Daughter of War

by Brendan Wright

  Elana led the slaves as quickly as she could, not paying attention to the direction, only to the soldiers above. They drew closer every second. She looked in every direction as she ran, and every direction seemed hopeless; the soldiers were everywhere.

  "We're going to have to fight!" she shouted back to the slaves, "be ready to attack!"

  Her voice sounded too quiet in her own ears, barely audible above the deep rumble of thousands of sprinting slaves; but she heard them pick up the call, shouting it down the tunnel so everyone would hear. They had no weapons, or armour. But there were so many of them, and the tunnels were dark, and there would only be so many soldiers that could face them at one time in the limited space below Ermoor.

  The tunnel kept going straight, but in a corridor that branched off to the right, she saw a group of bright, strong auras gathered. The group was growing every few seconds as more soldiers lowered themselves into the tunnel. She saw them looking around, uncertain and confused at the immense sound of the running Tyrans. Echoes made it impossible for the soldiers to tell where Elana and the slaves were coming from. She rushed around the corner, feeling the ground quake as the Tyrans followed. It took a few seconds for the soldiers to see them in the darkness.

  "Halt, slaves!" one soldier said. Disgust was plain in his voice. "Get back to your work, or die."

  Then Elana was on top of them. She slashed the head off the closest Ermoori, the one who'd spoken, then leapt over them and into the small group. She heard the slaves reach their captors and the sounds of battle raged through the darkness. Gunshots exploded. There were screams, and cries, and grunts. Glancing over at the slaves, she saw them fighting more brutally than any Shenza warrior she'd seen.

  They were bloodthirsty, ripping soldier's throats out with their bare hands, biting, clawing and scratching like wild animals. She killed another three soldiers, then heard gunshots booming deeper in the tunnels. She glanced over where she'd come from, and saw the slaves milling there looking towards the back of the crowd; Ermoori soldiers had surrounded and closed in on them. As she looked, soldiers rushed in from the other side of the same corridor they'd come from; the direction she would have led them in if not for the group they were fighting now.

  They crashed into the slaves, firing their guns as quickly as they could and bashing with their armoured fists when they could reach. Just in time, she glanced around and saw more soldiers come from the other side of the corridor they'd turned into.

  "You cannot stand against the might of Ermoor!" a voice boomed through the tunnels, seemingly from everywhere, "Surrender now or die!"

  The slaves reacted to the voice the same way they'd reacted when she spoke. Their hesitation was devastating; the Ermoori soldiers didn't stop attacking, and in those few seconds Elana saw the battle turn. One soldier threw what looked like a fist-sized stone into the crowded tunnel where the slaves were tightly packed. A massive explosion rippled through the crowd, ripping dozens of Tyrans to pieces in an instant and spreading flames through dozens more.

  Elana had seen the devices before, and knew all too well how deadly they could be. On the north shore of Shanaken, in the open air of the beach, they were brutal. But in a tightly packed tunnel, the death and destruction it caused was nothing short of terrifying. Another explosion went off further down the tunnel, and the slaves broke. They stopped fighting and raised their hands, even the ones close to the soldiers.

  They stayed that way while the soldiers kept killing them, until finally orders were shouted down the tunnels to cease fire. An eerie, awful silence settled into the dark. The smell of blood, smoke and death filled the tunnels. Elana couldn't surrender; regardless of what they did with the slaves from this point, if they captured her they'd torture any information they could out of her and then kill her. She had done all she could. Hopefully it would be enough to slow Ermoor down.

  She was surrounded, from above as well as within the tunnels. Tracing the spell to wrap herself in Shadow, she rushed through the crowd of soldiers, sheathing her sword and hoping no one would notice her.

  Bustled but otherwise unbothered by the soldiers, she kept a fast pace. She heard grunts, confused shouts and insults follow her as a blurred orange shape shoved Ermoori guards who were simply trying to join the action up ahead. They barely noticed her, assuming one of their brethren had accidentally shoved them. Her wrist was grabbed briefly and her run stopped short, a confused and outraged Ermoori attempting to take revenge for being shoved; but she twisted free and pushed through the crowd again, until the soldier who'd caught her couldn't possibly have followed.

