Scourge

by Gail Z. Martin

  “Small fires, and a mob of bystanders like it’s some damn holiday festival,” Ellis told them. “We’d get separated in the crowd, and there’s no good way around to where Polly’s supposed to meet us.”

  “North?” Trent asked.

  “Most of the guards are that way, standing watch over the villas,” Tomor said. “We’ll get caught for sure.”

  “Take the cemetery road.” Corran’s voice was a harsh rasp, but it carried over the noise from the street. “Runs along the wall. No one’s going to be guarding the dead.”

  Rigan met his gaze. “If we run into monsters—”

  “Then we fight,” Corran replied. “But it’s better than standing here, waiting to get caught.”

  Rigan mustered his strength and a little of his magic, enough to let him push away from the wall and stand without swaying too much. Elinor came up beside him, putting a steadying hand on his elbow. Corran joined them a moment later, a signal that it was time to move out.

  They circled to the north, anxious to avoid the opulent homes of the Guild Masters and Merchant Princes, with their guards and high fences. Illir and Tomor went ahead to scout. Calfon and Mir took point, with Elinor, Rigan, Aiden, and Corran in the middle. Ellis, Trent, and Ross brought up the rear.

  Rigan strained to hear the bells from the tower. He already knew they were late to meet Polly. She’s resourceful, and ruthless. She’ll be there. We just have to make it to the meeting point, he told himself.

  A glance behind him told Rigan that Corran probably felt as bad as he did. His lips were pressed into a bloodless line, his face looked paler than normal in the moonlight, and blood streaked his shirt and cheek. Not that Rigan looked any better himself. The others were worse for the wear as well, injured from the fight in the palace, except for Elinor. They just had to make it to the wagon.

  Of all the problems the guards had this night, enforcing curfew was the least of them. Behind Rigan, he heard the shouts and chants of an angry mob, and the roar of flames. Smoke hung heavy in the air, stinging his eyes and burning in his throat. Even in the alleys and side streets, people jostled shoulder to shoulder, anxious to see what was going on, or to flee the unrest.

  Illir and Tomor did their best to clear the path for the rest of them, shouldering aside the frantic city-dwellers, trying to keep from getting separated in the press of bodies. Half of the people were trying to get away from the city; the rest wanted to see what the fuss was all about.

  The flow of the crowd suddenly shifted, and Rigan caught the panic in their faces as shouting and the clatter of weapons sounded in the distance. A line of guards blocked the plaza at the end of the alley, leaving them nowhere to go.

  “Go back to your homes. Clear the streets.” The guard’s manner made it clear he expected to be obeyed.

  Frightened and angry, caught up in the adrenaline rush of the mob and the fires, the energy of the crowd changed in a heartbeat.

  “Shouldn’t you be down there, fighting the fires, instead of up here getting in our way?” The speaker, a broad-shouldered man with muscles toned by hard labor, bent and threw a chunk of stone from the gutter, striking one of the guards in the chest.

  The soldiers surged forward, just as angry and scared as the crowd. Civilians hurled rocks and debris, while others pulled down bricks and wood from the walls of nearby buildings to wield as weapons.

  “Shit,” Illir muttered. “Those people are going to get themselves killed.”

  Three of the townspeople had already fallen to the ground, bloodied from the guards’ swords. The crowd roared its anger and came at the guards again, blind with rage. More guards appeared behind the first group, and Rigan counted over a dozen.

  “No choice,” Calfon said. “We’ve got to fight our way through.”

  “We’ve got the six on the right,” Aiden said, with answering nods from Rigan and Elinor.

  “We’ll go left,” Illir, Tomor, and Ellis volunteered. That left Mir, Trent, Ross, Calfon, and Corran for a frontal assault.

  They plunged into the fray without a battle cry, already bloodied and exhausted from the fight at the palace. Aiden focused his magic on two of the guards: boils sprang up on their faces and arms, swelling their eyes shut and forcing them to drop their swords to claw at the lesions. Elinor’s expression of concentration had the next two clutching at their hearts, sagging to their knees as she worked the same magic that had weakened Blackholt.

  Rigan’s power lacked Aiden’s control or Elinor’s finesse. He grounded his magic in the energy of the burning buildings all around them and sent a wave of fire that killed his two targets, along with two new guards just joining the fight from behind them.

