by Jeff Wheeler
The gate captain motioned for a soldier and spoke to him in a near-whisper. The escort nodded and offered to take Ticastasy to the inn. She followed, but something wasn’t right. The gate captain looked nervous and kept glancing back at the barracks. Frowning, she followed her escort away from the knight. She scanned each of the sentries, trying to figure out what was wrong. As they passed the heavy battlement walls and entered Landmoor, she passed by the window of the barracks. She glanced a second time, just to be sure.
Standing in the window was a Bandit officer wearing black and gold.
XXVIII
Blain Kirke sliced into the hot roast goose with his knife and burned his fingers as he stripped a piece of the salty meat away. He savored the taste, enjoying the blend of ground sader and peppers that flavored it. Kirke was a plain-looking man with big shoulders, rust-colored hair, and a thick mustache that made him appear to frown. His hair was cropped short in the Shoreland style, but he still hadn’t lost his Inlander way of speaking. Scooping up a hunk of bread, he dabbed it in the stew and chewed, wondering how long the stores in the basement would last.
Allavin Devers’ last visit had not been very encouraging, and for days after he’d left, Blain had wondered if the woodsman was right. He shouldn’t have wasted his time thinking about it. Allavin knew the Bandit army’s movements better than anyone else. If he said there was trouble coming to the Shoreland, there would be trouble.
Travelers from the north had all but stopped in the last fortnight, causing no small amount of worry to the local innkeepers. Blain had enough Aralonian pieces to hold out for a lot longer than that. He was able to eat his dinner without the gut-gnawing worry of a man about to lose everything to the Shae moneylenders. But still, the lack of word from the north worried him.
Taking a sip from his tankard of ale, he watched the slow pace of the kitchen as they prepared early for the evening meals. He shook his head. He didn’t want to let any of the serving girls go. It was too soon for that anyway. They were good girls, but he’d lost Nerissa to some seedy pub in Windrift not many months ago. The others just weren’t as good as her and struggled to bring in the share of coins that Nerissa’s smile had brought them.
Dabbing a hunk of bread in the stew, he continued eating, wanting to be finished before the real crowds started. He always liked to wander and observe during the mealtime, to see what dishes worked and which didn’t. It wasn’t an easy business, and complaints spread faster than sewer fumes.
Tanita approached him from behind. “Blain, there’s a girl here to see you.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “I can’t hire anyone,” he answered. “Who let her go? That sneering wretch Bissom?”
She shook her head. “She said Allavin Devers sent her.”
Blain brushed his hands together and then wiped the crumbs from his mustache. “Bring her on back. Be quick about it.” He’d finish the goose later.
Leaning back in his chair, he folded his big arms and stared at the door. Tanita brought the girl into the kitchen and pointed him out. She nodded, smiled a quick thank you, and then hurried over to the table. Her boots were muddy, her clothes a mess, and her hair was tangled and damp.
“Sit down, lass,” he said, pushing the other chair over with the toe of his boot so she could join him. “Looks like you’re in trouble.”
She nodded, leaning forward and looking at him with the nicest brown eyes he’d seen in a long time. A good scrubbing with soap, and he could imagine what she would look like underneath. A pretty girl, no doubt about that.
“I’ve a warning to give you,” she said, keeping her voice low enough so that only he would hear. Her hand rested near his plate. “A warning for my friends. Please, they’re in danger and don’t know it.”
He frowned. “Are they bringing trouble here?”
“It’s not their fault,” she promised. “But Allavin Devers said I could trust you.”
“We’ve known each other a long time, lass. Is he coming back to Landmoor?”
She nodded with exhaustion. “He’ll be coming this way looking for me…for us. But he’s not safe here. They’ll be looking here, too.”
“Who are you talking about?” he asked, feeling a protective urge awaken. He was a big man and never relied on hired hands to remove rowdy customers.
She bit her lip and her shoulders sagged. “I came here with a knight from Owen Draw. He’s been arrested by the guard at the gate. And I saw a Bandit officer there, in the barracks.”
