by Adam Carter
She was no longer afraid; she was no longer powerless.
The sky darkened, a low rumble thundered in the distance. One of the men stopped fighting, looked up at the sky and frowned. Dark drops fell from the sky – fat parcels of water wrapped in the promise of a flood. The rain struck the gang, the field, Crenshaw, everything. Within moments it had increased to a downpour, and three of the men had backed off, either confused or trying to find better purchase for their feet.
Asperathes careened through the men and together he and Crenshaw tore into them.
Within moments it was all over. The pelting rain was causing such confusion that three of the men were already face down in the mud. One of the remaining men took off across the field. As soon as they saw him fleeing, the other two set off on his heels. One of the men in the mud groaned, but neither Crenshaw nor Asperathes were of a mind to murder defeated opponents.
Moya lowered her arms and the storm abated. Heat surged through her body, she could feel her hair dancing as though through static electricity, and she fought down her unnatural passion for what she had done.
She walked over to where Crenshaw was already helping the young man to his feet. He was bruised and battered but nothing seemed to be broken. The girl was distraught and threw herself into her man’s arms. Moya felt a twinge of regret and wondered how long it would be before he let her down or betrayed her.
“Still in one piece?” Crenshaw asked.
The lad nodded. There was blood pouring down his face but somehow he still managed to stand. “You saved my life. You and the weather.”
His companion nudged him, staring wide-eyed at Moya, or more specifically at her blue blouse and cloak. “A wizard,” she whispered. Moya had almost forgotten she had been wearing the blue.
“Is your village nearby?” Crenshaw asked.
“About a mile,” the girl said.
“Well, we’ve been walking for hours and could do with a rest.”
“Of course, sir.”
It would also, Moya reflected, help Crenshaw ascertain any troop movement through the area and perhaps even find out something about his wife.
The girl and the boy introduced themselves as Nancy and Roland and while they walked that mile back to their village they plied the travellers with questions. For the most part Moya was silent, and Crenshaw offered only grunts and occasional short answers. It was Asperathes who seemed to delight in their company, who had found himself in his own element again. He answered all their questions, although none of his answers sounded very truthful to Moya. Fantastic and believable to gullible minds, but since he was talking about recent events through which the three of them had lived, Moya felt she should have at least recognised some of what he was relating.
By the time they reached the village, Asperathes had the youths under the impression the three of them were indeed the characters their clothes purported them to be; Crenshaw the noble knight, Asperathes the dapper apepkith of the royal court and Moya a great wizard.
As they entered the village, things changed somewhat. The settlement was formed of maybe a hundred abodes, with large communal buildings in the form of churches and taverns. Moya had been to such a place before, for back home her own supplies were bought and sold following a trip to a similar village. She had always seen the village as a big place, but she knew her companions would consider it tiny. She was beginning to get a glimpse into their world and it was changing her perceptions of everything.
No one paid them much attention as Nancy and Roland led them through the village. Moya assumed Roland would have been heading for the doctor, but the blood had dried and with it his resolve had hardened. Instead he led them to a house set in a short line of identical abodes. It was small compared with where Moya had grown up, and her thoughts turned back to the stream running past her house, to the smell of fresh asphodels in bloom and the sounds of cheery sparrows as they pecked the soil for worms.
Inside, the house was homey, and Moya fought back her pangs of emotion. She smiled politely as Roland introduced the small group to his wary father. As the situation was explained to him, however, Roland’s father thanked each of them in turn and bade them be seated. Crenshaw and Asperathes sank into chairs and could well have gone to sleep, but Moya was too fired up to even feel the lethargy the long trek had brought on. Any tiredness had been expunged by the fight and she wondered how long it would be before she would begin to feel normal.
“Thank you doesn’t cover it,” Roland’s father said. Along their way to the house, Roland had told them of the man. His name was Jackson and he was a potter. Roland had tried to follow in his father’s footsteps, but he had dreams beyond pottery.
“All part of the job,” Crenshaw said. “Any food on offer?”
“Of course, where are my manners?” Jackson sent Nancy and his son into the kitchen to prepare something. It was not until she heard the mention of food that Moya’s stomach grumbled. Casting spells sometimes looked effortless, but they burnt up a lot of energy. Once her adrenalin rush wore off she would be famished.
“Those men we fought,” Crenshaw said, “were escaped prisoners from Baroness Thade’s castle.”
Moya had not given the matter any thought, but realised he was right. Admitting that was a risky business, since it might well place attention upon the three of them, and she was proud of Crenshaw for telling him anyway.
“Baroness Thade?” Jackson asked. “But her castle’s miles to the west.”
“We’ve been tracking them,” Crenshaw lied. “We’re making sure everyone is safe by dealing with any escapees.”
“Then you work for the baroness?”
Asperathes snorted at the very thought. “No,” he said tartly, “we do not work for the baroness.”
Moya could not help but think about the prisoners. What Jackson said was true: those prisoners had made it a long way. Also, they had travelled the same route as Moya and her group, which was a huge coincidence. Either they had taken a well-used series of roads, or there had been a massive number of prisoners to have escaped. Perhaps the heroes had not slaughtered the prisoners after all.
