by Jon Kiln
“There will be time for talking,” one of the bear-masks guarding Draken said.
It was an old Figan saying Draken and Pul had heard all their lives. It sounded strange drenched in the heavy accent of the Edan fighter, but it made Pul smile.
“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”
They entrenched themselves deeper in the woods. Figa could only be seen through a dense latticework of branches and leaves now. From this distance it seemed peaceful, reflecting the calm it had known for so many decades.
“So what’s the plan?” Draken said, after they’d waited there a while. “Do we build a tree house now?”
“Cute,” Pul replied, but he was only half-listening.
This was actually the leg of the plan that the bear-priests had been most concerned with. They had discussed many options, but in their simulations they’d had the highest success actually getting Draken to the Edan border when Pul had waited with the captive for roughly a dozen bear-masks before leaving the Figa region. There were too many small bands of patrolmen, and the numbers were needed for the inevitable skirmishes that would come between now and the safety of their country. If something was going to go wrong, it would happen now, while they fled the country.
Politically, Eda viewed followers of E’ghat as a terrorist group. They were legally bound to fight them as avidly as Drammata’s own soldiers in order to return the prisoner they’d taken, but Pul knew this was largely show. It’s not that they had any sympathizers in high places; it was quite simply fear that protected them.
If Drammata, the wealthiest, best equipped country in the known world could suffer a blow from the bear-masks like the one it was suffering in Figa now, what hope did Eda have to fight them? No, Pul knew they would be able to pass easily through Eda once they were across the border. Then they would take Draken to the deep south—almost to the Carnage Wastes, a vast swampland so deadly it had never been charted—that no soldier, however well equipped, would dare take the fight to them.
Chapter 42
Jace, too, could make out the pattern of the attack clearly. It didn’t take him long to understand the bear-masks had a vested interest in the manor that had remained untouched so far. He didn’t know it was Draken’s former home, but he knew it meant something.
So he strolled over to it, careful to avoid the licking flames that grew and lashed out as the rain spattered them. Three bear-masks saw him, but as he’d guessed they were not commanded to kill any random person they happened across. He was not a threat to them and so was ignored. And anyway, Jace could tell from their demeanors that they were getting ready to leave. The list of possibilities was not long. Draken had either been captured or killed, and further destruction of the city was not needed.
So Jace went to the home they had spared, not knowing what to expect but feeling good about it. There must be a reason…
He knocked at the door and a woman answered after peeking through the curtains at him. It was bizarre, being greeted at a rather fancy doorstep while the fires of Hell raged about them. She looked in his eyes and the fear left her. He looked into hers and knew instantly why the bear-masks cared about this home.
Draken had told Jace about Carella’s legendary beauty, and, unexpectedly, something in Jace ached at the site of her. She was more gorgeous than he had ever thought a person could be, and not least because he knew of her faithfulness.
“Hi,” he said, matching his tone not to the scene of carnage around them but to the mundane normalcy of knocking on a door. “Are you Draken’s wife?”
She looked uncertain, but seeing that he was alone she ushered him inside. He was impressed that she knew he was not a threat to her. Clearly she could read character well, and it made him wonder about the man Draken must have once been to curry the favor of such a woman. Jace didn’t think for a moment it was naivety that caused her to drop her guard now.
“Who are you?” she demanded, letting her frustration into her voice. Jace liked that as well; it was honest.
“I’m a monk.” He held out his necklace before replacing it to his pocket. “I know your husband.”
“Ex-husband,” she told him.
“Ahh,” he said delicately. “That’s right. I’m guessing you understand what’s happening here.” He motioned outside, where the light came through the windows as if the sky itself were on fire.
“Bear-masks?” she said. “You know of them as well?”
“Unfortunately, yes. But I think they are leaving.”
“Did they not come for me?”
“No,” he said. “I think you were only a pawn. They must have Draken in-hand now. I’ll tell you… he put himself in grave danger to try to protect you and your daughters from those cultists.”
She only nodded. Then said, “So it’s safe? Once the fires die?”
“Maybe, if not for the rain.” He explained the way water had an ungodly effect on the wicked fires set by the devices used by the followers of E’ghat.
“Do you think they’ll stop us if they recognize me or my twins?”
“Who can say? But it isn’t safe to stay here. The fires will come whether they intended it or not. And actually, I don’t think they did, if that’s any consolation.”
She made up her mind about something. “All right, I’ll get the girls.”
“Is there anything… irreplaceable? Anything I should grab before we leave?”
“Only Draken’s sword. It’s hanging in the kitchen. It may well be the finest sword in the world.”
Jace thought about the bear-masks and their terrible technologies. He was sure that somewhere they had a sword finer than any ever forged in Drammata. But he wasn’t going to argue. “I’ll get it,” he said. “Perhaps it will help us.”
Soon she was back with the twins. Jace could see they were scared, but they handled themselves well for children. He saw the hard streak of courage in them that Draken had passed on. Too bad his courage had mostly only served him in the pit, and not in his real life.
“We decided on our dessert,” one of the girls said to Carella, though her eyes were on the strange man dressed like a beggar. “Tule creams.”
