by Dorian Hart
Grey Wolf silently urged him to be quick about it. There could be no doubt that he was favored by Delioch, having saved the lives of his companions several times now. But looking down at Aravia, Grey Wolf couldn’t forget the first time he heard Dranko utter words like that, when they did nothing, and Mrs. Horn had died. And Dranko was still a boor, still goblin-touched—
The golden light flared, shining out from Dranko’s hand and drowning Aravia in its corona. When the light faded, Aravia’s wound had vanished, but Dranko looked as though he had simply transferred the damage and weakness to himself. The goblin’s eyes were bloodshot, his skin streaked with thin red veins. Even as Aravia’s eyes fluttered open and she sat up, Dranko crashed insensate to the dirt.
Something small and grey dropped from the nearest roof next to them. Grey Wolf swiveled, sword ready, but it was only Pewter. He butted his head against Aravia and purred while she scratched behind his ears. The two stared at one other for a second or two, and then Aravia quickly removed her ear-cuff and clipped it to her cat’s ear.
The cat slipped away through a tiny seam between two buildings, just as more figures appeared around the corners of two alleyways, swords out. What had they done to invite this kind of massed attack? But the newcomers were dressed in brown uniforms trimmed with scarlet, and some blew whistles. Grey Wolf had seen folk like these at the city gates; they were the city watch.
“They’re here!” shouted one. “You! Drop your weapons and raise your hands!”
The watch wasn’t likely to try outright slaughter like the first wave of thugs, but would foreigners begging self-defense after all the killing be believed? Maybe they ought to make a run for it, rather than risk an extended stay working through the justice system of Trev-Lyndyn.
“We surrender!” Ernie dropped his sword as instructed and lifted his hands. “We were attacked! We were fighting for our lives! Just ask Dowlyn from the coin shop!”
All four alleyways were soon clogged with jostling members of the watch, some still blowing on their little wooden whistles. For the first time Grey Wolf noticed that on the walls above, heads craned out of windows to goggle at the commotion and slaughter.
Fighting off assassins was one thing, but Grey Wolf was not about to engage the local law enforcement. He sighed and let his blade fall to the dirt.
* * *
This was not Grey Wolf’s first time in jail.
In the hazy months immediately following the death of his parents, when Ivellios had decided that the life of a sword-for-hire would increase his chances of finding the Grey Wolf clan of goblins, he hadn’t yet learned to be particular about his employers. On his third job he joined a team guarding a wagon transporting woolen coats on the long road from Kallor to Hae Charagan. Unbeknownst to the hired muscle, it was a smuggling operation; every sixth coat had a Forquellian opal sewn into its lining, a seemingly clever plot to get around the lapidary tariff. But someone had tipped off the officials in Hae Charagan, the coats were torn open outside the city gates, and the guards threw the whole team into the guildmasters’ jail. Grey Wolf enjoyed three weeks of the prison’s lovely hospitality: bread and gruel, stale water, an abundance of lice, and a remarkable stench he had tried hard since to forget.
One morning a guard dragged him out, some servants hastily helped him clean himself up, and he was brought before a frowning magistrate. After hearing his case, the judge let him go with a stern warning—and a court fine of fifty silver talons, which was most of his life savings.
In some ways, their current predicament wasn’t as bad. The food and drink were modestly more palatable, the straw beds were mostly clean, and the guards were terse but not cruel. They had taken the company’s possessions and cursorily searched them for hidden weapons, but allowed them to keep their clothing and jewelry, which included their ear-cuffs. They were placed into two large adjacent cells—Grey Wolf, Ernie, and Dranko in one; Morningstar, Aravia, and Tor in the other—and permitted to communicate as long as they kept their voices down. The cells even featured little barred windows up near the ceiling, of the sort one always imagined would somehow facilitate an escape but in reality did nothing more than let in a little bit of striped sunlight and some distant street noises. Grey Wolf didn’t even feel like a prisoner, but rather a guest in an extraordinarily run-down hostel.
