One problem remained—getting inside. The western gate would be latched from the inside, and they would likely notice an attempt to climb unless she could create a diversion. But that would also call the sentries to attention. Stealth required patience. She would wait. It wasn’t cold. No wind stirred, and heat from the spring sun still lingered in the air.
After several hours of watching from behind a pile of dirt, she heard a noise. Horses pulling a carriage. She moved north far enough to see the carriage as it moved toward the compound along the road from Fairmont, illuminated by the northern gate’s exterior torchlight. It was a new carriage with royal markings, flanked by two mounted soldiers on each side. A sentry in a platform behind the north fence shouted something, and a latch disengaged, then the main gate opened. She looked up at the sentry platforms on the western wall—only one sentry maintained his post, facing northward, watching the carriage as it entered. Both of the sentries on the top of the building had also left their posts. Now was her chance.
Gwyn sprinted straight south as far as she dared, as quietly as possible, hoping that the noise of the carriage and the distraction it provided would cover her footfalls. Just as she passed the western gate, she turned eastward, slowing her pace so as not to alert the one remaining sentry. As she approached the wall, she slung the bow over her shoulder and reached as high as she could, jamming a fist between the rough wooden logs that made up the fence. Her forearm screamed, and she grimaced as she sought a place for her foot on the log to launch herself upward. Her other hand found its way into a hold and she alternated hand over hand, cramming her toes between the logs as she made her way toward the top of the fence, her left forearm screaming in protest. It would bleed again, but she could deal with that later.
As she reached the top, she peeked over to survey the interior of the fort. The roof of the tall brick building was still absent its sentries, but a sentry walked along the ground toward his post not thirty feet away from her.
She hung there on the outside of the wall, toes and fists crammed between the upright logs, waiting for a chance to leap over and launch herself onto the nearest small brick building. Her hands were complaining, her forearm was on fire, and even her toes were now begging for release. The sentry climbed the ladder to his post and, upon reaching the top, opened a small pack he dropped onto the platform. He turned slightly away from her, rummaged through his pack, then pulled out what looked like bread and cheese.
Gwyn took that moment to launch herself over the fence, hoping his focus on the food would cover her noise. Her feet landed on a beam that supported the vertical logs, then launched her through the air toward the nearby roof. She landed firmly and performed a forward somersault to disperse the energy of the fall. A moment later, she was on the ground, her back against the south wall of the small brick building, shadows shielding her from the torchlight.
She drew her bow, nocked an arrow, and waited for the man to call out. Nothing happened. She leaned around the side of the building to look up at the platform, but he was still busying himself with something in his pack.
She relaxed the bowstring and replaced the arrow in her quiver, then retreated to the south of the one-story building, staying close the wall to remain in shadow. The sound of a door opening in the distance drew her attention to the south end of the tall building. Two figures emerged in the near-darkness.
“Make it quick,” said a large man carrying a torch, following a smaller figure toward the southwest corner of the compound. A child. They were being kept in the tall building. So, what were the smaller buildings for?
An odor reached her nose—the smell of waste. She followed the figures as they approached an outhouse. The child opened the squeaky door and entered.
The outhouse was mounted on boards that straddled a trench alongside another trench dug in parallel. A field latrine. She’d seen them many times at hastily constructed outposts without septic systems. The latrine would be moved along periodically until they filled the trench with waste, then covered it with dirt. It served as a simple but malodorous way of managing the needs of many soldiers or, in this case, of both soldiers and children.
“Hurry,” said the man. A few moments later, the child came out of the outhouse, heading back toward the large building. The man cuffed the child on the back of the head with his palm, and she yelped in pain. “Next time, go before bedtime, you little rat.”
Gwyn hated bullies. If there was a fight, she hoped to have that one in her sights. Men like these should never have power over children, and they now had many in their clutches. Not only were Yury and his sister inside, but there were others.
Once the man and the child were inside, she maneuvered around the trenches, close to the fence, breathing through her mouth to avoid the stench. Around the south side of the building, she saw a single air intake at ground level and a door with no handle. There were no windows on the bottom story; in fact, there were few windows on the entire structure.
She glanced back and forth for guards, finding none—although a skirmish with a guard might be preferable to hanging out near that awful trench any longer. Skirting the shadows between sources of torchlight, she arrived at an air vent on the large building. It was a metal grate, firmly grouted into the brick wall, serving as ventilation, probably.
Holding there, quiet as a mouse, she heard the voices of two men. She looked to the nearby door. No exterior lock, not even a handle. It must be bolted from inside.
The children probably slumbered inside this building, but she didn't know how to free Yury or his sister. She didn’t even know what Yury’s sister looked like. Anne said to save the boy, and it was clear she’d found the right one. But now what? There would be no breaking into that brick building. She’d have to watch and find another way
Moments later, she was across the yard, up and over the wall, and across the cleared area. A few more visits and she might learn something useful. As long as she wasn’t caught.
15
Money
Nara was reluctant to take part in today’s robbery, although Jahmai had provided a simple and compelling plan.
