And Carol no longer felt about him the way that he felt about her. That much was a certainty. From the day that he’d spurned her advances, a chill had hung in the air between them. This was as Arn had intended, yet he hated that he had driven her away. This side of him, the man whom the people of Tal had named Blade, was too violent to deserve her love, but he could not help wishing that he might someday prove himself worthy.
A fool’s hope.
With a deep breath, Arn shifted his thoughts to the present. He had to return to Ty and get his companions away from Lagoth before they succumbed to Kragan’s spell.
Arn headed down the alley, reaching a dead end. After climbing the wall, he moved across the tiled roof and descended into a narrow street on the opposite side of a row of connected dwellings. Resuming his eastward course, he worked his way steadily toward the pub where he had left Ty. He reached the main street near the pub just as the sun was beginning to lighten the eastern sky.
Yells broke the predawn silence as a group of vorgs raced down the avenue to the west. Pausing to wipe the grime from his face and hands, Arn descended the steps leading to the pub entrance. Hopefully he would pass for just another filthy soldier.
The place was empty except for three serving girls.
“Excuse me,” Arn said, speaking to the trio. “Last night there was a big blond warrior in here. Did you happen to notice when he left?”
The startled women backed away from him as he stepped toward them.
“Well, have you seen him or not?”
He continued to wait for a response until the only dark-haired girl in the trio stepped forward.
“He left,” she said.
“I can see that,” Arn replied. “When did he leave?”
“Just a little while ago. The vorg commander, Jerlack, became suspicious during a card game and accused the barbarian of being an outsider. It happened right over there.”
The girl pointed to one of the alcoves to Arn’s right.
Arn walked in that direction, passing through a doorway into another room. The furniture lay strewn about in pieces. Several bodies lay crumpled upon the floor in similar states of disrepair. Bolting back into the main room, Arn grabbed the dark-haired girl as she tried to make a run for the door.
“Where did the barbarian go? Did the soldiers take him?”
“There was a fight. He killed several soldiers and ran out into the street. Everyone was yelling, and guards came running from the main gate. I saw him turn back toward the center of the city.”
“Spawn of the deep!”
Racing out the door, he hit the end of the alley and sprinted back toward the central square. The yells he had heard were not about the mulgo he had killed. The soldiers were instead chasing Ty.
The streets teemed with people who had come out of their houses to see the commotion. Groups of armed men trotted down the streets, waving weapons and yelling. Arn passed several of these, his legs churning in time with his heart as he cursed himself for leaving the big barbarian alone.
The street widened at the main square. To Arn’s right, soldiers crowded around the entrance to an alley already packed with armed men and vorgs. Yells echoed through the square, the din making it impossible to distinguish exactly what was being said.
Arn dived into the crowd, shoving his way toward the alley. The confusion aided him as he was just one of many attempting to work their way forward. The mood of the soldiers surrounding him changed. Here, a sprinkling of fear leavened the mob’s rage. In the alley beyond, soldiers crowded together, leaving a circle of open space before a narrow stone doorway that stood empty save for a pile of bodies that lay scattered in and around the opening.
A group of three vorgs suddenly lunged at the door with spears stretched out before them. Light glittered off the crescent-shaped ax blade as it shattered the spear shafts and took a vorg’s leg off at the knee. A boot caught the second vorg in the midsection, hurling him back into the crowd. The third vorg lunged forward with a sword. The ax swung again, cleaving the sword and splitting the vorg’s head. Ty ducked back from the doorway as several crossbow bolts whizzed through the opening.
Arn pushed his way out of the crowd just to the left of the alley and to a doorway through which an oil lamp flickered. Ducking inside, Arn grabbed the lamp from the mantle and smashed it against the floor, engulfing the couch in flames.
Accompanied by a woman’s screams, he ran through the doorway and back into the alley, yelling as he went. “Help! Fire! My house is on fire!”