“Sweet Achrolese,” Blain murmured. “In the city?”
“Yes. One of the guards was supposed to bring me here, but I could tell we weren’t going the right way. He was taking me into the western quarter, and I knew your place was by the north gates.” She looked down at her hands. “I left him in an alley with a bruise on his forehead. When he wakes up, they’ll look for me here. I can’t stay. But Allavin will be coming with friends of mine. Two Shae and a Drugaen. You’ve got to warn them that the Bandits are already in the city.”
“I can do that easy enough, lass.” He leaned back and rubbed his mouth. “How long ago did you hit the guard? You came right here?”
“It took me a little while to find your inn,” she replied. “Longer than I’d hoped. They could be walking in any moment.”
“Don’t fret about that. You look hungry…here, finish this.” He scooted the plate over to her and watched her tear into it ravenously. She licked her fingers and gulped down a few deep swallows of ale.
He rose from the table and waived Tanita over. “Keep watch for the city guard. Let me know if anyone comes. Stall them. Keep quiet about the girl.” Tanita nodded and slipped away, spreading the word in whispers to the other serving girls.
Blain looked over his shoulder and saw her stuffing the last of the bread in her mouth while coming to her feet. He went over to her and shook his head. “You’re bone weary, lass. Rest a moment and let’s talk.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t come to bring you trouble. I…I just didn’t know how to get them a message. I’ve got to hide, find a place where they won’t look…”
“Sit down,” he said, guiding her back to the chair. He sat down and rested his elbows on the table. “I don’t know if the governor is involved or not. I’m sure he’d want to know, but I don’t dare risk telling him myself. Allavin warned me about this the last time he was here. And there have been rumors that the Bandits are thick in the woods these days. Two of my suppliers haven’t been back from Dos-Aralon as scheduled.” He rubbed his forehead. “I haven’t seen Allavin Devers since his last warning. When did you leave him?”
Her eyes looked haunted. “Allavin joined us in Castun. The Bandit army is on the edge of the Shadows Wood. Right now, not ten miles from here. We crossed it last night to get here.”
“Sweet Achrolese,” he muttered again.
“They’re coming to Landmoor,” she said seriously. “Ban it, they’re already inside!” She sunk her head in her hands. “We were too late. Too late.”
He put his hand on her shoulder. “You’re safe here, lass. I won’t turn you over to the guard.”
“But I can’t just wait here,” she said, clenching her fists. He saw the raw tenacity in her eyes.
“I’ve got a room upstairs that overlooks three streets down. Why don’t you go up there and rest a bit. I can get you out the back in case they come. But if they don’t come for a while, you’ll need the rest. Just look at you.” He sighed and then remembered his poor manners. “I’m Blain Kirke, as you already knew. What’s your name?”
She looked up, gave him a weary smile, and told him.
* * *
Ticastasy blew the tiny lamp flame out and the room was smothered in darkness. Putting the warm brass lamp on the small table by the bed, she crossed to the curtained window. The bustle of the inn jutted against the walls. After listening for several moments, she parted the curtain. The back street was dark. Once the sun had set it was shielded by shadows from the city wall
s that the street lanterns did not penetrate.
Letting the curtain fall back in place, she went to the plush bed. Blain Kirke had put her in one of the nicest rooms, and she looked at the soft, stuffed mattress longingly. She stared at herself in the mirror at the foot of the bed. At least she looked like herself again, instead of the mud-spattered waif who had wandered in hours earlier.
Moving back to the window, she parted the curtain again, glancing for signs of anyone in the alley beyond. There had been no word all afternoon. Nothing from Allavin. Nothing from Sturnin, though she expected he had been put away quietly. Not even the city guard had come by the Wee Kirke. That made her worry even more, but it also gave her direction. She wasn’t a threat to their plans. Anger boiled inside of her. Not a threat? She’d lived in Sol long enough to know how a city garrison worked. There would be a guard change not long after dusk. That was when they moved prisoners to the main jail. If anyone had been captured at the gate, they would be brought there then. And the only way to find that out would be to watch and follow. Ticastasy was good at both.
