by Aaron Hodges
“You really know how to make friends, don’t you?” Kellian shouted as they fled through the maze of alleyways that was central Ardath.
Devon’s laughter boomed from the walls, drawing their pursuers on. “They say a man…is judged by his enemies,” he panted.
His friend didn’t deign to reply, and they ran on in silence. In the twisting alleyways, they soon became lost, but the maze was the perfect place to hide, and it wasn’t long before all sound of pursuit faded away. Gasping for breath, Devon drew to a stop behind his friend, a grin on his face.
“Decided to rethink that trip to Lon then, old friend?”
Kellian glared back at him. Reaching into his jacket, he drew a dagger and flipped it into the air. His hazel eyes narrowed as it spun. As it started to fall, his hand flashed out and caught it by the blade. Before Devon could react, he drew back his hand, then whipped it forward. The hiss as the throwing knife swept past Devon’s face raised the hackles on his neck. It was quickly followed by a thud—and a strangled cry.
Turning, Devon raised an eyebrow as he watched a man several feet away slump to the ground. Steel rattled on stone as the sword slipped from his fingers. Glancing around, Devon checked for other pursuers, but the man was alone. He watched in silence as Kellian strode past and retrieved his knife.
“I guess I could use the fresh air,” Kellian muttered as he cleaned the blade on the man’s shirt. He studied the blade for a moment, before pointing it at Devon’s chest. “You’ve cost me a small fortune, you know.”
Devon chuckled lightly. Moving forward, he thumped his friend on the shoulder. The gesture was hard enough to send Kellian staggering sideways. “Ay, but at least you’ll have an adventure. Admit it, your talents were wasted as an innkeeper.”
His friend only scowled. Grinning, Devon strode past him. “Come on then, we’d best get out of Ardath before they decide to set the city watch on us.”
“Just what we need,” Kellian muttered, but a moment later the crunch of footsteps on the rubble-strewn ground told Devon he was following.
Together they wound their way through the narrow maze. It was several blocks before Devon found a landmark he recognised, but afterwards they made their way steadily north towards the gates. Finally, they emerged from the shadows into a broad thoroughfare. Picking up the pace, they threaded their way through the crowds leading into marketplace.
Devon swore as the throng jostled them. The marketplace stretched the entire length of Ardath’s northern boundary. Despite the wide avenue running alongside the wall, the bustling stalls and vendors made progress difficult. At least their pursuers would have difficulty spotting them amongst the press of bodies. Even so, Devon could feel his anger rising as men staggered across his path. Clenching his fists, he struggled on after Kellian.
Amidst the crowd, it was difficult to gauge their progress. Above, the sun continued its slow climb into the sky. Despite the cold winter winds, sweat dripped down Devon’s brow. Only when the shadow of the gate tower fell across them did he know they were close. Looking up, his eyes were drawn to the gleaming spire. The walls facing the city shone with gilded gold, interspersed with mosaics of diamond that depicted effigies of the sun. The northern gates to the city had been dedicated to the Light, the most powerful of the three magical elements. The Earth and Sky were represented on the eastern and western gates, while the south was adorned by inscriptions dedicated to the Tsar—the saviour of the Three Nations.
Devon let out a long breath as the men guarding the gate tunnel came into view. They stood at ease, working their slow way through the line of people waiting to leave the city. Kellian glanced back and flashed him a grin. Together they continued forward, pushing their way through the last of the crowd.
As they stepped out into the open, a shout came from behind them. Turning, Devon looked out over the crowd. His eyes alighted on the familiar face of the guard from the night before. Anthony’s left eye was so swollen he looked to be having trouble seeing, and his face was now a mottled purple. If anything, it was an improvement on his looks. He wore the same tunic from the night before, now stained with dirt and blood.
Standing just beyond the crowd, he was separated from Devon by a hundred feet of jostling bodies. With a roar, he drew his sword. His voice carried across the low rumble of the marketplace.
