by Paul Yoder
“What’s our approach, Matt? They’ll be spotting us before long if there’s an arisen troop there in that fort. I doubt the cover of night is going to help. Those things, from my experience, see just as well in the dark as in the day,” Fin voiced, now finished checking his straps and pouches to ensure that they were all secured.
“There was ‘bout twenty that took the others that night you say, Cray?” Matt asked, stroking his chin in thought.
“Yeah, ‘bout that many. That was just the group that showed up at our camp.”
“Fin, you fought arisen, you say? How dangerous are these things?” Matt queried, pinching Fin’s elbow for a response.
Fin pulled his arm away, answering, “Not much of a threat, the troops that is, but the leaders, some of them get nasty. Most of them know a bit of magic—annoying magic at that. Once I got hit by a blast from a wand that numbed my whole side—”
Matt interrupted Fin’s rambling answer. “—Yes, yes. Expect a few zealots, got it. If they’re there, we’ll be spotted from the road for sure. We could at least attempt for an undetected entrance from the east and scale the wall.”
Fin considered the line of attack for a moment and made a suggestion. “How about the west wall instead. The dungeon and jail cells are on that side. If they’re keeping your friends secured, that’s where they’d keep ‘em.”
“Ah, you know this place well, Fin? West side it is. Hope you two don’t mind a bit of sand in your boots. Let’s get off this trail and come around from that direction then,” Matt agreed, the three of them all trekking off the trail into the dunes, making their way slowly ever closer to the fort.
The walls were well covered, slits along it allowing sentries to have a good view of the desert without exposing much of themselves. It took until they were close up to it for Fin to notice that there was the occasional movement within the fort.
“I make two on this wall. There, and there,” Fin whispered, pointing to both ends of the wall. “They don’t move unless they have to so it's hard to tell, maybe best to plan for three. I say we scurry up the corner over there on the south end and take out that guard first, then make our way into the dungeon entrance below. Matt, you want me to go first, or you?”
Matt cracked his neck, popping his knuckles, whispering back, “There will be plenty of skulls to go around it seems. You take point, boy. You know the layout better than us anyways.”
With their approach and formation settled, Fin nodded, clapping a reassuring hand on Cray’s shoulder. Telling Cray to follow behind him once he gave the signal, he took off sprinting through the troughs of the dunes, trying to, as much as possible, keep his approach concealed from the fortified turrets.
The guards seemed unaware as he slinked from dune to bush to dune. It was a difficult approach, and he knew how well a vantage point the fort walls offered, but either to his skill as a sneak, or their ineptitude as sentries, no alarm had gone off as he hugged the fort wall with his back. He could no longer see Matt and Cray from where he was. That would change when he began scaling the wall. After the first guard was taken out, he’d wave them forward.
Scooting over to the edge of the fort’s south side, he peeked around the corner—no guard stood at the south gates that he could see. Shielding his eyes from the noonday sun, looking up the fifteen-foot climb, he picked his route of jutting stones to scramble up.
Fin came into Cray’s view halfway up the wall, and as he peered through the sagebrush him and Matt were hunkered down at, he detailed the scene for Matt as Fin soundlessly managed up the wall, pausing just next to the place where Fin had said there was a guard stationed.
“Sounds like he’s about to make his move,” Matt mumbled, placing a hand on Cray’s shoulder to get his attention. “Soon as he goes for it, we need to get moving, because either way, he takes the guard out or doesn’t in time and the alarm goes up, he’ll need us at his back quick. Ready, Cray?”
“Yes,” Cray offered, his heart pumping loud enough for even Matt to hear.
There were few sounds for Fin to pick through, the endless desert breeze brushing against the only structure to impede its wanderless path for miles and miles. He waited to hear the clink of chainmail on cuirass, locating where his target was on the other side of the wall, then swung up and over the lip of the parapets, coming down beside a man in armor.
He didn’t take the time to identify the finer details of his target, plunging his knife that he drew midair deep into the neck of his victim, slitting through his spine, a spark of blue popping off as the standing corpse instantly fell limp. Acting quick, Fin grabbed ahold of his target to let it down quietly to the ground.
Looking down at the thing’s face, it was clear now that all that Cray had warned them about was likely true. The rotten face of a person—man or woman, it was hard to tell from the bloating—lay lifeless on the ground, maggots spewing out of the slit wound on its throat, causing Fin to unconsciously swipe clean his dagger twice along a piece of cloth, throwing an elbow up over his mouth and nose as he looked into the fort to assess the scene.
His location was somewhat out in the open, the courtyard visible down below. He could see glimpses of other arisen down by the south gate. Thankfully they were looking to the southern road.
Waving for Cray to move up, he considered relocating the corpse on the ground. A second glance at the rotting face and the gore oozing from its pinched, bloated body attempting to escape its armored shell, and he decided against touching the monstrosity.
He looked down to the other sentry on his stretch of wall. Fin could only see his back half, and as of yet, he seemed inactive.
It appeared that his location was not within any of the other guard’s sight, but all they needed to do was take a step this way or that way, or even turn around and he’d be spotted. Luckily for him, the arisen in the fort seemed content with attending to their post with unwavering focus. He just hoped they didn’t do post shifts too often. He had, after all, seen movement earlier before scaling the wall.
