Knight's Justice_Age Of Magic_A Kurtherian Gambit Series

by P. J. Cherubino

  They pressed their backs together and circled as the crowd closed in.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Just So Crazy Moxy Might Make It Work, Under the Wilfred Estate

  Moxy let her body turn translucent even though wearing her light leather armor diminished the effect. She was still harder to see. She smelled fear in the air from the men she slashed and cut, since they weren’t quite sure what they were seeing before it was too late.

  Just as they had planned, she led the troops to the estate’s jail. Their mission was to free the captured guards.

  They hadn’t lost anyone, but they had taken a beating along the way. Now they were below grade, and they paused in a broad hallway.

  When Moxy shouted, her high voice sounded like lead crystal shattering against the rough, damp stone walls. “Hold here!”

  The nervous fighters lined both sides of the hallway, making it look like a confined parade. Swords and crossbows bristled.

  “Why stop?” someone exclaimed more than asked. “The cells are that way.”

  “Wounded,” Moxy shouted, “come to me!”

  “No time for this!” James argued nervously.

  “Make time,” Moxy demanded. Four bleeding men pushed through the crowd and she stuffed moss into wounds and gave a couple of the heavier bleeders two drops of a foul-smelling tincture. “Try not to vomit,” she advised. “This will slow the bleeding.”

  “Done,” Moxy shouted, managing to take most of the tension out of her voice. “Let’s go. Wounded, stay in the middle!”

  She took point again and led the charge down the hall. Two terrified guards squared off against a throng of angry attackers.

  “St-stop…” the braver of the two said.

  Moxy stepped forward within sword-striking distance. She let her skin return to normal and crossed her arms over her chest. “Really, guys?” she asked with a single arched eyebrow. “You don’t have to die this way. Come on, now…”

  Their swords dropped with a clatter. “Smart move,” James said. He stepped forward and gestured toward the door made of heavy steel bars. “Open it.”

  The guard fumbled with the keys, but managed to get the door open. James pushed him forward. “You know what we want.”

  “They’re down here,” the jailer said in a trembling voice. “But we—”

  James wasn’t the only one to gasp when he saw a group of bloodied men in tattered clothes lying on the floor or sitting on benches or slumped against the walls.

  James bellowed and slammed the jailer against the wall, putting his sword to his throat. “Fucking animals! These men are Civil Guard just like you! No, you don’t deserve that title anymore.”

  Moxy cursed and grabbed the keys. “Damn it, James, dead men don’t open doors.”

  One of the prisoners stumbled up to Moxy. “I know which one,” he said, and Moxy gave him the keys. Although his face was swollen and covered in blood, his hands were steady. He put his arm through the bars and unlocked the door as if he had done it all his life. He probably imagined doing just that for days.

  “Don’t judge them,” the man said. His voice was surprisingly clear considering how many teeth were missing. “They made a horrible mistake, and they know it now.”

  The man James wanted to kill began to cry. “Don’t you dare,” James hissed. “You pitiful sheep-dick—”

  “I said leave him alone!” The beaten man had raised his voice. “You don’t know what we’ve all been through.”

  “No time for this,” Moxy hissed.

  “Give me my sword back,” the jail guard said through his tears.

  James let him go and replied by pressing the sword to the man’s chest and pushing him against the wall. “You lead the charge, then. Make the wrong move and I run you through the back.”

  The guard took his sword back with trembling hands, and the rest of the guards picked their weapons back up and faced away from James and his fighters.

  Moxy waved the rescuers inside. They had trouble helping some of the larger and worst-beaten men up.

  “Who did this to you?” James demanded.

  “Some foreign magic user,” the beaten man replied. “Along with First Lieutenant Hagan.”

  “What’s your name,” Moxy asked him before James could utter another murderous oath.

  “Larson,” the man said. He tried to stand straight but swayed on his feet. Moxy grabbed his wrist to steady him. “I was head of the Keep 49 guard.”

