by Paul Barrett
What now? Blink asked.
Come in, Erick thought back. As the group relinquished their weapons, Erick considered Marcus’s comment. The people in the village had shown fear when they saw him and Blink. But were they frightened enough to send someone over forty leagues to warn these people?
The thought lead him to another question. The inhabitants of Firstlast thought of him as one who dealt with demons, but they had no inkling of his true nature. Yet the captain immediately named him a Necromancer. Had the villagers figured out later and sent a messenger? Something didn’t figure right.
They didn’t know where we were going.
Erick started at Blink’s thought. What?
The people in Firstlast. We never told them where we were going, so they would have no way to know where to send someone. Even if we were followed, which we weren’t, they would have lost us once we went into the Ruins.
You’re right, Erick thought back. Then how do they know about us?
The only person I can figure was the man who destroyed Draymed, but he would have had to fly to beat us here.
Could that even be possible? Had the man destroyed Draymed and then returned across the ocean and voyaged so far, all on the chance Erick would reach the mountain? It didn’t fit for a simple mercenary, or even for a Fist member, who would know others would take over should he fail. Erick knew he had missed something vital.
People looked up as Blink landed among the group. A few gasps and mutters broke out among the civilians, but a sharp glance from the weathered captain silenced them.
“I’m glad you decided to save your master,” Cerin said. “A hanging is so much cleaner than a stabbing. Let’s go.”
A man took the mule’s reins from Corby and led it away. At a command from Captain Cerin, the contingent of guards and captives moved down the street, followed by those who didn’t stay behind to scavenge the forfeited equipment.
“My herb box,” Gabrielle wailed, tears forming in her eyes.
“Quiet!” Cerin said, leading the way.
As they walked, windows and doors opened, revealing the curious faces of those who had stayed inside during the capture. Children stared and giggled, while the women and elderly pointed and gawked.
“Why don’t all of you kiss my naked ass,” Marcus screamed at a gaggle of onlookers.
“I said quiet!” Cerin shouted. He turned and rapped Marcus across the side of the head with his fist.
Marcus stumbled forward, crying at the sharp pain, but Corby caught him before he hit the ground.
“I should let you fall,” Corby said, a catch in his voice. “Stay quiet, and maybe we can get out of this alive.”
“Oh, we’ll get out, don’t worry.” He gave Corby a quick kiss on the cheek.
Corby blushed, and then stepped away from the grinning Marcus.
Erick studied the town. It was clean and well cared for, the cobbled streets and orange stone buildings free of dirt and debris. The townspeople dressed in typical Zakerin fashion: brown, practical clothing, not fancy, but unsoiled and in good repair. Erick found Prospector’s Camp not at all what he expected. It seemed a shame such high dwellings held such low minds, but it gave him hope they could talk their way out of their predicament. Certainly, a town could not be kept in such a fine manner without competent leadership.
They passed through the town square. A gallows—freshly built judging by the glistening wood, still leaking sap—sat in the center. A stocky man in gray clothing, a leather breastplate, and a dark grey hood worked on tying the rope into a noose. The group passed by in silence.
They stopped at a squat, square building with a thick wooden door and no windows, crafted of the same orange stone as the rest of the structures. A simple wooden sign proclaimed it as the jail. Two guards stood outside the door. They nodded at Cerin as he opened the door and had his men usher the group inside.
The anteroom they entered held a desk, behind which sat a thin, balding man with a grayish-brown beard. He wore a deep purple cloak and had a gold ring with a garnet stone on his pinkie.
The man looked up from the papers he studied and waited until they all stood inside. Captain Cerin stepped forward, pushing his way through the now crowded room.
“Your honor,” Cerin said with a sharp salute. “I have here the Necromancer and his companions for incarceration.”
“So I gathered, Captain,” the magistrate said in a voice surprisingly deep for such a slight man. He regarded Erick with thoughtful brown eyes. “So you are the criminal. Your Inconnu friend has told us all about you. He said you were young, but I somehow expected you to at least look older. Nonetheless, villainy comes in all ages, and a child can be as predisposed to wickedness as a man of years.” He addressed Cerin. “You may proceed, Captain.”
