Haliden's Fire

by Chris Sendrowski

  “Light,” Evetner whispered. “Up ahead.”

  Haliden squinted. A faint sliver of golden light flickered in the distance, revealing a bend in the tunnel.

  Evetner pressed on, his sword drawn. Haliden followed close behind, his heart pounding in his throat.

  When they reached the bend, Evetner leaned forward and peered into the light.

  “How many?” Haliden whispered.

  “Three,” Evetner whispered. He reached into his hip pocket, removed a small dagger, and extended it to Haliden. “Can you do this, artist?”

  Haliden reluctantly took the weapon. It was surprisingly light and well balanced, and when he squeezed the hilt he felt his pulse beat against the leather-wrapped pommel. “What choice do I have?”

  “The throat, back, or chest.” Evetner said. “Those are your only choices now.”

  Three men sat on crates on the far side of a dimly lit chamber, their feet dangling above the brown water as they played a hand of cards.

  “This is a shit detail if I ever had one,” a young, sallow looking man whined as he stared at his water-stained cards.

  “Sounds like someone’s gonna cry,” the older, gray haired man beside him said.

  The other guard, a barrel chested brute with bulging muscles, pounded their makeshift table. “Just play your fucking hand already!”

  Haliden stared at him. He was the only one in the group who looked healthy and well fed. A strange thing considering everyone else’s condition. But then he remembered what was in the waste pit and it became all too clear.

  Their breath held, Haliden and Evetner slowly rounded the bend.

  The chamber was large and bathed in shadow, with two rows of pillars lining either side.

  “You take the left, I’ll take right,” Evetner whispered in Haliden’s ear. “Wait for my signal. When it’s done, we take the big one together.”

  Haliden watched as the boy crept behind the pillars. When he was out of sight, he took a deep, trembling breath and squeezed the dagger’s pommel. The venermin… the boys… none of it will survive if I fail here. He wished he was holding a brush instead of steel. But those days are gone, he thought. The artist named Haliden Stroke died many moons ago. Now he was just a ghost, another lout scratching and clawing his way toward salvation.

  There was a splash on Evetner’s side of the room. The men dropped their cards and stared in his direction.

  “Who’s that there?” the brute shouted. Scowling, he slipped into the water and waded toward the pillars. “Lebrun, you mutt! You fucking with us again?”

  Haliden crouched in the shadows as cold sewage soaked through his pants. Not you, you son of a bitch, he thought as the brute inched forward. We’re supposed to take you last.

  “Forget it, Quarm,” one of the others shouted. “It’s probably just a damn rat.”

  “Pah!” the old man spat. “He’s just trying to get out of the hand. Knows I’m gonna lay claim to that new meat in from the Throat.”

  The brute stood silent, staring into the shadows.

  “Flip his hand!” the old man went on. “I want to see if he was bluffing.”

  “Touch those cards and you’ll be licking this shit from my boots!” the brute replied.

  Haliden slowly exhaled as the man turned back to his companions. But then another splash echoed on the far side of the chamber.

  “Now, artist!”

  A shadow darted for the brute.

  Haliden raised his dagger and ran at the other guards. The older man was only a few footfalls away, a surprised look paling his sallow face.

  “Quarm!” the coot shouted. But it was too late.

  Haliden drove his blade deep into the old man’s skull, the handle breaking free as the man fell back into the sewage.

  The other guard drew his sword and slashed clumsily at Haliden’s throat. But Haliden dodged the attack and kicked the weapon into the water.

  “You piece of shit!” the man hissed.

  Haliden dived into the murk and fumbled about until he found the sword. As he rose, the guard ran at him, but tripped on something and impaled himself on the blade.

  “You fucker!” the man growled as he slowly fell to his knees. Seconds later, he toppled back into the sludge.

  What have I done? Haliden thought.

  Something stirred on the far side of the chamber, a groan followed by labored sloshing.

  Haliden turned. “Evetner?”

  To his horror, the brute emerged from the shadows, his steps clumsy and slow as he sloshed toward Haliden.