  Moxy let him go, then fished around in her satchel. She pulled out a fist-sized leather pouch. “Bring me the worst off,” she ordered through clenched teeth. “I didn’t want to do this. It might kill them, but if they can’t walk we’re all dead. We’re not leaving anyone behind.”

  She produced a black tarry ball and broke off little pieces no bigger than the tip of her thumb. “Put this under your tongue. Let it dissolve. Don’t swallow it whole, please, whatever you do.”

  Each man gasped when they put the stuff in their mouths. “This is amazing,” one of them gasped. His face was covered in rusty-looking scabs and his tunic was stuck to his chest with dried blood. “I feel like I can take on the world.”

  “Well, don’t,” Moxy said. “I might have just killed you. You have about an hour before it wears off and you pass out.”

  The man didn’t look like he cared.

  “Let’s go!” someone shouted.

  “Now,” Moxy declared, “we hit the armory.”

  The drugged men cheered, and their less-beaten counterparts kept a bit of distance from them.

  “What the hell did you give them?” James asked as they jogged back up the hallway and up into the estate proper.

  “I gave them a last resort,” Moxy replied.

  “Who cares!” one of the men exclaimed. “It worked!” His compatriots giggled maniacally.

  The group had more than doubled in size. They met a handful of guards in the hallway who ended up dead in a hurry.

  “Where is this armory!” one of the drugged men shouted just before they got to it.

  They waited impatiently while James took the keys from one of three dead guards and opened the door. The armory was crammed with high-quality weapons and armor.

  Everyone acquired weapons and threw on the chest armor, which they fastened as best they could as they rushed toward the sounds of battle.

  Astrid and Jiri In the Courtyard

  “Shit!” Astrid exclaimed. Something singed her hair and put enough heat into her back plate to make her skin sting.

  She risked a glance over her shoulder to see that Jiri’s entire body was glowing white-hot. So were the two swords he was using to cut through the waves of soldiers who rushed at them from all directions.

  “Where are they!” Jiri asked. “I can’t keep this up much longer!”

  Astrid was too busy to answer as she worked through the crowd with the rope darts, fists, feet, and elbows.

  It seemed like an eternity since their people had gone to free the prisoners. Where the hell were they? That was the question she had tried to avoid, but she was worried.

  The regular soldiers had softened them up, and now low-ranking Movers got into the fight. Two of them attacked, one hitting Astrid high and the other low. The high strike glanced off her right shoulder and the other almost took out her right leg. She stumbled back and the rope dart hit the ground.

  She had to get the weapon moving again. She jumped ten feet into the air toward the two Movers, and when she landed between them the dart was above her head and coming down fast.

  One was down, but so was the dart. The other Mover backed off enough to let her swing the dart again, which was his fatal mistake. Jiri came out of nowhere and ran a red-hot sword through his chest. The Petran seemed to be wearing a wig made of flames and his swords left trails behind them.

  Astrid was slowing down. Even with her new capacity for magic, she was getting tired. Wilfred sensed weakness and pounced like the jackal he was.

  He hit her wi
th a touchless strike that doubled her over and brought her down into a crouch. She slung the rope over her shoulder, then launched herself forward. His sword bounced off her back plate as he sidestepped her tackle.

  Astrid shoulder-rolled back to her feet and charged again. Wilfred’s shoulder sprouted two crossbow bolts and Astrid landed a solid strike on his wounded arm. The Mover screamed, and his soldiers flanked him in a protective delta.

  They retreated when they saw the horde of screaming, bloody men led by a tiny white-haired woman.

  Astrid risked a look over her shoulder.

  “What the hell?” Astrid shouted her bemused question.

  Moxy was at her side a moment later. “Let’s get to the wagon!” Moxy shouted.

  Reinforcements had arrived. Astrid turned and ran while her allies laid down successive barrages of crossbow fire. Kelly and the rest of the Dregs held the gate open.

  The team of horses that had been attached to the battle wagon was still harnessed together, but someone had cut the main lines. The horses ran around the compound frantically. Astrid felt sorry for them, but she was grateful for the distraction they caused.

