“Same goes for me,” said Berggren. “We’re all gonna die at some point.”
“Why aren’t you saying anything, Theyn?” asked Nardus.
She rubbed her head on his hand. “Let it go, my love. Neither of us have the power to stop them, nor should we if we had the means to do so.”
“Fine, but you’re all fools.” He crossed his arms. “Now what?”
Joriah rubbed his hands together and blew into them. “It’s time for me to work my mezhik.”
“Mezhik.” Nardus spat. “What in Ef Demd Dhä does that—”
Joriah spun around and disappeared.
Damned fool!
† † †
Joriah removed his cape and tossed it aside, tore his shirt and trousers in several places, and then wiped blood all over himself and his clothes from the rat he’d killed. Satisfied he looked the part, he stepped into the road just west of the bridge. One of the guardsmen from the bridge took notice of Joriah and approached him with his sword drawn. Joriah fell to his knees.
“Help me,” Joriah said, his voice weak and broken. “I’ve been attacked.”
The guardsman lowered his sword and knelt next to Joriah. “Who did this to you?”
Joriah grabbed the guardsman’s wrist, intent on using his persuasive mezhik, but he hesitated. Decades had passed since the last time he’d used it, and he wasn’t sure if he could do so now. Every time he reached within himself to draw upon its power, memories of Nadine bombarded him.
Love of my life! How will I ever forgive myself for what I did to you?
His hand trembled fiercely, but it would play well into what he must do. He swallowed back tears and forced his memories of Nadine back into the box that he kept them in. With a deep breath, he called upon his mezhik, but nothing came.
Don’t do this to me. Not now.
“Remove your hand from my wrist before I remove it from your body,” growled the guardsman.
Joriah looked into the guardsman’s eyes. “I’m sorry sir, but you misunderstand my intentions.”
The guardsman’s gaze hardened. “Your intentions?”
Joriah nodded slowly as he focused inward. He pictured an ebbing and flowing orange energy within himself welling up like a spring. It seeped from his marrow and poured into his veins. He stared intently at the man as the taste of his persuasive mezhik bloomed on his tongue.
Joriah spoke with intention and direction, pouring every ounce of mezhik energy he possessed into his words. “Three men and a large cat attacked me as they headed north. You know my words are true, and you must convince your fellow guardsmen to head north so that you might cut those fugitives off before they escape. You will be heroes.”
“They’re heading north…” said the guardsman, his eyes slightly glazed over.
“Yes. You must hurry if you want to catch them.” Joriah’s hand slipped from the guardsman’s wrist as he slumped over on the road.
He closed his eyes, his eyelids far too heavy to keep open.
If there is a God, I beg of you to let this work.
† † †
A loud commotion drew Nardus’s attention. He walked over to the corner of the building, crouched down, and peered around its corner, toward the bridge. Something or someone lay in the middle of the road, halfway between him and the bridge. The guardsmen at the bridge hustled around, gathering their gear.
“What’s happening?” asked Berggren. His deep, gruff voice barked even at a whisper.
“I’m not sure what Joriah did, but the guardsmen are evacuating their post.”
“Knew he’d do something, but where’s he now?”
“I don’t know, but something’s in the road.”
Theyn nudged Nardus and spoke into his mind. “Move out of the way, and I’ll take a look. My eyesight is way better than yours.”
Nardus nodded and moved back.
Theyn stepped forward and peered around the corner. “That’s Joriah in the road, and it looks like he’s covered in blood. He’s still breathing but just barely.”
Nardus turned toward Berggren. “Theyn confirmed that it’s Joriah in the road. He’s still alive.”
Berggren dipped his head. “Best he stays that way too.”
“One guardsman stayed behind,” said Theyn.
Damn. Never seem to catch a break.
Nardus sighed. “One guardsman hung back.”
Berggren straightened, his expression grim. “Leave him to me.”
“We’ll be right behind you,” said Nardus.
Berggren rounded the corner and headed toward the bridge. The guardsman spotted Berggren immediately.