Accustomed to light clothing and, recently, the absence of footwear, she now marched alongside a large wagon in heavy boots, along with six of their soldiers. More had wanted to come, but this wasn’t to be an all-out assault. Mykel steered four horses that pulled the wagon from the driver’s seat, with a little guidance from Jahmai, while she walked alongside in bulky chainmail that made it difficult to walk without tripping. As if to add to her discomfort, she had agreed to conduct this brazen act in the middle of the day. An illegal act. It was something she had never expected to be part of, but she didn’t know another way of raising funds for a fight against Fairmont. This plan carried the added benefit that it would strike a blow against her enemy’s resources.
The Royal Bank of Junn was a tall, lavishly built stone edifice in the center of the city, surrounded by a series of smaller buildings that made up the financial district. It was now the noon hour in the middle of the week, and bankers, brokers, salesmen, and royal officials scurried about their daily business conducting transactions, meeting clients, and arranging for taxes to be delivered to Fairmont. As they did so, none took notice of the routine passage of a wagon filled with crates as it pulled up to the dock at the bank’s rear, flanked by soldiers. Mykel pulled the reins to stop the horses.
“Ho, there,” said a guard on the dock. He wore the typical garb of a royal soldier of rank and held his hand up in greeting. “Deliveries don’t come till the afternoon—why are you early?”
General Jahmai, dressed in the captain’s regalia from his former station, walked up the steps to greet the man. “Our arrival is timely, good soldier, as we have no intention of making a delivery. We were thinking of making a withdrawal.”
Just then, Mykel grabbed his staff from its hiding place at his feet and leaped more than twenty feet, landing next to the guard, staff brandished in a threatening gesture. The guard pul
led his sword.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Jahmai said. “Last night, that young man took out twenty of my soldiers without breaking a sweat.” Jahmai motioned for the other guards to climb the steps to the dock platform.
“I . . . uh . . . don’t understand,” the guard said. “You’re robbing the Royal Bank of Junn?”
“Yup,” Nara answered as she climbed the stairs, armor clanking as she walked. “My sister has too much money. We will relieve her of it. What’s your name?”
“Dylan,” the guard answered, lowering his blade and stepping back from Nara as she approached within his comfort zone. He was soon backed up against a stone wall with nowhere to go, his sword arm dropping the tip of the blade to the ground.
“Dylan, you look like a smart lad,” Nara said. “We’re able to fight, having brought nine of us. But you have more—am I right?”
He looked scared. This man should have chosen a different profession. “At least a dozen on site, another forty at the garrison down the street.”
More than fifty. Maybe they should have been sneakier. Just then, she turned to see ten guards stream out the back of the bank and form up at the other end of the platform. Drat. Maybe she could scare them into submission. It would be nice to recruit a few of these. If not today, then at some later point. That would be more difficult if Mykel crushed their skulls.
Nara left Dylan and walked straight at the ten guards. She must have looked ridiculous in her sloppy, oversized chain-mail. It was difficult to walk in, and would be even harder to fight in, but it didn’t affect her magic.
“You,” she said, approaching the dozen soldiers with her finger pointed. “We serve a noble purpose but have no desire to kill you. Surrender and live.”
They walked toward her, eyes wide and swords drawn, in a pyramid formation of sorts.
Nara dropped to her knees and placed her hands on the stone platform. She flared the earth rune, and both the platform and nearby stairway to the street rumbled, then collapsed under the soldiers who were about to attack. They dropped to the ground below in a pile of dirt, debris, and bruised limbs.
“Gifted!” one of them shouted. Several of the others ran, with the rest rising to face their foes, albeit from a lower elevation. With one end of the platform crushed, they would have to fight their way through Jahmai and his men to make it to the only remaining stairway if they were to reach Mykel or Nara.
“I warned you,” Nara said, then motioned with her head to Mykel and Jahmai. With Mykel leading the effort, the skirmish lasted only a few moments, and though none were killed, one was unconscious and two more had fled, including Dylan.
As Jahmai and the others tied up the defeated guards, Nara wriggled out of the chain mail with the aid of flared strength. She removed the boots as well, happy to put her bare feet on the cool platform.
She turned to Jahmai. “How long before the rest of them find us? And the forty from the garrison?”
“We’ve made a lot of noise, but it’s midday,” he answered. “I’m hoping they are eating their lunch. We have a few minutes.”
“Shall we?” Mykel asked, nodding to the building’s rear entrance double doors.
As Nara entered the royal bank, followed by the rest of her team, she gaped at the polished marble floors, giant candelabras, and torches that filled the spacious entry lobby with expansive light. Well-dressed patrons and important-looking officials were situated at desks and tables.
“Over here,” Jahmai directed. Nara followed him up a wide stairway without incident.
“And just what do you think you are doing?”
They’d reached the top, and a short, balding man holding a sheaf of papers and a quill stopped in front of Jahmai. “Royal guards and employees only, sir. I don’t care what your military rank is.”