The shrieks of the woman added to the melee as she ran into the street behind Arn. He elbowed his way back into the crowd as the woman struggled to make those nearest to her understand that a man had just set fire to her house. A leather-clad soldier grabbed him by the throat but released his grip as Arn shoved his blade into the fellow’s stomach, then spun to slice the throats of the two soldiers closest to him.
He rushed forward, breaking through the ring of soldiers around the doorway and into Ty’s hiding place. Making his way across the threshold, Arn jerked his body sideways, feeling the wind from Ty’s ax on his face as it split the air.
“Ty, it’s me!”
“Damn, man, I could’ve killed you,” Ty said, gasping.
Another charge from outside interrupted their conversation. This time a large group came at the door that was only wide enough to fit two at a time, jamming up as they hit the entrance, stumbling over the dead bodies outside. Ty swung his ax, again severing a leg on one of the soldiers. A scream rent the air as the fellow fell, tripping two of those behind him.
The vorgs in front tried to stop, but were pushed forward by those behind them. The dull thunk of Ty’s ax took on a steady rhythm. Arn moved in and out, filling the gaps between ax strokes with a foot-long blade that darted past the swords and shields of those pressing toward them. Once more the soldiers retreated, and Arn and Ty jumped to the side to avoid the hail of arrows.
“I’ve got a plan,” Arn said.
He pulled several of the bodies farther into the small alcove, out of the line of fire from the crossbows, and began removing armor and clothes, creating a pile. Taking Slaken, Arn slit the throat of each of the vorgs and let the blood drain. He then created a series of incisions on the corpses, deftly removing organs and wads of fat and adding them to the growing pile.
“Gods,” said Ty, “you’re sick.”
“Maybe so, but right now, this is our only way out. You watch the door in case they rush it again. They’re probably happy enough to just let us roast. I imagine this building is going pretty good right about now.”
Ty poked his head out and back in as a swarm of arrows clattered against the back wall.
“Judging by the smoke, I’d say they won’t have too long to wait.”
Wiping Slaken and returning it to its sheath, Arn spread a large shirt flat on the floor and rolled the mess around until he had it piled atop the fabric. He grabbed a lamp from the wall, removed the top, and poured the oil over the putrid pile.
Taking his tinderbox from his pouch, he struck a spark and soon had a small flame catching the oily wick. Arn grabbed the shirt, lifting the pile in a bundle and handing it to Ty. Arn then lit the oily mess.
He nodded toward the alley and Ty swung the bundle around in an arc, floating it out the doorway to land with a slurp on the ground a few feet out in the alley. Another bunch of arrows thudded into the wall. The bundle was burning steadily now, a grease fire that gave off a heavy, suffocating smoke that rapidly filled the narrow alley. This, combined with the smoke from the already-burning building, quickly made vision difficult. Three vorgs ran forward to kick at the pile, but this only caused the fat to mix with the burning oil, intensifying flame and smoke. The gagging vorgs quickly retreated.
“We’re going to rush the mob,” Arn said. “Stay with me, and we’ll shock our way through to the open. Then run for the pyramid in the middle of the square.”
With a knife in each hand, Arn ducked low,
took a deep breath, and rushed out into smoke so thick that he was on top of the soldiers almost before he saw them. Ducking underneath a raised mace, Arn’s shoulder caught the man in the stomach, driving him backward into the crowd. Arn plunged both knives into his sides, slashing outward to his left as the man dropped away.
He was aware of Ty to his right, moving in tandem to clear a path through the crowd. The surprised soldiers before them backpedaled under the onslaught.
Arn and Ty burst out into the central square as the crowd behind began to recover, surging after the duo.
“Run!” Arn yelled, suiting actions to words.
They flew to the pyramid’s entrance as if they had wings. Two mulgos, brandishing spiked clubs, bounded down the steps to meet them. Arn released two daggers as he ran, one after the other, pausing only long enough to reach down and pluck them from the eyes of their targets.
Ty took the lead and plunged into the slave tunnels.
“Go straight!” Arn yelled from behind.
Arn could hear the panting of the vorgs behind him. While he and Ty could temporarily sprint faster, no human could outlast a running vorg. Their hope lay in getting to the rope bridge.
