The Blighted City (The Fractured Tapestry)

by Scott Kaelen

  Jalis quirked an eyebrow. “Who’s to say she isn’t?”

  Oriken grunted and closed his eyes.

  “There were allegedly some survivors of the blight,” Dagra pointed out.

  “Whether Cela’s crazy or we are,” Jalis said, “we’ll cross Scapa Fell and find this so-called Blighted City and give it our best shot at searching for the heirloom.” She glanced at Dagra. “Something troubling you?”

  He gave her a hooded look and waited a moment before answering. “Aye, something’s troubling me. First off”—he leaned forward and stabbed a finger onto the map, where the Death’s Head symbol ringed the centre of Scapa Fell—“that bothers the shit out of me. There’s a good reason why no one comes down here.”

  “Yeah, it’s because the whole of Himaera has gone gods-soft,” Oriken said drowsily. “We got rid of the rule of kings, but it was only one side of the coin.”

  “Secondly,” Dagra continued, casting him a scathing glance, “presuming for a moment that this whole region is the tamest stretch of wilderness we’ve ever seen, what happens if we do find Lachyla?”

  Jalis stashed the map into her backpack. “What do you mean?”

  “Dag’s worried about the graveyard,” Oriken said.

  “Damned right I am! It ain’t proper, folk being left to rot like that. And we’re expected to wander into some hole in the ground filled with all manner of ancient, unsanctified corpses? I mean, who in their right mind—”

  “I’ll tell you who.” Jalis sat up and looked him square in the eye. “Three freeblades who can barely scrape together enough coin from meagre jobs to pay our keep. Money’s short, and we’d definitely not be in our right minds if we’d turned our noses up at this one. We’re lucky Maros tipped us off about it. He didn’t have to do that.”

  “Our rooms in the tavern come courtesy of Maros,” Oriken pointed out. “And the food courtesy of the guild itself.”

  “My point remains. Work has been dismal lately.” Jalis climbed nimbly to her feet. “We won’t get anywhere sitting here discussing it. It’s still a few hours before nightfall, so let’s press on.”

  Dagra grunted and climbed to h is feet, grabbed his pack and slung it onto his shoulder. As he made for the road, Jalis walked at his side and cast a glance back to see Oriken lean up onto his elbows.

  “Just when I was getting comfortable,” he called.

  She winked and turned to Dagra. “Five years and he hasn’t changed a bit.”

  Dagra snorted. “Five? Try twenty-five. The man’s as lazy as the boy was, but if I had to descend into the Pit itself I’d choose none other than Orik at my side. And yourself, of course.”

  Jalis smiled. “Same for me, my friend.” And then an unwelcome thought came to her. Descend into the Pit. I hope to whatever’s listening that we’re not heading to do just that.

  As the evening deepened, they spotted a collection of four stone-and-wood cottages and a scattering of barns and outhouses set a ways off the road, nestled against the edge of a large copse of trees. The buildings were intact but covered in moss, the roofs festooned with grass and flowering plants. Signs of disuse permeated the area. If the place was still home to someone, they hadn’t looked after it in years.

  “Looks like we’ll have shelter tonight,” Oriken said.

  Jalis was doubtful. “If the houses are as untended on the inside as the out, we might be just as well sleeping under the stars again.”

  Dagra grunted. “We’ll soon find out.” He quickened his pace, his short legs striding for the nearest of the small cottages. With a sound knock on the door, he called out, “Hello?”

  As Oriken reached Dagra, he laughed and slapped a hand onto his friend’s shoulder. “Dag, if anyone’s alive in there, they must be well-stocked with provisions. This door hasn’t been opened in years.” He pointed to the dandelions growing in thick clumps at the door’s edges, and the unbroken ivy that trailed its way along the frame and across the front of the door. He reached for the handle and pushed; it creaked inward an inch and a musty stench drifted out. Dagra wrinkled his nose in disgust.

  “It just needs an airing out,” Oriken said. “It’ll be fine.” He slammed his shoulder into the door. The vines snapped and the door scraped across the floorboards, its hinges groaning until it touched the adjacent wall. A shaded interior greeted them, permeated by a dank, pungent stench that caused Oriken to take a step back. “Or maybe not,” he added with a shrug.

