by D A Godwin
“Why?”
“Because there’s always someone there who sees everything that comes in or out.” He fingered his nearly-empty coin pouch. “Let’s just hope it won’t take much convincing for them to tell us.”
They found the gatehouse easily enough, a squared building that stood atop the gate itself, without accompanying towers. There was only a single, heavy door into the building, but it was shut tight. No guards, neither soldier nor city watch, were visible, but there was a semi-permanent collection of merchants just inside the wall.
“Let’s check with that one,” Tormjere said, pointing to a stall with an old man who seemed to be spending more time watching people than selling anything. “He looks to have food, as well.”
“You are always hungry.”
“True, but people always talk more after you’ve given them money.”
They approached the old man, and Tormjere affected a friendly manner as he looked over the loaves of bread. “There’re a lot of soldiers here.”
“Soldiers everywhere,” the old man grumbled, “and not a one of them ever says thank you. Half of ‘em are more interested in taking what they can rather than protecting us.”
“As good as this bread smells, I can see why. How much?”
“One ship for any two you fancy.”
Tormjere produced the coin and handed it to the man. “Are you here every day?”
“Of course. Have to pay his lordship for the spot.” He turned a black look at the tower. “But it could be worse.”
“Have you seen anyone under the blue dragon banner of House Brouchard? I’m trying to find my brother.”
The old man scratched his beard. “Can’t say that I’ve seen that one in a spell.”
“I’ll find him eventually, I suppose. Thanks,” Tormjere said as they walked off.
Kataria followed him. What if they could not find her uncle?
They ducked into a plain-looking inn to get out of the rain and found it crowded with people doing the same. After purchasing bowls of stew, they found a place at the end of one of the long, common tables.
“We could just follow one of the companies when it leaves, and see where they go,” Kataria said.
“Looking to join the fighting, are you?” asked a burly man at the other end of the table.
“Looking to find whoever’s in charge, actually,” Tormjere replied.
“Why’d you want to do that?” the man asked. “They’ll make you join without giving you the choice.”
“Already in it,” Tormjere said between mouthfuls. “Have a message for one of the commanders.”
“Is it good news or bad?”
Tormjere shrugged. “Couldn’t say. I’m not allowed to read it.”
“You should ask at the castle.”
“Already did, but they weren’t any help,” he lied.
“Huh. Word is there’s a big to-do at Saxalm,” the man said. “If he’s not here, you might find your man there.”
“Thank you, then,” Tormjere said.
“Stay safe if you go looking for him. Nasty business this war is.” The man returned to his drink.
Kataria lowered her voice and leaned close. “Saxalm is days to the east, close to the border.”
“Instead of wandering from town to town, just let me ask someone. There’re thousands of people here. They can’t all recognize you.”
“I know, but it makes me nervous all the same.”
“We’ll go over to the camps, and you can hide in the woods while I check. You can even choose the banner of who I’ll ask.”
Kataria fidgeted with the frayed end of her sleeve. “Very well.”
“Let’s go while it’s still light. It’ll be easier to get in unnoticed while everyone’s moving about.”
The rain had stopped, and the clouds were driven away by a stiff wind. The afternoon sun came blazing through in their place, bringing a stifling heat to the confined streets. Kataria wiped her face and stepped into the shade of a building.
“I never realized how hot these towns were in the summer.”
Tormjere said nothing; instead, he was focusing on the street. People were moving about normally, but he couldn’t shake a nagging, somehow familiar sense of danger. It reminded him of the mountains— No, Evermen’s Forge, and—
Hide!
She flattened herself against the wall. What is it?
There was no time to answer. Tormjere stepped around the corner, ready for anything. Instead of assailants with bared steel, he was greeted by a familiar, smiling face.
“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” Weeby said with a lopsided grin. The halfling appeared much the same as he had when they last met in Evermen’s Forge. The upswept, dirty-blond hair was still there, as was the pair of knives on his belt. Weeby’s leather jerkin had a few extra scrapes, and he moved with a slight limp.
Tormjere looked down at him with an amusement he didn’t feel. “Life seems to be filled with them recently.”
“So, what brings you to this fine city?” Weeby asked, with only a hint of mockery. “Certainly not the food.”
“Trying to locate one of the commanders, actually.”
“Oh, so you have lost someone again. Who is it this time?”
Tormjere was suspicious of the question, but there was little harm in answering since they’d already asked others the same thing. “Duke Brouchard.”
“Marshal of the King’s army? You do keep interesting company,” Weeby said, looking impressed. “Did he steal something of yours as well?”
“Official business this time,” Tormjere said nonchalantly. “Don’t suppose you know where he is in this mess?”
“Traipsing about in the field somewhere east of here, I should think. Keeping up with troop movements is outside my expertise, I’m afraid.”
Tormjere wondered what Weeby’s expertise actually was. “And what are you up to now?”
“I happen to be looking for someone as well.”
Tormjere tried to keep his face impassive. “What does he look like?”
