The Broken Man

by Brandon Jones

  “Tori, can you hear me?” Akelle asked a little louder, redoubling his effort on the lock. No response. He would kill Epalli for this.

  The storage room door rattled, and Akelle had less than a heartbeat to roll behind one of the larger crates and out of sight before a massive man pushed his way through the door, cursing quietly under his breath.

  “Wake up girl,” he said, speaking with a distinct Jurdish accent. He had been with Saul the day Josen had pulled a man out of the canal in Lower Basin City. This had to be Epalli.

  “Wake up!” Epalli yelled again and kicked the wooden bars of Tori’s cage when she didn’t respond. “We are moving you.”

  Tori groaned and shifted in her cell. Epalli twisted a key in the lock and swung the entire front side of the small cage open. He reached in and hauled Tori’s still mostly limp body out of the cage by her collar. She stumbled to her feet, blinking uncertainly.

  Almost faster than Akelle could follow, Tori swung an elbow up toward Epalli’s chin. The sudden violent motion surprised Akelle, but Epalli obviously expected the attack. He batted away the elbow lazily, and wrenched Tori’s arm behind her, then the other, wrapping the pair in a length of rope with expert speed, fastening a knot just as quickly.

  “Come now,” Epalli said, sounding tired now. “None of that.” He marched Tori out of the room, not bothering to close the door behind himself.

  Akelle had to resist the urge to race after them. He was no match for Epalli physically, and even if he managed to catch the man by surprise and plant a knife in his back, Akelle had counted on Tori being able to walk—preferably run—out of the jungle under her own power. He had no idea what he was going to do now. So he followed, keeping as close to Epalli as he dared, making sure to stay out of sight as they walked through the bunk room.

  “Where are you taking me?” came Tori’s voice, weak and dry. Akelle could barely hear her over shouts and sounds of violence that hadn’t been audible inside the storage room. The fighting was close, no more than a dozen paces from the barracks.

  “Someone is trying to rescue you,” Epalli said matter-of-factly. “We are going to the warehouse, where no one can sneak up on us.”

  Akelle started, nearly tripping over his feet. No one had seen him yet; he was sure of it. How could Epalli know…?

  “Josen,” Tori said.

  “I am surprised he went through the trouble of escaping prison to come to this place. The Basin is burning, and everything Josen has ever loved is going down in flames. I would have thought he would want to save his estate, his girlfriend, perhaps even his sister in the Basin. Coming here, just for you? Seems the waste.”

  Josen was here? He couldn’t be. He was in The Finger, for Faceless’ sake, in a Vault—

  “I’ll kill you,” Tori said, her voice hoarse.

  Epalli laughed. “No. You will not.” He opened the outer door, then paused, as if considering something. “Ah. Josen Oak,” Epalli said. “I thought we had taken care of you already. You should not be here.”

  “Let her go.” Josen’s voice was unmistakable.

  Akelle’s heart leapt. Josen was here! And he was in trouble already. God’s tears, did Akelle have to do all the work?

  “Josen…” Tori said, her voice soft and pleading.

  Akelle risked a glance out one of the few windows in the barrack. Josen was surrounded by bodies, some groaning and writhing, but most were clearly unconscious or dead. What the starving hells? Josen wasn’t any kind of fighter. God’s tears, what was going on?

  Josen stared at Epalli, his face a mask of rage and determination. “Let her go, Epalli, and everyone can walk away from this.”

  Epalli said nothing for a long moment, as if considering Josen’s request, but Akelle could hear more men running from around the other side of the barracks. Epalli was stalling, waiting for more men to show up. It didn’t take long. They hesitated, unsure of how to react, seeing Epalli and Josen locked in some kind of battle of wills.

  “No,” Epalli said finally, without explanation. He turned his back on Josen, pushing Tori toward the storehouse, calling over his shoulder as he did. “One hundred heavy gold to the man who stops him. Two hundred if he is still breathing.”