Erick decided to take a chance. The magistrate had authority, and Erick sensed intelligence and warmth in his eyes. He might also find reason and compassion. “Sir...”
Cerin cuffed him across the back of the head. “No speaking to the magistrate.”
“Captain, please,” the magistrate said in a mildly reproving tone. “The child is dying tomorrow; I think we can forgo rudeness.” He looked at Erick and Erick looked back, trying to keep the renewed hope from showing on his face. “You may speak. Address me as ‘your honor.’”
“Your honor, I’m afraid the Inconnu has lied to you.”
“Lied? You are not a Necromancer?”
“Yes, I am a Necromancer, but I’ve come here to help save the world from the Master of Shadows.”
The Magistrate stared at him for a moment, and then broke into a deep, booming laugh; a hearty chuckle that the Captain and guards soon echoed.
Corby spoke, his tight voice cutting through the humor like a knife. “Why do you laugh, your honor? Erick speaks the truth.”
“Perhaps he does, but what makes you think the world wants to be saved? The Captain and I don’t want to be saved. We eagerly await the arrival of Eligos.”
Hope left Erick. “What has he promised you? “Power? Wealth? Nobility?”
“More than you could imagine.”
“The Inconnu speak only lies,” Fathen said. “You will regret your decision.”
He gave Fathen a wry smile. “I might not be the only one, hmmm? Put them away, Captain.”
“Yes, your honor.”
One of the guards pushed open an inner door and led the group into a dimly lighted room divided into two cells, separated by a wide hallway. Large and bare, each cell held nothing but two rough wooden bunks and a chamber pot. The beds had no mattresses or pillows, only thin woolen sheets.
Cerin divided them between the cells: Marcus, Corby, and Erick went into one, while Elissia, Fathen, Gabrielle, and Blink were herded into the other. As Blink walked by a blond-haired soldier, the man shoved him against the cell bars.
“By the Ten, you are an ugly beast,” the soldier told him, and the others chuckled.
“Perhaps,” Blink said as he turned around and faced his tormentor. “But at least I’m not laying on the floor unconscious with a bloody nose.”
Blink lashed out with his tail and struck the man behind the knee. The force of the blow buckled the soldier’s legs, pitching him forward as the venom rendered him senseless. He hit the floor gracelessly, and his head landed on the hard wood with a dull thump.
The other soldiers looked aghast at their stricken comrade, frozen at the unexpected sight of blood pooling on the floor. One of the warriors brandished his sword and advanced on Blink. The homunculus reared up to his full height, wings flared and talons bared.
“Come on then, I’m going to die anyway!” he snarled, tail poised above his head.
Despite being almost two feet taller and a hundred pounds heavier than the familiar, the soldier hesitated.
Get in the cell, Erick thought quickly.
But–
GET IN THE CELL NOW!
Blink flinched and backed into the cell, folding his wings to fit through the do
orway. The guard shuffled forward and closed the door, while the captain walked over and locked it.
“If you weren’t already going to die tomorrow, I’d let him kill you,” the captain said, pointing to the unconscious soldier.
“If I weren’t going to die tomorrow, he wouldn’t be sprawled on the floor.”
“Move out, men.”
After the squad left the room, dragging their immobile companion with them, Erick stared across the room at Blink. What in the name of the Ten were you thinking?
I was thinking that I don’t want to go out without a fight. I thought my master would support me.
Ten armed soldiers against eight unarmed people isn’t a fight; it’s a massacre.
So what do we do, wait until tomorrow and then go quietly up and let them hang us?
No, if it comes down to it, we fight. Until then, we use the time to figure a way out.
How?
