“Many. Too many to count,” the man replied.
Haliden picked up one of their water skins and tossed it at the man’s feet. The man tore the cap off and guzzled it down.
“The Lazurus Gate,” Evetner said as the stranger sucked down the water. “Is it open?”
The old man squeezed the last few drops into his mouth and tossed the canteen aside. “Nothing is open, friend. At least not to the living. Not with the barriers in place.”
“Barriers?” Evetner said.
“Do you even know where you are, child?” the stranger asked. “You’ve entered the hells. And there’s no escaping. Not now. Not ever.” Slowly, he stepped back into the shadows. “You would do well to travel faster, friends. I fear the others already know you’re here. And they’ll be coming soon.”
“Others?” Haliden asked.
The man bowed. “Thank you for your kindness. I pray the gods guide you on your way.” And with that he turned and vanished into the darkness.
Haliden sighed. “Well, that went well.”
“I think we should go now,” Evetner said.
Haliden nodded. “I agree.”
Instar pressed on, smashing through several more barriers as the road wound upward through the mountain. Twice they spotted figures moving in the distance, furtive forms scuttling into the shadows as their torchlit wagon raced past. But none tried to stop them.
Haliden grabbed a fresh torch and dunked it in the jug of oil. “We’ve only enough for a handful more,” he said as he touched it to his dying torch.
Evetner nodded. “We can always scrounge if we need to.”
Jonathan and Bran lay asleep beneath a mound of blankets, their faces peaceful. The sight relieved Haliden. Twice they had passed bodies hanging from the ceiling. Some of the corpses’ hands had been bound in barbed wire and others had their heads locked inside steel cages. No child should see such sights, he told himself.
The wagon jolted violently as one of its wheels rolled over a corpse.
Both brothers awoke with a start.
“Is that the city?” Jonathan asked as a light appeared in the distance.
Haliden nodded. “We’ll be there soon.”
A metallic screech echoed down the tunnel. Moments later the distant light began to fade.
“We’re being sealed in!” Evetner shouted. He picked up the Tritan bow and peered through its scope.
“What do you see?” Haliden asked.
Evetner nocked an arrow and drew back. “Just keep going!”
Haliden snapped the reins above Instar. Moments later, another scream resonated behind them.
“There’s four of them,” Evetner cried.
“Are they armed?”
“I can’t tell,” Evetner replied.
Shadows stirred on either side of the tunnel, black figures flickering in and out of existence as the wagon’s torchlight splashed across them.
“Just keep going!” Evetner cried.
Instar plowed through a five footfall barrier, scattering wood and debris in every direction.
“Faster!” a voice boomed up ahead.
Figures ran past the wagon on either side. They were clad in patched armor and laptane flesh and wielded swords and bows.
Instar ran through the gate and ground to halt in the center of a vast, torchlit courtyard. Groups of masked men immediately surrounded them, some wielding spears and elongated staves, others buckets of odd, white powder.
“Back!” a muffled voice shouted.
Dozens of men retreated from the tunnel, some still loosing bolts and arrows behind them as they fled.
Instar whinnied as a group of orange-clad figures pressed in around them.
Laptane flesh, Haliden marveled. The same protective sharkskin men wore in the poisoned Culver lands.
“Powder!” someone cried.
Two men carrying buckets ran forward and tossed the contents at the wagon.
Haliden gagged as the caustic white powder exploded into his lungs.
“Again!”
The men hit them with another cloud, this time covering Evetner and the boys.
“Seal the gate!”
A metallic groan filled the courtyard, followed by a thunderous boom as the two doors slammed shut. Moments later, a steady din filled the air as fists pounded the gate.
“What were you fools thinking?” a masked man shouted at Haliden. “Bringing children here?”
Haliden wiped powder from his face and scanned their surroundings. They were surrounded on three sides by a fifty footfall-high wall. Directly ahead of them was what appeared to be an ancient, wooden lift. But it looked as if it could barely fit five men abreast.
