The Narrowing Path: The Complete Trilogy (The Narrowing Path Series Book 4)

by David J Normoyle

  Bowe was impressed that Iyra had no trouble finding the entrance to the tunnel in the darkness; he didn’t have a clue how she managed it. She gripped Bowe’s hand and whispered, “Follow me. Be quiet until we’re well clear of the wall on the other side.”

  She squeezed between two bushes and disappeared. Bowe followed, shielding his face and pulling the briars out of his way. Knowing what to expect meant he didn’t get as many scratches as when he’d come this way before. When he reached the center of the copse of bushes, Iyra was kneeling over a hole. She’d moved aside the object that had served as a door. She touched her forefinger to her lips and gestured for Bowe to enter. He did, entering headfirst and squirming his way down the tunnel. He used his elbows and knees to propel him, holding his stump lifted off the ground so it didn’t get in the way. He heard Iyra scramble down behind him.

  The journey couldn’t have been any shorter than last time, of course, and it still involved crawling through dirt in the darkest black imaginable, but it seemed a lot easier this time. Bowe didn’t know if that was just because he’d done it before, or if he’d become more used to this kind of thing.

  Even so, he was relieved when the tunnel began to ramp upward. He felt ahead of him with his left hand and moved cautiously forward until it hit a wooden board. He carefully lifted the board and pushed it aside, found another loose board and pushed that to the other side of the hole. There was a tiny breath of fresh air and a lightening of the darkness. Bowe stuck his head out of the tunnel then pulled the rest of his body out. He turned around, looking for the cracks of light that would show the way out. Then he sensed movement and became aware that he wasn’t alone. Something was pulled over his head. He opened his mouth to shout, but with cloth blocking his mouth, he only managed a muffled grunt.

  Arms tightened around him, pinning his arms to his body. “Don’t fight now,” a voice whispered in his ear. “If you make noise, you could be caught by worse than us.”

  Bowe relaxed into the grip and then tried to spring forward, but the arms held firm. He had to warn Iyra if he could. He tried to yell again, and this time half a shout got out before a hand pushed the cloth against his mouth again. He felt a sharp pain in the side of his head, and then his legs weakened and his mind went dim.

  Chapter 21

  Day 40

  Bowe ran through the dark underground corridors. He was trying to escape the Refuge but he couldn’t find the way out. No, that wasn’t right—why did he think he was in the Refuge? He’d been captured by Grenier marshals while trying to sneak back into the city. He was in the Fortress, or rather under the Fortress in the dungeons below. On either side of Bowe along the corridor were doors to the prison cells, but they were all empty.

  He came upon someone with their back to him. He stopped and pulled the person’s cloak and she turned around. Bowe jerked back.

  “But you’re dead,” he said. It was Ariastiana, the Raine Guardian’s head wife up until the last Infernam.

  “That’s a terribly rude thing to say,” she said.

  “But aren’t you?”

  “Whether I am or not doesn’t make it any less rude.”

  Bowe shook his head. “Can you help me escape? I shouldn’t be down here.”

  “Of course you should be here. You’re the jailor, after all. Why would you need to escape?”

  “No, I’m not.” But Bowe looked down at his right hand, and in it was a key ring with several large iron keys attached. He looked back up at Ariastiana. “There’s no one in the cells here.”

  “Yes, there is.”

  In front of Bowe was a door. The door had a square hole at head height, with vertical bars across it. Inside the room a hooded figure was bent over.

  Then Bowe was inside the cell with the hunched figure, and he knew she was a woman. She wore a hooded cloak so he couldn’t see her face, so he leaned in closer to see what she was doing. In front of her was a metal platform holding a silver teapot. Under the little platform were three candles that were there to heat the tea. The candles weren’t lit, but the woman rattled the teapot as if she was impatiently waiting for it to be ready. A memory hit Bowe and he recoiled in horror, remembering who had used to own a teapot and platform like that. He tried to turn and run away, but he was frozen in place.

  “Bowe, Bowe,” said a voice.

  “No,” Bowe groaned. “It wasn’t my fault.”

