The Wielder’s words gave Owen a headache.
Elian’s face was half shadowed in the light. “Amias did well to keep you in the dark. I have an inkling as to why. I was hoping you would enlighten me more.”
“I don’t know why,” Owen lied.
“Tell me, Owen. Do you believe in fate?”
“Only if it works in my favor.”
Elian cracked a half-smile. “I believe it exists, and you should too. Your dagger is proof.”
“How does it have to do with anything?”
“You destroyed my Core with it.”
“I didn’t know it would do that.”
The Wielder cocked his head, eyes serious. “No? All the same, it has me very curious.”
Confusion swept Owen’s mind. “I want to see Colt,” he said.
“No. He’s a criminal with too many charges over his head.”
“So am I,” Owen seethed.
Elian looked at him long and hard. “You know, I can’t let him go with us. But I may be able to let him off easy. You’ll be Cleansed and we’ll spare your life. I can’t guarantee your freedom right away, but I’ll not have you fighting me all the way to Alacor, or trying to escape. I want your full compliance on this, or I’ll see to it that your friend is hanged. Those are a luxury for people to witness now. Only those with a death sentence get them. There will be no fighting, no gimmicks, no making plans behind my back. So far you’ve proved difficult.”
Owen closed his eyes tightly. “Just give me your word that you’ll do as you say and let Colt go if I agree to this.”
“You have my word as a Wielder, in the name of the Legion. I swear to you I will let him go.”
“And Amias? Where is he?”
Elian cleared his throat. “I understand he means a lot to you. If you go with me, I can allow you to see him briefly.”
For a moment, Owen considered everything he would be gaining by going to Alacor with the Wielder. He would get to see Amias again, and Colt would be free. And if they let him go after it was all said and done, he could meet with Colt and Gilda and they could figure out where to go from there. Perhaps this was an easy answer to his problems, though the Cleansing terrified him. What if he lost his power and it somehow weakened him or killed him? What if they could not take his power away, and they concluded that he was Starborn, as Amias had suggested? But if he resisted, Colt would be hanged.
There were too many risks in declining to go without a fight. He did not want his friends to suffer at his hands.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll go.”
After a day passed, a guard brought Owen out from his cell and led him down a dark corridor lined with more cells. They were much different from where he had been held. A few men watched him as he walked, some of them sneering.
Coming out into the sunlight, Owen bowed his head and squinted his eyes from the sting of fresh light. He looked around, seeing only the guard in front of him and another behind him.
“Look ahead, lad,” said the guard behind him.
Owen felt for the guard’s aura and found fear within him.
Is he afraid of Elian?
They continued down a set of stairs to the back of the prison, where Elian stood with a mug in his hand. The tight back alley was meant for transferring prisoners in and out of the city’s prison, and eventually led to a secured iron door to beyond the walls of the city.
The sky was heavy with dreary clouds. The ride to Alacor would no doubt be full of more rain and cold. Owen sloshed through puddles on the cobblestones and looked around for Colt, but found his companion nowhere in sight. His chest tightened, his face growing cold as he sought the lemon-honey energy he had grown to know. He did not want to part from him again.
“What is it?” Elian came up to him, his voice low. “You look sick.”
“Don’t talk to me,” Owen replied sternly.
The two guards exchanged looks.
Elian took a sip from his mug before setting it on the stairs. “That’s no way to talk to your savior.” He took a slate from a sentry and marked something on it with a quill.
“Is that how you think of yourself? Forcing someone to be Cleansed isn’t something to gloat about.”
The Wielder’s jaw tightened as he stood poised, his body stiff. “You remember our deal?” His bold voice sent chills down Owen’s skin. “I’m not giving you any more chances from here on out.”
Whatever fuel had ignited Owen’s words a moment before snuffed out. His chest fell and loneliness crowded his heart. He peeled his eyes up to the roof of the prison and saw a guard with a bow walking around the edge.
