by Aaron Bunce
Luca limped up to the old woman’s tent and patted on the flap. He felt awkward. There wasn’t a door to knock on, and was sure someone wouldn’t just walk in unannounced. The flap pulled back a moment later, saving him from the deliberation.
“Come in, little dear. I’ve been waiting for you,” Cassida said.
Luca and Emma filed into the tent together, standing awkwardly before the strange old woman.
“I brought it!” he said, plunging his hand into his coat and fishing out the shiny Yörspring.
“Magnificent! A fine accomplishment, and one no doubt aided by your pretty friend, no doubt,” Cassida said, holding the strange relic close to her body.
“This is Emma,” Luca said.
“Pleasure,” Cassida said, not taking her eyes away from the Yörspring.
Emma glanced at Luca, and then nodded, “Mum.”
“You two caused quite the stir, so I think it best if we leave right away. I gather you’re bringing her along?” Cassida asked.
“Wait. Where are we going?” Luca asked.
“I can’t help you here, dear. I needed the Yörspring to take you where you need to go. Now let’s run along.”
Cassida threw a heavy shawl over her shoulders and shooed them out of the tent. Luca limped outside, Emma right behind him.
“Where is she taking us?” she whispered.
“I don’t know, but if we stay here, the guards will find us. They’ll think you helped me,” he said.
Emma shook her head, a sickly look on her face, but she followed. Cassida led them back out to the docks, where she climbed into a small boat.
“Get in, dears. No time to waste,” she said, grasping the oars.
Luca limped in, his stiff legs complaining painfully. Emma hovered on the dock for a moment, her legs shaking, before finally crawling in next to him.
Cassida rowed the small boat out into the darkness. The wind howled in off the water, buffeting Luca and Emma. Before long they leaned together to stay warm. Luca felt comfortable close to Emma. Plus she smelled nice. It wasn’t long before the rocking of the small boat and Emma’s warmth had him drifting off.
Gulls cried out, jarring him awake sometime later. Emma picked her head up off of his shoulder, yawning groggily. The sky was still dark, but a light hue had blossomed on the horizon.
Cassida continued to row. A short while later the small boat turned into a sheltered cove and came to rest against a small, stone dock. The old woman climbed out first, leading Luca and Emma up an ancient looking set of stairs carved into the stone.
Luca limped out onto the bluffs as the sun appeared over the water. Cassida led them back a short ways, until they came to a high cave. A single, stone pedestal stood outside. Strange runes were etched into the stone.
Cassida set the Yörspring into a hole set into the top of the pedestal and stepped aside. The stone made a strange noise and started to glow.
“Beyond this cave is a special place, Luca. A place sacred to my people. There I will have the power to help you,” Cassida said.
Luca looked to Emma, and then back to the strange old woman. The entire thing scared him, but he nodded. It was too late to go back.
The old woman took his hand and led him forward. They stepped into the dark opening of the cave, a peculiar sensation flooding over his body. He entered the darkness, but left it at the very same time, as if the cave flipped around him.
Sunlight flooded over the horizon, falling not on the bluffs he had walked from, but a green, sweeping valley. He stepped forward, graceful buildings coming into view. They were built into the ground, flowing with the rock as it crested far overhead.
Luca looked to Emma, but her eyes were wide, taking in the surreal and magical looking scene. He looked to Cassida and almost fell over.
“Welcome to the Dalan Islands, Luca,” she said. But she was no longer a strange old lady, but a beautiful young woman. Her hair was black and curly, stretching down to her waist. And yet her eyes remained the same. Colorless, like haunting mirrors.
“Cassida?” he asked.
“Please, Luca. Call me Cassendyra,” she said softly.
* * * *
Dennah rolled over in the snow, her breath knocked away and a horrible stinging pain pulsing in her side. A shadow fell over her and she rolled away.
“It didn’t kill her?” a man said.
“Does she look dead to you?” another man yelled.
