“Damnit, Caile, we’re not alone down here. There are more prisoners and another guard.”
“No,” Caile muttered, peering deeper down the corridor just as a dark figure came into view.
“What’s going on down there?” the second guard asked.
“Uh, nothing,” Caile stammered. “I’m relieving you of duty.”
The man took another step forward and squinted his eyes to get a good look at Caile and the collapsed guard at his feet.
“Halt there a moment,” Caile started to say, but before he could finish, the man swore and ran off in the other direction.
Caile sprinted after him, oblivious to Lorentz’s shouts behind him to stop. The guard was portly and didn’t move fast. Within a dozen steps, Caile had closed the distance to ten yards, but then the guard inexplicably stopped and reached up to grab something: a rope pulley. Before Caile could reach him, the thrum of a bell rung out overhead sounding the alarm.
“No!” Caile screamed, and he took off the guard’s head with one swipe of his axe. Caile stood there over the decapitated man, stunned—as if in a dream—and for a moment all was silent, but then other bells sounded overhead, relaying the alarm.
“Caile,” Lorentz yelled from the mouth of the corridor. “Get over here!”
Caile grabbed up the slain guard’s pike and rushed back to join his men. Lorentz had taken up the other guard’s pike, but the rest of Caile’s men were unarmed. Caile handed off the pike he held and the knife from his belt, but held onto the axe for himself and pushed his way forward to Lorentz’s side at the top of the stairs. A few scattered guards were running their way from the barracks, but otherwise, none of the Emperor’s troops had yet taken up the warning call.
“Damnit, Caile, you should have just run away on your own,” Lorentz said. “Now you’ve endangered your life.”
“You can lecture me later. Right now we need to get out of here and to the gates. To the armory, go.”
Caile sprinted forward before Lorentz could protest, and his men had no choice but to follow him. The three of them with weapons rushed to the forefront, and the brief skirmish in the center of the training yard left the guards from the armory dead. Caile’s two unarmed men took up weapons from the slain guards, and they pushed forward again. Before they reached the armory though, a full regiment of the Emperor’s Imperial Guard marched into the training yard to bar their escape. The Imperial Guardsmen were fully armed with long swords and bucklers, and they outnumbered Caile’s men, four to one.
“Go, get out of here,” Lorentz said, holding Caile back.
“I’m not leaving you,” Caile said, despair washing over him.
“You have to. Our only chance is for you to live and fight another day. We’ll buy you time.”
“But where?”
“To your room, fool,” Lorentz hissed.
Across the yard, the captain of the Imperial Guardsmen shouted a command, and the regiment surged forward.
“Use the passageway,” Lorentz yelled, pushing Caile away. “Get back to Kal Pyrthin and free your father. Go!”
Caile handed over his axe. “Here, this will serve you better. There’s a passage behind the forges that leads to the gates if you can break through.”
“Yes, go,” Lorentz said, shoving Caile away. “Go!”
Caile spun and sprinted back into the corridor from which he had come just as the Imperial Guardsmen reached his men. Shouts and the concussion of swords on shields receded away behind him, and after a moment, Caile realized he was weeping. He wiped away the tears so he could see where he was going and rounded the corner to the main corridor only to run smack into one of the sentinels. The man stumbled backward, and without thinking, Caile kicked him in the face, sending him reeling back to slam into the ground. Caile stomped on his face one more time, then snatched up his mace and raced down the corridor to his room.
He found his bedroom door still wide open and rushed inside to close it behind him. He didn’t even bother gathering up the few belongings in his room. Time was of the essence, he knew. He grabbed the bulky table lamp from his nightstand, yanked up the broken floor-stone and lowered himself down into the passageway where he stood on Lindy’s corpse while he slid the stone halves back into place overhead.