  Haliden tensed, preparing to fight. But the brute toppled face down into the mire, Evetner’s sword protruding from his back.

  Silence then engulfed the chamber.

  “Evetner?” Haliden whispered.

  The boy stepped from the shadows, shit and piss dripping from his body. “You okay?”

  Haliden shrugged. “You?”

  Evetner yanked his sword from the brute’s back. “I’ll be better when we’re far from here. Let’s just keep moving.”

  Willem sat silent in his cell as two figures approached the steel bars.

  “Stroke?” he said, an incredulous look on his face.

  Evetner slammed his sword against the corroded lock, shattering it to pieces. “Time to go, magic man.”

  Willem staggered onto his feet. His shirt was torn to pieces and his chest and face were covered with bruises. “Where are the guards?”

  “Dead,” Evetner replied.

  The charger shook his head. “This wasn’t what I wanted.”

  Evetner huffed. “It never is. Now let’s get the hells out of here.”

  The charger nodded. “Everything should be ready at my house.”

  Evetner opened the steel door and handed him a torch. “Lead the way then.”

  Willem’s house was completely dark.

  Haliden and the others watched it warily from the opposite side of the street. They had expected it to be ransacked or burning. But it looked untouched in the faint moonlight.

  Willem sighed. “He’s still here.”

  “How can you tell?” Evetner asked.

  Willem pointed to the rooftop where a tiny white handkerchief flapped atop a weathervane. “Our signal,” he said.

  “Signal?”

  Willem grinned. “We flew the flag white when women of a certain… profession entertained.” He stood and stepped into the street. “Come. None but myself or Brendle would fly that flag.”

  They followed the charger to the side of the house, where both their wagon and another new one sat stacked with crates.

  Haliden’s jaw dropped. The new wagon was filled with everything he had seen in the charger’s house.

  “Your friend did this?” Haliden asked.

  Willem nodded. “Never judge a man by his drink.”

  A familiar whinny suddenly echoed behind the house.

  Haliden smiled. “Instar!”

  The garron bolted around the house, braying and snorting as she approached the group.

  Haliden smiled. “My girl! How I missed you.”

  The strider lovingly nipped his shoulder, her tail swishing from side to side.

  “We’ve little time now,” Willem slurred through broken and swollen lips. “I hope she’s ready.”

  Haliden stroked Instar’s mane. “She’s been ready her whole life.”

  Brendle stepped out of the house. He wore head-to-toe plate mail and carried a long sword at his side. Behind him, Jonathan and Brandon watched as Haliden and the others approached with Instar in tow.

  “We’re all set, gentlemen,” Brendle said. He was clean shaven and washed, his gate sober and confident.

  Willem looked him over and smiled. “By the gods, it’s good to see you again, Lieutenant.”

  Brendle laughed. “I fear sobriety fits me about as well as this wretched mail.”

  “It suits you just fine, old friend,” Willem said.

  Haliden knelt down before the boys. “I’m so
sorry,” he told them. “We should never have come here. But I promise we’ll never let anyone take you again. Okay?” Both brothers nodded, sucking back tears.

  Evetner approached the new wagon. It sagged beneath the weight of countless boxes, statues, and paintings. Brendle had even loaded several gold chests encrusted with pearl inlay and a great silver harp with strings guilt in gold.

  “We won’t get far with so much in tow,” Evetner said.

  Brendle nodded as he climbed aboard the lead wagon. “It’ll be tough, but if we pace her we just might make it.”

  Willem approached the wagon and smiled. “You’ve done well, Brendle.”

  The old guard reached beneath his armor and withdrew a familiar leather pouch. “Let’s just be done with this place,” he said as he handed it back to the charger.

  Evetner helped the boys into their wagon and then took a seat at the front. “It’s time,” he shouted.

  Willem took one last look at his neighborhood and nodded. “Let’s be off then.”

  The barrier stretched high into the shadows, it’s dull, wrought iron surface covered in countless dents and scratches.