  She found Jiri at the wagon, no longer covered in a suit of flame. He helped push, throw, or otherwise manhandle the wounded fighters and freed prisoners into the cart.

  “In you go!” Astrid shouted. “Don’t argue,” she added when Jiri opened his mouth to object. “Grab a crossbow and cover the retreat.”

  Jiri hopped into the crowded wagon and Astrid slammed the low rear gate shut. Four bolts slammed into the wood where her arm had just been. She ducked and ran toward the gate while someone drove the wagon toward the gate.

  Several crossbow bolts bounced off her armor and hit her in the silksteel webbing between plates.

  “Ouch!” she yelped. “Damn it!”

  “Hit the dirt!” someone shouted. It took Astrid a split second to figure out they were yelling at her. She dove to her belly just as what sounded like a swarm of angry bees passed over her head.

  She jumped to her feet as fighters screamed behind her. Two rows of friendly crossbow troops, one standing, one kneeling, prepared to fire again. Astrid ducked and ran to the right when the second row rose to fire.

  “They’re down!” someone shouted. “Break and retreat!”

  That sounded damn sensible to Astrid, so she took off toward another wagon filled with friendly fighters. Where did that second wagon come from? she wondered. Then she saw Kelly.

  “Hurry up!” Kelly shouted.

  Astrid ran toward the wagon as the Well tried to heal the painful bruises. She jumped onto a running board and grabbed the canvas cover to steady herself as the driver urged the horses onward.

  They passed another wagon that was on fire and missing a wheel. Its horses were gone, and several bodies lay around it.

  “I see why you were late,” Astrid shouted to Sally, who peeked around the side of the wagon from the driver’s bench.

  “Yeah.” Sally shrugged. “Sorry about that. It seemed important to take out the reinforcements before they got to the estate.”

  “Good thinking,” Astrid replied with a smile. “Got us an extra wagon to boot.”

  “Funny how stuff works out sometimes,” Sally remarked.

  The fields were dotted with riderless horses. Some just scraped at the snow with their hooves, while others trotted around.

  “What the hell?” Astrid wondered.

  “Oh, we also took the time to let all their horses out,” Sally casually declared. “They won’t be coming after us anytime soon.”

  She glanced back and noticed columns of black smoke rising from behind the walls of the keep.

  She burst out laughing. “It looks like you also took the time to set some fires.”

  “Yeah,” Sally replied. “A couple of us decided to do a little shopping. The market was nice.”

  Astrid laughed as the wagon trundled along. “Well, the horses look happy to have some leisure time.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Back at The Fortress

  The guards on duty at the Fortress wards did not know what to make of the two wagons with torn canvas covers and crossbow bolts still stuck in their sides.

  The able-bodied took turns riding on the running boards so the wounded could stretch out in the wagon beds. The fact that nearly everyone wore at least one bloody bandage spoke of a hard-won battle.

  “Hold!” the Civil Guard shouted from in front of the closed gate. “Stand and be recognized!” The clatter of men taking up position with crossbows was unmistakable to Astrid, who sat on the lowered lead-wagon tailgate with her feet dangling.

  The low wall of rough stone that marked the edge of the South Ward was a welcome sight. Astrid just wanted to be on the other side of it, and that much closer to a warm bath and a decent meal. She hopped down and walked around to face the guards.

  “Oh!” the lead guard exclaimed. “I’m sorry, Protector Astrid.”

  She was too tired to object to the title. “No worries,” Astrid replied groggily. “You’re doing your jobs, and doing them well. Please open the gates.”

  The guards complied and Astrid hopped back up on the tailgate. It seemed to take forever to wind through the unplanned streets of the small city that sat at the foot of a sharp mountain peak.

  High above, Lungu Fortress loomed over it all like a spike driven into the ground.

  As the carts passed, all eyes turned toward them. Not everyone looked friendly. Most were shocked by what they saw, but others, mainly shopkeepers who happened to be outside their businesses, glared at Astrid and her fighters.

