by Paul Barrett
“There’s no need to announce my presence,” Elissia said, but she spoke to the child’s back. He slithered into a crevice in the alley wall that Erick would have thought too small for anything larger than a cat. “Shit. This isn’t how I wanted things to go.” She walked toward the crowd.
Erick followed, dazed. All this time he thought Marcus was a suitor. He would have smiled with giddiness if the circumstances didn’t have him so confused.
They soon caught up with the growing crowd; people left their houses, shop owners abandoned their stores, and everyone shouted and laughed as if on their way to a fête.
“Are people always this happy about someone hanging?” Erick asked Corby.
“I don’t know, I’ve never been to one,” the scholar answered. “It’s a rare punishment, especially for thievery. The usual penalty is either branding or having a hand chopped off. There’s also normally a trial, and I would imagine the guilty party is allowed to wear clothes. He must have offended someone really powerful.”
“Marcus excels at offending people. But he’s the only brother I’ve got, so I should try and keep him alive.”
“Any idea how?” Erick asked.
“Not yet. I’m hoping something comes to mind before they put the rope around his neck.”
Several people leapt about joyously, pointing at the naked boy and making rude remarks. There were even children along, some riding on their parent’s necks. The whole spectacle made Erick ill.
Blink, can you hear me? Erick asked.
Perfectly.
I don’t care who sees you, but I need you to get where I am. We may need a diversion.
On my way.
They walked perhaps a quarter-mile with the growing crowd before they reached a square courtyard surrounded by stone buildings, with a gibbet in the center. The throng spread to form a circle around the scaffold, pushing the wagons of protesting vendors aside. The guards moved toward the gallows, carrying the squirming boy.
Erick had started to grow accustomed to the various smells that ran through the city, but a horribly obnoxious odor assaulted his nose: copper-tinged blood, mingled with an oppressive undercurrent of decay; it was the smell of death, magnified beyond anything even Erick had ever encountered. “Great Caros, what is that stench?”
“Slaughterhouse,” Elissia answered as her eyes searched the common. Two of the guards had stopped at the bottom of the gallows. Two others were carrying Marcus up the stairs to the noose.
“Slaughterhouse? You mean where they kill animals?”
“That’s what slaughterhouses usually do.”
“Which way and how far?” Erick asked urgently. “I have an idea.”
Elissia scrunched her eyes in bewilderment, but she pointed. “Straight down that road about a thousand feet. You can’t miss it.”
“I don’t doubt it. I’ll move as quickly as I can, but stall them if you have to.”
“Whatever you’re doing, good luck,” Elissia whispered.
Erick turned and ran down the road. His destination could have been in the middle of a mile-wide labyrinth, and he would have found it by its overbearing reek. In some strange way, it took him home, back to time spent with his father learning the Rituals and skills of his life. The rotting onion smell of Elonsha and the coppery tinge of blood were the scents of his childhood. In the midst of this cacophonous city, he had stumbled on to memories of a quieter, better time.
Memories that vanished as soon as he spotted the abattoir.
Shaking off the profound sense of disgusted awe at the acre-sized compound, he pulled off his herb kit and prepared to do what his father had taught him.
Elissia tapped her foot on the ground, anxiety warring with outright terror. She had no idea what Erick planned, but he needed to act now. The guards had already put the rope around her brother’s neck; he appeared as frail and terrified as a week-old kitten confronted by a mastiff. The sergeant with the silver epaulets stepped forward, pulled a parchment from his belt, and unrolled it. “Here before you stands Marcus Torin of Kalador, who has been convicted of the crime of theft, in sp-”
“Convicted by who, you lying bastard?” Marcus shrieked, his voice high with fear. “I haven’t even seen a magistrate.” The crowd cheered at the boy’s defiance.
“In specific,” the sergeant continued. “The theft of a signet ring from the Geleit D’Arascant, who had taken this lad under his care after being tricked into believing he was an orphan.”
