by T P Sheehan
“Stop your wailing. Do you think we brought you this far to throw you over a cliff? Make your way down the stairs and keep yourselves quiet, else we’ll find a reason to do just that. Now move!”
As the line of nearly a hundred shuffled against their will to the edge of the cliff, Magnus realised, If these are the Black Cliffs of Ba’rrat, then…
He cast his eyes down over the foreboding expanse of the city of Ba’rrat. It was beyond anything he had ever seen before and was easily twice the size of Guame. The entire city was made of black granite, carved from the cliffs he now stood upon, leaving the cliff face a surface of smooth, shimmering black that cloaked the city in its hulking shadow. Ba’rrat stood at the ocean’s edge as if in defiance of the waves that crashed against a great sea wall made of the same black stone. The city’s outer walls ran for miles around the labyrinth of buildings and streets within. The entire city was covered in a salty ocean mist.
Magnus was pushed firmly in the back, snapping him out of his dream state. He moved in line and followed the other prisoners who were advancing down the stairs carved into the sheer wall. The stairs were narrow and zigzagged their way to the bottom, about five hundred feet below. The coast winds blew hard making progress slow, always threatening to pick them up and throw them down the cliff.
Walt was directly in front of Magnus and the nearest guard was at least ten people away to the front and as many to the rear. “Walt,” Magnus whispered. “How did you get yourself captured?”
“I travelled to the South to help the wounded,” Walt whispered over his shoulder. “They were overrun within days. The North holds strong though. Csilla maintains a strong defence there.”
“Any word of her family? Of Xavier?” Magnus asked.
“I hear Xavier pulled his men back to protect Nuyan. They’ve been able to protect our lands from Nuyan to the quarries in the North. It was his daughter who met with the best of fortunes. What timing—she was taken into the fold of the dragon priests.”
“Aye.” Magnus hid his personal association with Catanya.
“Alas, there has been no sign of the priests or dragons coming to our defence.”
“Aye,” Magnus repeated. He recalled Csilla’s words about the matter. “Things have changed among the dragon realm.”
“If there was ever a time we could use their help, it is now,” Walt added.
Magnus drifted away from the conversation and looked again over the ominous city. He considered his parents and possibly Ganister who were being held captive within its borders. My parents are down there somewhere…
“You see those ships at sea?” Walt continued. Magnus did not really want to continue his conversation with Walt—it seemed every topic they discussed brought bad news. Nevertheless, Magnus cast his eyes over the Neverseas and saw three large ships with billowing sails making their way toward the coast. The huge waves of the impenetrable ocean were merciless—crashing rhythmically over and over again. But there was a narrow strip of ocean where the waves were tame and infrequent. The Southern Gap, Magnus supposed. It was here that the ships could pass safely toward shore and the foreboding black city.
“They’re for us,” Walt explained. “Most of us, anyway.”
“What do you mean?” Magnus asked, reluctant to probe any further.
“I hear slaves fetch a better price beyond the lands of Allumbreve. Those ships will carry many of us to the Otherlands, through the Southern Gap and over the Neverseas.”
Magnus felt a sense of panic. I cannot be made to leave Allumbreve. He needed to get into Ba’rrat and find his parents.
As they progressed their way down the stairs, Magnus spent time looking over the city, knowing it was the one chance he had to evaluate it from above. The streets seemed to span out in all directions from a central axis off-centred slightly to the south, with many narrower lanes interconnecting the streets. Magnus thought the pattern was much like a spider’s web. The streets were lined with densely packed buildings, all made of the same black granite. Unlike Guame, whose buildings were joined with makeshift canopies and stalls, Ba’rrat’s buildings butted up against one another. This city was built to last…
At the axis of the city was a massive, circular structure divided into quadrants with tall towers. Ba’rrat’s arena… as Crugion spoke of, Magnus recalled.
