by Sky Corbelli
Chapter 47
Freedom
“Their... what?” Ezra squinted out at the little group on the road. “Where could they... how could they even get weapons made in Sanctuary? Do we... we don't sell things to them, right?”
“I don't know, I just don't...” Sarah got up and started pacing nervously, hands running through her hair. “But this... this is big. A-and bad. This is... struck it, I don't even know...”
Ezra grabbed the railgun and looked out at the procession. Sure enough, their guns had a sleek, finished, and distinctively modern look to them. He could even make out a Hughes Legacy mark etched into the case of one of the weapons, attesting to the quality of the materials. He whistled under his breath. No doubt about it; those were manufactured in Sanctuary.
He turned the scope back toward town, checking the tavern. Bert was pacing nervously next to the counter. Ezra switched the audio channel to public. “Everything's ready, the men are all in place.” The twitchy man glanced at Ernest, who was meticulously cleaning the bar. “We know where they are, we know when they'll get here.” He glanced up at the sun. “We know she likes her jasmine tea strong; it's been simmering all morning. She's probably thirsty from the trip. The outer table is cleaned and set, everything else looks dirty, so we just have to–”
“Jeremiah!” The barkeep interrupted Bert loudly. “If you're not finished back there in the next thirty seconds, I'll tell Stephen to burn that shack to the ground around you, you hear me?”
Bert stopped pacing and looked around in terror. “Oh, oh, blighted hell, where's Stephen?” Ezra's mouth went dry. “I haven't seen him all day. What if they caught him, or if he's in on it with Val, or–”
“Relax,” Ernest growled, eyes never leaving the bar. “He didn't know anything about this and you know it. Doesn't matter where he is.”
“Right, right, doesn't matter, of course, you're right.” The little man mopped at his forehead. “What about them other two? We ain't seen hide nor hair of them, and my boys were looking, don't you doubt it.”
The bartender's jaw tightened. “Could be they were what they said they were, just better at making themselves scarce than most. Must've been to travel this country, just the two of em. Mother knows I'll tip my hat to competent help.”
Bert looked at Ernest in confusion. “What're you...” A sharp whistle went up from the gate. Bert frantically shot a glance at the sun again, then grabbed a shabby, wide-brimmed hat and screwed it onto his head. “Right, showtime.” He quickly walked towards the village square, but stopped just outside the tavern, looking back over his shoulder. “In case... in case this all goes up in thunder, I just wanted you to know, it's been a pleasure working with you, Ernest.” Bert bowed his head slightly to the barkeep.
Ernest grunted, picking up a fancy teacup and wiping away an imaginary spot as Bert hurried to the center of the square. The fire-kissed procession was still a little ways out of town. Ezra scanned over the rest of the little square, and as he passed over a group of children jumping rope, he caught the words, “–and will harbor no wrong,” in a familiar singsong chant. He stopped, startled, as the children continued.
The wind-scarred are tricksters
They'll steal your things
Then fly through the sky
Like a bird with no wings
The Sons and the Daughters
Of Lightning will tell
How to save your soul
And keep you from hell
The little girl jumping rope tripped on the last line, sending all the children into a fit of laughter. A boy jumped up as the rope started spinning again, and the rhyme began anew.
A water-seer's eyes
Are as blue as the sea
They'll heal all your hurts
But there'll be a fee
A fire-kissed burns with
A passionate heat
They make all the laws
And keep our towns neat
A worried looking woman interrupted the game, hurriedly shooing the children indoors. She glanced back toward the gate before shutting the door behind her.
The Besmirched group had finally entered the town. Guards fanned out, creating a perimeter, hard eyes scanning for trouble. The mysterious figures in black robes took up positions on either side of the palanquin as the slaves set it down gently.
“Whole lot of fuss over one blighted fire-kissed,” Mat whispered as two of the slaves prostrated themselves to act as steps while four more brought around large fans. The last two reverently cinched back the silk drapes to let out their passenger. Mat rolled his eyes. “I take back everything I've ever said about you Legacy pansies, this is just strucking–”
One perfect, bare leg emerged from the shaded interior.
“–hot,” Mat finished weakly. “Ezra, man, move over...” Mat nudged at him absently, eyes still glued to the woman exiting the palanquin. Ezra watched as a golden goddess stepped into the sunlight. Her skin was flawlessly tanned, practically glowing light gold. Just the curve of her calves had Ezra adjusting his pants, and the rest of her curves were at least as enticing. A long slit ran up both sides of her slinky red dress, giving tantalizing hints at the shapes of her thighs as she stepped delicately over the slaves' backs. “Does she look as good up close as she looks from here?” Mat wiped a hand over his mouth. “Please say yes, oh god, please say yes.” The woman shaded her face with her hand and looked around the town, laughing fetchingly. It did fetching things with her bosom as well. As in, it fetched the attention and didn't let it go again. Ezra found himself smiling stupidly and pulled himself away from the scope, breathing heavily.
“Men,” Sarah muttered as she took charge of the railgun. She let out a soft gasp. “Well... maybe I can't blame you, this time.”
Ezra grabbed his canteen and took a long drink, still haunted by gleaming golden ringlets spilling over smooth, gorgeous shoulders, burnt red highlights throwing back glimmers from the sun. And none of it had compared to her face... cheeks slightly flushed, luscious lips smiling with deliberate wickedness. Those captivating golden eyes with tiny emerald flecks, practically burning with a sensuality that... Ezra swallowed and dumped the remaining contents of the canteen over his head. It helped, a little.
“I wanna be a Besmirched,” Mat whimpered miserably, “if it means I get besmirched by her.” He shook his head in wonder. “If the Chancellor looked like that, I'd never want to leave Sanctuary.”
“You and me both,” Sarah murmured. Ezra gaped at Sarah. Mat eyed her appraisingly. Her head shot up as she realized what she had said, then her eyes narrowed into a defensive look. “What? She's really hot.” Sarah shrugged and settled her eye back to the scope.
A velvety voice purred through their communicators. “Mmmm, I smell jasmine tea. Bert, darling, you remembered.” She even sounds hot. Damn it all. Ezra desperately wished for more water.
He inched up to watch the scene below them unfold. A chill wind gusted through the bell tower. Ah, Ezra thought, probably why the conspirators didn't pick this for a sniping location. From up here, however, they could see everything play out.
Valerie Estavon and her two cowled shadows walked to the cleanest table in the tavern, as expected. Men with bows crept along rooftops, staying low and out of sight from below. The fire-kissed took a seat, robed figures flanking her, as the gangly teenager Jeremiah carefully brought her a steaming pot of tea. How he managed to make it to her without killing himself was a mystery to Ezra, as the boy was clearly at once smitten and terrified out of his mind. Val must have smiled at him or something as he retreated, because he tripped over two chairs and a table while backing away. Her guard spread out in a semi-circle facing out from the tavern.
None of them saw the bartender pull a loaded crossbow from behind the bar and level it on Val. “Freedom!” he roared as the arrow flew, straight and true.
“Freedom!” echoed the twenty men on the rooftops, loosing their arrows at precisely the same moment.
“Freedo
m!” cried every single person milling about in the square as they all drew steel, some falling upon the shocked guardsmen, others hurling missiles at Val's exposed back.
The elementalist took a calm sip of her tea. One of the cloaked figures raised a hand, and the air went still. So did every projectile in flight.
The other dark silhouette threw back his cowl, revealing delicate features etched with fine, silver scars. He looked around impassively, then brought up both arms. Heavy sleeves fell back as his scarred hands lifted, like a maestro conducting an invisible orchestra. His hands flickered, and chaos consumed the little town.
