Moose appeared from behind. "Strange; look what I found at the other side of the bridge."
Luana looked at his hand where he held a bloodstained silver feather.
Recognition hit Luana in the chest. She took a step back and could not take her eyes off the feather.
Moose looked concerned. "Luana, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Luana showed Moose the key. "Those soldiers last night. They're transporting slave angels to the revolt. If they hold the angels in thrall magic and force them to do their bidding there'll be a massacre."
"Hell's teeth." Moose declared. "They'll raze the blind quarter to the ground just to make a point. If they use steam blades and allow even one of those angels access to their light power…" His voice trailed off.
"What do you want to do Moose? This changes our plan. Instead of sneaking into a sleepy backwater we're now walking into a war." Luana pocketed the key.
"Part of me says keep going as we are to Nictiam," Moose said.
"And the other part?"
"Well there's nothing two fugitive slaves can do against the might of the Magisters. The other option is to outflank this whole operation and change direction avoiding Nictiam. We can approach the Storm Sea from somewhere else."
"What do you suggest?"
"Well it only leaves the south or the north."
"Agreed, east is out, we've just come from there. South lies the swamplands. So to the north you say?"
An uneasy silence stretched between them. Luana spoke the two words that remained unsaid.
"Frost giants."
"The Jotnar, yes. No one who goes there comes back."
"Well we either die in a slave revolt in Nictiam or disappear into the frozen north. Take your pick."
Moose shrugged. "The trickster has thrown many a bad dice for my life's path. This's just another such throw. I've never been north of Numibar before. I get the feeling I'm going to get used to the cold." He smiled grimly and scratched his beard.
"We'll need to take risks and head across farmland once we near the sea. We'll avoid the coastal towns and pull north using the plains."
"It's decided then," Moose nodded.
They set off along the road. It was broad daylight. Luana reasoned that because the large force of troops had passed the night before the road ahead would be clear. Provided they kept careful watch on the road behind them they would make better progress on the highway rather than hiding amongst the trees along the roadside.
Luana's thoughts drifted to the Jotnar; a land of fear and myth. No one willingly crossed the Jotnar, not even the Raven. The frost giants had a formidable reputation; a law unto themselves. A loose collection of clans embedded in the snow and ice of permanent winter. They were known to fight amongst themselves but history showed they would unite without question if a common enemy materialised.
They reputedly had access to the power of ice elementals that lived deep in the frozen earth. Luana had been taught as a child that the frost giants of old had used ice dragons in the great battles that carved up the northern lands.
She mused and wondered at the veracity of the stories. She was always suspicious of where fact and reason ended and superstition started. Her leanings had always been toward the sun and mother Erthe. These things she could understand, she could feel. Moose had his own set of beliefs that guided him on his journey. He was a private man when it came to these matters; Luana respected that.
The day passed uneventfully and they spent the night under the forest canopy. They had luck in catching a brace of coneys in the afternoon and decided to risk a small fire to cook them towards dusk. A fire would be less noticeable at that time. The roasted rabbit tasted delicious and their spirits soared.
Luana was awoken in the dead hours by the sound of a horse on the road. She scrambled along the ground and just caught sight of a lone horseman riding fast along the highway. She saw his feathered cap; a messenger. No doubt on military business.
Things were hotting up. She shuddered, even if five thousand slaves had escaped the coastal quarries, even if they had armed themselves with half decent weapons. Against steam blades and angels, they had no chance. They were as good as dead. She returned to a fitful sleep beside Moose.
The next morning dawned and a fine mist clung to the air. It was a dank day and their spirits mirrored the grey. The mist did however provide them with welcome cover from prying eyes. The land was changing, becoming more fertile away from the high mountains. The river valley had widened; more cultivation was evident. It was still possible to find shelter for the night in the hedgerows. Some of the hedges were vast, almost miniature forests in themselves.
The next few days passed in a blur of foraging, hiding and making steady progress along the land. Soon the sky lightened and the winds changed direction. A freshness filled the air; a sure sign they were nearing the coast.
Then they saw a pall of smoke on the horizon coming from Nictiam. Luana gasped. The smoke covered the whole city; she could even see flames in some of the high towers to the south. Moose let out a low whistle.
"I never thought…" Luana whispered.
"They've sacrificed the whole city. What possessed them? Nothing is worth that."
"Bastards, they're murderers every last one of them."
"If only…"
"Moose there's nothing we can do; to get sucked into that madness would be pointless. Let's stick to our plan."
They looked at the burning city a moment longer, then turned their backs on it heading north. The going at first was easy; the lanes and hedgerows providing ample cover. They saw a few people working in distant fields and once a dog barked from far off. They made it through another day and stopped beside a copse for the night.
"I fancy something better than rabbit or pigeon tonight," Moose grumbled.
"What do you have in mind?" Luana replied.
"Well, there was a farm a short while back. I saw a chicken coop in the yard. I didn't see any dogs."
"You know we can't take that risk," Luana declared.
"Even if there's a dog, if we're detected we can back off. They'll think it's just a fox."