It took over an hour to descend the cliff face. Magnus, all the while, kept an eye on Sarah, six people in front of him. She glanced back at him occasionally, as if checking he was still there. Should I tell her what I’ve learned of Lucas? He did not want to say her son had disappeared and lost his mind, at least not without knowing for certain himself.
The descending stairs ended at a narrow, steel barred gate. The prisoners were made to wait whilst the slower of them came down the stairs, the guards chastising them for their tardiness. Once assembled, the barred gate began to thump and grind and the heavy steel bars ascended, revealing the innards of the city. From within, Magnus could hear the low drone of a horn being blown over and over again. The line of prisoners began to move forward through the gate and into Ba’rrat.
Magnus kept his position in line. As he got closer to the gate he could hear cheering from within the Capitol. It grew louder as he neared the gate. Magnus’s stomach fluttered and his heartbeat quickened. He could hear the cheers accompanied with laughter and jesting snipes backed up by the incessant horn that sounded the same single tone over and over. No sooner had Magnus entered through the gate when an apple hit him square in the face. A crowd of a hundred people were teasing and taunting the new prisoners. The Quagmen who had travelled with them smiled proudly to the people as if bringing Magnus and the other prisoners into the city somehow made them heroes or conquerors.
Magnus wondered where the city folk came from. Were they all Quag clanspeople? Were they outcasts from the North who had taken up residency here? Or had they travelled from over the Neverseas to help conquer the lands of Allumbreve? Aside from those involved in the mockery, the townsfolk appeared to be going about their business much like the people Magnus saw in Guame.
The last of the prisoners entered the city and the gate closed behind them. There’s no escaping now. He took a deep breath. They were led down a straight, cobbled street. It was several metres wide with tall buildings either side. The continuous walls of buildings were broken only by the smallest of windows and locked doors. Occasionally, Magnus caught a glimpse of peering eyes behind drawn curtains or peeping from cracked doors. The road opened into a wide, paved square. The prisoners were instructed to stand across it in single file.
The square was walled in on all sides with buildings. Each corner of the square had a tower with a city guard positioned at the top holding a crossbow pointing to the people below. The uniforms of the city guards were more uniform than battle attire, and each carried just a single longsword. Magnus thought they looked more like hired soldiers than bloodthirsty warriors.
Magnus looked at his companions. Most of them were so exhausted they could barely stand. Some murmured among themselves and the youngest of the children whimpered. Magnus shuffled for position beside Sarah and took her arm, supporting her. She fell onto him, barely able to maintain consciousness. Magnus held her tight, fearful for what the guards may do if they saw her so frail.
By contrast, he still felt as rested and alive as ever. He stood with a deliberate slump so as to blend in. As he held Sarah close he could still feel the heat of the dragon blood course through his veins like molten steel pouring through a long channel. His heart pumped hard, struggling to keep up with the demands of the new, foreign blood that ruled his body. “I give you my blood…” Magnus recalled Thioci saying. He clenched his fists and felt the strength in his forearm, the blood throbbing in his fingers.
The drone of the horn finally ceased and a trumpet sounded in its place. Several horses approached the square. Magnus winced, hoping to all the Gods it was not Crugion, nor Briet, nor any Quagman who may recognise him. It was none of these
, but as four horses rode into view, the leading black horse caught Magnus’s eye—Tameror!
It was Ganister’s Wardemeer—immediately recognisable by the small flash of white that ran diagonally across his nose. Astride him was a large Quag warrior dressed in full armour with a black sword strapped to either side of his saddle—Ganister’s saddle.
Magnus looked into the man’s characteristic deep-set eyes and wondered if he had killed Ganister. The other horses were not warhorses at all and likewise, their riders were not warriors but were overdressed in exotic fabrics, the likes of which Magnus had never seen before. He looked at Sarah, who struggled to remain awake. She was yet to recognise her husband’s horse.