Dennah pushed up onto her knees, first reaching for her sword, but found the scabbard twisted about. She wiped the snow from her eyes and reached inside her furs for the dagger Sayer gave her before leaving, but her fingers brushed against a sharp point.
A strap of her armor fell down, the heavy buckle broken in two. It had deflected the crossbow bolt, just enough so it didn’t skewer her.
“Mani be praised,” Dennah breathed.
“You’re some kind of lucky girl,” the man with the scarred face said with a laugh, pulling his sword and striding towards her.
Dennah rolled over and pushed off of the ground, the pain flaring in her side. Freckles whinnied nervously and tamped the ground, moving between her and the scarred man. She unbuckled the wooden shield tied to the bags and looped her hand through the grip straps.
She pulled her twisted scabbard around and pulled her sword free, ducking behind the horse as the man with the crossbow leveled it towards her.
“Four against one isn’t exactly a fair fight,” Dennah growled.
“My apologies. A fair fight wasn’t our instructions,” the man with the scarred face said.
The four men closed in, their weapons drawn and ready.
“I have gold, I’ll pay you to let me go,” she offered, trying to keep her heart from racing out of control.
“We’ll help ourselves to that soon. You see, the lord constable pays well in gold. It is in our best interest to see you dead, as he wishes, to continue our mutually beneficial relationship. You’re making this far too complicated. It was supposed to be ‘take her just beyond the valley and kill her. Drag her body into the woods for the animals and be done with it’,” he said.
Dennah turned, working to keep the man with the crossbow in front of her. The reins hung right before her. She could throw a foot in the stirrup and spur Freckles into a gallop quickly enough, but would likely take a bolt to the back in the process.
“You get on that horse and we’ll shoot you down. My man here is a crack shot,” the scarred man said, seemingly reading her thoughts.
She had to think her way through this, maneuver, and use her wits.
“I just want to go. They’ll never hear from me or see me again,” Dennah offered, letting the shield dip a little.
“I’m afraid that I am not in a position to bargain,” the scarred man said coolly. As he did, the crossbow snapped.
Dennah twitched the shield up before her chest and face, the bolt breaking through the wood just above her arm. She yelled and ran forward, swinging the sword up and breaking the shaft clean.
The man dropped the crossbow, a startled look on his face as he fished for the blade at his belt. Dennah slogged through the deep snow, moving too slowly to strike him down before he could bring the blade to bear.
She drove straight in at him, hoping to dispatch him quickly before his companion with the two swords could come to his aid. Dennah thrust forward, which was easily parried, cut low, high, and low again. The crossbowman moved sluggishly with the blade. He anticipated another high low exchange, his sword hovering just as she’d hoped.
Her sword cut in at his midsection, but he blocked it wide with the flat of the blade. Dennah swung the shield around catching him in the face, and turned, driving the sword into his chest, just above the neckline of his padded armor.
“You bitch,” the man with the two swords cursed, breathing heavily as he struggled through the snow.
Dennah squared up, blocking his jab and slash combo with the shield, but couldn’t manage a counter. Moving in th
e snow had winded him, but his hands were incredibly fast. She’d never sparred with anyone using two blades before, and even with a shield, she felt overwhelmed.
The other two men slogged around the other side, working to surround her. Dennah hopped sideways jabbing at the man with two swords, ducking into the trees just off the roadway.
A large sword swung in, striking a tree, but pulled free and stabbed straight ahead, forcing her to knock it aside with the shield. Dennah bobbed and moved, deflecting those strikes she couldn’t avoid. She knew she wouldn’t be able to hold them all off forever.
The simple act of moving in the snow was tiring all on its own, add to that dodging, parrying, and swinging a sword, and she was beyond winded. Her legs burned and her arm was growing weak.
The three men pushed in, forming a semi-circle, stabbing and slashing at her with reckless abandon. Each strike hit the shield, reverberating through her arm, her sword, or the trees.
