by Ed Gentry
He skirted the edge of the room sticking close to the wall, his feet shuffling on the ground. He followed the rounded perimeter to his right for several heartbeats. More than twenty crates over half a man long and as high as his knees were spread out before him, stacked in piles of two.
Watching both entrances, Taennen crouched and pried a lid off one of the boxes, cursing its squeaks. Swords of fine manufacture lay in the box, instruments of death waiting to fulfill their purpose. The slender blades were indicative of Durpari style.
Taennen moved to another box and found six score daggers, dull and ordinary, not for mercantile use. He glanced back at the swords and noted the same quality. No jewels shone in their hilts, no ornate filigree decorated the handles. The weapons were not intended to serve as display pieces in markets or on the walls of the wealthy. They were designed to display the blood of other men and women on a field of battle.
As he stepped toward another crate, Taennen heard voices from the other end of the cavern. He dashed to the shadows, not sparing the time to close the boxes of weapons. From the tunnel straight ahead, two figures entered the cavern.
At first it seemed as though the pair were speaking some other tongue, but as they came closer, Taennen realized they were speaking Common but at an amazing rate. One could not even finish a sentence before the other started speaking, and then the reverse became true. Though he could not follow the conversation entirely, it seemed they were bickering over prices, for he heard almost as many numbers as words.
Stepping into the light of a torch in the wall, the two figures—dwarves, he determined—stopped and argued as they pointed to various crates. After several moments, one of the short folk tossed his hands into the air and nodded, causing the other to pump his fist in victory and pat his companion on the back. Together they stacked three of the crates and hefted the load between them, trudging back the way they had come, chatting and laughing as they did.
What in the All and the One were dwarves doing there? He remained in the comfortable shadows and made his way to the eastern tunnel. The passage was well lit, the magical light burning away the darkness and the security it afforded him. Slipping his khopesh from its sheath and lifting his shield to his chest, Taennen crept forward. The air was warm and moist. His skin was sticky and clammy, from both the air and the nervous sweat he shed.
Thirty paces in, the passage opened into another cavern, this one many times the size of the first and crowded with much more than crates. Taennen’s eyes went wide at the sight before him as he stepped into the massive space before realizing he was out in the open. He quickly stepped back to lean against the passage wall.
At least two dozen large tents and semi-permanent structures filled the cavern. Dwarves and humans swarmed about, moving from tent to tent, some carrying crates, some barking orders to others constructing more of the shacks, and a few tables of dwarves drinking and gambling at a game Taennen did not recognize.
With better visibility from many magical torches, Taennen could see the markings on the armor of some of the dwarves and recognized the symbol as the same one Marlke had worn, the mark of the Gemstone Chaka. Some of the humans wore the familiar clothing of the barbarians who had plagued Neversfall with their attacks and wiped out so many of Taennen’s comrades. Two humans exited the largest tent in the cavern, and Taennen restrained himself from shouting out when he saw they wore Chondathan uniforms.
He stood there watching for several breaths. The Chondathans were allied with the attackers who had killed so many of his friends. His body began to tremble with rage. Taennen’s breath caught when he asked himself if Jhoqo knew about the Chondathans. Taennen was driven from his baffled reverie when he heard the scraping of steel behind him.
The twang of the crossbow string found Adeenya’s ears at the same time the pain in her thigh pulsed. When she next stepped on her newly injured leg, Adeenya stifled a scream but continued forward, arcing her blade toward the shooter. Eyes wide, he rolled clear of the strike. She redirected the huge falchion before it struck the stone where her target had just been. She swung the weapon around, and it struck the crossbow the man had tossed aside as he was drawing his sword.
Adeenya grunted through her pain and thrust into the man, who slid aside trying for a chop of his own across her midsection. Adeenya threw her weight to her right, avoiding the attack, and then overextended herself attempting to send her blade into the guard. No inexperienced fool, he hopped backward. In doing so, he granted Adeenya the time she needed to recover from her risky move. Facing one another, they stepped around each other, neither one attacking. Down below, a new wave of sound erupted from the gathered crowd. With a glance, Adeenya saw that the middle of the crowd parted from the back to the front allowing Jhoqo through, escorted by two Chondathans.
