by Jeff Gunzel
Jarlen could certainly be bold and rash at times, but he rarely left anything up to chance. He needed time to think.
Chapter 7
Dodging and weaving between people in the streets, the man moved as fast as he could while avoiding any eye contact. Clutching a bag of dry rice against his chest, he kept his eyes to the ground and kept moving. If he could just make it home without anyone stealing it from him, this same bag he himself had already stolen from someone else, he just might be able to feed his family for another week.
That one thought was the only thing that kept him going. Why else would he have ventured out into these chaotic streets in the first place? Better to stay holed up in his home with the doors and windows boarded up, waiting out the storm like most folk were doing.
Not looking directly, his peripheral vision was filled with violence, acts so heinous he never thought people were capable of such things. The sounds more than matched the images he couldn’t bear to look at as screams of pain and horror filled his ears. Trying to hold it together, it was all he could do not to break into a sprint.
No, that will draw too much attention. Just keep moving. I’m almost home. Almost home.
Eyes to the ground, each step felt so small, so insignificant towards getting him home. Had a walk ever seemed so endless? He wished he could just blink his eyes and wake up, safe in his own bed, safe from this hell that had become the city of Shadowfen.
People pushed and cussed, shoving him out of the way when he got too close. They too were out here on a similar mission to find food or much-needed clothing for their own families. Too preoccupied with their own needs, most hardly even noticed him, and he was plenty grateful for that.
Almost home. Almost home.
A bloodcurdling shriek tore him back into reality, shattering the mental hiding space he was cowering in. So panicked, so desperate it was that his eyes couldn’t help but follow the sound, even though he promised himself he wouldn’t. These streets were another world now, and it was every man for himself. He didn’t dare get himself drawn into someone else’s troubles.
Breasts fully exposed, the woman’s back arched as she was lifted into the air by four men. Her clothes tearing away like paper ribbons, her once earsplitting screams soon diminished into sad whimpers. They were the weakened moans of a woman who knew her fate was sealed and no one was coming to help.
This was the world they lived in now, and soon even the heartiest folk would forget their humanity entirely.
Watching in horror, the man stood still. What should he do? What could he do? He had his own problems, his own family to attend to. She needed help in the most desperate of ways, but why should he risk his own neck for a stranger?
But there was a time not so long ago where I would have.
Unable to watch any longer, even though the image would be burned into his brain forever, he tried to take off running. With his home less than a block away, it was time to risk a final sprint. But two steps into his blind charge and he slammed head first into another man’s chest. Much like hitting a brick wall, stunned by the heavy impact, it sent him toppling backward.
“Well, what have we here?” The big man picked up the dropped bag of rice. “I guess this is my lucky day,” he chuckled, beaming down at the prize in hand.
It was all too much, the girl, the violence on every corner, and now being robbed of the only hope his family had of eating tonight. To think that he had gotten this far with the one thing that just might keep his family from starving, only to have it taken away this close to his front door.
It was all too much...
He leapt onto the big man’s back, reaching around to claw at his eyes. This was what they had become, animals fighting for scraps. Once neighbors and friends had now become enemies fighting over the same limited resources. Animals? No, wild animals had more dignity than this.
Using his arm to pin the smaller man’s leg to his hip, the large man dropped straight back with all his weight. When the smaller man got crushed by the impact, the explosion of pain and nausea was relatively short-lived. Groggy, barely conscious, he never even felt the follow-up boot come down on his face.
The next twelve made certain he would never feel anything again. When a bag of rice might mean the difference between life and death, who had the right to decide whether or not murder was justified?
And even though there was violence at every turn, on every street corner, the people remained in the city. Where were they going to go? No one could live outside the system, no matter how broken it was. Outside the city walls, there was no system. Leaving the city was as good as walking right into the hands of the ghatins. Better to just die here at the hands of their own. Somehow, at least it felt more familiar.
Suddenly, a bell rang out. Its single chime echoed through the streets as heads turned. But the looks were just a reaction to hearing a sound they hadn’t heard in so long. It didn’t really mean anything; anyone could be ringing that bell. After all, no one owned it anymore. There was no government, just a lawless city waiting to destroy itself.
But again it chimed, and this time it kept ringing. Unable to contain their curiosity, folk began to peek out from alleyways and side streets. Doors cracked open and shades drew back. It was a familiar sound, a symbol of sorts from a time that seemed so long ago. Who was ringing that?
A few brave souls actually ventured out of their homes, even daring to wonder out into the street. Far off, they heard what sounded like a hundred hammers dropping on stone. It wasn’t long before the marching soldiers came into view, each high-stepping boot crashing down in perfect unison. It had been ages since the people saw any signs of authority. For all they knew, the Shadowfen army had abandoned them completely.
Swords drawn, they marched in columns down both sides of the main road. Held high in their left hands, a whistle blew and they switched the blades to their right. The march was highly organized, much like a choreographed parade.
