Payton gave him a wry smile. “You make the story sound so boring.”
“Mom and dad probably made the story up to entertain us as children. It’s just a piece of silk ribbon.”
“You have as much romantic instinct as a flea.”
Her twin shook his head as if to dismiss her. He grabbed the second pack – Payton’s pack – and moved toward her. His green eyes landed on the cuts and bruises. “Why didn’t you say it was that bad?”
“It wasn’t like we could have stopped,” she said quietly, not particularly liking the change of conversation. “And I wasn’t going to bleed to death.”
He snorted as he dug through the bag before triumphantly coming up with the pouch of medical supplies. “You fought with that shoulder?”
“Yes. Next I’ll tap dance on broken glass and sleep on a bed of nails.”
“Creators save me from your stupid wit.” Isiah glanced skyward as though seeking help. He then gestured toward her. “Give me your arm.”
“No way. Your bedside manner sucks.”
“Better than you trying to sew it up yourself. Give it here.” There was no room for discussion this time.
Huffing she held her arm out. “No fair using your guard voice. I don’t have things to pelt at you.”
Isiah ignored her and began to clean the worst of the wounds. She glared at him when he pressed the damp cloth to it a little more gruffly than he could have. She hit him on the bicep with her other hand.
“That hurts, you ass.”
Predictably he was unapologetic. It was only after it was cleaned – new bubbles of red blood beginning to appear – that he hesitated. They both knew what had to be done and they both knew they neither had a numbing agent nor another aloeroot potion to help. She gave him a nod and then looked away, her fingers still moving over the ribbon.
This time she could not stop herself from whimpering when the pain hit her as the needle pierced her skin and he began sewing the wound shut.
“How did it happen?”
She almost didn’t hear him, she was so focused on blocking out everything. “What? The wound?”
“No? Why would I care about how you got a wound?” he snapped irritated. She hissed when he pulled the thread a little too tightly. “How did it happen? With mom.”
Payton felt the color leave her face. “I told you already. You don’t want to know more than that.”
“I asked didn’t I?”
“Isiah…”
“Damn it, Payton!” he said a little too loud. He scanned the camp and lowered his voice: “Tell me!”
Her breath hitched. “A-after the alarm sounded and dad left to go find you and Sam, m-mom… mom and I, we… we waited. Just for a short time to see if dad came back or brought you home or… something.”
“That wasn’t the plan! We made the plan ages ago that you were to get mom out and we would meet you where the Eroth River divides.”
“I know!” Payton clenched her hand around the ribbon. “I… I know but… it’s one thing to make a plan, to say words and think they are going to happen but when you come to the action, to actually do it, to actually decide to leave the city, leave all of you behind… we couldn’t do it.”
“So you risked mom’s life by staying. Then what?” he pressed darkly.
“When the smoke started and the bells clanged across the city, it was clear they breached the walls. I knew we couldn’t stay. She… she knew it too. So we ran.”
Payton would never forget the horror of that feeling. Of forcing herself to walk out the door not knowing if her father and brothers would ever be seen again. Not knowing if she was abandoning them and all her friends to their fate in favor of saving her own life.
“The streets were in chaos. We were nearly trampled a few times. Almost caught a couple more but the path that we plotted was a good one. Few found it once we left the main road.”
Isiah did not say anything, merely tied off the thread when he finished and then moved onto the next cut he had to stitch.
“We made it to the south sewer gate without being spotted. Or so we thought. I was at the bars and mom was freezing them so the metal would contract when…” Whether it was from the memory or the needle, Payton stopped. It took her a moment to find the words again. “They were all around us. Pulled us back and were trying to subdue us when mom fought back. Then it was the gas.”
Isiah’s jaw clenched but he didn’t say a word. He had likely seen the Templars use the gas a number of times already. They had heard rumors of the Templars being able to overtake mages, an idea that had seemed so preposterous before. Nothing but a confused tale from frightened refugees.
But that assumption had been wrong.
That poisonous toxin was horrific to see in action. Her mother had abruptly been cut off from her magic, unable to fight, unable to breathe. That moment when Payton saw the strongest woman she had ever known get reduced to her knees, helpless when the Templars swarmed, would be etched in her mind forever.
“I tried to fight but every time I brought one down there was another to take their place. When they got mom… there was nothing I could do. There were just too many of them. They overpowered me, knocking me over the head hard enough to daze me.”
Payton took a shaking breath but it did not help, did not change the reality of what had happened. What they had all lost.
“Next thing I know I’m being tested for magic and then dragged to the square where… where executions are happening and m-mom is in the lineup. I did everything I could to save her. I swear I did.”
Isiah was quiet for a long time. He finished the last stitch and began packing away the supplies. He finally looked at her, something unreadable in his eyes. “You should have left when it began. Maybe if you did, mom would still be alive.”
Chapter Four
Everyone was exhausted. The food supplies that were in the packs were rationed out over the day and a half it took them to walk to Lindon but blood had soaked through and sullied a whole portion of it leaving things thinly divided. Hunting in the wilds and fishing in the Eroth River as they went was difficult without a bow or rod but they managed well enough – though they could hardly say the meals were filling.
