a hoof and snapping his neck. Silas urged the beast forward once more, and rode for two more blocks, approaching the outer edge of the Wharf. Seeing a wagon of fruit up ahead, he slipped over so both his legs were on the right side of the saddle and held on, balancing awkwardly and waiting for just the right moment.
"Good luck, my friend," he said to the horse when they reached the wagon. He let go of the saddle and the reins, allowing himself to fall face-first into the assorted fruit. It squished below him, coating him with sticky juice and soaking through his clothes, but it also broke his fall. The owner, seeing Silas, started running over, until the older man held up his blade. Then Silas turned and ran down the alley he had aimed for, while the horse continued to run.
The Root Wharf was hardly a wharf at all. For one, it didn't actually rest on the shore of the Baden, but rather sat towards the east wall of Root, away from the river. For another, it wasn't a center of commerce, but instead the place where the most underhanded of dealings occurred in the town. It was the home of the underground market; the thieves, mercenaries, assassins, prostitutes, druggers and thugs. For travelers not looking for services there, it was merely the block of taverns, inns, and unmarked doors between Cistern and Essen streets. For everyone else, they knew to ask for the Wharf.
Silas knew about the Wharf. He had spent a few nights there, drinking himself to forgetfulness and waking up in a waste-filled gutter. The soldiers would look for him there too, of course, but if he had enough coin or trade, he would be able to find someone who would take him in and not rat him out. Reputation was surprisingly important to the underbelly of society.
So it was that he ran that way, three more blocks on foot, praying to Amman that he wouldn't cross the paths of any soldiers before he reached it.
Amman was with him, and he slowed to a walk as he reached the east side of Cistern, where pairs of large men stood on each corner, looking like they were just hanging around and talking, but really keeping an eye on everyone who went in and out of the Wharf. He nodded to them on the way past, and then hurried his walk until he reached a simple wood door, one of many attached to simple wood buildings. The door was painted red, and a bucket sat on the ground next to it, filled with water.
Silas knelt down and dipped his hands in the water, using it to wash the fruit juice and dirt away from his face. He took another handful and ran it through his hair, slicking the length of it back out of his eyes. Having made himself presentable, he turned the bucket over and knocked.
The door opened right away. He knew they had been watching him from the moment he approached it, though he wasn't sure where from. The inside was dark, and filled with smoke, making it difficult to see where he was going. He had no choice though. He stepped in.
The door closed behind him, and someone took up a position at his back. He was in a small shop, with wood planked floors that led to a basic counter, behind which sat a heavy man in a red tunic and trousers. A candle flickered next to him, allowing him to read.
"Silas, is that you?" he asked, without looking up. "You smell like a whore."
Just because Silas wasn't interested in joining the underworld didn't mean he had no knowledge of it. He had met Rappett before, when he had sold him a pair of boots he had lifted from a nearby tavern. The man couldn't have needed them anyway, to have left them sitting below his table, instead of keeping them on his feet.
"I had a run in with a fruit wagon," Silas said, coming closer. Rappett looked up at him now, his small eyes taking him in.
"I see that. You're covered in seeds." He raised a pointed nose in the air and took a couple of breaths. "What I don't smell is ale. Oh, and you've shaved!"
"I've been dry for five days," Silas said. Or was it six? "I was locked up at the Constable's Office."
Rappett laughed. "What for?" he asked.
Silas sighed. "It's a long story. The short one is that I need somewhere to stay hidden, and I need safe passage out of Root."
"You also need some new clothes," Rappett said. "What do you have to offer?"
Silas stepped forward, raised the sword, and placed in down on the table. "This belonged to one of his soldiers. You know you won't find better quality."
Rappett looked down at it, then pulled the book out from under it. It clunked to the countertop. He lifted the book up and slapped it closed, bending down and putting it under the counter. Only then did he pick up the sword, sticking it into the candle light and looking it up and down. He put his thumb along the edge, and smiled when it drew blood with hardly an effort.
"You aren't lying," he said. "I can get good coin from the resistance for a blade like this. Tell me you killed the soldier to get it, and I'll even get you a nice warm bath and a woman for the night."
Murderer, the voice in his head whispered.
"I killed the soldier," he said, remorseful. He didn't want to have to kill, only protect the ones he knew were innocent. He'd had enough of death. He wondered if that was what he had tried so hard to forget.
"I'll take your protection, passage from Root, a warm bath, a change of clothes, and a sword. It doesn't have to be a good sword, just something that will hurt someone if I hit them with it."
