Distant Worlds Volume 1

by Benjamin Sperduto

  Aaline alone seemed to fully understand their plight and would go along with whatever decision Serafima made. There was a good chance, however, that Renart and Letice would attempt to go of looking for their father on their own if Serafima refused. In fact, they were sure to; Serafima could see it in the way they gazed at her hopefully as Renart’s question hung in the air between them.

  Without her, they would not last more than a few minutes.

  “Yes,” Serafima said, finally. “We’ll try to find him.”

  They spent the next hour sneaking through the twisted, ruined streets of Osric, searching in vain for any sign of Andron and his brother. Twice Serafima heard the Nemerians marching closer to them and diverted the children from their course to avoid being discovered. They found death on every path they took; bloated corpses bobbing in the flooded streets, bodies crushed beneath fallen debris, and victims of simple murder and robbery. None of the faces in the gruesome procession were familiar.

  Then Serafima heard a man cry out somewhere nearby and a chorus of cruel laughter followed. She signaled for the children to be silent and led them through a half-collapsed building to reach another narrow alleyway. On the opposite side of the alley were the remains of what had once been a house; one of its walls had caved in, allowing them to see inside. A small fire was lit there, for the roof was still relatively intact enough to keep the rain off and the pile of stone that had formed the wall kept out most of the water that flooded the street.

  A group of desperate looking men were gathered around the fire. They were armed mostly with axes and clubs, but a few of them carried swords at their sides. Serafima counted eight of them. The six men standing nearest the fire were the source of the laughter. Standing a bit apart from them was what she judged to be the leader of the group. His clothing, though soiled like his mates’, was of a much better quality and the sword sheathed at his side looked to be of fine craftsmanship. His arms were wrapped around a young, dark haired woman who, while not resisting his grasp, did not appear wholly comforted by his touch. Serafima instantly recognized the girl’s features and wondered how long Lenna had been in the company of such scoundrels.

  Their amusement was being provided by the last of their number, who was savagely beating some unfortunate soul. The battered man lifted his head off the ground just enough for Serafima to see his face.

  It was Andron.

  Serafima drew her sword and turned to Renart.

  “Stay here,” she said. “And be quiet.”

  Serafima slipped into the shadows and silently worked her way across the flooded alleyway until she was only a few feet from Andron and his tormenter. The man struck Andron again and turned to his mates as they howled with approval of his cruelty.

  He was still laughing when Serafima stepped forward and plunged her sword into his back nearly up to the hilt.

  The laughter ceased abruptly as his lifeless body fell to the ground. Serafima then moved into the light cast by the campfire and loomed over the corpse, her menacing eyes fixed on the rest of the band of miscreants. Her bloody sword glistened in the firelight.

  “Get up, Andron,” she said. The merchant was badly bruised and bleeding in several places, but he still had the strength to obey. He got to his feet and shuffled over to Serafima’s side.

  “They…they’ve killed Guimar,” he said. His weak voice was laced with a mixture of fear, confusion, and disbelief as he indicated a body that lay face down a few yards away from them.

  “The girl,” Serafima said. “Let her go.”

  “You know this she-devil, darling?” the leader asked his captive. Lenna glanced at the armed men around her and then looked back to Serafima. She shook her head and clung to her captor.

  “Don’t look to me like she’s wanting to go,” he said, drawing his sword slowly. The other men readied their weapons as well. The leader pointed to Guimar’s corpse with his sword.

  “You see what happened to the last fella that didn’t respect the lady’s wishes?”

  Lenna’s face betrayed no emotion, no hint of loss or sorrow over the murder of her husband. Serafima recognized it as the face of a calculating survivor whose sole concern was her own wellbeing.

  “Lenna!” Andron said, stepping forward. “Are you mad? You can’t mean to stay with these savages!”

  Serafima caught him by the arm.

  “Keep your teeth together, you fool! She’s made her choice.”

