Umaryn, Malwynn, Chelsea. All the innocents who Alisanne has harmed… I cannot fail them. James thought. He looked to the ground to think of a helpful spell and started to summon The Way again when his train of thought was interrupted by a loud pinging noise, and an exclamation of pain. James looked up just in time to see the lead sentry fall to the ground, knocked out by an unseen blow to the head.
The three other guards—now leaderless—turned and looked towards the stable to see the source of the blow that felled their leader.
Not twenty paces away Malwynn stood, drawing the string on his bow with a calm confidence in his eye. The arrow he was about to fire had no head at the tip. It was all shaft and feather. The men looked perplexed as he let the arrow fly.
It rifled through the morning air and struck the sentry holding the mace in the chest, directly in the center of his breastplate. The simple wooden arrow hit with the impact of a warhammer, caving in the steel and tossing the guard back until he stumbled and fell. He clutched at his chest and fought to get the air back. The bow had been enchanted by an Artifcer.
James knew who she was.
"Now one of you is asleep, and the other has a few broken ribs to tend. We merely need to leave and I wish no harm on any of you. Let us walk away I beg you," Mal said. When he finished, he drew another arrow from a quiver over his back. It too had no head.
The two remaining watchmen turned. One held his mace up and the other drew a longsword from a scabbard at his hip.
"Please. We've done no wrong here today," Mal pleaded. The man with the sword lunged out at Mal in response. Mal needed only to finish his draw and let the string go. At this range it was near impossible for him to miss. In fact it would've been more of a challenge for the blue eyed man to ensure he did less harm than more. The headless arrow hit the charging guard in the thigh just below the hip and spun him straight around so he faced the wrong direction. It looked as if he'd been rammed by a bull and not struck by an impotent arrow. Mal didn't wait for the man with the mace to make his decision. He produced another arrow from over his shoulder and sent it straight to the foot of the last man. The sound of a broken bone could be heard as the victim of the headless arrow yelped in pain. He began to hop on his good foot long enough to lose his balance and fall as well.
"Come," Mal said to James, never taking his eyes off the two sentries that had caught up with the Apostle. James bolted, and Mal led them into the stable as the two men watched, transfixed.
"Where is Chelsea?" James asked in a hushed tone.
"She left the stable to attend to the small army of Church warriors that left from the garrison a moment ago. We'll meet up with her when we leave here. Where is our Uncle? Where is Weston?" An arrow whizzed between the two men and stuck in a beam deep inside the stable. It vibrated powerfully. They looked out of the stable as a Church archer nocked another arrow to send their way. The Church wardens were ready to kill them if need be.
"He didn't make it Mal. I'm sorry," James said.
Mal's face took on a strange expression of pain James had never seen before. Mal couldn't make any words to explain his thoughts. Another arrow flew past, this time nearly hitting James, slashing a hole through the sleeve of his blouse. Mal tugged another one of his blunt arrows out and as fast as lightning sent it straight into the belly of the archer that was targeting them. The man folded over from the arrow's blow and fell to the ground, drained of the air inside.
Mal pulled a horse out of a stall and handed the reins over to the Apostle. James gave the box to Mal and after putting his foot in the stirrup, the Apostle got up and into the saddle. James turned on the horse back to Mal to take the box back and saw Mal looking at it with a forlorn look. It was the cause of so much of his life's agony, and he finally held it in his hands.
"Mal."
Malwynn looked up from the box to James. The cleric extended a hand down for the box. He wanted to hold the burden for the Everwalk brother. James could see that Mal realized the box would be a great burden and he gave it back. He seemed lighter for the doing of it. Mal produced two horses from a stall and after unstringing his bow and tucking it away he got into the saddle of one. He was far more adept at the maneuver than James was.
"Where is Bramwell?"
Mal spurred the palomino horse with his feet and guided it towards the far exit of the stable and away from the direction the guards seemed to be coming from. He held the reins of the second horse, golden coated like the first. It followed dutifully. "It didn't seem sensible to have a giant black Gvorn at the scene. He sticks out in a crowd."