Between the soldiers, clerics in red robes walked down the center. Moaning, chanting, they shuffled along with their heads down, faces hidden beneath loose-fitting hoods. Swinging chains with smoking black balls, each one gave off an acrid, sour scent. In the midst of a city that had lost all its identity to lawless anarchy, the nearly religious display looked strange indeed.
But standing at the center of it all was a most recognizable figure. Towering head and shoulders above all those around him, the red giant stalked with grace and purpose. Still wearing his usual red robe, he also wore a jewel-studded coat that hung down to his feet. It had been rumored that Diovok was dead, killed by a human mystic no less.
But if he was alive and well, then where was King Milo? How come no one had heard anything from the keep until now? The whole city had been shut down for days, but now it seemed as though some measure of authority had returned to Shadowfen. That alone provided a glimmer of hope to the people.
Leading the way, armored boots crashing with each step, the soldiers worked their way up to the end of the road. Stopping in sets of two, they turned about and stood in formation with their swords still drawn. The clerics followed suit, breaking off to the right and left as they approached the formation taking shape. Then finally Diovok approached, the giant of a man looking as if he were stepping his way past a bunch of children.
Diovok looked around at the swelling crowd, his mask appearing to sparkle in the high noon sun. Between the soldiers, clerics, and townsfolk, there had to be thousands standing out here. Yet not a man, woman, or child dared make a peep.
“People of Shadowfen,” Diovok began, his voice gravelly and rough, yet it still seemed to carry on the wind. If the townsfolk were quiet before, they were silent as death now. Not only were they stunned to see he was still alive, but no one had ever heard him speak before.
“For days now our city has been cast into shadow. My friends, these are dark times indeed. Yet still we stand, still united in our cause to preserve humanity! My friends, know that you are not al
one. Together, we can beat this evil that has befallen our lands. Together, we shall be triumphant!”
When he held out his hand, one of the clerics rushed up to hand him a leather sack. He held the sack high to make certain all were watching, then dumped its gory contents onto the ground. There lay a crushed skull, the leathery dry skin already turned gray. In fact, the crown lying next to it was the only indication as to who this might be.
More than a few townsfolk covered their mouths and turned away, while others got sick right on the spot. This was what was left of their king? Well, that certainly explained why the city had fallen into chaos.
“I am the one who killed King Milo,” Diovok stated plainly. The guards around the perimeter unsheathed their swords halfway, the collective hiss filling the air. It was nothing more than a warning to any who might have considered acting without thinking. There was no telling what some overly loyal peasant might do. But other than a few shocked gasps, none of the townsfolk moved. They had been through so much already, their own survival was the only thing they cared about these days.
“He left me no choice,” he added quickly, even managing to sound sad and regretful. “Your king, who had once sworn to protect this great city, was caught fleeing in the night like the coward he was. He tried to abandon Shadowfen and all its people, leaving it to the ghatins while he rode off into the forest. His intent was to leave you all to die, a distraction so he could go free without drawing attention. I made sure he never got that far.
“For days we have been working to hasten the transfer of power, while trying to smother any possible rumors of the king’s untimely death. You needed to hear the truth from me, and not by some rumor gaining strength by the day. The transition has taken longer than I hoped, and for that I am sorry. But more than that, I’m sorry your king was a coward! His blood is on my hands, and I will have to live with that choice for the rest of my days.
“But his reign is no more. He feared the ghatins, as any sane man should. But that fear drove him to do the unthinkable, and that I could not allow. Judge me if you must, and I will live with that judgment. I did what had to be done. He is dead, yet my people still live. If forced to do so, I would make the same sacrifice all over again.
“I, too, fear the ghatins, but not enough to sacrifice my own people. Never that! And unlike your former king, I have a plan to deal with these demons. Fear not, people of Shadowfen, I will succeed where the king has failed. Embrace me, and together will shall take back our humanity. I shall serve this city like no other ever has. And as long as I draw breath, I swear to you that Shadowfen shall never fall. And as wave after wave of our enemies crash against these impenetrable walls, we shall show them what true strength really is.”
The people cheered although they didn’t even know why. Their king was dead and his murderer, standing right before them, was demanding praise for the act. So why then? Why did tears of joy flow so freely? It was because he gave them hope where there was none before. Diovok was hardly the most charismatic of figures, but he stood like a rock. Fearless, powerful, and that symbol alone was something they could cling to.
For now, they would stand behind their self-proclaimed leader. In times like these, what other choice did they have?
Chapter 8
Sitting at a table near the window, Bella carefully rolled up another note and set it aside. With piles of notes mounting all over the place, it was difficult not to knock them off over. With the details still fresh in her memory, she threw herself into her own notes and began scribbling furiously.
There must be a pattern here somewhere. There has to be.
“Darling?”
Ignoring the voice coming from the bed in the corner, she grabbed another note from the largest pile on her right side. Careful not to rip it, she unrolled the tiny parchment and began reading. She would read it at least ten times before adding more information to her personal notes. These calls for help had come from every corner of the realm, each one the desperate last words of a human searching for hope.