“More lies, you dung pile. The Geleit flaunts the law by taking in catamites not sanctioned by Amare’s temple. I refused his desires because his wrinkled skin made me ill, so he paid you to drag me out of my bath and bring me here with no evidence. Where’s the supposed ring I stole?”
“Yeah, where’s the ring?” someone mimicked.
“Probably up his ass,” another cried out, and the crowd laughed.
Elissia silently cheered Marcus, hoping he could stall long enough that she wouldn’t have to do anything stupid to delay them further. But she knew the guards would only tolerate so much. The fear evident in her brother’s eyes told her Marcus knew the same thing. “Hurry up, Erick,” she whispered.
“Because of the severity of the crime and the pretenses under which it was conducted-”
“Pretenses? I di-” Marcus started, but at a signal from the sergeant the other guard rapped the boy across the skull, stunning him. The crowd booed; the sergeant was spoiling the show.
“Because of the severity of the crime and the pretenses under which it was conducted, this thief is condemned to hang by the neck until dead and to remain hanging until his body rots, as a warning to all other thieves. The Crown has been far too lenient to certain criminal elements, but no longer. This sentence is passed with the approval of the Jurleit, Bala Ardua of Kalador.”
Elissia doubted the sergeant’s claim. The law master was likely not even aware of this farce. She sidled her way through the crowd, prepared to scream, yell, or dance like a madwoman until they arrested her in order to give Erick the time he needed.
Someone shrieked as a shadow passed overhead. Elissia followed everyone’s gaze skyward. Blink flew over the crowd, swung around, and landed on the gibbet above Marcus. Women and children shrieked, and several men turned pale. People at the fringes ran.
“I am Shatok, demon of the Festering Hells,” Blink thundered in the deepest, most terrifying voice he could muster. “This child is my creature. Release him, or I will summon a plague so fier—hey, what the hell are you doing?”
A dark-bearded man in brown robes had flung a clod of dirt at the homunculus and even now reached for a piece of fruit from a nearby cart. “You are no demon,” the man yelled as he cocked his arm back. “You are a gargoyle and powerless to do anything but bellow.”
The man tossed a large apple, and Blink ducked to avoid being struck in the head. This wasn’t the reaction Elissia would have expected, and she could tell it had thrown Blink off too. But it proved Corby’s assertion that Blink could pass for one of the northern creatures.
The brown-robed man wore a golden globe and hammer pin on the robe’s breast and had a grain sack slung over his shoulder.
Great, Elissia thought. Must be the earth god’s revenge for Erick impersonating an acolyte. “Priest of Krinnik,” she shouted. “You are a fool and will doom us all! Release the boy!”
“You heard her,” Marcus screamed. “Release me.”
“We will do no such thing,” the man screamed back.
Blink spread his wings to their full five-foot span. “Release him no—ouch!”
Several others joined the priest, and a barrage of fruit caught Blink flat-footed, striking him in the wings and chest. He flapped his wings to avoid falling off the scaffold, and then lowered them to his side. “Now that just wasn’t friendly,” he grumbled, clacking his talons ominously. He brought his barbed tail above his head and bellowed, “You shall rue the day you were ever born.” He snapped his fingers.
Noth
ing happened. People shifted about uneasily, the fruit throwers especially nervous. Even the priest seemed hesitant, doubtless afraid his erudition had failed him.
After several seconds, when lightning failed to strike from the sky, and the ground remained firm without splitting open to reveal flaming pits, the crowd relaxed.
“As I said,” the priest shouted to the crowd with a smug smile. “Powerless.”
“Thank you, good priest,” the sergeant yelled. “Now, enough nonsense. Hang him.”
“NO!” Elissia screamed as the guard pulled the lever. The trapdoor sprang open, but miraculously, Marcus didn’t fall. Blink had reached down and grabbed the slack end of the rope, preventing the neck-breaking drop. Hanging in mid-air, the choking Marcus struggled while Blink bent down and gnawed at the hemp with his sharp teeth.
“Kill that creature,” the sergeant shouted. The two guards moved to grab the crossbows slung across their backs.
