“We hadn’t thought of that…” Desmond said. Halas shot him a glare.
“Exactly. Now, I suppose we’ll need supplies. I’ll sneak down to the larder. Meet me at the West Gate. There is a way through the wall there. Stay in the shadows, and stay quiet. Should any of the guards notice us, your quest will be over before it even begins.”
With that, he left the room, leaving the three friends surprised, scared, and, in Halas’ case at least, severely irritated.
“Should we trust him?” Des asked.
“He was right,” said Halas. “We don’t have a choice.”
“We shall have to be wary,” said Aeon, “as we do not yet know his true intentions. Let us go down to the West Gate. Soon we’ll know if he means to alert the guards or not.”
They snuck quietly down the corridors, nearly getting lost, but luckily Halas remembered the way outside. From there they made along the wall until they were at the correct gate and hunkered down behind a few barrels. A guard patrolled nearby, twirling a club in his hands and whistling. He stopped on the corner to exchange words with another guard. Halas couldn’t hear either of them, but the second guard burst into uproarious laughter before moving on.
They waited.
The streets were narrow, and frequently they were passed by one or more patrolling guards. The men came far too close for Halas’ liking. Each time the three pressed against their cover and prayed the moonlight would not give them away. Halas was terrified they would be discovered. It would be difficult enough to explain being out at so late an hour, but trying to tell a guard why they were so blatantly hiding would be impossible.
“He isn’t coming,” Desmond whispered after they had waited an eternity.
“No, but the soldiers don’t seem to be on alert,” Aeon replied. “I think Elivain’s been captured.”
Halas’ blood ran cold. “He knows who we are. He knows our mission.”
“Elivain doesn’t seem the type to give us away,” Desmond said. “But all the same, we should escape before anything happens.”
“Do you know what the penalty for thieving in a military fortress is, Desmond?” Aeon asked.
“No.”
“It’s death. By dragging.”
Desmond shook his head and fell into thought.
Halas spoke. “We don’t have enough food, only a little of what Mister Harves gave us and whatever Des stole at supper. We have to go back, at the very least for that. Besides, if we manage to free him soon, maybe he won’t have talked yet. Perhaps we can still get away.”
“It doesn’t seem like they’re expecting any of us to be up and about,” Desmond said. “Let’s do it.”
Aeon stopped them. “Do you know where they’re keeping him?”
Des coughed quietly.
“No. But I mean to find out. We’ll grab the next guard. He’ll tell us.
Time stretched on as they waited for another guard to come by. When he did, luck was with the friends—the man was alone. Halas fell over one of the barrels, stumbling across the alley and into him. Aeon and Des grabbed the guard and pushed him roughly against the wall. Desmond struck him across the face. His sword was in his hand. He put it to the man’s neck. “Where’s your thief?” he demanded. “Tell me where he is or I’ll run you through!”
“Des!” Halas hissed. “We can’t do this, you ass! We can’t kill anyone here.”
“I mean to,” said Des, “if he doesn’t show us the way. And you can be sure of it if he cries out.”
The guard turned. He was young, young as Halas and Des, certainly. His face was covered in the pimples. A curl of scraggly blond hair peered out from under his helmet, and his upper lip quivered. The poor boy looked on the verge of tears. It was likely he’d never experienced anything so violent. “Follow me,” he said, his voice shaking.
They did, and soon they came to a tall, dark tower in the corner of the fortress. Halas had a coil of rope in his pack. Shivering from the cold, he tied and gagged their hostage. The boy didn’t struggle, and Halas felt absolutely miserable about the whole thing. Desmond crept along a low wall toward the tower door, where another soldier stood watch. He whistled, and when the guard went to investigate, Des smashed him in the back of the head with the hilt of his sword. The guard collapsed. He tried to rise, but Desmond pressed the point of his blade against his throat.
“Be quiet.”
They tied him to the boy. Halas was first to the door. He turned the handle gently, and looked to his friends. “Ready?”
“Ready,” they said.
