The Collapsing Path (The Narrowing Path Series Book 3)

by David J Normoyle

  “What happens if the Refuge becomes full by following this plan of yours, then along come Eye fighters or marshals?” Meelyn asked, “They aren’t going to just let themselves be burned to a crisp. Swords and axes will ultimately decide.”

  “If we try and fail...” Bowe shrugged. “Has anything been lost? If we approach with noble intentions, there’s a better chance of ending up in a place which we can be proud.”

  “You talk about everyone getting into the Refuge,” Rianel said. “Right now, no one can.”

  “You fear to pass the city walls?” The city backed onto the high ground that held the entrances to the Refuge. The only way to get a wagon through was through the city.

  “With good reason,” Rianel said.

  “The Grenier marshals are no longer patrolling the streets.”

  “Many fear this Hess more than they did the marshals.” Rianel was a member of the Guild, but it seemed that even he didn’t trust the giant Eye fighter.

  “Hess will see the sense in letting the farmers and food supplies get to the Refuge. He will prefer ruling over a world of people rather than ash.” Or he could just decide to believe his own slogan and ensure everyone died free.

  “You’ve met him?” Urdo asked. “Is he eight feet tall with a mouth full of shark’s teeth?”

  “I’ve met him. And he has human teeth, fewer than most but more scary.” Bowe looked Urdo up and down. “He’s about your size, though I’d bet on his mace over your axe in an Eye fight. If only by a hair.” Maybe more than a hair, but Bowe didn’t want to get any further onto Urdo’s bad side.

  Urdo grinned. “What did I tell you, Meelyn? Big Boona and myself can take this famed Eye fighter.”

  “You know him,” Meelyn said to Bowe. “So you can talk to him as our representative. Make sure we won’t be harmed, and the goods won’t be harmed.”

  “We were planning on moving everyone through the city protected by Meelyn’s men anyway,” Rianel said.

  Meelyn shot Rianel a glare. “Now we won’t have to worry. The ex-Guardian will ensure safe passage for us.”

  “I’ve met him,” Bowe said. “But I wouldn’t think I’m the best person to talk to him.” Hess had spared Bowe’s life so far, but Bowe didn’t want to give him too many chances to change his mind.

  Urdo slapped Bowe on the back, hard enough to send him lurching forward. “Little man is very good at talking. Everyone knows this.”

  “If it gets a good reception, we’ll know we won’t have any problems,” Meelyn said.

  “And if I get a bad reception?” Bowe asked. “Say, a crushed skull?”

  “It’s a risk we are willing to take,” Meelyn said.

  Urdo’s laugh boomed through the camp.

  Chapter 14

  12 Days Left

  Bowe adjusted the hood of his cloak over his head again, but there was only so much a hood could do. The sun was high overhead, bright and strong. The city streets were empty; everyone knew not to be out at this time of day with the Infernam so close. Bowe shuffled forward, each step slow and deliberate. The heat, like a thick, heavy cloak, dragged at him. Sweat streamed down his face. Dust kicked up with each step. Bowe licked his lips, his throat dry and ticklish. He had forgotten to ask for a waterskin. He was too used to traveling by rickshaw.

  He glanced behind him, but he could no longer see the city gates. Beyond them, Rianel and Meelyn had set up camp. They had left the forest before dawn, walking though the morning to reach the city walls, and it was Bowe’s job to clear the situation with Hess so they could safely travel through the city to the Refuge in the late evening and early night. Bowe had left his knife behind with Rianel, deciding it was better to be unarmed.

  The quickest way to the Fortress took him through Drywell Square. Reaching it, Bowe was surprised to see several other people outside. By the time he reached them, it was clear who they were and what they were doing. They were priests cutting down the desiccated bodies hanging from the scaffold.

  “About time that was done,” Bowe told them.

  The nearest priest’s head jerked around, the hood of his patchwork cloak sliding off his head to reveal the bald head of Florence, the priest who had reluctantly helped Bowe during the Battle of Pots and Pans.

  “What do you want?” Florence replaced his hood.

  Bowe lowered his own hood so Florence could recognize him, then quickly raised it back up.

