Siege (The Warrior Chronicles, 5)

by K. F. Breene

  For the first time Ruisa could remember in her entire life of knowing Maggie, the woman looked utterly and completely lost. She shook her head and shrugged at the same time.

  The memory of prostitutes helping them in the Shadow Lands flicked through Ruisa’s head. Then of those in the old Mugdock city. This woman’s words, and her lack of concern regarding the dead man, struck a chord.

  She leaned back in her chair. This could be a really, really bad idea. “We travel with the Chosen.”

  The woman surveyed Ruisa for a long moment before nodding once. “I heard of Chosen. Some man, yeah? What you do for this Chosen?”

  “No, he’s… It’s two people. The Chosen. It started as one woman, but in the Shadow Lands—”

  The woman sat forward suddenly. Elbow braced on the table, she put her hand out to stall the conversation. Gaze pinned to Ruisa, she said, very slowly, “Tell me about this woman.”

  Something flashed in the woman’s eyes. It wasn’t just hope. This was familiarity. Almost. A knowing gleam. With S’am, that could be a very bad thing.

  “Why?” Ruisa asked. Her eyes briefly dipped to the knife. “What do you know about that woman?”

  “What’s happening?” Maggie whispered as her hand dropped to her knife.

  “Look.” The woman put her hands up and tilted her head. “You kill man, yes?” She stuck a hand out to the dead man. “In this town, you get hanged for that. Maybe worse. Maybe they let officers relieve themselves with you first, eh? Maybe you get picked for top officers. They like young, pretty girls. Could be worse. But…” She jerked her hands up and tilted her head again. “I try tell on you, you kill me. I know you have more knife, eh?” She made a circle in the air as she pointed at Ruisa. “And I know this one is dangerous.” She swung the hand toward Maggie. “You girls know what you about. So what is point of these secrets, eh? Are you with violet-eyed woman, or no?” She slammed hands down on the table and leaned forward. “I am waiting for her all this time. Oshawn arranged meeting, then sent me here. I open shop, make living, and clean house where I can.” She gestured toward the barrels. “I have network, even in city. In all cities. Beer come in, dead man go out, friend dispose, no one sees.” She shrugged. “All while I wait. I be ready. But time slipping away.”

  “What’s happening?” Maggie whispered again, more urgently.

  Ruisa shook her head, trying to make sense of all she’d heard. The woman spoke so fast and with a strange accent, so some of the words became garbled and lost. Ruisa had to piece the sentences together.

  “She cannot come into the city yet because Inkna would feel her mind power. She has others. People from the Shadow Lands, and from her homeland. We were sent before her as we can get around the city without being discovered, and because we don’t have any mind power.” Ruisa touched her head. “Soon we need to get her inside, though.”

  The woman’s eyes lost their twinkle. A small crease formed in her brow. “This city is protected.” She blew out a breath. “I thought Oshawn wrong to send me here. I should have known Wanderer make big statement. Maybe too big.”

  “The Captain chose this place. He’s her…fiancé.”

  The woman shook her head. “Inkna do mental…” She mimed holding a broom handle and sweeping. “They check. Dangerous to bring her inside.” She tapped her chin and glanced over at the table strewn with papers. “What was plan?”

  “Did she say plan? Does she want to know what we’re doing?” Maggie asked with alarm in her voice.

  Ruisa flashed Maggie a scowl to keep her quiet. “How do you know S’am? The Wanderer, I mean?” Ruisa asked.

  The woman pushed out a laugh. “She ask me for clothes, just like you. You no look like her, but you muscled. You can fight—I see that. I know right away when you say that Oshawn sent you.”

  “Oh yeah? Is that why you tried to sell me to that filthy guy?”

  She laughed harder. “I no try to sell you. I tell him that he might have to trade life to get you upstairs. He no believe me. Now he dead.”

  “Time’s wasting,” Maggie said.

  “Look, I want to believe you. We need all the help we can get, but I can’t tell you our plans. If you aren’t who you say you are, everything will be foiled.” Ruisa shook her head. “Can we buy some revealing clothes off of you? Like…real clothes, just nicer than what we’re wearing. Not as revealing as the girls in your parlor.”