Dennah turned and jumped between a pair of trees, but her shield caught and tore loose from her hand. A sword slipped through her defenses and jabbed into her back. She cried out and cut back, but her sword rebounded off of a tree.
She didn’t have a chance against the three men without a shield, so she did the only thing she could, she ran. Ducking and weaving between the dense trees, Dennah moved parallel to the road, back in the direction of the fort.
She could hear them grunting and cursing, but didn’t dare turn around, no matter how much she needed to. The trees opened up into a small valley. She plunged downward, her exhaustion making her legs heavy and hard to move. Dennah jumped to the opposite side to climb back out, but her legs buckled and she sprawled into the snow.
Rolling over, she lifted her blade just in time to block a sword as it swung down. The force knocked her own blade back into her face. She knew she was cut and bleeding. Blood seeped from the wound and ran down onto her face, making her skin feel hot against the cold.
“You’re a feisty thing,” the man with the scarred face said, kicking her sword out wide and pinning it down with a heavy boot.
“Get off of me, you bastard,” she raged, desperate and scared.
“Oh, I’m afraid not. Your running time is over, little rabbit. Remember, this is business,” he said, gasping for breath.
“You’re cowards. You couldn’t stand up with me, a girl, in a fair fight,” Dennah cursed, punching his leg and trying to dislodge it.
“You’re young, so let this lesson be a parting gift. Life ain’t fair,” he said, lifting his sword up over her chest.
Dennah punched his leg again, only faintly aware of a strange howl echoing out of the forest above her.
“What the…?” the man with the scarred face yelled suddenly, his head snapping up.
A massive, white form leapt off the top of the valley, knocking him back. Dennah pushed away, sliding herself up the valley floor as the massive, furry creature enveloped him.
“Gah! Get it off!” he yelped, but the white wolf snapped down, its jaws latching onto his throat. The creature lifted him into the air and shook so violently she could hear his neck snap.
The other men recoiled, but recovered quickly and came forward, yelling and swinging their weapons at the wolf. Dennah pushed up onto her elbows, and just managed to stand as an arrow streaked down and buried itself in the closest man’s chest. He looked down at the arrow, his face wrinkling in a moment of confusion, before falling back into the snow.
“Ain’t no way!” the last man said, swinging his massive broadsword, backing the wolf down before turning and running back up the valley. The wolf bounded up the slope after him.
A dark figure skidded down next to her, leapt to the opposite side of the valley, and quickly disappeared over the edge. With blood in her eyes, she could barely make out the archer’s outline.
Dennah heard screaming then, punctuated by an angry snarl, and then the woods went quiet. She wiped her hands in the snow and tried to blink the blood away. Whoever the figure and the wolf were, they had saved her. She at least owed them her thanks.
Climbing on all fours, Dennah moved up the incline. The dark figure appeared above her with hand extended. She accepted the help up the rest of the hill.
“Thank you, they…” she started to say, scooping a handful of snow off the ground to clear the blood from her face, but froze as his face came into focus.
“You don’t need to thank me,” Roman said, his face splitting in a wide smile.
Dennah threw her arms around him, squeezing as hard as her tired muscles would allow. They held each other for several long moments, neither speaking. When they finally pulled apart, a jumble of words tumbled out of her mouth.
“How…what happened…why…how?” she said.
Roman laughed, slinging the bow over his shoulder. He took a deep breath before saying, “we have much catching up to do, but not here. This place isn’t safe for either of us.”
Dennah returned his smile, but jumped back as the massive wolf appeared from the trees. It licked its lips and bent down to clean a spot of blood off of its paw.
“Where did that come from?” she half-yelled.
Roman laughed, and turned. “Like I said, we have much to talk about. But you two have already been acquainted, haven’t you, boy?”
The wolf loped forward, considering Roman, and then Dennah. A ripple of color flashed through its fur and its body shrunk. A moment later, Tusk ran forward and jumped up, licking and nuzzling Dennah’s hands.
“Tusk!” Dennah cried, and buried her face into the dog’s fur.