Crenshaw had, however, opened up a possibility for them, and Moya was quick to interrupt. “We’re cleaning up after the baroness. When we attacked her castle she could see her soldiers falling beneath our blades, so she opened the gates to her dungeon. Thousands upon thousands of prisoners flooded us, most of them spilling into the outside world.”
“Thousands?” Jackson asked just as Nancy returned with some food. Crenshaw tore into it eagerly, Asperathes abstained, while Moya’s mind was too afire to eat.
“What blades?” Nancy asked.
Moya blinked, not quite understanding what she meant. Then she remembered no one was carrying any weapons.
“We left them behind,” Crenshaw said. “We do that, in honour of a decent battle. The swords retire and we forge new ones. We haven’t yet forged them, but since we’re not in battle we don’t need them. We don’t tend to use them against escaped prisoners, by the way. It’s overkill.”
It was a quick answer, Moya had to admit, but it did make him sound incredibly arrogant.
“Why did you attack the castle?” Nancy asked. “Not that I’m arguing, I’m just curious.”
“The baroness has made enemies,” Moya said. “Which isn’t difficult for her.”
Jackson nodded in understanding. “We have a forge here you can use.”
“We always trust the locals,” Crenshaw said. “I’ll speak with the blacksmith about making up some swords.”
“You’d have a better chance speaking with the armourer.”
“Armourer?” Moya asked. “Why does your village make weapons?”
“We’re one of several villages,” Jackson said, “who have allocated forges for the baroness. Her soldiers make regular passes with huge wagons to collect them all. You might want to hurry to the forge, though. The soldiers are scheduled to arrive later this afternoon.”
“Today?�
� Moya gasped. “The baroness’s soldiers are coming here today?”
“Surely you’re not afraid of the baroness?” Jackson asked.
“Of course not,” Crenshaw said. “We just attacked her castle didn’t we?”
“But,” Asperathes said, “just so we have the time to prepare, I think we should see about getting those weapons. Excuse us.”
Asperathes was halfway out the door before he had even finished his sentence, Crenshaw only moments behind. Moya smiled politely at Jackson and Nancy, then hurried out after her companions.
She almost collided with them when she realised they had stopped barely into the street. There were soldiers marching slowly through the village, a train of empty wagons dragging along behind them. At their head was a woman wearing black armour, a scarlet-lined cape falling from her shoulders. She looked bored as Roland jabbered at her, pointing back towards his house.
“That little jerk,” Crenshaw said. “We just saved his life.”
The captain’s boredom vanished when she saw the strange party standing at the door and she barked orders.
Moya fought furiously for a spell she might be able to conjure, but all she could focus on was Roland standing beside the captain of the guard, beaming proudly that he had performed some great service to his mistress.
His features distorted in Moya’s eyes and he turned slowly into Drake.
“I’m hearing some stories,” the captain was saying, her eyes wary. “The lad says you attacked the castle.”
Crenshaw laughed. “Attack the castle? What, just the three of us?”
“Then he’s lying?”
“My dear,” Asperathes said with a low bow, “note that we are not even armed. We haven’t attacked anyone.”
The captain relaxed slightly, probably having seen this for herself. “We’re heading back to the castle after this, so if there has been an attack we’ll find out about it then.”
“And we would accompany you, if that’s your wish,” Asperathes said, “although we’re on important business for the Regional Artistic Truth Society.” He struck a foppish pose. “We’re all about image, at the society.”
“Yet you call yourself RATS?”
“We like to do things differently,” Asperathes said. “Where most folk see rats, we see star. Art is, after all, all about how you look at things.”
The captain smiled. “Well, we wouldn’t want to keep you from your …”
“Captain,” Roland interrupted. “They attacked the castle, they told us. They took care of those guys in the field like they were nothing. They …”
“Boy,” the captain said tightly, “silence yourself.” She looked back to Asperathes. “Apologies, my lord.”
“No apology necessary, Captain. These things must be investigated.”
“There,” Drake said. “There’s the sorceress.”
That was the only thing Moya heard since stepping outside. The rest of it was background noise, as though she was holding a glass up to a wall and was straining to listen to a conversation she cared nothing about.
“There. That’s the sorceress.”
“Well,” the captain said, “we should get on with our …”
The air turned crimson as a stab of superheated atoms launched from Moya’s palm, slicing through Drake’s face and incinerating his head. Drake’s body fell, unable to damn anyone else.
“Oh great,” Asperathes said. “Run!”
Moya heard the shouts, saw the flashes of naked steel, could smell the fear of allies, soldiers and villagers alike; but she did not truly noticed any of it. All she could focus on was the headless corpse.
Someone was yanking her arm and she offered no resistance. None of it matted any more.
Drake was dead; her father had finally been avenged.
CHAPTER SEVEN
There was a time when Asperathes had lived a reasonably pleasant life. Being thrown into a dungeon was a setback, admittedly, but he had always known he would eventually bounce back. He reasoned it might take years, but apepkith lived longer than humans and a few years was hardly anything to lose sleep over – in fact, after an especially good meal, he often slept for the better part of a year.