It was sooner than Fin had expected when he heard Cray making his way up the wall face. Fin helped ease the large man over, and Matt snuck over directly behind him. He worried all the movement was going to alert someone, but there was no way around it. With a group of three crowding around on an exposed wall top, their only course was to get moving to where they were going, fast.
He crouched over the ledge, hanging for a moment before letting go, landing quietly, looking around from his new vantage point. Finding it clear, he waved Cray down. His descent wasn't loud, but compared to Fin and Matt, the heavy foot fall, even with Fin attempting to ease his weight, was noticeable, and the three quickly rushed into the doorway that Fin waved them into, hearing movement by the gate as they made their way into the cool shadows of the fort’s many rooms.
The alcove led them to a heavy door Fin knew to be the dungeon entrance. Testing the handle, he found it open, leading Cray and Matt inside, barely closing the door before a loud crash caused Fin to cringe, turning to see Cray had slammed an arisen’s head into the stone wall, it’s skull and brains now smattered all along the hallway.
“Maybe you could be a little louder next time!” Fin hissed, peeking out the door they had just entered to check for movement.
“Outside seems quiet enough,” Fin whispered, rushing down the hallway towards the cells to check on any other guards before Cray could get to them.
“Outside’s not quiet,” Matt said, pulling Cray over to the door, ordering him to hold it closed.
“Fin, find out if those boys are here and bust ‘em loose. We’ll need backup,” Matt called, Fin already off down the hall, tossing a dagger at the throat of a stumbling arisen, attempting to make its way towards the intruder.
The dagger landed off-center, sticking into the spongy flesh of its contorted face, affecting its advance. It lurched towards Fin, which he easily ducked under, getting around the mockery of a person, hooking a leg around
it, pushing it forward to trip it as he rushed past.
The guard smeared against the wall, fumbling to regain itself, and by the time it did, Fin was deep within the dungeon complex. It got up, beginning its mindless journey to hunt down the fleety intruder.
“How thick do you think this door is?” Cray asked, an axe head immediately answering him as it splinted through a slit in it next to his shoulder.
Matt slid on his brass knuckles, stretching out his arms and legs, popping his joints loudly as he calmly gave Cray orders.
“Use your foot and hands to jam the door at its corner, Cray, you’re going to get slashed holding it with your whole body like that. Give me half a minute, I’ll be limbered up by then.”
The moans and scathing outside the dungeon door began to amplify, repeated slams on the door making it difficult for Cray to pay attention to his mentor.
“They were on us so fast! I thought the plan was to sneak in and sneak out?”
“That was the plan. Maybe if it was just me and Fin, we’d be in and out by now. I still need to teach yer fat ass how to keep quiet though,” Matt grumbled, twisting his neck almost completely back.
Hopping lightly from toe to toe, Matt shook loose his upper body, announcing, “Alright, I’m ready for ‘em. Hope that was enough time for Fin to try and find your compadres. You ready for a fight, boy?”
Another axe head slipped into the beaten door, breaking open a large hole as it left, causing Cray to jump back as a sword jammed through it immediately after, threatening to stick him.
The five arisen that had been working on breaking the door down slammed the door wide as the first two came in, sword point leading the way. Cray stepped back, drew his two short swords, and parried the point into the side of the wall, hacking the dead-man-standing solidly in the neck, severing what flesh was left on the corpse, the other stumbling over his fallen ally just as Cray turned to dash back behind Matt.
A heel slammed into the jaw of the closest arisen, snapping its head sharply back, sending it barreling into the other approaching armed guards.
“I’ll keep ‘em busy. You go see where Fin’s off to,” Matt ordered, feet shifting slightly, entering a stance Cray knew to be as a defensive one.
“I can’t leave you here alone. You go, I’ll hold them off.”
“Damn it boy!” Matt spat, kicking the knee in on an arisen who stumbled over the congestion in the hall, crumpling it in on itself. “You think I’m going to get far running through that dungeon? Need ya be reminded that I’m blind? Get! Do as I say!”
Cray hesitated for a moment longer before Matt turned with his dead eyes and gave him a murderous stare so chilling that the next thing he knew, he was rushing off the direction Fin had gone to get help.
25
a Bitter Departure
“Off the road, rat!” a sweaty portly wagon rider yelled, whipping his horses to speed up, causing Yozo to trip forward, dropping some of his belongings to avoid being run down in the lower streets of Sheaf.
He collected his things with a sneer on his face. He despised the looks he was getting from the others in the street, either due to his foreign heritage, the disfigured face he was recently given, or simply because that’s what people did here—looked down in disgust on those who were in a rut.
He quickly stashed his purchased flour, rice, and prickly pears vodka back into his satchel. He was lucky his spirits and water had not spilled, the two costing him a great deal. He didn’t care to spend what coin he had left on replacing the commodities.
Some day he may attempt to set his nose properly, or even search out someone to help correct the fractured, poorly mended facial bones to help return his appearance somewhat to what it used to be, but now was not the time for that. He would wear his mutilation as a reminder—a reminder of the one who had given it to him, and a reminder of Hiro, who had caused him, in the first place, to leave his homeland all those years ago.