Rappett laughed and shook his head. "This whole time I thought you were just some crazy old drunk. Now it turns out some of those stories you told me about being able to fight were actually true?"
Silas didn't remember telling him stories, but should that come as a surprise? He knew he could fight. He knew he had been one of his soldiers once, and somehow he had gotten out. Penticott said they served for life. How
had he managed to escape? Or was there more to it than that? His hand absently drifted to his chest, where the long scar angled across his body.
"I'm almost as surprised as you are," he replied. Rappett laughed even harder at that, though Silas hadn't intended it to be funny.
"Follow me, Silas," Rappet said, pushing his bulk up off the stool he was sitting on. "Trevon, take the sword over to Elia's. Make sure you fetch me top coin."
Rappett led him through the back and into a storage room, filled with boxes of supplies like ropes and candle wax. He pushed a few of the boxes out of the way, revealing a hidden door, which he opened for Silas.
"After you," he said.
Silas climbed down at least thirty feet. When he came out, he was in a well-lit corridor, part of the network of tunnels that connected every building in the Wharf to every other building.
Rappett followed behind him, huffing and puffing when he reached the bottom. "Amazing, isn't it?" he asked. "Even more amazing is if the soldiers find any one of the trap doors, we can cause a collapse of that part of the tunnel before they can get anywhere else. Of course, the soldiers who know about the doors are paid well to keep their trap doors shut." He laughed at that, and took the lead.
They had gone what Silas guessed was two or three streets when they climbed another ladder. It opened up into a small room filled with wine barrels and kept behind an orange door.
Rappett knocked on it, three quick taps followed by three slow ones. The door opened, and a barely dressed woman appeared, her nearly see-through fabric made all the more diaphanous by the light of the candles behind her.
"I said no women," Silas barked. His mind cast back to the memory of the ship, sailing off over the great sea.
"Don't be stupid," Rappett said. "This is the best place to keep you safe. Soldiers tend to get... distracted when they come to visit Madam Toll's."
The woman reached out and grabbed Silas' arm, pulling him in through the door.
"He's paying for safe-keeping, a change of clothes, and a warm bath," Rappett told the woman. "You'll get all of that in there, Silas, and not a single thing more."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Eryn
Eryn ran as fast as she could, pushing through branch and bush, searching for somewhere, anywhere she could hide. She heard the soldiers' shouting in the distance, certain that they had reached the Giant's Ball and discovered Master Lewyn there. She hoped he had died before they arrived.
She wasn't sure where she was going, but Master Lewyn had said that Elling city was to the north. She knew cities were big, bigger than anything she could even imagine, and to her that meant it would be easy to hide there, as long as she didn't use her Curse. She also knew that there were places of learning there, buildings filled with books. She couldn't remember what they were called, but Papa had told her they existed, that he had been to the city once before he had met Mother, and had seen it for himself. She knew that story was true, because he had brought a book back from the city, and used it to teach them to read. The subject had been seeds and planting, and it would have bored her to tears had she not been so excited just to be able to know what it said.
In any case, if she was going to fight against him, she would have to know something about him. Perhaps she could find her answers there.
The ground moved steadily beneath her feet, and for the first half hour she kept a strong pace. Her legs were accustomed to standing, and they were strong from lifting, but she didn't have the stamina of a runner, and she soon began to tire. She stopped and listened, hearing the crashing of brush that meant the horses were still nearby, and started to run again, looking around frantically for somewhere to hide.
She saw trees, and bushes, and rocks. The rocks were too small to hide behind, and the trees she could climb, but she was afraid of becoming trapped up in one with no hope to escape. She couldn't outrun men on horseback though. She had only made it this far because they had stopped to check on the woodsman, and because they weren't sure which direction she had headed. Her legs were beginning to burn from the exertion, and now that she was away from the stream, she was getting thirsty again.
"Amman, help me," she huffed, hopping over a root and past a large oak tree. She knew not to wait. The village priest had always said that Amman only helped those who first helped themselves.
She ran for another ten minutes, before her legs were screaming too loud for her to ignore any further. Exhausted, she slowed down to a walk, and strained her ears to listen for the horses. She was surprised to find she heard nothing.
"Did I run fast enough to get away?" she asked. She listened again. Still nothing. Then she began to worry. She didn't need Roddin to tell her that there should always be some kind of sound in the middle of a forest. Birds singing, insects chirping, something. Except there wasn't. There was nothing.