But in the ways that mattered most, this was a far worse state for Grey Wolf and his team. Two days had passed with no indication of what was to become of them. The guards who came to feed them were either ignorant or sworn to silence. Each sunrise was one fewer before Naradawk Skewn would bust out of his otherworldly prison.
It should have been easy to escape. On the first night Aravia had tried her minor lockbreaker spell, but it hadn’t worked. The lock was enchanted to resist that kind of magic. This morning she tried blasting the door out of its frame with a similar lack of results.
Dranko could possibly have picked the lock had he any tools, but he wasn’t in possession of all his faculties, let alone a set of burglar’s instruments. Even now, two days removed from healing Aravia of her bolt wound, Dranko had trouble standing and walking around. He could carry on conversations, but every so often would slip into a stupor, sometimes even falling asleep in mid-sentence. The dark circles under his eyes were so deep and black he looked as if he had been punched in the face.
“I don’t understand it,” Ernie muttered. He had said as much a dozen times or more since they were locked up. “They must have talked with Dowlyn by now. She’ll tell them we’re innocent!”
“Sh’c’ be dead,” Dranko slurred.
Ernie let out yet another deep sigh.
Grey Wolf wished Mrs. Horn were still with them. Being a father figure didn’t come naturally to him, but he ought to give it a go.
“We’ll figure something out,” he said. “One way or another, we’ll get out of here and back on the road to Djaw.”
“I don’t see how.” Ernie turned a crust of the morning’s bread in his hands. “I’m sorry about when we were captured. I know I’m not very good.”
What on Spira was he talking about? “Not very good at what?”
“Everything. Fighting, mostly, I guess.”
“Ernie, you’re an excellent fighter. You took out two of those goons by yourself and saved my life when you killed the second.”
Ernie didn’t look up. “But I’m so scared the whole time, and I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Hells, Ernie, you think I’m not terrified every time we head into battle? I damn well near soil myself.”
That made Ernie lift his head. “But you never show it! Your sword arm doesn’t shake. You don’t shrink back. You charge right into things with Tor and Morningstar while I hang back and hope no one gets near me.”
Grey Wolf stared hard at the boy. “Ernie, listen to me and listen good. You’re what, eighteen years old? And before we all got scooped up by Abernathy, you’d never fought against another person. Just trained with that old fellow from your village, right? But the first time you had to draw a thinking man’s blood, in Sand’s Edge, you did what you had to do and fought those Black Circle bastards as well and as bravely as any of us. Well, except for Tor, but there’s no point in any of us comparing ourselves to him. I promise you this is the truth: After watching your progress during our training sessions, and seeing how you handle yourself with your life on the line, I’m near certain you’re already the second best natural fighter we’ve got. Morningstar is good, don’t get me wrong, and I’ve been in the business a long time, but you were born to wield a sword.”
Grey Wolf had never delivered a pep talk, let alone one that long. He searched Ernie’s face to see if his speech had any effect, but the boy’s smile barely reached the corners of his mouth.
“Thanks, Grey Wolf.” Ernie’s shoulders stayed slumped and his face remained downcast.
The day crept along. Grey Wolf chafed at every wasted hour, pacing in his cell. The guards came and went with an evening meal:
slabs of cold meat, some bread and cheese, wooden cups of water. These were passed through a slot in the door.
“How much longer will we be kept here?” Grey Wolf asked. “Unless defending ourselves from killers is a crime, we’ve committed no wrongdoing.” It wasn’t the first time he had asked, or the loudest, but like every other time, the guard said nothing. After the food had been delivered and the guard’s footsteps had receded, Aravia’s voice came softly from the adjoining cell.
“I have discouraging news. We are likely to be kept prisoner indefinitely, and that’s if we’re lucky. If we’re not, we’ll be killed.”
Discouraging seemed an understatement. “What? Why? And how do you know?”
“Pewter told me. He’s right on the other side of the wall to my cell, close enough for our telepathic connection.”
Dranko, lying on his cot with his eyes closed, sat up with a groan. “Pooter b’n out spying?”
