Dancing on the Block

by Marina Barinova

  “I think he left with our Tanal,” Yun continued. “And brought her here, to the capital. On the downside, unfortunately, we didn’t cross paths in Ulfiss. I’m hoping to find him in Missolen now.”

  Demos shook his shaggy head of hair, trying to get his thoughts in line. The slippery paws of a migraine were starting to sink their claws in his head.

  Okay, let’s go back to the beginning.

  “Could Sister Tanal have been taken somewhere else?” Demos asked. “Somewhere south?”

  “Maybe. But, in that case, I’d have stayed as far away from the capital as possible, headed south via Nior or Rion.”

  What if she stayed in Eclusum? If she’s still there…

  Demos stretched an arm out to a small chest on the table and pulled out a sack of coins. The spy caught it deftly.

  “My god,” Yun exclaimed, weighing his reward in his hand. “How much is this?”

  Demos looked at the spy wearily, battling the oncoming headache.

  “Fifteen aure, freshly minted. Of course, still with Emperor Margius’ portrait on them.” As long as they don’t start showing up decorated with Ladarius’ profile. “Take the money and as many people as you need, but bring me that Tillius. And most importantly, do it quietly. If the clergy find out, I’m going to say I don’t know you. Got it?”

  The spy turned serious and nodded curtly.

  “As you wish, Your Grace. It’ll be done.”

  “Get to work. And send my best to Master Archella.”

  “Absolutely,” Yun said with a smile. Just like after their previous meeting, he left Demos’ office by way of the window.

  Chapter 33. Ellisdor

  “I’d bet a glass of the good stuff that Elga faints when she figures everything out,” Jert whispered to Artanna with a conspiratorial wink.

  “She won’t faint,” the Vagran replied quietly. She smiled as she imagined the girl’s face. “The people around here are tough. She’ll certainly be surprised, though.”

  Elga’s nag was up ahead, right behind Gregor and Kiver’s horses. The mercenaries were bringing up the rear from a distance so they could talk. Just a few hundred steps separated them from Ellisdor. The sharp outlines of the city hall towers and the jumble of buildings in around the market square could be seen clearly, while the impregnable walls of the castle loomed ominously over the Lower City. Flags and banners snapped in the wind; crowds of citizens rushed to and fro. Elga looked around, taking it all in—it was the first time she’d been to the Highligland capital. Artanna grunted knowingly. It had been the same for her the first time.

  When they arrived at the South Gate, Gregor and Kiver hurried over and exchanged words with the guards. And while the guards expressed some surprise when they saw the duke, discipline quickly kicked in. Enraptured by the city scenery, Elga jumped when Artanna touched her shoulder.

  “Let’s go, they’re letting us in.”

  Gregor turned around.

  “Head to the castle.”

  “But…”

  “It’ll be fine,” he said with a wave. “Keep up.”

  The girl turned in alarm, looking for an explanation from Artanna.

  “It’s fine,” the Vagran said. “He knows what he’s doing. Welcome to Ellisdor.”

  From behind them, Jert muffled laughter. The mercenary woman hushed him.

  “Don’t ruin the moment, idiot!” she hissed through her teeth, though she herself couldn’t hold back a smile.

  It took them a while to make their way through the city. The fair day was going strong, and there was pandemonium on the streets. Finally, the crowds behind them, they found themselves on the bridge leading to the castle gate.

  Gregor, no longer able to help himself, goaded his horse into a gallop.

  The gate opened. The guards welcomed the returning travelers, while, at the same time, the elder’s daughter had no idea what was going on. Elga’s horse was taken by the bridle, and she herself was helped down to the ground. Artanna and Jert handed their reins to the servants.

  Gregor and Kiver hugged the archchancellor, who stepped down into the courtyard to greet them. And finally, remembering himself, Gregor gestured for Elga to come closer.

  “I’d like to introduce you to Baron Aldor,” Voldhard said. “Tell him everything you told me—he’ll hear you out. In the meantime, I’ll have to ask you to excuse me.”

  With a curt nod, he disappeared into the manor house. Aldor looked at the girl.

  “Well, hello there, child. What’s your name?”