He threw open the door. There were four men in the room. Elivain was one of them; the other three were guards. They had Elivain tied to a chair, and while two guards rifled through his things, the third struck Elivain repeatedly in the face and stomach. Halas, Des, and Aeon each took a man. With no time for a plan, they acted instinctively, each trusting the other to do what had to be done.
The man who stood over Elivain turned toward the door, a blank look on his face. He was fully engrossed in his task. Halas saw a small spackling of blood that likely wasn’t his as he barreled into the man, bringing him to the ground. The guard’s head connected firmly with the floor as they landed. He gave out a grunt and fell silent. Desmond took on the man nearest to the door. His sword was still buckled at his hip. Desmond pressed his own blade to the man’s cheek. “Hands,” Des whispered.
Aeon had more trouble. As he cleared the room, the third guard managed to react, drawing his sword and getting into position. Aeon came on wildly, swinging in what looked to be a reckless manner but was actually a maneuver Tormod had tried to teach Halas aboard The Wandering Blade, designed to overwhelm an opponent of average skill. It did its job, but Aeon was not able to subdue the guard peacefully. They exchanged blows before Aeon overcame him, sweeping the man’s head off his shoulders with little effort. Halas saw this as the guard he’d tackled tried to get to his feet. Halas hit him under the arm and pressed his face to the ground.
“Not a word!”
Aeon moved to Elivain next, slashing the bonds that held him. Wordlessly, Elivain took his sword from the counter with his things and slit Desmond’s prisoner’s throat. The man fell backwards, grasping at his neck. Desmond tried to catch him, but then stepped back, unsure of what to do.
“Elivain! What are you doing?” Halas cried.
Elivain pushed him aside. Halas couldn’t find it in him to truly resist. He looked away as Elivain drove his weapon home. It was all too familiar. All he could see was the face of Bartholomew Hadric. “They will give us away otherwise. Quickly, help me put my things in order. We cannot stay here.”
Elivain had three packs, his cloak, and his belt. Halas began stuffing bits of food and supplies into the first pack, distracting himself from looking at the bodies on the floor. The other bags were untouched. He put on his belt and cloak, slung the packs, and together, the four ran back to the West Gate. Elivain showed them a low door and they ducked through it, disappearing into the shadows. Open plains stretched as far as Halas could see.
“How are we going to get clear?” he asked.
“Therein lies the trouble,” Elivain said. “We’re going to have to run for a while.” He led them along the wall. They faced west, but had to go north. Above them, Halas could hear guards on watch, laughing and fooling around.
“What about the horses?” Halas asked, feeling a pang of guilt. He’d grown to like Owain. Elivain shrugged.
“They are in good care here. A pity to leave them behind, but what’s done is done.”
They sprinted across the fields toward the distant mountains. Halas’ thigh was on fire by the time they reached the first bit of cover, in the form of a low ditch. The four slid in and made themselves small. Halas went to work then, rubbing and kneading the muscles. He didn’t want his leg locking up, not while there was still so much walking to do. Elivain dropped his pack and took a long draught of water.
“What did you manage to get?” Des asked. Still drinking,
Elivain gestured for him to open the bag.
Desmond groaned, for the pack was filled with spódhla.
Garek watched Jaden Harves pull up the drive and come into the house. He ran downstairs, already wishing that he had said goodbye to his brother. He missed Halas more than he would have thought possible. “Hello, Garek!” said Harves. “What’s for supper, then?”
“We’ve got some pork left over.”
“Are you all right?”
“Of course I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You were angry with your brother.”
“Still am.”
“You should have made up before he left.”
“I know.” At that moment, Garek started to sob. He hadn’t felt it coming on, there was no buildup, but before he knew it he was on the floor. “He wouldn’t even be here if not for me. He only volunteered to go on that blasted ship because of me. If something happens to him, it’s my fault. I feel terrible.”
