Macks nodded vigorously. “Like a horse, I guess, but … all wrong. Too many legs, for one thing.”
Tharadis took the man’s hand and shook it firmly. “Thank you telling us this. I know you must have feared for your life. If I find a way to repay you for it someday, I will. I promise.”
“I’ll … hold you to that,” Macks said, bewildered, before dipping his head and ducking out between the other Sentinels with a final glance back at Tharadis.
Rannald frowned once the merchant was out of earshot. “What was that about?”
Tharadis had one hand tucked under an elbow, his other hand stroking his chin thoughtfully. “This changes things,” he said, not really answering Rannald’s question. “Shad brought the sheggam. She—no, the sheggam—built the Runeway. The sheggam is heading south. For Naruvieth.” His hand dropped from his chin, limp. “No. For the Rift.” He turned, continued walking west at a brisk pace.
“Wait, Tharadis! How do you figure that?”
“It doesn’t matter. We ride for the Rift.”
Rannald jogged to keep pace. “To do what, exactly?”
“Hey!” cried a boy’s voice.
A dozen swords whispered free of their sheaths in a heartbeat, Tharadis’s stunning blue blade among them. All of them were pointed at a small boy. Likely Naruvian, as he was a little darker than most Accord people, but he wore a tattered vest and short trousers like a Garoshmiri street boy. He was crouched on top of a large earthenware jar tucked away in a dark nook in the alley. The nook’s shadow was dark, but … there was no way he could have been sitting there without them noticing. He wasn’t a dozen steps from where Macks had talked to them, and not two steps from the Sentinels in the lead. Yet, judging by their wide-eyed expressions, they were just as surprised at his appearance as Rannald.
Rannald had reached for his hilt, too, but grabbed only air. He had forgotten that he had relinquished his sword after his brief duel. He growled in annoyance at himself. “What are you doing here, boy?”
The boy was grinning ear to ear, perched like a bird, and took a bite of an apple he was holding. He couldn’t have been more than twelve years old. With his mouth full, he said, “You’re the Warden, aren’t you? Tharadis, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “The name’s Chad. We’ve been looking all over for you.”
Tharadis sheathed his sword. “We?”
Chad nodded, taking another bite. He slid off the jar and stood. “Me and Nina.”
Tharadis stared at him wide-eyed. “Nina’s here? In Garoshmir?”
“Yeah.” Chad grinned. “Thanks to me, we got out of Falconkeep.”
Rannald snorted in disbelief. Chad raised an eyebrow at him in reply. “You don’t believe me? It was almost as easy as slipping in the middle of a bunch of stiff-as-sticks soldiers.” His grin was unnerving.
Tharadis grabbed the boy by the shoulders. “Chad, look at me. Is she okay? Where is she now? Is she nearby?”
The boy looked somewhat ashamed. “Told her to stay put, that I would find you. She was hurt—not bad, just a cut, but she needed help. I tried looking for a little while, but when I went back, she’d taken off on her own. I figured if I kept looking for you, I’d have a better chance of finding her.”
“Can you help me find her, Chad?”
The boy looked ready to object, as if stubbornness were in an inborn trait. But then something changed in his gaze. It was an emotion Rannald knew intimately. He’s afraid.
“Okay,” Chad said, dropping his eyes. “But only if you promise I won’t have to go back to that place.”
“Chad, look at me.” The boy met Tharadis’s gaze. “I don’t know what kind of place Falconkeep is. But I promise that you will never have to go back. I don’t care if someone tries to take you. I will stop them. I swear on my life.”
Chad nodded. Tears looked ready to fall, but admirably, the boy kept them in check. “I’ll show you where I left her.” He pointed in the direction they were already headed.
Tharadis nodded and turned to Rannald, but Rannald raised a hand to forestall him. “You don’t even need to ask, Tharadis. I’ll send out men to help widen the search. Where should we look for you if we find her?”