“Wonderful,” Carella said, gripping her daughter’s hand, only letting the smallest fraction of her fear reach the child. “As soon as I can, I’ll buy some for us all.”
And Jace ached again, but this time on Draken’s behalf. How the man could have let this beautiful family slip between his fingers for drink and sex and gambling was beyond Jace’s understanding. He thanked Dramm-Teskata that it was not his lot to judge men. It was all too complicated.
“The fastest way out of the city,” he said to her. “Do you have an idea?”
“Yes, as long as it’s not blocked by fire.”
While Carella put coats on the girls, Jace grabbed the sword. It was indeed as fine as they came. At least, as fine as he had ever seen. “Here,” he handed the sword to Carella who gripped it with something of a knowing hand. Clearly this was not the first time she’d ever picked it up. “I’m better with my crossbow.”
To her credit, she wasted no time questioning him about whether or not he would use it since he was a monk.
“Let’s go,” she said, and they went, stepping into the inferno that had worsened even since Jace had gone inside the house.
A man ran up to them once they were outside. He was young and when Jace squinted his eyes he saw he looked a little like Draken. If that tidbit alone wasn’t enough for him to figure out who he must be, the embrace the young man shared with Carella was.
“You’re alive!” he exclaimed, grabbing her and lifting her up as if they weren’t surrounded by hell. “You’re all alive!”
She blushed and smiled despite everything. “And I’d like to stay that way,” she told him. “Let’s get moving.”
But the young man was too happy to be sensible. “I’ve been trying to find a path to your home for ages! Well, it feels like ages! There are blazes everywhere! I was sure the manor
had been swallowed along with all these others.”
There wasn’t time to explain, so Jace simply said, “She was lucky or blessed. Either way, let’s not waste her good fortune while these flames devour us.”
“He’s a monk,” Carella said, preempting her young lover’s question, saving precious seconds. “He came to help me.”
That was as close to the truth as anything, so Jace left it at that. They began working their way through the deadly maze of fallen timbers, fire-paths, and rain. Just before it was out of his sight, Jace saw the manor licked by its first tongue of flame.
They’d left just in time.
Chapter 43
Enough bear-masks had joined them, but now there was another problem, one Pul was glad someone else had brought up. A’ghel, the chief tactician of the Figa raid, explained to the band of fifteen that had since found their way to the forest that the bear-traps had worked too well. Coupled with the spreading power of the rain, the fires threatened the whole of Figa, including all merchant’s shops, all residences, the Dramm-Teskata temple, and even the castle of Drammata’s king and counsel. No one needed to be reminded that the utter destruction of Drammata’s chief city had never been the goal of this raid. E’ghat’s followers were strong in small numbers, but it had not been the intention of the cult to bring the full wrath of the world’s strongest military against them.
In short, the attack had been too much. Even Eda’s cautious lawmakers would not be able to ignore them if the entire city of Figa were razed. Pul was glad he had not been the first to mention this problem as it might have been seen as evidence that he still had loyalties—or at least sympathies—to Figa. He could easily be accused of weakness in the face of murder.
“So what do we do?” one of the bear-masks ventured to either A’ghel or Pul, whichever one would answer him.
“We must evacuate some of the citizens ourselves. We must save them,” A’ghel told them all. Not a man among them gave anything less than his full attention. “It will be confusing to our enemies. Their anger will cool somewhat while they puzzle over our motives.”
“But E’ghat will protect us!” another bear-mask shouted from the rear. “We cannot save these four-five worshiping pigs!”
Pul fielded this concern. “E’ghat will protect us in as much as we are obedient to him. This,” he waved in the direction of the burning city, “was not what we were commanded to do. We were commanded to get Draken, which we have, and to cause some death and destruction in our wake, a symbol of future attacks, a way to strike fear into their hearts. I’m afraid A’ghel is right. We’ve overstepped our bounds here.”
“But the rain!” the zealous bear-mask persisted. “It must have been sent from E’ghat! How could it be otherwise?”
Pul had thought the same thing, and didn’t know how to answer the question. Thankfully, for him, A’ghel took it up. “Do you question the tactician?” he asked. “Me, who was entrusted by our own bear-priests in this matter? If E’ghat speaks, would he not speak now to me?”
This was enough to quiet them all. Even if, in their hearts, they believed the rain was the work of E’ghat, they could not bring themselves to question the established line of authority.
“So we go back, some of us, to rescue the people. Children and widows, these types most especially. When we see other ‘masks’, we tell them to do the same on my order,” A’ghel told them. And since Pul did not object, it was so.
A’ghel organized a group of ten and went back to Figa, leaving Pul with eight to guard Draken and perhaps begin the journey back toward Eda. Pul was torn, not knowing if it would be best to chance it with too few numbers, or risk discovery as they awaited reinforcements. The problem was complicated by the fact that he couldn’t guess how long the rescue efforts would take. If he left with Draken and his eight now, it was almost a guarantee that that was all the strength they’d have until they were well within the borders of Eda. The patrolling soldier-police might find them easy enough prey if they ran into Pul’s little group.
