Walk Through Fire (Prequel)

by Joshua P. Simon

  Ronav signaled a halt. Jonrell handed Yanasi off to Cassus. She didn’t want to leave his side. Cassus gave the girl a few words of comfort, but it wasn’t until Jonrell assured her he would only be gone a moment that she relented.

  Jonrell gave his horse to Hag, who for once, was too tired to offer a jibe, accepting the beast without comment. We are already dead on our feet. How can we hope to make it into the city and to the docks?

  * * *

  Despite the concoction Hag had given him, Krytien felt the effects of little sleep coupled with so much physical exertion. Looking over at Ronav, he knew that he was not nearly as bad off as his friend.

  Why did you make me use that spell? You know its effects. One Above, you look ten years older now.

  Jonrell shuffled up next to them. All exchanged nods, too tired to waste energy on unnecessary speech.

  Ronav cleared his throat and took a swallow of water. “We’ll wait here until midnight. We all need sleep. From what the rear scouts say, Hezen will reach the city in the next hour.”

  “Then let’s go now,” offered Krytien.

  “Too risky during daylight. We’d stick out,” said Jonrell.

  Ronav nodded. “No doubt patrols will be doubled. It will be easier to sneak around at night.”

  “So, how do we get in?” asked Jonrell.

  “At the base of the walls, over there,” Ronav said, pointing between a patch of trees. “Between the south gate and the southwest corner there’s an old sewage drain. There are a few others, but that one offers the most cover. Those who aren’t sleeping or keeping watch will take turns working on the bars enclosing it.”

  “Do we have time for that?” asked Krytien.

  “Like most of this city, they’ve been poorly maintained. We should be through relatively quickly.”

  “I could just take care of them myself,” suggested Krytien.

  “No sorcery,” said Ronav. “Not until absolutely necessary. I want you as strong as possible since we don’t know what we’ll be facing. Besides, Hezen’s mages will be doing all they can to sense your presence.”

  “Then what?” asked Jonrell.

  “We get to the docks. There should be a ship there called Nuisance. The captain’s name is Trekkel. I sent him a letter over a week ago. He owes me. He’ll take us to Slum Isle. But he won’t wait around if things get ugly. He’ll leave by dawn in case we’re spotted and Hezen starts searching ships.”

  “So, we’re splitting up, right?” asked Jonrell.

  “No,” said Ronav.

  “But we can more easily evade his men in smaller groups,” started Jonrell.

  Ronav shook his head. “I’ve lost nearly half my men in the last few days and we’re all a mess. We need to watch each other’s backs. The last thing I want is for that smug idiot, Ahned, to pick us off one at a time.”

  Krytien saw the concerned look on Jonrell’s face and the set in his jaw. He urged Ronav. “What happens if we do get separated?”

  Ronav sighed. “Then every man should hightail it to Trekkel’s ship.”

  “Should we reform squads and assign squad leaders? After our losses, we don’t have one full team among us,” said Jonrell.

  “Wouldn’t hurt,” said Ronav. “Your suggestion, your responsibility.”

  “I’ll get on it,” said Jonrell.

  “He definitely cares about the men,” said Krytien as Jonrell walked away.

  “Admit it, you could see him leading this outfit when I’m gone, can’t you?”

  “Let’s not worry about that now.”

  Ronav tried to smile through reddened eyes. “You ready for tonight?”

  “We’ve faced worse.”

  “True, but we were younger and better rested then. This may be it.”

  There he is talking about the end again. “Then let’s make it count.”

  Ronav’s grinned. “Aye, if we must, let’s paint the streets red with the bodies of Hezen’s men.”

  Chapter 9

  The sludge between Raker’s fingers squished in his hands, releasing a smell that turned his stomach. His palm slipped in the thick layer of waste, pitching him forward. His face sunk into the black muck that had formed on the ledge of the sewer drain. He came up quick, spitting and cursing, trying to wipe his mouth with the cleanest part of his clothing. Nothing was clean.

  A whispering voice called from behind. “Raker, you ok?”