  “Elga, Your Grace. You’re really the baron, and you’ll pass my story on to the duke?”

  “Of course. There’s just one thing I don’t understand…”

  “What’s that?”

  “Why should I pass your story on to Lord Gregor when he’s presumably already heard it?”

  The girl stared at him in surprise.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “The person who brought you to Ellisdor was Lord Gregor.”

  Elga froze. Her breath caught in her throat, and a mixture of embarrassment and shock came over her made-up face. With eyes popping and mouth open, she tried to say something, but nothing came out. Artanna jabbed Jert with an elbow as the pair watched the culmination of the duke’s joke.

  “You owe me a drink, Copper.”

  The Ennian sighed heavily.

  “Mistress Artanna!” a bashful voice from behind her said. “It’s…”

  The Vagran spun around, almost knocking the serf standing there off his feet.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Master Shrain is asking for you. He says it’s urgent.”

  “Why didn’t Baby come himself if it was so urgent? Where is he?”

  “Over there,” the servant said, a finger pointing in the direction of the barracks. “It’s important!”

  Without responding, the mercenary woman hurried off. Jert, hearing the alarm in the serf’s voice, followed.

  At the entrance to the barracks, Artanna saw a group of Hundred fighters. The mercenaries looked agitated. Even Belingtor had a frown on his face, somehow having managed to get to the castle before Artanna. And he was smoking, too, which wasn’t a good sign. The last time Cherso had been caught with a pipe in his mouth was when his mother, who he had loved fiercely, died.

  “What happened?” Artanna asked loudly.

  Fester, who was closest to her, stepped to the side to let her past.

  “Over there…” He pointed at the doors and fell sorrowfully silent.

  “What’s gotten into all of you? What’s going on?” Artanna barked, looking around.

  “You need to see for yourself,” Belingtor replied silently as he let out a cloud of smoke. “And hear the story.”

  The mercenary woman cursed, shoved aside the warrior at the door, and rushed into the poorly lit room. A group of fighters with Vezzam at their head were gathered around a cot, accompanied by the castle doctor—Artanna noticed his black mantle. Brother Aristid was there, too, once again showing off his medical skills. And when the Vagran stepped closer, the group parted for her to head through.

  “Val?” Artanna recognized the secretary whose job it had been to carry out her orders in Givoi and turned to Vezzam in confusion. “What’s he doing here?”

  “I brought him,” said a voice off to Artanna’s side. She turned to see Tanor’s squad leader, the last person she was expecting in Ellisdor.

  “Piraf. What are you doing here, damn it?”

  “Quiet!” hissed the monk. “The boy is wounded, and he needs rest. Let him sleep—you all can talk elsewhere.”

  “Yep, let’s talk.” Artanna grabbed Piraf by the collar of his dirty shirt and lifted him to his feet. “Outside.”

  Tanor’s squad leader tried to resist.

  “Easy, I’m hurt, too.”

  “Unless you start moving, I’ll put you in the ground,” the woman barked before giving Piraf a kick that sent him toward the door.

  “Need help?” Jert aske
d.

  “Shut up, Copper. Please,” Artanna shot back over her shoulder as she walked out.

  Shoving the uninvited guest outside, she dragged him to the step of a neighboring porch and pushed him roughly onto the shaky boards. Something snapped under Piraf’s rear end, and he cursed.

  “Talk.”

  “It’s bad in Givoi,” Piraf said, grimacing in pain. It was only then that Artanna noticed his bandaged arm.

  “Details, damn it! What happened? When did you get here?”

  The Vagran crouched in front of him and pulled out her tobacco pouch.

  “Forget Val and me. Your manor was attacked!”

  The Hundred leader paused.

  “What?”

  “What did you hear?” Piraf spat between his legs. “Tanor is dead; the Chironis have control of the city. Givoi is crawling with Gatson mercenaries, the bastards.”

  Artanna stared at him with empty eyes. Something shot through her, and an alarming sense of loss stabbed at her rib. Looking down at her hands, she realized her fingers were shaking so hard that she could barely keep the pipe she’d pulled out from falling onto the ground.