  Akelle hesitated for a moment, caught between helping Josen or following Epalli and Tori. The men facing Josen stood, cautiously eyeing Josen. Josen stood there covered in sweat and blood, looking exhausted. His chest heaved, arms hanging at his side, a green vine dangling in each hand. But his face was alight with energy.

  Akelle couldn’t blame the men for hesitating. There was something in Josen’s eyes even Akelle didn’t recognize, but now wasn’t the moment to dwell on it. Akelle slipped out of the barrack, silently following Epalli. Josen would have to take care of himself a little longer.

  Chapter 41

  Josen lunged after Epalli as he disappeared into the larger building, but six men stepped between Josen and the door. They each wielded some kind of farm implement turned weapon, a hungry gleam dancing in their eyes. A hundred heavy gold was enough for any one of these men to buy a modest home with plenty left over. They wouldn’t run, probably not even after a display of breaking.

  Josen rolled his shoulders and let the ceral energy rage through him. The men glanced nervously to the bodies strewn around himself, the scene clearly illuminated by a pair of lantern posts to either side of Josen.

  “Best think twice, boys,” Josen said, taking the opportunity to unwrap one of the longer vines from around his waist, nearly twenty feet long. “You can still run.” The men looked at him incredulously as Josen began to swing it in a wide circle over his head.

  Three of the men standing nearest to each other rushed in him with wild yells. Josen pivoted, adding speed to the vine as he broke it with a single pulse of ceral energy. The long vine stiffened as it gained momentum and pieces flew away all along its length as the vine became a heavy iron chain.

  The men yelled as the chain crashed into the first man’s arm and changed direction, wrapping itself around torsos and legs. The men stumbled over each other, falling in a heap. Josen sent two quick pulses of breaking energy through the chain. The chain became liquid tar then cold iron again in an instant, frozen in place around the men and holding them firm.

  They flinched away as Josen walked past them, toward two of the three remaining men. The third took the bait, rushing Josen from behind. Josen turned to meet the attack, but the man was faster than Josen had anticipated, and Josen had to leap back to avoid the swinging rake the man was wielding, which put him too close to the other two.

  They were on him in a heartbeat. Something hard crashed across his shoulders, driving him to the ground. He turned the dirt around him to a soupy sludge like he had in the jungle, but he was only pressed into it as one of the men jumped on top of him. Josen thrashed and managed to throw one off, but the other two piled before he could push himself off the ground. The mud reverted to hard earth, trapping Josen’s hands for half a second before he broke it again, to loose sand this time. He broke the men’s shirts into stone, but it was too thin. The stone clothes shattered as the men struggled, but the breaking startled the men enough that Josen managed to scramble back to his feet.

  Josen stumbled away, colliding with one of the lantern posts as he did. On impulse, he reached up and took down the metal lantern. He held it up threateningly. He had no idea what he was threatening to do, but the men hesitated anyway.

  “You don’t want to do this,” Josen said.

  The vine-chain holding the first three men reverted, and they sprang to their feet. One of them ran for the trees, but the other two joined the three facing Josen. Stalling wasn’t turning out to be a very effective plan of action. “You should follow your friend,” Josen said, nodding toward the man receding into the darkness as fast as his legs would take him.

  “Can’t,” one said. “We have families. Mouths to feed.” Two more nodded and grumbled in agreement. The other two glanced toward the trees.


  “Go home, then,” Josen said. “Your families would rather have you alive without the money.”

  A scream came from inside the storehouse. Tori’s.

  Josen’s face hardened. “Last chance,” he said.

  Two of the men dropped their weapons and ran. Another hesitated only a second before following his fellows. The last two didn’t move.

  “Fine.”

  Both men rushed him, screaming, weapons raised. Josen flung the lantern at them, the metal breaking into oil as it left his fingers. The entire mass burst into an arc of flame, flying straight at the two men.

  The man in front ducked into a roll, avoiding the flaming oil. The other wasn’t so quick. His scream began before the oil even hit. Liquid flame burst across his body, and his scream crescendoed, then cut off almost immediately as he pitched to the dirt, mercifully silent.