The table lamp was cumbersome, and Caile had to hold it steady so as not to spill oil on his hands and set himself aflame, but it lit up the passageway well enough. He could clearly make out the footprints in the dust from when Stephen had fetched him a few weeks prior, and he had no trouble navigating the intersecting passages. Before long, he was in the sewers looking for a way out. He didn’t dare risk going up into the same cellar where he had met Roanna, but he was certain there were other ways out of the sewer. In fact, there proved to be dozens of exits, depending on what sort of drek he was willing to climb through to get out. None of the choices were appeasing: excrement, fouled water from the bathhouses, slop from butcher shops and millers, oil from the streets, and an assortment of other unidentifiable liquids flowed into the main sewer channel from a multitude of side-passages and shoots. Caile just had to pick one.
Seeing no better options, he picked a broad side-passageway that angled upward and started climbing. The stench was unbearable, and he had to toss aside the lamp so as to have at least one hand free to help climb the steep incline. In the other hand, he used the mace as a walking stick to keep from sliding back into the main passage.
It was a ten-foot climb and at the top Caile yanked himself up into a back alley gutter between a host of shops. He flopped onto the ground and rolled onto his back to breathe in the cool air, not caring that he was soaked in filth. The alley was filled with rancid trash and refuse, but after being in the sewer, the air seemed the sweetest he had ever breathed. When he finally caught his breath, he dragged himself to his feet and cast aside Lindy’s sodden cloak.
It was still dark, perhaps an hour before sunrise. Not much time to get out of the city. He jogged to the edge of the alley and stopped unsure which way he should go. South was the most direct route to Pyrthinia, but the Emperor would know that, and if the guards hadn’t already figured out Caile was gone, they would soon. Without a horse, Caile could probably make it out of the city before daybreak, but then he’d be out in the open on the road and easy to spot. He’d be safer heading east and skirting Forrest Weorcan, but that would take him a week out of the way and by then his father might already be dead. His only other option was to head for the harbor and try to sneak onto a ship making for Valaróz, but that would take even longer than heading west. His father would certainly be executed well before he could make it to Sevol as a stowaway, then travel by foot across the entirety of Valaróz and Pyrthinia to Kal Pyrthin. East it is then, he decided.
He moved swiftly, staying close alongside the buildings. There were lights in the windows of a few buildings—bread makers mostly and a few early-rising craftsmen—but the city was still largely asleep, and all was quiet except the occasional tolling of a bell from Lightbringer’s Keep behind Caile. Those bells were not a good sign, Caile knew, and sure enough, before he had made it more than a few hundred paces eastward, the sound of horsemen approaching echoed through the streets. Caile tucked back into another alleyway, and a few moments later a half dozen of the Emperor’s cavalrymen sped by. Caile swore. They would be heading for the east gate, no doubt, to keep an eye out for him trying to escape. How am I going to get out? He stood there for a long moment, again weighing the option of heading for the harbor. Perhaps it would be safer to head back into the sewer for a few days and wait, he pondered.
A new noise interrupted his contemplation. It was one of the noisy steam engines approaching. Caile tucked himself back into the shadows. The cacophonous cart lumbered his way, and he fully expected it to speed on by, but instead it stopped right as it reached the entrance to the alleyway. The engine slowed to a drumming drone of two intermittent steam pistons. Caile knelt down and peered into the street, the mace in his right hand loo
se and ready. The steam contraption was much larger than the rickshaw he had ridden in a few weeks before. It appeared to be a wagon drawn by a steam engine, although it was hard to tell in the dark. A lone figure sat at the helm of the controls. Caile shot a glance backward to make sure no one was sneaking up on him from behind. He couldn’t be certain, but he felt like the person on the wagon was staring right at him.
“If you’re heading east, I could perhaps give you a ride,” the person said over the noise of the engine.
Caile recognized the voice instantly. It was the turnip lady, the sorceress who had saved him from Roanna. “You,” he whispered.
“Yes,” she said. “Come quickly. I’d like to be on the road before the sun rises.”
“How do you keep finding me?”
“There’s no time for that now. Come. You must trust me.”
More bells sounded from Lightbringer’s Keep, and Caile knew more troops would be coming soon to search for him. He didn’t like this woman’s damned secrecy, but he didn’t see that he had any better options. She’s saved me once—why not again? He darted out of the alley and pulled himself up into the wagon.
