The Collapsing Path (The Narrowing Path Series Book 3)

by David J Normoyle

  She held a bloodied knife in her hand. She entered and instantly cut his wrist free from the bedpost. Bowe collapsed to the floor, hugging his wrist to his body. The release of his wrist sent pains shooting up his hand. That was a good sign, he knew; numbness was more dangerous than pain. It didn’t make it any easier to deal with.

  When the initial agony faded, Bowe twisted his head to look upward. “What are you doing here?”

  Borba had crouched down, with an uncertain hand hovering above him. “Stenesso and the other Guardians want to pass judgment and have you executed once you regain consciousness. Others of us are willing to help you. Provided...”

  “Provided?”

  “What has been done to you was ordered by the three remaining Guardians, but many of us are no longer behind them. They look to the past and we look for the future.”

  Bowe understood. His rescuers wanted a guarantee of a place in the Refuge. “I can’t promise anything. But you know you’ll get a better reception at the Refuge as my rescuers as opposed to my murderers.”

  Borba considered, then gave a firm nod. “Agreed. Can you walk?”

  Bowe thought about it. “Doubtful.”

  “I didn’t expect you to be this bad.”

  “I never thought to be this bad.”

  “Wait here. I’ll get help.”

  “I won’t be going anywhere,” Bowe said, but she was already gone. “Unless my executioners arrive. Then there can be a tug of war with my body as the rope. It will be delightful fun.”

  Ignoring his body’s protests, Bowe grabbed hold of the leg of the bed and attempted to pull himself up. His chest barely rose above the carpet before he fell back down again. He had no strength.

  “Bowe.” Thrace appeared.

  Was he on the side of the executioners or the rescuers? Only when Borba crowded in behind him did Bowe know he could be glad about seeing his old Bellanger brother.

  “You came to help me?” Bowe asked.

  Thrace grinned sheepishly. “I should never have left your side.” His gaze roved over Bowe’s body and his smile disappeared. “What have they done to you?”

  “Watch out.” Over Thrace’s shoulder, Bowe saw Alandar. “Behind you!”

  Thrace spun.

  “It’s okay,” Borba said. “He’s with us.”

  “He is?” Other than Stenesso, Alandar was just about the last person Bowe would expect to be helping him.

  “I don’t have to like you to accept that we ascor are facing our doom, and that you have become our salvation.” Alandar’s jeweled knife scabbard hung at his side.

  “Hurry,” Borba said. “Let’s get him out of here before it’s too late.”

  Alandar reached down and put his arm under Bowe’s shoulder, and Bowe jerked away.

  Alandar scowled. “You don’t have time to hand-pick your rescuers. Either come with us or we leave you behind to die.”

  Alandar reached for him again, and this time Bowe didn’t shift away. Bowe believed that some ascor deserved a place in the new Refuge, in the new future. But Alandar? The man who had killed Coinal’s friend and dumped his body on Bowe’s rickshaw simply to send a macabre message. Bowe had insisted on not passing judgment before allowing a person into the Refuge—because once that began, where did it end? Who judged and how? Bowe himself might not deserve his place in the Refuge if he was called to account for all his crimes. However, Bowe wasn’t sure he could stand on principle when it came to Alandar.

  With Alandar lifting on one side, Thrace got his arm under Bowe’s armpit. Bowe moaned as they raised him to his feet, a thousand wounds protesting at once.

  “Come. Quickly.” Borba held the door open. “I hear shouts.”

  Thrace and Alandar carried Bowe out the door, Bowe’s legs dragging behind. In the corridor, Bowe saw what he’d only heard before. The big marshal with the placid face lay in a pool of his own blood, his neck sliced open.

  Thrace and Alandar maneuvered Bowe around the body.

  “Wait. My knife.” Bowe pointed at his own metal scabbard and knife, where it was cinched around the marshal’s waist.

  “We don’t have time,” Borba said.

  “It’ll only take a moment.” Thrace leaned Bowe against the wall. He bent down, unbuckled the knife belt and pulled. When it got caught under the marshal’s body, Thrace poked his shoe under the marshal’s waist then gave another tug. It popped free. Thrace quickly strapped it around Bowe’s waist.