  Josen leapt back as the first man lunged at him, swinging his machete wildly. Josen used a steel vine to parry the first blow. He followed up with a jab to the man’s mouth, but the punch was weak, softened by a vine he had neglected to break. The blow stunned the man momentarily, but he recovered quickly.

  Josen hadn’t trained in this kind of fighting. Josen couldn’t have even said what he did wrong, but the man managed to take advantage of some opening and sliced Josen across the ribs in the second exchange.

  Hot blood poured down Josen’s stomach as he stumbled back, then fell to his knees. He struggled to maintain his concentration, pressing a hand to the cut. The ocean of ceral energy inside him had lessened noticeably since the night began. It was still vast, but undeniably diminished and infinitely more difficult to hold onto, especially with the new, searing pain on his ribs.

  Something cold and metal pressed itself underneath Josen’s chin, forcing his head back. Josen looked up to see his opponent smiling down at him, teeth red with blood from Josen’s punch.

  “Can’t take much of a hit, can you?”

  Josen didn’t even see the punch coming. His nose erupted with pain. He rocked back, blinking as blood coursed down his face.

  The man spat on Josen, knelt on his chest, and laid the sharp edge of his machete across Josen’s neck again. “Starving hells, I should cut your throat right now for killing Sange. But two hundred heavy gold is a lot of money. Still,” the man said, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, “Epalli only said breathing.” He adjusted his grip on the machete. “I don’t think he’ll mind if I carve a few pieces off you first.”

  Josen gasped as the man drew the tip of the machete down his chest, a line of blood trailing close behind.

  “On second thought,” the man said as if thinking aloud, glancing from Josen to the storehouse, “a hundred heavy gold is a lot of money, and I can’t think of how to tie you up while you’re still alive. Starving redhand. Oh well.” He raised the machete high and brought it down hard, striking through Josen’s face.

  The blade exploded into smoke the moment the edge touched Josen’s skin. The man’s eyes went wide and he pitched forward, finding no resistance where he expected a shatter of gore. Josen grabbed his neck and used his momentum to twist him to the ground. Josen’s other hand swung up, and then down, plunging a rough looking dagger—broken from one of his short vines—into the man’s chest. The alarmed look in the man’s eyes went out.

  Josen pushed himself to his feet, swaying. An extra burst of ceral power was all that let him stay up. That was taking more and more effort—more and more ceral energy. It was only a matter of time before his body simply refused to keep going under the kind of strain he was putting on it. The energy ceral power afforded him was real, but it was no replacement for real nutrition, not for long, and Josen could feel that he was pushing that limit.

  But he didn’t see that he had any choice but to keep going. He just had to take care of Epalli, save Tori and Akelle, and then he could go back to his cell—

  —where he could continue to starve to death. One problem at a time.

  Josen walked to the door of the storehouse and tried the handle—locked. He leaned against the door for a long moment, trying to catch his breath. If Epalli was going to kill Tori, she was already dead. Josen rattled the door handle again and found that nothing had changed in the intervening seconds.

  He put his hands to the door, preparing the ceral energy he would need to dissolve the door. Rotted wood? No, he wanted the door to fall apart on its own. Josen needed to minimize his physical strain. Sawdust, then. No, that would make it hard to see. Could he break it to water? It would take more energy, but he had plenty at his disposal. Plus, he could use the spike of energy. He would need to come through the door fast and fierce if he wanted to take advantage of the surprise.

  Josen put his hands to the door and grinned, an idea forming in his mind. Well, if he was going for surprise…

  Chapter 42

  Akelle hurried out of the shadows as soon as Epalli’s back was turned, approaching the post where Tori was bound. Epalli crossed the room and rummaged through a set of crates, looking for something. Outside, yells of surprise filled the night. Josen seemed to be doing well.

  But Akelle’s concern was inside, and she was tied up.

  “Don’t yell,” Akelle said, crouching down behind Tori. The rough wood pillar was wide enough to hide most of his body from where Epalli was standing, but Akelle was a good three steps from a proper shadow. If Epalli moved much in either direction, he would spot Akelle before he could hide.

  “Akelle?” she whispered, barely audible.