“She has long, pale blond hair down to her waist in the fashion of the nobility, and blue eyes.”
“Must be pretty. Who is she?”
“A minor noble’s daughter. She was visiting relatives and has gone missing, and he’s concerned she could have been swept up in the fighting.”
“Should be easy to spot. What’s her name?”
“Rossalina.”
“Sounds Ceringion. If I see her, I’ll let you know. Where’re you staying?”
Weeby hesitated, then smiled. “Ask for me at the Gilded Wheel.”
Tormjere nodded, resolving to never set foot anywhere near the place if it could be avoided. Kataria must have come to the same conclusion, as an image of her slipping quietly around the building filled his mind.
“You ever find your wizard?” Weeby asked, sounding as if he already knew the answer.
“What was left of him. Goblins got there first.”
“Too bad. He seemed a decent fellow for a thief.”
“As you say. Seems I still have a long ride ahead, so I’d best be on my way. Good luck to you.” He began to walk away when Weeby’s voice stopped him.
“Tormjere?”
He paused and looked back at the halfling.
“You’re getting better at this, but you’re still a horrible liar.”
Tormjere laughed. “At least this time it didn’t cost me any money. And you still owe me a drink.”
He continued down the street a few blocks before changing direction, the whole time fighting the urge to look over his shoulder. He took a circuitous path towards where Shalindra waited, certain that he was somehow being followed.
You heard? he asked, still one street over.
And saw, at least partially. Who was that?
Someone I’ve met before, under similarly strange circumstances. Meet me at that upholder’s across from you.
Tormjere reached the vendor’s stall before she did a
nd made a show of considering the poorly repaired clothing as he watched to see if she was being followed.
“We shouldn’t linger,” he said, setting off again in a different direction as soon as she drew near.
“Why?” she asked, following closely. “He might have been sent by my father. Rossalina is the name I am to use when in hiding.”
“You never said that before.” All that effort to come up with a name, and she already had one? He turned between two buildings and stopped, watching the street behind them.
“I did not want to use it. With Erbac’s betrayal…”
“…anyone could have known it.” Something about the conversation with Weeby still bothered him, but he struggled to put his finger on it.
“You know my father will be looking everywhere for me. He is certainly aware of Erbac’s death by now, but…” She stopped. “He should not have known your name, should he?”
“No,” Tormjere replied, coming to the realization at the same time. “I never told him, and the only people that you spoke my name to are dead.”
A sudden, unnatural darkness swept through Kataria’s mind, and her vision dimmed. She gasped and clutched her temples as a wave of fear crashed over her. Warmth stirred on her chest, and her hand flew to Eluria’s symbol.
The darkness fled as quickly as it had arrived. When she opened her eyes, she saw Tormjere staring at her in concern once more.
“That was stronger than before,” he said.
“We have to leave.”
“I know, but it’s almost night, and we aren’t sure where we’re going next.”
“I do not care. I want to leave this town.”
“Alright, wherever your uncle went, it’s got to be east. We’ll head towards Saxalm.”
She nodded.
They ducked into another alley and made it halfway down before they froze. Ahead of them several figures detached themselves from the shadows and moved to block their path. Two more men entered the alley behind them, cutting off their escape.
“We aren’t looking for trouble,” Tormjere said.
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have been looking in the first place.” The speaker stepped into the light, revealing himself as the burly man they’d spoken to earlier. “We don’t take well to spies around here. Now why don’t you come along without a fuss.”
“We aren’t spies,” Tormjere said.
“Sure you aren’t. But it doesn’t really matter—you’re wanted, and that’s that.”
The two men on either side of him took a step forward.
This is not going to end well.
Take the one on the left, he thought—or had she thought it and he’d said it aloud?
There wasn’t time to sort it out.
Tormjere drew his sword and took a swipe at the man he’d just marked. His target twisted sideways to dodge, but Tormjere was already moving past him. Before the man could recover, Kataria’s hammer crashed into his head, and he collapsed to the ground. Footsteps approached from behind, and she jumped over the body before turning to face the new threat.
Tormjere thought of what he was about to do, and she moved with him—or was she thinking what she wanted, and he was listening? It was distracting. He barely dodged a club that was aimed squarely at his head.
Don’t fight it. Just let it happen.
He felt her resistance settle. He—they?—had an expanded awareness, both forward and backwards, seeing both sets of attackers through each other’s eyes. It was both natural and nauseatingly unsettling at the same time. His mind rebelled at the feeling of suddenly having four arms and was unsure of which ones it should command.
Tormjere spun away from his opponent and lashed out at the same time he was moving the opposite direction with his hammer.
Except they were both spinning, turning counter to each other to strike at the opposite opponent. The maneuver took their attackers by surprise.
Shalindra’s hammer swung up, catching the unprepared man under the chin and shattering his jaw. Tormjere’s sword opened another man’s stomach, deep enough to reach the spine and set her teeth on edge at the feeling of cutting through a living creature.
