by CJ Perry
He found it with his arm shoulder deep, his face all but touching the surface of the pile. The guard grunted and held on to Celia’s arm. He kicked Justin in the leg to get his attention.
“What’re you doing, boy?”
Justin found the handle and pulled the sword up and out. Fruit peels clung to the crossbar and feces covered the handle and sections of the blade. Justin retched again, on the verge of passing out. At least the sword was disguised.
Justin held the sword with two hands, one on the handle and the other on the blade as he dug through the trash surrounding Celia, gagging and retching with every breath. He cleared down to her knee, throwing the trash over the side of the mound. He jabbed the sword down into the pile close to her leg.
Celia cried out through clenched teeth.
Justin recoiled. “Did I cut you?’
She gave a tight shake of her head, jaw clamped shut. He had, but her eyes screamed for him not to stop. Justin shoved the blade back into the trash again. This time he was certain the blade had cut into her leg. Celia squeezed her eyes shut against the pain until they shot open again and she nodded, frantic. She grabbed the guard’s arm with both hands and pulled.
Justin dropped the sword back on top of the pile and grabbed her other arm. Together, the they pulled her out and she flopped over onto her side, hair in a pile of rotten potato peels. The guard stumbled and put his back to the stone wall of Hornstall Keep. He gasped for breath and put his hands on his knees. The garbage finally stopped churning.
“I’ll ask one more time,” he said, rotating his shoulder. “What were you two doing up here?”
Justin grabbed the sword and tucked it through his belt, sure to collect as much garbage with it as he could manage. He pulled his tunic down over it. “Let’s get down first.”
The guard nodded. Together, he and Justin helped Celia to the alley floor, blood running down her leg. A crowd of people had formed to watch, applauding as the three descended.
“We have to get her to a Red Knight,” the guard said as they reached the bottom, raising his voice over the clapping people. “Are you alright young lady?”
Celia nodded, her hair full of potato peels. A bit of corn husk had adhered to her cheek with rot.
The guard smiled at her. “Can’t you speak?”
She shook her head and a peel fell onto her shoulder.
Justin cleared his throat to get the guard’s attention. “My cousin’s daft,” he said. “Kicked in the head by a mule when she was a kid. She can make a few words, but it’s hard for her.”
A few muted ‘aww’s’ came from the onlookers and spread through the crowd. The guard’s grizzled face softened.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. Have you had a priest look at her?”
Justin nodded and put on his best sad face. “There’s no hope for this one. She’s strong and fit for the fields, but dumb as a southern ox. That’s how she ended climbing up there,” he said and pointed to the top of The Pit.
Celia glared at him but her face went slack and she craned her neck forward when the guard looked at her again. “Bleeding,” she said with a thick northern accent, and puffed out her lower lip to pout.
Justin wiped his hand across his lips to hide a smile and coughed over a laugh. He stepped closer to Celia and lifted her arm over his shoulders to assist her. A puddle of blood had formed beneath her bare foot. The guard looked down.
“We need to get her to a Red Knight, or a priest. That cut is pretty ba…where are her shoes?”
Justin pointed to the top of the pile of garbage. “She took them off up there. Don’t worry, I’ll get her some new ones. Right after we get this leg taken care of.”
“Shoes,” Celia enjoined, and made the pouty face again. This time she added a very slight cross to her eyes and Justin looked away with a twitch of his lips.
He offered a hand out to the guard and the man shook it. “You are a better man than me, sir,” the guard said, and pointed down the packed street. “The Red Knights in front of the keep are a little busy but one of them should be able to help.”
“Thanks again,” Justin replied, and led Celia toward the crowd of people all of them still staring at the daft girl with potato peels in her hair and a bleeding leg. Justin turned back to the guard. “Do you mind helping us get through?”
The guard gave Justin a reassuring nod and faced the crowd. “Alright! Let’s make a path! Injured woman coming through! Keep it moving, away from the keep!”
The crowd parted and Justin helped Celia through. He checked behind him to see that the crowd had already closed the gap and the guard had not followed. Justin leaned in and whispered in her ear.
“Heal that leg, but be quiet about it. The robe should hide the light.”
Celia whispered the prayer and removed her arm from Justin. Justin took her hand, weaving them through the dense crowd. The people moved away from the courtyard, eyes up and necks craning over their shoulders to get a glimpse of the commotion near the keep. More guards shouted, herding the people away.
“Let’s go people!”
“We need to clear the courtyard!”
A few people covered their noses and moved away as they passed. Good. The smell would ward off any questions. Justin caught bits of conversation as they made their way through the packed street.
“I heard part of the keep collapsed.”
“…closing the courtyard?”
“…Freedom celebration is delayed.”
So long as they remained amongst the gawkers they were all but invisible. But the gate guards would notice their filthy condition and Celia’s lack of shoes. Beggars and vagrants in Hornstall faced arrest and trial by a priest or magistrate.
The Disguise spells he cast usually lasted about an hour but Justin had lost track of how much time had already passed. The ordeal in The Pit had taken at least a third of the duration. They had to make it to the gate and get out of the city before it expired.