  She turned back to the leader.

  “Very well, then. Keep her.”

  Andron made to protest, but Serafima pulled him into the shadows as she slowly backed away from the makeshift camp. She kept her sword at the ready, just in case one of the men was foolish enough to rush after her, but the cowards did not move as they watched her and Andron disappear into darkness. The leader quickly turned his attention back to Lenna, his grimy hands groping her eagerly. Serafima knew well the price that the woman would have to pay for her protection.

  Andron protested, but he was far too weak from his wounds to put up much of fight. Serafima guided him back to where his children were hiding. Renart and Letice leapt forth immediately to embrace their father, but little Aaline hesitated. She looked first to Serafima as if waiting for approval. Serafima nodded slightly and the girl rushed to join her siblings.

  The mercenaries remained near their campfire and appeared unwilling to give chase through the darkness and driving rain. Andron, after all, had merely been a diversionary interest to them. She decided it would be best for them to leave quickly, thereby avoiding the unpleasant event that was sure to transpire between the men and their newfound companion.

  “Move,” she said as she herded the reunited family once more through the labyrinthine wreckage of the city. Their pace was slowed greatly by Andron, who could barely walk now without assistance. After venturing a few blocks, Serafima led them into a deserted building with a partially intact roof so she could determine how badly the merchant was hurt.

  His eyes were nearly swollen shut from the beating he had taken and several of his ribs were certainly broken. Bruises and cuts covered his body and he couldn’t move his left leg without suffering immense pain. There would certainly be no more traveling along rooftops. Worse, if they ran into trouble, he would not be able to run to escape it.

  Serafima left Andron be for a moment as he pulled his children close to him, begging them to forgive him for running off after their now dead uncle and leaving them alone. She stared out into the wet, inky darkness just outside their shelter and thought about what they should do now that she knew Andron could barely travel. As she pondered the situation, her ears picked up the sound of feet sloshing through the flooded street. Her sword sprang from its scabbard almost of its own volition and she peered down the street cautiously.

  The splashing was caused by a single man who appeared to be fleeing from something. As he drew closer, Serafima recognized the familiar reds, yellows, and blues that decorated most officers of the Kurnite army. His clothing was now besmirched by mud, blood, and filth and he appeared quite haggard. He carried no weapon, so Serafima sheathed hers and crouched in the shadows until he was only a few feet away from her. With one swift, fluid motion, she lashed out to seize the man by his arm and then flung him into their partly ruined shelter.

  Andron and his children were startled by the sudden intrusion and were already moving away from the Kurnite soldier when Serafima drew her sword and leveled it at his face.

  “Who…,” the Kurnite started to say, but he stopped when he got a better look at his assailant’s face. Recognition flashed in his weary eyes.

  “You!” he said. “By Kurnos! What are you doing here?”

  Serafima suddenly recognized the soldier from a brief meeting three days earlier. She was amazed he was still alive.

  “You know this man?” Andron asked.

  “We’ve met,” she said.

  The soldier had not noticed Andron until he spoke, but now regarded him with curiosity.


  “What’s this? Not picking up stragglers for some barbaric sacrifice of yours, I hope.”

  Serafima pushed her sword closer so that the point pressed against the man’s neck.

  “Merely fulfilling my end of a bargain,” she said.

  “Ah,” the soldier said. “Now I see how you managed to escape.”

  “Serafima, who is this man?” Andron asked.

  “My name is Antonis de Grazna,” he said, “war captain and defender of Osric.”

  “And a fool,” Serafima said. “Three days ago he visited my cell, promised me freedom in exchange for joining his band of mercenaries to fight the Nemerians.”

  “Why didn’t you do it?” Andron asked.

  “She was afraid,” Antonis said.

  Serafima smiled.

  “They had no hope of beating the Nemerians. I would rather not die defending this wretched place.”

  “But you could have deserted after you were set free!” Andron said. “You could have been somewhere safe, far from this nightmare.”

