The Aisling Trilogy

by Cummings, Carole

A return smile, though fairly subdued—almost sad.

  “All right, resentful as hell with no right to be. Just… It’ll seem less appalling after I’ve slept, I’ve no doubt. I’m not angry with you. I’m not even angry, really, I’m just… out of sorts. Sorry.”

  “It’s a lot to—”

  Wil’s response was cut short by the sound of booted feet tripping quickly down the cellar steps. Almost running along the passageway. Urgency was behind the steps. Hurried purpose. Without even thinking about it, Wil’s hand settled on the rifle. He dragged it close, finger resting over the trigger. Dallin did the same with one of the revolvers.

  The Guard, perhaps? Had Wil’s visits to Shaw’s room been observed, reported? Had the Brethren managed to track their trail, followed the wanted bills and the local gossip to the Temple’s steps? A cold hand clenched around Wil’s gut—Siofra?

  Calder swung around the doorframe. He didn’t even pause at the state of the room, the smudges of soot, the shards of glass from the little explosion in the hall they had yet to clean up. He only stopped short in the doorway, peered intently at each of their wary faces in turn.

  “They’re here.”

  Chapter Six

  Well, naturally, Dallin thought. He’d been idiotic enough to forego sleep again last night, and then spent the morning trying to keep the Temple from burning down while breaking down the very last barrier standing between him and the completely unbelievable—letting down the ramparts of his own mind, for pity’s sake, and to someone who’d very frankly stated that he’d use him then kill him if he had to—and all of this after having jumped into bed with that very same man, who was, in point of fact, supposed to be his prisoner and who was convinced that they were going to be the end of each other. Jumped into bed with him not once but twice. Without, as had been bluntly pointed out to him, even the smallest protest. Quite eagerly, in fact.

  One day after having woken up from a stab wound from which he’d apparently healed himself.

  Oh yes, and there was also the small matter of promising the man for whom he was beginning to think he’d fallen quite hard—before he’d even begun to like him, for pity’s sake, go figure that one—that he’d put a bullet through his head if it turned out Dallin couldn’t protect him like he kept promising he would.

  So, of course they were here.

  “Who’s here?” he demanded.

  “A company of red and gold came through the gates about two hours ago,” Calder informed him. “There’s a small contingent in blue and brown, plus a few civilians with them. They’re at the Constabulary now.”

  A moment of strangled silence as the statement sank in, twisted itself slowly from one possibility in a string of conjectures and into too-firm reality. Blue and brown.

  Fuck.

  “All right,” Dallin finally said hollowly, a hand going unconsciously to the weave of his shirt, which was not—and had not been for several weeks now—the blue and brown of his Putnam Constabulary surcoat. A heavy twinge of loss hit him all at once, and he closed the hand into a fist. It was set, for better or worse. There would be no going back from whatever happened now.

  Shaw arrived silently behind Calder, his mien edged with concern. “At least two of the civilians…” He paused, cut a troubled glance at Wil and cleared his throat. “They’re Dominionites.” He shook his head, near-incredulity.

  “Ríocht civilians traveling with Commonwealth soldiers. I’d never have believed it if I’d not seen it myself.”

  Dominionites. Surely Chief Jagger wouldn’t have allowed Siofra to ride along all the way from Putnam? Or ride along at all.

  Dallin gave Wil a quick glance, saw attentive worry and not panic, and so turned back to Shaw. “You were there?” he asked.

  “I didn’t see them arrive,” Shaw told him. “Brother Tranter was assisting one of the midwives last night and was on his way back to the Temple when the gates opened. When he reported what he’d seen, I went to the Constabulary to see what I could find out.”

  Dallin winced. “You went to—”

  “He knows better than what you’re thinking,” Calder put in.

  “Oh, yes, I should hope so,” Shaw agreed. “I took some pots to the smithy’s to be patched and re-cast. The shop happens to be only several doors down from the Constabulary. I didn’t actually speak to anyone, but I saw the soldiers idling in front of the building. They were giving the Dominion men a wide berth, but it was obvious they were together.”

  “What did they look like?” Wil’s voice was far too soft. He doubted the others could tell, but Dallin marked the sharp reluctance beneath the question. Wil had asked because he had to, but he didn’t really want to know.

