Chains of Blood

by M. L. Spencer

  38

  The Crossing

  Gil stood with one foot resting on the remains of a broken foundation, watching Judhi dig through a stash buried in a hole punctured in the wall of a house. The man was bent over, head and torso buried in the hole, only his legs visible. Various items came tumbling out onto the street: water sacks, canteens, scraps of clothing. With a grunt, Judhi struggled to extract himself. Rising to stand, he used his sleeve to wipe a thick coating of dust off his forehead. His thick black hair was covered with it, and his beard looked like it had been dusted with flour. He scooped up a large water bladder off the ground and tossed it to Gil, who moved just in time to catch it by the strap.

  “What’s all this for?” Gil asked, looking down at the water bladder.

  Judhi explained, “To reach the Andibar Quarter, we must pass the Mirjaz Checkpoint.” He stooped to collect the rest of the supplies he’d tossed out of the stash. “The checkpoint is very dangerous, and we must have a reason to go across. Most of the wells in this quarter have been poisoned. The only way to find drinking water is to cross into the Mirjaz District. Most go at sunrise and return at sunset. Today, we go with them.”

  Gil glanced around the shattered remains of the surrounding neighborhood. Few of the houses were intact. Debris and layers of white dust filled the street, and the air was thick with the cloying smell of blood and decay. The Khar hadn’t claimed the Demali Quarter yet, but it didn’t look like they needed to. The neighborhood was strangled, and there was no other place for its population to go.

  Judhi tilted his head back and drank deeply from his canteen. Clapping Gil on the back, he started across the street, saying, “It’s time to go. The men will be ready. “

  Gil walked after him down the road, picking his way carefully over the spilled remains of collapsed buildings. The street was stained dark in places where the dead had lain. In other places, the buzz of flies alluded to remains still buried beneath the rubble. Judhi led him around the corner and onto the street where Uma Halabi’s residence was one of the few that remained intact.

  As they walked, his companion explained, “I will tell you when we are nearing the crossing. From that point on, each of us must walk alone. If the Khar suspect we are together, or suspect we are fighters, they will kill us. We must make them believe we do not know each other, and that we come only for water.”

  Gil asked, “Is Uma Halabi coming with us?”

  “No.” Judhi shook his head. “Her face is known to them.”

  Gil’s boots crunched on pulverized stone as they neared the courtyard entrance to Uma Halabi’s home. As he opened the door, Judhi nodded at the talisman hanging at Gil’s side.

  “You will need to leave that weapon here.”

  Gil’s hand went protectively to Thar’gon’s leather-wrapped haft. “It’s a magical artifact. I can’t leave it behind.”

  Judhi frowned, his face scrunching up as he considered the weapon. “Then you will have to find some way of concealing it. A very good way,” he added.

  Gil thought about it, deciding a shadow web should be enough. “No one will see it,” he assured him.

  Judhi grunted and called across the courtyard to a man and a woman squatting beside a pile of provisions. “Mezhar! Dija! Are you ready?”

  Both stood and walked toward them, carrying an assortment of water bottles and empty sacks. Mezhar was a young man clothed in a brown tunic. His companion, a woman dressed in a man’s shirt and trousers, wore her hair in a thick braid that hung almost to her knees. One side of her face was blistered and peeling. Judhi called up at a second-story window:

  “Savas, you fool! Get down here! We are leaving without you!”

  Motioning for Gil and his two companions to follow, he started toward the street. Before they were halfway across the courtyard, they were halted by the upstairs door banging open. Gil looked up to see a young man dressed in the robes of a cleric jogging down the stairs toward them with a clatter. Reaching them, the scraggly young man smiled sheepishly.

  Another door opened, and Uma Halabi came out of the house. She moved stiffly toward them, favoring one leg. Gil walked toward her, wanting to save her the distance. When he reached her, she embraced him tightly and kissed his cheeks.

  “May you know the favor of the gods,” she said. She held him tightly, patting his back, then let him go. Without saying another word, she walked back inside the house.

  “Let’s go!” Judhi snapped.