  The humor dropped away from the woman. “I am Tauneya. I was in Hunter’s camp. I give her clothes to get the Seer and the Ghost out. I am one who gave her map to escape. I have spread word of her coming. My girls ready. All across land, they ready. The Wanderer Network be waiting. We all wait. For her. Now, tell me the plan, and I will help. Without me, you all die.”

  19

  “Through here.” Leilius motioned Xavier into an alleyway. Shadows clawed at the ground, eradicating any remaining sunshine. “We need to check out the front gate before the sun goes down.”

  “We still have a couple hours,” Xavier whispered as he snuck in behind. They’d been all around the city, discovering that the map wasn’t the most accurate thing they’d ever used. Alleyways often proved to be a dead end, making them turn back to try another way. They tried to keep to smaller streets, but occasionally someone pointed at Leilius, their expression turning to one of shock or delight. If people could point him out on the street, that meant that the city was talking about what he’d done. But that meant the Graygual would have their eyes open. He did not want to fall into their hands under any circumstances.

  “Are you sure it goes all the way through?” Xavier asked as they neared the middle. A large canister was piled high with refuse and overflowing, its stink permeating the alley, and almost blocked their way. Leilius held his breath as he squeezed by it. He stepped over the body of a dead rat and made sure to stay away from the grimy wall at his back.

  “No, but what choice do we have? If you’d start walking like a spy instead of a pretty boy, we might not be in this mess.”

  “We should change clothes.”

  Leilius rolled his eyes. “Waltzing in and buying new clothes wouldn’t look suspicious at all, no. We dress in rags like the poor for fun. It’s a style choice.”

  The shadows pooled on the ground up ahead. Beyond them stretched black. A wall.

  Leilius let out his breath and stopped. “This is impossible. And I haven’t seen one clothesline. We might have to wait for dark.”

  “There’s a door, though.” Xavier walked forward on light feet. “Might be the back of a shop. Think it’s a clothes shop?”

  “No. Our luck, it’d probably be a Graygual house or something. C’mon, let’s go back.”

  They turned back only to stop suddenly. Leilius melded into the side of the alleyway immediately. Xavier was next to him a moment later, his heavy breath on the back of Leilius’ head.

  “Step away, idiot,” Leilius hissed.

  A group of five women had stopped just inside the alleyway. That wouldn’t normally be cause for alarm, but these women seemed different. Shiny, skintight leather from head to toe, the curves of their bodies effectively on display. In many cases the neckline dipped way low, showing ample cleavage. One plummeted all the way to her belt, showing a strip of feminine body Leilius rarely saw.

  “What are they holding?” Xavier whispered, his voice quivering in fear.

  Leilius closed his eyes tight. He’d heard of these women. Occasionally men had been taken from trading routes. Young men, usually. Sometimes they turned up a while later with horrible stories and wounds to show for it. Sometimes they were gone forever. “Whips.”

  “No, I mean the one with metal. Is that a chain?”

  “These are Mardis, Xavier.” Leilius took out a knife.

  “Naw. Are you sure?”

  “How many women wear leather and carry whips? I haven’t heard of very many.”

  “You also haven’t been traveling all that long. This is a city. They wouldn’t allow this type o
f thing here.”

  “Then why aren’t you stepping out and saying hi?” Leilius asked sarcastically before realizing that the women had remained where they were, and were now staring at them. One of them called out.

  “What language is that?” Xavier asked. “Shit. They’re coming.”

  Leilius stepped into the middle of the alleyway with his knife firmly in hand. The element of surprise was gone, so now he’d have to fight. There were more of them, but he hoped they weren’t like Shanti. If that was the case, he should be able to barrel through.

  “We don’t want to hurt anyone,” Leilius called out, hoping they spoke the traders’ language. “We lost our way.”

  “You found your way, you mean,” one of the women said delightedly. “You are at our back door. Some of us like when men come in our back door.”