  “Come. Come.” Borba tapped her foot on the carpet.

  Thrace tucked his shoulder under Bowe’s arm again and they continued down the corridor. “Not sure that knife will be much good to you tonight, Bowe. I know you practiced a bit, but you would need to be able to move your arms to use it,” Thrace told Bowe.

  “Not an issue. This is all an act,” Bowe said.

  “The blood, everything?” Thrace asked.

  “Certainly. I can actually move with the grace of a swallow in flight.” Bowe jerked his left leg forward so it was actually taking a step. His muscled cramped up in pain, and the leg fell back behind again. Beads of sweat popped up on his forehead at the exertion, but Bowe managed to repeat the movement with his right leg.

  “A swallow, you said?”

  “Perhaps a swallow with its wings cut off.”

  Borba was leading them toward the back entrance of the mansion. Everything felt familiar and strange at the same time.

  The smell of smoke was stronger now, and shouts rang out. Swords clashed not too far away. “What’s going on?” Bowe asked.

  “Hess is attacking,” Thrace said.

  “How are we going to get out?” Bowe asked.

  “Their main force is attacking through the front,” Borba said. “They have fired the entrance guardhouses. Hopefully the back is less well guarded.”

  She pushed open the door to the back courtyard. Every few paces, Bowe made one of his legs take a step, gritting his teeth against the surge of pain each time. If it came to a fight, Bowe wanted to at least be able to move under his own power, even if he couldn't help anyone. The sounds of battle were louder now, though clearly coming from the front of the mansion. It would be Hess’s style to charge straight through the front gates.

  Halfway across the courtyard, a figure dashed over to join them. Helion’s light revealed the sharp features and thin figure of Freyya, Stenesso’s head wife. She fell in beside Borba. “What kept you?”

  “He’s in worse shape than we expected,” Borba said.

  “Did he agree?” Freyya glanced over her shoulder at Bowe.

  Borba shook her head. “No. But we have no choice. We have to bring him back alive to have the best chance.”

  Freyya frowned. “You were supposed to get him to agree to our demands before rescuing him.”

  “I made a decision. There wasn’t time to negotiate and now is not the time to second guess.”

  Freyya glanced back, perhaps deciding whether it was worth rescuing Bowe without his promise to help them.

  “So there you are,” Stenesso’s voice boomed out from behind them. Bowe looked over his shoulder to see the Grenier Guardian approaching with long strides.

  “I wanted to execute you in the great hall in front of the Guardians and the remaining ascor. That’s the way it should have been done. Unfortunately, Hess attacked, and now this.” He drew his sword. “I guess it doesn’t matter just as long as you end up dead.”

  Thrace ducked out from under Bowe, releasing him and drawing his own sword. Bowe fell against Alandar. “Get him to safety,” Thrace said. “I’ll hold off Stenesso.”

  Stenesso had become aware of Freyya. “What are you doing here?”

  Freyya backed away, and Thrace charged forward with an overhead swing. Stenesso blocked then kicked Thrace in the chest, sending him stumbling back.

  Alandar pulled Bowe away, with Bowe managing to support enough of his own weight that one person’s help was enough.

  Bowe kept his eyes glued to the fight. Thrace was the
younger man, but Stenesso was bigger and stronger. They had both grown up at the Fortress and therefore had trained since they were old enough to grip a sword. Stenesso was reputed to be best of the Greniers—it was one reason he was made a Guardian at a young age. However, Thrace had never cared about reputation and spent his days training with the Bellanger marshals; he wasn’t giving Stenesso any time or space, pressing forward with short, fast strikes. Stenesso blocked or dodged each strike from Thrace, though he was forced backward each time.

  Alandar guided Bowe off to the side of the courtyard where he leaned Bowe against a tree. Having dealt with Thrace’s initial flurry, Stenesso began to get the upper hand. His reputation was deserved. Even when Thrace blocked a blow, he was forced a half step back by the force behind it. And it wasn’t just force Stenesso brought to bear, he threw in feints, kicks, and even used his non-sword hand to good effect, hitting Thrace with an elbow to the nose at one point.

  “Freyya thinks we need you,” Alandar said.

