by Scott Moore
Alti heard someone beside her clearing their throat. She turned to see the man with the sword strapped around his waist. She stumbled back, unsure how he had trailed her across the room. She moved her hand to her dagger at her hip. She didn’t lunge for him, she would wait to see what he had to say. Then she would drive the blade into his throat to keep him from ruining it all. She felt a small worry at telling Nov that no one would die, but things couldn’t be compromised for a single man.
“Beautiful night,” the man said. “I am Hamms.” He reached out a hand.
Alti eyed the thick fingers. They were part of a calloused palm that had seen recent training. The suit and frills told Alti all she needed to know about the noble, but the small bruises on his arm told Alti another story. Even if it had been recently, this man had started to swing his sword again.
“Not much for shaking hands?” he said. He drew his hand back, the smile not leaving his lips.
Alti realized he wouldn’t be an easy man to offend. Yet, she wasn’t feeling threatened by him. She felt he him assessing her. He knew she didn’t belong. How long until he yelled the alarm?
“I don’t suppose you have been a noble long?” Alti asked. She fished for a hole in his armor. She needed him to doubt what he did.
“I wouldn’t say I was a noble now,” he said.
“Well that explains why you are here pestering me and not making your presence more useful out on the floor.”
Hamms shrugged. “I don’t suppose you would want to join me?” he asked.
Somehow Alti didn’t think he really wanted to dance. He tried to expose her to the crowded room.
“I am not going to be seen with the likes of an upstart,” Alti said.
“As opposed to the likes of?” Hamms paused on the question.
Alti didn’t answer. She tried to put on a haughty display of displeasure. Hamms didn’t buy it.
“The likes of you,” Hamms said. “I see that you want to keep your secrets, but what are they worth to you?”
Alti didn’t have the time for this. She needed to be focused. She needed to know the positions of everyone. Talking to Hamms was a distraction. At any moment he would sound the alarm. She touched pulled her daggers a slight ways from their sheath and then another voice came. Just long enough for her to open a hole and step in, taking her to the other side of the room.
She poked her head around, trying to see Hamms. He looked around in confusion at her sudden vanishing, but he wouldn’t be able to call attention to it, not if he didn’t want to look like a fool.
Alti started her scan of the room again. She would be more careful this time. She watched the dancers again. Most were younger and dressed less than most of the men standing on the steps.
The council members wouldn’t come. Nov had told her that. They weren’t important, Nov had also told her that. Watch the Duchesses and make sure they see what needed to be seen.
Alti looked again for Hamms who made his way back toward the stairs. He had said he wasn’t a noble, but no one stopped him when he ascended the steps. Alti took a deep breath. This would all go to nothing if she failed. She would only speed the process of Sera’s fall. Her heart hammered in her ribs. For the first time since her mother’s death she felt the sensation of worry. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she would fail. Alti squeezed her eyes shut and heard the toll of the bell. She held her breath, not wanting to miss the time. At the eleventh stroke, she blew out a sigh. One more hour. She had to keep it together for one more hour. She only hoped Nov was doing better than her.
***
Nov’s vision blurred over. He wiped the tears from his eyes. He had been staring at the same damn trees for hours. The bell struck eleven moments before, but his nerves had ceased to exist.
For the first few hours, watching the trees, he had sworn something moved. After a few hours of only glimpses from the corner of his eye, he chalked it up to nothing more than paranoia.
The Groundborn rarely showed themselves beyond the tree line. Too easy for archers to pick them off even from this distance. However, there were no archers tonight. The only other guards on duty patrolled the city streets. In reality, they were swooning drunken women by now.
Nov popped his knuckles and leaned forward, stretching his back. Sitting idle hadn’t been too hard. Easy to get lost in his swirling thoughts. He wondered what happened at the party even now. Who would be in attendance? Who would live after he did what had to be done?
The woman had promised no casualties, but when dealing with battle no one could equate for everything that could go wrong. In battle, something would change, someone would die, or something wouldn’t work. How good of a battle commander was Alti?