A group of guards led by a Red Knight pushed their way against the tide of people, heading straight for Justin. Some of the older and more powerful Red Knights knew prayers that allowed them to Detect for magic and see through disguises. He squeezed Celia’s hand, conveying the warning without words. Her hand went to his tunic, searching for the sword. Justin shook his head and pushed her hand away.
The knight looked right at him. Justin reached for his spell pouch but Celia was wearing his robe and sash. He changed direction, heading for an alley across the way from the keep. He excused himself as he cut between a pair of men in merchant garb, pulling Celia behind him. Both men covered their noses.
“You there!” the Red Knight shouted, words hollow under his visored helm.
Justin moved faster, shouldering bystanders out of the way. Someone slammed into him from behind and he stumbled to one knee, still holding Celia’s hand. A Red Knight grabbed him by the shoulders and stood him up.
They were caught. Justin’s heart raced in his chest. He lifted the side of the tunic to get to the sword. The Knight removed his gauntleted hands and shook off a bit of rotten cabbage.
“Ugh,” the Red Knight complained as the other guards continued to rush past. The Knight turned and shouted to the other guards. “Grab him! Don’t let him get away!” He turned back and patted Justin on the shoulder. “Be more careful,” he said, before following his comrades and whomever they chased.
Celia sighed and squeezed Justin’s hand. Justin gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile and continued to snake his way through the shuffling people. They passed the arena and then the Alibi without incident and then broke through the edge of the crowd as they approached the gate.
Some folks had already begun heading for the gate, following the line of stopped carriages and wagons that were lined up from outside all the way to the inn, held up by the throngs of people. Justin fell in line behind them and walked straight through the gatehouse, then the Children’s Garden, and finally the main gate without incident. Ever
y guard watched the commotion inside the city from the twin set of towers that overlooked the hills south.
Justin led Celia across the drawbridge hand in hand, and onto the main road out of Hornstall where the line of wagons ended. Once Justin deemed it safe they left the road and crossed a field to the wood line.
“Ugh, God of Light we stink,” she said the moment the road was out of sight, and let go of Justin’s hand.
“There’s a river about a quarter mile through these woods, we can wash up there. But then we need to stay in one place for a while so I can study.”
“We need to keep moving,” she said.
“You aren’t getting far without shoes. We should have a little bit of time. I don’t think the guards know we made it out of the Sanctum. If I can get an hour or so to study, I can summon us a pair of horses.”
Celia’s hair curled and reverted back to red just as Justin’s skin started to itch. His gray robe shimmered and returned to red and gold. The disguises were wearing off. They had made it just in time. Celia nodded at him as he reverted to his normal seven-foot self.
They picked their way through the forest to a clearing at the edge of the river. It was the same river where Deetra and the Freemen had famously fought the minotaur garrison just before the Battle of Hornstall. It flowed north, back toward the city.
After they washed off, they traded clothes with their backs turned. Justin gave her his tunic and she returned his robe and he put it on over his bare chest. Justin’s tunic fit her like a dress. The light of the afternoon filtered down through the branches and the birds chirped their songs.
Celia walked over to him as he put his back to a tree and sank down to his rear. “You have a plan?”
“I do. The first part is to study while you get us some water and food, if you can find any. There are blackberry bushes all through these woods.”
She shielded her eyes with one hand and scouted the riverbank. “I can do that. Do you have anything to put the water or food in?”
Justin reached into his sash and slipped out his Hidden Pocket.
“You cannot be serious,” Celia said, and pointed at the little bag. “That will hold, what, ten berries?”
“I am, and no. It won’t hold any berries,” he replied, and reached into the bag. His arm dipped in up to the elbow. He did it for show, whatever the bag’s owner searched for always rested near the top. Celia’s jaw dropped. Justin laughed and pulled out his canteen and then the bowl. She came over and took them, turning them over, inspecting each one.
“They’re real,” he said as he removed the satchel that contained his spell books. He opened the satchel, retrieved a book, and propped it open in his lap.
Celia shook her head. “You are just full of surprises. What else do you have in there?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Justin answered, and tapped the open book in his lap. “Now if you don't mind. I’m not sure how much time we have but I doubt it’s as much as I need. Just stay under the trees.”
“Why?”
“Ravens. Victor will search for us with ravens.”
“How?”
“He’s a shaman, and a powerful one at that. But if you let me study, maybe we will get out of here before he finds us.”
She dipped her head in a slight bow, hair still dripping water, and then turned for the river. Justin’s spell book was organized by the schools of magic, and he flipped to the Summoning section. Celia knelt down facing away from him, sword across her knees. She laid her hands on the ground in front of her, face up to the sun. Justin used a finger to keep his page.
“Didn’t I just say to stay under-”
Celia prayed, “By Your Light we are fed, by Your Light our thirst is quenched.”
Light shone on the ground in front of her, a spinning reflection of the sun on the bowl. When she stood she held the bowl in one hand, stacked high with bread. She took a drink from the canteen as she made her way back to him.
If the Priests of the Night Goddess could have summoned water or food, the War for Freedom would have gone a lot smoother. The Gods had alliances between them, affecting their spheres of influence. The Goddess of Storms siding with the Night Goddess meant that his mother could call down rain and lightning. Other gods, like the Goddess of Peace and Healing had no alliances, but shared a portion of her power with all the world’s faithful.