  Gil started after him, a little sad he likely wouldn’t be able to repay Uma Halabi for her kindness. Looking down at the weapon at his side, he spun a web of shadow around it. The web would be useless if the guards at the checkpoint patted him down. He could only pray they didn’t.

  He walked beside Judhi, following Mezhar and Dija down the street, Savas distancing himself from their party. The roads were still muddy in places from a recent rain, and water drained from the rooftops to run in bloody streams toward the center of the street. They walked four blocks, their progress slowed by the sheer amount of debris that filled the road. The further they walked, the more people appeared around them, canteens and buckets in hand, until the road was somewhat crowded, everyone moving in the same direction.

  Judhi drew them aside and instructed, “From this point on, we walk alone. We do not know each other. Mezhar, Dija! You act as husband and wife.”

  Gil looked at Judhi and nodded. They followed a steady stream of people walking toward the Mirjaz checkpoint as the sun rose into a brown, smoke-infected sky. Beside him walked a woman holding the hand of a small girl who clutched a ragdoll under her arm. Behind them came two young men who looked like brothers, both laden with water skins. One brother’s head was wrapped in bloody bandages. The other’s arm was missing.

  Gil fell back behind them, while Mezhar and Dija dropped even further back, walking hand-in-hand. Judhi and Savas spread out as they approached the end of the street. Ahead, a thick clot of people were bunched together in a large group, waiting to clear the checkpoint. Guards in scale mail lined the intersection, waving people through one or two at a time. Behind them stood a gray-robed man with long golden hair and a longer scowl, surveying the trickle of people crossing the street. He wasn’t wearing chains, which made Gil stare harder at the man. Then he saw the iron band around the man’s left wrist: a bracelet that a chain could be attached to.

  Ahead, Judhi reached the front of the crowd and raised his hands, turning slowly around, as one of the Khar soldiers patted him down. Another guard took the canteen that hung from a strap on his shoulder and upended it before handing it back. Judhi then crossed the street under the watchful eyes of the Khar mage, while Savas passed, unhindered, through the checkpoint.

  Following the ebb and flow of the crowd, Gil moved slowly forward toward the checkpoint. Off to the side, a man had been singled out and was being questioned by a few of the guards. The man’s answers grew louder, becoming sharp and panicked. Another soldier walked up behind him and, pulling a dagger from his belt, calmly slit the man’s throat. The man fell to the street, where he lay gasping his last breaths into the dust.

  No one in the crowd reacted.

  A loud, barking command made Gil jump. Swinging back around, he realized he had reached the front of the crowd. Khar soldiers were yelling at him, motioning him forward. Shaken, he complied, raising his hands as he moved between them, his eyes on the unchained mage as he prayed to the gods they wouldn’t stop to check him for weapons, as they had done with Judhi.

  Another guard motioned him forward briskly, letting him by without halting him. Gil felt a dizzying flood of relief as he crossed the street, following the trickle of people moving ahead of him. He glanced back to look for the others and discovered the mage’s eyes on him. He looked away quickly, fighting to keep the panic he felt off his face.

  When he reached the other side of the street, he glanced at the man out of the corner of his eye and saw the mage’s attention was still focused on him, his face scowling ev
en deeper than before.

  A sudden commotion behind him made him turn. Gil looked to see a group of soldiers shouting at Mezhar, while two other men dragged Dija away from him. Mezhar lurched forward, but the guards hauled him back, Dija thrashing and screaming.

  There was a shout, and the guards scattered. Then a flash of light followed by a deafening crackle of thunder. Mezhar exploded, showering the square with blood. Gil ducked, shielding his head as little bits of Mezhar splattered down all around him. He gritted his teeth, swallowing hard to keep his breakfast down.

  Dija shrieked horrifically.

  The crowd erupted, people scattering in every direction. Gil sprinted down the street, following a stampede of people fleeing the checkpoint. He glanced behind, looking for the Khar mage. But he couldn’t see him, so he picked up his pace and skittered around the nearest corner.