  “I think that’s it for me,” he gasped, staggering until Elinor got under his shoulder and pulled him back against the wall. Aiden went to join Corran’s group, holding their own in a pitched battle in the middle of the plaza.

  Most of the civilians had fled. The bodies of half a dozen of the unlucky ones littered the paving stones or slumped over the shallow wall of the fountain in the center of the plaza. A hardy few fought on, and Rigan wondered if they were also hunters, because they managed to hold their own with just knives and improvised weapons.

  Rigan turned toward the group on the left just as Ellis’s opponent lunged forward, sinking his blade through the hunter’s chest. Ellis staggered, then his knees buckled before his killer could withdraw the blade. Rigan’s choked shout barely carried above the noise of the fight. Elinor gripped his arm tight enough to bruise, holding him back from rejoining the fray.

  “Rigan, no!” Elinor pulled him back.

  Rigan felt his anger snap, although he knew she was right. He sent his fury in a stream of fire that caught Ellis’s killer in the back, setting him ablaze. “Serves him right,” he muttered, then gasped and sagged against the wall.

  “Idiot,” Elinor muttered under her breath, but her grip on his arm never wavered, and he could feel her sending tendrils of her power through the contact to sustain him.

  The world wavered in his field of vision as Rigan fought vertigo, and then Elinor and Trent were pulling him to his feet and dragging him forward. “Move! Go!” Trent urged.

  Rigan oriented on Corran, alive but injured, supported with an arm over Aiden’s shoulder. He guessed that the healer was also using the opportunity to replenish what he could of Corran’s strength, although his brother still looked pale and drawn.

  The guards lay dead, bodies scattered across the bloody paving stones of the courtyard. Mir had Ellis’s body slung over his shoulder, while Tomor carried Illir. Rigan had not seen Illir go down.

  “Are they—?” he asked.

  “Keep moving,” Elinor replied, giving his answer in what she did not say.

  By the time they reached the cemetery by the outer wall of the city, the crowds had thinned, just the occasional thrill-seeker heading toward the ruckus, or wide-eyed refugees fleeing the flames, too frightened to pay the bloodied stragglers any notice. The guards did not bother coming out to the wall. They did not expect trouble from the dead.

  “We can double back on the other side of the cemetery,” Calfon said, pointing. “From there, we should only be a few blocks away from where Polly’s waiting.”

  If she’s still there. The words went unspoken, but Rigan felt certain he was not the only one thinking it.

  Halfway past the cemetery, a low growl raised the hair on the back of Rigan’s neck, and a distinctive stench assaulted his nose. He saw the horrified recognition on Corran’s face a heartbeat before a huge, bat-faced black beast sprang over the iron fence. The creature swatted Tomor out of the way with its heavy paw, sharp claws opening furrows across his chest and belly, sending him sprawling on top of Illir’s body.

  The creature bared its sharp teeth, drawing back blackened lips and crumpling its squashed face even further. It stood as tall as a boar, large as a hog, covered in coarse black hair. Red eyes sized them up and it lowered its head to charge. Before the others co
uld move forward to meet the threat, an answering growl sounded from behind them.

  Two beasts. Rigan remembered the fight he and Corran had put up to kill just one of the monsters, and a smaller one at that. This time, they had more men to face the threat, but all of them were hurt. He and Corran were barely standing; Trent and Ross looked equally spent, and the others were a mess of blood, bruises, and burns.

  Trent, Ross, and Corran went forward, while Calfon and Mir turned to face the threat from behind. Aiden and Elinor dragged Rigan back, knowing the best they could do was to stay out of the fight.

  “Aiden, can you help Tomor?” Rigan asked, watching as their friend slumped against the iron fence. Illir’s and Ellis’s bodies lay beside him, dropped in the fight.

  Aiden shook his head. “Even if I could get to him, he’s dying. The damage is too great. More than I could fix, even at full strength.”

  Corran’s group came at the monster all at once, striking from three directions. The creature howled in rage, snapping its teeth, striking out with its long claws, and throwing its heavy head side to side with enough force to shatter bone. Still, Trent and Ross baited it, lunging in and out, distracting it so Corran could score with his sword.