  Calder merely narrowed his eyes, his gaze fixed on Wil and all too knowing, keen and calculating. Shaw took up the silence: “Dark-haired and fair,” he answered with a shrug. “Sorry, I was trying not to look like I was looking.”

  “Thin?” Wil pressed quietly. “Sort of… narrow-faced?”

  Shaw seemed to twig to the disquiet this time. He frowned, softly sympathetic. “One of them, yes. He seemed to be the one in charge.”

  Shit. Dallin’s gut curled as he watched Wil pull in on himself, watched paralyzing fear crowd out even the hungry intelligence in eyes gone dull and panicked. And there was nothing Dallin could do about it. An arm around the shoulders, a quiet reassurance—useless and perhaps not even wise. If ever there was a time for fear, right now was it.

  Dallin nodded, stepped over to his pack where he’d draped his holsters and started strapping them on. So much for an afternoon kip. “And what of those in the blue and brown?” he asked over his shoulder.

  Shaw shook his head. “I didn’t see any of those. I expect they were inside, and I didn’t want to linger ’til they came out.”

  Dallin nodded again, slipping on his sword-belt. “It sounds like you did the right thing. I thank you.” He shifted his glance between Shaw and Calder. “What happens if they come knocking?”

  “We don’t have to let them in,” Shaw said dubiously.

  “But if we didn’t, they’d know why.” He shrugged apology. “I’ve nowhere to hide you but here. I suppose you could stay ahead of them in the passageways for a while, but it isn’t as though this place is a secret. They’d catch you up eventually.”

  That was… all too logical. Dallin blew out a long breath. “I don’t suppose either of you knows of a safe place to exit the city unseen in broad daylight?”

  Calder and Shaw exchanged an uneasy glance, some sort of dubious mental conversation going on between them by way of frowns and meaningful twists of eyebrows.

  “Not quite unseen,” Shaw ventured, “but there is a place where you might perhaps be purposefully unremarked.”

  “Where?”

  “It’ll take some coin.”

  Dallin rubbed at his brow. “It always does,” he muttered. “Where?”

  “Not far from where we first… met,” Calder put in. “I can take you.”

  “Right.” Dallin sighed. He’d known all along that when they left here, it would likely be with Calder as their guide, but he’d never really liked the idea. He’d much prefer Calder simply pointed a finger in the right direction and left them to their own plotting. As usual these days, Dallin’s options were limited. He turned to Wil. “Go get your kit together. Make sure that gun is loaded. I’ll be down in a moment to collect the ammunition. We leave in five minutes.”

  Wil just stared at him with those hunted eyes. For a moment, Dallin thought he wouldn’t move, perhaps couldn’t, but then he just dipped a quick, jerky nod and silently quit the room. Dallin turned back to Shaw. “Have you got anything he can take with him to eat? Food, it seems to—”

  “Calm him, yes, I’d noticed.” Shaw nodded. “Don’t go ’til I get back.” And then he too was gone.

  Calder waited until Shaw’s light steps faded as he climbed the stone stairs, then he narrowed a sharp glance at Dallin. “It’s him, isn’t it?” he wanted to k
now. “And you’re not even surprised.”

  “Why should I be?” Dallin replied, checking the tethers and ties, then stooping to slide his pack over his shoulder. “I’ve been Watching, haven’t I then?”

  He didn’t expand, just walked past Calder and down the passageway until he fetched up at the doorway of Wil’s room. Wil was already in his coat, crouched on the floor over his own pack, his back to the door. The tension around him was so tight Dallin thought he could reach out and twang it like the over-wound string of a lute.

  “I’ve lost my coat,” Wil said, his voice small and thin.

  He was shaking his head and staring into his open pack like it might have mercy on him and swallow him whole.

  “It was here just a moment ago, I had your money in the pocket, your guns— shit, your guns, I’m sorry—but now I can’t find it.”

  It made Dallin’s heart clench a little, the lost despair in Wil’s voice, the hunch of his shoulders. Dallin was glad Calder wasn’t hearing this. “You’re wearing it,” he told Wil calmly. “And I’ve already got my guns.” He wanted to step over, lay a hand to Wil’s shoulder, say something soothing, but again, it seemed like a lie, and he sometimes had a hard time knowing if a comforting gesture would be welcome or not.