  As she'd hoped, with the slaves escaped, Tyra itself was almost empty. She ran into a pair of soldiers and killed them before they realised she wasn't one of their own. One of them managed to fire his weapon before he died, missing her but announcing her presence to any other soldiers that might be nearby. She cursed. She'd had an idea when it occurred to her to come back to the guard corridors; if it was empty, she may be able to sabotage the wheels before all the slaves were herded back to Tyra. That way even with their slaves back under control, they wouldn't be able to use them for whatever the wheels did.

  If she rushed, she might make it. If even just one or two of the wheels could be sabotaged, she'd be slowing Ermoor down. She sprinted down the corridors, and just as she approached the control room into Tyra, another slave crept out of the doorway, terrified and confused. A woman, though she couldn't tell how old.

  "No! You're too late!" she screamed, as her heart fell; saving this slave meant she wouldn't have time to enter Tyra at all.

  But she had to save the woman. She had to save at least one, even if the rest of them had surrendered. She snatched the slave up without breaking stride, and bolted down the corridor. She ran for the nearest entrance to the surface, but the woman suddenly screamed and kicked, and Elana lost her grip.

  As soon as the woman landed on the floor she was back up on her feet, sprinting away. A door opened and a group of soldiers spilled into the corridor, seeing the slave almost immediately and running at her. The Tyran tripped and smashed to the floor, screaming as the guards descended upon her, kicking and hitting her.

  "Please, save me!" She choked as she was beaten.

  Elana leapt at the soldiers, slicing through skin, bone and armour with renewed fury; her chance to save one Tyran slave would not be wasted. They died in seconds, and it took the woman a moment to realise she was safe again. She glanced around herself, baffled at the sudden death that filled the corridor. Then her eyes found Elana, and her terror came back.

  "No," she said. "No, no, no!" and ran away from Elana again.

  She gave chase, catching up to the woman quickly. She grabbed the slave again, now prepared for any fight she might get.

  "Please," The woman said again, "please save me!"

  "I am," Elana said.

  She sprinted back into the tunnels under Ermoor, now past the guard's corridors. She ran as far as she could, away from the massive crowd of Tyrans and soldiers, until she couldn't possibly be underneath Dreadhold any more. When she reached one of the upwards tunnels that led to the surface, she grabbed the ladder and climbed as quickly as she could, pulling strength and speed from the Kaizuun in her hand. The woman was draped over her shoulder now, and had stopped putting up a fight.

  She launched out of the hole, punching the metal covering away with a wave of Shadow Magic. She landed, painfully, but kept her focus on saving the Tyran. She glanced around, not sure where to go, where to leave the slave that would be safe. The street above Then she saw a familiar aura; gentle, kind and innocent, hunched against a wall a couple streets over; the girl, the one who was married to Riffolk Hayne. She was perhaps the only truly good person in all of Ermoor. Unable to believe her luck, she rushed towards the young girl. The slave might be safe after all.

  Mara

  Mathys spoke to her gently, the terrifying face mask of the Spectre sitting in his lap and his voice back to normal. He told her everyth
ing. The history of the Spectre, or as much of it as he knew. His own role in the security of Ermoor, beyond the obvious responsibilities as Commander. He showed her the armour, the weapons, the mask. Then, shocking her most of all, he offered to train her.

  "Train me?"

  "I'm not old, Mara. But I will be before too long. The Spectre must live on. There are more important things than stopping street thugs at stake here. The Twelve Crowns are dead, and Riffolk has taken their place. I think the time is coming when Ermoor will need the Spectre to fight for justice again."

  She sat in silence for a moment, staring uneasily at the face mask.

  "The Twelve are dead?"

  "Yes. He killed them all."