Talking with the captain of the guard, Asperathes had been quick to think up a series of lies so convincing he was almost fooling himself. Things were going quite well, in fact – so well he was thinking of talking his way into a ride out of the village. Then Karina Moya had blown Roland’s face off and the situation had turned a little sour.
Asperathes dropped behind a wall, Crenshaw several moments behind. The soldier had grabbed hold of Moya’s wrist and was dragging her along behind him. The girl had a glassy expression, her fingers were still crackling with excess energy, but her face was entirely without emotion.
“What did you bring her for?” Asperathes hissed.
“I wasn’t about to leave her out there.”
“She could kill us both, Jobek.”
“She wouldn’t hurt us.”
“I didn’t think she’d kill random teenagers either, but there’s a corpse back there that would say otherwise if she’d left him a mouth.”
“Drake,” Moya whispered.
“Drake?” Asperathes asked. “Jobek, what’s she talking about now?”
“Drake? You remember, it was the name of her … Karina, that wasn’t Drake.”
Moya did not respond so Crenshaw took her by the arms and shook her. Asperathes winced, certain they were about to be incinerated.
“Leave her,” Asperathes said. “Crenshaw, come on. If we run now, while they’re still confused, we can make it.” He took his friend by the shoulder, but Crenshaw angrily shook him loose.
“I’m not leaving her.”
“You don’t owe her anything, Crenshaw. She got us out of our cell and we got her out of the castle. Leave her.”
But Crenshaw was not to be swayed and Asperathes glanced over the wall with nervous eyes. The soldiers were blocking off the exits to the village, while the captain was shouting commands for them to be found. At the most, it would be minutes before they were discovered. Asperathes had never needed anyone in his life, had never relied on another living soul. Nor had he ever been foolish enough to make any friends. But Jobek Crenshaw had been his constant companion for so long and Asperathes was not sure he was ready to relinquish him just yet.
“Plan, then,” Asperathes said, dropping once more beside him. “Crenshaw, give us a plan.”
Crenshaw slapped Moya, hard. Her eyes lost their glaze and she looked about, confused. “You all right now?” he asked.
“You hit me.”
“Better than what you just did.”
“I … Drake! He was here.”
“Well if he was,” Asperathes said, “he’s not any more. We need to get out of this village. Those soldiers have horses. If we drop by the armourer, we can grab some swords, take the horses and get out with a cover of smoke or something.”
“You’re believing all your stories,” Crenshaw warned.
“Or we could just sit here and wait for them to find us.”
“Captain! Over here.”
“Too late,” Asperathes said. “Move.”
They were back to running, back to hearing soldiers yelling at them. Thankfully none of them seemed to be armed with ranged weapons, but there was only so far they could run before they were caught and cut down.
Crenshaw barked an order and Asperathes obeyed without question. He trusted to the man’s soldier mind and knew Crenshaw knew a lot more about how the enemy would act than he himself did. He may have spent many years as a bounty hunter, but the human mind was still something with which he could never entirely come to grips.
Cutting between two houses, Crenshaw ran without stopping to see whether Asperathes was keeping up. Soldiers were pouring in behind, while Asperathes could see two soldiers trying to cut off their route ahead. With his hand still clasped firmly about Moya, Crenshaw had nothing free with which to fight, so Aspe
rathes put everything he had into a mad dash to overtake him. He poured so much speed into his charge that as he collided with the soldiers it was with flailing limbs ungainly in their application but no less deadly. The soldiers fell, shocked, and Asperathes did not pause to check whether he had snapped their necks.
Asperathes was about to ask what they were doing next when he saw Crenshaw was already running for the next alleyway. It was a ludicrous strategy, despite that he trusted the man. Already the soldiers were proving they were trained well enough to block off the exits and if Crenshaw didn’t see that, he was going to get them all killed.
The man stopped so abruptly that Asperathes collided with him, stumbled over Moya and swore loudly.
“The alleys don’t form a network,” Crenshaw said with a frown. “Alleyways form networks.”
“In cities, yes. This is a village, with a population lower than our cell.”
Ahead, they could see soldiers warily approaching, while behind further bodies were heading their way.
“It’s been a while,” Crenshaw said by way of apology.
Shaking his head at the stupidity of dying this way, Asperathes looked about frantically for something to save their lives. The walls were formed of bricks and there was no way they were going to be able to scale them. He saw a metal drainpipe and had no idea whether it would support their weight but lunged for it regardless. He got two feet from the floor before it came apart under his weight.
“I think we’re dead,” he said.
Moya laughed. It was an odd sound which reverberated through the alley and even gave the soldiers pause. It also gave him an idea.
“Moya,” he said. “Do you have any teleportation spells? Can you get us out of here?”
“Drake wasn’t here, was he?”
“What? Pull it together, woman.”
Moya placed her back to the alley wall and slid slowly down. Her face was wet with silent tears and as she reached the floor and buried her face in her legs, slowly rocking her entire body, she looked very much like a child. Whatever she was doing, she was certainly not pulling it together.