  “No, I’m not ok. You should be in front. You’re the scout.”

  “But Ronav said. . . .”

  “I know what Ronav said,” he growled. “If you’d been closer with that light, I wouldn’t have lost my bearings.”

  “Sorry.”

  Raker grunted and started muttering to himself. “Sorry.” He snorted. “You didn’t just get a mouthful of someone’s crap.” He looked around at the tunnels of a city that stood for centuries. “Watch me catch some disease that had died out generations ago.”

  “What’d you say?” whispered the scout.

  Raker spun around and met the young soldier’s eyes. “Keep your mouth shut. I can’t think with you yapping in my ear.”

  The scout gave Raker a confused look, but nodded nonetheless.

  I swear I’m surrounded by idiots.

  Raker started crawling again, ducking under a crumbling archway that reduced the sewer drain’s size. As Hell Patrol’s engineer, Ronav had told him to take point as he would be the best judge of the tunnel’s structural integrity. No one wanted to be buried alive in this muck.

  That was what he’d been told, anyway. But he’d seen the look Krytien gave him, a knowing smirk.

  First he picks me to help him with Ronav when the others get to sleep. And now I’m stuck clearing the way through the city’s crap.

  Raker swore, knowing he’d made a mistake in entering Effren’s camp to drink with his men.

  Sure, I was the first to go into their camp. But I didn’t force the others to follow. It’s not my fault soldiers won’t pass up free liquor.

  His mouth watered a bit as he thought about a good drink. Unfortunately, all that did was remind him of the black residue still on his tongue. He spat again.

  Ale would be just the thing to wash this taste away. I could put in some chew. He shook his head. Hands are too dirty and my mouth ain’t much better. It’d be a sin to waste the tobacco.

  Sometime later, shafts of moonlight descended into the murkiness. Underneath the dim light hung a rusted ladder anchored deep into the stone sides of the tunnel.

  He shimmied up the rungs, slipping and suppressing curses so no one above would hear if they were up in the middle of the night. The rungs led into a smaller chute. When he reached the top, Raker saw he was near a shielded drain at street level, the opening large enough for a man to pass through.

  Glacar will have some trouble. Raker smiled at that. Serves the ape right.

  He looked around and then climbed out. The area seemed secluded, near several abandoned buildings. It was eerily quiet, too quiet for him. The only sound came from flapping clothes hung on a line half a block away. He and the scout checked around the area and decided it was safe for the others to come up.

  Raker returned to the drain and called to the next man on the ladder to pass the word.

  * * *

  Jonrell climbed out smelling like the inside of a chamber pot. He inhaled deeply, taking in the fresh night air. He stepped aside from the drain so the next man could pass through and saw Raker covered head to toe in filth that he had done a better job of avoiding. His eyes must have betrayed both his disgust and wonder for Raker narrowed his focus on him.

  “Don’t you say a word,” the mercenary whispered before stalking away.

  Jonrell suppressed a chuckle.

  Yanasi came up next with a bow and quiver slung across her small back.

  “What are you doing with that?” asked Jonrell.

  “Cassus gave it to me, sir,” she said, looking down.

  Cassus stepped in beside her.
“Anything can happen tonight.”

  “She’s just a girl.”

  “So?” Yanasi looked up. “I’m a good shot already and I can see better than anyone else.”

  “She’s right,” added Cassus.

  Jonrell let out a sigh. “Fine. Keep the bow, but don’t you fire a shot unless I tell you otherwise. Understand?”

  Yanasi nodded.

  Jonrell looked at the little red-head with her wild hair pulled into a slick ponytail. She wore the black leathers of a mercenary, too small for any of the spare red armor they might have also clothed her with.

  He told Ronav earlier that it would be impossible to find her a home with everything going on. After some hesitation the commander agreed.

  “She can come Jonrell, at least until Slum Isle. You’ll need to find a place for her there.”

  Jonrell agreed. But, looking at her and seeing how hard she tried to fit in and be a soldier, he wondered if any other home would be enough for her.

