Haliden's Fire

by Chris Sendrowski

  ”My father puts much faith in you, artist,” Evetner whispered as they approached. “Enough so that the entire village will be in your hands now.”

  Haliden felt his stomach turn. “Perhaps he puts too much faith in me then.”

  Evetner drew close, his voice but a whisper. “I could help you.”

  Haliden halted. “What?”

  “I want to matter, artist,” the boy hissed. “I’m tired of living in my father’s shadow.”

  Haliden huffed. “Well at least you have sense. Perhaps you can inject some of it into that father of yours.”

  Proust’s cold gaze fell upon Haliden as the two approached. “You almost ready, artist?”

  Haliden shrugged. “As ready as one can be.”

  Proust turned back to the map. “So far they’ve concentrated their attacks on the southern and northern approaches. The forest is thickest there, providing the best cover from our archers.” He slid his finger toward a patch of forest on the western side of the map. “It’s worked in our favor, though. On the eastern side lies a secret entrance. It’s narrow, and will put you out in the open after only a few yards.”

  Haliden laughed. “That’s your plan? And you don’t think your little door isn’t under watch even now?”

  Florin nodded behind Proust. “It’s a possibility. Won’t deny that, sonny. But it’s our only—”

  “There’s another way,” a voice interrupted.

  Haliden turned. Ember stood a few footfalls behind him.

  “Why aren’t you on the wall, woman?” Proust said.

  “The wall has enough men. And what I have is worth far more than those untrained louts.”

  Proust crossed his arms impatiently. “Very well then… out with it.”

  “There’s a place… beneath the cistern,” she said. “A vault. With another way out.”

  “I know of no such place,” Proust said.

  Florin sighed. “What she says is true.”

  Proust looked at the archer incredulously. “What are you saying, man? You knew of this, too, and kept it from me?”

  Ember approached Florin. “All these turns… shooting deadeye with that bow, and I never once thought to ask you how. “

  The old archer shrugged. “Tritan bows are quite sought after. Didn’t want thieves rustling my feathers in the night, if you know what I mean. And I admit, I rather liked the nickname.”

  Proust shook his head. “And what other secrets have you two kept from me?

  Ember smiled. “Follow me and see for yourself.”

  The meridium torches flickered to life, bathing Proust’s armor in an eerie blue light.

  “By all things high and mighty,” the Watkarian breathed.

  The many chests glittered before him in the firelight, as if welcoming it’s warmth.

  Florin smiled. “It’s something, isn’t it? The first time I laid eyes on it I nearly pissed myself.”

  “I don’t understand,” Proust breathed. “Who would build such a thing and then hide it from the world?”

  “Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be hidden,” Haliden said. “The Breath has come before. It’s possible it was lost or forgotten after the last fire.”

  Proust knelt down and opened one of the chests. Inside were dozens of glass jars, each filled with strange herbs and colored powders. He picked one up and pulled the cork free. “Meridium powder,” he said, his eyes widening. “By the gods. There’s enough here for five chargers.”

  Haliden knelt down and opened the chest beside it. Nestled amongst tangles of ancient hay was a red quiver packed with a dozen silver arrows.

  “Be careful with that,” Ember warned.

  Haliden removed one of the arrows and stared at its polished shaft. It was heavy, with stiff silver fletching and a razor-sharp, triangular head. “It’s just an arrow,” he said.

  Ember grabbed the arrow and tossed it at one of the chamber’s walls. Without a sound, the silver shaft passed through the Tritan steal, leaving a tiny hole in its wake.

  Haliden’s eyes widened. “Did I just see that?”

  Proust knelt down before the hole. “It went clean through!”

  Florin laughed. “I tried one once with my recurve. Nearly killed Oreta Flin on Calamane Way when it went through two walls and into her house.” He shook his head, chuckling at the memory. “Never did find it. Damn thing went through three more walls after hers. Lost it somewhere in the basin’s bedrock.”

  Haliden removed another arrow and rolled it in his palm. “Tritan crafted, I presume?”