“Devon, you bastard, you’re mine now!”
Chapter 6
Alana’s heart sank as she threaded her way through the last of the market stalls and found a line of wagons stretching away from the gates. Sunlight glittered from the golden spire that towered above them, but below they remained in the shadow of the wall. The cold of night still hung in the air, and Alana shivered as she glanced back at her brother. Dust billowed as people and wagons rumbled past on their way to and from the market.
“You have your knife to hand?” Alana asked, leaning in close.
Braidon nodded and patted his waist where a slight bulge beneath his coat was all she could see of his dagger. Alana squeezed his shoulder, offering her reassurance, and then turned and led him to the back of the queue to leave the city. As they walked up, her boot caught a loose brick on the cobbled street, and she stumbled forward into the back of the last man in the line.
“Oi, watch where you’re walking, runt,” the man snapped as Alana recovered her balance.
Shaking herself, Alana looked up into the man’s dark eyes. “Sorry, sir,” she said quickly.
He didn’t seem any worse for wear, but his brow deepened at her words. The muscles of his jaw clenched as he advanced. One meaty finger jabbed at her chest. “You better watch yourself, girl.”
Alana stood her ground. Pushing back her cloak, she rested her hand on the hilt of her sabre. “Is that so?” she asked, her voice hard now. Narrowing her eyes, she stepped closer to the man. “Want to try me?”
She watched the man’s Adam’s apple bob up and down and grinned. He shook his head and looked away, edging forward to catch up with the rest of the line. Glancing at her brother, Alana winked.
“Never let them push you around,” she whispered.
Her brother laughed, and some of the tension left him. Alana wished the same could be said for her. Her eyes travelled down the queue, taking in the silk merchants and spice traders, the bulky woodsmen heading east into the forests, the hunters with their huge bows and fishermen heading down to the lake to begin the day’s work. There were almost fifty in all, and while the sun was still low in the sky, at the pace the guards were letting people through it might take them all morning to get away. Shaking her head, Alana closed her eyes and tried to still her racing heart.
“Just the two of ya travelling?” Alana’s eyes flew open as a voice spoke from behind them.
Glancing around, she realised a sailor had joined the line behind them. He wore an easy smile on his face, but she swallowed hard, her mind racing. The man had obviously already seen their rucksacks. He knew they were leaving town. Two young travellers alone on the road would be easy prey—if not for him, for someone he might inform.
“We’re meeting our uncle on the docks,” her brother answered before Alana could think of a response. “He went ahead to make sure everything was ready.”
The easy smile didn’t change, but Alana thought she caught a flicker of suspicion in the man’s eyes. She glanced at his belt, but he seemed to be unarmed. Relaxing a little, she fixed a smile to her face. “We didn’t expect the line. Hope he waits for us!”
The man laughed. “It’ll move faster once old Bodric finishes his shift. Don’t know why they keep ’im on the gates. Man must be blessed by a spell or something.”
Alana snorted. “More likely he comes from the right family.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” The sailor scratched at his beard, his eyes looking out over the crowd. “There goes the old fart now. His replacement is usually faster. Shouldn’t take too much longer.”
His words were quickly proven true as the queue started to move. Alana sne
ezed as dust kicked up around them. The echo of hooves on stone grew louder as they approached the gate tunnel. Ahead of them, the man Alana had bumped into kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, but she could sense his antagonism. Ever since the attack in the stepwell, the people of Ardath had seemed on edge. Alana would be glad to see the back of the city.
Finally, the man moved forward to the table set up in front of the gates. There a man sat with a great binder of paper, a feather quill gripped in one meaty hand. Two guards in chainmail vests and scarlet cloaks stood behind him, spears at their sides and swords strapped to their waists.
Usually the city guards stood at ease, but today the men at the gate were jumpy, their eyes alert and weapons gripped tightly. Alana swallowed, lowering her eyes so they wouldn’t see her staring. Silently, she sent a prayer to the Goddess to see them safely from the city.