She looked around, but she didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Just the trunks of tall trees, and the same lay of bushes and grass and rocks that spread across the entire forest floor. But where were the birds? And what had happened to the soldiers?
Eryn walked as slow as she could, on the lookout for anything that might be dangerous.
She wasn't looking in the right place.
She took a step, and heard a snap. A second later, her world became blurry as she felt her leg get pulled out from under her, and her body was dragged along the grass. Within moments, she was hanging upside down from the branch of a tree, three feet off the ground. The contents of her quiver spilled out to the grass below.
"No," she cried. She lifted her head to see the looped rope that had snared her ankle. She just needed to reach the knife, and she could cut her way free. She looked down, searching for it on the ground, and finding it right under her. She stretched her arm out, reaching for it, the tips of her fingers brushing against the hilt.
She wondered who had put this trap here, and what they would do to her once they found her. She wondered if the soldiers would discover her first, and thank Amman for their good fortune.
"If only I were an inch taller," she said. She was afraid to use her Curse, afraid it would lead them to her, but she didn't have a choice.
Calling on the power was easier said than done. She knew she had to be calm, and her mind had to be at ease; difficult when you were hanging upside down from a tree. She also knew she had to aim her hand at whatever she wanted to use her power on, and concentrate on what she wanted it to do. She had found that it helped a lot to say something when calling on the Curse, a word that had meaning to her in relation to the effect she wanted to create. For moving things closer, she liked to say 'tappis'.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She told herself she had plenty of time to get the knife, that whoever had snared her wouldn't know she was caught right away, and that she still couldn't hear the sounds of the soldiers approaching.
It took a few minutes, but eventually she calmed enough that she was ready to try to use her Curse. She held her left arm out towards the knife, and concentrated on the idea of it moving up into her hand. She felt the tingle begin behind her ears.
"Tappis," she said, not too loud so she wouldn't give herself away. The knife shifted slightly, but not enough. She had to try again.
She took another deep breath, and reached her arm out, concentrating.
"Tappis," she said again. The knife vibrated, and then rose up into her hand.
"Thank Amman," she said, blinking her eyes as she felt the tear begin to form on her lower eyelid. She didn't want the blood going up and covering her eye. She bent over and grabbed the rope so she could pull herself up. At that very same instant, it snapped off the branch, and she fell face-first to the ground.
"Mmmm.." Something rumbled behind her. A deep, frightening rumble.
Eryn was trying to decide whether to turn around, or run, when she saw that the rope was moving, slithering towards her like a snake. She stifled a scream, still afraid of attracting the soldiers, and scram
bled to get to her feet.
She was too slow. The rope coiled around her, and held her tight.
"Mmmm.." The rumble came again, closer this time. Before she knew what was happening, she was being lifted into the air by a pair of massive grey hands. She only had a split-second glimpse of the thing that had captured her, but it was enough. She thought she had been afraid before.
All Eryn could see from her vantage point on top of the monsters shoulder was a huge upper torso that was hunched and crooked, a gigantic rear covered by pants that had been stitched together with the remains of other, smaller pants, and the backs of large grey feet, the skin of which was cracked and mottled like stone. She hadn't seen the thing's face, and she was pretty sure she didn't want to.
Master Lewyn had always told stories about the monsters that lived in the woods. The goblins and ogres and trolls. She had always thought they were no more than tales meant to scare the young, and entertain the old. Now it turned out maybe the stories were true?
The thing didn't carry her far, and she could tell by the large tracks it left that it wasn't concerned with being followed. Before long it reached the hollowed out base of a large tree, under which had been dug out a tunnel that dove down into the earth. It carried her down the tunnel, and dumped her off in its lair.
"Mmmm..." The creature laid her on her stomach, and she felt a tug on the ropes. Then they fell away.
Eryn wasn't sure what to do. Was the monster letting her go? Or did he only want to eat her if she resisted? Should she be still, or try to run? She didn't waste a lot of time deciding. It was better to find out, and let Amman decide.
She planted her hands under her, and pushed herself to her feet, turning around in one smooth motion. She held her eyes closed waiting to be ripped apart, or growled at, or something. When none of those things happened, she opened her eyes.
"Mmmm..."
It was standing right in front of her. Ten feet tall, with a huge head and large, fanged teeth. Its ears hung from it like melted butter, and its nose was little more than a pair of holes in the center of its face. It had large black eyes, and thin, cracked lips. Its neck was as crooked and bent as its back.
His Dark Empire (Tears of Blood) Page 8