"Where did you get these horses?" James asked, nudging his horse to follow.
"Chelsea borrowed them from the barracks. We'll tie them to a tree somewhere outside of the city and get a message to her mother or father to come retrieve them. First things first though. Chelsea needs rescuing."
The two men left the stable as another series of arrows flew through the air at them. Thank the Ancestors the deadly missiles missed their mark considerably. The archers must've been surprised at their sudden appearance. "We're lucky the Church has poor archers," James said.
He spoke too soon. A second volley of lethal arrows came in and the third horse Mal was leading was struck in the hind quarters. With a loud whinny it bolted, its reins breaking free of Malwynn's grip. "Shit," Mal said as the horse galloped away into the grounds of the Cathedral. "Hyah!" he said, spurring the horse with his heels and a snap of the reins. The horse responded, and James followed suit as they rounded behind the stable, putting a building between them and the three archers standing on the distant hill. The entire cathedral was in a panic now. Visitors and low ranking Apostles were fleeing.
"We need to get out of here before the higher ranking Apostles come. We can deal with the guards but if the magic users come we won't be able to stop them without causing a shameful amount of damage and injury."
"I know. Follow," Mal said as the two horses picked up speed. They left the dirt trail and galloped across an adjacent field towards a gray stone building that had a substantial commotion surrounding it. Multiple armored and uniformed Cathedral protectors were on the ground, knocked unconscious by something. They rounded a large hedge and came into a courtyard at the entrance of the garrison. Chelsea was surrounded by a handful of hostile warriors, all intent on visiting harm on her. They had swords brandished, and each moved to flank.
"Chelsea!" Mal yelled out in a panic, fearful for the safety of the woman he cared so deeply for.
"Just a moment Malwynn dear," Chelsea said calmly, holding a wooden training sword at the ready. She no sooner finished her statement when two of the men opposite dove in at her, attempting to skewer her with bastard swords. With a strong yet feminine agility Chelsea danced to the side and the two men stabbed surprised into empty space. She spun like a dervish and sent the wooden blade backhanded just below the base of the man's helm where his neck met his shoulders. There was a thunking noise followed by the crash of his metal armor covered body collapsing to the stone courtyard below. Before the other man could address the woman effectively she reversed her spin and dropped low, extending her leg out. She swept the man's feet cleanly and he too crashed to the smooth marble surface. She lifted the same leg up and brought it down on his head, sending him to the darkness but saving his life.
The three men still surrounding her used that moment to close. One swung an enormous bardiche polearm down, its blade whistling through the summer morning air in a limb severing arc. Chelsea rolled out of its way, but the very tip of the blade snicked her thigh, drawing a red line through her trousers and into her leg. Mal's face twisted in pain more than hers.
She tucked and rolled like an errant barrel until she was outside of the ring of closing men, leaving spatters of blood from her slashed thigh as she went. They scrambled to follow, stabbing at her unsuccessfully as she actually managed to put space between them, despite their being upright. When she sensed she had enough distance to stand, her torso twisted
and her arms and legs spun out, and she unfolded in a way that put her upright and on a knee. Chelsea grinned.
She launched her shoulder up immediately into the chest of the closest man and sent him tumbling backwards. The next man was far too close to bring his own bardiche to bear and Chelsea crossed both of his unarmored knees with a pair of crossing slashes from her wooden sword. Mal and James heard both kneecaps crack from her blows. The man—unable to stand—fell screaming and clutching at his legs. It was fortunate so many healers were nearby. His pain would be temporary.
The final man who'd cut Chelsea's leg, backed away to better use the reach of his polearm and Chelsea grinned happily. She inclined her head in thanks for the battle and ran away, leaving him waiting for a fight that would never happen. Chelsea ran straight for Mal, reaching her hand up to take his. Hands grasped, he yanked her up so she could get astride the mount. Mal had the horse moving even before she was set behind him on the horse's back.