Kinda hard to miss a walking mountain.
Nardus chuckled to himself.
Berggren rushed the guardsman like a bull, closing the distance quickly. The guardsman stuck his pinkies in the corners of his mouth and blew several times but produced no sound. Berggren lowered his shoulder and struck the guardsman square in the chest but not before the guardsman got off one loud whistle.
Theyn and Nardus rushed over to Joriah and knelt next to him. Joriah didn’t move or open his eyes. “Joriah, can you hear me?”
Joriah didn’t respond.
The sounds of clanking metal armor and stomping boots rose in the distance and grew louder by the moment.
Nardus’s pulse raced as he lifted Joriah over his shoulder. He grunted, and his legs shook, but he managed to stand. By the time he reached the bridge he realized there was no way he’d make it across before the other guardsmen caught up with him.
“Give him to me,” barked Berggren, seeing Nardus struggle.
What is wrong with me today? First, I couldn’t fight, and now I can’t carry a man thirty feet? Why am I so exhausted?
Berggren took Joriah from Nardus and started hoofing it across the bridge. Nardus and Theyn flanked him. Two-thirds of the way across, the thunder of boots on the bridge sounded behind them. Berggren picked up his pace but Nardus knew it wasn’t quick enough.
They only had two choices ahead of them. Either create a diversion to slow the guards down or find a way to move faster. But Nardus couldn’t think of a single solution to accomplish either.
As if on cue, Theyn’s presence entered his mind. “Grab that manure cart on your right. My father can use it to push Joriah instead of carrying him.”
Nardus retrieved the manure cart and caught back up with Berggren. “Throw Joriah on here!”
They stopped and Berggren transferred Joriah to the cart. Nardus looked back. The guardsmen were halfway across the bridge now.
Berggren took off again, this time at a much faster pace. Nardus had trouble keeping up with the big man and quickly fell behind. He sucked air hard and his lungs burned in his chest. For an instant, his vision went dark, but that’s all it took for him to stumble and fall to his hands and knees. He slid several feet on the rough bricks, scraping callouses from his hands and ripping flesh from his knees.
He tried to stand but lacked the strength.
The pounding boots on brick grew louder, nearly deafening. The bridge trembled.
Whoosh!
An arrow sliced through the air and clipped the top of his right ear.
Theyn appeared out of nowhere. “Get on my back!” Her voice sounded frantic, even in his head.
Whoosh! Whoosh!
Somehow, he found the strength to climb atop Theyn’s back. He wrapped his arms around her neck and his legs around her waist.
Theyn darted to the side and he nearly slipped off her back.
Two arrows ricocheted off the bricks were she’d just stood.
The thunder of boots grew louder. They must’ve been ten yards back or less. Nardus couldn’t hear himself think over the noise.
“Hold on as tight as you can,” said Theyn in his head. She bolted forward, nearly throwing him from her back. “Tighter, dammit! I don’t want to lose you.”
Nardus held on for his life
and stared straight ahead, barely able to see over Theyn’s bobbing head. He dared not look back even as the thunderous noise grew softer. When they reached the end of the bridge and came upon the first crossroad, Theyn banked hard to her right. Nardus had prepared for the turn but hadn’t heard or anticipated the arrow that plunged into his right thigh.
He grunted, and his legs slipped from around Theyn’s waist. The tight turn, coupled with his shifting weight, sent him and Theyn tumbling across the gravel road. Theyn recovered quickly and was back at Nardus’s side, but he couldn’t move a single muscle. The throbbing pain in his leg nearly blinded him with each beat of his heart.
“I… can’t… move.”
Theyn grabbed Nardus by his shirt collar with her teeth and tried to drag him down the road but the deep gravel offered too much resistance. “This isn’t working,” said Theyn in Nardus’s head.