  That’s not good, Astrid thought. Are those potential enemies in my midst? She scolded herself for being suspicious. Yes, some people were definitely angry with her, judging by those glares. It’s my job to earn their trust, she thought.

  It did not matter to Astrid whether they hated her or not. She was responsible for them. She was their leader, and it was her job to earn their trust or at least provide leadership that would let them live their lives in peace and safety.

  She closed her eyes and managed a few minutes of meditation as the carts left the wards and began to climb the winding road full of switchbacks that led up the mountain.

  The clattering of wagon wheels over cobblestones brought attendants out into the service courtyard off the main square.

  Tomas appeared before her, looking anxious as usual. Astrid was grateful to see him. “How may I serve you, Protect— I mean, Astrid?”

  “Helpful as always, Tomas,” Astrid beamed at the boy and rested her hand on his shoulder for a moment. “Please go find some healers and get some help for the wounded and…” She pointed at the men to whom Moxy had given some kind of drug. They were nearly comatose. “Those passed-out people.”

  Exhausted and sagging, everyone still able jumped down from the wagons and assembled. It took Astrid a few seconds to realize they were all looking at her for orders.

  “You’ve all earned some rest,” Astrid announced after shaking the cobwebs from her head. “Go back to your barracks. Make sure you see the healers before your next duty shifts. Don’t ignore any injuries. We need you healthy.”

  Heavy footsteps from the inner courtyard told everyone a giant was on the way. Charlie pushed open the doors to the assembly grounds where he had demolished the gallows. Astrid hadn’t seen the place since that surprise remodeling.

  She gasped. Charlie had used the stones as pavers, stamping each stone into the dirt. There wasn’t quite enough stone to cover the entire courtyard, but almost.

  She didn’t have time to admire the work; there was still too much chaos around. Charlie pitched in by scooping up a couple of the wounded, some of whom had never seen him before.

  “He’s friendly,” Tomas explained to a few of them.

  “I sure hope so,” someone quipped.

  Everyone slunk off toward the barracks while attendants arrived with stretchers to carry people to the infirmary.

/>   Jiri and Moxy sidled up to Astrid as she headed toward the first of many staircases that would take her where she needed to go.

  “What’s next?” Jiri asked.

  “I see the battle hasn’t dimmed your enthusiasm,” Astrid quipped. And you’re suddenly wanting to know my plans, she added in her mind. She decided she was just cranky. Jiri had earned his place at the table, although she was not sure exactly where.

  “I don’t know,” Astrid answered. “Come with me, and maybe we can figure it out.”

  As they climbed the stairs to the business chambers, Astrid regretted leaving Merg and George at Keep 52. The crowd closed in on her, shouting questions about contracts and tribute shipments and taxes.

  The Civil Guards were nowhere near as effective at crowd control as the woods people.

  “Well,” Astrid remarked as she hurried Moxy and Jiri past the double doors to the main offices. “They don’t seem quite as desperate as they did a couple of days ago.”

  “But not by much,” Gormer said. He stood up from the large oak desk. The stacks of parchment there had been reduced by at least half, but still they formed a solid wall.

  “Looks like you're digging yourself out.” Astrid nodded at the desk.

  She spotted Pleth sitting at a smaller table set before one of the huge windows on the opposite end of the room. He was hunched over a ledger, scratching out figures with a fountain pen. He didn’t seem to notice Astrid was in the room.

  Moxy went over to chat with him. Astrid smiled when she saw how happy Pleth was for the break.

  Treasurer Brol revealed himself simply by standing. The stacks obscured all but his chest and arms. “We are digging,” Brol remarked, “but not out. We’re sinking deeper.”

  Astrid’s stomach clenched. “I don’t like the sound of that. What’s the problem?”

  “Prob-lems,” Brol corrected, taking time to separate the syllables and put the emphasis on the last. “Plural.”

  A flash of annoyance prickled the skin on her cheeks. “Out with it, then,” she hissed.

  “As you know,” Brol began, “the Protectorates get their funds from tribute.”