“So this is it then.” The Quagman astride Tameror spoke with a husky, forced voice. “This is all the Fire Realm has to offer in defence of your lands.” He drew one of his swords and reached forward from Tameror’s saddle, pointing it at a prisoner down the line to Magnus’s left. “Tell me, where are your priests? Where are your dragons?” He waited for the prisoner to answer, but they did not. “Have you even called them to your aid?” Still, no answer came. “Then tell me this—do your priests and your dragons even exist?”
A voice called out from the far end of the line. It was the small, squeaky voice of a child. “They exist you horrible man. And when they come they will kill you all!” The guards laughed and the Quagman astride Tameror sheathed his sword and alighted, walked over and kneeled in front of the child.
“Come child,” he held his hand out but the child refused to come forward. “Come!” The child’s mother sobbed as she pushed her son gently toward the warrior. Magnus ground his teeth together once again and squeezed his fists into tight balls. The child walked toward the Quagman. He was no more than six years of age. Magnus looked to the nearest guard, spotting the sword that hung from his left hip. He shifted his weight between his feet. Magnus could see all the other prisoners held their breath, watching the interaction play out. Magnus knew that if the boy were killed, the Quagman would have to face an angry mob.
The Quagman placed one of his gloved hands on the boy’s shoulder. “You are a brave young man, speaking out as you did. It’s a pity your people don’t share your courage. If they did they surely wouldn’t be standing here now.” The guards laughed once again. Then one of the well-dressed horsemen called out.
“Fifty for the boy.”
The Quagman let the boy return to his mother and turned to face the man. “Fifty?”
“I count a dozen children here under the age of ten. I call it five hundred darna for all of them.” Magnus looked at the man in disgust. He was by far the fattest man he had ever seen with a large round head and a long moustache that hung down over his belly, which was covered in yellow silken fabrics. His accent was foreign to Magnus.
“Very well,” the Quagman replied. “A deal is struck.”
The other horsemen started to speak out. They shouted offers of purchase for other prisoners in the line up. One middle-aged man with tanned and tattooed skin dressed as lavishly as the fat man but in his own unique way, took a liking to the women.
“A thousand for the best five women here.” He pointed in turn to the five he preferred. Most of them were no older than Catanya. Magnus was glad she was not there.
Magnus suddenly felt his forearm being gripped tightly as if caught in a vice. He looked down and saw Sarah was holding onto him, white knuckled and shaking. Her eyes were wide and fixed on Tameror. Oh no, she’s seen him. Magnus stroked her hair with his free hand, trying to calm her, but knew it was futile. She lifted herself up and shrugged herself free of Magnus.
“Sarah, no…” Magnus pleaded, but it was to late.
Sarah marched forward toward the large Quagman who stood beside Tameror. The guards did not anticipate such defiance and fumbled for their swords. Sarah moved briskly, hitching her billowing, tattered dress up as she went.
“Where is he? What have you done with him?” she shouted at the Quagman, who was conversing with one of the traders. He looked up to see what the commotion was about.
“Where is my husband?”
The guard nearest Magnus ran at Sarah and kicked her square in the back, sending her toppling forward. Her face slammed into the stone ground at the guard’s feet and she let out a cry of pain. The guard came at her, his sword raised to strike.
Magnus plunged at the guard as hard and fast as he could, throwing his full weight at his back and tackling him to the ground. He seized his fallen sword. The guard lifted himself from the ground and came at Magnus who drove the sword through the guard’s chest, pulling it free again and leaving the guard to fall to his death. Magnus blinked—it had all happened so quickly. He stood over Sarah, ready to face his next opponent. He looked to his left then his right, evaluating the approaching guards and calculating who would reach him first.
Directly behind him was the large Quagman. Magnus spun quickly to face him. His right hand reached for his weapon, but he hesitated for a moment as Magnus threatened with his raised sword. To his left, a guard came upon him clumsily and Magnus moved quickly, allowing the guard’s blow to swing through the air without purchase. Magnus swung his blade across the guard’s neck—much as he had done to the Quagman in the wastelands—killing him instantly.