He realized he barely knew anything about her at all. Earl would have called this foolish and brash. Earl was dead, so what the hell did that even matter?
Nov pushed up on the base of the chair and stood. His fingers grazed over the wheel. He had already checked it several times; nothing had changed. Still, doing his duty even at this hour seemed pointless, but what the hell else did he have?
He gave everything away. He turned into something that he loathed, and yet he had no choice.
The woman would save them. She would be the hero. Nov would sentence them to death and be the villain. Someone had to do it though. Why not him?
Nov glanced behind him, toward the ball. Nothing in life was fair, a charade of pleasantries. The nobles ate meat cooked by chefs and the poor ate trash left by whoever they could bribe. Homeless slept in streets and the rich slept in homes with twenty rooms they didn’t even know existed.
It was all shit. It wasn’t right. Wasn’t fair. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the here and now. If someone didn’t fight for something, there would be nothing at all left to fight for. Eating trash would never be ideal, but at least they ate. Sleeping in the back alley of a merchant shop constituted a personal hell, but at least they had life. Hope kept people going. Hope that things would get better, but nothing would ever get better if Nov failed tonight.
Nothing would ever change if Nov became the coward, he knew he was. Nov thrust himself back into the chair. Why wouldn’t time just move faster? Why couldn’t it be time?
He saw another flicker. A moving shadow, this time closer to the gates. What did it matter? He would open the world to the Groundborn. Calling them with the beacon of that open gate.
He could still save himself. Loosen the noose around his neck. It hadn’t cut off the air yet. Technically, he had done nothing wrong. He could sit back in his chair and close his eyes.
Falling asleep provided him a legitimate excuse for forgetting to turn the crank. The woman would be mad, but what could she do to him? Nothing compared to what the council would do. He would live and he would breathe another day.
Nov felt his fingers tracing the outline of the crank. The device he had worked on so hard. He had done it to impress Earl. Everything he did was to impress Earl. The story of his life.
Work long hours with the sword to impress Earl. Keep disciplined to impress Earl. All a ploy and an illusion. Most of the time, Nov didn’t know if he had any of his own thoughts anymore, it seemed as if he were a mere extension of Earl sometimes.
Nov stopped moving his hand. He still had a chance to survive. To become a bystander like everyone else, when the horde came into the city, and they would come. The Groundborn were not dormant; they were biding their time.
They had waited a hundred years, not out of fear, but out of hope that Sera would forget. Hope that they would forget the world used to be much bigger than this single city; that there used to be cultures ranging from one end of the land to the other.
Now, not a single person alive could describe what mountains were. Sure, they could read the books telling them of the giant mounds of rock, bigger than a city wall. Yet, seeing them and reading about them weren’t the same. So, in time, Sera had forgotten about mountains. They had forgotten about oceans and deserts. They had also forgotten about the G
roundborn.
But those things didn’t fade just because the memory disappeared. As for the Groundborn, it made them even stronger. If everyone forgot the enemy, then they could gather their strength. If everyone forgot them, then they could attack when they deemed it time to attack. Then everyone died.
Nov gave one last thought to the sword at his waist. He had promised not to interfere with the festivities. Earl would hate him for this, but Earl wasn’t here. Earl didn’t get to make this decision. Earl wouldn’t get the chance to forgive him. Nov doubted he deserved forgiveness. He knew he would never forgive himself. He wouldn’t have long to give it much thought.
The bell tower sounded. Nov’s hand clenched white around the crank handle. Not a quarter marker. Nov knew what time it sounded. Now or never. With shaking hands, he grabbed the wheel.
But then he paused. His breath caught. He saw the death of every person in the city. Fires sprouting from the rooftops of every home. The bell hit the sixth stroke. Nov could hear it. Alti waited in the ballroom. She waited for him to turn the crank. It was important. Nov’s fingers went numb. He didn’t have the strength. He couldn’t do it.