Elian nodded at one of the guards. “Where is the rest of the escort?”
The two guards standing behind Owen looked at one another. Just as one of them began to speak, two more came running into the alley.
“Apologies, my liege,” one of them said as he stepped into line beside Owen. “They had flapjacks in the mess hall today.”
“What, was that today?” the guard behind Owen asked.
“A poor excuse to be late for a prisoner escort,” Elian cut in. “Is this usually how Covehaven runs its guard?”
“Ah—no, my liege,” the other guard said.
Elian sighed heavily as he tucked his slate under his arm and nodded down the alley. “Get on, then. I want the prisoner secured in the chariot within ten minutes.”
Owen tried to steal a look at the guards. The one who had spoken sounded familiar, but he could not quite place the voice. When he glanced at the other, a familiar green-brown eye winked at him from behind the helm.
Colt!
Owen’s chest tightened as he looked ahead, his heart pounding with nervous excitement. Lemon and honey suddenly flooded his senses. He did not know how Colt had managed to disguise himself as a guard, but he felt a dash of hope. Owen was curious if the other guard was working with him. His energy was muffled, as if he had the smell but could not name it. He did not chance looking back.
Before they moved, Elian stopped and looked at each of them. His eyes were focused, glancing sharply at the two guards behind Owen.
“You two look very disorderly.” He peered at the taller one of them, who had been looking away. “Where are your shin guards?”
“I was in a hurry to get here, my liege,” he replied.
Elian grabbed at the pouch on this belt. Backing away, he said, “You’re no guards. Step away.” As he took out his Core, an arrow whizzed through the air, piercing straight through Elian’s hand.
The Core fell to the ground. Elian growled in pain, his eyes widening with shock.
Owen broke away from the guards, his heart pounding as the scene unfolded rapidly in front of him.
Colt engaged one of the guards with his weapon. He caught the man’s blade against his own and pushed him away. Another arrow whistled loudly by, catching the guard’s shoulder. The impact took him down to his knees.
The other guard ran off down another alley before anyone could get to him.
On the ground, Elian seemed frozen as he knelt on his knee, his injured hand clasped tightly in his other. Blood oozed from the creases between his fingers, and his body vibrated as sweat built on his brow.
Owen glanced up at the archer on the roof, who held out their hand toward him. He knew the smell of incense that emanated from the guard. It was Gilda.
“You have something I need,” Colt said. He bent down and removed the dagger from Elian’s belt, then handed it to Owen.
“Stop!” Owen started. “He’ll kill you all!”
“I can kill him right now,” said the other guard, who held his sword up high.
“We don’t have time!” Gilda yelled. She climbed down a wooden ladder and ran past them down the alley. “Come on! The others are coming!”
Just as she said it, a bell rang in the distance.
Elian was no longer under Gilda’s spell, but he looked up at her in anger, his lip curled. “You’re all as good as dead when I fin
d you. You broke your deal with me, Owen.”
Owen swallowed hard as he looked at the Core Wielder, who looked as though he might unravel if tipped.
“Owen, come on!” Colt pulled him away, forcing him to run.
When they came to the iron door at the end of the alley, Gilda put out her hand. A moment later, the door burst open and they all piled out into the streets of the city. Owen followed his companions through the market, making a trail for his captors. If they were caught, Elian would kill Colt and Gilda. He had been willing to go with the Wielder if it meant their freedom. Now they had ruined it all.
As they ducked into a back alley, the commotion in the distance died and silence took over. The sting in his body worsened. Owen huffed as he looked at his companions. He finally got a good look at the other guard.
“Brom!” Owen exclaimed. “How did you get here?”
Brom put up his hand. “It’s a long story. For now, let’s get our bearings.”
They stood silently, sweat dripping down their faces as they caught their breath. Shouts in the distance came and went until the only sound they heard was the soft bustle of the townsfolk and the rustling of crows as they flew to the ground to peck at trash scattered about the alley.
