by Kody Boye
“This is… strange,” Ignatius said, eyeing the watchtowers reserved for the men who picked off rats in the fields. “There’s no one here.”
“Maybe they’re just all inside,” Anna offered. “Taking a break or eating lunch.”
“It’s too late for lunch,” Colby said, “and probably too early for dinner.”
“I knew something was wrong,” Carmen mumbled.
“What?” Ignatius asked.
Carmen stepped forward to examine the ground at her feet. Though inconspicuous upon first glance, a second revealed a number of footprints within the dirts shifted from the fields, along with what appeared to be drops of blood.
Carmen drew her mace.
Behind her, the troop drew their own weapons. “What’s wrong?” Adrian asked.
“There were people here,” Carmen said. “There’s blood on the ground.”
“Split up into groups of two,” Ignatius said. “Anna and Adrian, you two search the perimeter. Colby and Stella, you start looking in the barns. Carmen and I will head toward the homestead.”
“Are you sure we should split up?” Stella asked, approaching Ignatius with her sword drawn and her mouth cast into a frown. “If there really were people here—”
“We have to consider the survivors that may be present,” Ignatius replied. “Now go.”
Colby pressed a hand to Stella’s shoulder and gestured her toward the barns in the distance.
Carmen, wracked with worry and unsure how to proceed, simply followed Ignatius as he pulled his halberd from over his shoulders and began to stalk toward the homestead. “Now,” he said, exhaling. “We don’t know what we’ll find.”
“I know,” Carmen replied.
“Which means: expect anything. And I mean anything.”
Carmen swallowed a lump in her throat as the multiple possibilities of what they may find entered her head. The first was that they would find the farmers dead, the second that they would be ambushed and either slaughtered or forced to slaughter their assailants. The third—and possibly the most horrible—was that they would find nothing.
The slave trade runs deep in the Far Roads, she thought, shivering not from the wind that brushed across her body, but the thoughts that echoed throughout her head.
Ignatius gestured her to the farmhouse, then leaned forward to take hold of the doorknob.
Carmen waited.
Ignatius pulled.
The door came open.
Carmen expected someone to spring upon them.
When no one did, she cleared her throat and asked, “Hello?” then waited before adding, “Is anyone there?”
No reply came.
“Come,” Ignatius said, stepping into the house. “Let’s go.”
The homestead was simple—consisting of a wooden chair and benches upon which the family and workers would sit, bordered by a kitchen to their right and then a number of beds to their left. A cellar lay in the far corner, and directly ahead of them existed a stairway—which, Carmen imagined, housed the owners of the ranch and the rest of the family quarters. There wasn’t truly many places to hide, but if someone wanted to sneak away—if someone was really, truly dead-set on making themselves invisible—then surely they could find a place to disguise themselves.
“Hello?” Carmen asked again, hoping that the sound of her voice would alleviate the fears of any potential survivors within. “My name is Carmen Delarosa of the Fifth Battalion of the King’s Watch. If you’re in here, please, come out. No one means you any harm.”
Unless you mean to harm us, she thought, tightening her hold on her mace.
The sound of movement came from the floorboards above.
Carmen, knowing that she would have to be the one to present herself now that she’d spoken, gestured Ignatius to make his way around the threshold and hide in the kitchen as the individual remaining upstairs began to make their way through the second floor.
By the time Ignatius had secured himself from view, footsteps had begun to descend the stairwell.
“Are you armed?” Carmen asked.
“Nuh… No,” a young woman’s voice replied.
Carmen sighed as a teenage girl came into view. Trembling, tears streaming down her face and her eyes, lips, cheeks and nose reddened from sobs, she stepped off the stairwell and approached Carmen cautiously, as if she might not truly be who she claimed and might mean her harm. “You’re… with the Watch?” she asked.
“Yes,” Carmen replied. “I am. What happened here?”
“They came from the cliffs and took them,” the girl sobbed.
“Who did?” Carmen asked.
“The bandits. My mother told me to hide, but I told her no, that I wouldn’t—that I wanted to fight. She said I would be of better use if I remained hidden and wait for someone to come than I would be if I stayed downstairs and got myself killed.”
“So you hid upstairs,” Carmen said.
“Yes,” the girl cried. “I heard screams. Gunshots. Cries. Then it all stopped and then… everything was quiet.”
“Just like it is now?”
The girl nodded.
“How long ago did this happen?” Ignatius asked from the other room, startling the girl so much that she screamed and ran to Carmen.
“It’s all right,” Carmen said, wrapping the girl in her arms. “He’s with me. With the Watch.”
The girl hesitated while staring at the man before saying, “This morning.”
“You’ve been hiding all this time?” Carmen asked, to which the girl responded with a simple nod. “Good girl,” she said.
“What’re you going to do?” the girl asked. “Will you go after them?”
“You’re damn right I will,” Carmen said, breaking away from the girl. “Just tell me where they are and—”
“The first thing we have to do,” Ignatius said, “is make sure we get this young lady to safety.”