  She seems much stronger with that bow in her hand, like it gives her the confidence and strength she lost when her father abandoned her.

  Cassus gave him a nudge. “You ready? We just got word to move out.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  Chapter 10

  The Hell Patrol entered Asantia by way of the Southern District. Refuse lined the worn, cobbled roads of the city’s poorest area. Buildings were in such awful condition that Kroke couldn’t tell which structures had been abandoned. He gave up guessing after coming across a hollowed out place with only three of the four walls standing. Peering inside a lower level window as he snuck by, he saw a family of five huddled in a corner. The hungry eyes of a dog peered back at him, silently baring its teeth in warning as it stood guard over its masters. A soldier to Kroke’s right raised a cocked crossbow in fear, but he steadied the man and waved him off.

  Just protecting his own. He won’t be any trouble to us.

  Not long after the encounter, Kroke’s fingers began to itch, a familiar sensation he last felt at Effren’s camp before everything had broken loose.

  He would never admit such a thing openly, but the lack of sleep and endless exertion had him fatigued in a way he only knew from a handful of occasions. His eyes itched and his joints ached. Exhaustion was the worst enemy of a man who prided himself in his ability to think and move quickly. The small shooting pain traveling up his leg with each step didn’t help matters.

  He could leave the Hell Patrol. Stealing off into the night, sliding down one of the city’s narrow alleys, or even slipping through an open window and killing the room’s inhabitants so he could lie low until healed. And after a change of clothes and perhaps a bath, he could make his way out of the city and go wherever life took him. After all, he had done it before and no one could stop him from doing it again.

  Yet he kept moving. The stand he had made with Glacar, Jonrell, and Ronav while escaping Hezen’s men had done something to him. If nothing else, he felt an obligation to at least see things through the night. I could always move on in the morning if I’m not rotting in some gutter.

  His skin continued to crawl and his fingertips twitched, sending a wave of uneasiness into his palms and up his arms as a thick fog crept in. He slid another knife free to accompany the curved blade Jonrell had given him.

  * * *

  Krytien followed Ronav’s gaze as the commander glanced behind him. Kroke held daggers in each hand. Ronav mouthed a string of hushed profanity. “What’s going on Krytien? This fog just came out of nowhere and is growing thicker with each passing breath.”

  “It is acting peculiar.”

  “Sorcery? Do they know we’re here?” asked Ronav.

  “It’s possible. I can’t tell without risking us being discovered for certain.”

  “Do it. Tell me what’s going on. I need to know what we’re walking into.”

  Krytien closed his eyes and extended his senses, feeling for the use of sorcery. His attempt failed, blocked. Though he could not pinpoint their location, he knew mages hid somewhere out in the fog’s cover. He could not guess their number, but was certain they worked in unison to nullify him.

  “They know we’re here but I can’t tell how close they are or how many they brought against us.”

  Ronav’s eyes widened. “How much time? Give me something.”

  Krytien tried again, but something repelled his efforts. He swallowed hard. “One Above, I don’t know.”

  All went still, a deathly quiet pierced by the howl of a distant dog.

  Arrows cut through the haze, one striking Krytien in the shoulder. The impact sent him tumbling to the street, banging his head against the ground. Heavy footsteps followed the next hiss of arrows. Screams of panic and anger came from the men around him.

  Get up!

  Krytien started to right himself, shaking away the cobwebs. He made it to his knees before the first sounds of steel meeting steel echoed in the night.

  * * *

  The first man was too slow, the same for the second and third. After Kroke took out his first dozen, things changed.

  They came at him in a swarm, attacking from all sides. Leading with shields, they used their spears to keep a safe distance, pushing and prodding, corralling him into a more confined space. He avoided the jabbing points and slipped by any bullying charges, but he found little opportunity to mount an attack of his own.

  I just need a moment to regain position.

  But none wanted to give him that moment. He jerked back and avoided a spear to his throat. Twitching to his right, he evaded another soldier’s thrust. Quickly, he ducked as a sword whistled through the air above his head. On his way down he sliced at the swordsmen’s exposed wrist, but the impact of a shield pitched him forward. He took a boot to his back and his chest struck the ground. He rolled away as spear points clacked against the street after him.