Finding the street empty, she tugged at the metal window brace. It unfastened with a faint creak, and she pushed the window open. The chilled night air blew past her cheeks and she inhaled through her nose. Stuffing the small iron room key deeper into her pockets, she hopped up on the sill and slid her legs over the edge. She jumped the little distance from the corner of the roof to the ground and scanned each end of the street. It was empty. Lifting the hood of her cloak over her hair, she walked to the rear of the inn.
Landmoor was quiet, except for the fragments of song that drifted by on the breeze. Would they be drinking themselves into oblivion if they knew an army camped a few miles into the forest? The smooth cobblestone felt hard compared with the soft dirt and grass she had trampled walking through the fog. She shook her head, remembering the day Quickfellow had come.
The day her life had gone upside-down.
After reaching the end of the inn, she turned and hurried until she found the northern wall of the city. It was huge and towering, and she brushed her hand against the cool stone. She followed the wall to the west, hidden in a slice of its shadow. Her keen ears picked out the steady footsteps of the soldiers patrolling the top of it.
She walked slowly, avoiding the tall patches of weeds that popped through the edge of cobbles. She was not sure how well the sentries could hear and didn’t want to risk the stalks whisking against her boots. A few buildings sagged against the wall and she had to skirt around them, but she kept going west until she reached the huge northern gatehouse. Wisps of mist crept from the south streets, and she quickened her step. The Valairus fog would help her hide, but she hoped she didn’t get lost in it. Mist thickened around her, roaming the gutters first, swirling around her ankles until it was part of her. Those from the Shoreland were intimate with it. She greeted it like a friend.
She reached the junction of the north gate. Tugging her cloak close, she stood at the crossroads of the gatehouse and watched. Torches glared from the wall sconces. The portcullis was still closed, and so were the inner doors. The fortress was clamped shut, just as it happened in Sol every night.
Ticastasy waited, shivering in the night air. Before an hour had passed, she saw the barrack doors open in the rear. In the light of the doorframe, she saw the same Bandit officer glance outside and then motion for the guards. Emerging from within, she watched twelve soldiers wearing the colors of Dos-Aralon escort Sturnin Goff away. His armor had been stripped from him and he wore a stained tunic and trousers. His hands were locked together in irons, and chains around his ankles dragged and scraped against the stone. There was a determined and angry look in his eyes, but he followed in the midst of the soldiers and disappeared down a street to the west.
The barrack doors closed. Counting the steps in her mind, she followed. She padded on cat’s feet, anxious not to be heard but hurrying to catch up to the watch. They kept an even pace and joked amongst themselves. She was relieved that Sturnin was all by himself. Maybe Allavin and Flent were huddling outside the walls with Justin and Quickfellow. Maybe they would try and enter Landmoor in the morning. When the guards turned abruptly, she kept pace. They were off the main road now, heading down a twisting alley. She kept her distance. They walked for several miles before reaching a walled garden. This was unusual. The city jail would be near the center of town at the bottom of the town’s keep. The guards had taken Sturnin to the western quarter. She swallowed worriedly. She was near where the guard had tried to take her. At the end of the alley, they passed beneath a wrought-iron arch. A lock and chains secured the gate, which they re-fastened behind them after passing. After waiting a few moments, she scrabbled up the corner of the gate and jumped down onto the soft grass. Shadowy trees appeared through the fog on each side, and the soaked grass cushioned her boots. Silently, she wove between the trees inside a walled park.
The mist fell away around a stone well in the center of the park. There was a large pillared gazebo nearby with stone benches and small footpaths spreading away from it like wagon spokes. The cool sigh of trickling water came from the deep stone throat of the well. A rusted steel rail encircled it. At two ends, tall stone blocks rose about eye-level, fixed across with a metal rod and a crank. A heavy chain sank into the well’s mouth.