Worse still, the entire trip had not shaken the feeling that her brothers and father blamed her for not saving her mother. Everything between them had hovered in an uncomfortable tension and state of silence.
While the other members of their group would converse with each other and draw Isiah, Samuel, or even herself into a conversation, whenever Payton tried to talk with her brothers, it was decidedly different. Isiah would shift into a brooding silence, a look almost akin to a scowl on his face. Samuel was different, he would make an effort, a small pitiful one, with short soft answers, a heavy sorrow written deep on his face, until their conversation tapered off into nothing. Their father was the worst, however, for he had barely spoken a word to anyone. He would sit by himself, staring off into the distance, a heartbroken man. Whenever she tried to approach him he would withdraw from her, go help one of the others or pretend he had a duty to attend to. It hurt and left her feeling lonely, ostracized, and left that little voice chanting in the back of her mind.
Your fault. Too late.
Needless to say, Payton felt a large amount of relief when they spotted the river city of Lindon. The sounds of the town washed over them in an almost pleasant din. So different from the horrors they had left.
“Why don’t the rest of you head to the inn? Get a hot meal and a place to stay,” Isiah suggested as they passed the first of the buildings. “I want to track down the city guard to talk with them about what happened. They must have heard news of Aodhan by now.”
“I’ll come with you,” Payton volunteered, anxious to know whether the entirety of Aodhan had been destroyed and how many might have made it out alive.
Her brother narrowed his gaze at her but did not object. Instead, he turned to Samuel who appeared a little put out that he would n
ot be accompanying Isiah to get the news first hand. “We haven’t got much coin to spare so try to barter a deal,” Isiah said quietly. What they had packed as emergency funds had never intended to be lived off of or divided among quite this many people but neither could they turn their backs on them.
“I’m not an idiot.” Samuel took the offered bag from Payton when it was clear their father was still experiencing the thousand-yard stare. The siblings exchanged a glance but knew now was not the time to speak on it. “Alright you lot, we’ve got an inn to find. First one to spot it gets a shot of whiskey on me.”
Payton snorted, whether it was at Samuel’s way to encourage the others to do something other than drag their feet as they entered the town, the sudden pep in their steps, or Isiah’s exasperation she wasn’t sure she cared.
“Let’s go,” Isiah ordered, marching forward, aiming toward the first person he saw on the street – who happened to be a merchant selling is wares out of a cart. “Excuse me, where might I find the city guard?”
“The what?” he barked in annoyance.
“The person in charge of law around here,” Payton helpfully supplied.
“Ah.” The man focused on her, much to Isiah’s consternation. “That’d be the Marshal. He and the Watchmen have a post down along the river. Just head south. It’s right before you hit the docks. Stone building, can’t miss it.”
“Thank you.” She flashed him a smile which he returned, dipping his head in acknowledgement.
Isiah mumbled his own thanks before heading in the indicated direction. Sullenly. “He didn’t have to act like I was an idiot.”
“Come off it,” she nudged him, “mom and dad have taken us to small boroughs like this before. They’re very insular. You’re expected to know everything or not be dumb enough to ask.”
“You got away with it,” he remarked sullenly.
“I’m cuter.”
Isiah made a face and kept walking.
They passed stone and wooden buildings, intermingled with each other without rhyme or reason. Payton theorized the town simply kept adding to itself as time went on and the place became more popular. Even so, Lindon was not a very large place, despite being a stop on the river passage from the Sylielle Sea. They made it to the docks in no time and found the only building that could match the description of “stone building you can’t miss” because everything else around it was made of aged and weather-worn wood.
It was built with grey stones though there were brown and black ones scattered within the rock face like someone had replaced missing or broken pieces with whatever was handy. Two windows were visible and a single door made of heavy oak. Beyond that, the entire building was completely unremarkable. Absolutely nothing to indicate what it was.
The inside, at the very least, gave some semblance of hope the Marshal was more than just a glorified title. In the far corner of the room were two empty cells, on the wall was an array of weapons – mostly swords but one impressive axe glinted in the waning afternoon light that shone in from the window –, the rest of the space appeared to be taken up with shelves of books and knickknacks. At the opposite wall of the jails and facing them was a desk where a man clad in leather armor sat. He looked up at them when they walked in, all but one of his dreadlocks pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, that lone one had escaped was hanging in his face over his left eye.
“Can I help you?”
“My name is Guardsman Isiah Clark. I come from—”
“Aodhan,” the man supplied.
“You’ve heard about what happened?” Payton asked, watching him lean back in his chair.
“Aye. A number of your citizens fled here. Been a right mess sorting it all out, to be honest, but given the circumstances it’s understandable,” he said slowly. “I’m Marshal Hill. I reckon you were hoping for some news about your home?”
“Has anything been heard?” Payton felt Isiah shift next to her, irritated that she took the question before he did.