  Behind them, Mir and Calfon had their hands full. Against two fighters, the creature could better keep track of its attackers, dodging their blows and managing to get in more than one solid hit with its teeth and claws.

  They aren’t going to make it, Rigan thought in despair, cursing his injuries for keeping him out of the fight.

  Just then, he saw Tomor drag himself up against the fence. His bloodsoaked shirt and the smell of shit made the extent of his injuries clear as he pressed one hand to his abdomen, holding his entrails inside.

  He tied his ruined shirt tightly across his belly and moved stiffly to grab one of Illir’s arms, dragging him through the cemetery gate. He returned a moment later, staggering painfully, to drag Ellis away as well.

  “What is he doing?” Elinor whispered, eyes wide with fear.

  “Hey, ugly!” Tomor shouted, his voice trembling with pain. “Easy pickings. Fresh meat.”

  “Sweet Oj and Ren, he’s playing bait,” Aiden groaned.

  “Tomor, get out of there!” Calfon yelled, but the creature caught the scent of blood and hurtled forward, nearly knocking Mir over in its haste to reach the cemetery grounds. Tomor took off at a limping run, trying to draw the monster deeper into the graveyard.

  “Go!” Tomor yelled. “Make this count!” A moment later they heard a heavy thud, then Tomor cried out in pain, broken by the unmistakable crack of bone.

  That left the second beast, which remained fixed on the three hunters who were fighting it—and losing.

  Calfon and Mir ran to help just as a loud clatter echoed from the high stone city wall. A shadow loomed in the night, screeching and wailing, thundering closer.

  “Run, you son of a bitch!” Polly yelled as her brace of horses barreled down the street straight for the monster. The horses she had stolen were large and fast, closing the distance as she bore down on the creature.

  Corran and the others had to throw themselves out of the way as Polly rode straight for the monster, forcing it to flee. With an enraged howl, the monster vaulted the fence, and a moment later they heard it fighting with its companion over the spoils of the dead hunters’ corpses.

  “Come on!” Polly shouted, reining in the horses. Rigan managed to crawl into the back of the wagon on his own; Aiden and Elinor pulled him forward and secured him. Corran dragged himself in, looking as if it required the last of his strength. The others scrambled up into the wagon, but Calfon hesitated, staring toward the cemetery.

  “I hate leaving them behind,” he said, his voice raw with grief.

  “Let them go,” Trent urged quietly. “Tomor knew what he was doing. Honor the sacrifice and let it go.” Calfon’s expression hardened and he turned, dragging himself into the wagon as Polly cracked the whip and sent the horses galloping into the night. Rigan felt the sharp turn as Polly changed direction, heading for the gate in the city wall. Ahead of them lay shadow, and behind them, flames leapt into the sky as Ravenwood burned.

  The next time Rigan woke, pain dragged him from the darkness as something hard beat him across the back and shoulders. Each jolt made him gasp, and when his head thumped against unforgiving wood, he barely bit back a cry of pain.

  “Easy,” Trent coached. “Sorry about the rough ride. Last damn time we let Polly drive. Can’t stop now; guards are after us. But damned if she isn’t widening the gap.”

  It hurt too much to concentrate on the words, and Rigan was too disoriented to fit the pieces together. Cold, fresh air broke over him, air that smelled of grass and horses and fresh dirt, no longer filled with the stench of potions and death. Out? Are we out? Free?

  “You’re in the wagon. Outside the wall. Running for our lives, but for now, we’re safe.”

  Rigan stopped fighting the pain and surrendered, embracing numbness as consciousness retreated.

  Chapter Forty-One

  CORRAN GROANED. HE opened his eyes and stared up at an unfamiliar ceiling, before trying to sit up. The movement made him gasp and set the world spinning, so he dropped back, panting against the pain.

  “You need to lie still.” Trent’s voice held an edge of exhaustion, but it was damn good just to hear him, to know both of them were alive.

  “Where?” Corran forced through parched lips. Trent slid a hand under his shoulders and lifted him just enough to hold a cup to his lips. Corran sipped the water greedily until Trent withdrew the cup.