  “What?” Bowe turned away from the fight toward Alandar’s shadowed face.

  “I disagree.” With a whisper of metal against leather, Alandar drew his dagger.

  Bowe’s breath caught. “Freyya’s right, you do need me if you want to survive the Infernam.”

  “You being alive would help.” Alandar released Bowe’s arm and stepped around to face him. “But I’m willing to take the risk.”

  Bowe leaned back against the tree, searching in vain for some sign of mercy on Alandar’s face. Alandar leaned into Bowe chest, slowly bringing his knife toward Bowe’s neck. Bowe grabbed Alandar’s wrist.

  “You deserve to die for what you have done to the ascor. To us.” The knife’s edge teetered closer to Bowe’s neck.

  Bowe’s hand shivered and agony ran up his arm as he held on. He couldn’t die like this. “You kill yourself by killing me.”

  “I don’t think so. No one has to know it was me who killed you. We’ll say we tried to rescue you and failed. The marshals were forgiven and we will be forgiven too. The escay are weak. Once they let us in, we will bide our time.”

  Bowe shoved his stump at Alandar’s face, but Alandar just turned his face to the side and it slid past. Alandar wrapped his second hand around his first, using both to increase the pressure. Bowe’s hand gave a fraction and the cold edge of Alandar’s knife touched Bowe’s neck.

  A bead of sweat ran down the side of Bowe’s temple and along his cheekbone. Time had slowed. Is that what happens when one is about to die, Bowe wondered, everything moving in slow motion. He couldn’t hold the blade back much longer. The first time Bowe met Alandar, the ascor had sliced his knife through parchment, creating a ripping sound. What would it sound like when the knife sliced through Bowe’s neck?

  Alandar spasmed and the pressure on the knife eased. Bowe stared into Alandar’s dark eyes, trying to figure out what had happened. He spasmed again and blood bubbled up over his bottom lip and dribbled down his chin. He tumbled to the ground at Bowe’s feet.

  Borba pulled a knife from Alandar’s back. “Are you injured?”

  Bowe nodded. “All over.”

  “Injured more than before?” She wiped the knife on Alandar’s tunic then returned it to the scabbard at Bowe’s hip.

  “My neck.”

  Borba wiped at the blood on Bowe’s neck, then peered closer. “A scratch. Let’s go, we have to get out of here. Hess’s men have taken the mansion.” She stopped when Bowe didn’t follow. “You still can’t walk?” She said it crossly, like it was Bowe’s fault.

  “I’m a bit better than I was.”

  Borba went around to the side of the tree and guided her hand between Bowe’s back and the tree bark. Bowe shifted his weight from the tree onto Borba. She stumbled but held her ground. Bowe jerked his left leg forward, then his right. It wasn’t pretty, but it resembled walking and, with Borba’s support, got him moving toward the back gate.

  “What about Thrace?” Bowe became aware that the fight was still going on. Metal rang against metal. Stenesso and Thrace continued their ferocious battle at the other end of the courtyard. A figure stood close by, watching from the shadows. Thrace was clearly taking the worst of it now. Blood ran from a cut over one eye and his left arm hung lifelessly at his side.

  “The most important thing is that we get you out of here safely,” Borba said.

  “I’m not just leaving him.”

  “You don’t get a say. We are rescuing you.”

  Bowe didn’t reply because the figure that had been watching had just taken a step forward. Stenesso didn’t notice and the figure reached out and hooked his hand around Stenesso’s upper sword-arm.

  Thrace hesitated an instant, then drove his sword into Stenesso’s stomach. The sword went all the way through Stenesso’s body, the point of it emerging out of his lower back. A jagged scream was wrenched from Stenesso’s throat as the Guardian fell to his knees. Thrace slid the sword back out of his torso, and Stenesso released another explosive scream before falling to his back.

  The person who had grabbed Stenesso arm knelt in front of him, and now Bowe recognized her. It was Freyya, his own head wife. She stroked a lock of hair away from his forehead, then adjusted his collar.

  “Why?” Stenesso asked.