“But her family,” Carmen started.
“Won’t benefit from a group of five charging in unaware of what is going on.” Ignatius turned to the sobbing girl and stepped forward. “What’s your name, hon?”
“Belinda,” the girl said.
“Belinda,” Ignatius smiled. “I promise we’ll do everything we can to bring your family back safely. But for now, we need to take you back to Dorenborough—for your safety and ours.”
“I’ll get my things,” the girl said, turning before she could openly sob in front of he and Carmen.
Carmen looked up at Ignatius as the girl began to make her way up the stairs. “Are you crazy?” she asked. “We can’t just leave them with those animals.”
“And we can’t just expect this teenaged girl to remain here by herself while we go on a suicide information with no intelligence,” Ignatius replied. “I’ve already made up my mind. We’re going back to Dorenborough—no ifs, ands, of butts.”
“But I—”
Ignatius glared at her.
Carmen growled and was about to turn and storm off before she heard the sound of the girl’s footsteps coming down the stairs. “I’m ready,” she said. “Can we wait a few moments, though? While I feed the animals?”
“You can take all the time you need,” Carmen replied, all the while glaring at Ignatius out the corner of her eye.
- - -
She managed to restrain her anger and keep her words to herself the entire way to Dorenborough. Seething from the argument at hand and knowing that she couldn’t realistically storm off into the Far Roads to find the bandit clan herself, she remained quiet and did her best to keep Belinda, who was riding with her, comfortable. The girl eventually dozed off, and sprawled out along the boar’s neck, slept contentedly as they approached the outer edges of Dorenborough.
“The first thing we’ll do is contact the king and let him know that his bordering farmlands have been attacked by bandits,” Ignatius said, drawing Carmen’s attention and breaking the silence for the first time in hours. “They will then put out a request f
or reconnaissance, which will then be performed by scouts, likely on whirlibirds.”
“How soon will this happen?” Carmen asked.
“Within a few days, at the most,” Ignatius replied. “I’d be surprised if they don’t send someone out immediately upon our return.”
“It’ll be dark by that time,” Stella said.
“The whirlibirds have sunstone lights,” Colby said. “That’s not going to affect their travel.”
“Maybe not, but the Angels, bats and moths sure will.”
Carmen closed her eyes and tried her hardest to keep from fuming. These people could be in serious danger, and yet here they were, returning the only known survivor of the attack back to the capital. They should’ve just had someone stay behind with Belinda while the rest of them went scouting. But no. They had to report to the king, who then had to report to a scouting party, who then had to survey the surrounding area in the daylight hours before turning and reporting back to the king again.
This is fucked, she thought. Completely, absolutely fucked.
She sunk her teeth into her lower lip, but even that wasn’t enough to keep her from expelling the breath she’d been holding in. It instantly attracted attention—and caused Belinda, who had previously been sleeping, to stir.
“I know you’re upset, Carmen,” Ignatius said, “but it’s what we have to do.”
“I know,” Carmen replied, not wanting her true feelings to escape into her voice.
If she’d been Ignatius, they’d be going the other direction right now.
Fact of the matter was: she wasn’t the man. And knowing that was enough to infuriate her.
Those people could already be dead.
But if that were the case, then would there even be purpose in making their way back to them?
With a shake of her head, Carmen sighed and settled her eyes on the city rising before them.
It wouldn’t be long before they returned. Then something would be done.
Chapter 7
Ignatius was tasked with reporting the events that had transpired at the outlying farms and beyond to the king. As a result, the rest of the fifth battalion was left to their own devices—which left Carmen, in her seething and undeniably-angered state, to seek out someone she felt might be able to recover the unfortunate individuals who had been captured on the farmlands.
Not knowing what to do, and not knowing who to turn to in this dark and desperate hour, she sought council from the one person she thought she could trust the most.
“You want me,” Stella asked, “to help you find a spy?”
“Or at least someone who could get me the information I need,” Carmen replied.
“This is ridiculous. Do you even know what you’re asking?”
“Yes. I do. And I’m expecting you to help me if you have the resources I need.”
“Why should I even help you find a spy? It’s not like you’re going to be able to do anything with the information they provide.”
“But if I can get that information to Ignatius and the king, we may be able to do something about this sooner rather than later.”
Sighing, Stella reached up to press a hand to her face, which she kept there for several long moments before lowering her hand to look at Carmen with deadly eyes. “Why me?” she asked. “Why not Anna, or Colby?”
“Because you seem like the kind of woman who would know people.”
Stella laughed. “Really?” she asked. “You’re going off a hunch?”
“Well. Do you?”
“Know people? Yes. I do. But just because I know them doesn’t mean I’m going to risk my neck to provide you that information.”
“It doesn’t have to be blatant,” Carmen said. “Just enough for me to go on so I can seek out this person myself.”
“You really want to help these people,” Stella said. “Don’t you?”
Carmen nodded, her hands slowly tightening into fists at her side. “It’s not right,” she said, “for a family to be pulled from their homes and taken God knows where to do God knows what.”