How he would pay them both back, he wasn’t quite sure of yet, but one thing was certain, Hiro had enough allies currently to ensure his safety.
If Yozo was a master of anything, though, it was patience and timing. He had waited all these years for the proper intersections of fate in which to deliver justice to the one who had ruined his family’s lives, he could bide his time a bit longer.
He knew where they were headed, he knew their plan, and he knew their goals. This was a tremendous insight that the others would not consider or prepare for—all, except for Cavok.
Receiving more dirty looks from street-goers, he slid his hood over his head, letting down a fan of silken hair over his face. If the locals cared so much of how he looked, then let them not see him. He knew how to disappear. Those who took upon them the life of the road have to adopt that skill fast.
His thoughts returned to Hiro, helping to ignore the hostility from those around him. He often thought of Hiro. In a way, he kept him going. The rage he felt when he considered his slights fueled him forward—gave him focus.
Coming to the gates of the city, he passed under them without even meriting the eyes of the guards high above him on the wall.
He would wait for Hiro’s merry little band to putter themselves out in conflict of this Sha’oul they worry so much about. He would be in the wings, ready to make his move if the opportunity permitted. If he could find Sha’oul’s army and keep his distance, Nomad would not be far from him. He witnessed the pull to his new master firsthand. He did indeed seem helpless to ward off the call.
Looking back on the sprawling city, considering the lights as they flickered, renewed for another cool, spring night, the place stood out in stark contrast to the dark, barren road ahead of him, leading him to Brigganden.
26
Aside a Hearth on a Rainy Night
She admitted to herself, she was afraid to see him. No matter how well Hiro was doing, no matter how distant his curse was, he would eventually revert, and what hope she had regained in his remission, would all come collapsing in on itself.
Not even stopping at her apartment, she had come straight to his door. She needed to see how he was getting along.
Knocking gently, Reza huddled under the eaves as the non-stop rain kept pouring down in the courtyard.
The door opened. Nomad, seeing that it was Reza, warmly smiled, looking tired and dressed in loose, comfy lounge clothes, the soft cotton tunic and kurtis contrasting Reza’s soaked, court clothing.
“Come, come,” Nomad said, welcoming her in, closing the door behind her, the warm candlelight and small hearth in the room turning everything a hazy amber.
“Lady Reza, good to see you up,” sounded a familiar voice from the corner of the room.
Garik got up from his seat, walking to join the two at the door.
“This was the last night I was to watch our young lad to make sure he recovered well,” Garik said, firmly patting Nomad’s shoulder. “He’s doing well, and if you want, you can take over for me for the evening. I’m sure he’s sick of my company. I’ve bored him for days with stories from my haydays.”
“I…suppose I could stay with him,” Reza stuttered out, standing there, dripping wet.
“I’ll make sure there’s a guard on duty in this complex just to be safe,” Garik said, tugging on his brimmed storm hat before nodding to them both, “Nomad. Lady Reza,” leaving them, quietly closing the door behind him.
Nomad enveloped her, hugging her tight, her wet outfit and hair soaking into his dry, soft clothes.
“Your presence was the first thing I was aware of when the red mist faded. You have no idea how relieved I was when you came to me. It was…an inexpressible relief. I will forever be in debt to you.”
“Hiro…I’m getting you wet,” she said, standing there, arms out, trying not to soak Nomad.
“Ah, forgive me,” Nomad said, slightly embarrassed by his forwardness, releasing her.
“Let’s get you dried off. Here,” he said, grabbing a
set of harem pants, a smock, and a towel for her from the dresser. “These might fit you. They’re a bit small for me, though they look comfortable enough.”
He left for the back room to allow her privacy as she changed out of her drenched outfit and into a dry one.
She peeled off the layers of clothes clinging to her skin. Flopping them in a heap, she wrung her hair and slicked the water from her skin, grabbing the towel to pat herself dry before putting on Nomad’s dry change of clothes.
She could have used some dry smallclothes, but under the circumstances, she supposed she would go without as she wasn’t going to ask Nomad for a pair.
Opening the door, wringing out her wet clothes outside, she took them over to the washroom, opening the door on Nomad. Squeezing around him, she flopped them over the side of the tub as he helped her spread them out.
Reza idled on the last garment, thinking of what to say to him, turning to him in the cramped room.
“Hiro, I—um. I’m not sure where to start. I’m glad you’re back with us. You put us through a lot…” she trailed off, trying to put into words her heart.
“Ga! It’s not you that put us through it. It’s that damned Sha’oul—”
Nomad cut her off, holding a hand gently to her mouth. Lingering a moment as she silenced, sliding it down to her hand at her side.
“I need a rest from those thoughts, at least for one night. He’s stolen the last few months of my existence. Not just the waking moments, but in my slumber as well. I wish only to be in your company tonight, not his.”
She felt foolish—selfish—bringing up her tangled knot of troubles to him the very first moment she had time alone with him in weeks. Though they both were hurting and dealing with difficult troubles, she knew that he needed her strength and comfort at that time much more than she needed his.