He saw the walls crumbling down. He heard the screams of children and the blood of every soldier he had ever known.
The ninth stroke woke him up. He did this or everyone died. He did this, or he was just as bad as the nobles. He wouldn’t be the cause of Sera’s downfall.
Nov strained his muscles against the wheel. With a click he started the spin. The clock let out the twelfth strike and Nov turned the wheel.
And in the end, it is you who beats you.
26
Miles had to wait a day. Customary the man said. One full day in the city of Delvi. At first, Miles didn’t know what to do with it. Then Mant’s naïve inspection assumption crossed his mind and Miles made his way back to the wall.
A nice change of pace. Whereas Miles had been running, hiding, and fighting he now found himself in charge. He pointed and men ran to do his bidding. He called and men ran to hear his words. No more trekking through mud with those damn ingrates, no more running from the king, no more carrying that buffoon Sammy through the wilderness. Now he sat with his back against a soft-cushioned chair, in charge of Delvi.
Captain Mant was at that very moment out fetching Miles more food to stuff his face. Miles picked up his tumbler and slammed another shot of dry whiskey, his fifth or sixth glass; he stopped keeping count. Relaxing for a few moments was all that mattered. Soon Miles Tiro would disappear forever without being buried in the ground. For now, he would enjoy the free food, drink, and a warm bed. The bed alone made Miles stiff in his trousers. Although thinking of erections only brought back the pale image of the dead prostitute, torn to shreds by those damn beasts. Miles shook his head and hollered for another glass of drink.
“Sammy you thirsty?”
Sammy shook his head. He had been quiet since entering the barracks, not that he had been eccentric before entering the city walls. Sammy sat behind him with his arms crossed over his legs and his face still as a pond. A man moved forward and refilled Miles’ cup to the brim. Miles gave him a smile and picked up the cup tilting his head back and letting the contents fill his throat.
“Another!” he said, slamming the cup back onto the table. The man poured again, and Miles pulled from his thoughts.
“It’s your turn sir,” said one of the soldiers he sat at the table with. The men had gathered to play cards with a high-ranking official. If only the sorry sons of bitches realized they were fraternizing with a traitor.
“Looks like you fuckers lose again,” Miles said, slamming his hand down on the table. He hadn’t lost a hand the entire night. The men around the table didn’t even bother to look upset anymore, he knew their games. They would take his cock in their mouths if they believed he would put in a good word for them.
The soldier closest to Miles picked up the cards and started shuffling again. Miles picked up his cup. Enjoyable, but he knew it wouldn’t last. The word would come around and they would find out he played them all. They would lock him in chains and throw him in the cellar. Then the king would come and tear him limb from limb. He had to leave, just not tonight. Not at this moment. Right now, he had to drink, eat, and sleep in a warm bed.
Captain Mant returned with a platter of boiled chicken and some green vegetables. Miles dumped the vegetables on the floor, he doubted even the army dogs would clean it up. Miles refilled his cup with whiskey and sloshed more of the liquid down his throat. “Come,” Miles said taking a bite, “sit down and play with us.”
Captain Mant looked at the other men surrounding the table. Not one of them was an officer. Not one of them mattered in the long haul of things. Not one would ever see the stars of a general or the front line of a battle. Delvi was their post and Delvi would be where they all died, ending a miserable life in a miserable city.
Yet, Mant couldn’t refuse Miles. While a disgrace to be seen with the other men at the table, Miles was a high-ranking officer; practically a lord. At least that is what Captain Mant thought. He didn’t realize he’d been commanded by a traitor to sit with fools. So Mant did what he had to do and sat down in an empty chair.
“Deal him in,” Miles said and sucked more chicken off the bone. He turned toward Sammy. “You want anything?”
Sammy shook his head. Miles hadn’t seen him eat or drink since entering the city walls. As a matter of fact, he had never seen him eat or drink. He let the thought slip from his mind.