  “That would have meant breaking my word,” she said.

  “But how did you intend to escape your cell?”

  “I figured an opportunity would present itself.”

  “And if I had not come along?”

  Serafima shrugged.

  “You did,” she said What does it matter now?”

  She returned her attention to her prisoner.

  “When did the Nemerians breach the walls?”

  “I do not know,” Antonis said. “The first group was spotted just before nightfall.”

  “How many of these murder squads have you seen?”

  “Several. Each with at least a dozen men.”

  “Where is the rest of the city guard holed up?”

  Antonis glanced about nervously before he answered.

  “Um…here, it would seem.”

  “But there’s no one else here,” Andron said.

  Serafima could not suppress a chuckle.

  “Of course not. This one is all that’s left of them.”

  “We were ambushed,” Antonis said. “Caught unaware…”

  “Your men were likely asleep if they weren’t already drunk,” Serafima said. She removed her sword from the Kurnite’s throat and sheathed the weapon.

  “Those devils have barred the gates,” Antonis said. “They want us locked in here with them. The are savages think only of bloodshed and plunder. They have always hated us, jealous of our splendid cities and glorious riches.”

  Serafima grunted. It had been centuries since anyone had described the lands of Kurn in such glowing terms; except, of course, the Kurnites themselves.

  “The Nemerian have long memories,” she said. “They haven’t forgotten that Nemerian slaves built this city under Kurnite lashes. This is a war of vengeance, not greed.”

  “But that makes no sense!” Andron said. “Why kill everyone in the city when they would likely surrender without a fight?”

  “Why should vengeance be sensible?” Serafima asked.

  As Antonis peeked out into the street, Serafima heard the rhythmic splashing of something moving steadily down the flooded street. The sound was closing fast.

  “They’re coming!” she said, pulling Antonis away from the street and directing the others towards a hole in a nearby wall. She all but flung the Kurnite through the gap and had to carry Andron out of the ruined building as the Nemerian soldiers drew closer. On the other side of the wall, they had to climb over piles of jagged stone to proceed and Serafima again found herself carrying the badly injured merchant. They had gone several yards before she heard Renart’s voice.

  “Aaline! Where’s Aaline?”

  It took only a brief glance for Serafima to realize that the little girl was not with them.

  Without hesitation, she dropped Andron and scrambled back over the heaps of rubble towards the wall they had just climbed through. Her sword leapt its sheath and she prepared to throw herself into what would surely be a desperate battle to protect a child she barely knew.

  But she was too late.

  The girl had been unable to reach their escape path before the Nemerian soldiers came into view and instead hid in the darkest corner of the ruined building. She was clever, but fortune did not favor her twice in one night. The Nemerians had ducked inside to escape the deluge for a few moments and there was nowhere for her to run when they spotted her. Their familiar, hulking commander held her bloody, broken body in one of his massive hands. Her blood was smeared upon the walls and the jagged rocks that protruded from the water.

  The armored man cast Aaline’s shattered body aside and turned back to his men. None of them seemed to be affected by the grisly scene.

  “What are you waiting for, brothers?” he asked. “Get back to your search! Let none of these wretched things of Kurn escape your swords!”

  As the soldiers dashed back into the street, the steel-clad mountain remained inside and removed his helmet to wipe away the blood that had splattered onto his face. Serafima memorized every line and curve of that face before she withdrew to rejoin Andron and the others.

  When she returned, the merchant watched her anxiously.

  “Aaline?”

  Serafima shook her head.

  “I’m sorry, Andron.”

  Tears began to push their way through his already swollen eyes and the faces of his two older children went white.

  “We have to keep moving,” she said coldly. Although a fearsome rage burned in her chest, Serafima knew she had to suppress it if they were escape from Osric alive.

  There would be a time for that rage to be unleashed.