She stood facing the burly one who’d spoken to them. Her eyes locked onto his, and, without thinking, she plunged into his mind. Rather than pain, she found fear, a dark, lumpy thing that she wrapped herself around tightly. He stared at her, frozen in place, his sword limp in his fingers. Tormjere finished with the last man and advanced on him. A panicked expression crossed the burly man’s face, but her eyes held him more tightly than any chain.
Some instinct told her to let go. The man tore his gaze from her, but by then it was too late. Tormjere’s cut sent him spinning to the ground.
They looked at each other.
“By Eluria’s light, what just happened?” she asked.
He didn’t have time to answer. From the street came the sound of footsteps pounding towards them. As one, they turned and ran from the alley, her symbol burning hot as it bounced on her chest. They leapt a fence and tore through a farmer’s field.
Voices shouted behind them, demanding they stop. When they didn’t, the command was punctuated by a poorly aimed crossbow bolt that whizzed past their heads.
They plunged into the deepening gloom without slowing, letting the forest swallow them.
Angel of the Night
The sounds of battle grew steadily closer. At first it had been little more than a distant rumble of noise, but now they could hear metal clash against metal and the individual calls of trumpets and drums.
Their flight had taken them north and east from Bexville, through largely uninhabited woodlands. Rather than turning towards any towns, they had pressed forward through the wilderness, hoping to cross the road between Tiridon and Saxalm.
It proved a fortunate decision.
Once on the road, they had encountered more people fleeing the fighting and learned that Saxalm had fallen weeks ago and was firmly in the hands of the Ceringions. Kingdom forces had retreated west and were now defending this town or that, and either winning or losing, depending on whose story you believed.
With so much uncertainty, they had decided to return to the woods rather than approach the fighting from the road. Their only enemy had been the land itself, and the forest had allowed them through unmolested.
Now they stood atop a low ridgeline, looking across a broad valley where two armies clashed in the field.
“Do you see his crest?” Kataria asked.
“Yes, but not near the front, and not on many banners.”
“That is odd. Kendenhall has one of the largest armies in the Kingdom.”
Tormjere lapsed into silence as he watched the battle unfold, his sharp eyes taking in every detail. Kataria had never seen such a spectacle and was astounded at the sheer number of men filling the valley, as if the entire population of a city had decided to abandon their homes and walk together through the countryside.
The Kingdom army had fortified their lines with a shallow trench, beyond which was an equally inadequate berm. It was inconsistent in its construction and gave every appearance of being incomplete. Footmen were massed behind the barrier, sunlight glinting off weapons and armor. At regular intervals, flags designated where one lord’s forces stopped and another’s began. The banners of Kendenhall, Tornton, and Jonrin were clustered on a low hill not far from the town, marking where the commanders were. To her inexperienced eyes it was a hodgepodge of formations standing together.
The Ceringion army was advancing in orderly squares, rank after rank of spears and shields. Fully two-thirds of the men were in purple and white. A large swath of white on orange, both cavalry and footmen, made up the near flank, while the far side marched under banners of blue and red. Their center was already engaged with the Kingdom defenders, as several companies fought to cross the trench.
Kingdom reserves moved to reinforce the middle. At the same time, their near flank surged forward with a large contingent of c
avalry backed by infantry. Their opponents fell back initially, but it seemed an ill-fated sortie. Ceringion resistance stiffened, and their archers wreaked havoc on the tightly-packed attackers. Cavalry moved to envelop the Kingdom assault, cutting off any chance of retreat.
She turned away from the slaughter.
“Doesn’t look like the safe place we were seeking,” Tormjere said. “Do we continue?”
She chewed her lip for a moment, then nodded. “He is here, if he is anywhere.”
“We can head down that crease, but we’ll need to skirt the fighting and get closer to the town before approaching or we may be mistaken for enemies by one side or the other.”
A creek showed them the way down, bubbling far too merrily for what lay ahead. The battle became lost behind the trees, but they couldn’t escape its sharp clamor.
They followed the water to the valley floor, and stopped to rest beside a small pool. Kataria knelt to drink before removing her boots and placing her feet in the cool water.
When she was done, Tormjere handed her a pouch with the last of their food: a handful of berries and remnants of a rabbit they had caught and cooked two days ago.
She accepted it without comment and turned to watch the trees as he took his own drink. They were near enough to the fighting that they had to be careful.
The events in Jonrin that had set her feet on this path seemed a lifetime ago, but it felt as if they were close now. Close enough to see the Brouchard banner flying above the kingdom forces. Close to the end. Though she was exhausted and starving, she found herself oddly reluctant to hurry forward. Her uncle would provide the safety they had been seeking and a return to her comfortable station, but now that she was here, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to go back. As bizarre as the past few weeks had been, in some ways they made the most sense of any in her life.
Lost in thought, she absently nibbled the last of her food, then stared at her empty hands. No longer soft and delicate, they were rough and filthy from long days on the run. Her clothes were just as dirty, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had taken a bath. She did not look like who she once was, and she did not feel like it either.
Eluria, who am I?