  “You.” The word dripped with scorn. “What do you want?”

  “I’m glad you are moving the bodies.” The priest’s attitude grated on Bowe. “But why have you waited this long?”

  The other two priests returned to their work, wrapping a body in a white sheet, then carrying it to a cart. A gushing breeze kept the smell and flies away.

  “At first the marshals insisted we didn’t. Then, after the Fortress was stormed, Hess decided that it was best to let the bodies of those who died on both sides on display for everyone to see. So no one would forget.”

  “That’s horrible,” Bowe said. “So you finally decided to do the right thing?” They worked in the heat of the day so they weren’t seen. “Are you taking them out in the funeral barge?”

  “This evening.”

  “And you’ll make sure the newsbards spread the word? So all the relatives can say goodbye?”

  Florence looked away. “Leave me to my work.”

  “You intend to have the funeral in secret also? Why? What do priests have to fear?” They gave up their lives and hope of a place in the Refuge to comfort and help those who had to die. “You will all die within twelve days. If priests can’t be brave, how can those with families to protect?”

  “Our job isn’t to provide an example. Just comfort.”

  “And what comfort for the relatives of the victims, knowing that the bodies have been left up to rot for days?” Sharp anger laced Bowe’s words. “Are there other bodies like this? In the Fortress? When will they get a burial?”

  “We do what we can,” Florence said. “This situation is unprecedented.”

  “Sorry, you are right. I apologize.” The anger Bowe felt wasn’t for the priests; it was for those who hung the bodies up on the scaffold in the first place. “It’s good what you are doing here and those who wear the patchwork cloak have always done much for the people of Arcandis.” Bowe’s gaze fell on the overturned wheelchair of Coensaw. “I have a few requests of you, if you’ll listen to me.”

  “The priests take orders from nobody. Even if you were still a Guardian, it wouldn’t matter.”

  “Just requests, not orders. I know a crippled man who would appreciate that chair. He stays in the newswriter, Finshire’s, house. You know where that it?”

  “I know where it is.”

  “I also think you should let the newswriters know about the funerals this evening, so that newsbards have time to spread the word. These people deserve the honor of a proper funeral and their relatives deserve the comfort of saying goodbye.”

  Florence seemed uncertain. He obviously knew what he should do, but he feared doing it. Obviously Urdo wasn’t the only one who believed the Eye fighter was eight feet tall.

  “Don’t worry. Hess isn’t stupid. He’ll realize that is the right thing to do. I’m on my way to speak to him now. Expect to be able to collect bodies from the Fortress and have a bigger funeral tomorrow.”

  “How will we know if Hess agrees?”

  “I’m sure you’ll hear if he doesn’t. Might even see me hanging from the scaffold there.” Bowe wasn’t looking forward to presenting Hess with a list of demands—one had been enough. On the other hand, the Eye fighter could only kill him once.

  Florence returned to helping the other priests. “I’ll watch developments.”

  “There’s one other thing. I know the role of you and your brethren is usually to provide comfort to those who won’t make the Refuge. However, as you said yourself, this time is unprecedented. The Refuge is still empty with only twelve days to go. The marshals who usual
ly organize are no longer in a position to do so. Those wearing the patchwork cloak could be very useful at the Refuge. Plus, there is a faction—you’ll heard more about it in days to come—that will aim to ensure everyone gets to survive. Perhaps the priests would like to aid in that effort. Perhaps there’s a way they can help everyone and also survive.”

  Bowe left without waiting for a reply. He didn’t need to hear snorts of disbelief yet again. It would take time for people to get used to the idea. He only hoped they wouldn’t get used to the idea only to later find it to be impossible, and realize that they were following Bowe Bellanger into the abyss.

  * * *

  He was made to wait at the gates on the Fortress, though at least he was given water. The water eased his thirst even if it didn’t diminish the effects of the pounding heat. When he was finally allowed in, he quickly regretted the need to have come. He was led through the courtyard. Some bodies lay in the dirt where they had fallen. Others had been dumped in a pile against the wall. Pink cloaks, some now red with blood, intertwined with the arms and legs of the corpses. The stench of ripe bodies permeated every breath Bowe took.