“Name?” Alana was only half listening as the guard at the table took down the traveller’s details. Her mind was busy elsewhere, taking in the dark shadows of the gate tunnel, unguarded but for the men around the table. If they moved quickly, she and her brother could be through the gates and out the other side before the guards could react.
Only she couldn’t see what waited beyond the tunnel. If the watch had more guards stationed there, they would be caught before they even reached the steps down to the docks. And then there was the matter of securing passage across the lake…
“Next!” Alana blinked and looked up. The man sitting behind the table was staring at her, his eyebrows knitted together in a scowl. “Next!” he said again.
Beyond him, the man ahead of them was already disappearing into the darkness of the tunnel, but as she watched him, he flashed a glance back at them. For a second, a grin split his unshaven chin. Then he was gone.
Shaking her head, Alana forced the man from her mind and approached the table. The guard glared up at her, eyes hard. “Name?” he asked in a cold voice.
Alana swallowed. “Margaret and Jon,” she lied.
“Where are you heading?”
“Onslow,” she lied again. Onslow was halfway to Trola—west through the mountains rather than north along the Gods road. “There’s meant to be a ship leaving shortly.”
“Always a ship leaving shortly,” the guard grunted. He looked in the direction of the gate tunnel, then back at them. His eyes narrowed. “Travelling alone, Margaret and Jon?”
“Our uncle’s waiting on the ship,” Alana replied quickly.
The guard nodded as he scratched notes in his binder. “What’s the name of this ship?” he asked finally.
Alana stood gaping down at the man. His beady eyes were watching her closely. She could see the suspicion on his face. He was asking too many questions, and she wondered suddenly what the man before them had told him. Opening her mouth, she was about to blurt out the first ship name that came to mind when a shout carried across the marketplace.
“Devon, you bastard, you’re mine now!”
Alana spun on the spot and stared as the giant from the night before came muscling his way through the crowd. He was armoured now, the steel links of his chainmail glinting as the first rays of sun broke over the top of the wall. Bloodshot eyes glinted from beneath an iron half-helm, and the haft of a warhammer stretched up over his right shoulder.
A second man moved alongside Devon. He stood almost a foot shorter than the giant and was less heavily muscled. Though he wore no sword, he moved with the balanced steps of a fighter. He was older than Devon, the flesh around his eyes crinkled with wisdom. As another shout carried across the marketplace, he skipped quickly around the queue for the gate and headed for the guard sitting at the table.
“Oi, you two, back of the line!” Alana glanced back as the man behind the table stood and pointed at Devon and his friend.
Alana grabbed her brother by the shoulder and stepped aside, moving slowly towards the gate. She watched as Devon’s friend walked up to the table. He was puffing hard, his chest heaving with each intake of breath. Behind the table, the guards bristled. Stepping out into the street, they levelled their spears at the newcomers.
Standing behind the distracted guards, Alana and Braidon continued to edge towards the darkness of the gate tunnel. She watched as Devon moved up beside his friend. The hard amber eyes looked down at the guards with scorn. “Get out of our way.”
Steel rattled as the guards hefted their spears.
“Friends, one moment!” Beside Devon, the smaller man finally found his breath. Lifting his arms, he showed his empty hands. “Excuse my friend his rudeness. We only wish to pass through the gates.”
“You and your friend aren’t going anywhere without waiting in line, Kellian,” the guard behind the table growled, eyes flashing with anger. “Now if you’ll excuse—”
“I’m afraid we really do need to be going,” Kellian interrupted. Another shout came from somewhere in the crowded marketplace. He cast a nervous glance back before continuing, “but I’m sure we can come to a mutually agreeable arrangement.”
Before the guard could reply, Kellian’s hand disappeared into his tunic and reappeared with a gold libra. “One apiece would seem fair, don’t you think?” he asked, his eyes flickering to the two spearmen.