  Ember nodded. “And I think they’re infused with meridium. You can see the brown sparkle on their tips.”

  “Explains their strength,” Florin said.

  Haliden carefully slid the arrow back into its quiver. “These could render a castle useless, let alone armor or chainmail.”

  “I’m just amazed there aren’t more,” Florin said. “Searched everywhere in here and those are the only ones I came up with.”

  Proust grabbed the lid on another chest and began to open it.

  “Wait!” Ember cried.

  But it was too late. The second the knight lifted the lid, there was a loud snap as the chest crumpled in on itself.

  “Damn it!” Ember hissed.

  Florin laughed as Proust rose to his feet trembling. “Well done. Well done.”

  The chest lay in ruin, its contents completely destroyed by the crusher seal.

  “Piss off,” Proust grumbled, his hands trembling. He turned to Ember. “How many more are booby-trapped liked this?”

  “All the chests bound with steel bands have Tritan crusher seals,” she said. “But not the wooden ones.”

  Florin lit a wall sconce and scanned the chamber. “Been a long time since I last came here,” he said. He approached one of the shelves and picked up a bronze half-helm.

  “What’s that?” Haliden asked.

  “Just a helm,” Florin replied. “Until you wear it. Look through the glass eye holes at night and you can see anything that moves.”

  Proust ran a hand across one of three bows hanging from an iron rack. “And these?”

  Florin put the helmet down and approached the knight. “Those are death incarnate. At least to the men on the other end.”

  Proust nodded. “Take ’em all, then. Take everything. We have men to kill.”

  8

  The firewalkers burned beneath the walls. Some screamed. Some laughed. A few even sat silent, their arms upraised in supplication as flames consumed their blistering flesh.

  To the south, the horizon burned as Moss Town’s closest neighbor, Bistle Thorn Gulch, succumbed to fire.

  We will all burn, Haliden thought as he followed Ember up the Tower’s crumbling stairs.

  “Come on, Hal!” she shouted.

  When they reached the top, Ember gestured for him to stop.

  “Aldridge?”

  “Who else?” came a voice above them.

  “We’re coming up, so don’t shoot.”

  Aldridge Thren stood as he had for days, proud and straight, his eyes locked on the southern horizon.

  “Did you bring me quarrels?” he asked as Haliden and Ember stepped onto the rooftop. “I fear those burning louts have eaten my supply.” He was tall and slender with deep green eyes and dark brown hair. He wore a simple gray cloak over a frayed black tunic and faded crimson pants.

  “All watchers don the color of Dracon,” Ember said when she noticed Haliden’s gaze. “A reminder of their Gift. And the blood price we must pay to receive it.”

  Aldridge extended his hand to Haliden. “I’m a great admirer of your work.”

  Haliden warmed at his words. “I could say the same of your voice.”

  Aldridge smiled. “I’d heard you returned, but couldn’t figure out for the life of me why.”

  “I had some loose ends I wished to tie up,” Haliden replied.

  Aldridge bowed. “Well, I hope you are successful in your endeavors.”

  “My a
pologies, gentlemen,” Ember interjected, “but we have more pressing matters at hand.” She pointed north, where dense pine trees loomed like precious fruit before the storm. “We will be sending out our venermin on the morrow, Aldridge. And we will need you to cover us.”

  Aldridge nodded. “And what brave soul will make the run?”

  She pointed to Haliden.

  Aldridge’s eyes widened. “Well… you are a braver man than me, friend.”

  “I’m a drunk coward with no god to fear,” Haliden said.

  Aldridge laughed. “You do yourself a disservice, Stroke. Few men would forsake the Gift to make a run.”

  Ember handed Aldridge a red quiver stuffed with solid silver arrows. “I bring you a wonder, Aldridge.”

  The watcher looked at the quiver and raised an eyebrow. “These are pretty. Am I supposed to kill something with them or decorate a smithy shop?”

  “These are Tritan forged,” Ember said. “Some of the deadliest weapons I’ve ever known.”