“Curses!” he yelled with all the vehemence of his soul.
Draken, who had silently watched all this from where he was bound in chains, smiled. “You see then. You have been cursed. By Dramm-Teskata. Or maybe Rada, who even now watches over me. Cursed for your sins.”
Pul rounded on his younger brother, spittle forming at the edge of his lips as he shouted. “You would talk to me of sins? I have been able to choose a path! I have shown time and again my tenacity! My will to forge on! But you waffle! You drink and feed your lusts and accomplish nothing! Even if you are right in your choice of gods, I would rather be me than you. I used to respect you above anyone I’d ever known, even father, but in the years that have passed I’ve seen the truth of it. Your weakness. Your cowardice.”
There was utter silence in the wood. The bear-masks’ eyes pinned to Pul. Too late, Pul realized he had made something of a sacrilege. Draken was one of E’ghat’s holy scattered ones. In the bear-masks’ eyes Draken was marked by their god, an arbiter of destruction and the rise of the rightful ancient. Pul thought he believed the same thing, but now he worried that his human pride truly had overtaken his faith.
“Bah!” he said dismissively. “I’m tired, I’m hungry. Ignore me.” He spoke to the bear-masks and saw how they relaxed. Good. “We wait,” he told them, having made up his mind without even realizing it. “Until we have at least a dozen. That should be enough to deal with any patrols.” He huffed and stomped away until he was thirty feet from them, resting on a large, flat stone. “We wait,” he repeated, as if to himself.
Chapter 44
The fires had spread with horrific speed. Channels through which Jace had traveled on his way to Carella’s manor with ease only an hour ago were now impassable on their way back out. Pordel, for all his passion for Carella and the girls, had proved rather worthless. Jace could sense the lad’s heart—pure, forgiving, brave, the perfect companion for the faithful Carella—but not one made for the intricacies of war, battle, or escape.
Jace led them this way and that, finding improbable passes bearing from the fruits of a lifetime of practical learning he’d gleaned from his voracious reading in the Canon, apocryphal writings, and many manuals written or dictated by masters of a variety of fields. But still, it didn’t seem to be enough to get them out.
“We’re going to die,” one of the twins said. Jace had no hope of guessing which. She didn’t sound panicked, but instead deeply saddened. Yet, there was a maturity to her voice, as if she’d accepted the thing and was already coming to terms with it. But Jace knew something she didn’t, no matter how mature she seemed or felt. He knew that giving up was for children, and that even with the odds against them stacked this badly, they still had a responsibility to move forward as if there was hope, even until the very end of it all.
“Someday,” Jace eventually answered, “all of us will die, and we’ll go to the service of our gods. But I think you mean we’re going to die today, which I disagree with.” He smiled and hoped he wasn’t lying.
“Here!” Pordel called from ten paces ahead. “A way!” His voice was so full of hope that Jace almost could have believed he’d actually found something. But as with most of the suggestions the stripling lad had made so far, his suggested path was useless. One glance at the bolt-hole Pordel would lead them through was enough for Jace to know they simply couldn’t risk it. It was a long, with low stone foundations on either side, and did look promising. But beams of desiccated manors above them, which Jace knew weighed a thousand pounds apiece, crackled with biting flames and were liable to fall any second. Even if one didn’t strike a person directly, the ensuing storm of embers, shrapnel, and smoke could easily consume them.
“No,” he said, and was obeyed. The group moved on without explanation to look for a better exit from the maze of fire. Jace had never been one to exude an air of authority. It wasn’t a mantle he’d ever sought. But now he knew he must because neither Carella nor Pordel were eq
uipped to get them all to safety. So, he’d assumed a commanding tone, and they’d obeyed rather than panicked. It felt fake to him, utterly false to the person he truly was, but it also felt necessary.
Finally, after searching for what may have been an hour or may have been ten minutes, he found something. A wide thoroughfare that had been recently empty of the carts he guessed usually burdened it. “What happened here?” he asked.
Carella half-laughed. “A parade. Just yesterday. The king’s birthday.”
They charged the passage quickly. Their elation turned sour at the end of the road though, where only more flames awaited. Now these flames had grown with the rain to be truly unruly. Maybe they should have taken the bolt-hole Pordel had suggested, but Jace knew it was too late by now. The flames there would be even worse than this.
“We’re going to die,” one of the twins said again, and this time no one brought up an argument.
In despair, Jace suggested they go back the way they’d come, even though he knew there was no escape. In just the last few minutes, the air had grown so thick with smoke they could hardly breathe. Soon, even the wide thoroughfare would be overrun.
It was over.
“Do not be afraid!” a husky voice called from around the next bend of the way they’d been exploring. “I have a mask, but I will not hurt you.”
In any other circumstance they would have fled, but there were no options but to wait for the man to appear and to listen to what he had to say. It was either that or die.
“You are one of them?” Jace asked when the bear-mask came into view. Carella visibly stiffened, subjected to the embodiment of the cult that had destroyed her husband and threatened the core of her life.
“It doesn’t matter what I am,” the man said, his voice thick with the accent of Eda. “I’ll lead you out of this place.”
