by SL Figuhr
“We was at the club, man, just hanging, ya know? And J man, he was drinking and stuff, ya know. We had all these really tight chicks hanging around and stuff. T-bar, he was just chillin’ and he spotted this really hot chick come in, like supermodel-hot, all dressed in Gucci an’ shit. Man, there be some sweet bitches in there but ain’t none of them lookin’ that fine. Well, T-bar, he go on up to her and she, like, brush him off like he ain’t nothin’!”
“Yeah, so like, he didn’t like that . . .”
“Imagine that,” Eron interjected once more, earning another glare.
“I dunno what happened. He got all offended and tried to grab her or some shit. She musta’ known some fancy kung fu moves like you, man. ‘Cause he went sliding across the floor ’afore anybody know what going on. He slammed into the wall, and when he get up, she be gone an’ shit. He was all cussing an’ stuff at the table, and J, ya know, tried to calm him down. Said he didn’t need no stuck-up bitch when he could have all the fine bitches with us.”
“Anyway, we leave when it be getting lame, and T-bar sees the chick, the hot chick that dissed him. Well, he kinda all jacked up on shit and stuff—”
“He just, I dunno, we told him to just let it go. He didn’t need no stuck-up bitch like her that didn’t know a good thing when she see it, just ignore her, ya know? But T-bar, he was real pissed, ’cause everybody pretty much saw her wipe the floor with him, ya know? So he go after her, all cussing and yelling and stuff.”
Devon paused to drink more coffee. The men sipped at theirs, waiting for the kid to go on. He brought his arms and fists up in front of his face, moaned and rocked for a minute before bringing them back down to huddle in the blanket as if what he had seen was one thing too many for him.
“She just kinda look at him, an’ tilt her head to the side and just smile. Then she turn real calm-like and walk into the alley! Like, who does that? She didn’t look all alarmed or anything, and she was like, right by her ride too! Man, it some sweet, tricked-out road bike. But Tbar, he just think she scared of him and go charging after her. J he was all like, man, I too tired for this shit. He was just gonna leave but then like, T-bar scream, man! I ain’t never heard him scream like that.”
“So we had to go and see what was up, like, maybe the bitch had set T-bar up to get beat by a rival gang or something, ’cause everybody know T-bar got a weakness for the ladies, ya know? So J an’ me go over to the alley, and T-bar be lying on the ground with the bitch standing over him.
“J, he bring his piece out and shoot at her. But it’s like he didn’t hit her or nothing, ya know? She just look up at him and laugh and he goes to shoot her again, but she ain’t there no more! It’s like she disappeared or something! J, he just go running up to T-bar and, man, he be dead! He all staring at the sky an’ shit with this look a terror on his face. His arm be all broke an’ shit, bone poking out. I dunno how she done it, but she twisted his head right the fuck around on his neck! He laying on his belly, but he be staring up at the sky!
“I’m all like, man, let’s just go, something ain’t right with this chick. But J all pissed now she killed one of his crew, and he all ranting and raving about how he gonna find her and cap her ass an all. Show her not to fuck with J, ya know?”
Devon shivered, his voice dropping lower as he told what had happened to the gang, and how he alone had escaped. Mica wanted to report it to the police, but the teen didn’t. Eron thought what was the point? The little punks only got what they justly deserved. Mica anonymously reported it, but he never heard any newscasts on bodies being found. The incident itself would have been enough to scare Devon straight, if only for a little while. Until he became the hunted, until he began to be afraid to leave Mica’s presence when darkness fell. He claimed the bitch who killed his friends kept showing up everywhere he went; he even woke once to find her standing in his room, staring at him like death itself.
Mica surmised drugs, and wanted Devon to go to rehab if he expected to continue staying at the loft, but the teen refused and left. One night, Devon showed up shivering, strung out, at Mica’s loft. He took the two of them to hear Steve play. That’s when the teen saw his personal nightmare, and pointed her out to Mica.