An old woman exited from a rickety old building to their left. The woman seemed haggard and feeble upon first glance, hunched over with one hand on her hip as she took each step with calculated measure. Little more than rags hung from her stocky frame. She looked nearly as wide as she was tall. A grayish-brown scarf, draped over her head and tied under her double chin, did little to cover her scraggly locks of grey-and-white hair.
But her eyes. Golden brown and full of hope. No trace of fear could be found in them. They erased every preconception Nardus had made of her. He couldn’t help but stare at her as she approached.
The old woman bent down the middle the road and smiled. “A fine pair you two make.”
Nardus had expected her voice to sound stressed and gravelly but it was neither of those. Instead, it was soft but firm and a tinge deeper than he imagined it might’ve been in her youth. She had a bit of an accent as well, but he couldn’t place its origin.
The old woman grabbed him underneath his arms and hauled him up as she stood. Her strength astounded him.
She’s so much more than I had first imagined.
Theyn looked back down the road, toward the bridge. Nardus knew what she must be thinking because he wondered the exact same thing. Those guardsmen should’ve rounded the corner by now. Why haven’t they?
But then he realized the pounding of their boots had ceased.
Somehow, the old woman knew what they were thinking as well. “You two need not worry. City Guard never enters East Hotah. They be afraid of us. Thinks we be diseased and infectious.” She cackled, but not in a sharp and annoying way.
She dragged Nardus across the road and into the building she’d come out of. To the right of the door lay a bed of straw. A dirty and warn wool blanket lay atop it. She gently set Nardus down on top of it, laid him back, and pulled his feet onto it as well. Theyn settled on the floor next to him and rested her head on his stomach. He would’ve stroked her head, but he didn’t have the strength to move his arm.
The old woman talked as she moved toward the back of the room and out of Nardus’s sight, “Don’t move a muscle, dearie. I’ve got something that’ll fix you right up lickety-split.”
Cabinet doors banged and a slew of other noises sounded from the back room as the old woman talked to herself. Nardus closed his eyes and reached out to Theyn with his mind. “My gut tells me we can trust her, but I fear I’m in no state to make such judgments. What do you think?”
“Did you not see the bones hanging from the door when we came in? Or all the necklaces, bracelets, and rings she wears? They’re fashioned from bones as well.”
“She’s a cannibal? You think she’ll turn us into stew and eat us?”
Theyn snorted. “Don’t be such a fool. She’s a healer. I don’t think we could be in a better place right now.”
“Galondu Castle. That’d be a better place.” Had he really just said that? Several individuals within those castle walls—including a psychopathic dragon—sought his death.
Perhaps my madness is returning.
He knew it wasn’t that. However, it seemed like someone wanted him dead no matter where he went. A fugitive of the world.
“I’ve yet to set foot in that castle, but it certainly doesn’t seem like it’d be the best place for us to go.”
The old woman returned with a large wooden bowl clutched in her wrinkled and spotted hands. She knelt next to Nardus’s head and set the bowl on the floor. Steam rose from the bowl, and its wretched stench stung Nardus’s nose. His stomach gurgled with dread.
“What’s in the bowl?” he asked.
The old woman chuckled. “Trust me, dearie. It tastes far worse than it smells, but I guarantee it’ll get you back on your feet within the hour.”
Nardus eyed the bowl. “And how much of that must I consume?”
“You’ll need it all.” She dipped a deep, wooden spoon into the bowl and then held it to Nardus’s lips. “Drink up.”
Theyn’s head vibrated his stomach.
“Are you laughing at me?” he asked Theyn through his mind. She nuzzled him but didn’t respond.
Nardus parted his lips with reluctance, and the old woman poured the liquid in. It wasn’t hot, as he had expected it to be, but it’s taste was fouler than anything he’d ever put in his mouth. The last place he wanted it to go was his stomach, but he couldn’t keep it in his mouth any longer. He swallowed the warm liquid down and it burned in his throat like vomit. He couldn’t even begin to describe its taste beyond something salty, spicy, rotten, and fermented. Had he tasted rotting flesh and spoiled vegetables he might’ve likened it to that.