“Whose blessing makes food and water conjurable?”
Celia handed him the canteen and sat at a tree a few feet away, opposite him. “If you are asking which god grants me a prayer of food and water, it is our Lord - the God of Light.” She pointed at the sun. “Only he can grow wheat.”
“What about the water?”
“I never thought about it. Who is to say? I suppose there is a reason somewhere in the temple writings. Every prayer has its story, but the histories are long and I do not enjoy poetry.”
“I only ask because the Night Goddess’ knights and priests can’t conjure either one.”
She leaned and handed him the bowl filled with thick unleavened bread. Justin took a piece and chewed off a chunk. It broke and crunched like a mouthful of rocks - but it was food. He took a sip from the canteen. The water was pure and sweet and helped him chew the bread. He handed it back to her with a nod of thanks.
She covered her mouth and talked around her bite of bread. “Darkness cannot create life, or sustain it.”
Justin tapped his book again, signaling his need to read. The philosophical debate between the virtues of Light versus Darkness became cyclical in short order. He enjoyed talking to her, and could listen to her high southern accent all day, but there was no time for it now. Celia nodded with a smile and Justin went to work. He nibbled on the hard bread and shared the canteen with Celia as he studied. Celia spent much of her time in silent prayer, which Justin appreciated. He looked up from his book every now and then, hoping to catch a glimpse of her while she was not looking, but each time their eyes met. She smiled at him each time and pointed down at his book, reminding him to study.
He finished memorizing his first casting and flipped back to the beginning of the spell. He had finished the first one in forty minutes or so, by his estimate. A second memorization always went faster than the first. Celia lay on the forest floor with her hands behind her head, looking up into the branches of the oak trees in their little grove next to the river. The sword handle lay between her breasts, blade pointing down. They just might get out of the Empire unscathed - the border of the Dwarven Kingdom lie only thirty-five miles south of Hornstall, past the narrow stretch of the Orc Hills.
A bird cawed overhead and Celia’s eyes went wide. She looked at Justin and he closed his spell book. It cawed again - a raven. The leaves and boughs of the trees hid their position from the sky but a raven’s eyes could spot a mouse at a hundred yards.
Justin held out a hand and whispered: “Don’t move.”
Celia kept her hands behind her head, her posture at odds with the tension in her neck. The raven cawed again, closer this time. The leaves above Celia rustled and the raven landed on a bough behind her. It cocked its head to the side, squawked again, and ruffled its feathers. Justin’s heartbeat sped up. Celia lay with her fingers laced behind her head, frozen in place.
Cantrips could not harm living things, or Justin would kill it without a second thought. His hand searched the ground around him for a rock and found a coin-sized one with a smooth finish. He threw it sidearm. The rock hit the branch with a clack. The raven cawed and took to the air with an angry flutter of wings.
Celia rose to her feet, sword in hand. “Now what?”
“Victor will be here in a few minutes, he’ll track us down.”
“He’s a tracker too?”
“He can shapeshift into the form of his spirit guide and track us by smell.”
“What is his spirit guide?”
“An Abyssal Wolf.”
Chapter Eighteen
Clearing the Way for A Prince
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Ayla stood in the hall with her arms folded, a silk scarf tied over her nose and mouth. The hall to the Sanctum had filled with dust from the collapse. A pile of stone, mortar, and pillar fragments had spilled through the ten-foot diameter doorway, sealing it off. Two men swung sledgehammers near the top of the door, breaking apart the larger pieces of debris. Stone and mortar ricocheted off the walls. They slid the pieces down the pile, billowing more dust into the air.
More men lined the hall opposite her, passing stones and bits of pillar back out the door in a chain. The line went all the way down and out to the courtyard. Shouts drifted through the open door to the stairs as people directed one another in this or that task.
Less than an hour ago, Ayla had sat at the main table in Freedom Hall with Victor waiting for Justin to come and tell her had decided to take the vow; that he had chosen her, his mother. The haze and noise made the whole situation surreal and a pall of unyielding dread had settled over her.
The crack of hammers breaking stone kept her imagination from creating the image of Justin’s dead body buried in debris, with Deetra’s blade in his gut. If he died, the last words Ayla ever spoke to her son would be how he looked like his rapist minotaur father. Her throat and eyes ached from restrained tears. She had Victor looking for Justin throughout Hornstall and the area surrounding the walls but so far none of the guards reported seeing anyone leave the Sanctum.
Then men shouted from the stairs again. “Clear the way for the Prince!”
Ayla’s heart leaped, and then sank again. They could not have meant Justin. Victor was the only Prince left outside the Sanctum. The men near the stairs stepped out of the doorway and averted their eyes. Work in the hall halted, each man holding a piece of stone.
Victor stepped through, fanning the dust from his face. He coughed. “This air is poison, Mother. Come downstairs so we can talk. Deetra should hear this, too.”
She shook her head. Justin was still in the Sanctum with the Guardian. If the door was cleared without Ayla present, they might escape. Nothing and no one rivaled Ayla’s power within that room.