  A hand caught his arm, using his own momentum to swing him around and slam him up against the side of a building. Gil sagged against the bricks, laboring to catch his breath. Blinking, he made out Judhi’s face, its lines sharpened by shock and rage. With a growl, he began scrubbing his hands over Gil’s shoulders as if frantically brushing off dust. It took Gil a moment to realize he was sweeping charred pieces of Mezhar off his clothes.

  It was too much. Gil bent over and emptied his stomach.

  Judhi paced away from him, right hand planted on his hip, head bowed. He swept a fist through the air, then whirled back around.

  “This thing that you’re doing,” he growled, “It had better be worth it!”

  Gil’s stomach heaved again. He stood bent over his knees, one hand propped against the wall. Judhi waited only long enough for Gil’s stomach to stop twisting. Then, with a grimace, he motioned him forward again. Gil spat the taste out of his mouth and followed him. They worked their way further into the district as the sun rose higher in the smoke-darkened sky. Savas found them and trailed behind, head bowed. He hadn’t spoken a word the entire trip and didn’t look like he was ready to start.

  It didn’t take Gil long to notice that the streets of the Mirjaz Quarter were very different from the district they had left. Most of the buildings were intact, and the streets had been cleared of debris. The people moving by them seemed to walk with purpose, going about normal, every-day tasks. Vendors had set up stalls along the sides of the streets, selling fruits and vegetables at outrageous prices. The neighborhoods were patrolled by soldiers wearing the same uniforms as the guards at the crossing: scale mail vests over long, wine-colored tunics, most carrying spears and bucklers covered in leather.

  As they continued deeper into the quarter, it became obvious that life there had returned to some semblance of normal. Only, it was a different kind of normal than Gil was used to. Citizens went about their business silently, with great economy of movement. There were no people lingering in the street, conversing with friends and neighbors. Everyone seemed to have a job to perform, and everyone seemed singularly focused on the completion of that purpose.

  They walked through an intersection that had a fly-covered corpse sprawled in the center of it. The sight was bizarre; all signs of the war had been scrubbed away from the rest of the neighborhood. Except for this one corpse that looked extraordinarily out of place. It was a woman—or had been. Flies swarmed over her, buzzing in and out of her mouth. The sockets of her eyes were encrusted with them. Judhi gave the corpse a wide berth; the smell was horrendous, and it took them many steps to escape it.

  A block later, they passed a second body, this one being savaged by a dog, its snout red with blood. The animal growled at them as they passed, laying its ears back and baring its teeth. Gil hurried his steps, trying not to look. Over the next few blocks, they passed several such corpses. He didn’t understand; the people had labored hard to clear the streets of any signs of war, and yet these bodies remained untouched.

  “Why doesn’t anyone bury them?” he asked.

  It was Savas who responded. “They are traps. The Khar have ordered that the dead are to be left where they lie. If anyone tries to remove them, they are executed.”

  “Lower your voices!” Judhi hissed. “The walls have ears!”

  Gil looked around at the surrounding buildings, suddenly nervous. There were no soldiers within hearing distance, but many of the windows were open. One of the guards down the street was staring at them hard. He shut his mouth and bit his lip. The last thing he wanted to do was get two more people killed for trying to help him.

  Judhi led them around the corner, then darted through an open gate in the wall. Gil followed him into a courtyard with a well-tended garden fed by a trickling fountain. Judhi and Savas rushed forward, inspecting the courtyard thoroughly before opening the door to the adjoining house. Gil followed them inside. They moved quietly but quickly, searching every room as they came to it, until they found a set of stairs that led upward. They took the stairs to the third floor and climbed a ladder to the roof. Ducking down behind the roof’s low wall, Gil followed Judhi to the northeast corner of the house. There, they squatted down, taking cover behind the wall.

  “On the other side of this street is the Andibar Quarter,” Judhi said. “This is as far as Savas and I can go with you. There are too many soldiers by the citadel, and there is too much risk for us. From here, you must continue alone. Come look.”