  Wil didn’t say anything, merely looked down at his sleeve, blinking at the weave of the coat. His hand went to the coat’s pocket, feeling the bulk of Dallin’s purse, then he flicked a look over at Dallin, wild eyes marking the guns safely in their holsters. Dallin had seen the look before, and not just in Wil’s eyes.

  I’m afraid, Captain. I want to go home. I’m only a farmer-tailor-blacksmith-sixteen year old son of a poor man who had no other trade to turn to…

  “Pick up your gun, Wil,” Dallin ordered, stern command. Man your gun, soldier. He watched as Wil’s eyes drifted to the rifle lying beside his boot, hung there.

  “He knows we’re here but not where. He wants your magic but it’s yours and you’ve got it. We can get out of here before he finds us, and we can beat him if we can’t, but I need you to pick up that rifle. Now.”

  Wil nodded, kept nodding as his hand reached out, curling around the gun’s stock and gripping it tight. Like the cool of the metal itself had doused the feral terror, the bobble-ish nodding stopped, Wil’s shoulders unlocked themselves, and a long breath fetched itself into his chest. “Right,” he breathed. Laying a trembling hand to his pack, he shouldered it and stood with only a slight wobble. He turned to Dallin slowly. Swallowed so hard it looked like he’d got one of those bloody potatoes caught in his throat. “Remember your promise,” he wheezed.

  “I remember all my promises,” Dallin told him steadily.

  “Including the one where I don’t let it come to it.” He paced over, took up the ammunition and distributed it between their pockets and the packs. He looked at Wil calmly when he was through and cinched his pack shut.

  “We can do this,” he told Wil forcefully. “You can do it. Now, let’s go.”

  They left the same way they’d come. Dallin didn’t remember much of their arrival, just a vague image of dead leaves and dried-up pricker bushes, but the set of the sun was nearly the same, and the weather hadn’t changed. Still cold and sunny, just edging on true winter but not quite there yet. He missed his coat, but at least he had the cloak. Even the wind was sighing past the tops of the walls as it had the day they’d first arrived. Dallin fervently hoped that this day, as alike as it seemed, would turn out markedly different. He made sure both he and Wil had their hats in place, hunched himself as small as he could, and took rearguard while Calder took point. Wil walked between them, munching nervously and without much enthusiasm on a biscuit.

  The backstreets were even quieter than they’d been that day Dallin and Wil had rambled through them. He concentrated on scanning for trouble. Watching. It wasn’t only about avoiding suspicion anymore—now it was about avoiding being seen altogether. With that skittering little buzz hovering once again just at the bottom of his spine, Dallin set his teeth and moved along as quickly as they dared.

  Wil’s quiet panic remained, but he was thinking through it now, doing his best not to let it interfere with what they had to do. That furious, ground-in survival instinct had taken over where fear would’ve had him paralyzed. He was watching, too, his gaze flicking to all points, never resting in one spot for more than a second or two, assessing and dismissing, the badger watchful and wary. Good. Dallin could use those teeth about now.

  Wil’s glance lingered only once, when their little group flitted past the alleyway where Dallin had failed so badly and allowed others to drive their course. Wil turned to Calder, asked, “What happened to her?”

  Dallin was a little surprised. He’d nearly forgotten about the haggard woman who’d spouted prophecy through her drug-haze.

  “She’s gone to the Mother,” Calder answered tersely.

  “She was only waiting for you.”

  Dallin’s first knee-jerk was to wonder if Calder had killed her. He glared, but didn’t pursue the cryptic remark and hoped Wil wouldn’t, either. One crisis at a time, and getting out of here was a lot more important right now.

  To his relief, Wil fell silent, wary glance skittering again to all points. He held the gun gripped tight in both hands, index finger of his left hand twitching constantly over the safety. Dallin smiled grimly in hearty approval.

  They walked silently for quite a while, pace quick but careful, ducking out of sight behind sheds and privies when necessary. Even crouching on the ground behind a refuse cart once when no other cover could be found.