  “Bowe, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

  Bowe opened his eyes, and he was surprised to find himself lying in a bed in a bright room. “Why aren’t I in the dungeon?” he mumbled.

  “Why would you be?” Iyra was sitting beside him with her hand on his shoulder.

  “I was captured by Grenier marshals coming out of the tunnel.”

  “No,” Iyra said. “You were captured by men of the Guild. Coensaw decided to guard the tunnel, given the circumstances. You nearly had the lot of us captured by marshals when you called out, though.”

  Bowe managed to separate the dream from what had happened. He remembered being told to be quiet, and then...it was as if the memory of the injury brought the injury to life, for a pain speared itself into the left side of Bowe’s brain. He let out a deep breath and touched the side of his head. He traced the outline of the tender bump with his fingers and waited for the pain to fade.

  Having made sense of reality, he returned his thoughts to his dream. The teapot had belonged to Chalori. She was the hunched figure who had been in the cell. “I did it,” he said.

  “Did what?”

  Mother killer, the wind and the seagulls had said when Bowe was fevered. They told the truth, but Bowe hadn’t believed it. “I killed my mother,” he said.

  “It was just a dream,” Iyra said. “We have more important worries right now. I just met Coensaw.”

  “It’s true, though, it was my fault.” Bowe sat up. Bowe had thought that his nightmares meant he blamed himself when he shouldn’t have. Vitarr, Edison, Glil—they had appeared in most of his dreams, but it was never about them. He had done his best for them and mourned them when they died. Bowe’s problem was that he hadn’t admitted responsibility for the wrong he had done to someone who loved him. Before the Green Path started, he had conspired with Ariastiana to stop Chalori from meeting Kesirran. He had helped Ariastiana, who always hated him, to plot against Chalori, who treated him like her own son. All because Ariastiana was more powerful and he hoped she’d help him.

  “Focus, Bowe,” Iyra said. “I admitted to Coensaw that I helped...” She hesitated. “That I helped in the Guild to support the Jarindor invasion. And that we’ve come here to ensure a bloodless takeover for the Jarindors. I didn’t want to tell him, but he caught me in lies, and I had to admit everything in the end. Coensaw is furious right now—in his own cold way—and he wants to see you. I’m not sure what he’ll do.”

  Bowe remembered the way Chalori used to twirl her finger through his hair. It wasn’t all his fault that she died, but he needed to accept responsibility for his part in it.

  “Bowe, are you listening? This is dead serious.”

  “It’ll be okay.” Bowe forced the memories away. He’d deal with it later.

  “What do you mean it’ll be okay? Haven’t you been listening to me? Coensaw is not a man to be crossed. He could have ordered watery graves for us both by now.”

  “I’m good at talking myself out of sticky situations.” Bowe wrapped his hand around Iyra’s waist and forced a smile, rubbing the small of her back. “I’ll sort it out.”

  Iyra shook her head. “I’ve just come from him. I don’t think you can talk your way out of this one. But we’ve no choice.”

  “Wait,” Bowe grabbed her trailing arm and pulled her back toward him. He lifted his right arm then stopped, smiled—she smiled back—and lifted his left hand to cup the side of her face. “You mean everything to me. Whatever happens in this meeting, remember that.”

  Bowe stood up and opened the door. Iyra hung back for a moment, then follo
wed. “Wait, what’s going to happen? What’s going on that I don’t know about?”

  Outside were two men. They waited for Iyra to emerge, nodded to her, then one led the way down a corridor. Bowe and Iyra followed and the second man slipped in behind them. Neither openly wore a weapon, but they were big and burly and without doubt had a knife or cudgel somewhere on them.

  “Bowe, what’s going on?” Iyra caught up with him.

  Bowe squeezed her hand then released it. “You’ll see. This is for the best, I promise.”

  “You’re scaring me. More even than Coensaw did.”

  They were led into an open room with a large table in the middle of it. Blinds covered up the windows, and a fire blazed in the hearth at the far end. Beside the hearth was Coensaw in his wheelchair, and next to him was Xarcon. The leading guard wore heavy boots and his footsteps echoed against the high ceiling as he marched them alongside the long table. This place was more like the dining room from the mansion of a great house than somewhere Bowe would expect the Guild to be hiding out.