“Once I find Nina, I’ll head to the caravan. If I don’t find her right away, I’ll check there in an hour or so. The … the sheggam,” apparently the word was as hard for Tharadis to say as it was for Rannald to hear, “has a good lead on us already. Finding Nina is my first priority, but we need to do that as fast as possible.”
“Understood.” Rannald turned his men and gave the orders. They dispersed immediately, fanning out in different directions. When they were gone, he turned back to Tharadis. “Who is she?”
“Nina?” Tharadis hesitated. “My sister-in-law’s daughter.”
An odd way of putting it, Rannald thought, but didn’t press him. “If we find her first, we’ll make sure she gets to you.” Rannald felt a sudden need to find Sherin. Just knowing that a sheggam was here, in the Accord … It was foolish to worry, but he knew he’d feel better if he could see she was safe. Once they found Nina, he would look for his wife, if for no other reason than to put himself at ease. And then he would join Tharadis in putting a stop to this sheggam. Monsters, indeed.
Tharadis nodded in thanks, grabbed the boy—who squawked in surprise—and jogged out of the alley.
Chapter 55: Attack
Corporal Roren Hocker simply loved days like this one.
A handful of fluffy clouds drifted across the sky, occasionally blanketing the setting sun, which otherwise shone along Garoshmir’s skyline between the battered wooden posts supporting the guard tower’s roof. A large warning bell dominated the center of the tower, though now its main purpose was to collect as much dust as possible. Hocker was on guard duty, which meant he was leaning against one of the posts with his arms folded, chewing on the old pipe he had bought back in Ahlin, before he had come to Garoshmir to join the Guard. He had been chewing on this same pipe for years, such that it couldn’t rightly draw smoke anymore, but it was better than chewing on some twig he had found in the dirt. Besides, he and that pipe had been through some tough times and bad weather out here on this old guard tower. Chewing on that old pipe was almost like chewing on an old friend … or something. Well, not really like that at all, but that pipe was as good a friend as he had.
Hocker didn’t bother to stifle his yawn—he was alone up here, like most days—and nearly dropped his pipe over the edge. But he caught it before it fell too far out of his mouth. The stone wall atop which he stood—fortified in places with wooden planks where wide cracks had developed— was a good three times as tall as him, and he didn’t want to have to go down all those stairs to fetch his pipe out of the trampled mud around the gate nearby. Someone would likely see him. There were men guarding the gate, too, weren’t there? He had heard about Private Shain getting a good dressing down for that once, something about dereliction of duty or some such. What a bother.
Hocker tapped out a neat rhythm on the wood post with his knuckles as he half-stared, half-studied the tree line to the east. He had heard the song for the first time just the other night, at the Iron Saddle. He couldn’t remember the words to the song to save his life, but oh could he remember that tune! It was the kind of tune you’d remember till you rotted in your deathbed. Hocker reckoned he’d be humming it still when his soul washed up on Farshores.
The branches in the trees normally stirred whenever a breeze breathed through them, so Hocker had taken to ignoring any movement he saw there. Now there was movement, and it barely registered in his eyes. But after a few moments he noticed something was different this time. Colors he didn’t usually see, pale gray and tiny flashes of purple, leapt out of the shadows between the trunks of the trees. What in the world looked like that? Nothing, as far as he knew, so Hocker took a deep, hard look at what was rushing out of those trees.
What he saw there froze him with terror. The pipe slid out of his mouth, unnoticed, boun
ced once on the edge of the wall, spun through the air, and landed stem-first in the mud, forgotten.
Years of dust shook from the bell as its deep, hollow peal rang out across the city, signaling an attack.
* * *
Sherin had to leave.
Emotions battled within her. So much had happened, and it was difficult to put it all in perspective with all the noise. She stepped outside of her alcove into the long, curved hallway outside the Council Chambers. A pair of her aides stood there in their high-hemmed robes, looking at her anxiously.
“Is there anything we can do for you?” one asked.
Sherin cradled her head in her hand, closing her eyes for a moment, before looking up. “Yes. Some water please.”
The servant bowed her head and disappeared.