  To the right-hand side of the sparse and dusty living area, an open doorway led into a second room. Oriken strolled across and peered inside. “Hm.”

  Jalis paused in the centre of the first room. “What do you see?”

  Oriken squinted into the darkness. A disconcerted expression made its way onto his face. “Oh.”

  “What in the Pit does that mean?” Dagra growled as he hung back behind Jalis. “What’s in there?”

  “Spider webs.” Oriken turned to a set of shutters behind him and pulled the left one open, allowing the evening light to wash into the room.

  Most of what Oriken could see was blocked from Jalis’s view, but his narrow-eyed glance into the room before stepping out and shaking his head told her they wouldn’t be sleeping there tonight.

  “We should try another house,” Oriken suggested, with a pointed look at Dagra.

  “Don’t be such a wimp.” Dagra pushed past him.

  “Ah, Dag, I wouldn’t—”

  As Dagra stepped into the room and glanced to the side, a look of horror spread onto his face and he backed up against the door frame. “Gods above and below!” He staggered away and barged between Oriken and Jalis to disappear through the front door. “Damn you!” he called. “You could have warned me!”

  “I tried!”

  “Warned him of what?” Jalis asked.

  Oriken shrugged. “Like I said, there are webs everywhere. Couldn’t tell until I opened the shutter. The damned things are all over the corpse, covering it like a shroud.”

  “Oriken! You know how Dagra gets about that sort of thing!”

  “Never mind him! What about me? There was a huge, fat spider crawling over the fellow’s face.” With a shudder, he strode away. “I hate spiders!”

  “And I hate surprises!” Dagra shouted from outside.

  Grinning to herself, Jalis glanced into the adjoining room. The grin faltered as she spotted a sheet of parchment upon the arm of the chair where the corpse was slumped. She stepped across and brushed the clinging threads away, picked the paper up and blew the dust from it. After reading the faded note, she replaced it beside the corpse and glanced at its wizened features with a touch of sympathy.

  “We’ll leave you in peace,” she said softly. “Sorry to disturb you.” She left the building and regarded her companions as they stood bickering. “You know,” she mused, “it sometimes feels like I’m a nursemaid in an orphanage rather than a bladesmistress in the Freeblades Guild.” As the men mumbled their protests, she hitched her thumb towards the open doorway. “The fellow in there stayed behind when the last of his neighbours packed up and left. He refused to join them. Instead, he remained here alone and died with what he thought was dignity. It’s so sad that someone would care more about a small area of land than a better chance at survival elsewhere.”

  The men looked at her blankly before resuming their argument. With a sigh, Jalis strolled past them. “I’ll check the next house. Spiders or corpses, you boys stay right behind me. Mamma will protect you.”

  “You’re a big idiot,” she heard Dagra tell Oriken as she strode to the farthest dwelling.

  “I did try to warn you,” came Oriken’s reply. “But you had to storm in there all brave. Thought it was just spiders, didn’t you? Thought you’d make me look like a tail-tucker. Stupid little dwarf.”

  “Dwarf? I can put you on your arse any day of the week, you gangly bastard.”

  “Yeah? Well how about right now?”

  “Children!” Jalis shouted back as she reached the ne
xt dwelling. “Start behaving right now, or I swear I’ll put you both over my knee.” She glanced back at their stunned expressions, then turned to the cottage door and slammed her heel beneath the handle. Hinges splintered as the door flew inwards. With her hands close to her daggers, she stepped into the gloom and waited for her eyes to adjust. The grey outlines of sparse furniture dotted the single room; there was a hearth on the opposite wall, a large pallet to one side and a larder to the other. A quick check confirmed there were no dead things lay around – except for the skeleton of a rat in the fireplace – and very few spider webs.

  Dagra and Oriken sheepishly entered.

  She cast them a flat look. “The coast is clear. You’re safe.”

  Some minutes later, with Oriken busy building a fire in the hearth, Jalis lowered herself into a rickety chair and regarded Dagra. The bearded man was stood in the middle of the room, looking down at the dirt-strewn floor. It was clear to her that he was still unsettled.

  He looked across and met her gaze. “Doesn’t anything bother you?” he asked. “Even the toughest of men or women have a weakness, but we’ve known you for five years and I’ve yet to see yours.”