Luana's stomach rumbled. "We shouldn't…"
"Come on Luana. Fresh eggs and roast chicken."
Luana's resolve crumbled. They set out for the farm and the chicken coop. They arrived and hid in the long grass down wind of the farm. They watched the buildings for some time. There was no sign of life, no lights and no smoke from the farm building.
"Strange; no dogs, no people. Just chickens. What's going on?" Moose asked.
"It's odd. Still, keep your guard up. I'll grab a chicken and you get some eggs."
Moose nodded. They split up, shadows amongst the shadows. Luana stole up on a solitary chicken and grabbed it by the legs. With a practiced move, she broke its neck, put it under her arm and was about to lunge for another when she noticed something.
The farm door was open.
There was still no sound from within and no sign of dogs. The whole place seemed empty. Moose appeared by her side, a wide grin on his face. In his hands and pockets, she counted at least six eggs.
"Let's go," Moose whispered.
"Wait Moose, there's something wrong here. Look, the place is deserted. The door's open."
"I don't like it either, let's just quit while we're ahead. We've got what we came for."
"I just want to have a quick look, here take this." Luana handed Moose the chicken and she turned towards the open door.
Moose frowned and turned to go back the way they had come, then with a big sigh he stopped and followed Luana through the open door.
~
The smell was bad.
Travan had seen the tipping point coming. He even warned his commanders but they were deaf to his protestations. They called him cautious and implied he was not a true warrior. They had been fighting the slaves in the blind quarter for over twenty-four hours; it was a stalemate. The slaves were well armed, ha
ving successfully defeated the city garrison and taken the armoury before the ninth army arrived.
Travin mused on the details of the previous day's briefing. The slaves had nothing to lose and were motivated by the knowledge that if recaptured the Magisters would insist on a blood festival where they would be slaughtered in front of the people. The ninth had steadily lost men and the attrition had surprised the leadership. This led to their decision to release one of their two slave angels.
The angel was in thrall and would obey without question. The handler was instructed to allow the angel access to its light power.
Unfocused and savage, angel light had the potential to kill ally and enemy alike. The plan was to smuggle the angel into the blind district via the sewers and to release it in the heart of the slave positions. When it had destroyed the main slave force, the handler would shut down the angel's wrath. The ninth would move in and mop up any survivors.
Gods… the stench…
Travin held his hand to his nose.
That had been the plan. Then one of the commanders, Severin, decided on overkill. He authorised release of a team of plague dogs. They had not been used in over a generation and for good reason. The plague they carried was a blunt weapon, again not recognising friend or foe. There was a cure; the Magisters guarded it closely. Only the Magisters' second servants knew how to use the cure in the field.
There were no second servants in the ninth army.
Severin claimed he was told to release the plague dogs in a vision. Travin mused, wondering if too much of the amber weed had addled Severin's mind. He could see too many risks. The commanders wanted this revolt wound up fast. They had been taken away from the main campaign out east. The surge against the Raven was building and their troops were massing on the border. That would be a glorious fight indeed. Victory and riches were guaranteed. The slave angels would ensure that.
Travin watched the smoke congeal above the blind district. The first rays of dawn blushed the horizon. The angel and his handler had gone in four hours ago. There was no sign of them so far. Thoughts came and went in Travin's mind. What if the angel went rogue? What if the handler was killed? How would they then control the angel? What, if by some twist, the slaves escaped?
Travin's stomach churned, he had been unable to eat for two days. The water in this part of the province did not suit him. He had sent for Numibar spring water, it always soothed his system at the front.
He heard footsteps behind and turned. Severin stood there, surrounded by his lieutenants.
"Captain Travin, what news from the watch? Any incursions last night?" Severin's face was impassive, his eyes hard. Travin knew the commander regarded this operation as an annoyance. His real business was back east.
"Sir. No sign of the dogs, the angel or the handler. No movement at all sir… just this stench."
Severin's eyes narrowed. He went to the barricade and lent over its rim. His nose wrinkled and he coughed. "Send in a scout. We need eyes in there."
"Yes sir."
Severin took one last look at the barricaded streets ahead and turned, walking back the way he had come. Travin sighed; the scouts always got it in the neck in city fighting. At least in the open there was space to escape. Here, well he would select the team himself. His men would take it from him.
He went to the dispatch tent and brought the scout leader with him. The men had seen his exchange with Severin; they knew something was up. Expectation filled the air.
"Sergeant Frai, I want two scout parties. One to go in by the sewers, the other above ground, by the back streets." Frai was a good man, battle hardened, a veteran. He nodded.
"Right away sir."
Something clicked in Travin's mind. "Oh, and sergeant…"
"Yes sir?"
"You and me…we're going in by the rooftops. I want to see what's going on in there with my own eyes."
Frai hesitated briefly. It was highly unusual for an officer to take such a risk on a scouting mission. "Yes sir."
Travin had an uneasy feeling about this campaign; something was not right. They should have had some indication of the outcome of last night's intervention by now. Things were too quiet.