  He motioned Gil forward and together they looked out over the top of the wall. The house they stood on was taller than most in the surrounding neighborhood. Across a broken mosaic of rooftops, Gil could see the towers of the Alqazar Citadel only a few blocks away.

  “The fortress is up that street,” Judhi said, indicating a road two blocks over from the house they stood on. “Follow it north.”

  Gil took a moment to study the cityscape. Judhi was right; there were very few people on the streets, and most were soldiers. He would have a hard time blending in. He blew out a long sigh, finally nodding. Ducking back down, they crossed the roof and took the stairs back down to the level of the street.

  There, in the courtyard, Gil turned and said farewell to his two companions. Judhi embraced him, saying, “May the gods protect you and help you find what you seek.”

  “My thanks for your help,” Gil said. “I’m sorry about your friends. I truly am. I’ll do my best to try to make their deaths count for something.”

  Judhi nodded but didn’t respond. Savas lay a hand on his shoulder, then turned away without saying a word. Gil stood in the courtyard and watched the two men open the gate and steal back into the street. After that, he waited, giving Judhi and Savas time to put some distance between them and himself.

  39

  Shiro

  Rylan stared up at the gray man seated on the skull throne, white-hot hatred freezing his insides. He wanted to rush forward and throttle him, to plunge his hands into his chest and rip his heart out through his rib cage. This was the man who had killed Ilia and murdered his son. Only one thing held him back: the threat to his daughter.

  Amina was this man’s hostage. He couldn’t risk her being harmed.

  Xiana dropped to her knees, bowing forward until her forehead touched the rugs, her hands beside her face. She remained in that position as the Warlord gazed down upon them with a face devoid of expression. Rylan remained on his feet, glaring his hatred.

  The Warlord held his gaze.

  At last, the gray man adjusted his posture and settled back into his throne.

  “You may rise,” he rumbled.

  Xiana rose gracefully, a proud and joyous smile on her face.

  The awful man folded his hands. His features were gaunt, his long, white hair worn pulled back from his face, accentuating the sharpness of his cheekbones. A slight smile touched pale lips the color of a cadaver’s.

  “Welcome, daughter,” he said in a cruelly familiar voice. “What is this gift you have brought me?”

  Xiana ducked her head and moved forward. “Father, I bring you Rylan Lauchlin, whom you know as Gerald, son of Darien Lauchli
n.”

  The Warlord rose from his throne, and as he did, his retinue of mages scurried forward to surround them. Startled, Rylan flinched backward, but was halted by a man who reached out to restrain him.

  The Warlord held his gaze as he descended the dais. He moved past Xiana without looking at her, his cadre of mages parting to admit him into their midst. He stopped in front of Rylan and stood studying him intensely.

  “Do you know why you are here?” he asked.

  “I came to get my daughter back,” Rylan answered. He couldn’t do anything until he felt assured that Amina would be safe. Nothing in the world was worth jeopardizing her. Xiana’s plan would have to wait.

  Assuming Xiana still intended to carry it out.

  If she ever had.

  Xiana walked back toward him, the ring of mages parting to admit her. She drew up and stood beside Rylan.

  “Your daughter will be restored to you,” the Warlord assured him. He glanced at Xiana. “Do you believe he is ready?”

  “He merged with Keio Matu,” Xiana reported. Reaching out, she stroked the back of her hand down Rylan’s cheek, her eyes full of warmth and pride. “He has all of Keio’s knowledge and many of his personal memories.”

  The warlord nodded. Turning to Rylan, he canted his head. “Then you know who I am.”

  “Shiro Nagato.”

  He wanted this man dead more than any enemy he’d ever faced. He had never met a creature more deserving. It took everything he had to keep himself in check, to stop himself from striking out at Shiro with the Onslaught. But doing so prematurely wouldn’t serve his goal. He needed to make sure Amina was safe first. After that, he could take as much time as he needed to make sure Shiro Nagato suffered for what he’d done.

  “You have Ilia,” Rylan said, nodding at Xiana. “And now you have me. You have everything you want. Now give me what I want.”

  Shiro Nagato looked at him shrewdly. “You want your daughter.”