  The passersby were few, but the risk of being spotted far too high. They were in one of the less-prosperous parts of the city. Shabby tenements and rundown little lean-tos made up the predominant architecture. They kept moving steadily deeper into the slums. It made sense, Dallin supposed. In his experience, the poor and determined were those who had little choice but to find their way around the law. He wasn’t at all surprised that if there was a way to get in and out of Chester undetected, it would be in this part of the city. There was definitely something to be said for the resourcefulness of the desperate. Just look at Wil.

  As if he’d heard the thought, Wil stopped abruptly, cocked his head a little, thoughtful and with eyes narrowed. If Dallin hadn’t been paying attention, he would’ve barreled right over him. As it was, Dallin stopped, too, and frowned at Wil, who turned to him slowly, jaw set.

  “We need the horses,” he told Dallin, as if he’d just said, People need water to live.

  Dallin’s frown deepened as that unnerving buzz winding through him notched itself up to a high-pitched whine. “We can’t—”

  “We have to.” Wil cut his glance to Calder, who was just now pacing quickly back toward them, having walked ahead before he’d noticed he was no longer followed.

  “We have to go get the horses.”

  Calder’s eyes didn’t roll, but Dallin could tell they wanted to. Pressing his lips together grimly, Calder shot Dallin a disapproving glance, then narrowed a stern look on Wil. “It’s safer to leave them, and we’ve already passed the turn to the city’s stables.”

  Wil didn’t even acknowledge him, just looked back at Dallin, steady. “We have to,” he repeated.

  Dallin really didn’t want to. Not only would it be too risky, but it would take time they might not have and make their trail easier to follow. Something was coming, and Dallin really didn’t want to be here when it arrived.

  But the look in Wil’s eyes…

  “Are you sure?”

  Wil nodded. “And another for Calder.”

  This wasn’t that dance of grudging, not-so-secret affection that had so amused Dallin since he’d bought the horses. Wil didn’t want the horses right now because he liked them. In fact, Dallin had no doubt Wil wouldn’t think twice about leaving them behind or killing them himself if it meant a clean escape.

  And what if I gave you a prophecy? Would you believe it?

  Dall
in sighed. This was close enough to one, he supposed. And yes, he definitely believed it.

  His jaw tightened just a little. “There’ll be a staff there. Sneaking won’t be an option.”

  Wil looked down. By the set of his face, Dallin figured he’d already known as much. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Dallin had no doubt. That was what worried him, even more than being recognized.

  “Trust me,” Wil murmured and peered up to meet Dallin’s eyes squarely, as close to calm as Dallin had seen him since Calder had flung himself into the basement earlier.

  Dallin sighed, nodded. “You’d damn well better know what you’re doing.” He shifted his gaze to Calder, hardened it. “The man says we need the horses. Take us to them.”

  Surprisingly, Calder didn’t argue, but he didn’t look happy about it. His mouth pinched tight, and he glared between the two of them for a moment before wheeling about and leading on without another word. Dallin gave Wil a dour smile, shrugged, and gestured him ahead.

  Wil lingered for a quick second, leaned up and dropped a swift, chaste kiss to Dallin’s mouth. “Thank you,” was all he said.

  Right, Dallin thought. Perhaps you should save that until we make sure I didn’t just get us caught or killed.

  Backtracking, at first, then making their way through twists and turns into streets and alleys Dallin hadn’t seen before. It was only a few minutes before the very distinct mingled scents of horse and hay, sweat and manure whiffed toward him.

  Calder halted at the mouth of the lane that opened out onto what looked like a moderately busy thoroughfare.

  “We’re in the southwest corner of the city. The gates are that way,” he pointed north, “and our exit is that way,” to the west this time. “If we get separated, head down the way we came and keep on until you hit the wall. Follow it west until you see a great wooden building, used to be a milliner’s. The roof’s half-caved, you can’t miss it.

  There’s a thick growth of trees behind it, and a midden heap. Behind that, there’s an opening. A man named Rylan fancies himself the gatekeeper, and he’ll want at least ten gilders, but don’t give him more than four. Tell him you were sent by the Exile.” He shook his head. “I don’t know if you’ll fit the horses through.”