Among the Dead and Dying

by A.R. Wise

  Chapter Fourteen

  Saffi had been shaken by the murder of Gandry, and hadn’t stopped crying for hours. She wasn’t hysterical, but she couldn’t stop thinking about her friend’s face in the moment before his death. No matter what her father said, she knew it was her fault he was dead.

  The Northland Marauders decided that the best way to keep the merchants from trying to run off in the night would be to lock them in the prisoners’ wagons. There were corpses in them already, and they were dragged out and tossed off into the tall grass of the plains to make room.

  The young Apprentice-Baker had become a target for the marauders, and they taunted her every chance they got, pretending to cry with her and making comments about having rabbit stew for dinner tomorrow. She wanted to scream out at them, but Ward helped keep her calm, hushing her and holding her close. He promised it would be okay, but she knew those were hollow words meant to soothe a younger version of herself; a version who hadn’t just witnessed the murder of a friend.

  “Let’s figure out where to put the weepy little bitch,” said Tye as the marauders sorted the merchants into the wagons. He was talking to one of the other marauders, enjoying her torment. “Which of the wagons has the most blood and vomit in it?”

  “This one,” said the other man as he tapped the bars of the only wagon that already had occupants. “They didn’t clean it out none because of the three in there already.”

  “That’ll work,” said Tye. “You can sleep in there, little girl. Try not to get covered in all that blood and piss and shit and vomit.” He spoke slowly, enjoying every second of her despair.

  They opened the back door of the caged wagon and forced her up into it. Her hand slipped on the bloody floor, and she nearly hit her face as she fell. Tye was pushing at her rear, forcing his hands into her crotch and laughing as she scrambled to get away from him. Ward stepped up to get in after her, but Tye pushed him back and said, “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “In there with her,” said Ward, trying hard to keep from revealing his hatred and anger.

  “Not a chance, fat man,” said Tye. “You’re going to have to say bye for now.” He slammed the door and locked it as Ward stood helplessly outside.

  “Saffi, it’ll be okay. Just get some sleep, baby.”

  There was a woman in the wagon to greet Saffi, holding out her arms in a welcoming embrace and guiding the young girl to one of the clean parts of the bench. Tye led Ward away with threats if he didn’t comply, and Saffi watched as her father was taken to another of the wagons, closer to where the marauders were camped.

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” said the woman sitting beside Saffi. “We’ll keep you safe now. My name’s Joyce, and this strapping young man is Beynor, and over there is Tarik.”

  “Saffi,” her whisper was nearly silent. She repeated her name so that they could all hear her, “I’m Saffi.”

  “You’re Ward First-Baker’s daughter?” asked Joyce in an attempt to make conversation to keep Saffi’s mind off of Gandry’s murder.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve eaten food from his shop,” said Joyce. “It was quite good. Do you help him with that?”

  Saffi didn’t want to participate in Joyce’s conversation, but also didn’t want to be rude. She nodded, and then gazed out at the place where the fighting ring had taken place. Gandry’s body had been taken away to be thrown on the pyre with the others, and would be burned like the rest.

  Joyce understood that Saffi didn’t want to talk, but she stayed beside the young girl anyhow. She offered support without forcing it, which Saffi appreciated.

  Beynor tried to offer his condolences, though he seemed just as shaken up as Saffi about what happened. Tarik didn’t say a word, and kept to himself on the opposite side of the wagon, staring off into the dark stretches of the Steel Plains beyond the bloom of firelight.

  Although they tried, none of them slept. Joyce and Beynor took the corners, sitting and trying to lean back and fall asleep. Tarik laid down on the bench across from Saffi, and she watched him as he crossed his arms over his chest and stared up at the ceiling of the wagon, as awake as she was.

  There were guards posted, and they wandered back and forth along the line of wagons, laughing and poking at any prisoners they thought were asleep. At one point Tye was among the guards, and he pushed Tarik off the bench by shoving his sheathed sword’s scabbard into his side. Tarik cursed, but there was nothing he could do in retaliation, and he just climbed back up onto the bench as Tye taunted him.