  “Of course. I’m going to cut you free.”

  Tori stiffened, then nodded, but she didn’t say anything more.

  Akelle pulled a knife from his boot and began working at the rope holding Tori’s hands, but they were thick and coarse and Akelle’s knife was small.

  Akelle heard Epalli move and he stopped sawing, moving slowly, carefully, to keep the post between himself and the big man. Epalli called the building a warehouse, but it looked more like a barn to Akelle, except with looming stacks of crates and barrels instead of animals. Epalli glanced out a small window in the side of the building—the side where Josen was—and swore.

  Tori squirmed and tested the ropes, but they held firm. The sounds of fighting tapered off outside.

  Akelle resumed sawing at the ropes. He was nearly…

  “Father’s Gods,” Epalli said, disgusted.

  Akelle jumped at the sound, dropping his knife. He fumbled to pick it back up, trying to keep one eye on Epalli as he did.

  “Give me the knife,” Tori whispered. “Hide.”

  “Fools and bloody-handed cowards,” Epalli spat, turning back towards them slowly. “All of them.”

  “I’m nearly—”

  “Give it.”

  Akelle pressed the knife into Tori’s hand, then ducked behind the nearest stack of crates, praying Epalli hadn’t turned in time to see him. Akelle barely breathed, not daring to stick his head far enough out to chance a look. An agonized scream came from outside, and Akelle’s heart threatened to burst from his chest.

  “Josen is a fool as well,” Epalli said.

  It sounded as though he was between Tori and the door of the storehouse. Akelle risked a look around the side of the crates and saw Epalli facing the door, adjusting something in his hands as Tori strained against her bonds, one hand moving subtly up and down as she tried to cut the ropes without drawing attention. Akelle hesitated for one moment, then began working his way around the edge of the storehouse toward Epalli. He wasn’t sure what he would do—he was way outside the bounds of his plan at this point—but he couldn’t do anything at all unless he was closer.

  “You coward,” Tori said.

  Epalli turned to look at her, a bemused look on his face.

  “Survivor,” the man corrected. He adjusted his hands, and Akelle saw a pistol held comfortably in each. They didn’t look like the ornate, complicated wheellock pistols Gerult pulled on Akelle and Josen in Jurdon. These were straightforward things
. They looked well used.

  The door rattled, and Akelle’s eyes went wide.

  No, Josen, no, Akelle thought.

  Epalli squared up and took aim.

  Oh, hells. Those things could punch a pair of fist-sized holes in Josen before he even realized it was coming. Akelle shifted his weight, preparing to rush Epalli. He didn’t have any kind of a weapon, but Akelle had to do something, he had to…

  Tori must have guessed Akelle’s thoughts, because she turned enough to catch his eye and glared at him, shaking her head very slightly.

  “I swear, Epalli,” Tori said, shoulders shaking with the effort of trying to cut her ropes, not even bothering to hide the motion now. She couldn’t wait. “If you pull that trigger, I will kill you.”

  “No,” Epalli said, never taking his eyes off the door. “You won’t. These idle threats impress no one.”

  The door rattled again.

  “Epalli—”

  “I will put the first bullet through your eye if you say another word,” Epalli said calmly, never taking his eye off the door.

  Akelle watched the door, helpless, praying that Josen wouldn’t be foolish enough to come through it, knowing he would. He had to do something, to hells with Tori. Akelle set his feet, preparing to leap at Epalli.

  Then the door—the entire starving wall—disappeared.

  For one brief instant, the world outside appeared rippled and distorted. The torches flickered as if through a wall of water.

  Then the wall of water collapsed.

  Epalli started in surprise, and one of the pistols went off with a violent crack and a billow of smoke. Josen’s silhouette stumbled. Akelle and Tori screamed in unison.

  Tori pulled her hands free at the same time Akelle leapt out of the shadows, still yelling. Epalli’s head swiveled first to Akelle, then toward Tori. He barely had time to raise his hands before Tori buried Akelle’s knife in his eye with a scream.

  Epalli collapsed, a look of astonishment frozen on his face.