She had sent drinks to their table, smiling in a sly, knowing way, freaking the kid out. Mica had calmed him down and gone over. That’s when even his life took a turn for the bizarre, the first time he met Illyria.
He didn’t understand what his dreams meant, who Devon was, or how her ladyship could show up in modern times in modern clothing. Mica rolled over on the stone floor and vomited bile up, his head throbbing viciously. He crawled as far away from the spot he had soiled as his chains would allow.
Where was Colin? Why wasn’t he helping to rescue him? Mica didn’t know how he was going to get himself out. They kept drugging him so much his body had trouble throwing off the effects, including healing from the repeated torture. His captives were being very careful to keep him chained up. Could he overcome them somehow? But how to get out? He wasn’t certain where he was.
The immortal knew he would have to try staying awake. Try to see in the darkness what his surroundings looked like. He didn’t know if it was night or day, or even how much time had passed. He only knew his brother should be coming for him soon. Mica waited, composing himself, but they never came.
Chapter Twenty
T he two guides ate their meal in silence while scanning the open area around them, though other members of the party conversed softly among themselves, discussing the scout’s news. It had taken six months to get as far as they had. This part of their journey was the most perilous; the bandits infesting the mountains around Macinas seemed to have doubled. They were half a day’s walk from the town. The night air’s reek of smoke and charred things wasn’t from their fire alone. A merchant and his son opened another flask to continue drinking.
“I’ve been thinking, Franz. I plan on staying. I’m getting too old for this, I don’t think I could survive another large attack. It’s the best I’m likely to do,” Henrik announced.
Franz grunted, spooning more of the stew into his mouth, and tore a huge chunk out of the flat bread in his other hand. He kept one eye on the young woman and her brother. Another loud burst of laughter from the fat merchant intruded, and his son staggered up. He didn’t trust the man, and was pretty sure he had already assaulted the woman once, though she had not spoken a word. Franz smiled grimly to himself as he ate, continuing to scan the area out of habit. He couldn’t stand the man, and felt rather protective of the woman; she reminded him of his dead sister.
Franz grunted again, swallowing the last of his bread. “I’m not interested in land like you, Henrik. Give me a place to sleep, food to eat, and some coins in my pocket and I be happy.”
“Ja, sure. To each his own.’’ Franz slurped down the last of the stew and wiped his mouth on his arm. “I am thinking the town has more problems than bandits.”
Franz downed his one mug of ale he allowed himself at each meal while on a job and belched. “Those bandits had collars on. Collars mean slaves, escaped slaves. The one I killed? He was babbling about attacks against the ruler.”
The other man spat a bone out and grunted, more concerned with his meal than rumors from scum. Franz watched the son as he tried to corner the young woman. She was yelling at him as she tried to keep the oxen from lumbering off. The son had a hand wrapped around the woman’s arm, trying to drag her off into the woods.
The man swore at the sudden pain, letting go. He brought his other hand up to slap her when Franz intervened. “Nein, the Fräulein wishes to be left alone."
The man sneered, but it was weak. He was terrified of the much bigger man. “Guides who make threats to their employer don’t last long.”
“Perhaps,” replied the guide, “but neither do ones who allow their charges to come to harm, no matter the source.” He squeezed a little harder and had the son dancing in place from the pain.
“Lemme go! A
ll right, all right!” The son threw a vicious look at the young woman, who still had her dagger out. “Bitch ain’t a good lay anyway.”
Franz quelled her with a look. “Not with your tiny dagger. It’s not big enough to do more than anger a man. I meant what I said, Fräulein. I would not be a good guide if I let harm come to the group. I wish you had told me before that he had assaulted you. I would have left him and his father behind.”
She tucked her dagger back into the sheath on her waist, sniffing, “And he would have had the law on you. The law supports the actions of dung like him.” She spat on the grass, turning away from the big man before her, saying as she did, “Thank you.”
The man and his son were the first to complain. “You stupid men! You’ve lead us to a charnel pit! That’s more than a little damaged! Stupid scout! I don’t pay for incompetence!”