  Haliden’s stomach turned as he gazed upon it. “This was never opened once in six turns?”

  “Never,” Willem replied.

  Evidence of past attempts were everywhere, though; a twenty footfall section was covered in black soot, the remains of a great fire heaped at its base, and rusted chains hung limp from holes gouged into the iron surface. There was even a makeshift ram lying broken in the shadows, its steel head dented and cracked.

  Evetner looked up, his eyes drawn to the three footfall thick steel bar hanging across the gate. “We’re not moving this.”

  Brendle nodded. “Well… did anyone bring a crowbar?”

  Instar whinnied, kicking at the dusty ground. As Haliden watched, an idea struck him. The coxil weed. If we give her some, she just might be able to do it.

  “There may still be a way,” he said.

  “You have a crane and tackle hidden somewhere, artist?” Evetner asked. “Because if you don’t, we’re not going anywhere.”

  “We have something better.” He approached Instar and stroked her mane. “You think you’re up for a run, girl?”

  Instar brayed playfully, tossing her head from side to side.

  Willem laughed. “A bold gesture, artist. But strider or not, one horse won’t get that bar down.”

  “One horse with the strength of ten will,” Haliden replied. “Evetner… give me the jar.”

  Evetner cocked an eyebrow. “Are you mad?”

  “Just do it!”

  The boy dug into one of their bags and tossed him the jar.

  Haliden held it up to the torchlight. There were six buds left. Enough for Instar and three more men.

  “What is that?” Brendle asked.

  “Coxil root,” Haliden replied.

  Willem shook his head. “It will kill her, Stroke.”

  Haliden opened the jar and winced as the skunk-like odor burned his sinuses.

  “Come, girl,” he said, holding it out to her.

  The strider craned her neck down and brayed excitedly.

  “I’ll only give her a piece,” Haliden said. “Just enough to strengthen her a bit.”

  Willem shook his head. “She’s your horse…”

  Instar brayed wildly as Haliden rubbed her chin. “I know I’ve asked much of you, girl,” he whispered, “but I have to ask you for a little more.”

  He plucked the smallest bud from the jar and raised it to her mouth.

  Instar curiously sniffed the bud, her nostrils flaring.

  “Go on,” Haliden whispered.

  With a grunt, she snatched it up and gnashed it between her teeth.

  “Good girl.” He touched her side as she swallowed. Her muscles already felt hot and rigid like stone.

  Brendle approached the two. “Is she okay?”

  Instar reared up, thrashing her head from side to side.

  “It’s okay, girl,” Haliden said. “It’s okay. It’s almost over.”

  She stomped the ground, kicking up clouds of dust as bloody foam dripped from her maw.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Willem asked.

  Haliden placed his hand on her side. Her heart was racing out of control. “It’s okay, girl. Everything’s gonna be fine now.”

  After a few more moments, she began to calm, kicking the ground playfully as Haliden stroked her side.

  “So is that it then?” Evetner asked.

  “She seems okay… for now,” Haliden replied as he studied her. “But we won’t know for sure until we really get going.”

  Brendle climbed aboard the lead wagon and lifted the reins. “So what do you say then, gentlemen? Time to be done with this place?”

  Haliden nodded. But as he looked into Instar’s wide and excited eyes, a cold feeling washed over him.

  Working together, the four men unhitched the wagons and secured the harnesses to both Instar and the massive steel bar.

  “Ready, artist?” Brendle said as the group took up positions behind the wagons.

  Haliden took a nervous breath. This was the moment he had feared since leaving the city. Once I speak that word, there’s no turning back, he realized. She’ll burn out both her hearts within a few days at best.

  “Haliden!” Evetner shouted. “There’s no more time!”

  Haliden closed his eyes; the word was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak it.

  “Do it! Do it now!”

  Haliden swallowed. Forgive me, friend.

  His hands cupped over his mouth, he cried,

  “Naharis!”

  Instar instantly bolted forward, snapping the chains taut behind her.

  But even as hand-sized chips of rust fell to the floor, the steel cradles remained firmly in place.