  More time passed, and Saffi had no way of knowing how much longer she had to wait until dawn. She tried to look up at the stars through the prison wagon’s bars, but there was just a blanket of dark clouds lit up by the moon. It was while she was staring up at the clouds when she heard something move through the weeds. She sat up fast, as did Tarik.

  “You heard that?” he asked.

  Saffi nodded and said, “It came from out there.”

  “Probably just a fox,” said Joyce.

  “It’s a mule,” said Tarik, amused and relieved.

  Saffi looked in the direction that Tarik pointed and saw Stephen. “That’s my mule. He must’ve slipped his reins.” The animal was calmly walking along the outskirts of the camp, searching for food. “Get on out of here, Stephen, before one of them hears you.”

  “He must be staying for you,” said Joyce.

  “I doubt that,” said Saffi. “We’ve only had him for a day, and he’s not the best behaved animal you’ve ever met.” She whispered the mule’s name again, worried that the guards would hear. The animal looked up at her and she said, “Go, get out of here.”

  Stephen snorted, and then seemed to do as she said, wandering off through the grass and into the darkness beyond. Saffi breathed a sigh of relief, happy that at least the mule would live through this.

  Not long after, Saffi heard more movement from the weeds and she sat up fast while saying, “Stupid mule.” She looked towards the camp to see where the guards were, and saw that there were two marauders coming her way. She looked back out into the grass, concerned that Stephen would make another appearance and get caught, but didn’t see anything there.

  Saffi was almost able to relax when she heard movement in the weeds again.

  The guards heard it as well, and the two of them came over to investigate. Neither of them were overly concerned, certain it was just an animal. Saffi watched as the two guards walked casually over to the other side of the wagon and gazed out into the weeds.

  The grass rattled and something emerged, small and furry, peeking out as if about to charge, but then stopping suddenly. The two guards were startled, but then laughed at one another, each claiming the other had been scared. Saffi had expected Stephen to come loping out from the grassland, and was relieved to see it was some other nocturnal creature. She looked closer in an attempt to identify it.

  Saffi was the first to notice the creature that had emerged from the grass was dead, but she didn’t say anything, and instead just watched in confusion. The guards realized this as well, and took a step closer to the creature. They were about twenty feet away, with their backs to the wagon, when someone emerged. The dark figure had been hiding beside the prisoners’ wagon, and Saffi saw him drop a long stretch of twine that she realized was tied to the dead creature in the grass. He’d created a diversion, and was now moving in to attack. He crept on the tips of his boots, not making any sound as he went. He carried what looked like a short scimitar, nearly a hand scythe, and it glimmered in the moonlight as he prepared to attack.

  Tarik, Joyce, and Beynor saw what was happening as well, and they all stayed as quiet as Saffi, unwilling to warn the men responsible for their imprisonment. Saffi was the only one among them who recognized the assassin. He was the stranger who’d come to the shop and met with Ward, the same who was supposed to have met them at the crossroads.

  Ebon reached the first guard, and wrapped his hand over the man’s mout
h from behind before chopping down viciously with his weapon, cutting deep enough to silence him. The noise of the attack was impossible to hide from the other guard, and Ebon let his first victim fall before lunging into the second. Ebon had produced new blades from somewhere on his chest, and plunged them deep into the second man’s gut before lifting him and pushing him backward into the weeds. The man squeaked and nearly cried out, but was then silenced.

  The first guard was mortally wounded, but not quite dead. He was struggling to remove the curved blade that was lodged deep in his throat, and he continued to open his mouth in an attempt to scream, but only gurgles escaped. He rolled to his side and tried to get up, which caused even more blood to stream from his wound. He was crawling towards the wagon when Ebon emerged from the grass to come and finish the job.