The Accord lands had stood on the precipice of war. Sherin wanted to blame the Naruvian and his thick-headed willfulness entirely, but he was only partly to blame. Shad and her … guest—it was hard to give name to such an impossible creature, even to herself—shared much of it as well. And the Council was not without fault, considering that some, if not all, of Tharadis’s arguments were valid. It wasn’t right for the Council to simply take people’s homes, even if it were for the greater good of all—even the greater good of those whose homes were lost. The Council wasn’t some conquering army, seizing land like it was the spoils of war. Down that path lay darkness, a darkness that Sherin fought against daily. She had lived in such dark times before, back when she was in Caney Forks during the slave rebellion.
Back when she had first met Rannald. Oh, Rannald. Sherin sagged against the wall, holding her face in an effort to hold back the tears.
She knew his vow to never touch a sword was merely symbolic of his vow to leave violence behind him. She wasn’t stupid. But that didn’t matter. He had gone back on his word. He had held his sword, even if for only a few moments. If he couldn’t stay true to such a simple vow, how could he hold true to the greater, more important one?
It felt as if, in that one moment, he was turning his back on himself, on the man he had become since he and Sherin had married. Back when they had met, he was a violent brute. His notoriety was without equal, and he became a legend to those fighting in the rebellion. And he hadn’t done it for his sake; Rannald had never been a slave. Yet he struggled just the same to put the plight of slaves to an end.
With a sword in hand.
It had been so hard for Sherin to reconcile those two contradictory aspects of Rannald’s character: the glorious servant of good, and the violent murdering warrior. He was at once the most beautiful and repugnant man she had ever known. It was only once he had sworn off holding a sword forever did she even think of marrying him.
Could she still remain married to him? Could she even love him anymore? It wasn’t so simple. She knew why he had done it—his action may have averted a much greater tragedy. In a way, he had done it to preserve Sherin’s values, to prevent a war that, at the time, looked inevitable. But at what cost? Perhaps Sherin had been a fool in two ways: thinking she could prevent the world from falling back into its barbaric ways, and thinking Rannald could keep from falling back into his ways.
She knew she was confused, and it was still too soon to come to any conclusions about how she was supposed to live with this. She had to think.
The aide returned with a mug of water. Sherin downed it in a single swallow and handed the mug back. “I’m going outside to get some fresh air.” The aides nodded and followed her down the hallway and up the winding stairs to the rooftop garden on the eastern wing. Sherin loved this garden; it was spacious, open, and filled with life. Small, leafy trees, some with flowers blooming, grew out of vases sitting on short pedestals. This high up, the wind kept the garden’s natural fragrance subtle but ever-present. Beyond an iron railing encircling the garden, Garoshmir sprawled before her. The clarity of sight and smell up here gave her a clarity of mind. This was her favorite place to think.
A distant sound caught her attention. Was that … a bell? Another bell, and then another, joined the first. Soon the sound of bells filled the air, drowning out whatever peace Sherin thought the garden could give her. She knew what the bells meant. She simply couldn’t understand why anyone would ring them now.
Frowning, she turned to the pale, wide-eyed faces of her aides. “Let’s find out what’s going on.”
Chapter 56: Lost
Mom,” Nina whispered, holding the Raccoon Family close to her face as she walked amidst the press of people. She could faintly hear the burble of water nearby. A river, maybe? “Did you see which way Esta went?” It hadn’t taken Nina long to get lost in the crowded street, even with her mother’s ghost trying to help her. It turned out that ghosts could only be in one place at a time, just like living people, and her mother couldn’t go up above the rooftops and tell Nina where to go at the same time. If only Nina were taller.
… turn … go there … Her mother’s voice was faint, so Nina lifted the Raccoon Family closer to her ear. Sometimes that worked when she couldn’t hear so well; she didn’t know why.
“What?” People brushed by, frowning down at Nina like she was crazy.
Turn back, came her mother’s voice. That place isn’t safe for you.
“But what about Aunt Esta?” Nina asked.
It isn’t safe for her either.