Elissia heard it first since she had been waiting for something. A high-pitched noise, with a deep rumbling underneath. Cold, onion-scented wind blew through the courtyard, stirring up dust. People shivered and covered their eyes to guard them against the fine grit that whirled through the air.
The rumbling grew, followed by the sound of hoarse squealing, a shrill bawl that hurt the ears, like a shovel scraped across an iron bar. Several in the crowd yelled and pointed; others soon followed.
A sounder of swine thundered full speed toward the square, appearing through the windblown cloud of dust. At least a hundred squealing and grunting pigs dashed across the cobblestone road and spilled into the common area. Several people dove away from the barreling animals. Most were still enthralled with who the loaded and aiming guards would hit: the gargoyle, or the thief it now tried to fly away with, having bitten through the rope.
Elissia noticed all the pigs had sliced throats, and many had no heads. She needed to make others see. “The demon Shatok has brought creatures back from the dead. Run!”
Her voice carried. Several people followed her pointing finger. As the crowd began to realize the condition of the swine, loud screams of terror challenged the squeals. The panic spread and the gathering scattered, chased by the rampaging porcine zombies. Geran remained immobile as people streamed around him, but the maddened throng almost crushed Corby. After a large man slammed into him and nearly knocked him down, he slipped behind an outcropped stone wall with rugs displayed upon it. Realizing the danger, Elissia joined him.
Carts were smashed, and tables overturned as people cleared the square. Even the stoic guards turned pale as they saw creatures that should have been sausage-in-waiting up on all fours, running freely.
“Hold your stations,” the sergeant screamed. The guards on the ground broke and ran for cover.
“I said hold your st-”
The sergeant crumpled as Marcus delivered a double-footed kick to his head.
“Hold that, you bastard,” the boy screamed in a raspy voice as Blink flew over the scaffolding and past the surprised guard standing next to his now unconscious commander.
The common soon stood nearly vacant, the crowd having efficiently, if destructively, vanished. The pigs ran about in spastic dashes, ignoring the overturned carts of food that would have stopped them in their living years.
Blink gently sat Marcus on the ground and let go of the rope. He spotted the boisterous priest pressed against a wall and flew toward him. “I’m a homunculus, you stupid man. Familiar to a Necromancer, and these are his pets. Run before I eat you.”
Eyes wide with terror, the man fled, his robe flapping behind him. Blink giggled softly and flew back to the group.
Elissia removed the noose from her brother’s neck as Erick ran into the courtyard, his breathing heavy, sweat on his forehead. “It worked?”
“Like a charm,” Elissia answered in awe. “That was beautiful.”
“Undead pigs?” Blink asked Erick.
Erick shrugged. “I have to work with what’s available.”
Marcus rubbed at the raw, red ring around his neck, and spat. His eyes flickered over Erick’s shoulders and then back. Before Elissia could turn to see his concern, Marcus slammed his right fist into Erick’s jaw. Erick fell to the ground.
The sudden violence so stunned Elissia that she didn’t even react when Marcus jumped over, pulled her dagger from her side, and held it toward the advancing Blink. “Marcus, what the hell are you doing?” she asked.
“Something he’s about to regret,” Blink said, tail poised to strike.
“Looks like Calligan was right,” a voice said. Elissia recognized it and her shoulders tensed.
She turned. Six people stood there, including Calligan, the small boy that had first seen her. The others—three boys, two girls— ranging in age from a few years younger than her to several years older. Typical of Procurers, they wore dark clothing, as close to black as they could manage within the law. Each of them wore two daggers on their side. She recognized none of them but Darius, who bore the same curly black hair and rodent eyes he had when she left. A new, scraggly beard patched his tan face, enhancing his weasel features., He wore dark wool gloves with the fingers cut off, and held a bundle of gray clothing. He tossed it to Marcus. “Thought you might want these.”
“Thanks,” Marcus said as he caught the clothes in one hand.
“Good job,” Darius said as he waved a hand toward Erick and Blink. “Only you could go from almost getting strung to finding the choice jewel. Luck of Denech, that one,” he told his companions.