  The lackey who Hess had sent to bring Bowe to him delighted in Bowe’s disgust. He deliberately took Bowe close to the pile of bodies, and Bowe flapped his hand in front of his face to beat away the swarm of flies.

  Bowe felt certain he would be taken to the great hall, but he wasn’t brought there directly. After passing through the courtyard, they entered a wide hall where the Guild’s dead had been placed. These were wrapped in white sheets with lit scented candles between the bodies and flowers thrown over them.

  “They died free,” the lackey told Bowe.

  “They died dead,” Bowe replied.

  Outside the entrance of the great hall, a group of men sat around a waterskin, though from the sharp smell, the liquid inside was much stronger than water. From their scars and lean muscles, they were clearly Eye fighters. They wore scraps of ascor clothing, and several expensive ornaments lay strewn beside them. Clearly these were among the victors of the storming of the Fortress, and from their bloodshot eyes, they hadn’t stopped celebrating. If these were Hess’s guards then, if Stenesso decided to try and retake the Fortress, the lot of them would be dying free, or more accurately dying drunk.

  Bowe received several scowls as he opened the door to the great hall, but no one moved to stop him. Bowe’s guide, deciding his job was done, sat down among the other men and reached for the waterskin.

  Bowe was only two steps inside the great hall when he realized he was wrong. Stenesso would not be retaking this place easily, or at all. Hundreds of escay were crammed inside, most of them very young. At the center of it all, Hess lounged across Stenesso’s throne, with his back against one armrest and his legs thrown over the other. He wore ascor clothes, with a scarlet cloak tied around his shoulders. He had clearly moved beyond having a few Eye fighters and hardcore Guild members supporting him. Half the youths of Arcandis had come to follow their great liberator.

  Not many noticed Bowe enter, and even fewer seemed to care. Hess was one who did notice, but he chose not to acknowledge Bowe. With groups of escay scattered throughout the hall, there was no easy route to where Hess waited. Bowe slowly navigated through the crowd, apologizing when he needed someone to move and careful to avoid stepping on stray hands.

  “Friends, attention, we have a look who has graced our presence. Some call him a hero.” Hess finally drew the crowd’s attention on Bowe. Throughout the hall, faces turned to look at him. A clear way opened up, and Bowe swiftly made his way to the foot of Hess’s throne.

  “You are the real hero.” Bowe bowed his head.

  Hess adjusted himself on the throne until he sat upright. He glared down at Bowe. “I don’t need an ascor’s acclaim to know what I am.” He raised his arms wide. “This is all I need, the acclaim of my own people.” A rousing noise filled the hall to the rafters, cheering along with the slapping on hands and stamping of feet.

  Not the best start, Bowe thought to himself. Bowe had pretended to himself that there was no way Hess would kill him, but he could pretend no longer. Hess would do whatever got him a bigger cheer from his supporters, and the Eye fighter had never had any issues with killing.

  “There are stories, though, that you are the real hero.” Hisses and boos spread through the watching crowd. “That you were born an escay, became an ascor, then freed his real people.”

  “I’m no hero.”

  “Are you ascor or escay?”

  Bowe wasn’t sure how to reply to that. Hess had promised to wipe out the ascor, so claiming that title would be almost giving the Eye fighter permission to kill him. But if he claimed to be escay, would he be laying claim to the story that Hess mentioned? “I’m not sure which I am,” Bowe said. “I know that the ascor want me dead. I guess I’m about to find out if the escay do.”

  Hess smiled, revealing his mouth of spiked teeth. “You stand before me, still stinking of your crimes. You were a Guardian.”

  “I beg your forgiveness for my crimes.”

  “You don’t look like you are begging.”

  Bowe knew what Hess wanted, and he fell to his knees. “I beg forgiveness.”

  Hess lazily held out his right hand. On his second finger was a gold ring set with a large ruby. Obviously, it had once belonged to the Greniers.

  Bowe leaned forward to kiss the ring. Before he had a chance to, Hess drove his fist into Bowe’s jaw, knocking him onto his back.

  Hess sprang to his feet. “You aren’t even worthy to kiss my ring, ascor slime.”

  Bowe started back to his feet.