The next guard came faster and parried several blows with Magnus, drawing blood from his right forearm as it cut deep into his flesh. Magnus grunted as he returned in form, swinging the large blade again and again until he forced the guard off balance. He fell to his back with Magnus driving his borrowed sword into the man’s stomach.
Magnus leapt back to Sarah and stood over her again. The guards in the towers each had their crossbow pointed at him. The large Quagman warrior had not yet drawn his sword but held a raised hand above his head. Magnus knew in an instant he would signal for the tower guards to release their arrows and then he and Sarah would be killed.
I may have time to kill this Quagman, Magnus considered.
“Kill him, Magnus!” Sarah spat and glared at the Quagman through her bloodied face.
“Wait!” a voice called. “Don’t kill him, Daxton.” Magnus glanced to another of the riders in the company—a weathered man of about sixty years with a long silver goatee hanging from his chin and short hair combed stiffly to the front.
“I will make purchase of this boy,” he continued.
“A boy you say,” the Quagman responded. “He’s just killed three of my men!”
“And for that I will pay a thousand darna.”
“I’d pay twice that to see him dead, Carlo.”
“Then you’ll see half the day’s profits wasted.” Carlo alighted from his horse and walked toward Magnus. “Lower your sword,” he said.
Magnus thought only of Sarah, still crouched on the ground beneath him. He kept his sword raised and every muscle in his body as taut as the strings in the crossbows still pointed at him. Carlo looked at Magnus, then to Sarah.
“You are most protective of this woman,” he said. “Who is she to you?”
“My mother,” Magnus answered, hoping somehow it would protect her.
“I will pay fifteen hundred.” Carlo took a step toward Daxton. “No more. For that I will have the woman as well.”
Daxton considered the man’s offer for a moment longer then agreed with a nod.
“Very well. And you…” he pointed to Magnus, “I’ll see you dead in the arena soon.”
The Quagman signalled with a wave for the guards to stand down. Looking to the towers, Magnus saw the men lower their crossbows and the guards beside him sheath their swords. Magnus looked to the man who had bargained for his life—the man named Carlo. He was not at all tall but was of a strong build and presented as a battle-hardened man even though he was dressed well.
“Lower your sword and you’ll both live the day out. Do not, and both your lives will be forfeit.” Magnus did as instructed. The guards promptly seized both him and Sarah, binding their hands with rope.
<
br /> Twice now Magnus had killed Quagmen and both times his life had been spared. He was beginning to think there was value in this practice. As he and Sarah were led away from the other prisoners and the large courtyard, Sarah turned and shouted once again at Daxton who had mounted Tameror again.
“Tell me, did you kill my husband?”
Daxton considered his answer for a moment. “I didn’t need to, woman. Men like him die at your feet without provocation!” He laughed.
Sarah fell into Magnus’s chest, sobbing. Daxton turned back to the business of selling the prisoners. Magnus looked to the others. A few were still looking at him but most were dealing with their own grief now that guards moved in to separate people from their loved ones and children from their parents. Magnus wondered how many would be taken beyond the Neverseas to live the life of slaves far away from their homelands as Walt had said. He caught Walt’s eye for a final time and nodded to him. Walt nodded in return. It was a sign of farewell. They both knew it was the last time they were likely to see one another.
FERUSTIR
Catanya had been sick on and off for three days.
Joffren insisted she continue her training during periods of wellness, but it would always be interrupted with Catanya having to stop to deal with the cruel side effects of Anunya. “It is a process we have all gone through, Semsarian.” Joffren’s words, as usual, did little to encourage her and it was the last thing she wanted to hear when she was in the throes of fever and another episode of vomiting.
“Why is this happening to me?”
“Your body tries to reject the blood of the dragon. It fevers it out like poison in the blood. But it soon yields… it learns it cannot defeat it. It is far too powerful.”
Catanya was not at all impressed. She was certain had she known her training led to this she would have certainly fled. But she did not know at all—none of the priests did prior to their inauguration. Catanya learnt that it was the greatest secret of the priest order. It was the secret to their superiority as warriors.