“You’re aware that you’re projecting your own feelings on this girl.”
“I know. But if someone had the chance to help me save my parents and the rest of the people on the pass, I’d want them to help me, no matter if they thought it was right or wrong.”
“All right,” Stella said, turning to approach the desk on the landing she and Carmen slept upon. She rummaged through several of the items atop it before she returned with a pocketbook, which she passed to Carmen with a cautious glance in the opposite direction. “You found this on the floor and wasn’t sure whose it was,” she said. “And you turned to the front page, saw it was mine, and found a directory of contacts within. You only happened to see the address of someone labeled a communications expert, not searched for it. Got it?”
“I understand,” Carmen said. She opened the pocketbook, flipped through its pages until she found the contacts directory, then scanned its contents until she came across a woman by the name of Cabara, along with the address of the dwelling she stayed within. “Cabara Matthers,” Carmen said, nodding as she memorized the address. “And you’re sure she’s going to be able to help me?”
“She’s one of the best spies around,” Stella replied. “If she can’t help you, I don’t believe anyone can.”
“Thank you, Stella. I appreciate it.”
“Whatever information she provides you will have to eventually come back to Ignatius,” Stella replied, taking the pocketbook in hand as Carmen passed it back over. “You are aware of that, right?”
“Right.”
“And you’re aware that I want nothing to do with whatever reaction he has come time he receives said information. Right?”
“Right.”
“Good.” Stella reached out and shook Carmen’s hand. “Good luck, Carmen. It might take some bartering or convincing, but Cabara’s a good woman. She has the resources and contacts to help you get whatever you need to find those people.”
“Thank you,” Carmen said, turning to start down the flight of stairs. “And Stella?”
“Yeah?”
“Why were you so willing to part with that information if you knew it might get you into trouble?”
“Because I’d rather risk getting a slap on the wrist for helping someone find those people than eventually finding out they died because we couldn’t get to them in time.”
With one final nod, Carmen started down the flight of stairs—repeating, over and over again, the address of a woman named Cabara Matthers in her mind.
- - -
She counted the row of houses in what would be considered to most the slum districts of Dorenborough until she came upon the block that Cabara Matthers lived on. Her heart uneasy, her attention set on the world around her, she tried her hardest not to stare at the young men and women who played in the streets or the mothers that loitered on the footsteps tending to children, all the while knowing that she’d grown up lucky in spite of everything her parents had gone through to raise her.
It could always be worse, her father had said some nights when all they had to eat from the table was bread.
And he was right. Here, in the slum district of one of the greatest Dwarven cities of them all, there existed a melancholy that could only be found in the poor—the sad, the destitute, the people who kept on living even though they actually had very little to live for. Their eyes were haunted—jaded, some would say, by their happenings and the world around them—and on their mouths they wore little more than frowns. Occasionally a smile would creep on one person’s face, especially when Carmen raised her hand to wave, but rarely did it last longer than that.
Surrounded by such great splendor, these people should have been happy.
Sadly, sadness was the easiest thing to own—and by far the cheapest to maintain.
With a shake of her head, Carmen approached a doorstep marked with the number addressed in her head and waited a moment to see if
anyone was watching her before leaning forward to knock.
She waited.
Moments passed, then slowly minutes.
She knocked again.
When she heard the distinct sound of a bolt being undone, followed by the lock being released from its clasp, Carmen sighed and prepared herself for what was to come.
The door opened—but upon its precipice the chain remained snarled: as if, at any moment, Carmen may wish to barge in and take the woman for everything she owned. “Hello?” the woman asked.
“Excuse me,” Carmen said, having expected someone younger, possibly, rather than an aging woman who had already begun to develop wrinkles. “Is your name Cabara Matthers?”
“Yes,” she replied. “How can I help you?”
“I need you to help me find someone—or, more specifically: several someones. I can pay right now.”
The woman acknowledged her for a moment through the crack in her door before closing it.
A short second later, the chain came undone and the door opened, this time to allow Carmen passage inside.
The home was simple—carved from stone like most Dwarven buildings and furnished with simple rugs, tables and couches. In one corner a bed lay, another a bookcase, a third a desk which bordered the area where the home split into a washroom. As she followed the woman named Cabara into the kitchen, then seated herself at the table when prompted, Carmen felt as though she was being deliberately being led to believe that this woman was far poorer than she actually let on.
It’s a front, Carmen thought.
This was revealed when, upon the woman’s hands, a series of gold and emerald rings glimmered. “You were sent to me by?” the woman asked.
“Stella Fryer,” Carmen replied. “Of the Fifth Battalion.”
“I see you’re a Watchman yourself. It’s not often I see your type here, Miss…”
“Delarosa,” Carmen finished in the silence that followed. “Carmen Delarosa.”
“Ah. Drake Slayer. It is my honor to meet you.” The woman turned to her row of cabinets. “Would you like some tea?” she asked as she poured water into a kettle. “I’m sure you’re thirsty after walking all this way here.”