  “Copper!”

  “Yes, Commander?”

  “Get everyone away who doesn’t need to be here. Now.”

  Shrain pulled a flask of the Highliglander good stuff off his belt and handed it to Artanna. With shaking hands, she held it to her lips, though the amber liquid missed and landed on her shirt.

  “Okay,” she said, after she got the first wave of emotions under control, “let’s start at the beginning.”

  Piraf motioned for a drink. Taking a few good swallows, he cleared his throat.

  “What’s to say? You’re one strong chick. You did a number on Tanor—he never got up again. Three days later, he was dead, though some people say the Chironis finished him off. I wasn’t there, so I don’t know what really happened.”

  “I didn’t do that much damage, and Tanor was a tough guy,” Artanna replied, shaking her head. “I wasn’t about to kill him. Anyway, keep going.”

  “The Chironis took charge of the Brotherhood before Tanor was even buried.”

  “To be expected,” Shrain said.

  “Yep. And they were definitely ready—a few days later, and Givoi was full of Gatson mercenaries. How the Chironis made that happened and what they promised them, I don’t know. I had bigger problems trying to save my own skin and clean up the mess.”

  “What did they do to my manor?” Artanna asked quietly. Vezzam saw her jaw tighten.

  “They took it by storm,” Piraf replied gruffly and then coughed. “There were two hundred Gatsons, my squad with them, though we didn’t kill anybody, I swear. Your troops couldn’t fight us off. Anyone who tried was killed, even the servants. Whoever agreed to join the Chironis was left alive. And when your troops realized they didn’t have a chance, they all surrendered. The kid in there, the one the doctors are taking care of, he was one of them. Being literate was the only thing that saved him.”

  The Hundred leader shot Piraf a suspicious glance.

  “They really let Val just leave?”

  Someone held up a burning match. Artanna pulled out her tobacco pouch, but her hands shook so violently that half of her tobacco fell onto the ground. Seeing what was going on, Shrain gently took everything from her, filled her pipe himself, and handed it back to her. She held the flame to the fragrant mix and took a few deep breaths. Unfortunately, the sweet aroma did nothing to calm her nerves.

  She’d known, of course, that that could happen. She’d guessed that the Chironis had hatched a plan. It was just that her debt to Voldhard had ruined everything—and how many lives had already been lost in the fulfillment of her duty?

  “I got the kid out,” Piraf replied as he tracked the Hundred leader’s nervous motions. “A few days later, when everything was dying down a little, the Chironis started cleansing the ranks. You know yourself that I’ve never been on great terms with the Gatsons. The old hands, the ones that were fighting with Tanor back when the Chironis hadn’t yet popped out of their mommies’ belly, they started causing problems. Remember how you took an arrow in the ass for me? Well, that did turn out to be the Chironis. It made sense when they started getting rid of everyone they didn’t like.”

  “So, you had to run from your own people?”

  The mercenary shrugged.

  “Me and my whole squad, otherwise we would have found ourselves in a ditch with our throat slit. And that useless kid joined us. But, as you might imagine, they didn’t just let us go.” Piraf started coughing again. “By the Keeper, there were eleven of us, and Val and I were the only ones to make it out of the ambush. He suggested coming to Ellisdor to find you.”

  “How many of the Hundred were killed?”

  “Almost all of them. Okay, there are still maybe thirty left, the ones who put down their weapons. I’m telling you; it was a slaughter. A real blood bath,” the squad leader said, looking up at the Vagran. “I’m sorry, Artanna. Really.”

  “Damn it!” the Hundred leader burst out. With all her strength, she slammed her fist into the wooden railing, smashing it into pieces. Then, she looked at her hand, counting the splinters. It was bleeding, but she didn’t feel any pain.

  “How many people does Chironi have?” Vezzam asked.

  “Two hundred and fifty. Bunch of rabble, of course, but they’ve done all right so far.”

  “No chance,” Jert said.

  “Obviously,” Artanna shot back. “What are you doing here? Get out!”

  Copper beat a hasty retreat. Piraf, meanwhile, adjusted his dandy, but battered hat. The gilded brooch bought from a jeweler in Givoi had fallen off, and the worn velvet was stained with dirt and grease from the road.

