“Will you report me?” I said.
“I will not,” Greyson said. “Yet an attempt to go into the city and return undiscovered is surely doomed to failure.”
“Still, I must go,” I said. “My business in the city will wait no longer.”
Greyson and I argued the matter for some time. With a look of despair, he gave up trying to discourage me when he understood his arguments would not dissuade me. I got up from the cot, gathered my gear, and dressed. Last, I put on the helmet and fastened the yellow cape about my shoulders.
With a sigh, Greyson stood up.
“The officers will probably give me the lash when they catch you,” he said, “but if you are determined to go, I will show you a secret way out of the training compound.”
“You know a way out past the guards?” I said in disbelief.
“Yes, I have occasionally gone into the city without authorization,” he said.
“What?” I said sharply. “Then why have you spent so much time trying to discourage me from going?”
“I did not go without permission until after I finished the first phase,” Greyson said with a shrug. “Had the officers found me out, they would have only whipped me.”
“My business is important,” I said. “I’d gladly accept a whipping to accomplish it.”
Greyson shook his head with sadness. “You haven’t yet completed the first phase of training. If the officers catch you, you will not only taste the whip. They will expel you from the warriors and send you to work in the mines outside Nisa.”
“Be it so, I still must go,” I said.
“Very well, let us go,” Greyson said.
After departing the barracks, Greyson led me in a roundabout fashion out of the view of the guards to a stone building I had never been inside. We entered and then took a stairway down into a basement, dimly lighted with oil lamps.
“What is this place?” I said.
“A storehouse,” Greyson said, continuing to the end of the room where there stood a large wooden crate.
Putting his hands against the side, Greyson said, “Help me move this.”
Placing my palms beside his, we shoved the crate until we had moved it across the stone floor far enough to expose a sturdy wooden door. Greyson unbolted the door and threw it open to reveal the entrance to a dark passageway.
“The passageway passes beneath the walls,” he said. “Take the steps at the end and unbolt the door you will find above your head. Through the door, you will find yourself well beyond the walls in an area outside the view of the guards.
“Thank you, brother,” I said.
Greyson grabbed my arm. “Promise me you will return before the first hour,” he said. “If you do not, the officers will note your absence.”
“I promise,” I said. “I should be gone no more than three hours.”
Satisfied, Greyson nodded. “I will leave the door unbolted. When you return, we will replace the crate.”
“Goodbye, brother,” I said as if I was only going to take a post for guard duty. But, with a heavy heart, I turned away and entered the passageway. I felt a choking sensation in my throat, knowing I would not see Greyson again. With what I had planned, it would be impossible for me to return.
When I mounted the steps at the end of the passageway and climbed out the opening, I found myself at the base of a knoll that concealed me from the view of any guards manning the wall I had passed beneath. We have finished our training early, and I estimated at least a half-hour remained before six bells, the twelfth hour. I had ample time to walk to the blacksmith shop near the square before the twelfth hour arrived. After closing the door, I walked swiftly toward the city center.
When I entered the shop, the female metalsmith I had struck the bargain with was alone and putting away her tools. She glanced over at me at the sound of the door opening. I removed my helmet.
“Good timing,” the woman said. “My master was here most of the afternoon and left not over ten minutes ago.”
“Did you finish the sword?” I said.
The woman nodded. Climbing onto a wooden box, she reached up and retrieved a cloth-wrapped bundle where she had hidden it among the rafters. Stepping off the box, she unwrapped the cloth to expose a scabbard made of two pieces of zaya-wood banded together with straps of flat steel. The leather-wrapped handle of a sword extended from the sheath. She walked over and handed it to me.
Grasping the sword handle, I pulled from the sheath a blade of polished steel and felt amazed by the artistry. From the guard to the point, the sword was an almost perfect copy of the katana I’d owned on Earth.
Setting the scabbard aside on a table, I grasped the sword in both hands. I lifted it above my head and slashed downward, cutting the air several times. I found the sword well-balanced.
“You’ve done excellent work,” I said with appreciation. “The sword exceeds my expectations.”
The woman smiled. “It is an interesting weapon,” she said. “It delighted me to make it.”
“How much for the scabbard?” I said. “We agreed only on a price for the sword.”
The woman dismissed me with a wave of her hand. “You paid me well. Consider the scabbard a gift. A fine blade requires protection until the owner finds the need for it.”
“Thank you,” I said, replacing the sword in the scabbard.
After bidding the woman farewell, I put on the helmet and left the shop. In my heart, I hoped the sword in my hands might soon help restore to the woman her rightful ownership of her smithy.
* * *
With stealth, I made my way through the side streets of the city to the back wall. Some twenty minutes after leaving the blacksmith shop, after darkness had fallen, I found the stockade. Luck had been with me. I had avoided any contact with the patrolling guards who probably would have stopped me and questioned my presence in the city.
Keeping to the shadows, I examined the enclosure from all four sides. It was little more than an open compound that might have been used to pen animals. The builders had formed the exterior walls of the enclosure from strips of flat iron arranged in a criss-cross or diamond pattern with spaces in between.