  Xarcon’s hand was on the back of Coensaw’s chair. His face displayed no emotion when he looked at Bowe—he was truly Coensaw’s man. Perhaps when he heard what Bowe had planned, perhaps if he knew what Bowe now thought about escay... Bowe trailed off his thought. No, it was too late to redeem any relationship between him and Xarcon.

  Bowe and Iyra’s guards left them in front of the Guild leader and stepped back. The crackling of the fire filled the pause while Bowe and Coensaw sized each other up. Although Coensaw didn’t look angry, Bowe could see in the way the old man’s wrinkles twisted and the way that he clutched the arm of his chair that there were raging emotions beneath the calm exterior. For the first time Bowe wondered if Coensaw was certain to agree to Bowe’s plan.

  “I see you have come back missing a piece,” Coensaw said finally, nodding at Bowe’s stump.

  “I gained more than I lost. Or at least I hope so.”

  Coensaw chuckled. “Admirable sentiments. Very few could say that so soon after such a loss.”

  Bowe nodded. “I understand that Iyra has been telling you what she thinks we came back to Arcandis for. She doesn’t know the full story.”

  “What do you mean?” Iyra said. “Have you been lying to me?” She took a step back, turning to face him. The sinews in her neck stood out like knotted roots.

  Coensaw raised his palm toward Iyra and she relapsed into a muttered silence. She held her aggressive posture directed at Bowe, though.

  “You’re probably lying to me.” Coensaw said. “Iyra told you that I wasn’t happy. So you’re changing your story to save yourself.” Coensaw’s eyes tracked up and down Bowe, as if he could read the truth from the way Bowe stood.

  “Nothing has changed,” Bowe said. “I wasn’t sure Iyra understood what needed to happen, so I wasn’t completely honest with her.” Bowe glanced at Iyra, but quickly looked away, unable to meet her gaze. “She thinks that the Jarindors taking over is the only way things will change here. I think—and I believe you feel the same way—that once we let them in, it won’t be so easy to get rid of them. At the moment the escay are under the chains of the ascor. The chains from the Jarindors might be looser, but they’ll still be chains.”

  The wrinkles in Coensaw’s face relaxed the tiniest fraction. “I’m not saying I believe you, but you have my attention.”

  “I know I’m an ascor, and by virtue of that an enemy in your eyes, but Xarcon was an ascor once.” Bowe glanced up, but Xarcon remained a statue. “He’ll tell you that I hated the Green Path. I’ve seen, heard, and learned plenty on my exile from Arcandis, and had plenty of time to reflect. I can now clearly see the evil at the heart of Arcandis and I know there must be a change, dramatic change, but it must come from within, from the Arcandi themselves, not from these invaders.”

  “Are you sure you’re not just telling me what I want to hear? As a way out of your situation?”

  Bowe looked around. Several of Coensaw’s men watched him with grim expressions. “No. I have thought long and hard about this. I wasn’t totally honest with Iyra, but I will be with you. My being captured was a lucky break for me because it means I didn’t have to arrange this meeting. I have a plan to end this.”

  Coensaw frowned. “Iyra told us you want to persuade the Guardians to open the gates to the Jarindors.”

  “Both you and I know they’d never do that. Those who survive the Green Path are not the type who give up easily. I doubt they like their prospects, but they’ll fight if it comes down to it. I have a plan, though, which I think will result in the Jarindors giving up and leaving without too much bloodshed. But I need your help and I need the help of the other Guardians.”

  “They would never work with me,” Coensaw said.

  “They don’t have to know the Guild was involved.”

  “Why would I help? Half the escay in the city want the Jarindors to win; the other half don’t care either way.”

  “That’s exactly why I need your help. It’s only the escay that can stop the invasion and I need you to persuade them that they should.”

  “Just say I go along with this,” Coensaw said, “What happens after?”

  “After, if things go as I hope, I’ll become a Guardian again. This time, one with real power. And I’ll work from within to bring an end to the present system.”