  “Come on, girl!” Haliden shouted. He ran to her side and pulled.

  The others grabbed the ropes and began tugging alongside him.

  Jonathan and Brandon watched from the shadows, their nervous eyes flicking between the wagons and the yawning tunnel behind them.

  “This isn’t working!” Willem cried.

  Haliden pulled harder, his muscles throbbing as the ropes dug into his palms.

  “Naharis!” he screamed again. “Naharis, damn it!”

  Instar thrashed from side to side, her eyes wide and feral.

  A loud crack filled the chamber, followed by the rattling of steel as one of the cradles broke free and crashed to the floor.

  “Again, Instar!” Haliden cried. “Again!”

  The strider reared up, throwing all her weight against the chains.

  The bar groaned, twisting and shifting in the remaining cradle.

  “One more time, girl!”

  Instar took a few steps back then lunged forward.

  This time the bar tore free, hitting the ground with a hollow thud as the garron took off with it trailing behind her.

  “Back, Instar! Back!” Haliden cried.

  The exhausted garron turned, nickering and thrashing her tail as the bar kicked up a cloud of dust in her wake.

  “Well I’ll be damned,” Evetner gasped.

  The enormous doors stood slightly ajar, revealing inky black beyond.

  Instar halted beside Haliden. Her mane was drenched in sweat and blood trickled from her nose.

  “Good girl,” Haliden breathed as he rubbed her side.

  Evetner took hold of one of the doors. “Come on! We don’t have much time!”

  Brendle and Willem took up positions beside him and pulled. But even with the strength of three men, the gates wouldn’t move.

  “By the gods!” Brendle gasped. “It’s rusted shut.”

  Hands clapped behind them.

  The group turned.

  Five haggard, threadbare men and one woman stood in an arch around the wagons.

  Haliden’s flesh went cold. The boys! But when he saw one of the
ir eyes peering at him from between the crates in the lead wagon, he relaxed.

  “Nate,” Willem said, nodding to the closest figure. “Been a while, old friend.”

  A man stepped into the torchlight. He was covered in filthy rags, a gray and brittle beard hanging over his emaciated chest.

  “A lot of action here today, boys,” the man said, grinning. “Seems someone opened the southern gates and left them unguarded. Would you know anything about that?”

  “Had to be done,” Brendle said. “Kytle went too far this time.”

  Nate nodded. “And now the rotters are everywhere.”

  “Shouldn’t this be a relief to you?” Brendle said.

  “Why? You think I’m one of them?”

  Haliden looked over Nate’s rabble. They were all pallid and filthy from months living in Marigel’s sewers.

  Willem stepped forward. “Are they infected?”

  Nate laughed. “You still afraid of a little Rot? Even with the Breath bearing down us?”

  “You know of it then?” Willem asked.

  Nate nodded. “We’ve friends amongst you still. Those who wouldn’t turn their backs on kin, no matter what they’re told by Kytle and his slithering lot.”

  “And what makes you better than them?” Brendle asked as his hand drifted toward his sword.

  Nate laughed. “What do you think we are, Brendle? Rapists and murderers as Kytle would have you think?”

  “We’re not your judges, Nate,” Willem replied.

  Nate approached the charger, a gentle smile creasing his filthy face. “I’ve watched you for turns now, you know. Wishing I could speak to you as the brother you truly are, Willem of the Isle. But now here we stand, face to face, and I find I’d prefer to spit in your face, charger.”

  Willem stood shocked. “What did you call me?”

  Nate reached into his pocket and tossed a small metallic object at Willem’s feet.

  A cogal ring, Willem thought. Gold and silver intertwined with a sliver of uncharged meridium. “Where did you get this?” he asked.

  “You’re aware you’ve broken rank, right?” Nate said.

  Willem’s eyes widened. “You’ve always known then?”

  “Did you think they’d leave the fate of the realm in one man’s hands?” He laughed. “I’m your shadow. A fail-safe in case you forgot your place amongst this rabble. You did well, though. At least until now.”