  The events of the past few days, or weeks, she couldn't tell, blurred in her mind until nothing made any sense. The only thing that felt real to her was the magic she felt in her body, and even that didn't totally make sense to her.

  "So you'll train me to do... what you can do?"

  "Yes."

  He'd appeared in front of her. The hallway was tiny, cramped, and he'd been behind her, way behind. It had to be magic, simply had to be.

  "Why didn't you believe me about anything I said when you can use magic too?"

  Mathys recoiled as though she'd suddenly shouted, his brows furrowed.

  "Magic? I don't use magic, Mara. Only training, and the right tools."

  She shook her head.

  "No, that's impossible. There's no way you could have gotten past me in that hallway without some kind of magic."

  "I'll show you what I know, and eventually you'll understand. But from now on, you have to stay down here."

  Down here. She thought she was in Mathys' home. Suddenly the too-long, too-high hallways made sense. Underground.

  "Where are we?"

  "It's best if you don't know. When you're ready, I'll tell you. But for now, you'll stay down here, and you'll train."

  Mara was far stronger than when she'd started training, even if that was only a few weeks ago. Mathys was incredible; he knew everything there was to know about combat, stealth, and the massive assortment of gadgets and weapons he kept.

  The training was brutal, but she kept up as best she could, the image of Riffolk walking through the exploded bedroom door pushing her to work harder. The image of Pera's mangled corpse still haunted her dreams every night, and she often woke up screaming. Pushing herself to the absolute limit and beyond meant that when she slept, she was exhausted enough that no dreams came. Feeling her strength grow helped her feel like she wasn't so helpless.

  Every day Mathys showed her new things; a new fighting technique, a new weapon, a new defensive move. He wasn't gentle, but he was careful; she went to bed covered in bruises, but with no lasting damage. At his instruction, she never used her magic during their training, but she did practice on her own each night, in a safe room he'd set up for her.

  The training was so intense, she'd been sick several times. She didn't tell Mathys, just pushed on. He left their safe-house every night, disappearing for a while wearing the armour of the Spectre. Other than that, they spent all their time together training.

  The Spectre of Ermoor held so much less fear for her after Mathys showed her how everything worked. Her fear of it never totally vanished, however; stories of it had been told for as far back as she could remember, and it was difficult to let go of a lifetime of pent up fear and nightmares. Every time she saw Mathys in the suit, her heart skipped a beat, and a cold wave of uneasy fear rolled down her spine.

  He was fitting a second set of armour and a new cloak for her. It was taking a while; he hadn't built the original suit of course, and he was no Riffolk Hayne when it came to designing and building things. In the meantime, she wore simple, comfortable clothes made from a lightweight fabric. Pants, and a long sleeved tunic. Pants. The idea had horrified her at first; no lady in Ermoor would ever wear pants. But after the first few training sessions, she settled into them. After a while, she forgot what it felt like to wear a dress.

  Every morning, still, she was sick. She realised it wasn't the training when her stomach became rounder and she felt a heaviness there. Mathys noticed too, when she was late to training after a particularly bad bout of sickness.

  "You're late."

  "Yes, I'm sorry."

  "Where were you?"

  "I'm – I wasn't..."

  Her stomach had cramped again, she winced, and he rushed to her side. Out of concern, or habit, he placed his hand next to hers on her stomach. He pulled away as soon as he felt the bump, making a low strangled sound.

  "You're... Mara, you're pregnant!"

  She looked up at him, tears in her eyes.

  "We can't let him find out."

  Mathys

  Through his career, Mathys had built a network of trustworthy contacts, who could each provide him with either information or resources that were otherwise completely unavailable to Ermoor. Most of them lived in the poor districts, though they were anything but poor. After donning a black coat and a fake beard, Mathys ventured into the depths of the city's filth.