A laptane-clad man approached the wagon and slowly peeled off his orange mask.
“Did any of you touch them?” he asked. He was young, no more than twenty turns old, with blond hair and a pair of deep blue eyes that glowed in the courtyard’s muted light.
“We were in the wagon, you damn fools,” Evetner said. “Nothing got close.”
Someone huffed behind the blue-eyed man. “This is foolish, Kytle. Just kill them and burn the wagon where it stands.”
The blue-eyed man named Kytle raised his hand for silence. “And what about the horse?”
“None came near her,” Haliden said. “I’d bet my life on it.”
Kytle slowly approached the wagon. “It’s not your life I care about. I have a city to care for. And it only takes one of you to bring it down.” He turned and nodded to one of the spearmen. “Take them to quarantine and continue delousing.”
“What are you doing, Kytle?” the other man growled. “They’ve been through the fucking Throat. And without protection!”
Kytle eyed the decenter with his cool, blue gaze. “Just do it, Dod. Unless you want to lead this rabble without me?”
Dod stood silent, his expression concealed beneath his mask’s smoky, Tritan lenses.
“Well? Do you wish to dance, farmer?”
Dod slowly shook his head. “Just remember whose choice this was. It’s on you now, boy. And your family.” And with that, he stepped behind Haliden and lowered his spear. “Tell the little ones to get down and follow me!”
Kytle turned his blue-eyed gaze upon Haliden. “Do as he says, when he says, and perhaps you’ll find friends here. Disobey and you take your business back to the Throat. Are we clear?”
Haliden nodded.
Dod gestured to the rest of his men. “Them two lads first. The older louts wait behind in the Draw until they’re secure.”
Brandon wept as a laptane clad man took hold of his shoulders. Jonathan tried to stop them, but a man quickly pulled him away.
“What are they going to do to us?” Jonathan shouted.
“Just keep quiet, boy, and do as you’re told,” Dod said, his voice muffled by the mask. “Unless you and this little one want to be my next meal.”
“Enough!” Kytle shouted. “Just get it done.”
Haliden made eye contact with Jonathan as he and his brother were dragged onto the lift. They think I’ve abandoned them, he thought as his heart dropped.
“All right, men,” Kytle shouted. “I’d say it’s time we cleaned these poor bastards up.”
Haliden rounded on the man and grabbed his shoulder. “Harm them and I’ll tear your throat out.”
Kytle pushed Haliden’s hand aside. “Just be thankful I’m in charge here. These others… they would’ve cut your throat and cooked you before the night was through.” And with that said, he turned and marched to the lift. But not before glancing one last time at Haliden.
“Oh, and one more thing, friend… welcome to Marigel. Your new home.”
15
Haliden stared through the tower’s lone window, watching as laptane-clad men roamed the cracked streets below. They wielded rusted swords and nicked spears, and as they wove between the emaciated inhabitants, they laughed and prodded them like animals.
“This place is one giant prison,”
Haliden said as a gust of warm wind blasted through the window.
Evetner shook his head. “And unfortunately for us, the prisoners run the show.”
Haliden sighed. “It doesn’t make any sense. Why hasn’t anyone tried to help them? It’s been what… ten turns since the outbreak?
“What did you see when we first spied the city?” Evetner asked.
“I don’t know. A city? Was I supposed to have seen something else?”
“You should have. Look around you. They burn fires in every tower, down on every street. Where was the smoke and the torchlight when we first spied the city? And what about these white flags they have hanging from every window? We should have seen it all from the road.”
Haliden watched ribbons of smoke curl up from braziers scattered below. A hundred footfalls to the east, dozens of ragged, white sheets flapped from one of the city’s largest spires, and to the west an enormous fire danced atop a crumbling tower.
“That is indeed odd,” he conceded.
“Perhaps those chargers did more than just seal the bloody gates then.”