They were fifty paces with an angry polearm wielding sentry screaming behind them before she said anything. She inquired over the beat of the steel shod hooves of the two horses. "How did we do? Where's Weston?"
"We got the box," Mal said. His voice was grim, his jaw set.
"Great. Where's Weston?" Chelsea asked him again, wrapping her arms around him tighter and looking back to James and the guards giving up the chase. They crossed through one of the massive entrances in the Cathedral ground walls, entering the greater city and leaving the confines of the Church behind.
"He didn't make it," was all Mal said.
Chelsea hadn't run out of breath in the fight, but she found no air inside her to say anything in response. She squeezed Mal tighter.
Umaryn's relationship with the Artificer Guild had forced her out of the shenanigans at the Church. Everyone decided that if anyone were to be completely apart from their guilt, it should be her. Her future with the Guild as well as the importance of having an inside connection with such a powerful organization was too much to risk. So after calling to the spirits inside Mal's bow she left with the mounts and headed out of Daris. Now she sat with Tinder, Bramwell, and three other horses five miles outside of the city on the side of a south eastern bound road. The animals grazed in a small paddock that frequent travelers had fenced off for convenience's sake and she watched them pick at the ripe, sweet summer grasses with their teeth and lips. It was the only relaxing thing she could do while she waited. She drummed her fingers on the fence.
If all had gone somewhat according to plan, Weston and James should've confronted an ill Alisanne in her office by then. In fact, if they had to wait the full hour for the mushroom's toxic effect to set in on her, they might still be several hours away. It felt like forever and she desperately wanted to be with her brother.
She was startled when she saw two horses riding the road. Chelsea and Malwynn were on a single horse and James was alone on a second beast. The absence of her uncle Weston from the group was not lost on her and she felt her heart's pace quicken. A lump rose in her throat. She walked into the center of the hardened, heavily traveled road and shielded her eyes from the eastern rising sun. She put her hand on the haft of her hammer but no one was hot on their heels.
"How did it go?" She asked them as they slowed their mounts and eventually stopped in front of the modest paddock.
Chelsea slipped off the back of the horse and walked around it, silent. She avoided eye contact. The woman-warrior went to the side of the animal and waited for Malwynn to get off the horse as well. When he landed on the ground she put an arm around him. He resisted her comfort at first, but after locking eyes with her he took her into an embrace.
James got off the borrowed steed and took a few cautious steps toward the twins and Chelsea. He held the box low, almost behind him. "Umaryn we lost Weston."
Umaryn felt a puffy hot sensation in her face and knew it was a torrent of emotion starting to boil. She felt the wetness come as her vision blurred. "How? Did Alisanne kill him?" She looked over at Malwynn and saw that he too had a grimace. His dust covered face now had dark streaks from a multitude of columns of fresh tears. Seeing him cry did her in, and she gasped softly. Her own tears spilled down.
James moved to her and stroked her arm gently. The gesture helped some. "I was unable to keep the ruse long enough for the tea to fully poison her. Weston came in as she was about to strike me down. I grabbed the box off the shelf and Alisanne used The Way to strike me down. I was broken in a heartbeat, smashed down by a hundred spirits all at once. Nearly dead." James' own lips started to curl with emotion.
"Go on," Umaryn said, stroking his arm now.
"I could only see some of what Weston did, but before she could strike me again, or hit him, he vaulted over her desk and gave a beating. I saw her face after… After she stabbed him. He hurt her badly."
Umaryn bit her knuckles to smother another gasp.
"I was able to heal myself, bless the ancient spirits. They came to me in my time of need, and I was able to get to my feet, but not before your aunt stabbed your uncle several more times. My rise gave him enough time though."
"Time for what?" Malwynn asked angrily. "Sorry," he apologized to James for his tone.
James inclined his head, accepting the apology without being hurt by the comment. "He was able to cast a single spell before he died. Fascinating thing it was. He called out to the washbasin she'd used as we arrived, and the water inside it came alive. It swam through the air like a viper and swallowed her head whole. She couldn't speak or breathe. It drowned her. He drowned her. We can't heal drowning. Did you know that? I bet he knew that. Smart man."