  “Take it slowly, or everything will come back up,” he warned, lowering him to the bed. “We’re two days’ ride out of Ravenwood, at one of those deserted monasteries Polly and Elinor found on the map. We’ll go further as soon as we can get everyone patched up, but you and Rigan in particular were both in a bad way and we couldn’t risk it.”

  “How long?” Corran rasped. “How long since...”

  “Three days. We damn near lost both of you.”

  “Rigan?”

  “Alive. Aiden’s with him. I won’t pretend to understand what in the name of the gods he and Aiden did to Blackholt, but by rights, both of them cheated Doharmu. You, too.”

  “The others?” Corran inventoried where his body hurt the most—sharp pain in his side, not as bad as it had been; dull ache in his bones, probably from being thrown around. He was sore everywhere, with bruises from head to toe.

  “We lost Illir, Ellis, and Tomor.”

  “I remember.”

  “Everyone else is healing,” Trent continued. “Can’t promise the damage won’t scar, but Aiden doesn’t think anyone will be permanently crippled.”

  “We need to get moving,” Corran said, swallowing hard. “Can’t let them catch us.”

  “If Aiden says the two of you are healed enough for it, we’ll move out tonight,” Trent replied. “There’s another monastery three days from here that should be remote enough to take us off the map for a while. We could all use time to recover.”

  Gods, Trent looks awful. I have the feeling it was worse than he’s let on.

  “What about Ravenwood?”

  Trent let out a long breath. “From what we could see as we went through the gate, the fires were contained around the Lord Mayor’s palace. With Machison and Blackholt dead, there should be no one to summon the monsters. The other hunters can take care of the ones still remaining. The only beasts they should have to worry about after that are the ones that crop up naturally. And the guards are going to be too busy putting out the fires to worry about killing people and collecting bribes.”

  “There will be a new Lord Mayor eventually.”

  “Yes, but maybe he won’t have a pet blood witch. And if he does, if it starts again, we know how to stop it. We’ve gotten justice for all the people we lost. Ravenwood’s as safe as we can make it—at least for now.”

  Corran felt himself fading then, and did not hav
e the energy to fight the tide.

  When he woke, it was dark outside. With consciousness came pain. He gritted his teeth and tried to shift on the bed, only to choke back a cry.

  “I guess the story you told me about Eshtamon was true.”

  Corran turned to see Aiden sprawled in a chair beside his bed. The healer looked like death warmed over, wan and hollow-eyed.

  Corran swallowed hard and looked away. “Yeah. It’s true.”

  “It had to be,” Aiden said, exhaustion seeping into every word. “Because there’s no other reason the two of you aren’t dead. You lost so much blood. That wound in your side, you should have bled out. By the time we got you to the monastery, you were barely breathing. Almost no heartbeat. Cold.”

  He sighed. “Rigan wasn’t in much better shape—in and out of consciousness, banged up pretty badly. I won’t say that I felt great, either, but I wasn’t in as much danger as the two of you. Rigan panicked thinking that you were going to die, and did some kind of binding spell to keep your soul in your body until I could heal you.” The healer shook his head. “I thought we were all going down for good.”

  “Thanks.”

  Aiden shrugged. “Thank Eshtamon. I just patched you back together. I couldn’t have saved either of you; I know my limits. The damage was too bad.”

  “Where’s Rigan?”

  “Next room over. Trying to badger me into bringing him over to see with his own eyes that you’re alive—”

  “Help me up,” Corran said, and this time he managed to get to a seated position before the room swam and his ears buzzed.

  “Gods, you’re stubborn. The two of you will be the death of me yet.” Aiden glared at him. “Lie down. For now, you’ll just have to trust me. Trent says we’re moving on tonight, so you and Rigan will have three days in a wagon to trade stories. Believe me, you haven’t missed anything. Both of you have been unconscious for most of the time, except for the bleeding and the swearing, and the nearly dying.”

  “How about you?”

  Aiden looked away. “I’m drained. Got some bruises, from where that bastard Blackholt tossed me into the wall, and some nasty gashes from the hancha. Overdid my magic. Taking on those guards after Blackholt was too much: I’ve got a headache like someone hit me with an iron rod.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I’m a healer, and I used my magic to kill. I broke my vows. That’s something I’ve got to find a way to live with. I found out what I’m capable of doing— what sort of person I am—and I’m not sure I like him.”