Haliden felt sick to his stomach. “A gods damn enchantment? Is that what you think?” Never had heard of such magic. Not even the Circle boasted such trickery, and they controlled just about every drop of meridium left on the planet. To render an entire city invisible would have required more magic men and meridium than he dared dream of.
“Ten turns and still dead as the day the Rot finished them off,” Evetner said. “Or at least it would seem that way to the outside world.”
“By the gods.” Haliden leaned against the wall, defeated. So we’re prisoners within a prison now, he thought. Buried beneath a layer of magic unlike anything he had ever heard of. And the Breath still comes. Ever faster, ever impatient.
“We need an audience with their leader,” Haliden said. “They may not even realize their fate.”
“I’m sure they’ve figured it out,” Evetner replied. “Look around you… this was one of the largest cities south of the Block. It wouldn’t be abandoned if the outside world knew people still dwelt here. These people know they’re cursed. And they’ll do whatever it takes to survive.”
“So we’re stuck.” Haliden shook his head. “All this way just to sit here and watch the fire engulf us…”
The cell door opened and two laptane-clad men entered.
“Against the wall and strip,” one of them ordered.
“What for?” Evetner asked.
“You came up through the Throat. Until we’re sure you’re clean, you’ll be treated as an infected.”
Reluctantly, Haliden and Evetner peeled off their powder-stained clothes and tossed them in the corner.
Both guards circled them, examining every inch of their bodies.
“They’re clean,” one of the men finally shouted.
Kytle ducked through the door and smiled. “My apologizes, friends. I would prefer to welcome strangers in a more suitable manner… but precautions must be taken. I am Kytle Eofed, son of Gerten, the former city treasurer. I now handle all matters of security here.”
“Where are the boys?” Haliden asked.
“Safe with the other children of Marigel. In fact, they seemed quite happy to be around their own kind.”
One of the guards left the room for a moment then returned with an armful of clothes.
“These are for you,” Kytle said. “Unfortunately, everything else will have to be destroyed. Accept for the young man’s armor, of course. That will be properly cleaned before you get it back.”
Evetner took the moth-eaten rags and began pulling them on. “May we see them?” he asked. “The boys?”
“Of course,” Kytle replied. “But first the council wishes to speak with you.”
“And what of my horse?” Haliden asked as he dressed. “Is she safe?”
Kytle laughed. “It’s not her safety you should worry about. Our stable man nearly lost his head when he tried to fix one of her shoes.”
“She only answers to me,” Haliden said.
“We gathered that much. And I must say… she is a sight to behold.”
“May we go to the boys now?” Evetner asked.
“Of course.” Kytle snapped his fingers, signaling the guards to make way. “But keep close and speak to no one. Many will wish to hear news from the outside, but we must be careful.”
“Why?” Evetner asked.
“False hope is dangerous here, friend. It has killed many of us since the outbreak.” With that said, Kytle motioned to the stairs. “You’ll learn more in time. Now we must go and meet your new family.”
The city was in state of complete disrepair. Moss and ivy clung to every building and alley, concealing the cracked and crumbling facades below. Thatch and wood rooftops slumped inward like soggy leaves, many already completely collapsed. And quite a few homes were nothing more than charred shells, victims of the violent upheaval that had taken place after the city’s fall.
Haliden marveled at the decay. Without the city’s former crop of artisans and architects tending to it, Marigel’s famed beauty had all but faded. The highest structures stood dead and empty, sun-bleached skeletons whose black windows yawned toward the indifferent sky. Beneath them, the roadways lay choked with weeds and overturned wagons, and in some sections vast ponds of black sewage had flooded entire blocks.
They heard the first signs of civilization as they entered the edge of the market district: the familiar metallic ping of a blacksmith’s hammer as it banged out its steady song, the constant murmur of men and women haggling amongst stalls and wagons, and crackling fires in outdoor hearths and braziers. At first Haliden warmed to the familiar sights and sounds. But when he glanced at one of the merchant’s tables and saw only two shriveled potatoes and a single, moldy loaf of bread, his hopes quickly faded.