Travin and his men geared up for the mission. Heavy armour was discarded in favour of lighter leather armour. Travin attached two short swords to his back and carried a short bow. A safe word was agreed with the front line. They darkened their faces with charcoal and smeared lavender paste below their nostrils to ward off the stench. They left the front line watched by their comrades.
The scouts split up and disappeared into the streets surrounding the blind quarter. Smoke still rose from various buildings where the fighting had been fiercest over the last few days. Travin and Frai entered a small house off an adjoining square gaining access to its roof. They kept low and made their way across the rooftops taking note of landmarks to guide their way. An unusual wooden building; the sigil house, home to the sigil binders dominated the central square.
Frai stopped and held up a hand. Travin crept forwards. Frai signalled and Travin followed his gaze. At first, he saw nothing through the billowing smoke but then he saw movement. They waited a few minutes and the air cleared with the breeze.
The streets were empty and quiet. It was not that which held Travin's attention; it was the blood. Every wall, every surface was coated in blood, like paint. The smell was overwhelming; waves of nausea gripped Travin's stomach.
Frai pointed to a side street off the main square. They saw one of their scouts emerge from around a corner. The man was moving slowly and then he stopped, crouching down beside the wall. He made a signal and was soon joined by his comrade. They were heading towards the sigil house. The smoke returned obscuring the two men. Travin and Frai climbed down onto the next roof, also making for the sigil house.
The smoke parted again for a few seconds and Travin caught a glimpse of his men below; this time they were at the door of the house. Then the smoke blocked his view again. They scrambled along loose tiles and reached the roof edge looking down into a courtyard. Trees and a water garden lay below. They lowered themselves to ground level using the tree branches.
Just as their feet hit the ground, a scream rent the air. High pitched, it was filled with terror and pain. Travin stopped in his tracks. Instinctively, he whipped out his blades, pressed his back against the wall and waited.
~
A good night's work, reflected Elias. He looked at the emerald ring now back on his fourth finger where it belonged. He treasured the ring for it held good memories; a tangible connection with happier times.
Haskin would be no more trouble. He would continue being the minor parasite he was. His teeth were removed now as far as Elias was concerned. The bloodworms had done their work well. Haskin would not remember a thing from this night. It was as well his wife was in the city. He pitied the slaves she would bring back to the household. A life of misery would await them.
Elias sat on his new mount. He missed his old horse, Nightshade and still dreamt about the roan mare at times. She was a loyal companion. They had survived many adventures together. He sent her his blessing and asked the maker to give her a long rest.
His new mare was as black as night and sleek. He would give her a new name. It was early days and a name would come when ready. Names were important; a life lived within a name and a name lived within a life. His mind turned to recent events; he wondered how the girl Luana and her friend had fared.
He recognised pain behind her beauty. The defensive way she held herself and the wariness in her eyes. He found her vulnerability strangely attractive. She obviously was repulsed by his masks and would no doubt be sickened by the scars he bore.
Still, there was no crime in thinking freely of her and her grace. She reminded him of a wounded bird, she carried her own scars, they were less obvious perhaps. He smiled and started a toneless whistle. The sky was leaden and a fine mist hovered in the air.
Elias's pockets were full of gold and for on
ce he felt free. His plan was to head to Numibar, a journey of three days. There, he would pay off some debts, rack up some new debts and drink. The amber wine did not cleanse his bitterness but did soften the scar tissue slightly. He would pay a visit to the vigilantes once more. The bloodworms had proven their worth; it would do no harm to carry more in case persuasion was required again.
Elias pulled his cape around him and allowed the road to take him on through the mist. He made his camp that night at a wayside shrine. The shrine was old and overgrown by moss. Not many visitors, he thought. That was as well for him. He set up his tarpaulin and lit a fire with some difficulty. With careful attention, the flames grew. He sat, listening to the rain on the tarp and warmed his hands. He stank of damp wool and horse. Life on the road, he mused.
His mare was content, tied up amongst the trees. The blood drinkers would avoid the shrine; he would be safe under the Lady's protection. His stomach rumbled with hunger. He took no pleasure in food; it was fuel. Once there was a time he enjoyed sharing not only food but also his life, but those days were gone.
Elias produced some rye bread, cheese and salted pork from his saddlebag; food he had taken from Haskin's kitchen. He ate mechanically. The fire held his gaze and he sat there absorbed. He was about to build it up for the night when he heard a horse on the road.
Normally he would have stayed under cover but something made him stand and walk to the roadside.
CHAPTER 5
News
The rider had slowed at the curve of the road. The night was dark; Elias gave his mask an unthreatening look; the way its maker had taught him. He had his emerald ring back which would catch his lantern light. He stood at the roadside and called to the rider as the man passed.
"Hail friend, well met. How fare you this grim night? What news?"
The rider looked down and saw Elias in the soft glow of the lantern; the stranger's ring took his attention. He felt compelled to stop and talk to this stranger. "Hail citizen. I carry a message from the ninth. I carry grave news to my lords in Numibar."
Sanctuary Page 4