“Yeah, I’m just a bundle of fortune,” Marcus muttered as he dressed in the overly large clothing.
Erick had sat up and rubbed his jaw. “Guess I should have let you hang.”
“Probably would have been the smarter choice,” Marcus said.
“Welcome back, Banished One.”
“Darius,” Elissia said, not bothering to hide the disdain in her voice.
“Nice to see how you’ve grown. Had your treasure picked yet, or you still keeping it locked tight?”
The others laughed, except Marcus, and heat flared in Elissia’s face. Erick stood up with Corby’s help and glared at the older boy.
“Glad you came to town.” Darius pointed at Erick. “Torin wants to meet your friend.”
“But he’s not particularly interested in meeting Torin,” Elissia kept her tone calm, even though her stomach flopped. Her father’s interest in Erick could only mean one thing.
Darius offered a grim smile as his hand went to his side and rested on his dagger hilt. “Then I’m going to have to insist.”
Elissia looked at Erick. Something in her eyes must have alarmed him because he turned to his undead soldier. “Geran, zacare.”
Geran stepped forward, placing himself in front of her, facing Darius, and drew his sword. A ripple of fear swept through the gang. They stepped back, but several pulled their weapons.
“You need to let—” Erick started.
An arm wrapped around Elissia’s throat and a knifepoint pressed to her chest.
“Call him off,” Marcus said from behind her. Erick’s face went pale. Blink hissed in irritation.
“Let her go,” Corby shouted, even though he appeared ready to faint.
“What are you doing?” Elissia gasped out through the arm tightened on her throat.
“What I’ve been ordered to do, sis. Remember taking orders? Something you never managed.” Laughter came from the other thieves. Marcus gave Elissia a shake. “Call off your man, or I’ll gut her.”
“Your own sister?” Corby asked.
“She ceased to be my sister when she was banished.”
Elissia almost fell over at Marcus’s words, almost pushed herself forward so the dagger would pierce her chest. Out of any pain she would have expected returning home, this hurt the worst. To see her brother again had been her main reason to return, and to have him so casually dismiss her crushed her spirit. Nothing mattered now. The whole trip had been a waste
of time.
Scared, resolute faces stared at Erick. Geran could easily kill all the thieves, but Elissia would be dead before anyone could stop Marcus. He had been backed into a corner. “Geran, alar.”
Geran sheathed his sword and stepped back. The thieves relaxed but didn’t put away their weapons.
“Good boy,” Marcus said. He stepped away from Elissia, and she almost fell. She stared at the ground, all life missing from her. Her brother’s betrayal had hurt her deeply. Erick understood. He imagined it as the same pain when he thought his parents had killed themselves. But at least he had learned he was wrong. Elissia probably wouldn’t have that comfort. “You’re a bastard.”
Marcus jumped in front of Erick, dagger extended. Erick stepped back in surprise. He had never seen anyone move so fast. “I know exactly who my father is and what my place is. The same can’t be said for others.”
Elissia looked up, seemed about to say something, and then looked back down.
“Easy, Marcus,” Darius said with a chuckle as Marcus pushed his way past, slamming his shoulder into Erick’s chest. “Search them for weapons. Let’s move before the regs get here and things turn ugly.”
The thieves moved quickly, forming up around Erick and his friends. They took Corby’s staff and blowgun, Elissia’s dirks, and Erick’s sword and herb box.
Surrounded by seven thieves, the group trotted for perhaps three hundred feet before they turned down an alleyway littered with old smashed and dented wooden crates. Unlike the road, covered in tight, small cobbles, this side lane was uneven and paved with large, rough blocks. Slimy water-filled pockets where stones were absent, and the entire area had an aroma of trash and urine.
One at a time, the thieves crouched and worked their way through a gap between three haphazardly stacked crates.
“Watch your step,” Darius said to Elissia. She moved her way through the crates, her face blank. Erick couldn’t help but notice the older thief’s lustful stare at her. Jealousy flared through Erick. If we get out of this, I want you to put him down for a day.