Harves sat beside him and put his arm around Garek’s broad shoulders. “That is not so, Garek. You were drafted—there’s nothing you could have done to prevent that. Halas only went along because he is your brother, and he loves you. Both of you are in the wrong for not saying goodbye, however, but what’s done is done. There’s nothing you can do about that, either. He’ll be back soon, I trust. Theirs is now a much shorter journey than your trip up the Inigo. It will seem like no time has passed at all.”
Garek smiled sadly. “Thank you.”
“It is my pleasure.”
Garek felt very much at home, sitting next to Jaden with the man’s arm over his shoulders. He felt like Halas must have felt quite often back in Cordalis. Acceptance, comforting love. And what right did Halas have to be angry, anyway? Did Garek not deserve to have a father? Was it so wrong that he’d found his own place to call home? It wasn’t, not to Garek.
“How is Tom?” he asked.
“Tom went away this morning. I cannot believe it’s going to be almost a year before I see him again.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Do not be. He and I agreed it was for the best. Tom will be safest out there, as long as he keeps to the road. I do hope he keeps to the road.”
“I’m sure he will.”
“I have no doubt that…” Jaden paused, and looked up. His eyes glazed; the man was listening intently for something.
“Hide!” he hissed. He pushed Garek toward the stairs, but as Garek crossed the foyer the front door was kicked in, showering him with splinters. Jaden sprang forward, grabbing Garek by the shoulder and flinging him away. “Run!”
“Jaden Harves!” one called. “Give us the boy! He’s a wanted fugitive, and I will have him in my custody!”
Jaden had a knife in his hand, standing between the soldiers and Garek. He made no move to surrender, but Garek, frozen with fear, made no move to escape.
“Very well,” said the captain. “By order of the queen, I, Lord Gilroy of the Agerian Military, place both of you under arrest.”
The soldiers moved in, and set manacles around their wrists. They were cautious with Harves, but in the end, when he saw that there was no escape for Garek, he relented. Gilroy leaned in close, a wicked smile on his face. “I think you’ll enjoy Crumman,” he whispered. “I think you will enjoy it very much.”
Harves took a step back and began to thrash in his chains. One soldier stumbled away as he was kicked. “Garek, run!” Jaden screamed. A soldier cuffed him on the chin, but Jaden kept fighting. Garek didn’t know what Crumman was, but he knew the very mention of it terrified Jaden. This time he did try to run, but it was just as fruitless as before. Several soldiers bore down on him, and soon he was unconscious.
Chapter Ten
A Very Cold Walk
They knew that they would be followed, so they made a quick pace. Elivain cautioned against running, but Aeon wished to get the Temple quickly, and they had at least a hundred miles to cross, nearly half of that mountainous. So they ran when they could, taking short rests in between sprints. This began to take its toll on Desmond first.
“I can’t do this anymore,” he said, sitting against a tree, breathing heavily. They were in a small copse of trees, old and new leaves coating the ground like a crisp blanket. Elivain lit a fire.
“Sorry Desmond, but we have no other option. Our master drives us at a slave’s pace.”
Aeon didn’t hear the remark, but Halas did. It troubled him; their journey was dangerous enough without inner squabbling. They should never have taken Elivain along. Still, they did need a guide, and he claimed to know the way.
But how can we trust him? What if he leads us into a trap?
Halas frowned; this way of thinking would get him nowhere. They had no choice but to trust Elivain, but they could still be cautious. He trusted his father, and that would have to be enough. In the meantime, it would do Halas no good to dwell on it. As they ate a meager lunch, he wondered about Walter, and Crowe, and the others of the caravan. What had become of them? Had they been punished for taking in fugitives? Halas surely hoped not. Walter especially had been kind to them, and Halas had nothing but the utmost respect for Dale Crowe.
“We have to move,” Aeon said. “We’ll run until we have to stop. Up you go!”
Of the four, all of the running was hard on Halas and Desmond, especially poor Des. He was a merchant’s son, and not used to intense physical activity. Though Halas was, the running was too much. Eventually, even he had to rest. His injured leg was humming with pain. He thought that cutting it off would be for the best. Aeon and Elivain were fine, though the latter man was grouchy.