He coughed several times, and his stomach lurched. “What in creation is in that godawful stuff?”
“Eye of newt, tail of dog, wing of bat…” The old woman cackled. “Isn’t that what you expected me to say?”
She forced another spoonful between his lips when he opened his mouth to respond.
Sneaky, wretched woman.
Nardus swallowed, and she had another spoonful waiting. By the fourth or fifth spoonful he couldn’t even taste the liquid anymore, his mouth and throat raw with fire. When he downed the last spoonful his stomach gurgled several times, but it never threatened to expel its contents.
A few minutes later, heat rose underneath his skin and drenched his entire body with sweat. His hammering heart slowed, and his eyelids grew heavy.
I’ll just close my eyes for a moment.
† † †
Berggren never slowed until he reached the sewer entrance. His chest billowed with every inhalation, but he still couldn’t catch his breath. He set the end of the manure cart down and rested against its handles.
Joriah’s chest continued to rise and fall, but he hadn’t moved a single muscle through the entire trip. The side of his face lay in fresh manure, and it clung to his beard. Berggren knew they hadn’t had much time, but Nardus still should’ve emptied the cart.
Lighter load would’ve made my job a bit easier.
The sun crested overhead, ripening the stench of the manure. Beads of sweat slid down Berggren’s bald scalp. He’d expected Theyn and Nardus to be right behind him, but he couldn’t see or hear them approaching. He thought nothing of it at first, but as the minutes rolled by, he began to worry more and more.
Where are you, Theyn?
His mind raced with thoughts he didn’t want to have but he couldn’t help himself. He loved Theyn more than life itself and would do anything to keep from losing her again.
He looked at Joriah and sighed deeply. “I’m sorry my old friend, but Theyn comes first. She always will.”
Berggren left Joriah and the cart sitting there and began to retrace his route. Every dozen or so yards he called for her but didn’t know what kind of response to expect. The more he thought about it, the more he began to fear she’d slipped back into the monster who’d torn his chest open.
Will I be hunting her, or will she be hunting me?
By the time he reached the main road his throat was raw and his voice hoarse from yelling her name. Something g
linted in the sunlight, near where the bridge intersected the road. He hustled down the road, ignoring the fire in his thighs and calves.
Berggren bent down and picked up the broken crossbow bolt. It was definitely the same kind the City Guard used. But where was the other half, and where were Theyn and Nardus? He looked around but found nothing more than some misplaced gravel. Had they been captured? He couldn’t stand the thought of it. Besides, the guardsmen were more than eager to kill them at Joriah’s house.
His heart sank, and his gaze fell to the ground.
I just got you back, Theyn. I’m not ready to lose you again. My heart can’t take it.
Tears welled in his eyes and he let them fall, onlookers be damned. He dropped to his knees and slammed his fists into the wet and discolored rocks. Rage built in his chest. He’d tear every last one of those bastards apart if it was the last thing he ever did.
Berggren stood and wiped his eyes. A girl no older than five or six stood several feet away from him. He glared down at her, and she returned his glare with an unwavering smile. A dimple marked her left cheek. She wore little more than rags and stood on bare feet, and her hands, feet, and face were soiled with so much grime and dirt that he couldn’t determine her skin color. Brown, scraggly hair framed her thin face and hung just below her scrawny shoulders.
“Go away,” he half barked and whispered.
She walked up to him and took his hand. That simple gesture froze him and left him speechless, but her words spoke right to his heart. “It’s okay. I cry sometimes too. Have you lost someone?”
Berggren knelt and looked into her deep brown eyes. “My daughter, Theyn.” His voice quavered.
She nodded knowingly. “My father died when I was little, and my mother was gone when I woke up this morning. I don’t think she’s coming back. I don’t think any of them are.”
Berggren frowned. “Any of who?”
“The ones with the black veins and pale skin. The infected. My mother was one of them.”
Berggren tilted his head skyward. Zhedäƨ Ƨʊn, what is she talking about? How much have I missed?
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