  He managed to regain his feet in time to pivot away from another spear strike. The jagged edge raked across his right shoulder. Kroke took the injury in stride and whipped his arm in a wide arcing motion as he released the dagger. The blade embedded itself in the soldier’s thigh and the man cried out dropping his spear to use both hands to stymie the gushing blood.

  Kroke had little time to celebrate as someone slammed into him again. He fell sprawling to the ground once more, rolling, turning, and twisting from the various attacks that followed.

  I should have left when I had the chance. Why risk my life when no one cares if I die? Nobody has even bothered to help me.

  He drew another dagger. It’s too late to go back now. There would be no more dodging of attacks, no wasted effort on staying alive. He only cared about how many he killed before rattling his last breath.

  His arm snapped out like a cobra and the teeth of his blade hamstrung a soldier who fell into another, screaming. The attack left Kroke open and a boot caught him in the side. He ignored the pain and came after the man who kicked him. He jumped atop the man and opened his throat, slicing so deep the blade struck the bone at the back of the man’s neck. He fell away just as a spear ripped into his side, tearing through his boiled leather and cutting across his flesh. The wound burned, but Kroke knew the laceration wasn’t deep.

  He spun and flung his arm out at a soldier’s leg, knowing the man would try to deflect the attack. Kroke lunged at the soldier’s open head with his other knife. The blade slipped through the slotted opening of the soldier’s visor and sank into the man’s eye.

  Kroke managed to take out three more soldiers, but not without gaining several new wounds of his own. His sudden burst of desperation initially caused those he faced to lose focus. But, the soldiers had regained their composure and came at him methodically.

  Kroke lashed out as a spear came in from his left. He ignored the attack in order to make another kill, knowing his death would come soon anyway. Blood spilled forth, covering his hand in crimson red. Embracing the moment, he lingered in that position, waiting for his own death to follow.
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  But death never came. A long sword held by a tall mercenary with sweat-soaked hair sliced through the air, shattering the spear shaft. Jonrell followed up with an upward stroke that lopped the man’s head off before he moved on to the next soldier. Kroke rejoined the fray, fighting back to back with Jonrell just as he had days before.

  Despite his wounds, the small reprieve renewed Kroke’s energy. His senses refocused. He grinned.

  “Can you hold the alley alone?” Jonrell shouted. “We’re starting to break on our left.”

  Kroke crouched and waved Jonrell away. Since they had regained position, there was no one around except the men running down the alley toward him, hoping to flank the Hell Patrol’s position.

  But first they have to get through me.

  * * *

  Raker’s mace smashed against the side of his opponent’s helm. He heard the clang of steel and crack of bone at impact. Teeth flew in the air and the man hit the ground, lower jaw hanging like a loose sail.

  “I saw that look you gave me. How’d that fancy cloak and shiny armor work out for you?” He spat on the man, allowing himself to feel smug for a moment.

  A raspy scream caused him to turn and Raker watched one of Hezen’s men get pierced clean through one side and out the other. The spear point pushed into another soldier beside him. Two men splattered to the ground in a heap of flesh. An old woman climbed over the men and pulled out a cleaver at her belt, hacking away until they stopped moving. She looked up with narrowed eyes. “One Above, Raker. Pay attention,” said Hag.

  She cast him a scowl and picked up the lid of a kettle in her off hand. Using it as a shield, she waddled over and engaged the next man who dared underestimate her.

  Raker spat and tightened the grip on his mace. ”I knew they were there. You find your own!”

  It wasn’t true, but he wouldn’t dare tell her. He knew she’d hold it over his head if he did. Besides, it’d only be a matter of time before he’d have to do the same for her and he’d make sure to get his remarks in as well.

  A soldier met his eye and ran toward him. Swinging his mace, Raker angled the weapon so it came around the man’s shield and cracked into the back of his opponent’s skull. The man fell, spitting out a piece of his tongue in the process.