Henrik stopped, staring in dismay at the wreckage before them, but Franz turned and said, “Our agreement still stands. It was not dependent on disasters. You will pay us.”
They looked from him to Henrik, who remained silent, and then to the other members of their party. “You’re not going to let him get away with this, are you?”
The other men glanced around themselves; they did not care for the man and his son. One of the men stroked his beard thoughtfully, saying, “I still see buildings, and a bridge; the town is still partly there, therefore he is correct. You owe him the balance for bringing you here.”
After a brief moment of silence, the other members agreed. The man turned red, then purple while his son spluttered beside him but withdrew a leather pouch and carefully counted out coin. He hesitated a moment, contemplating flinging them at the big man before him, but at the last second dropped them into his hand.
“You’ll never get another guide job when I’m through with you,” the man hissed before barking at his son, “Get our stuff together. Now! I’m not staying with these dogs a minute more!”
Trudging into what was left of the town provided a clearer picture of just how the fire had raged. The party could see groups of men and women working on clearing charred debris. Carts waited, pulled by a motley assortment of animals and slaves. The young woman even saw children helping out, and she grew anxious for what was left of her wool. Franz stopped by the first group to speak with them. They pointed toward the bridge, but were soon moving again. The woman thought some looked avariciously at their merchandise.
Her brother began to whine, which grated on her ears, until the graybeard spoke a few well-chosen words, and her brother subsided into a resentful silence. The place they were directed to was a swampy quagmire.
“A representative from the palace is coming to survey what’s left of the town. The Harvest Festival will continue, but given the extent of damage, housing is a problem. All travelers with goods to sell are being asked to group in this area for safety.”
Quarreling broke out between the merchants; it had taken them a long time to travel, and it wasn’t safe to leave without being in a protected caravan. Their two guides and scout, having been given the other half of the payment due them, set out to find places to sleep.
The young woman didn’t trust her brother to keep a proper watch while she hunted about. A son of the wine merchant had just agreed to keep watch for her when trumpets rang out. The newcomers saw the palace guard snap to attention as a small party started across the bridge.
His complaints fell on deaf ears as everyone nearby stopped to watch the procession. Sunlight glittered off metal encircling the head of one obese man, and whispers of "His Majesty" reached their ears. People bowed or curtsied as the party approached. Raina lifted her eyes to watch, envious. It seemed the party would pass them by, when a woman’s voice spoke. It was with some startlement that the wool merchant realized one of the riders was female and not an effeminate male as she had thought.
Cold gray eyes swept over the group, pausing a moment on Raina. She didn’t like how they assessed her. He reminded her too much of a person from her past who had ultimately driven her to flee with her brother.
“One of the palace guards shall escort you across the bridge. The accommodations are still spartan, but your goods will be safe.” One of the men signaled, and a guard detached himself as the party rode on.
“Come on, you,” the guard growled. “This way.” He was starting back across the bridge even as people were scrambling back into their carts and wagons.
It was a steep climb; the animals nearly exhausted by the time the group made it to their destination. They were directed toward a patch of dead grass beside the palace walls and left to find spots as best they could. Piles of hay stood off to one side. The guard rode off before anyone could ask him about lodgings and human food.
Raina fed and watered her oxen, Hilel whining and being more of a hindrance. She secured the wagon, chewing on her lip a moment in indecision. If she thought for one moment she could trust her brother to do what was needed, she would send him, but she couldn’t.
The only inn they saw before crossing the bridge was completely occupied; even if it hadn’t been, it was too pricey for her reduced circumstances. She and her brother would have to sleep with their wool, and enter the town proper for cheaper fare. Raina left the inn, her brother still whining behind her, dragging his feet.
He promptly stuck his fists on his hip and stomped his feet. “No! I wanna go home! Now! I’m the earl! You’re just my sister. You have to do what I say!” her brother insisted, bottom lip in a pout.
Raina felt her temper snap as her brother continued screaming and stamping his feet. The young woman slapped him, speaking harshly. He was so shocked he fell silent. She grabbed his arm and hauled him into town with her.