  Aldridge pulled an arrow from the quiver and knocked it to his bowstring. “It’s light. Too light. One gust will ruin its flight.”

  “It will fly true,” Ember said, “and pass through whatever you hit until its momentum fades.”

  Aldridge looked at her, his expression incredulous. “Where did you get this, woman?”

  She grinned. “The same place I found this…” She unslung her bow and handed it to him.

  “Another Tritan wonder?” He drew the string back. “By the gods! I can barely feel the draw.”

  “Sight your target through the scope and you can’t miss,” Haliden said.

  “On the morrow you will be death from above,” Ember added. “Haliden and the venermin will leave through a southern gate and it will be your charge to protect him.”

  Aldridge laughed. “Southern gate? Did you build one since I came up here?”

  “It’s one of Moss Town’s many secrets, Aldridge. One that’s been hidden beneath our town for centuries.”

  Aldridge reached beneath his cloak and withdrew a leather wrapped bottle. “To the both of you then. A godless drunk and a keeper of wonders.” He took a sip and offered it to Haliden. “If only all men were as brave and godless as you, Stroke.”

  Haliden took the bottle. “If they were, there wouldn’t be many of us left,” he replied, before downing three massive gulps. It was sweet wine and it went down smooth as silk. “By the gods, that’s good stuff. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted the like.”

  Aldridge grinned. “And you won’t. You see I, too, have held a secret.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Singsong wine. Found in the shadows of ancient night beneath an unknowing town.”

  Ember’s eyes widened. “You knew about it, too?”

  Aldridge shrugged. “We all have our secrets, Am. Some just aren’t as secret as we think.”

  Haliden laughed. “Seems few remain that way here.”

  “We can’t all be singers or artists,” Aldridge said. “At least, not without a little help.” He took another sip ad then tucked the bottle back into his cloak. “When you run tomorrow I’ll sing you a song. A gift for a gift.”

  “And what song will it be?” Ember asked.

  Aldridge laughed. “The song of the archer, of course. ‘The Whisperer of Death.’ ”

  The two stood silent atop the ancient tower, watching as the Breath’s orange and yellow tendrils tickled the distant sky.

  “It’s beautiful,” Ember said.

  Haliden shook his head. “It’s death, nothing more.”

  She took his hand then and guided him to a makeshift bed she had cobbled together from an old blanket and some hay.

  “He won’t be back?” Haliden asked, glancing over his shoulder.

  Ember smiled. “Aldridge is a good man. If he promised us this time alone, he will make good on it.” She ran a hand down his stomach and began slowly undoing his belt. But when she slid her hand beneath his breeches, Haliden sighed.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  Haliden shook his head. “I just wish we had more time… together.”

  She slowly undid her shirt and pants and pressed him against her body. “We’ll always be together,” she whispered. “Always.” Her breasts touched his bare chest, the warmth resonating against him like a heavenly blanket. You are everything I ever wanted, he thought as their lips met. She took his manhood in her hand and stroked it gently. Haliden moaned. “Why only now? Why not all these turns… together.”

  She pulled him down onto the bed.

  Without hesitating, Haliden knelt down and slipped his manhood inside her.

  “Fuck me. Fuck me until the fire takes us both.” She clutched his back, her nails digging into his flesh as he thrust deep inside her.

  “I love you,” she moaned. “I love you.”

  They moved as one, their tongues dancing across one another’s lips as Haliden pushed deeper and deeper inside her. And when at last they climaxed, when that sensation crept across their bodies like a warm tide, it was together as one.

  “By the gods,” Haliden moaned.

  She pulled him in even closer, grinding against him as ash coated his back.

  “Too many turns have stood between us,” she whispered. “Too many disappointments and failures.”

  He took her hands and pressed them to his heart.

  “Then let this be our time now,” he said.

  She smiled.

  “Our time forever.”

  9

  The burning man and woman screamed. It was a sound unlike anything Moss Town had heard before. Inhuman. Piercing.