  “Don’t stand in my presence. On your belly, slime.”

  Bowe twisted onto his stomach and snaked forward. He could feel hundreds of gazes crawling down his back. As the dirt from the floor smeared the front of his cloak, so the humiliation smeared itself upon his being. The difference being that the humiliation could never be cleaned off. He did what he had to, not for himself, but for Arcandis. He told himself that, but it didn’t make it any easier. He had been a Guardian, one of the four most powerful people in Arcandis. And he had given it all up to crawl at the feet of a jumped-up Eye fighter.

  Bowe stopped at Hess’s feet, not daring to look up. The shoes were made of fine leather; Hess had clearly found a pair big enough for his feet inside the mansion.

  Bowe waited, then Hess drew back his leg and kicked Bowe in the face. Bowe went spiraling back. Pain exploded in his face, Bowe hadn’t felt the first blow too much, but this one he sure did. His vision dimmed, then returned. When he could hear properly, he realized that Hess and the whole hall was laughing.

  “This is one of the great Guardians. Those who we were told we had to tremble in fear when they passed. Well, no longer.”

  A warmth trickled inside Bowe’s mouth and he spat out blood. He then snaked forward on his belly to Hess’s feet again. Hess retook his seat. “You came here for something. What was it?”

  Bowe tilted his head to the side to he could look up. “I’m afraid. Afraid that when the Infernam comes there’ll be no food in the Refuge.”

  “We’re not afraid,” Hess declared. “We die free or we live free.” Another cheer washed across the great hall.

  “The farmers who bring food to the Infernam are afraid. The marshals were stopping them and arresting them.”

  “We dealt with those marshals,” Hess said. “They now decorate my yard.”

  “The farmers need Hess’s protection. They want a promise they can cross the city safely and get to the Refuge. That way there’ll be enough food and water to survive the Infernam.”

  “They have nothing to fear from me. Our revolution is to help escay everywhere.” Hess raised his voice to address the entire hall. “No one is to interfere with anyone traveling to the Refuge.”

  Bowe didn’t want to push his luck and look for more, but he had promised. “Also, the priests want to organize funerals for those who have fallen in the
struggle. Those hung from the scaffolds, those in the Fortress. They deserve to be honored in a funeral attended by their relatives.”

  “I left them as a reminder,” Hess said.

  “The struggle is over. You have won,” Bowe said. “It’s time to bury the dead.”

  “Three Guardians and many ascor still hide out in Raine Mansion and Lessard Mansion.”

  “They hide because they know they have lost. And you know you have won. It’s just a matter of time.” Bowe had known that when he’d entered the great hall and seen the number of followers Hess had drawn to him. The escay were no longer afraid. And Bowe’s subjugation would only make them less afraid and draw new followers.

  “I was getting sick of the smell anyway.” Hess waved his hand. “Let the priests have their funerals.”

  Bowe’s capitulation on behalf of the ascor seemed to have put Hess in a generous mood. Though his performance might be another reason, if they needed one, that the ascor would want to see Bowe die in a painful manner. Bowe’s problem was how to leave. Hess wouldn’t appreciate Bowe standing up again. So Bowe pushed himself from his belly onto all fours and began to crawl back the way he had come. Hess’s chuckle followed in his wake. Because of his stump, it was a limping crawl.

  Among the escay, eyes widened in shock. Some still couldn’t believe it was happening. At first, they just watched, and Bowe thought the humiliation of being watched crawl out of the Grenier great hall was as bad as it would get. Then one of the youths spat in Bowe’s face.

  Bowe sped up, his stump hurting as it scraped against the mosaic tiles. A kick hit his backside, then another thumped into his side. He knew the end of the hall wasn’t too far away, so he gritted his teeth and kept crawling, doing his best to ignore the punches and kicks and spit hurled his way.

  At the door was a youth Bowe recognized. It was Yac, the boy from Leti’s kitchen who had warned of the coming storm. Bowe thought Yac was going to open the door to help him escape. Instead he bent down and punched Bowe straight in the nose. Bowe’s eyes watered. He sprang to his feet and threw himself against the door. It opened, and Bowe slammed it shut behind him.