“Bury yourself under the turnips and stay quiet,” the woman said, and before he could reply she was at the controls, throttling the engine up to speed.
Caile laid down and wormed his way beneath the turnips as the wagon lurched forward. The hard vegetables were far from comfortable, but they were big enough to keep him from feeling suffocated when he burrowed his head down beneath them. The noise of the engine was near deafening, and it took several seconds for Caile to notice when the wagon suddenly slowed and came to a stop.
Voices carried to him over the alternating pistons.
“…got caught up in the market late yesterday and didn’t want to risk the roads at night,” he could hear the woman say. “Cows need milking, so I’d like to get home by first light.”
“Have you seen anyone suspicious on your way through the city?” a man’s voice asked.
“Just me and my turnips,” the woman answered.
“Alright, away with you,” the man said, and then the engine wound up again and they were rolling forward.
Caile let out a deep breath. With it, the last of his strength dissipated. He relaxed his right hand and felt the blood rush back into his fingers that were clenched around the mace handle. Everything had happened so fast it didn’t seem real. He’d killed Lindy. And the guards in the corridor. He’d left Lorentz and his men trapped in the training yard. They were probably dead now, he realized, and the mere thought of them dead brought tears to his eyes. Before he could stop himself he was sobbing uncontrollably. Stupid, stupid, he told himself. You’re too old to be crying. But he couldn’t stop himself, and the noise of the steam engine drowned out the noise anyway.
17
Amongst the Clouds
Makarria sat huddled in the corner of the cramped cabin of the airship watching Taera. The princess lay silent and unmoving in the lower bunk bed along the back wall, as she had all night. She had not said a word or even made eye contact with Makarria. Makarria could not begin to understand what the princess was so upset about. She’s not the one who had to leave her grandfather behind on a burning ship.
Apart from the two bunks, the only other pieces of furnishing in the cabin were a small round table and two stools that were secured to the floor. Makarria had been relegated to the corner where Siegbjorn had tossed her aside, but the uncomfortable quarters were all the better as far as she was concerned. There was no escaping now, and if Roanna was powerful enough to know about and even influence Taera’s visions, then she would surely notice if Makarria began dreaming and accidentally used her power in her sleep. Better not to sleep at all, Makarria had surmised the night before when she regained consciousness and, indeed, she had done little more than doze off and on throughout the night, mindlessly twirling her hair and repeating over and over again in her mind the song her mother used to sing to her. Close your eyes, fall fast asleep. Rest your head, without a dream. When you wake, you will see, A bright new day for you and me. Whenever Makarria did doze off, the image of Pyrthin’s Flame bathed in fire forced itself to the forefront of her mind, and she would wake again with the stinging memory that she had left her grandfather caught in those horrid flames. She refused to believe that he was dead though. He heard me yell, I just know it, she kept telling herself. He’s fine.
It was morning now, and Roanna had left the cabin to check on Siegbjorn at the helm. Makarria considered getting up to talk to Taera, but she was afraid of speaking lest Roanna overheard them. Plus, Makarria didn’t know that she had anything nice to say to Taera right now. Makarria knew it wasn’t the princess’s fault, but still Makarria had tried warning her back on the ship.
The door opened, letting a gust of cold air into the cabin and Roanna bustled back in, quickly closing the door behind her and rubbing her arms to ward off the chill.
“Are you awake and done pouting now, Princess?” Roanna asked.
Taera said nothing.
Roanna snorted and turned to Makarria. “How about you, whelp?”
“I’m awake.”
“Well, keep quiet then and out of my way,” Roanna said, sitting down at one of the stools. “And you, Princess, get up. It’s time for the first of your lessons. We’ll arrive at the caves tomorrow, and you must be prepared.”
Taera pushed herself up slowly from her bunk. “Why did you have to burn the ship?” she asked.
“Because it was full of worthless peons,” Roanna remarked, “and yet all it takes is one peon to see our airship and our guise is up. When the world finds out who you are, Princess, and what you are capable of, many people will be after you. Already the Emperor’s agents sniffed out your presence. That is why your father tried to send you away. No, I think it’s best that we keep your whereabouts hidden, and if that means killing a boat full of peons, so be it.”