“We cannot keep up this pace! They’ll soon collapse of exhaustion, and then where will we be?”
“That is indeed a risk,” said Aeon, “but it is one we must take, for the soldiers at our backs will surely have horses and we did not have much of a head start, if indeed we had one at all. You’ve also made them angry. You should not have killed their friends.”
Elivain brushed off the rebuke. “That is certainly so, but we can only keep this up for so long. I will find a place to hide.”
Elivain went off, and returned soon after. He’d found a natural culvert, a tunnel buried deep within a hill. Halas, Des, and the prince crawled inside, while Elivain covered the entrance with leaves and sticks. He finished from within, scooting back down the narrow tunnel to join the three friends.
It was dark, incredibly so. Only a few patches of light shone through Elivain’s cover, and those did not go far into their tunnel before disappearing. Halas and his friends huddled in the dark with Elivain. Evening came on; it was chilly. Halas was awake, though he was unsure if anyone else was. They’d all decided not to speak.
Suddenly, Halas heard faint voices outside. He put his hand on the hilt of his sword, but even he knew that to try to fight would be a useless gesture. Beside and behind him, he felt Desmond stiffen. Outside, the sound of voices was getting closer, accompanied by hoof beats and the sounds of metal grating against metal. Armored men were close by.
The dim patches of light disappeared suddenly; Halas realized that there was someone just outside. He was holding his breath.
“You see something?” came a voice.
“Not rightly sure,” said a louder one, most likely the man outside their hiding spot. “I smell something, though.”
“Maybe they came by here.”
“Maybe. Ride on!”
The light returned, and Halas could feel vibrations at his feet and head, which was braced against the ceiling of the tunnel. There were horses above them. Wonderful, he thought. After such a close call, a horse is just going to break through the ground and crush us!
But that did not happen, and soon the world was quiet again.
“We will rest here for tonight,” Aeon said, “and make our way cautiously to the mountains. Elivain, how far are they?”
“About a day’s march,” Elivain said. “Moreso, if we’re creeping about. Still, I am glad that w
e hid—those men were very close behind us.”
“Yes, they were.”
Things were quiet again, until Desmond began to snore. Halas was later sure that the rest of his companions were likewise asleep, and had to laugh. Elivain’s breathing was quiet; he didn’t snore.
The whole thing at Fort Torrance had been an act. He shook his head, and eventually drifted off.
They rested for a few hours before setting out again. Elivain took the lead, and Aeon let them go at a slower pace, though not much of one. The soldiers were now in front of them, and it would not do to catch up. Even still, he worried about reaching the Temple ahead of those who would seek to do it harm.
It was rough going. The ground had begun to slope noticeably upward, and soon the four were climbing steep hills, granted only minor reprieves in between. The grass thinned and the air became colder. After one such hill, Des flopped down. “We have to rest,” he moaned. Aeon rounded on him.
“Get up! We cannot rest, not here, not now. We must reach the Temple of Immortals, and we must do it soon.”
“Aeon,” Elivain said, “I’m afraid that such a thing is impossible. Even at the fastest run, Bakunin is still several days from here. After that, the distance is far greater. We are in for at least a fortnight of walking, and it will not do for us to collapse out here!”
“We must!”
Elivain growled. “You wanted me to guide you to that blasted temple, but I will not run all the way there! If you continue this, I will simply turn around and go home.”
Aeon’s hand drifted to the hilt of his sword, as did Elivain’s. Halas’ eyes widened; he stepped forward, waving his hands empathetically.
“Stop this! Stop! Both of you are right. It is true that there are people on the way to our objective, and we must beat them to it. But we cannot go at these speeds, Aeon, my friend, not while we traverse such dangerous ground.” “Halas,” Aeon said, “stop defending him!”
“He is right! You drive us too fast, and there is much ground to cover.”
“Do you not see the significance of this journey?”
The Temple Page 24