Savants of Humanity (The Scholar's Legacy Book 2)

by Joshua Buller

  The door to the gatehouse loomed ahead, a penultimate challenge to my escape. As long as I didn't run into Farhel immediately, I could figure out some way to slip away unnoticed. There had to be a way.

  Then there was a boom, the roar of some fell beast. Like a cannon shot in a quiet room, it broke the night and halted the city in its tracks.

  “WHERE IS SHE!? WHERE HAS THAT VERMIN CRAWLED TO!?”

  I jumped, my head swiveling to look back at the keep. From where I was, I could just barely make out the top of it, and standing at the apex was a shining speck that had to be Othenidus. By the Almighty, how did he manage to make himself so loud?

  “A PRISONER HAS ESCAPED!” he bellowed. “A YOUNG WOMAN WITH TAN SKIN AND BLACK HAIR! BRING ANY WHO FIT THIS DESCRIPTION TO ME IMMEDIATELY! WHOSOEVER FINDS HER WILL BE PROMOTED ON THE SPOT!”

  Crap.

  I pulled my half helm as low as I could to try and hide my features. The city was already beginning to buzz with excitement as everyone started to examine those nearby, looking for the telltale signs they'd been given. I made a show of examining around, while in reality I was beelining for the gatehouse door as quickly as I could short of a full out sprint. The other citizens were too busy scurrying further into the heart of the city to pay notice to a low-ranking soldier who was probably running some trivial errand. I threw the door open and slipped inside, slamming it shut and putting my lock on it, just to be safe.

  Relieved that I made it, I turned to find a score of guards sitting in the common room. They had frozen in place, and all eyes on me. Maybe they hadn't heard that deafening announcement just now…

  “Looks like we just hit the jackpot, fellas,” said one standing near a weapons rack.

  Double crap.

  A rickety staircase climbed up the inside of the gatehouse just to my left. I lunged for it, but one of the guards standing near it was able to cut me off.

  “Goin' somewhere, love—” he tried to quip. I cut him off with an essence-charged fist across his face. I heard the crack of bone and the clatter of armor as he sailed halfway across the room and into his fellows. I took to the stairs three at a time, trying my best to ignore the drumroll of feet right behind me.

  The second floor was almost as crowded as the ground was, several sets of confused stares meeting me at the top of the stairs. I bolted up the next flight, the footfalls behind me growing louder. A few angry voices floated up after me, but I was already stepping onto the third floor.

  The walls closed in tighter here, only giving enough room for two people to walk abreast. There was no way this was the highest floor of the garrison, but there were no more stairs to climb. I wasn't even sure why I was climbing higher. It was doubtful that I'd find a door leading outside anywhere around here. If I stopped moving, though, everything was over.

  Someone grabbed my arm. I'd paused too long in my indecision. Cursing, I tried to knock him loose, but he pressed close and slipped my arm behind my back in a submission hold.

  “I got her!” the soldier cried triumphantly. The more I struggled, the more my arm twisted and groaned, but I didn't want to give up without a fight.

  “Nice one there, Bax! Hand 'er over, I'll take 'er to Lord Othenidus,” said a soldier behind my captor.

  “What, and let you take the credit? I caught her, she's my prisoner!”

  The two started to argue. Other soldiers showed up and joined the argument, trying to decide if they'd get shared credit for turning me in. When the one holding me made it clear that he wasn't sharing anything with anyone else, the others ganged up to try and wrestle him off me.

  He lost his grip on me as he attempted to push his comrades away. It was all the opening I needed. I shoved him with my shoulder, putting all my weight into it. He might have been able to keep his balance, but the soldiers behind him were still trying to pull him away, and my added push resulted in him tumbling directly into his comrades.

  Still on the stairs, the soldiers had nowhere to move to avoid as they crashed into each other one at a time like a human string of dominoes. I shot down the corridor, hoping that stunt would buy me some time.