Adeenya’s opponent grinned and lowered his sword, though not all the way. “It’s too late. You cannot stop all of us. Let’s just walk down there together and see him.”
“All of us?” Adeenya asked.
The man’s grin widened for a moment before Adeenya lunged forward, her falchion entering the soft spot under his chin. Warm blood splashed her face as she turned away, eyes closed. She heard tiny gurgling noises as she withdrew her blade from the body before it slumped to the ground.
Adeenya turned to face the courtyard where Jhoqo was stepping onto the crates, waving for the crowd’s attention. She needed a plan and needed it quickly.
Below, Adeenya could then hear Jhoqo speaking to the gathered crowd. “My brothers and sisters, I come to you with more grievous news and a choice that I, unfortunately, must ask you to make. The traitor, Adeenya, has escaped.”
Adeenya watched from her perch on the wall as the Chondathans in the crowd roared their displeasure, the Maquar murmured among themselves, and the Durpari stood silent.
“Fear not, for she will be found before she can kill again!” Jhoqo said to the cheering Chondathans who outnumbered the Maquar and Durpari combined.
Jhoqo waved for quiet before continuing, “These are difficult times, friends, when one of our own might turn her back on everything we fight and die for. And what is that? What drew each of us to this life?”
Jhoqo paced across the crates looking at the crowd. “We love the South. We love its people. Though we hail from different countries, we are the same people! We love the same things, believe in the same principles. Everything is connected—the Adama has taught us that. Every bit of life you give to the South helps someone else. But the opposite is true too. If you spend your time and energy fighting against the South and her children, then we all feel that! It hurts us all!” More cheers, as well as the mixed reactions of the original forces, greeted him.
Adeenya continued skulking across the wall even as a Chondathan rushed into the courtyard below, running directly to Jhoqo’s side. The Maquar urir bent low and listened to the man before nodding and motioning for four of the Chondathan to follow the messenger. Adeenya stopped and listened as Jhoqo stood tall again.
“Friends, I am sorry to say that I have just learned that there was a third traitor working with Marlke and Adeenya, another who wanted to harm us,” Jhoqo said, causing the crowd to go silent quickly. “This news both saddens and shames me as the conspirator is none other than the man I’ve raised as my own son for many years.”
The gathered throng erupted with noise and motion. The Chondathan howled, the Durpari began to shove their way out of the crowd, and the Maquar shouted their protests. Jhoqo bellowed for some semblance of order, and the Chondathan soldiers began corralling the Durpari, keeping them from leaving the gathering.
“Maquar, silence!” Jhoqo shouted, this time achieving the desired effect. The soldiers quieted, but the tension was still palpable, even to Adeenya from her place on the wall.
“My friends, I know how you must feel,” Jhoqo said, his head hung low. “We trusted Taennen. We loved him as brother and son. We fought with him, saved his life, and were saved by him in turn. I loved him as my own, but I ha
ve been offered damning proof.”
Adeenya could not guess what proof Jhoqo might have. She knew that for the man to take such extreme action, Taennen must have discovered something important. She hoped the younger man was not in custody as she had been. She had no clues as to what Jhoqo’s plan might be, but she felt both hope and fear that Taennen might have stumbled upon it. She needed to find him quickly. Amid protests, Jhoqo spoke again.
“Brothers and sisters, can’t you see how fragile we are here? We are besieged by an enemy we cannot even find, while they slowly eat away at us, deep in this hostile environment. We have only one another to depend upon. For one another we must live, for the South we must work! This place, this Neversfall, will be a shining beacon to the Southern ways—to fairness, to connectedness, and to commerce. To everything that makes us who we are. But to do that, friends, I need your help! I need to know who my family is, who my fellow patriots are.”
Quiet fell over the crowd again, though Adeenya thought they were stunned by Jhoqo’s words as much as they were interested in what the man had said. The Chondathans were surveying the other two groups. Jhoqo was pacing his stage like the best showmen in the Durpari carnivals. His gestures were large and flowing, his arms emoting along with his words.