“Next left!” Arn yelled as he caught up with Ty.
The dimly lit passage began to throb with the unaccustomed noise of the pursuit. Yells and pants from behind indicated that they did not have a large lead.
“Right and then down!”
The sound of Ty gasping for air as they ran rang loud in Arn’s ears. The long fight and two days without sleep had taken a toll on the Kanjari.
“Now, two lefts!”
They sprinted along the twisting tunnels, gradually pulling away from the sounds of those who pursued them, aided by the twists that caused the vorgs to miss an occasional turn and backtrack. Just then the two reached the bridge.
Arn crossed behind Ty. As soon as they reached the other side, they began work on the supports. Ty cut the side ropes with two swipes of his ax, but the main support ropes proved to be harder to sever. Hundreds of tough strands, interwoven back and forth, crossed the entire width of the bridge.
As Ty chopped with his ax on one side, Arn worked with Slaken on the other. Yells signaled the arrival of the vorgs. Three of them charged out onto the bridge and managed to get halfway across before Ty severed the last of the cords, sending them plunging into the abyss.
Two of the others fired their crossbows as Arn and Ty leapt into the hallway beyond, one of the bolts spattering Arn with a spray of blood as it passed through Ty’s left hand. Ducking around the corner, Arn felt his own blood pulsing through his veins and his heart pounding. Sweat stung his eyes. He glanced over at Ty, who set his ax aside and stripped off the vorg shirt. The Kanjari’s chest was marked by several wounds. His hair was completely matted, and there was a gash down his right cheek.
“You look like crap,” Arn said.
“I’m not the only one, that’s for sure. Did you know that one corner of your ear is gone? You look like a pointed-ear demon.”
Arn put a hand to the left side of his head. A twinge of pain verified Ty’s pronouncement. But it was the barbarian’s comment that cut him to the quick. A part of him was a demon.
Arn paused to judge the activity on the far side of the chasm. The yells of impatient soldiers mingled with the curses of the workers who struggled to extend a siege ladder across the chasm. Once they had that in place, they could pull up the dangling bridge and reconnect the severed end to its moorings. And since they now had dozens of archers positioned to provide covering fire from the far side, Arn and Ty couldn’t step out to eliminate the workers.
“Well, this is an outstanding debacle we’ve managed to create,” Ty muttered.
“You haven’t heard the worst yet.”
Ty sighed. “Out with it, then.”
“Apparently, there’s a spell on the city that prevents any outsider who has seen it from leaving. That’s what made you run to the center of the city, I believe. The only chance we had for breathing room was to run deeper in. It also explains why nobody knows about this place. Everyone who has seen Lagoth has been killed or captured and enslaved. There’s a whole slave city built underground, and they don’t even have to worry about escape attempts or uprisings.”
“Why tell me that?” said Ty. “I was perfectly happy just thinking that I was going to die fighting my way out of here, and now you hit me with this? We might as well go throw ourselves off the precipice before we get captured and turned into two more of those poor devils whom they herd around.”
“I have something else in mind,” Arn said. And then he was on the move again.
Ty hefted his ax and jogged after Arn down the dimly lit passage. From Ty’s lack of response, Arn gathered that the Kanjari was not anxious to hear about his plan.
20
Lagoth
YOR 413, Late Summer
Arn kept his pace to a jog as he led Ty along the passages that led toward the mushroom cavern and slave pens. They needed to find a concealed place to hide from the soldiers who would flood into the maze once the bridge’s reconstruction was finished. All he needed was a bit of luck.
The sound of running feet from around the bend that lay ahead killed that hope. Rather than try to run back the way they came, Arn sprinted forward, throwing daggers in his hands. To Arn’s right, Ty matched him stride for stride.
The platoon of two dozen mulgos rounded the corner twenty paces in front of them, two of the leaders sprouting glittering daggers beneath their chins. These tumbled to the ground, tripping a handful of those who followed. Then Arn and Ty were on them. Having refilled his hands with his black blade and one of his boot-sheathed daggers, Arn ducked beneath a swinging mace and opened the gut of another mulgo. Ty’s ax sang through the air, spraying green blood and gore on the second wave of guards.