  Xavier quickly stepped away from the wall.

  “Oooh. Look at you,” one of them purred.

  “I claim that one,” another said.

  “Ladies, we can all share. They are young. Lots of stamina.” The chains rustled.

  Leilius pulled on his collar, trying to get a little air to his suddenly hot neck. “I’m in over my head here…”

  As the women drew closer, Leilius had a harder time feeling his fingers around his knife thanks to the pounding going on in other places. His eyes meant to look into other eyes, but he couldn’t peel them away from half-exposed breasts. And the little crease between her thighs.

  A crack made him jump, then he felt a horrible pain in his hand. He glanced down dumbly at his thumb, then the knife now lying at his feet.

  “We should run,” Xavier said in a wistful voice.

  “Yeah,” Leilius agreed. He really meant it to sound more convincing.

  “Tell me true, were you looking for us?” One of them stopped in front of Leilius. Her red lips were curved in a smile. A pink tongue spread moisture across her bottom lip. Leilius stared, transfixed, as a cloth appeared from nowhere and covered his mouth and nose. He knew one moment of warning before he drifted into blackness.

  Alena froze mid-step. Her foot hovered above the footpath. Raucous laughter drifted out from around the corner. Her foot didn’t make a sound when it landed, but the slide of her shoes against stone as she pivoted did.

  She took a deep breath. The map crinkled as her grip tightened. Running would draw attention, but having a Graygual take notice of her while she was standing flatfooted would be much worse.

  Chatter rode the dying laughter. A shout pierced the air. It sounded like drinking, carousing men.

  Alena glanced around the clean streets and well-kept buildings. She’d found the nicer part of the city and discovered it was largely occupied by Graygual and rich people. Oftentimes those rich people were also Graygual. They rarely had the snowy or wheat-blond hair of Shanti’s people, but it was clear they hailed from a colder climate where their skin wasn’t used to the blazing heat of the middle-land or south. In contrast, Alena should’ve fitted in just fine. She had darker hair and nearly matched the sun-kissed skin tone. But in this part of the city, she stood out like an intruder. Locals weren’t admitted, it seemed. They were a conquered people, best left to the slums and less reputable parts of the city.

  Another shout echoed down the street, but the men weren’t getting any closer. They had to be in an inn or some other gathering place.

  Letting out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, Alena brought the hastily duplicated map up again in a shaking hand. She should need to go right for a ways, take a left, and then another right. That should get her into the rear gate area, where she hoped to meet up with the other women.

  She let her hand fall and surveyed the street in front of her. With the sun nearly set, and time slipping away with each passing second, she was way behind. She should jog the route and get the job done.

  She walked slowly to the intersection and peered around the corner. The street was deserted.

  Confused, she glanced the other way and found the same thing. It was way too early for a curfew. Wasn’t it?

  She bit her lip. Going down this street would paint a big target on her back. A poor local dressed in rags in the rich area? Yeah, right. String her up by her neck right now. They’d think she was here stealing.

  She turned back the way she’d come. She’d have to find another route to take. The map she’d been given wasn’t up to date, that was clear, and it was causing her to lose precious time.

  She jogged back the way she’d come, hanging a left down an alley. A small amount of litter, most likely blown in from the wind unnoticed, lined the small gutters built into the road for rainwater. Crates lay off to her right. One had fallen off the stack and busted. Beyond that lay a closed door without a sign.

  Alena slowed to a stop, feeling her heart sink at the blackness in front of her. Another wall. It wasn’t even a building, just a big brick wall erected to sever the passageway. It had to be on purpose. The Graygual had been thoughtful with this city’s protection. It didn’t bode well for their cause.

  Alena had about-faced and started walking out when a hollow thud announced a door being unlocked. She scurried to the side of the stack of crates, and the door swung open a moment later.

  Fast and harsh-sounding syllables interrupted the hush of the alleyway. Heavy footsteps scraped against the ground. Between the cracks of the crates came a robust man in a white smock. A cook.

  A boot scuffed before a crate squealed against the ground. A gruff voice rang out. The boots, dull and black, came around to the front of the pile.