  Merciless.

  “Bloody madmen,” Proust mumbled as he and the other archers watched the flames spiral around the writhing bodies.

  The victims were Briar and Yelni Bley, mushroom farmers from Calamane Way who had tried to flee during the night.

  For their troubles, the firewalkers crucified them just before dawn, soaking them in oil before firing flaming arrows at their feet.

  “End this,” Ember hissed as the wailing grew louder. “Damn it, someone end this!”

  Briar begged for mercy even as his flesh blackened and cracked, and the woman howled like a dying animal as white foam boiled out of her ears and nose.

  “Do something!” Ember screamed.

  Haliden turned to the other archers. But none would meet his eyes.

  “Do it, Hal! End it!”

  Haliden looked down at his quiver. Three arrows remained. Madness, he thought. Utter madness.

  He approached the wall and nocked an arrow. His heart hammered in his throat, and his body felt numb as the Tritan scope twisted into focus around his eye.

  By the gods! I can’t do this!

  “Do it!” Ember hissed again. “End it! Please end it, Hal!”

  Haliden steadied his arm, bracing every muscle against the Tritan bow’s draw. But when it came time to release, he froze.

  “What are you waiting for?” Ember screamed.

  “I can’t, damn it!”

  “Listen to th—”

  An arrow slammed into the man’s forehead, killing him instantly.

  Haliden looked over his shoulder at the tower. Aldridge stood silhouetted against the sky, bow in hand. He drew back again and silenced the woman.

  Proust approached Haliden. “Are you ready?”

  Haliden lowered his bow, arms trembling. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Proust turned and whistled into the basin. Seconds later, a pair of men led by Evetner emerged from Calamane Way with a steel chest held between them.

  “We brought only the weapons, Father,” Evetner said as he and his men placed the chest at his father’s feet.

  Florin knelt down and opened it. “A Tritan Repeater!” He lifted a black crossbow from its berth. “Possibly the finest weapon in all of Alimane.” Four two footfall-long barrels ran the length of the weapon’s intricately carved stock, and the bow was wrought of solid black st
eel.

  Florin put his foot in the stirrup and cranked the winding mechanism until the string was at full draw. He then raised it to his shoulder and turned to the forest.

  “It’s light as a feather,” he said, “and forged from meridium infused steel.”

  He took aim at a tree and pulled the trigger.

  The arrow whistled through the air, cutting clean through an ancient elm before vanishing into the forest beyond.

  Haliden’s eyes widened as the string snapped back into position.

  “The mechanism redraws it for you,” Florin said. “Pull, reload, pull, reload. Easy as that.”

  Proust took the weapon from the old archer and handed it to Ember. “I think this will do fine.”

  “Worth at least five men on the wall,” Florin said. “Or women.” He winked at Ember.

  “You said there was another way out down there,” Haliden said. “But how do we get Instar and the wagon through the tunnels?”

  It was Evetner who spoke this time. “I’ve already set men to breaking a new entrance into the chamber. It’s mostly limestone down there, so the work’s been quicker than we thought.”

  “And the wagon?” Haliden asked.

  “We’ve taken it apart. It’ll be rebuilt once we’re inside the vault.”

  “And what of my garron? She won’t take well to being dragged down into some black hole.”

  “Our stable master will take care of that,” Proust said. “He’s handled far worse over the turns.”

  Evetner approached his father, his face a mask of apprehension. “Father?”

  Proust turned to his son, his face emotionless.

  “I-I’ve decided… I’m leaving with Stroke and the venermin. He won’t make it without someone to help him.”

  Everyone within earshot fell silent.

  Proust glared at him, his eyes cold and distant. “Tell me I’m hearing different. Tell me my son didn’t just abandon me.”

  “The Gift is your belief, Father. Always has been. But not mine.”

  Proust grabbed Evetner by his tunic. “You’re not my son then! You’re just a coward… like this one!” He threw Evetner into Haliden. “Go! Run if you want! I’ve no need for a coward on or off the wall.”