  My vision was starting to swim, and all the bruises and strains I'd been collecting the last few days were starting to catch up with me. I was hungry and exhausted. Adrenaline would only get me so far, and I didn't want to think what would happen when it ran out.

  The passageway was filled with bins full of crossbow bolts, spaced evenly next to arrow loops set in the walls. The spacings were wider than others I'd seen, probably to allow cannons to be fired on attackers from the walls as well. Stopping a moment to try and catch my breath, I chanced a glimpse out one of the arrow loops. The countryside sprawled just beyond them, teasing me. I could slip through one of the slits in the wall, but what good would it do if I broke my legs? If only I could use telekinesis to float like Hawke, instead of just locking things.

  An idea sparked in my mind. An idea that made picking locks with my feet look reasonable in comparison. But the other option was to keep going up and hoping for a convenient stairway leading outside. Might as well wish a giant bird to spirit me away, while I was at it.

  I was out of time. If I was going to try, I had to go. If they caught me making my break, I'd be defenseless. With a deep breath to steel myself and make me thinner, I squeezed through the arrow loop and dropped down.

  For a fleeting moment, the open air tried to suck me towards the ground. Even expecting it, I was just barely able to grab the edge of the arrow loop and cling to it for dear life. The sudden stop felt like it was going to rip my arms from my sockets, but I was able to hold my grip. Already I could hear armored footsteps rushing down the hall I'd just been in. They would see my hands soon. I needed to move.

  I pressed my shins against the wall and called my essence, fighting through my growing fatigue. With a sudden snap, they locked to the walls. Quickly, I let go of the lip of the opening and slammed my palms against the wall, locking them in place too. For several seconds I waited, suspended in midair by my power alone. My locks held.

  Then, slowly, I unlocked my right leg and arm and moved it downward as far as I could. Locking them back in place, I did the same with my left side. My heart raced with that intoxicating mix of fear and excitement. I was going to make it. I was going to be alright.

  As much as I wanted to rush, I could hear the guards still searching just above me. Any slight noise might draw their attention over the edge. I forced myself to keep a snail's pace, just creeping down inch by inch.

  Even with my power holding me in place, my arms and legs ached at holding my body up. Bright spots started to float in my vision, and I grew dizzier every time I used my power. Just a little further, I told myself, just a little more. Then you can relax.

  I released the locks to move again, and felt a curious lurch. The castle wall started drifting away from me, and it took a second for my fuzzy thoughts to catch up with what that meant. My energy was spent. I had completely disconnected from the wall.

  The air rushed up past me. A scream welled up in my throat. I was sure I was going to die.

  Before the scream could escape my lips, I landed hard on my back. The impact forced the air from my lungs all at once as a loud grunt. I struggled to draw breath, afraid that I had broken my back. But the fall had been much shorter than I expected. I hadn't made that much distance so quickly, had I?

  Finally managing to suck down a few gulps of air, I gritted my teeth and tried to sit up. I was able to do so with little difficulty, aside from some new aches added to my growing list. My fingers laced through the grass underneath me. I made it. I wanted to laugh and cry and scream all at once.

  A crossbow bolt sprung out of the ground next to me. Snapped out of my joy, I looked up to see a guard pulling his head inside one of the crenellations and shouting something to his comrades. He probably heard my exclamation when I touched down.

  I was dead exhausted, my essence drained and my body pushed to the breaking point, but
I forced myself to stand. My legs wobbled and almost collapsed when I tried to take a step. I heard a twang, and just managed to throw myself to the side as another crossbow quarrel buried into the ground right where I had been standing. They really didn't care if they took me alive anymore.

  Half stumbling and half crawling, I moved as quickly as I could away from the damned city. It wasn't quick enough for my liking. Soon enough, they'd probably send out some riders on horse to collect me up, and I no longer had the strength to stop them. That was, assuming, they didn't kill me from the walls first.

  The cadence of hoofbeats reached my ears, coming straight for me. Their reaction time was better than I had expected. For some reason, though, I only heard the sounds of a single horse. Surely, they weren't sending out just one person to try and take me back? I drew my sword, thinking maybe I could overpower just one attacker and maybe even steal his steed. The hoofbeats stopped, and I heard the horse snort.