  “There is one thing I’m afraid of,” she admitted. “Losing.”

  “Losing what?”

  She cast him a level look. “People I care about.”

  He snorted, though his beard cracked into forced but warm smile. “Well, you aren’t likely to lose either of us any time soon. Not unless a great monster spider climbs down the chimney and gobbles Orik up.”

  “Or,” Oriken said as he struck flint against firesteel, “maybe that dead guy in the house yonder’ll get up in the night and come scratching at the door for Dag.”

  Dagra whirled on him. “You had to say that, didn’t you?”

  “I’m serious,” Jalis told them. “We’re heading into the unknown, and I don’t like not knowing. We nearly lost Maros last year. The unstoppable team of four became three, and we’re lucky he pulled through.”

  “Aye.” Dagra nodded. “That we are.”

  “It’s a dangerous profession.” Jalis stood up, unclipped her bedroll from the pack and rolled it onto the pallet. “True enough, eleven years in the guild and I’ve known only a handful of blades die during contracts. Most of those were journeymen or lower.” Tossing a blanket onto the bedroll, she turned to raise an eyebrow pointedly at both men. “Statistically, the chances of dying as a freeblade are lower the higher you climb the ranks; both of you should be up for your bladesmasters in the next year or two, but you’re not there yet, so don’t get cocky. And, for the stars’ sake, try to control your reactions. Dag, in a different scenario, you might have panicked and ran blindly from a dead thing right into the jaws of a living creature. How would you explain that to the Dyad in the afterlife?”

  Dagra puffed his cheeks and blew out. “Point taken.”

  “And Oriken, there are few spiders in Himaera that can hurt you. You ought to see some of them in Sardaya. Big bloated bodies with red and white stripes. A bite from one of those and you’ll be swollen like a ripe cadaver.” Oriken and Dagra groaned in unison, and in the dim light of late evening Jalis fancied she saw both their expressions turn pasty. “See how easy it is?”

  “Easy and unnecessary.” Oriken scowled at the tools in his hand and resumed striking the firesteel into the kindling.

  “Not to mention the Stone Dancers that infest the Ghalendi Flatlands,” Jalis continued, with a nod to Oriken. “The adults are half your height. They could pop any other spider with a touch of their blade-like legs. If you weren’t covered in armour and brandishing something heavy to smash them apart, one of those arachnids would make fast work of you.”

  Oriken turned his back to her. “You’re making it up.”

  “Are you going to get that fire lit or not?”

  With a grumble, he bashed the flint faster against the steel. “Damned wood’s not the driest. So, you seen one of those things, have you?”

  “No, But I’ve known people who did. There may be a little embellishment, but I don’t doubt that Stone Dancers exist. My point is that your fear is unnatural; the little spiders here can’t harm you.”

  “That’s not what gets to me, It’s the way they— There!” A small flame caught in the kindling. Oriken blew softly and the fire began to spread, easing an amber glow into the greyness of the room. “What bothers me about spiders is how they look and move. Disgusting creatures.” He hugged himself and rubbed his arms. “Can we change the subject?”

  “Shush!” Dagra held a hand out for silence.

  “What?” Oriken said after a moment. “I don’t hear anything but wood crackling.”

  “There it was again.” Dagra kept his voice low. “While you were talking.”

  Jalis reached for the swordbelt on the table beside her. “I heard it.” It had been faint, but the pack-call was unmistakable. “Cravants. Dag, close the door. Orik, help me push that cabinet behind it.” She buckled her belt around her hips and stepped to the large piece of furniture. As Oriken took position beside her, Dagra eased the cottage door shut and hastily closed the shutters. Jalis and Oriken crouched low behind the cabinet and set their shoulders against it. They pushed, but it barely moved. Setting her feet firmly, Jalis put all her weight into the task and felt Oriken doing the same. The cabinet scraped and groaned across the dusty boards, its contents rattling with each shove. Soon enough, they had it wedged tightly behind the door.

  “We need to get something behind the shutters!” Dagra cast his eyes about the contents of the room.

  Jalis shook her head. “There is nothing.”