Epilogue
El’bryliz felt warm and comfortable. He felt safe.
“Wake up!” Father Pallum yelled. His voice stung, but not as much as the stinging palm across his face.
El’bryliz groaned and opened his eyes. He wished he could just fall back asleep and wake up somewhere else. Father Pallum knelt down before him, the wrinkled skin around his mouth pulled tight by his severe frown.
“I am afraid we need to continue our conversation. Do you wish to unburden your conscience before we start?” the old man asked.
El’bryliz jerked his hands, fighting against the restraints, but stopped as a pain flared in his left hand. He flexed his fingers out of habit. Well, the three that were left anyway.
“Yes,” El’bryliz whispered, his head drooping against his chest.
Father Pallum leaned in expectantly, his mouth pressed into a tight line.
“I confess…” he said weakly, drifting off. They hadn’t let him sleep. They splashed water on him when he dozed off at times, and poked him with hot needles at others. Needless to say, he was tired.
Father Pallum shook him violently, his bony fingers digging into his arms.
El’bryliz startled back awake, and started laughing. He didn’t know why. Nothing was particularly funny. He just laughed.
“I confess that you look like a shriveled prune,” he said, meeting the old man’s gaze.
Father Pallum smiled, chuckling quietly under his breath. He tapped El’bryliz’s hand with his index finger, before driving the bony appendage into the bandage covering his missing fingers.
“You are a strong one, El’bryliz. I’ll give you that. Most would have cried and begged when I put the knife up to their hand. Less would have remained silent after I removed the first finger. But you, two gone and not a word. Today, I get to see how quiet you remain as I cut off the third finger.”
“Less fingernails to clean,” El said flippantly, pulling hard on the straps binding him to the chair.
“Hmm,” Father Pallum nodded, lifting the shiny dagger before him. “So, the girl. There is someone in the city you have been working with, correct? Someone who is hiding her?”
The ground shook, just as it had been doing for some time. El’bryliz noticed it. He could feel it through his feet and the chair.
“Don’t you feel that?” he asked.
“Yes. Answer the question.”
“What do
you think it means? I’ve never felt the ground move like that,” El’bryliz said.
“Only Mani knows. If she intended us to understand why the ground is shaking, she would show us. What was your plan to get the girl out of the city?”
“I was going to smuggle her out in my boot,” El’bryliz said, chuckling.
Father Pallum watched him, his icy, blue eyes lingering an uncomfortably long time. Then he leaned forward and let the dagger blade come to rest on the first knuckle of his middle finger.
“My britches?” El’bryliz asked.
Father Pallum’s eyes hardened and he started to press down with the blade. El’bryliz clenched his jaw, focusing on anything and everything to keep from showing the pain.
The door crashed open behind Father Pallum, a young priest with unruly hair staggering in.
“What is it? Have they found her?” the old man asked.
The younger man staggered forward, his hand clutching his chest as he tried to catch his breath. It took him a moment before he could speak.
“No, Eldus Vicar. The city, it is overrun!” the young man said.
Father Pallum turned, pulling the knife away from El’bryliz’s hand. “Overrun, by what?”
“People say the ground is opening up, and beasts are scattering forth. They are inside the Old City, in Bringenhald Square. We need to get out of here,” the younger man said.
Father Pallum stood up and walked over to the younger priest. He put his arm around his shoulder and pulled him close.
“Run back upstairs. Have the windows shuttered and the doors locked and barred. This Chapterhouse is a fortress. We will hold them off until we are to determine the best path forward.”
The young man took a deep breath, nodded, and ran back out the door.
Father Pallum turned and walked towards El’bryliz, but started to pace back and forth. He felt invisible as the old man started to grumble to himself. But that was okay. It was better than the alternative.
Something crashed out in the hallway, followed by a grunt and a pained scream. A heartbeat later something collided with the door. Father Pallum stepped forward, but pulled back as the door swung open suddenly. The young priest fell through, tumbling ungainly to the floor.