When the sound of another bell rang, Brom looked down an alley. “That’s our cue to go. This way.”
Brom and Gilda led them down the narrow way. Behind them, guards shouted at one another, and Owen swore he heard Elian’s voice somewhere in the mix.
“It’s here.” Brom crouched down and pulled up an iron cover that led to the sewer below.
“We’re going down there?” Owen asked.
“Do you want to try the main gate?” Brom looked at him quizzically.
Colt came between them. “We don’t have time for this. Let’s go.”
Brom went into the hole first, descending a ladder before jumping down into the darkness below.
Owen was hesitant, but followed behind him and clung to the metal rungs of the ladder as he climbed down into the dank darkness of the sewer.
Chapter 26
The sewer was dark, wet, and foul-smelling. Up ahead, Brom scampered along the walls with caution in the dim light of the few holes above them.
They stopped briefly for Gilda to pick up a bag and for Brom to pick their shackles off until their hands were free.
“Gilda, do you know Brom?” Owen asked, rubbing at his wrists.
“Unfortunately. He used to run in Harold’s clan.”
The pieces in Owen’s mind finally fit together. He put out a finger and nodded. “That’s where I’d heard the name Harold before. Harv thought I was working for him. He was the one you split from.”
“Harold was a different man back in the day,” Brom said. He took off a few pieces of armor and set them aside. “When he started murdering simple peasants in cold blood, I jumped ship. I knew Gilda, but she was rather off-limits.”
Colt raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She was Harold’s witch, but most of the time just his bitch.”
Gilda elbowed him in the ribs, making him groan.
“Gods, what was that for?”
“You know what it was for, you fool.” She stood straight, her chin held high, but it did nothing for her height against Brom. She was at least a foot shorter than him. “Very coincidental, coming across you. I saw Wielders capture Owen and Colt, and by the time they reached the gate, it was too late. I got inside the city and tried to come up with a plan.”
“That’s when she saw me,” Brom said.
“How did you get here?” Owen looked at him curiously.
Brom pulled off his helm and set it on the ground. “I, uh, got into a bit of a scrap.”
“He was in a caravan outside the prison,” Gilda stated.
“I wasn’t going to tell them that part.”
“What does it matter? He should know how you got here, and how sloppy of a thief you actually are.”
Owen furrowed his brow. “Wait, you got arrested?”
“Right, he did,” Colt chimed in. “Found him in the prison yard. He and Gilda were disguised as new recruits and let me in on the plan.”
“But why?” Owen pressed his fingers to his temples to relieve the stress. “Elian is going to kill all of you. Don’t you understand? I made a deal with him to let Colt go free if I went with him to Alacor. Now he knows I have more people helping me!”
Colt smirked and looked at Brom. “He’s cute when he gets flustered.”
Owen held out his hands and looked between them, his mouth agape.
Gilda rolled her eyes and removed her helm, her bushel of brown, frizzy hair falling out of a loose bun. “Are you really arguing about this, Owen? I just saved all your asses and that’s all that matters. We want out of Milarc as much as you do. Me and Brom are now running from the same clan.”
Owen shifted on his feet. “Well, what about Joren and Tobias, and Doran? Were they caught as well?”
“Do you think I’d leave them behind if they were?” Brom shook his head and clicked his tongue. “We were heading to Edgewater and got in a scuffle.”
“So how did you get arrested?”
“That part doesn’t matter.” Brom cleared his throat. “You’re here, we’re here, we all helped each other.”
“He only offered to help me because he knew who you both were, and was already in deep shit if I didn’t break him out,” Gilda said. “I could sense where you two were, so that helped.”
Brom raised his brows. “Well, there you have it, then. Gilda’s good at sensing.”
“It’s a natural gift.”
“Right, well, all this catch-up talk is beginning to drag,” Colt said. “I’m eager to get out of here now.”