That made Nina’s stomach do a flip. “But that’s where she went! What are—”
The sight of a man suddenly squatting down in her path startled her. “Hello, little girl. Are you lost?” The man had expensive-looking clothes, made of embroidered silk. There were shiny rings on his fingers. At first, Nina thought he was a nice-looking man, smiling at her like that, but his eyes didn’t look so nice.
“Not really. I have the Raccoon Family.” She lifted it to show him.
“Oh?” He glanced left and right. “Are your parents around?” He shuffled a bit closer. “Maybe if they are, I could help you find them.”
“I don’t know.” Nina scrunched up her nose at the smell of his breath. It smelled like old wine. “I killed my mom, so she’s a ghost now. My dad is dead, too, but I don’t know how to talk to him. My uncle is the one who murdered him—he’s the one I’m looking for. My uncle, that is. I think my aunt is here, too. She’s not dead.” Nina jerked her thumb over her shoulder in the direction she just came from. “My friend and me, we just came from Falconkeep—”
As Nina spoke, the man’s smile slowly started drooping into a frown, but at this last bit of her story, he abruptly stood and stepped into the crowd, disappearing into it.
Nina sighed. Oh well. He didn’t look like he wanted to help her much anyway. Continuing towards the burbling sound, Nina lifted the Raccoon Family back up to her ear. “Hey, mom. Are you there?”
Silence. Nina was alone again. She was starting to wonder if leaving the healer’s shop was such a good idea after all.
* * *
“Did you see which way she went?”
Tharadis leaned forward, hands gripping the edge of the counter tightly with Chad just behind him. Tharadis still didn’t know how Nina ended up here in Garoshmir, even though Chad had tried explaining on the way here to the healer’s shop. Tharadis knew of Chad, even if he’d never met the boy before, and he didn’t think that Chad was lying. But just because Chad was telling the truth didn’t mean it made any sense. The little he had told Tharadis—something about a white-haired woman and a chase through the woods and a disappearing gate—was easily the craziest story Tharadis had ever heard.
Yet Chad was adamant that Nina was here, in the city, and that he had left her here, in this shop. Tharadis understood that much at least.
The healer standing on the other side of the counter twisted her fingers in her stained apron. Her eyes were fixed on Shoreseeker, sheathed at his hip. Tharadis realized he was probably frightening the poor woman. He straightened, taking his hands off the counter, and awaited her answer as patiently as he could.
“I told her to stay put,” the healer said with a defensive tilt of her chin. “She was looking out the window one moment and gone the next.”
“Which way was she looking?”
The woman paused a moment, frowning in consideration. “Left, I suppose.”
Tharadis nodded. “Thank you, and sorry for the trouble.” But as he turned to go, Chad tugged on his hand.
“We still owe her a silver,” Chad whispered, though it was obvious that by the healer’s deepening frown she could still hear.
Tharadis fished two silvers out of his coin pouch and set them on the counter. “Thank you for taking care of my daughter.” Chad gaped at him like a fish, silently mouthing the word daughter.
The healer’s gaze flicked from the coins to Shoreseeker back to Tharadis’s face. No, to the Warden’s emblem centered on his headband. He’d forgotten he was still wearing it. She didn’t say anything further, so he nodded his thanks and pushed open the door, Chad quick on his heels.
Tharadis broke into a jog as soon as he was outside. He almost forgot Chad was there with him, trying to keep up. He slowed, but only a bit. He was so focused on finding Nina that he hardly noticed all the shoulders he bumped into and all the cursing that followed. Nina was alone in this enormous city with dark fast approaching and he had no idea even where to begin looking. His heart felt like it would beat right out of his chest, and it was getting worse with each passing moment.
Nina. Where are you?
Chapter 57: Run
With her aides hurrying to keep up with her, Sherin strode down the narrow street, frowning at the odd feeling in the air. A few people had stopped in their tracks, glancing all around in worry as the bells continued to ring throughout the city. Just as many others pretended not to hear them, shouting to cry their wares to passersby just as uninterested in the bells. Yet no one could truly ignore the bells; Sherin could see rising concern in their faces just as she knew it was in her own.
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