I don’t know yet, but there’s always the gateloah. A vision popped into Erick’s head, a fragment of memory from his first dream in Draymed. A man in black surrounded by undead attacked Erick, who countered with his own force, while beside them loomed the mountain, a ponderous judge gauging the fight to determine the meddle of the combatants. He shared the vision with Blink. See, if the dream is right, we’ll escape.
So we can die screaming at the claws of a thousand gateloah. Great!
“Is anyone hurt?” Gabrielle asked after the last soldier left and the door shut behind them. No one had injuries to report.
“That’s good,” Gabrielle told them, her voice quivering. “Because they destroyed my herb box.” She collapsed on a bed, put her head in her hands, and broke into loud sobs. Elissia moved over to comfort her, hugging her while whispering into her ear.
“So what do we do now?” Erick asked Marcus.
“How should I know?” Marcus asked back.
“Don’t you have experience with this sort of thing?”
“That’s a hurtful assumption.” Marcus glanced at the door the soldiers had just exited. It was solid, unbroken by a window. He scanned the floor and ceiling, and then looked back at Erick. “But it’s obvious these people have never had real criminals here.” He removed his boot.
“What are you doing?”
Marcus turned over his boot, dumped a square strap of leather into his hand, and folded it open. Several pieces of oddly shaped metal lay in the center. “They never check the shoes,” he said, smiling.
“What is that?” Erick asked.
“Lockpicks. The prime tool of every good thief.” Marcus moved to the lock, selected a tool, and inserted it into the keyhole. A second later a soft click announced his success. “Nothing to it.”
In the other cell, Elissia comforted Gabrielle, whose sobs had quieted to sniffles. Marcus shifted from foot to foot until his sister glanced up. He held up the pick, a question on his face. She spoke softly to Gabrielle, and the young girl nodded. Standing, she walked to the bars and waited.
“You still remember how to use one of these?” Marcus asked as he threw the sliver of metal across the corridor.
Elissia caught the pick. “I could open this lock with my fingernails if I didn’t bite them.”
“So we get the locks picked,” Fathen said. “Then what? We still have to fight our way out and get away from town. Perhaps we would be better served trying to deal again with the Magistrate.”
“We’ll get no help there,” Erick told him. “The Inconnu have already corrupted the officials in this town with promises. Our only chance is to escape.”
“Or die trying,” Blink added.
I think we all could have done without that, Erick told him.
“All we have to do is wait until night,” Marcus told them. “When they come in to feed us, we take out the guard, then move and take out whoever’s left. Places like this won’t have more than two or three watching. We take their weapons, then sneak away to the mountain under the darkness.”
“What if they don’t feed us?”
“Then we’ll have to do something to make them come in here. Or, if it comes down to it, we rush them and run like the Hells.”
“Here,” Elissia said. She tossed the pick back to Marcus. “Now comes the hard part. Waiting.”
Marcus walked over to a lower bunk and lay down. “Might as well sleep while we can.” Corby crawled next to him on the same bed and put his arm around Marcus’s waist. Wondering how Gabrielle would react, Erick found that she had also laid down on one of the hard cots, ignoring the others. It seemed stupid to worry about her emotions at a time like this, but he couldn’t help himself. He turned to Fathen. “Any thoughts?”
Fathen cramped his tall body into the other lower bunk, the wooden bed creaking as he settled. “Pray. And try to rest.” He lay on his back, but Erick noticed he didn’t close his eyes.
Too keyed up to even think about sleeping, Erick paced, rolling numerous questions over in his head, coming no closer to solving any of the mysteries.
“Erick, please sit down,” Elissia said, sitting against the back wall. “You’re making me tired.”
“I’m sorry,” he told her, and sat on the floor. An overwhelming urge to be beside her and hold her close struck him. It seemed all too possible they would die tonight, and he would have no last chance to tell her how much he truly loved her. A chill ran over him as he pictured her on the ground dead, a vision that held the power of premonition.
The unlocked cell doors tempted him. He wanted nothing more than to walk over to her, but he couldn’t. If a guard walked in, he would notice something had changed, ruining any chance of surprise they had. “Elissia, will you let Blink put his arm around you so I can hold you?”