“One of those peons was my grandfather,” Makarria said, unable to bite her tongue.
“And peons spawn more peons, so keep your mouth shut or I’ll seal it shut for you,” Roanna snapped.
“Leave her alone,” Taera said. “She’s just a girl. Why don’t you go outside, Makarria. Get some fresh air.”
“By all means,” Roanna agreed. “Do us all a favor while you’re out there and hurl yourself overboard properly this time.”
Makarria said nothing but got up and went outside as she was told. The air outside was shockingly cold, and the strong headwind whipped her hair back over her shoulders. Goosebumps covered her arms, but she ignored the chill and peered over the portside rail. Pyrthin’s Flame and Parmo were long gone behind them. All she could see was the ocean glimmering in the morning light hundreds of feet below them, and far off in the west she could see the first hints of landfall. Makarria felt like she should be afraid so high up in the air, but strangely she was not. It reminded her of a recurring dream she used to have where she was a bird gliding on the ocean squalls, just like the seagulls she saw every day and knew so well. It wasn’t like her dreams where she changed things, just a fun dream she used to have when she was a little girl.
“If you mean to stand near the edge, I would ask of you to keep ahold of the rail,” Siegbjorn said from the helm, no more than a few yards away.
Makarria had nearly forgotten about him, lost as she was in her own thoughts. She grabbed hold of the rail as Siegbjorn said and looked over the ship, now fully visible in the daylight as opposed to the night before when she’d climbed aboard. The entire front deck, from prow to cabin, was no longer than fifteen feet, and Makarria guessed the entire gondola was no more than thirty feet long.
“If a sudden crosswind were to come up,” Siegbjorn said, “and trust me, I have been captain of the airship long enough and seen it many a time—the crosswind will send you flying right over the edge.”
With the blustering wind, Siegbjorn’s words blew past her in staccato, wavering bursts. He spoke, too, wit
h a strange accent that made his words hard to understand.
“I know how to take care of myself on a ship,” Makarria said after a moment.
Siegbjorn snorted. “If that is the truth, then I would ask you to make yourself useful and take up the slack in that line you see flapping around.”
Makarria glanced at the loose line he indicated and saw it was merely an extra rope wound between two cleats on the deck. “It’s just an extra line,” she remarked.
“Extra line or no, it should not be loose,” Siegbjorn said. “If you were to show me you could tie it off properly, I would be persuaded to let you help with the ballast lines and not throw you overboard. By ‘accident,’ of course, as Roanna has said it.”
Makarria regarded him silently for a moment. She didn’t know what to make of him—whether he was joking or serious about throwing her overboard. And she hadn’t forgotten the fact that he’d hit her in the head and knocked her senseless. In either case, she knew he was testing her. He thinks I can’t do it because I’m a girl. With a derisive snort, she tied the rope off and stepped back for him to look it over.
Siegbjorn nodded with approval and, to Makarria’s disappointment, seemed unsurprised by her ability. “Grab then the first ballast line,” he said, “the one you see connected to the furnace vent, and pull on it with your strength.”
She did as he said, and a burst of flames shot upward into the hull above them. “We’re going up,” she observed.
“We are getting closer to land, and it is nearing day. We cannot risk being spied by those below, so up we go. Pull again.”
Makarria gave the ballast line another yank and the ship lurched slowly upward again. “It’s the heat, right? Heat always rises my grampy told me.”
“Yes.”
“But what’s pushing us forward? I don’t see any sails.”
Siegbjorn locked the steering levers in place and took two long steps to come to a halt right in front of her. His dark hair was tied loosely in a knot at the back of his head, and his woolly beard concealed his mouth so she could not see his expression. Makarria bit her bottom lip, fearing she had angered the man with her questions, but after scrutinizing her for a few seconds with his bay-colored eyes, Siegbjorn merely unwrapped a strip of fur he wore around his neck and draped it over her shoulders. “I will show you, but first you must bundle up. You are of no use if you are frozen and shaking. Make sure to keep your arms free, and you will be safe for grabbing on to the rails.”
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