“What does he have to say?” asked Grey Wolf.
“For one thing, the authorities here have already decided that we acted in self-defense. The men who attacked us are all known or suspected criminals, and Dowlyn gave an accurate description of how they attacked her store.”
“Then why in the gods’ names are we still in here?”
“Because Dowlyn also mentioned that we were from beyond the Forbidden Sea and that we were involved in some way with the Delfirians. Pewter’s spent the past two days sneaking around various government buildings on this block, listening in on as many conversations as he could. Today he finished assembling the puzzle when he overheard two members of the watch having a chat.”
“And?”
“It sounds like, if standard procedures had been followed, we’d already have been questioned and released. It’s common knowledge that we were attacked by a well-known assassin and his flunkies. Some members of the watch think we ought to have collected a reward, not been thrown in jail.”
“But that obviously didn’t happen,” said Dranko.
“No. Dowlyn made a statement to the watch commander, a woman named Jenev. Jenev had already been preparing the paperwork for our release, but as soon as Dowlyn mentioned where we were from, she dismissed her deputies and closed the door. A few minutes later she issued a decree that we were to be executed at once.”
“And that didn’t happen either,” said Grey Wolf. “Why are we still alive?”
“Watch Commander Jenev doesn’t have that degree of authority. Pewter’s not quite sure how things were worked out, but it sounds like our indefinite detention is the compromise.”
Well, thank the gods for small favors. But beyond the fact that they hadn’t been executed, it was hard to imagine how things could be worse.
“It gets worse,” said Aravia.
Of course. “How?”
“This afternoon, two members of the watch were talking about how odd Jenev’s execution order regarding us was. One of them said he noticed her behavior getting more unusual, more erratic, several weeks ago, after she met someone he called ‘that strange blue-skinned woman with the nose ring.’”
“Lapis!” exclaimed Dranko, who then coughed a few times from the effort. “Lapis was here? But how—”
“Isn’t it obvious?” said Aravia. “She must have come through the Kivian Arch at least a few weeks before we did.”
Grey Wolf tried to make sense of this news. “What is she doing here? Did the Black Circle send her here to stop us? But…if she was here weeks ago, how would she have known we would make it to Kivia, let alone pass this—”
“Mokad.” Dranko massaged his temples and wheezed out his words. “Mokad knew everything about us. I was afraid that meant the Black Circle might also know about the Crosser’s Maze. I’ll bet they do.”
“Yes,” came Aravia’s voice. “That is most likely. Either Lapis was sent on ahead specifically to thwart us, or her goal is to get the maze for herself. In which case laying a trap for us here was meant merely to delay us.”
“Twelve hells.” Grey Wolf kicked the wall. “If that’s true, then Lapis is already weeks ahead of us. And she might know exactly where the damn thing is while we don’t even know the location of the city where we’re just hoping to find a clue!”
Not for the first time he silently cursed Abernathy and all of his wizardly brethren. Why hadn’t he just up and left when he had the chance? Now he was thousands of miles from his home, separated by an impassable ocean. Until they finished this damn fool’s errand, there was no chance of discovering anything about the goblins who had killed his parents.
He glanced over at Dranko, who had slumped back against the cell wall adjacent to his cot. The tiniest twinge of guilt flitted across his thoughts, but it flared and died, replaced by sullen resentment. The blood of those creatures ran in Dranko’s veins, and every time he looked at that sallow complexion, those grotesque tusks jutting from his jaw, he thought of—
He is fifteen years old, and his mother’s body lies still in the short grass behind the house. He knows he should run, that they will kill him, too, but his legs feel rooted to the earth. His mind knows only shock and a quickly blossoming anguish.
The goblin who killed his mother walks slowly toward him, and its body shifts and shimmers with each step. It is a Sharshun. It is a goblin. It is a woman who is neither, wearing a silver cloak. No, it is the goblin who wears the cloak; the memory of its bloody tusks and rough green skin is so perfectly clear, so perfect…
The Emperor Naradawk stands before him, tearing his mind apart. “He knew these things before!”