In the road, the spearmen wavered, their weapons dropping half an inch. Alana and her brother picked up the pace. The tunnel was just a few steps away now, but she didn’t dare make a run for it. The guards were bound to notice any sudden movement. But if Devon and his friend finished their business before they made it into the tunnel…
“One each?” The guard at the table was eyeing the coin greedily.
Still moving backwards, Alana shivered as the air turned cold. She staggered slightly, but glancing around, she breathed a sigh of relief. They had made it into the tunnel. Grabbing her brother by the arm, she turned and pulled him deeper into the darkness. The weight of the wall pressed in around them, the massive blocks of granite hovering overhead. She kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, where she could just make out the glimmer of sunlight on water.
Beside her, Braidon gripped her hand hard. Their footsteps echoed loudly in the darkness. Unable to see where she was placing her feet, Alana pressed her hand to the wall, using the moss-covered stone to steady herself. The wall was only twenty-five feet thick, but the passage seemed to take an age. The light ahead swelled, until it was suddenly all around them.
Alana stumbled to a stop as they stepped back into the open. For a second her vision swam, and a red light stained the world. Looking out beyond the walls, it seemed as though she stood on the edge of a lake of red. Far below, ships bobbed at anchor, their sails pitch-black, their decks packed with warriors. She watched them sail away to the west, her heart soaring with the display of Plorsean power…
“Alana, Alana!”
Alana blinked as a voice called her name, and the vision faded. She glanced around and found Braidon standing next to her, his face creased with concern. Turning back to the lake, she saw its waters were the deep blue of midday. They stood at the top of the great stairwell leading down the cliffs to the docks far below. There, several ships waited, but they sported only white sails, not the black sails of war.
Shaking her head, she looked at her brother. “Sorry. Let’s go.”
She set off down the marble staircase without waiting for a response.
Chapter 7
Devon caught a glimpse of blonde hair from the corner of his eye as he stepped towards the gates. He turned to look for the owner, but one of the guards moved into his line of sight. Fixing the spearman with a glare, he couldn’t help but smile as the man retreated.
Beside him, Kellian was still negotiating with the captain of the watch. Devon glanced around, scanning the crowd for the first sign of their pursuers. The hammer weighed heavily on his back, and he fought a sudden yearning to reach up and lift it clear. Swallowing the temptation, he shook his head and looked at his friend.
“Yes, a gold libra for each of you,” Kellian w
as saying, his eyes flickering from one man to another, “and there’s another in it for you to split, if you’d be so good as to delay some friends of ours.”
The man behind the desk nodded slowly. Devon could almost see the wheels of his mind whirring as he considered the offer. Grinding his teeth, Devon struggled to contain his frustration. A shout came from the marketplace and he checked the crowd again. People were turning towards a commotion behind them: Anthony and the others were drawing close. Devon clenched his fists and fought the urge to begin cracking skulls.
He had not lied to Kellian. He did not fear the royal guard, however many friends the man had brought with him. No, Devon feared what would happen if he faced them, what he might become if he unleashed his rage, and carried the ancient hammer into battle once more. He had lost himself once in Trola, becoming the warrior of dark renown, a man who killed without restraint or mercy. If he gave himself over to that same darkness, Devon wasn’t sure he would ever resurface.
Turning, Devon stepped in front of his friend. “Times up. You want the gold or not?” he hissed. A gold libra was five times what these men made in a week, and they couldn’t wait any longer.
The captain of the watch blanked, his face paling as he realised a small fortune was about to slip between his fingers. Standing, he gestured quickly at the spearmen. “Yes, yes, of course. My apologies, friends. I forgot your paperwork was already filled out yesterday.”
Devon smiled grimly as the two men stepped aside. Kellian flicked a golden coin to each of them. Placing a fourth on the table, he nodded back at the crowd. “Our friends should be arriving presently. I trust you’ll see they’re suitably delayed?”
“Of course,” the captain replied with a smile. He quickly pocketed the fourth coin. “A pleasure doing business with the two of you. Happy sailing.”