“Let’s get going, then. I’ll let Gilda navigate the sewers, since she’s better at sensing shit.”
She punched Brom in the arm, which earned her a chuckle, but as he followed her, he frowned and rubbed his arm.
They trudged down the narrow tunnel, water dripping from the ceiling as they held tight to the walls.
Colt came up beside Owen with a blade in his hand. “Here. It’s yours.”
For a moment, Owen considered telling him to keep it, and then he thought of tossing it to the ground and letting it remain hidden in the darkness of the sewer. Since acquiring it, it seemed he had encountered only bad luck.
But then again, his companions had swords now. He needed something as well.
Owen inhaled deeply and took the dagger. “Thank you.” Another thought occurred to him and he sighed heavily, his heart dropping.
“What’s wrong?” Colt asked.
“All our things are gone. My journal, and my book. I’ll never see them again.”
“I can’t replace your mother’s book, but we’ll get you a new journal first town we come across once we’re out of here, yeah?” Colt nudged him and Owen nodded, his spirit dampening. “And you can write a new poem to go with it.”
They followed Brom and Gilda down several turns until they came to a divide where water rushed swiftly down the middle of the tunnel and through a grate against the wall.
The smell that rose in the air from the rush of water made Owen pucker his face as if he had tasted someone’s bodily waste. They crossed quickly and went to another part of the sewer. As they moved along, water dripped more frequently, running off the walls and ceiling. Owen sloshed through puddles on the floor.
“Won’t the sewers flood?” he asked.
“No doubt,” Colt replied.
“Comforting.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll just quicken our pace,” Brom said. “These tunnels can’t be very long, surely.”
“I’ve always dreamed of dying in a sewer with three other men, drowned by human waste,” Gilda said, her voice calm, deadpan.
“And I’ve dreamed of reuniting with a woman who used to bark orders at me as if I was some sort of scullery maid.” Brom squinted at her.
<
br /> “That’s because you essentially were.”
“I never—”
“You did much of the cooking and cleaning in the camp, yes, I remember.”
Colt laughed. “What, you were the cook? What’s all this about thievery, then?”
“I was a thief,” Brom said. “I mean—I am a thief. When I went against Harold’s orders, he made me stay at the camp and cook. It was an insult, to say the least, but Joren taught me a good few recipes.”
“That’s why you left? Because you didn’t want to keep cooking?” Owen asked.
“It was much more than that.”
“Oh no,” Colt said, stifling a chuckle. “You were the scullery maid.”
“Don’t say it like that.” Brom glared at Gilda. “Why did you even say anything?”
She shrugged, a crooked smile on her face. “You put your own foot in your mouth, dear.”
The tunnel darkened, the holes through the sides and top of the walls disappearing as they delved further in. The air was quieter down this way, and the sewer took on a different feel as the smell of musk and earth overtook the foul odor. The air quieted, allowing them to slow their steps as they listened for signs that someone had followed them.
Owen stopped to rest against a wall while Brom and Gilda examined the tunnel up ahead. He breathed in and out several times, his breath shaky as he twisted his hands in the dirt. He could not see a thing beyond the scattered streams of light, and it made him nervous.
“What’s wrong?” Colt asked.
“It’s just stuffy in here,” came Owen’s reply. “And quiet.”
“You hate it here, don’t you?”
“Well, I don’t particularly like it. I’ve had a strange feeling ever since we came down this tunnel.”
“I don’t like it any more than you do, mate. Just think of a nice meal and bath afterward.”
“I could do with one myself.” Brom sniffed under his arms and made a face. “I’ve been going on about a month now.”
Colt crossed his arms. “Oh yeah? You got fleas, then? Don’t come near me.”
“I was wondering which of you was beginning to smell. It’s worse than this sewer.” Gilda dropped her bag and pulled out a small bottle. She opened it and sniffed its contents.
Beyond the Core (The Starborn Series Book 1) Page 31