What she was really reading were the final thoughts of men who undoubtedly now walked the underworld. But there was still a chance their final words might not be in vain. If she could just piece together some sort of pattern, maybe even a weakness they had overlooked the first time...
“Bella?”
“Just a few more minutes,” Bella replied without looking up. Shaking away the distraction, she started from the beginning again. The interruption was not to be taken lightly while she was trying to analyze every word of these messages. Even the manner of handwriting was to be taken into account. Nothing could be overlooked.
“You said that three hours ago.” Rishima sighed, rolling over to her stomach. “You know we have people for that, right? Specialists who know what they’re looking for.”
“And they’ll get their chance as soon as I’m done here,” Bella replied absently, her eyes never leaving the parchment in hand. But her eyes did flicker to the side for a moment, and she did a double take when seeing the candle burned down below halfway. Swimming in a large pool of melted wax, the dying flame was in danger of being drowned out. How long had she been sitting here? Feeling guilty, she glanced back at Rishima, who now looked to be asleep.
The bed creaked, and it was all Rishima could do not to smile and roll over. Don’t give in, it’s her turn to wait for once. She felt a pair of warm hands slip down the back of her dress, caressing her back and sides. Not even meaning to, she arched her back and pushed up an inch, allowing those hands to roam around to her front. Cupping Rishima’s breasts, Bella’s body pressed down against her back as she kissed the side of her neck.
“I’m sorry,” Bella said, her half-whispered apology mumbled between kisses. “I’m so, so, so, sorry for making you wait this long.” With each word, her lips inched their way along Rishima’s neck and across the back of her ear. “So, so, sorry. Can you ever, ever, forgive me? What can I do to make it up to you?”
“I shouldn’t make this so easy for you.” Rishima rolled to the side, her shoulder rising to help shield herself from the onslaught of kisses.
“Is that a yes?” The onslaught only intensified. “Say you forgive me.”
“Why do I always give in so easily?”
“Because I’m wonderful,” Bella insisted. Rishima laughed, flipping onto her back as her legs wrapped around Bella’s hips. “And you’re wonderful too.” As their clothes seemed to blow away like dandelion seeds, the lovers melted into one another. “But together, we are perfect.”
“That, we are,” Rishima agreed, her words a breathless whisper.
*
Bella lay with her head on Rishima’s lap as she stared up at the ceiling. “Well,” Rishima said.
“Mmm?” Bella slowly sat up.
“Well, aren’t you going to get back to it? I know you’re itching to get back to that table.”
“You think I enjoy reading the words of dead men?” Bella lightly scolded, her brow crinkling in frustration. “I wish you would take this task more seriously. Rishima, I know you don’t approve of my doing things you believe are beneath my station, but don’t you think we are long past that sort of thinking?”
“I don’t understand what you mean by that.” Rishima shifted on the bed to face her.
“The world we knew is gone, my love,” Bella explained, sweeping a hand in front of her eyes. “The lines between servant and royalty have become blurred to say the least. And even a king or queen would lick a boot if it meant the difference between living and dying, correct? Well, I’m not so sure your hard stance on what a queen should or shouldn’t be doing makes much sense anymore. Come, let me show you how I’ve been wasting my time.”
Taking Rishima by the hand, she led her back over to the table where she had been working most of the day. Carefully moving some of the messages aside, she managed to unbury her own set of notes. Moving them around, she set the pages side by side in front of Rishima. The maps were crude to be sure, but the o
utlining dots were clear.
“When I was still the queen of Shadowfen, I used to sit in on military meetings all the time,” Bella explained. “Although I was just considered the woman in the room while the men spoke over one another, I also knew when to keep my mouth shut and listen.
“I have been around brilliant tactical minds for much of my life, and I quickly learned that they all had one thing in common. These great men believed that patterns were everything. If you look close enough, the enemy will always repeat his tactics even if he doesn’t realize he is doing it. And it is up to you to recognize those patterns when they appear. Nothing happens by chance.
“Now look here.” She traced a finger around one of her drawings, then around the next. “These are all the areas that have been hit so far. We just assumed they were going after the humans randomly, but that doesn’t seem to be the case at all. Here, look closer.”
Rishima took a long look. “They are hitting the smaller towns first,” she reasoned.
“True,” Bella conceded, after a drawn-out hesitation. “But that’s only by coincidence. The outer portion of the realm just happens to be littered with smaller towns, so I can see why it appears that way. But don’t think of them in terms of size or population, think only of their location and look again.” Rishima did just that, and her eyes widened.
“See, it’s a squeeze tactic,” Bella continued. “They are targeting the outermost regions, regardless of size or population.” She continued to trace her finger along the parchments. “Several of their units are following this route even as we speak.” She traced her finger the other direction. “And the rest are moving this way. The idea is to keep moving and work their way inward, effectively cutting off any retreat by the humans. If we analyze this closely enough, assuming they don’t change tactics, we should be able to predict exactly where they will strike next.”