“I ask you here and now to help me, to prove your loyalty. Search this citadel, search for Taennen and Adeenya,” Jhoqo said. The reactions to his request ranged from cheers to nods to silence and scowls. He finished by saying, “They are betrayers desperate to escape. They may do things you find unthinkable. You are hereby authorized to bring them to me by any means necessary.”
Jhoqo’s last four words washed over the crowd like blasphemy in a holy congregation. Several of the Maquar and Durpari tried to push to their way out of the crowd, while a few of each group shouted at the rest. Division was an effective tactic, and Adeenya had to admit that Jhoqo was using it well. Perhaps he could not sway all the troops, but those who wouldn’t come to his side only made his claim of betrayal more convincing in the eyes of those who did.
The Chondathans fanned the flames of anger, pushing both Maquar and Durpari alike, shoving them back to the center of the crowd. The shouts grew primal, the soldiers became wild animals grunting and butting heads. The volume rose well beyond Jhoqo’s shouts. Nothing comprehensible could be heard until one undeniable sound rose above the others: the ringing scrape of swords being drawn from their scabbards simultaneously in the warm night air, as crisp and clear as a bell.
Chapter Nineteen
Taennen ducked into a roll that brought him back up facing the opposite direction. He came to his feet, blade in hand, and saw Bascou, holding his sword before him, a smile on his face.
“Hello, my friend,” the man said. “You should not be here, I think.”
“Traitor!” Taennen said, glancing behind himself to see if anyone else was approaching.
“Traitor? No, no. I am doing my job, my duty. I am no traitor,” Bascou said. “I was hired for this.”
“Hired to secret away a hoard of weaponry under the citadel? Hired to kill Marlke?” Taennen said.
Bascou laughed for a moment, holding his palm out toward Taennen. “The dwarf? No, I did not kill that one. He was good, very useful. He gave us these dwarves. Very good in the caves, those little men. And those,” he said, pointing to some nearby crates, “they are not staying here. Not hoarding, no.”
Taennen felt strangely relieved that Marlke hadn’t died an innocent. Adeenya’s trap had worked, at least in part. It had caught the traitor. One traitor, Taennen realized. But if they weren’t stockpiling the weapons, then what was going on? Taennen’s mind suddenly flashed to the map he had seen with Neversfall marked on it. He could see the proposed trade route from the southern lands to the north.
“You’re running weapons to the Mulhorandi for their war,” Taennen said.
Bascou smiled the smile of a teacher whose pupil has finally grasped something difficult.
Taennen looked around at the tunnels, the dark walls, and the cramped space. “Why here? Why underground? Neversfall is meant to be part of the trade route.”
Bascou nodded and said, “Oh, yes, the citadel will help many merchants take rugs, food, jars, and pretty little things women sew to the Mulhorandi.”
“But not weapons,” Taennen finished for him, remembering the trade laws of the southern nations. “It’s illegal to interfere in the Mulhorandi action. When the Estagundian and Durpari governments find out about this, you and your troops will spend many, many years in servitude, if you’re lucky.”
Bascou laughed. “I think not. You think, maybe, I organized all of this by myself?” he said, motioning to the encampment in the cavern.
Taennen stood stunned a moment before answering, “Who? Who hired you? One of the rajah’s opponents?”
Bascou smiled again but only shrugged.
“The Durpari leaders?”
Again, Bascou smiled.
Taennen’s mind struggled with the man’s words. His weapon hand dropped to his waist. The scraping of boots on stone returned his focus. Taennen’s khopesh rose in time to block a stabbing blow from Bascou’s sword, the two metals resonating in a single note of discord. Taennen hopped backward, assuming a defensive posture low to the ground. He held his shield before him and readied his blade.
“Who killed Loraica? And Marlke? Who else is with you?” Taennen said.
“Other than my men?” Bascou asked, with his customary smirk.
“Who are they? Who are you?” Taennen asked.
“We are mercenaries,” Bascou replied as he began circling. “Men of commerce.” He held his sword before him, but Taennen did not miss the dagger in his offhand, though the man tried to hide it.
“The intruders, they’re your men,” Taennen said.