  …I knew that snort.

  Afraid to believe it, I looked up. An aging horse with a coffee-colored coat creased with gray looked down on me. There was no rider on its back.

  “Sir Brown Horse?” I said, disbelieving. My faithful companion stamped his hooves a few times and shook his head, sending his mane tumbling about. He looked back towards Val'Hala, then to me, and stamped again. It was like he was urging me to hurry up and climb on.

  He didn't need to tell me twice. Sir Brown Horse had somehow lost his saddle, but I didn't care. I was so desperate to be out of there, I threw myself across his back like a roped-up bandit. No sooner was I on his back, Sir Brown Horse took off at full gallop, outstripping the wind itself.

  A small rain of crossbow bolts chased after us, but Sir Brown Horse outpaced them effortlessly, weaving out of the way of any that strayed too close like he could see out of the back of his head. In spite of my awkward riding form, I clung to his back easily, even as he twisted and turned.

  My horse continued at its breakneck speed, eschewing the main road for a hill that rose about a mile outside the city. As we approached the small but dignified summit, a figure rose from the opposite side, holding a lantern. Her brown hair stirred in the late evening breeze, twisting beside her multi-colored scarves.

  “Excellent work, as expected,” said Chestnut in her usual flat tone. “Truly, you are a knight of great deed.”

  Chapter 24: The Gathering Clouds

  My old friend from the gypsy troupe was well prepared for receiving me in my condition, bringing a fresh change of clothing and some blankets to help me fight off the cold. I hadn't even realized how cold I was until I changed out of my ripped, stained traveling clothes and into the roughspun Chestnut provided. The undyed gray trousers and long-sleeved tunic were a bit baggy, but their warmth was more than welcome. The sturdy leather boots fit better, and my sore feet felt like they wanted to groan in relief.

  Once I was more comfortably clothed, Chestnut helped me onto Sir Brown Horse's back before climbing on behind me. I was unaccustomed to riding without a saddle, and there wasn't even a bridle or reins to hold, but Sir Brown Horse cantered off the hill with such languid ease that I didn't fear for a moment that I'd fall. I knew Chestnut had a gift for working with horses, but I had no idea just how far her power extended.

  She offered me some bread and cheese she had brought along, and I inhaled it without pausing to taste. It felt like it had been years since I had eaten anything.

  “I don't know how you knew I'd escape or that I needed the clothes and food, but I love you for it,” I said around a mouthful of food.

  “Your affection is appreciated, but undue,” said Chestnut. “I was simply on watch on the off-chance you managed to break free. The fact I found you was pleasant happenstance.”

  “How'd you know I was there in the first place?”

  “Hawke told us he had a hunch you were here. We set our patrols keeping that in mind.” She whistled twice sharply. Sir Brown Horse turned and headed around the base of the hill towards the west.

  “Wait, we? Who's 'we'?” I looked around, but my night vision was burned away by the glow of Chestnut's lantern.

  “All of them, of course,” she said. She pointed past my shoulder. That proved unnecessary.

  I didn't need my night vision to see the hundred campfires burning ahead of us.

  For a minute, I thought that Hawke had somehow managed to bring the Damkarein army to bear against Val'Hala while I was captured. I had only been separated from him for maybe four days at most, though; there was no way he would have had time to reach Damkarei and mobilize troops in so little time. Maybe Uraj had moved the forces early, preparing to attack to claim the nullstone. If so, his timing was impeccable.

  But the closer we drew, the more I doubted my assumptions. Hundreds of tents had been erected around the campsite, but they were scattered and disorderly, like they'd been set up in haste. Some stood dozens of feet apart from the rest, while clumps of six or seven huddled close around the fires elsewhere. I also caught the first soft notes of music and laughter, fading through the depths of the night. I couldn't imagine an army setting up in such disarray, and reveling afterwards.