  “Your time had gone, but you refused to accept it. This was for the best.” Freyya picked up Stenesso’s sword from where it had fallen at his side. She placed the point against his heart. “I do this with love.” She pressed down on the hilt and it sank into her husband’s heart. His chest expanded, then he was still. Freyya released the sword. “Let’s go.”

  Thrace ran over to help Borba with Bowe. The phrase “deadlier than the male” rose up in Bowe’s mind as he also recalled Alandar’s death at Borba’s hand.

  Outside the gates, over a dozen bodies lay on the ground and fighting continued around them. Many of those on the ground wore the cloaks of marshals, but those still fighting looked more like Greens. It appeared that Hess’s men were about to break through when the Greens had stepped in to fill the breach.

  The Greens created enough space for Thrace, Borba, Freyya, and Bowe to escape through the gates and start down to the street to the left.

  “We’re out!” Freyya shouted, and the Greens began to fall back behind them.

  Two men sprinted out of Raine Mansion and ran past them. One of them stopped dead, and Eolnar and Bowe locked gazes. Bowe couldn’t think of anything to say, and Eolnar had nothing to say either, simply spinning back around and running after his brother.

  Hess’s men pressed the retreating Greens, then realized that the mansion had been left unguarded and broke off to charge through the gates. Bowe was having trouble keeping his pace up, and Thrace and Borba slowed. The Greens surrounded them, watching in all directions for threats.

  “The warehouse isn’t far,” Freyya told Bowe. The rescue she had organized had clearly been well planned out.

  It couldn’t have been more than another few hundred paces, but Bowe’s body felt every single step. By the end, one of the bigger Greens had replaced Borba at Bowe’s shoulder and Bowe’s legs dragged behind again.

  Inside the warehouse, Bowe was guided to a rickshaw and placed inside so he had a place to sit. Lamps shone brightly, revealing that Freyya’s plan was even more sophisticated than he’d imagined. Other than Thrace, no other ascor were present, but Bowe recognized ascora from the Raine, Lessard and Bellanger families, in addition to several dozen Greenettes. Additionally, there had to be several hundred ascor children, all well behaved except for one crying child being hushed by its mother. Bowe wondered if Stenesso had known that his wife was capable of organizing such an exodus under his nose.

  “Get the wagons ready,” Freyya ordered. “We should leave for the Refuge while Hess’s men are still plundering Raine Mansion.”

  Bowe called out to Freyya. “What’s in the wagons?”

  She came over to stand in front of him. “Borba told me about Alandar. I’m sorry. I thou
ght he was sincere in his desire to help us.”

  “He wanted to help you,” Bowe said. “Just not me.”

  “Same thing.” She shook her head. “The ascor liked to think they were the cleverest people in the country. In the end, most of them were idiots. They couldn’t accept the reality before their noses.” She gestured at the wagons. “They contain clothes, valuables, anything we could easily get out of the mansion before Hess’s men arrived.”

  It appeared Freyya had her own blind spot. “There won’t be room for all that in the Refuge.”

  “Of course not. But structures have been erected outside. We can sort everything there and figure out where to store it.”

  “Leave it behind,” Bowe said.

  Freyya shook her head. “We can’t do that. Hess’s men might find it. And this warehouse hasn’t been fireproofed for the Infernam.”

  “If it burns, it burns.”

  Freyya blinked. “We rescued you.”

  “And I’m helping you. Left Post and Right Post will be busy enough without being used for sorting luxuries.” Bowe looked Freyya up and down. Underneath the blood and dirt, intricate lines of embroidery ran down the sleeves and across the bodice of her dress. “And I suggest you find clothing more suitable to the changed order. You’ll find acceptance more easily wearing simple escay dresses.” The marshals had taken off their robes and the ascor, too, would have to put aside their uniform. “It’s a new day, and a new way, and the faster you get used to it, the easier it’ll be.”

  Freyya was nothing if not adaptable. “Very well. I’ll give the orders. Do we just leave the rickshaws and wagons behind?”

  “They’ll be needed to transport the younger children. And the injured.” Bowe wasn’t going to get back to the Refuge under his own power. He was no Tealman. “In addition, bring any food or water that you can get your hands on and have that brought with you.” This time around, essentials like food and water were going to be spread thin.

  Chapter 19