Bascou swung his sword in a feint Taennen easily recognized and sidestepped to allow himself to block the dagger thrust that followed the swipe. They stepped apart, circling one another again.
“Why? Why kill us like that? Why do that and then come into our midst as allies?” Taennen asked.
“I suggested that we kill you all, but I do not give the orders,” Bascou responded, stepping in with another clumsy blow that Taennen easily dodged. “I was no more pleased by the tactics we were forced to employ than anyone else.”
Taennen glanced past his opponent to the cavern camp and began stepping backwards. He wanted to lead the Chondathan man toward the smaller cavern away from the ears of the others.
“But you couldn’t attack us directly, not without a larger force. So you invented these barbarians and picked us off a few at a time in the damned forest,” Taennen said, launching his own unsuccessful feint.
Bascou answered with his own blows, no longer bothering with feints. His sword arced toward Taennen from the right. The Chondathan man spun with the attack, reversing the grip on the dagger in his left hand. Taennen ducked the sword strike and parried the dagger. The small blade hurtled down the passage to land on the stone floor. Bascou offered a slight bow, drawing a short sword from his belt.
“Who is giving the orders? Who killed Loraica?” Taennen asked, still back-stepping toward the first cavern.
Bascou’s only answer was a growl as he leaped forward with his short sword, aiming for his opponent’s gut. Taennen was faster and he sliced at Bascou’s stomach, biting into the man’s armor but causing no serious injury.
“To the citadel! Go!” Bascou shouted past Taennen.
“Who?” Taennen shouted as he barreled into the Chondathan man, his shield slamming into Bascou’s chest with a dull thud.
Taennen knew he would soon be surrounded by others from the cavern and he let his desperation lead him. Bascou twisted to his left after the initial impact, clearing himself of the tangle with the shield. As Taennen continued past him, Bascou sent his short sword slicing across the younger man’s back, finding flesh. Taennen stifled his cry of pain but recovered his feet and spun to face Bascou. Voices shouted
out rallying cries from the tents. Bascou grinned as Taennen charged him again.
Taennen’s khopesh sliced only air as Bascou twisted and danced away on the balls of his feet. The Chondathan recovered and dived back into the fray only to be rebuffed by Taennen’s shield. They circled one another again. Bascou grinned as the sound of footsteps on stone thundered from behind him.
Taennen batted Bascou’s larger sword to the left with his shield and stepped closer to his opponent. Bascou fell for the trick, letting his sword go wide, stepping in with his shorter blade driving for Taennen’s chest. Taennen held the long sword at bay with his shield but twisted the opposite direction. As he spun, his back facing his lunging foe, Taennen drove the khopesh into Bascou’s hip, eliciting a foul scream from the man.
Bascou drew his short sword in as Taennen continued to spin away. The Chondathan’s blade found purchase in the Maquar’s side but caused only a small wound before the two men separated. Taennen sidestepped through the dim tunnel as the cries of alarm from the larger cavern grew in intensity. Bascou’s forces would be upon them any moment.
Ten paces from the northern tunnel where the two dwarves had gone, Bascou swept in with his long sword in a feint that Taennen easily knocked aside. Taennen raised his shield in anticipation of the short sword strike only to be fooled when Bascou threw the smaller blade. It sank into Taennen’s left leg, provoking a grunt of pain, before slipping out and clattering to the floor.
Bascou shouted in victory as he swung his sword back toward his target. Taennen jumped over the man’s blade, pushing off the wall with his injured leg. The pain blurred his vision as he drove the steel deep into Bascou’s shoulder. Taennen plucked his blade from the bloody wound and landed hard, but kept his feet.
As Bascou growled in pain, he slashed at Taennen with his sword. Taennen knocked it aside and dodged the Chondathan’s counterattack.
Taennen turned and ran as hard as he could into the unlit northern tunnel. Behind him, Bascou called him a coward and gave chase. Taennen blundered through the dark passage until his feet found a puddle of water and he slipped, crashing to the ground in a heap. His cheek opened wide on a jagged edge of the stone floor as he landed. Breathing heavily, he scrambled to his feet and ran again.