“So, you think you have the skill to beat me, Captain Mant?” Miles asked.
Mant’s face went slack. Questions from superiors were always tricky to answer.
“Not a single fuck here at this table has tried to beat me all night. They all think they are gaining some favor by letting me beat the pants off them.” Miles gave each of them a look and not a single man held his gaze. Cowards all of them, wouldn’t make it in a real battle for five minutes. Each would die with a puncture to their bellies and a tear in their eyes. “You though, you look like a man who knows his way around a card table.”
Mant continued processing his answer, treading on a slippery slope. If he had known Miles was a fake, then it would have been an easier answer for him, chains and a noose. However, he didn’t know and so the answer could mean his badge of glory if he answered it wrong.
“Well did you lose your tongue on your trip to find food, Captain?” Miles pressured him into an answer. He also enjoyed watching the man squirm. A small pleasure. One he would never get again in his miserable life. Soon he would walk through the gates and never be Miles Tiro again. He would be some low life farmer with a bent back and calloused hands.
He waited a few more moments for the answer as Mant took a drink from his cup. The man wouldn’t answer, Miles thought to himself. Mant did his best impression of a mute fool.
Then Miles heard a voice he didn’t expect chime into the conversation. “I think I can beat you,” the voice said. Miles turned around to see Sammy standing from his seat and moving toward the table. Miles let out a booming laugh and took another long drink of his whiskey. “Let us see what you got.”
***
At first the system had made little sense to Sammy. The men sat around the small wooden table and held small paper cards in their hands. A lot of drinking of the smell bad and curses. Neither of which Sammy understood the need for. However, once he stopped focusing on the men, he could focus on the game they played. They all held cards, each card made of some thick paper, and each had a symbol upon them. By some system of points those symbols meant something and Sammy memorized them all. He focused on who won when they had each symbol and who lost. He kept track of which symbols to keep and which ones to throw away. It took him several hands, but he got them down.
Next Sammy had tried to follow the rules; when to keep playing with the cards you had and when to fold, as the men called it. This portion didn’t take as long to deduce. Having already memorized the symbols and
their meanings, it was a lot easier to put into place why things were occurring as they did.
Sammy pulled out an open chair around the table. Miles had instructed a smaller soldier to evacuate his chair and get more of the strong-smelling drink. Miles poured more of the drink down his throat, Sammy didn’t pay it any mind anymore. Miles put down his cup and started laughing.
“He is actually sitting down,” Miles said to no one in particular. Sammy continued seating himself. He noticed that the liquid had made Miles calmer and his shoulders less stiff. He also noticed that the more Miles drank the more he laughed at nothing and the more his eyes drooped as if they would close. Sammy scooted the chair closer to the table and waited for Miles to deal the cards. Miles started laughing again.
“You are serious, aren’t you?” he choked out between laughing fits.
Sammy wasn’t sure what was funny or why Miles needed to ask him that question. He had made his intent to play the game clear already, but he still shook his head yes to show he had not changed his mind. Miles let out another bellowing laugh. The men around the table joined in with him this time. Sammy couldn’t figure out who the men were or why they were laughing, but he joined in too, just in case it was some secret part of the game he had missed.
Miles grabbed the lip of the table and took a few breaths. Sammy stopped laughing, it strained to continue to fake the action. The men around the table also stopped. Miles had some control over them that Sammy couldn’t quite grasp. Miles reached out and grabbed his cup, taking another long drink. Then he placed the cup back onto the table and grabbed the cards.
“Ok, then let us play,” he said.
Miles flicked the cards between his hands. Sammy took in the surrounding scenery. The soldiers sat around the table with baited faces. They all wondered what would happen if Sammy won. Sammy wondered what would happen if he won. Not a single hand had beaten Miles all night, but Sammy noticed that many of them could have before they folded their cards. That detail had made the rules a little fuzzier at first, since Sammy could only go off the cards Miles held to gauge the way to win the game, but that too fell into place for him.