"So she's dead?" Umaryn asked.
"After trying to heal your Uncle I put the dagger she killed him with into her back. Taste of her own medicine. I enjoyed the poetic justice of it, though now I regret killing her as she lay defenseless on the floor." James sounded conflicted.
"Fuck her. Let her rot. I hope every last one of the hundred Apostles in that Cathedral let her body rot too. She doesn't deserve the Blessing of Soul's Rest. She doesn't deserve to be a spirit forever. They should hang her up like they did the Tyrant King and let her dead body flail until it rots to nothing," Mal said, the anger back.
"Malwynn I'm sorry but everyone deserves that rite and denying it to the Tyrant King so long ago was a travesty. All should be returned to the ether of Elmoryn. To fuel The Way for Apostles and to serve and guide the living. The dead are an integral part of our cosmology. Perhaps in her afterlife she'll see the error of her ways and try to do good?" James, the peacekeeper offered.
Umaryn spoke, her voice just as angry as her brothers, "James there were one hundred and sixty seven souls where we grew up, and that bitch saw to it that each and every single soul was handed over to The Empire. She didn't think it was necessary that they received the Blessing. She's the worst of the worst and I wish a pox on her soul."
"Kinless again it would seem," Mal said looking up at the blue Elmoryn sky. It matched his and his sister's eyes.
Chelsea shook her head, "I wouldn't say that."
Mal looked to her and smiled. He wiped his cheeks of the tear streaks and grime and squeezed her tight.
The group was quiet. The twin's anger was boiling over and only silence could calm them. Mal and Chelsea walked away for a moment, sharing each other's embrace. Malwynn kissed her forehead as Umaryn watched. Seeing her brother happy—if only for that moment—made her feel better about Weston's death. But only for a moment.
James gave the twins and Chelsea several minutes to reflect on the morning's loss. Having just been reunited with an uncle they didn't know only to have him ripped away by the very person they'd committed atrocities to seek vengeance against was a powerful blow. Despite the day's advance, it didn't feel like a victory in the least. When Mal and Chelsea sat down in the grass next to each other James beckoned for Umaryn to join, and the four attempted the conversation again.
"I've the box," James said bluntly as he
produced it.
The box was small and ordinary. It frightened them.
"Have you looked inside yet?" Umaryn asked him.
"This was not my box to open. Which of you wants the dubious privilege of smashing it to bits?"
The twins looked at each other. Neither made a showing of making a decision.
"Want me to?" Chelsea asked them.
They both nodded. It seemed as if touching the box would be too much for them in the moment. Chelsea sat up from the freshly eaten short grass near the paddock and got to her knees. She took the box from James and sat it on the ground in front of everyone. The horses and the larger Gvorn seemed to move away from that side of the grazing area. Perhaps they sensed the contents of the box and wanted away. She drew her wooden sword from the training scabbard she wore on her hip and readied herself. She sat still for a moment too long, and the twins shifted about uncomfortably.
"Do it, please," Mal pleaded.
"I'm half convinced this damn thing is going to explode on us. She'd be the kind to rig the box with some kind of spell trap," Chelsea said.
"Break it or I will," Umaryn said.
And that settled it. The blonde warrior lifted the pommel of her fake sword up and brought it down hard on the box. The lid gave out a splitting noise and cracked, but the box didn't give way and there was no explosion.
Mal snorted. "You didn’t think it'd be that easy, did you?" Mal asked, laughing.
"No I guess not. Fucking thing," Chelsea said. The group started laughing slowly at first, then harder until they were all holding their sides from the terrible joke. James was caught up in it as well, but as he laughed he wondered how much of their hysterics were just grief worming its way out in a different fashion. It was better to laugh than cry. After a good long chuckle Chelsea wiped tears from her face and took a deep steadying breath. Everyone held theirs while she brought her hand up again.
The Motive for Massacre (The Kinless Trilogy Book 2) Page 24