  Then one of the campfires flashed from its usual orange to a gaudy purple. I should have known, especially since Chestnut was the one who picked me up.

  Someone caught sight of us and shouted a jovial “Halloooo!” A gaggle of heads turned to see what the cause for commotion was, along with another half a gaggle peeking out from the tent openings.

  All at once, we were beset from all sides by friendly faces. Chestnut dismounted our mount with a lazy hop, but I was literally dragged off by a horde of hands. I was hustled over towards the nearest fire, unable to see much more than robes and tunics of red and green and yellow, shimmering satin and checkered motley hemming me in all around.

  The mob deposited me on a log that had been converted into a makeshift fireside bench, then retreated like a tide throughout the camp. Only one remained behind, someone who had already been sitting down before I got there. His weathered face crinkled, his smile hidden behind a bushy graying mustache.

  “Mirth!” I cried. I wrapped my arms around his thin shoulders and buried my face in his side for a bit. He chuckled, and he patted me on the back. Such affection after all I had to go through to get here was near enough to move me to tears.

  “I'm glad to see you well and good, child.” Mirth had a way of speaking to everyone like a favorite grandpa. From him, being called child made me feel welcomed and safe.

  “It's good to see you, too,” I said when I finally got my emotions under control. “You look well.”

  In all honesty, he looked more tired than I felt. That didn't surprise me, considering he was the oldest person I knew. His red vest was just barely held onto his bony frame by gold buttons done up to his throat. He had traded his usual satin pants for a pair of thick woolen trousers like the ones I was wearing, kept up by a thick leather belt. His curled moccasins were loose around his ankles. The bronze streaks I remembered in his hair had finally given way to the white that had overtaken the rest of his scalp, and what hair he still owned had thinned since last I saw him. In spite of that, he still managed to hold onto his absurd little ponytail.

  “I thought Chestnut wasn't travelling with you anymore,” I said.

  “She isn't. I brought the troupe here for different reasons. All of us did.” He put a comforting arm around me and smiled. He was trying his best to make me feel better, but I could tell there was something he was hiding.

  I missed my chance to confront him when the gypsies returned to the fireside en masse, their arms laden with goodies for me. Old Edge the knife thrower pushed a small feast of ham, warm bread, and dried apples wrapped up in a sack into my lap. Maggie and Sean, a wife and husband team who specialized in sleight of hand (especially playing with the colors of the campfires) presented me with a trouser and tunic set dyed the green of the deep forest. I didn't even need to try them on, as they managed, somehow, to
redress me while I was sitting and eating. I couldn't even complain, especially considering it was warmer and fit better than the clothes Chestnut had brought.

  What was more appreciated was the hood on the cloak they had draped around my shoulders. A light rain started to fall on the camp shortly after I finished my meal, and I was thankful for the cover over my head. The gypsies rushed to find tarps and cover the fires, before the drizzle turned into a proper deluge, and were just barely able to save our heat sources for the night.

  When I finished eating, Mirth led me into a nearby caravan wagon, one of the many the gypsies used in their regular travels. I could tell it was Mirth's personal wagon from the lack of frivolities. A stout, well-worn bed rested against one corner below a bookshelf bearing only a few tomes on cooking and herblore. A clever designer had made the shelf with an extra wall in the front, making it more boxlike to prevent the books from spilling out on bumpy roads.

  The only other furnishing was a plain-looking trunk that sat nestled in the back, long enough to reach from one side of the wagon to the next. It could have held clothes or children's toys for how simple it looked. I knew well enough what was in there, and try as I might, I couldn't keep my gaze from wandering back to it every so often.

  “Micasa, are you sure you're alright?” said Mirth.

  “Sure. It was bad, but I've been through worse,” I said. He grimaced a bit, but didn't comment on that.

  “Good. I want you to rest here tonight. I'll share a tent with one of the others.”

  “Oh, thanks for thinking of me, but I don't want to put you out,” I said, waving my hand in protest.

  “Think nothing of it. I want you to be well rested when you set out in the morning.”