The Marshal nodded. “Word came by post this morning. I’m afraid the news isn’t good.”
The sound of the door opening behind them caused the conversation to halt. And then for Isiah’s jaw to drop at the sight of the man who entered. It took a moment for Payton to place why she recognized the round-faced brunet dressed in an Aodhan guards’ uniform.
“Lieutenant Peters?” Isiah said in surprise.
The man appeared fairly startled and then uncomfortable when he placed who was in front of him. “Ah… Clark. I see you made it out of Aodhan in one piece.” Somehow the way he said it did not seem like a compliment.
“Very nearly didn’t… sir.” The title was clearly added as an afterthought, unwanted and disliked. “To be honest, I did not believe any of the superior officers had survived the first two skirmishes of the siege.”
Peters frowned at him, his expression souring. “I was lucky.”
The Marshal cleared his throat awkwardly. “Perhaps I ought to leave you to speak. Your Lieutenant can fill you in on all that we’ve learned.” Grabbing a set of papers and a ledger, he headed toward the door only to pause. “I truly am sorry.” And with that, he ducked out.
“What does that mean?” Isiah demanded.
The Lieutenant waved his hand dismissively, moving forward and circling the desk. “The city stands. For the most part. There is damage of course but it’s fixable. And the Templars have plans to move on from the city very soon.”
“Have plans?” Payton repeated. “So the city is still occupied?”
“Yes, yes, for now.” Again he was overly cavalier about it. “The battles are over, the killings have stopped. Soon we can put this… unpleasantness behind us.”
Now it was Payton’s turn for her jaw to drop. “That’s all this was to you? Unpleasantness. Like you ate bad cheese at a party. This was a declaration of war, not a misunderstanding that can be brushed aside with a few apologies and rebuilt homes. People are dead!” She could hardly keep herself from shouting. Raised voices would not help get her point across – but it might help her vent her frustration. So would hitting him. Both probably not good ideas.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” he scoffed. “This is hardly war. It was simply a tantrum by some unruly citizens that think they are not being heard. The situation will be resolved.”
“The city was in ashes when we left! People were being murdered! And you have the nerve to say I’m being dramatic?!” She shook her head in disbelief. “How will the situation be resolved? How will the city be taken back from the Templars? Or are you just going to hide here until they move onto the next city or town, continuing their path of death and destruction that you simply think is “unpleasant”.”
The Lieutenant scowled. “You have no right to be demanding answers from me. You may have been granted leniencies from the Commanders because you occasionally helped with training but I’m the senior officer now and I will not tolerate your… disrespect!”
“Fuck you!” Payton took a step toward him. “You were meant to protect the city and its citizens. Do you know how many people they slaughtered? Do you know that they lined children up alongside everyone else because to them a mage is a mage!”
“I don’t appreciate your tone,” the Lieutenant said narrowing his gray eyes.
“And I don’t appreciate stupidity and cowardice from someone who was supposed to protect us. I guess we both are disappointed.”
Isiah groaned behind her, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.
Peters let out a sound that was close to a growl. “I have no need to defend myself to you! I have duties I need to attend to. Be gone from here!”
“And where were you when your duty called? Were you even in the city when they attacked or had you fled at the first sign of their banner marching on it?” Payton challenged. “My brothers were fighting to protect it. They were helping people escape. Sam risked his life over and over to save others like him. So where were you?”
“I will not be
spoken to like this!”
“Because you don’t want to admit that you agree with the Templars and therefore sat back and let a band of brutes round up innocent people and execute them while declaring it righteous? Or because you don’t want to admit that you abandoned your duty and ran at the first sign of trouble?”
“I could arrest you for such slander.”
“I’d like to see you try,” she spat.
“Enough.” Isiah pushed her back, shooting her a frustrated look. “Aodhan needs every able body if we are to recover from this tragedy.”
The Lieutenant harrumphed and averted his gaze.
“Have you written the Caliph?” Isiah attempted to redirect the conversation.
“Our esteemed Monarch does not believe the Templars pose a serious enough threat to mobilize—” the Lieutenant started to explain in a snooty voice.
“A serious threat? They’ve sacked three cities! Four including ours! Creators only know how many of the towns they’ve hit along the way.” Isiah said in disbelief, unable to stop himself. “We’ve been getting refugees from them for the last two months. Hearing stories of the Templars’ spread, of their carnage. We all knew they were coming! How is that not a serious threat!”
“The Caliph will not bring this country into war when a compromise can be reached.”
“Compromise?” Isiah repeated. “What dragon shit did you feed the Caliph? This country is already at war!”
“A few dozen lives lost does not count as a war. It’s barely even a siege or a battle, boy,” the Lieutenant simpered. “These Templars are crude and harsh but the Caliph refuses to send good men and women into battle when she believes peace can still be reached.”
“And those lives mean nothing?” Payton demanded.
“A pitiable loss but not worth war.”
Silence. There was nothing but silence between the three of them. After the heated argument of mere seconds ago, the silence seemed unnatural and strange.
Shattered Page 3