“Grey Wolf!”
His mind snapped back to the prison cell.
“Grey Wolf, what’s wrong?” Ernie stood directly in front of him, staring at his face.
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”
“You looked like you went into a trance. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, Ernie, I’m fine. Just pissed off.”
Aravia spoke again from the other cell. “Pewter says he’ll keep looking out for a way we can escape. The guards are extremely careful with their keys, but he’s a resourceful cat.”
Grey Wolf sat down heavily on his cot. To think they were trusting that a cat would formulate an escape plan. How had it come to this? He glanced up at the window, but it offered no hint as to how late it was. Strange how tired he felt after doing nothing more vigorous than pacing across his cell. “I’m going to bed. Everyone think hard. There must be a way to get out of here. There must.”
He fell into an uneasy sleep. He dreamt of his parents, of his father instructing him in the ways of carpentry. They sat across from each other, a freestanding bench between them.
“Everything you build with your hands, it becomes a part of your legacy. Never do anything half way. Every detail, every mortise and tenon, every hinge, every bit of molding, it all makes a statement. Make sure the details speak well of you.”
Before Grey Wolf could answer, his father’s eyes opened wide and blood spurted from his mouth. His body toppled to the ground, and Grey Wolf stood face to face with a goblin, a silver cloak around its shoulders, fastened with a brooch showing the head of a grey wolf.
Grey Wolf lunged in a rage, grabbing for the goblin, but it faded away beneath his hands, leaving him clutching the silver cloak, empty.
“Grey Wolf, wake up.”
His career as a sellsword had taught him to shift quickly from asleep to alert. “I’m awake. I hope there’s a good reason for it.” He opened his eyes and tried to adjust to the tiny trace of ambient light.
Ernie’s voice came from near the door, and the boy couldn’t keep the excitement out of his whisper. “Aravia says we should get ready to leave.”
“What?”
“I said—”
Grey Wolf sat up. “I heard you. Did Pewter figure out how to break us out?”
“Not exactly.”
Grey Wolf ground his teeth in annoyance. “What does that mean?”
Light shone out from a quite
unexpected direction. At the back of the cell, beneath the window, a stout figure stood silhouetted in front of a yawning black oval. A lantern in the figure’s hand, mostly shuttered, played a beam of light around the room.
“Put that damn thing out,” Dranko grumbled. He pulled his thin blanket over his head.
“Ain’t no time like the present, my pa used to say. Ought to get movin’ and put some miles behind us before the sun comes up.”
A surge of hope rose in Grey Wolf’s chest. “Kibi, is that you?”
“Sure enough. And I’m right glad to see some friendly faces, but why don’t we save the catchin’ up for the other side a’ the city wall.”
Dranko emerged from his blanket. “Kibi? Am I dreaming? How did you get here?”
“Later,” said Grey Wolf. “Come on.” He and Ernie propped Dranko up between them and followed Kibi through the hole. It opened onto something larger than an alley but too small for a proper street. Aravia, Tor, and Morningstar were already waiting for them. Pewter frisked around Aravia’s ankles.
“I knew it!” whispered Tor. “I knew we’d get out somehow.”
“We should move,” said Grey Wolf.
“Need a minute,” said Kibi. “Best if they don’t know how you got yourselves out a’ jail. Make ’em wonder if you didn’t just up and vanish into thin air.”
Kibi pressed his hand to the wall, and after half a minute or so the hole sealed itself up. How did he manage that without it making noise? For that matter, what happened to the stone where he made his gap? Magic didn’t make sense whether it was Kibi or Aravia doing it, but Grey Wolf was glad to have wizards on his side.
The stonecutter repeated his trick farther down the wall, sealing the opening he had made into the others’ cell.
“There, that’s done then. Follow me; I got a surprise for you.”
They crept down the little street; on both sides were the backs of buildings, with few doors or windows to mark them. Kibi kept his lantern aimed downward at the damp stone, playing it back and forth to show up divots or piles of trash. Before they had gone fifty feet, he stopped where a true alleyway intersected the street.