  Serafima was forced to carry Andron once again, but the children were in such a state of shock that they obeyed her every word without hesitation. Antonis stayed close to them. He was obviously fearful of the Nemerian death squads that roamed the streets of his city and had judged that throwing his lot in with them was his best chance for survival. Serafima hoped that his knowledge of Osric would prove useful.

  “Are there any ways out of the city other than the main gates?” she asked him as they crept through the shadows.

  The Kurnite thought the matter over for a few seconds before answering.

  “The tunnels that lead through the undercity, perhaps. I’ve heard that smugglers once used them to bring their goods into the city from outside the walls, but no one has used them for centuries.”

  “Wouldn’t they all be flooded?” she asked, remembering the creatures driven to the surface by the heavy rains.

  “Most of them would be, I expect,” he said. “But there may be a few entrances on higher ground. Those passages might not be flooded.”

  “If the Nemerians have already breached the city walls, they might be our only chance of escaping this place. Do you know where any of these entrances are hidden?”

  Antonis thought for a moment.

  “The cemetery,” he said. “There are old stories about thieves digging tunnels through the crypt walls so they could slip in and out of the city as they pleased.”

  “Let’s hope there is some truth to those stories,” Serafima said. She recalled passing a cemetery hill earlier that night and she led the group back towards it. They roamed the city for half an hour before she caught sight of the cemetery’s gates.

  The sprawling cemetery sat atop a hill that was now surrounded by water. Many of the crypts and monuments erected there had been shattered by the bombardment of Nemerian siege engines and all of them showed signs of decay from both age and neglect.

  They searched three crypts without success and were forced to pass by two others because the stench of death was too overpowering to endure. Then, in a large tomb nearly at the top of the hill, they moved aside a heavy sarcophagus to reveal a narrow hole that had been broken through the stone floor. Serafima probed the dark abyss with her sword and it failed to touch ground.

  “We need light,” she said.

  Without ceremony, she shoved off
the sarcophagus’s lid and immediately recoiled as the foul air within rushed out like a vengeful spirit. When the acrid cloud dissipated, she rummaged through its rotting contents. Kurnites were traditionally buried with several personal items, and inside she was lucky enough to find a bottle of what looked like some sort of liquor. She ripped away the wax sealant and took a drink that she quickly spat out. Even with the likely passage of more than a century, it was still uncommonly strong.

  “Valimerian brandy,” Andron said. “Takes centuries for it to age enough that you can drink it. Hasn’t been brewed since before my grandfather’s time. That bottle must be priceless.”

  Serafima put the bottle down and pulled an intact thighbone out of the sarcophagus. She then ripped the relatively intact clothing away from the corpse and wrapped a portion of it around the bone. The rest of the clothing she handed to Renart.

  “Hold this, we may need it later.”

  After dousing the cloth with brandy, she placed it on the lid of the sarcophagus and brought her sword crashing against the stone. It took four strikes to produce the spark needed to ignite the makeshift torch and it glowed with a sickly, greasy light.

  The others looked at her doubtfully.

  “Come on, then,” she said as she eased herself down into the hole.

  The floor of the tunnel was only about eight feet below the crypt and though it was wet, the water only came up to her ankles. A dull rumbling could be heard somewhere in the unseen depths beyond. She helped the others into the tunnel and then led them deeper into the earthen walled catacombs.

  Antonis and Renart helped Andron along the way and Serafima preceded them with the torch in one hand and her sword in the other. The tunnel twisted in several directions and occasionally branched out into separate paths. Without any real idea of where they were going, Serafima trusted her instincts; even without any points of reference, her sense of direction was keen. Her path moved them steadily closer to the source of the rumbling sound, for it grew louder with every step they took. Just as she had done in the ruined city above, she decided against pointing out anything that concerned her, such as the claw marks that adorned most of the walls. If the catacombs were not flooded, she feared there was a good chance that many of the rat-like creatures could still be there. She hoped that the light of her torch would keep them at bay.