  Coensaw used his hand to push on the wheels of his chair, propelling himself forward. He maneuvered the chair closer then did a full loop around Bowe and Iyra. The wheels made a slow eerie creaking sound. Bowe’s head followed Coensaw’s progress, until Bowe’s gaze met Iyra’s one of molten fury, then he stared forward until Coensaw stopped moving.

  “So I just have to trust you, is that it? Trust that you’ve changed enough so that all you’ve said is true?” Coensaw said. “How can I possibly trust an ascor?”

  “Ascor or escay, it doesn’t matter—we’re all the same. The question is, do you trust Bowe Bellanger?”

  Coensaw smiled. “‘Ascor and escay are all the same.’ I never believed I’d hear a Guardian say that.”

  “You said you sensed change coming, didn’t you? That was why you decided to become more open about your identity.”

  “That was more because I’m old and no longer have the slightest fear of death. What else could you tell me to persuade me that you’re now on our side?”

  “I’m in love with an escay.”

  With a roar, Iyra threw herself at Bowe. “In love, you say?”

  Iyra dragged Bowe down to the floor. His back slammed against the floor, but he managed to keep his stump from hitting anything.

  “You did know I meant you, right?” Bowe managed, and then Iyra landed on top of him and she swung a fist that hit him in the cheek, jolting his head to the right.

  “You asked me to trust you,” she said. “And this is what you do.”

  Pain exploded in Bowe’s jaw. He held up his left hand to try to block, but it didn’t do much. Her fists came flying in from the left and the right. “You swore you wouldn’t betray me again.” Bowe tried to twist his head away but only managed to cause Iyra to hit different parts of his face as she rammed her knuckles into his nose, against the side of his neck, and then striking his temple and cheek.

  Then it stopped. Bowe didn’t know what had happened for a moment until he realized he’d closed his eyes. He opened them to see Iyra struggling and snarling as Coensaw’s men dragged her off of him.

  Coensaw wheeled himself to Bowe’s side. “I believe that Iyra didn’t know about your plan, at least. Or else that was the greatest fake performance ever.”

  Bowe wiped the side of his face and his fingers came away smeared in blood. He turned onto his side and spat out a bloodied tooth. “No performance.” He felt like the entire Jarindor army had climbed inside his skull for a dance.

  Iyra was dragged out of the room still kicking and screaming.

  Bowe watched her go with a sinking heart. He had underestimated her reactio
n to what he saw as a slight deception.

  “Let’s talk about this plan of yours,” Coensaw said.

  “If we work together on this, you have to promise me that she won’t be punished. What she did toward helping the Jarindor invasion she did for good reasons.”

  “You don’t have much right to set conditions, but I’ll agree to that one. Provided I like your plan.”

  Chapter 22

  Day 42

  Bowe kept his hood up as he walked down the street. He didn’t know how many people would recognize him, but talk about him had dominated the taverns recently, so it was worth being cautious if he wanted to avoid attention.

  The crowds jostled him on either side, but he reveled in it. Since arriving in the city he’d been either cooped up inside Coensaw’s house or unconscious, so it felt good to be back in the maelstrom of city life. After all the time in the forest, he felt energized to be walking down a city street again. He made sure to keep his stump out of the way, to avoid both harm and possible recognition. The atmosphere was that of the days before the Infernam—without the heat. With a foreign army only days away, the nervous energy was understandable.

  Bowe stopped in front of Bellanger Mansion and took it in. A tingle ran through him. The last time he’d seen it, it’d been over his shoulder as he fled the Greniers. At the time, the chances of him returning weren’t high; but here he was. There were plenty of signs of neglect—gardening tools lying about, uncut grass, a shutter opening and closing in the wind. It had seen worse days, though. Bowe remembered how it had looked when he had first seen it, after twelve years of disuse. And even then it had a majesty to it—this latest setback was nothing to the old dame of a mansion. Bowe grinned, then winced and reached up to massage his lower jaw. Yet again, Bowe had discovered that Iyra was stronger than she looked. This time to his cost.