“What news of Anstoeian?” the bearded merchant asked from behind his meager offerings. “Is there still fighting with the Raterman?”
“Later, Bog,” Kytle said as they moved past. “They’ll be time enough at sup.”
“What of Calil?” a woman shouted beside her ancient loom. “Has the Rot touched them yet?”
“And Kilt?” an elderly man shouted as he limped toward them on a crooked staff. “Does the carnival go on?”
Haliden leaned into Evetner. “They don’t know,” he whispered.
Evetner shook his head.
“Know what?” Kytle asked.
People were now stepping out from behind their stalls, their shouted questions melting into a single, confusing din.
“Best we speak of it in private,” Evetner told him.
They soon reached the center of the dead city. Of the six great towers looming overhead, only one had a thin ribbon of smoke curling from its crown.
Kytle pointed at a squat, gray building situated between an old inn and a row of boarded up buildings. “That’s town hall,” he said. “Bren will want a word with you now that you’re clean.”
The inside of the building was dim and smoky. Dozens of men and women sat shouting at one another across a circular floor, as three bored looking men looked on from behind a long oak table.
Kytle gestured at a few empty stools situated in the back of the chamber. “Sit and wait until you’re addressed.” He then turned and vanished into the crowd.
Haliden felt eyes watching them as a woman pleaded her case before the chamber.
“The Throat is lost!” she cried. “We shouldn’t waste anymore time or lives scrapping there. Unless, of course, you want to send the prisoners to do the work.”
“Where do you propose we get rice and grain, then?” a man sitting opposite her shouted. “The upper stores are depleted…. completely. And what little wood we can still scrounge around the city is almost gone. The Throat still holds enough resources to keep us going for several more turns. To ignore this is foolhardy at best.”
A concerned murmur rippled throughout the crowd. As it grew louder, one of the men at the d
esk raised a hand.
“Quiet people,” he shouted. He was a sallow, sickly looking man cloaked in moth eaten rags. “Amber Wen is right. The Throat has grown far more dangerous these past two turns. But Rory is not without argument… there is much to be plundered there. Far too much to simply ignore.”
Angered grumbles rippled throughout the crowd. “Send your sons then!” one man shouted.
“He’s right!” someone else cried. “Lead a run yourself and maybe then we’ll follow.”
Haliden turned to Evetner and whispered: “They talk as if they have time to spare. Do you think they even know what’s coming?”
Evetner shook his head. “This is a waste of time.”
More arguing erupted across the chamber.
The man at the desk stood and raised his hand. “The Throat remains open for salvage! That is the final ruling.”
Several attendees stood and abruptly exited the chamber.
When silence finally returned, the man sat down and turned to Haliden and Evetner. “We do have another agenda today. Five new guests have joined our little city. Come, come… stand, friends, and introduce yourselves.”
Haliden and Evetner reluctantly obeyed.
“You survived the Throat,” the man said. “And with two children and a horse, no less. But why come all the way to this accursed place?”
Evetner shook his head. “Have you even looked to the south yet? Do you know what approaches?”
The man feigned shock. “Tidings of a storm? An invading army? Are these things supposed to upset us? Prisoners of Marigel, the forgotten city?”
“A storm approaches, yes,” Evetner said. “But one of fire and ash. And nothing stands in its way.”
The room fell silent. After a few moments, an elderly man stood and limped toward Evetner. “You speak of the Breath?” he asked, his eyes wide. “Have we been chosen?”
“Condemned is more like it,” Haliden replied.
The man turned to the gathered. “Did you hear that? The Breath has come. Dracon has chosen us!”
The man at the desk slammed a rock down onto the table. “All right, all right, Tywin! That’s enough of that.”
Tywin fell silent, but his excitement was barely contained.
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