Jahmai knocked the papers out of the man’s grip and pushed him back with a firm hand. Nara would have felt sorry for him, but she thought of how rich these people were while so many others suffered. She was a criminal now, and her sense of right and wrong was in turmoil. What would Anne think of this? Or Bylo? She decided not to care. Given her few options and the recent loss of Sammy, her anger pressed her to strike back in whatever way she could.
“Show us the tax collections,” Jahmai said, prodding the man onward.
They kept walking until they reached the end of a short hallway where two sets of thick metal bars blocked their passage into what appeared to be large vaults.
“Here,” the banker said, pointing to the vault on the right with a shaky finger. “The other vault is for customer accounts.”
“Who has the key?” one soldier asked.
“Mykel does,” Jahmai answered.
With that, Mykel handed Nara the staff and stepped forward. He gripped the bars near the latch on one side, placed his foot on the stone wall, and pulled. As he paused, the sharp intake of breath from some soldiers filled the silence, then the sound of metal bending and a loud pop was followed by the stone wall shattering as the latch and the bars slid to the left.
“I figured it would be easier for everyone if I moved the bars out of the way rather than just bend some to squeeze through,” Mykel said.
“Smart,” Nara said, smiling, then tossed the staff back to Mykel. She turned to look at the men. They were frozen in awe at Mykel’s feat. It would take time for them to get used to the new normal of their lives.
“Stop gawking and work,” Jahmai said to his men as he stormed into the vault.
Nara stepped away from the vault and looked over the balcony into the bank lobby. Few patrons remained, and two guards entered the front doors from the street, presumably the first of those from the garrison down the street. It wouldn’t take long for the rest to follow, she surmised, but they would be too late.
From this height, the earth was harder for her to reach with her magic, and the distance required more energy than usual to direct a wall of rock to block the bottom of the stairwell. It mattered not if the enemy brought forty men or a hundred. They’d have to find another way up, and the robbery would be over by then. Nara and her men would escape out the back of the building via a stone ramp that she would summon in a few moments.
She walked over to the banker-looking man with papers that Jahmai had first confronted. He had since gathered his documents and now sat on a chair at the top of the stairway, watching with wide eyes as they stole Fairmont’s tax revenue.
“What’s your name?” Nara asked.
“Wha-what do you mean?” His stuttering revealed his fear — no doubt over what would happen to him when the Queen learned of the robbery.
“Your name, sir. What is it?”
“Able. Able Wileman.” He adjusted his spectacles and fidgeted with his papers.
“Pleased to meet you, Able. My name is Nara Dall. From Dimmitt.”
“Hel—” He coughed and scratched his balding head. “Hello, Miss Dall.”
“What do you do, here?”
“Manager of accounts.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m a banker, miss.”
“Thought so. How much is in there?” She pointed to the tax vault.
“Um. Twenty thousand, give or take.”
“Gold crowns?” she asked, trying to understand the scale of that much wealth. She’d never even seen a single gold crown. Just iron pennies and copper bits.
“Yes.”
“Queen Kayna is my sister. I’m taking her money. All of it. I will put it to good use. Tell her that.”
“She’ll have my head.”
“Then maybe you should run.”
“I have nowhere to go.”
He probably didn’t. Especially after this. She wondered what his punishment would look like.
“I assume that you are good with figures? Paying people, purchasing things?”
He fidgeted with his papers, distressed and not knowing what to do with himself. “Um, I suppose so.”
Noise from below prompted Nara to
look over the balcony to see several more soldiers as they entered the front of the bank. The first two were now positioning a ladder at the bottom of the stairwell to scale the barrier she had summoned. She turned back to the banker.
“Maybe you can be useful, then. Follow, if you dare.”
He nodded but didn’t move.
“Your choice.” She returned to the tax vault. More than a dozen large sacks, each bulging with coins, now sat on the floor, Mykel standing beside them.
“More soldiers are coming,” she told him. “Time to go.”
Nara went over to the back wall of the bank and placed a hand on the stone. She flared earth and the wall turned to dirt, then flowed like sand, forming a narrow stone ramp to the ground below. She peered over the edge to see the platform, the wagon, and the horses.
“Down we go,” she said and stepped down the ramp to the waiting wagon.
It took only moments for them to toss the empty crates out of the wagon and load the money, soldiers, and one fearful banker. Jahmai spurred the horses into action, and they were on their way.
As they raced through the city streets, Nara looked back at the bank from the crowded bed of the wagon.
Mykel leaned close to her. “Even if they tried to pursue us—”
“They won’t,” she said. “They’re afraid. We’re criminals now. Powerful ones.”
“We had a good reason.”
“Does it matter?” she asked. “It’s still wrong. It’s just not as wrong as what she is doing.”
“Do you regret it?”
“I’m not sure. But Jahmai suggested it, and I couldn’t think of any other way. Maybe I’m not smart enough to lead a revolution.”
Mykel patted her on the back. “I think you’re doing great.”
The wagon bounced hard on a pothole, and she grabbed for a handhold but found a sack of money instead. She opened it, reached inside, and pulled out a handful of tiny metal coins. Gold.
Finding Kai Page 10