The palace guard had been correct: what inns had escaped the fire did not have room, and staying in the ramshackle buildings by the river would not be wise. Her brother had stopped his incessant whining once she found them some food and drink, but she knew it wouldn’t last long. Raina had also taken the opportunity to seek out townspeople who might need wool. She had a few prospects; tomorrow would say for certain if anything were to come of it. Brother and sister began to walk across the bridge, dusk falling, the cold wind blowing a little harder.
“Raina, I don’t wanna sleep outside. It’s too cold.”
“We don’t have a choice; the wool will keep us warm.”
The woman from earlier in the day stood talking to a slave. Raina was set to walk on when the lady turned her head, piercing the two outsiders with a disconcerting gaze. Even from their distance, the young woman saw the slight smile flit across the older woman’s face, and her acknowledging nod to the pair outside her gate. Without knowing why, it bothered her, enough to have her snatching up her brother’s hand and dragging him up the hill, back to their cart and oxen.
Franz felt uneasy about leaving the young woman and her brother to fend for themselves, but knew if she were determined on her present course, it were best she learned what she needed to know now. She seemed competent enough, but he still hoped that someone halfway trustworthy was looking after them. Once he’d found a place to sleep, Henrik left to go speak with some man about a tavern, leaving him at loose ends. The big bald-headed man prowled around the town, across the bridge, up and back down the steep street. Inactivity did not sit well with him. He was ready for something new after ten years of being a guide, though he knew not what else to do.
He stopped to watch a group struggle to dismantle a burnt building. He could see what needed to be done to make it easier. He drifted closer, one of the men yelling for him to get back before he got hurt.
The men and women muttered within the group. One man went and fetched a large hammer. The big man hefted it in his hands, getting the feel for it. Franz scrutinized the building again, finding the points he needed. The men and women watched in silence.
He lined himself up, and with a mighty swing, brought the hammer around into the support beam. For a moment he was afraid it wasn’t going to fa
ll. A shiver and a crash as part of the building collapsed. A cloud of ash, dirt, and other debris floated up as Franz went to work on the other two support posts and the building was a pile of rubble laying on the ground. The leader of the group clapped him on the shoulder.
“What would I have to do?”
“Just what you did, on whatever is still standing.”
“And would I get anything in return?”
Henrik and Franz met back up later in the evening. They sat at a scorched table, eating what passed as fare for the tavern. Slave girls ran back and forth, answering the calls of the men and a few warrior women. A freezing wind gusted flakes of snow on those patrons unable to get a spot under what remained of the ceiling.
Fire pits had been dug in the now-frozen dirt, lined with chunks of a strange whitish stone called concrete. A big fireplace blazed and flared inside the remaining half, heating the fur-covered men before it.
“Nein, nein. You always did think yourself better than most. This is the place for me. I know these types of people; we fought beside those like them in our army days. The woman and her husband over there? They need someone to help, and if it works out, I have been promised part ownership.”
“I don’t know, I don’t like the look of them. If you are sure?” “It is a good deal,” his friend insisted.
Franz merely grunted, keeping his thoughts to himself as he watched the patrons. He knew trouble when he saw it, and that’s what the tavern catered to. He didn’t like how his friend seemed willing to go back to the old ways, the army days.
“You could join us, just think! Men always find money for drinks and whores. We would have food, lodgings, women.” He nudged the big man beside him with an elbow and chortled as he downed his ale.
Franz sat sipping his ale as a slave took away his empty bowl. The tavern had been decent sized before the fire, judging from the charred remains of beams poking out of the frozen, blackened earth. He felt unsettled, with the darkness and emptiness at his back. The big man watched the street before him, torches flaring in the wind. Night had firmly settled over the land, and the traffic of the town dissipated. There was supposed to be a curfew, but it wasn’t enforced—at least, not consistently. Franz figured he had a little while more before he would be locked out of the men’s dormitory and the sleeping spot assigned to him.