There were two watchtowers, one each on the diagonal corners of the enclosure. From each tower, guards would have a view of two sides, which provided all-around coverage. At the front, I found there was a large gate in the center with a guard hut outside it. I observed two guards there, armed with spears, shields, and swords. Burning torches, with ends stuck into the dirt, illuminated the gate area.
Because of the darkness, I could not see how many guards occupied the watchtowers, but assumed there would be two guards per tower. That meant I probably faced a total of six. The number did not concern me. I felt confident now that I had the katana-like sword. What did concern me was the number of warriors who might respond if a guard at the stockade discovered me and sounded the alarm.
The brutal necessity of it did not make my heart glad, but I accepted the reality that none of the guards on duty could survive the night if I planned to succeed.
It was dark around the enclosure, save for the torch-lit front gate. I made my way silently to the base of the first watchtower. There I found a crude ladder leading to an opening in the platform above me. Removing the cape, I placed it on the ground along with the katana. I knew I would be unable to deploy the sword properly within the confines of the small watchtower. The rakir in the sheath on my sword belt would have to suffice.
Noiselessly, I placed my hands and a foot on the ladder and climbed. I stopped once I could see above the floor through the eye slits of the helmet. In the dimness, I saw one guard standing at the rails with his back to me, looking outward. Another was on the floor wrapped in his cape, snoring. They were committing a severe infraction, one sleeping while one watched. But I knew warriors were apt to see to their comfort when circumstances allowed, regulations be damned. When it was too late, these two would understand why the rule against sleeping on watch existed.<
br />
As quiet as a church mouse, I climbed onto the floor of the tower. Hearing my sandal striking against a water flask lying on the floor, the guard at the rails whirled to look at me. He started to speak, and I assume to issue a challenge. I put my fingers to my lips to signal he should not talk.
“Quiet, you will awaken our sleeping comrade,” I whispered.
The short sword was already in my hand, held down at my side. I leapt across the floor, clamped a hand across the mouth of the guard, and before he could react, I plunged the tip of the sword into the base of his neck. He attempted to cry out, but only a gurgling sound escaped his wound. As he sagged against the railing, I swiftly withdrew the sword, feeling the man’s blood wet on my hand as I released him and turned. Before he collapsed to the floor, I had already thrown myself astride the sleeping guard.
As before, I clamped my left hand over his mouth as I plunged the blade into the base of his throat. I silently cursed as I felt a spray of his blood on my face. He struggled only a moment before going still. I wasn’t sure he had even known what was happening before he died.
Wiping my blade on his cape, I got to my feet, my pulse pounding in my temples, and my knees weak. Fearing I might fall, I slumped to the floor in a sitting position with my back against the rails, feeling sick inside. I had taken life for the first time. I’d murdered in cold blood two men who had done me no harm. Turning my head, I puked on the floor. For several long moments, I struggled to regain control of my emotions.
Suddenly thirsty, I crawled across the floor and found the water flask I’d almost tripped over earlier. Seizing it, I again leaned against the rails and drank. After some time, I stopped shaking, and my pulse returned to normal. I found some solace knowing that the guards would have happily killed me had they known my intentions.
I had neutralized one watchtower but had another to go before confronting the guards at the gate. Standing up, I looped the strap of the water flask over my neck and shoulder. I’d neglected to bring a bottle with me. Then I went to the ladder and climbed down. Picking up the discarded cape and sword, I made my way along the perimeter to the base of the second tower.
After putting the cape and sword on the ground, I paused to listen. I heard conversation and then laughter coming from the platform above me. I also heard a rattling sound I couldn’t identify. Again, I silently climbed the crude ladder. At the top, I peered over the edge of the opening. Two guards sat cross-legged facing each other. One shook his hand and tossed two dice on the floor. It was the rattling sound I’d heard from below. There was a thick, squat candle burning on the floor beside them. I lifted the strap of the water flask from my neck and shoulder. Holding the flask in my left hand, I climbed the last rungs and stepped boldly onto the platform. Both guards turned to look at me.
“What are you doing here?” one guard said with alarm.
Both got to their feet, thinking an officer had caught them playing dice games while on the watch. Grinning, I held up the flask.
“I’ve brought ale,” I said.
One guard laughed and held out his hands toward me. I tossed the flask to him with my left hand. As he opened it to drink, I swung the rakir in my right hand in a slashing stroke, cutting the throat of the other. The guard with the flask dropped it and reached for his sword. I launched myself into him, driving him back to the rails. Pinning him against the railing with my body, I clamped my left hand over his mouth and drove the sword into his belly at an upward angle to reach his heart. He screamed, but my hand muffled the sound. As he struggled, I twisted the blade until his body went limp. He had freed his sword from the sheath, but it clattered harmlessly to the wooden floor. I released my grip and stepped back. The guard slumped to the floor beside it.
This time, I did not delay. After wiping my rakir on the dead guard’s tunic, I sheathed the short sword and climbed down the ladder. After putting on the cape, I unsheathed the katana and strode along the perimeter of the fence with determination toward the front gate.