  “And that’s not all the news,” the runaway said, motioning for a drink.

  “Great, go ahead. It couldn’t get any worse.”

  “The Chironis took town hall, and they’re ruling from there. The viceroy is alive, just submitting to the Brotherhood. The entire city is under their control.”

  “And Guiro?” The mercenary woman looked at Piraf apprehensively; the latter lowered his eyes.

  “Dead.”

  The Vagran’s heart dropped into her stomach. Silently, she sank down onto the step next to the squad leader.

  “Shit.”

  “I never would’ve thought the Chironis would be capable of something like this.”

  “That’s the worst part,” Artanna said quietly. “Even I wasn’t able to realize in time how brutal they were. How did it happen?”

  “The manor?”

  “Guiro.”

  “Absurd. When they stormed the town hall, he was wounded by a stray arrow.”

  “Did he suffer?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Curses!” Artanna hissed. “He didn’t deserve that.”

  Pirag dug around in his pocket and pulled out a ring with a rose-colored gem. Artanna recognized it.

  “Here, I took this off the signor when I was sorting out the rags. I was going to sell it, but I had second thoughts.” The squad leader handed the piece of jewelry to Artanna. “I owe you, so here, take this to remember him by.”

  The Hundred leader touched the jewel tenderly.

  “It belongs to me anyway—it was supposed to be my engagement ring. I guess I’m not getting married anymore.”

  “You and Guiro?” the squad leader asked in surprise. “I wouldn’t have thought…”

  Artanna pulled her glove off and slipped the ring onto a finger.

  “Federigo’s been offering for a while, and I kept putting it off. I was going to agree after Ellisdor. And now this.”

  “Damn. I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks for not selling it.”

  For a little while, they sat silently. Artanna stared at a point in space, thoughtfully spinning the ring around on her finger. Finally, Piraf carefully touched her shoulder.

  “I know this isn’t the right time, but…�
��

  “Go ahead.”

  “I don’t have a commander anymore, not to mention people…”

  “You want to join the Hundred?”

  “Do you mind?”

  “You’re in. I never had a problem with you, and as you know, our numbers just took a hit.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Okay, we’ll talk later. I need to go see the duke,” Artanna said as she stood up. “Maybe he’ll be able to help.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Vezzam said quietly. “Lord Gregor could use some help in his own right.”

  Artanna took a few steps and stopped, leaving the barracks behind her. Uncorking the flask Baby had given her, she down it in a gulp. Then, she stood there silently. After finally wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she turned to the Second.

  “Go talk to the master and ask for a memorial service. Many of ours followed the Way, I know, so let’s make sure they’re prayed for. And buy some drinks—today, we remember.”

  “I’ll figure it out with the castellan.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Artanna… If I…”

  “I appreciate it. But right now, I need to be alone. Please.”

  The Second nodded wordlessly and left his commander to herself. Artanna crossed the interior courtyard slowly, wondering how it somehow seemed so crowded. Part of her thinned brigade was on sentry duty. Looking up at the fighters patrolling the castle walls, she could barely hold back tears. What was she going to tell them? How was she going to look them in the eye?

  “My condolences.”

  Artanna turned and saw Jert. The Ennian had an almost mystical ability to creep up unawares.

  “Thanks, Copper.”

  “Can I help with anything?”

  “Ask Baby or Vezzam. They have their orders. For now, please just leave.”

  Jert pulled a bottle out from under his shirt and handed it to the commander before hurriedly leaving her alone.

  Making her way up to the top of the castle wall, she leaned on the parapet, froze, and strained her eyes to peer off into the distance, along the Gatson way as it wound between hills peaked with green.

  Yet again, she wished she had learned to think of the Hundred as just a source of income. But she couldn’t—the whole thing had quickly become personal. Rolf had warned her that something like that might happen. He’d talked to her, advised her not to get too attached. But she hadn’t listened, the way she often didn’t listen to him. It was all her compassionate female heart. Finding and training fighters was one thing; it was far harder for her to get through losing them.