  Ebon pressed his foot into the small of the guard’s back and then gripped the handle of his blade. He ripped it up, slicing even deeper into the guard’s jugular and finally stilling him. Ebon retrieved the keys to the wagon, and then wiped his blade off on the dead man’s clothes before walking over.

  He came straight over to Saffi and said, “We’re leaving.”

  “Who are you?” asked Joyce.

  “None of your concern. I’m only here for her,” said Ebon. “I’ll let the rest of you out, but you’re on your own.”

  He was about to head over to the door of the wagon when Saffi said, “No.”

  “What do you mean, ‘No’?” asked Tarik.

  “My father’s in that wagon over there,” said Saffi. “I’m not leaving without him.”

  Ebon considered his options, and then said, “Okay. You stay here and stay quiet.”

  “Let us out first,” said Tarik.

  Ebon looked at the thief and said, “Keep your mouth shut.”

  After Ebon had left, Tarik grumbled, “Why didn’t you tell him to let us out first?”

  Saffi hushed him and tried to watch as Ebon snuck over to the other wagon. It was hard to see what was happening by the dim light of the campfires, and Ebon seemed to disappear into the shadows as he went.

  More time passed than seemed necessary, and Saffi began to worry. Joyce, Tarik, and Beynor were all watching as well, but none of them said anything. Saffi was just about to complain when Ebon appeared at the side of their wagon, away from where they were looking, startling all of them.

  “You scared me to death,” said Joyce, her hand over her heart.

  “Here’s the plan.” Ebon pointed at Saffi and said, “I’m taking you first. I gave your dad the key to his wagon, but he’s going to wait until we’re safely away before escaping. The same goes for the rest of you.” He pointed at Joyce, Beynor, and then lingered on Tarik.

  “Why’s she so special?” asked Tarik.

  “Would you rather he leave us here?” asked Joyce. “Learn when to keep your mouth shut.”

  Ebon unlocked the gate and eased it open. It started to creak, and he stopped before putting up a finger to make sure Saffi paused as well. He produced a vial of oil from a pocket in his duster and wet a rag with it. Then he used it to wet the hinges before attempting to open the door again, this time silently. He helped Saffi down, and then closed the gate back up again, but without locking it.

  “Wait here until the other prisoners get out. If you open this door earlier, I’ll know, and I’ll kill you for it.”

  “Will the hinges on their wagon squeak too?” asked Saffi, concerned about her father’s escape.

  “No, it’s fine,” said Ebon as he led Saffi toward the grass.

  “How do you know?”

  “You’ll have to trust me. Now come on, we can’t risk staying here any longer.”

  He was pulling her along by her arm, and she pulled away from him. “No, stop. Why can’t we get my father now?”

  “It’s too risky,” said Ebon as he ducked low to hide in the weeds. “His leg’s hurt, and he might not be able to move fast. He’ll be fine, but we have to get you out of here first. All that matters is that you stay safe.”

  “I’m not leaving him here. I’ll go get him myself if I have to.”

  Ebon stared at her, and she wasn’t certain what he was thinking. His mask hid his mouth and nose, leaving only his black eyes as a way to gauge his thoughts, and it was uncomfortable to look into the black orbs.

  Ebon sighed and said, “Go out to that hill.” He pointed away from the camp, towards a hill where a lone, dead tree stood, its limbs like skeletal hands reaching up into the moonlit night. “Wait for me there. I’ll go get your father.”

  Saffi agreed, and then did as she was told. Ebon headed back to the camp as she kept low and moved as stealthily as she could, pushing aside the tall grass and occasionally glancing back at the Northland Marauders’ camp. She got to the dead tree, and moved to hide behind it, peering around the side and down the hill to watch as Ebon freed her father. Her attention strayed to other silhouettes in the distance, their forms revealed by the moon behind them. There were at least twenty men on horseback on a hill to the west, on the other side of the camp from where Saffi stood.