I had chosen the order of the watchtowers so I could approach the front gate with the guard hut between me and where I’d observed the gate guards standing during my earlier reconnaissance. As I approached the shelter, I determined from the sound of conversation that both guards remained on the far side of the hut. Taking a deep breath, I moved along the side of the structure and silently worked my way to the corner. Peeking around it, I saw one guard standing with his back to me, but could not see the other for the hut.
Taking a deep breath, I gripped the hilt of the katana, then swiftly approached the guard I’d seen with his back to me. Positioning the sword so that the butt of the grip was almost touching my right shoulder, with the blade straight out in front of me, the cutting edge up, I thrust the point into the center of the guard’s neck. I heard the scrape of the sharp steel passing through the slight bones of the spinal column in his neck before the tip of the sword penetrated his throat. He died instantly, his spinal cord severed and collapsed in a heap as I withdrew the sword as quickly as I’d thrust it into him.
Stepping into the open, I scanned to the right seeking the other guard. He was looking down in horror at his comrade on the ground, then looked up at me as I approached as if I was some ghoulish apparition. I already had the katana raised in both hands above my head, ready to strike. He leveled his spear. Turning my hips quickly, I evaded his hasty, clumsy thrust with ease as my hands pulled the grip of the now horizontal sword to my left in a quick slashing stroke that caught the left side of his neck, the blade almost decapitating him. He fell to the ground, his blood spraying from the grievous wound.
Dropping the sword for a moment, I grabbed and pulled the bodies, one by one, into the guard hut, where I deposited them both on the floor. After unbolting the gate, I pulled it open enough to slip inside the enclosure. After retrieving my sword and yanking one of the burning torches from the ground, I entered the enclosure.
In the torch’s light, I saw a group of naked females huddled on the ground in a corner. As I approached them, I saw another woman, also naked, lying on her back on the ground in their midst. I counted a total of eight females. The potent odor of unwashed bodies and human waste assaulted my nostrils. As I drew near, by the light of the torch, I saw unconcealed hatred in every eye. I stopped a few meters from the group and removed my helmet.
“I mean you no harm,” I said. “I have come to free you.”
From the group, someone said, “Tobias Hart?”
I glanced quickly over at a woman struggling to her feet. My heart leapt, and tears stung my eyes. She was pale and emaciated. She had a large festering wound on the front of her left thigh. But it was Idril. She was alive. Dropping the sword and torch, I rushed into the midst of the group and embraced her, almost knocking her off her feet.
“Thanks be to the Goddess Queens,” I cried. “I haven’t arrived too late.”
Idril freed herself from my grasp and held me at arm’s length.
“What are you doing here,” she said, “wearing the uniform of an enemy warrior?”
“Idril, I’ve come to carry you away,” I said, now laughing. Then turning serious, I said, “We must flee this place before the guard changes.”
“Where are the guards?” Idril said.
“Dead.”
“All?” Idril said in wonderment.
“All,” I said. “But, we must go before their reliefs arrive. Is this all the warriors of Thiva?”
“Yes,” Idril said solemnly. “Many have died of infection and sickness. The miserable wretches denied us medical care and even adequate rations.”
“How is your wound?” I said, examining her thigh.
“Long since septic,” she said, grimacing. “I find it difficult to stand.”
Looking around the group, I saw all had dirty, untended wounds. Some wounds were more severe than others. Idril told me the woman on her back on the ground, near death, had been unconscious and feverish for days.
“We must work together,”
I said. “We are all leaving here together soon. Wait here.”
I released Idril and ran back to the guard hut and picked up a shield. I then returned to the enclosure.
“Here,” I said, placing the shield face down on the ground. “Lift the unconscious woman onto the shield. We will use it as a litter.”
One of the less injured warriors helped me lift the unconscious woman. We gently placed her atop the shield.
“Can you help me carry her?” I said.
“Yes,” the woman said firmly.
“Everyone else, help each other, those who can, help those who can only walk with difficulty,” I said. “We must go.”
I helped one woman lift and carry the unconscious woman on the shield. The others able to walk helped those who needed it, and we stumbled out of the stockade. I sent two women into the guard hut to take the swords and sword belts from the dead guards. Two others collected from the ground the spears for use as walking canes more than weapons.
Together we moved away from the enclosure into the grim night.
9
The Escape
Some ten minutes later, we halted in a dark alley to rest. All the women were in poor condition, and bearing the unconscious woman on the shield was fatiguing. We had stayed to the shadows to avoid the roving patrols.
“How will we escape the city?” Idril asked. The gate will be barred until morning. It would require a team of veovarks to open the gates.
Inwardly, I cursed myself. Far from a military tactician, my plan had been limited to freeing the warriors from the stockade. I had not even thought of how we might escape the city once that had been accomplished.
“There is another way out,” a woman said.
“How do you know?” I said.
“She is Emer, a warrior of Nisa and knows the city,” Idril said.
I nodded. “Where is the other way out?” I said to Emer.
“There is a small gate, little used, near the southeast corner of the city wall. But, it too will be guarded.”
Rebels of Vulvar (Vulvarian Saga Book 2) Page 5