  Alena yanked out her knife. If she killed someone, they’d never know it was her. In a city this big, it could be any street urchin. She’d just have to get out of there before anyone found her.

  A hand reached across her line of sight. The fingers prodded a broken piece of wood in the fallen crate. The crate lifted away behind the others.

  Heart thumping madly, Alena held her breath, waiting for him to walk away. A shock of adrenaline coursed through her as the man stepped out in front of her.

  Shock smacked his face. Her hand jerked of its own accord, the point of her knife rising dangerously close to his chest. She couldn’t commit, though, and she didn’t know why.

  His gaze dipped to the knife. A brief flash of fear crossed his features until his eyes darted to her clothes, her shaking arm, and finally her eyes. Something sparked in his gaze, but she couldn’t say what. Finally, he raised his hands slowly. Words rode a soft and calm tone.

  She shook her head, her brow furrowing. He said something else that almost sounded familiar. It was probably the speech the traders used. Everyone seemed to know it. Except her, obviously.

  She gripped the hilt of the knife tighter and shook her head. Trying to convey her desire, she took a step away. “I don’t speak…” She shrugged.

  “Wait!” he pleaded in a rough, barely intelligible accent, holding his hands higher but taking a step after her. “I help. Me help. You.” He put fingers to his mouth, miming eating with his hands. “Hunger? Eat?”

  Alena’s stomach rumbled, selling her appearance. She put her hand to her stomach. “I’m okay. No thank you.” She took another step away. “Don’t follow me.”

  “Wait! I cook. Graygual.” His hands made a shape of a ball in the air. “Many. Many food.” He reached toward her, miming handing her a morsel. “Bit food. Eat.” He showed her two palms and feathered them in her direction, telling her to wait. Then he held up one finger. One moment.

  He half turned and gave her that one finger again, insisting that she stay put. He hurried back into the kitchen. Alena turned to run, but for a reason she couldn’t explain, she thought of Kallon in that clearing. He’d taken the time to help her. He counted on her. They all did.

  She hadn’t graduated into the Honor Guard because she could fight with a sword a little, nor because she was great with a bow. If that were the case, she’d still be with the archers. She was in the Honor Guard because she had other
traits to offer. Shanti had seen something in her that was not like the others, and, in realizing it, had given her large shoes to fill, like the others.

  She stilled her mind and took one more breath. She let in the night, her surroundings, the sun retreating from the ground. The clank of dishes and sizzle of food on fire seduced her ears.

  Alena drifted closer to the door, knife held tightly. Fighting her fear of discovery, she slunk toward the edge of the door and peered in. Steam rose from pots. Dirty pans and bowls were heaped near a washbasin. Cups and goblets of all shapes and sizes littered a table, also ready to be washed. More than a dozen people stood with sweat on their foreheads and stains on their clothes, making food that would be served to the enemy.

  Alena fell back against the wall and looked at the sky. It was so clear. God had sent the Hunter to prepare them for this. All of them, including those who had only wanted to find a good husband and have a nice home, like her. Until the Hunter had barged into her life and made her understand the value of freedom, she hadn’t seen the point in learning about the craft of mixing poisons. Such an antiquated practice, she’d thought. And here she stood, at the edge of a kitchen that fed the enemy, holding the knowledge of how to poison the whole lot of them without them being any the wiser until it was too late.

  This was her destiny. Shanti’s faith in her, and Kallon’s, meant she had to step up, fight her fear, and fulfill her duty.

  Alena blew out a breath. That inner pep talk didn’t do much to rid her of the jitters.

  The man hurried out of the kitchen and started when he found her so close to the door. He offered her a chunk of bread and a small portion of meat that had been cut into. It was probably a leftover portion of someone’s plate. Alena grimaced and waved her hands to ward him away.

  Not understanding, he pushed it toward her. “It okay. No…one know.” He held it steady.

  Alena looked past him at the kitchen, and took a chance. “Do you know the Chosen?”

  The man’s brow creased. He shook his head in confusion and pushed the food at her again.