The guards approached the well and one looked down inside it. “Someone’s been down and forgot to let it up,” he mumbled. He grabbed the crank and gave it a hard jerk. The groan of metal scraping against stone sounded and something deep within the well shuddered.
Ticastasy heard the groans of chains quicken and then slow, ending with a click. Six of the twelve men stepped over the metal rail. Her eyes widened further when they didn’t fall. She watched as Sturnin was hefted over the stone rim. One of them jerked on the crank again and the six began to sink into the well shaft.
As they disappeared below, the six remaining guards waited until they were down before abandoning the park. They passed by her in the shadows and fog. She waited until she could no longer hear the sound of their boots. The creaking gate closed, and she heard chains drag and a lock clamp and click. Where had they taken Sturnin Goff in the middle of the garden? There was something below the city – tunnels or passageways. Ticastasy emerged from the trees and hurried to the edge of the well. The warm orange glow from a lantern slowly disappeared down a tunnel at the bottom of the shaft. She looked deep into the park. Where did the tunnel lead? She was pretty good at tripping a lock. If she could free the knight, they would be able to get out together.
She clenched her teeth, trying not to be afraid. Climbing over the rail, she grabbed the cold chain and climbed hand over hand down the well shaft. She dropped down to the floor of the well and waited, listening.
Voices.
Ticastasy looked around, hearing men approaching from a tunnel coming the other way. Fear danced in her blood and she tried to swallow. There was nowhere to hide, and these men were carrying torches. This is foolish, she decided. She gripped the chain and started climbing back up, listening to them approach. Torchlight flickered down the bend. Hand over hand she climbed the chain.
“Who are you?” a man demanded, grabbing her by the fringe of her cloak as she reached the top of the well. She saw his tunic and recognized the man as a Kiran Thall. Hauling her out of the well, he shoved her to the ground. “Speak up, boy!” Jerking the cowl away, he looked down at her face.
“You’re a bloody girl!” he swore with surprise.
Ticastasy kicked his legs up from underneath him. Grabbing her small knife, she backed away as he scrambled for his feet. She kicked him in the mouth, knocking him over with a flop. Four more men emerged through the mist ahead of her.
“Hate,” she swore, her stomach clenching with fear.
“Who’s that over…?” The voice changed with alarm. “By the well!”
She ran.
The Kiran Thall shouted and went after her. She ran through the gazebo, bounding over t
he rail and ducked from a low-hanging tree branch. She cut north immediately, not wanting to lose her direction. The gate was locked. She needed time to climb it. The Kiran Thall sprinted hard after her. The fastest came like a barking dog. She turned left, cutting so hard she brushed against another tree. The soldier grunted as he smacked into it, but he recovered and quickly cut her off.
“This way!” he called over his shoulder to the others.
She twisted around another tree to try and lose him again in the slick grass. But the Kiran Thall grabbed a fistful of her cloak and jerked her towards him. Colliding against her body, he pulled her in with his other arm and tried to hold her as she flailed.
“Hold tight there,” he said and then yelped with pain as she stabbed him in the hollow of his thigh. Ticastasy broke free and ran, but he caught her boot and tripped her. She struck the ground hard enough to see spots explode in her eyes. With a grunt of pain, she scrambled to her feet.
The Kiran Thall pressed his wound and hobbled after her, catching her arm as she tried to escape. She kicked his ankle up from under him and swung the dagger around, cutting his chin. Her tunic ripped at the shoulder as he fell, but she jerked her arm free and ran as the other three soldiers joined the first.
The fog swallowed her. She heard them swearing and calling after her, but she didn’t stop. Reaching the gate, she pulled herself up and over the ironwork and jumped onto the cobblestones below. She kept running as fast as she could. A needle of pain in her side made her slow, but still she jogged until she could no longer hear their voices. She hid in a side alley and waited. Chattering with cold, she chaffed her bruised arm and bit her lip to keep back the tears. She made it. She made it. Her heart felt like it was a bird wriggling to escape her chest.