  The Copper Dragon was a pub on the southern edge of the southernmost district, Ravenmire, almost right on the water's edge. It was the oldest pub in Ermoor, built in 712, over a thousand years ago. While it was being built, the workers had allegedly seen an actual dragon in the distance, shining with flame and flying above the sea. With the sun beating down on them, reflecting off the mythical beast's back, it took on a copper glow, and the pub was named that day.

  Isobel Bennett, the owner, spent most of her time in the office at the back of the building. Women were not permitted to own businesses or property in Ermoor, but no one would have dared take the Copper Dragon from Isobel. She was the eldest surviving child in the Bennett family, and her ancestors had built the pub themselves; it had never been owned by another family. When her older brother, Silas, was killed in a brawl a few years before, Isobel took over.

  The first thing she'd done as the new owner was track down the men who'd murdered her brother. She maintained that she'd never touched them herself; but they were never seen again. Mathys had been friends with the Bennett family for twenty years. Isobel's father, Jothan, was a military man, and served with Mathys for five years after they first met. He would have risen to Commander himself if he hadn't been badly wounded in Shanaken and honourably discharged with a medal of bravery. Instead, he retired early and took over the Dragon from his younger brother Alden.

  Jothan died a few years after retiring from the military; his wounds were more serious than he'd thought. His younger brother Alden left Ermoor shortly after, leaving Silas and Isobel to run the Dragon. Mathys had never liked Silas, though he'd never admitted it to Isobel, and would take it to his grave now that the man was dead.

  He walked through the Dragon's door, flinching from the squeal of the hinges as he always did. This time of night, there were enough people that he could visit unnoticed, and he moved through the crowded main room to a booth at the back. As he passed the bar, he winked to the barman, who'd been working there almost as long as Mathys had been a customer; his usual order would be on the booth's table within moments.

  As he sat, the back door opened, and Isobel sat in the booth facing him. She was always watching, always aware of what was happening in her pub.

  "'Lo, old man," she said.

  "Isobel."

  "Don't suppose you took care of business?"

  "You know I never keep you waiting."

  She smiled, sliding a bag of coin to his side of the table. He shook his head and slid it back.

  "Not this time."

  "Ah," she said, her eyes dancing, "time for a favour?"

  "Yes."

  She sighed heavily, but her eyes kept dancing, and a smirk twisted her lips as she leaned back in the comfortable booth. The barman brought Mathys' drink, a bright blue Tarsi liquor called the Jewel of Tarsium. It was sweet and refreshing, with an exotic flavour unique to ingredients grown
in Tarsium.

  "What could a man like you possibly need from me?" Isobel said.

  "I need to leave the city. As soon as possible."

  "Mm, I heard the news. Lord Commander's not a fan of you, eh? How much cargo are you bringing with you?"

  "All of it - everything you can manage. This is long-term."

  The good humour vanished from her face as though he'd slapped her.

  "What's happening?"

  "It's... not something I can talk about. Listen. There's one more thing, Isobel."

  "This isn't a small favour, old man," she said.

  "I know."

  "What's this one more thing then?"

  He swirled the tumbler in his hand, watching the ice cubes and small lime wedge spin as the light caught the bright liquid. The blue glowed under any light source, glinting and sparkling as though it were an actual jewel. Finally, after another long sip, he raised his eyes to Isobel's again.

  "There's a girl. I need to bring her with me."

  "Oh, so it's a honeymoon, eh? Why didn't you say?"

  "No, no. It's not like that. She's young, she's in danger, and she's... pregnant."

  "Shit, Mathys!"

  "Shh!"

  "Damn, old man, what've you got yourself into?"

  "It's not like that, Isobel. And don't say that name here, you know that."

  "Sorry, I just—I mean, how'd you expect me to react?"

  "I didn't think you'd immediately assume the child was mine!" he gestured as if thoughtlessly shooing a fly and moved on. "Can you help me?"

  "Of course."

  "we'll need to disappear for a while before we actually leave. We're going to be pursued, and if the pursuers think we've already left and leave before us, that gives us time to plan and think."