To Arn’s left, a mulgo cast a net toward him, a clumsy attempt that he easily sidestepped to drive a foot of black steel between the soldier’s ribs. Without bothering to watch the scaly green body hit the ground, Arn pressed forward, eliminating the advantage that the mulgos’ longer weapons provided. His knives flashed in short thrusts that produced slurping thunks. The wails of those who faced the whirling blade of the Kanjari gave way to moans of dread from those in the ranks behind the dying. The remaining mulgo turned and ran.
In the pale-green illumination from the lichen on the walls, Arn saw that Ty had acquired another shallow cut across his upper chest.
As Arn resumed his previous course down the passage, Ty jogged along beside him. Arn did not pause when the way opened into the cavern that housed the mushroom groves. Entering the forest on the right side of the road, he breathed a sigh of relief at the easy concealment. He turned to Ty and pulled Slaken from its scabbard.
“You’ve seen what happens when anyone besides me touches this knife. It consumes them. What I haven’t ever told anyone is what this knife really does. The spells on the haft nullify magic. If I have this blade on my person, either wearing it or holding it, no spell of any type can directly affect me.”
“So, if you’re free to walk out of here,” said Ty, “why don’t you just go, then?”
“If I wanted to leave you here, I would have done so long before. When I first took possession of this knife, I had to endure a blood ritual. I cut my hand and grasped the knife’s haft, letting my heart pump my blood into the handle. Thus, the blade came to recognize me.”
Arn took a deep breath, his eyes locking with the blue eyes of the Kanjari warrior as he continued. “It’s possible that if I slice both our hands and we hold them together so that our blood intermingles, the knife might accept us both. Or it might kill us both. Or it might just kill you. I don’t know. If this works, then both of us can hang onto the weapon and try to escape from the city. If the process only kills you, then I will strive to escape and honor you as warrior and friend.”
“I knew I wasn’t going to like this plan,” Ty said. “Looks like you’
re the one who has to cut himself. My hand’s already done.”
Arn glanced down at the bloody hole in Ty’s left hand.
“I guess that’ll do,” he said.
“Wait a moment,” said Ty, stripping off his chain mail armor and shirt. He unbraided his hair. “If I’m going to die, I’ll die like a Kanjari.”
Arn sliced an inch-long cut in his hand. Holding his palm upturned, he let a small pool of blood form in his hand, then reached out to grasp Ty’s palm.
They left their hands together, palms touching. Slaken needed to access blood pumping from a beating heart, or in this case, two hearts. Taking a deep breath, Arn thrust the knife’s haft between their hands.
Pain lanced up Arn’s arm, bringing with it a wave of dizziness that almost caused him to lose his grip on the blade. Through watery eyes he saw a black haze spread over their joined hands and creep up their arms as the anguish grew worse.
Ty retched but maintained his grip on the handle. The darkness continued crawling toward their shoulders, pulsing in rhythm with their hearts. Then, just as Arn thought he could bear the pain no longer, the darkness reversed, pouring back into Slaken’s handle like smoke sucked into a pipe.
Arn and Ty stared at each other across the point of the blade.
“Holy Karak!” Ty groaned.
Sweat rolled down Arn’s face. Picking up the vorgish shirt that Ty had discarded, he guided the tip of their jointly held blade to cut a long strip. Carefully binding their hands to the ensorcelled knife, he was hopeful that it would help stop the bleeding.
“I think either one of us can hold the knife now,” Arn said. “At least we can both hold it at the same time, and that’s what we’re going to have to do until we get out of the spell’s range.”
“What if the spell reaches out to the ends of the lands?”
“Then we’re doomed, but it’s not likely. The range must be limited. We’ll just have to find out how far.”
The two men stood next to each other, Arn gripping Slaken’s handle with his right hand while Ty held on with his left. They moved to the opening into the hall beyond the small cavern.
Mark of Fire (The Endarian Prophecy Book 1) Page 18