  Oriken twisted the brim of his hat. “Cravants usually leave humans alone, but down here past the last of the settlements…”

  “This is their domain,” Dagra said grimly. The creatures’ calls were rapidly growing nearer as he drew his gladius “They’ve broken out of the woods.”

  “They heard us and now they have our scent.” Jalis reached into a pack for their mini crossbow. “If we’re quiet, they might wander away after a time.”

  With the shutters unable to be barricaded, they were the cottage’s weakest point of defence. Jalis loaded and nocked the crossbow, then stood ready behind the men as they took position before the shutters. They waited in silence, listening as the cravants bounded across the clearing, their guttural calls only vaguely reminiscent of the monkeys indigenous to the far south of the Arkh. Jalis could picture them outside, their jutting jaws with chaotic clusters of fangs, and that second, smaller set of eyes like spheres of obsidian at the sides of their heads. The countenance of a cravant was hideous, but, despite their appearance, Oriken was right that the primate pack-hunters tended to steer clear of humans, keeping themselves unseen and mostly unheard within the depths of woodlands. But here on the edge of Scapa Fell it was possible that they had rarely laid eyes on humans, with the last populated settlement being half a day’s trek to the north.

  Something crashed outside, and Jalis visualised the creatures charging into the first house, following the scent of her and the men but finding only the long-dead corpse. The muted thump of feet and fists upon the ground drew close to the cottage and, despite herself, Jalis flinched as fists smashed against the door, wood splintering as it jarred against the cabinet. The cravants roared, sensing the freeblades’ proximity.

  The cabinet shifted an inch. Beyond the threshold, the attacking creature grunted in frustration and thumped harder against the door. A hinge popped from its fixture and a narrow gap appeared; through it, Jalis saw a mass of black hair on a thick-set body. The cravant was Dagra’s height, slightly shorter than Jalis. A black, round eye peered within, and the cravant roared.

  Jalis fired the bolt. Her aim was true; the projectile shot through the gap and straight into the creature’s mouth. It screeched in pain and staggered away. Another took its place as Jalis reloaded the crossbow.

  A glance from Oriken told her to hold as he strode across and thrust his sab
re between the door and the frame, sending a series of quick jabs into the cravant’s bulk. The creature roared and smashed a grey-haired fist against the door frame. Its thick, taloned fingers flexed open and reached through the gap. Oriken swept the sabre down, cutting deep into the creature’s fingers and taking one of them off. The incensed cravant withdrew its hand and loosed a furious roar. Oriken sprang backwards, and Jalis released her bolt. The primate grunted and fell back. In the clearing outside, dark flashes of movement told her that the rest of the pack were converging on the cottage.

  Fists slammed into the shutters. Dust shook from the cracks between the boards. Dagra stepped back and raised his gladius as the shutters crashed inwards. The dark shape of a cravant filled the gap, its muscle-laden chest rippling as it raised its arms and roared.

  Jalis grabbed another bolt and slid it onto the crossbow, watching the creature raise its thick arm to take a swing at Dagra. Hastily nocking the crossbow, she squeezed the trigger and the bolt punched into one of the cravant’s four eyes. Dagra swerved aside and hacked into the reaching arm. The cravant snatched at its face, wrenching the bolt from its eye.

  There was little Jalis could do but keep loading the crossbow, but there were only so many bolts. Nor was there enough room at the shutters for the men to hold position without risking injury to one another. They needed a new tactic.

  “Fire!” Jalis called. “There’s an old torch on the wall.”

  Oriken sprang to the task. He pulled the torch down and thrust the head into the now roaring hearth. The flames took and he ran to Dagra’s side as the injured cravant loomed in for the attack. With its attention on Dagra, Oriken stabbed the burning torch into its face. It let out an ear-piercing shriek and threw itself in the dirt in an attempt to douse the flames. As it scrambled back to its feet, Jalis shot a bolt into its face. The cravant howled and staggered away, took several loping paces across the clearing, then pitching to the ground. The howls faded and the creature’s movements ceased, allowing the flames to spread.

  The remaining cravants cowered into the evening murk, their black eyes glinting in the firelight. One dared to approach, and Oriken swiped the torch as it reached in. The flames licked at its arm and the cravant swiped the torch away, knocking the top off and sending the ball of pitch flying into the room to roll beneath the hay-stuffed pallet.