Her face bunched in puzzlement for a moment, then cleared with understanding. “Of course,” she said.
Blink, will you?
Certainly. Blink ambled over and sat beside Elissia. As he placed his arm across her shoulders, Erick released his thought entirely into Blink’s body. He could feel the soft warmth of Elissia’s skin. He curled in on himself as Blink hugged her fiercely and she squeezed back, both caught in the uncertain knowledge that this might be their last embrace.
As they held each other, Erick relaxed; the questions were pushed aside and the worries sublimated into a temporary peace of mind. Comforted, he slept.
Fathen didn’t sleep. He had closed his eyes, but when he did, the face of the young thief from Kalador, his throat slit, floated before him.
“I’m only the beginning,” Calligan said. Blood spilled from his wound every time he opened his mouth. Fathen opened his eyes and stared at the bunk above him. The afterimage took a long time to fade into bare pine.
He closed his eyes again. This time Beatru haunted him, naked, her skin black and charred, the side of her face sliced open.
“You are filled with lies,” she said, voice raspy from her inflamed throat. “There is still hope for you.”
He opened his eyes again and clenched his teeth, willing the phantoms to leave him alone.
He tried once more. Another specter visited him. Four of his acolytes stood there, skin red and blistered, robes burnt, silver necklaces and bracelets melted and seared into their skin. Only Keven was absent.
“This is not what you want,” they said in chorus, four voices as one. “You can flee and be forgiven. Do not do what you are commanded. Let us be the last.”
“Leave me be,” Fathen growled as he opened his eyes. He looked to the others, but they did not turn his way. He returned his stare to the bunk. Wooden, it would burn quickly, just like Draymed had burned. Drops of dried sap, red like the blood from Calligan’s throat, dotted the plank. These visions were tricks, pleas sent by Caros to win him back. He would not heed them.
But he would cry. And he would not close his eyes again.
A loud noise from somewhere outside woke Erick. His head snapped up. Corby and Marcus listened, their faces alert.
“What is it?” he asked as he stood.
“Don’t know,” Marcus answered. In the other cell, only Gabrielle still slept. The others stood and listened, Fathen’s eyes red and swollen.
For a moment no sound came to their straining ears, then a loud crash of crumbling stone reverberated through the building, followed by several eerie growls and loud screeches.
Gabrielle bolted up, almost hitting her head on the top bed, fear in her wide eyes. “What is that?”
“Gateloah,” Erick said. “And they’re attacking.” As if to prove the truth of his words, a loud scream sounded outside the building. Something thick sliced through the air and the shouting stopped. There was a pause, followed by a wet ripping sound.
“That’s not cloth, is it?” Corby asked, his face pale.
“No,” Erick answered.
“How can there be undead?” Marcus asked.
Erick didn’t get a chance to answer, distracted by a commotion in the anteroom. They all listened to the muffled sounds as the outer door slammed open, followed by a hasty discussion, none of which came through clear except the words, “Kill them all.”
“Okay, get ready for anything,” Marcus said.
The inner door slammed open and three soldiers, faces pale but resolved, walked in with unloaded crossbows.
Blink, go!
The homunculus launched into the air almost before Erick had the thought out. He slammed into the cell door, and it flew open, startling the soldiers. One of them dropped his bow. Elissia followed Blink. Marcus rushed through the other door. Blink barbed a guard in the stomach with his tail, while raking across the lightly armored chest with his talons. Blood flowed; the man dropped.
Marcus slipped behind the second guard and buried his foot into the back of the soldier’s knee. The man collapsed as his knees buckled. As the fighter fell, Marcus reached toward the fighter’s belt, retrieved the dagger hanging there, and stabbed the man with his own knife.
Dropping in front of the last guard, Elissia reached under his leather and grabbed his testicles. The guard screamed piteously. As his knees buckled, Elissia stepped back and kicked him in the face. His head snapped back, and he collapsed to the floor.
