The Foundlings (The Swords of Xigara)

by J. Mark Miller

  “You’ve been in prison before?” Tenna asked, surprised.

  “Many times,” he nodded. “Sometimes it’s the best place to learn what you need to know.”

  Doulos looked older. The lines on his face were more pronounced. His hair was stringy. His back was more bowed than usual, as if under great weight. His hands shook too, like the effort of an old man struggling through his final days.

  The only things unchanged were his eyes. Though locked behind puffy eyelids, Tenna found them gazing at her with undiminished intensity.

  Zalas propped himself up on an elbow. “What did you learn?”

  “I found Jacque right where you thought you saw him. He’s worse for wear but nothing’s broken. The other two are in separate cells on the far side of this level, alongside several other elves and dwarves. It appears our hosts believe in segregating the races even in prison.”

  “What about Nephali?” Zalas leaned forward.

  “Oh yes,” the old man said around stuffed cheeks. “Our belongings are in the guard post near the stairs. I doubt they’ll move anything of value to the vault until after our execution tomorrow.”

  Zalas spewed bits of his breakfast across the floor. “Execution? Tomorrow?”

  “They’ve connected us with Jacque,” Doulos shrugged as if their death sentence was an obvious course of action. “We’ve been declared members of a dangerous cult, a cult guilty of rebellion, sedition, treason, and the arson of Madhebah. Jacque’s hanging was slated for tomorrow, so they simply added us to the roster. Typical imperial efficiency.”

  Zalas clambered to his feet and offered the old mage a helping hand. “We need to get moving.”

  Doulos shook his head. “Not until we’ve eaten and rested more. This may be our last meal for a while. Eat while I tell you my plan, then we’ll get some more sleep.”

  “Sleep?” Tenna blurted. “You intend to sleep? They’re planning on hanging us tomorrow.”

  “Yes, child, sleep,” Doulos said. “We won’t go anywhere if I don’t recover from last night’s labor. Enjoy this moment of peace while you can, girl. Tomorrow, we become the hunted.”

  Tenna frowned and bit off a hunk of bread in frustration. The old man was maddening, intense, and nonchalant about everything at once. She guessed if she had his power she might be the same way. But she didn’t have his power, nor his confidence. The cold of the walls crept into her soul and stole her resolve. Maybe she wasn’t made for adventure.

  Doulos brushed the remnants of his breakfast from his beard and cleared his throat. He started tracing a pattern on the stone floor with his finger, leaving behind a purple glow that soon snuffed itself out, leaving behind a sooty residue. His drawing became a grid-like pattern that Tenna guessed was a map of the prison’s layout. The map consisted of several long rows of squares—the cells—connected by hallways laid out in a symmetrical pattern.

  Done, the mage pointed at one of the square closest to himself. “We’re here,” he said, then moved his hand across the diagram as he spoke. “Jacque is five cells up the corridor, and Onahim and Cedsul are near the far corner. I spoke with all three of them and told them the same thing I’m telling you, to eat all they can, rest as much as possible, and be ready to move at the ninth bell.”

  “Why the ninth?” asked Zalas.

  “It’s when the Bastion will be the least inhabited. Our chances of escape are better when the guards are fewer in number. The guard will be changing shifts, and their replacements will be coming from their midday meal. The day will be heating up outside too. That combination will make the replacement guards sluggish. The soldiers here will have been on duty since the early hours, and they’ll be eager to get out and have a meal.”

  “Where’s Nephali?” asked Zalas.

  “Here,” the mage tapped a small rectangle near the center of his drawing. “There’s a locked room near the stairwell where the soldiers store their own equipment. Our belongings are there for the time being.”

  “Good,” Zalas nodded. “We can grab it on the way to the surface.”

  Doulos shook his head. “We’re not going out that way. We’d never be able to fight our way through the entire city.”

  “Then how are we getting out of here?” Tenna asked. “There’s only one door in and out of this place.”

  “Not true,” Doulos said. “There’s an escape tunnel here.”

  They looked down to see Doulos pointing at the outer wall at the end of a corridor parallel to their own.

  “Won’t it be guarded?” Zalas asked.

  “No, the escape tunnels are never guarded.”

  “Why?” Tenna asked.

  “Because they can’t be opened through normal means. There’s no latch, no key that unlocks them. They’re tied to a mechanism that collapses the upper levels. Counterweights drop to pull the escape hatches up and away.”

  Tenna rocked back as the mage’s plan settled in her mind. “That’s why you’re waiting until the ninth bell,” she whispered. “You want the place clear because you’re going to collapse it.”

  “Yes,” Doulos admitted. “We need to escape, but I want to minimize the bloodshed.”

  “You can’t do this,” she pleaded. “People will die.”

  “There are bells that toll warnings long before the collapse, so there’s time enough to escape for those who’ll listen. The Bastion will buckle from the top, so those nearer the bottom will have more time to get clear. Those below ground like us are safe. We’ll likely kill more soldiers fighting our way out.”

  Tenna began to cry as she thought of the toll their escape would require. “But why can’t you walk us through the walls? We could escape before anyone noticed and no one would have to die.”

  “Child, there are things even I cannot do,” Doulos said sadly. “I can only carry myself through walls, and nothing made of metal. Had I the power to do as you ask, we’d be forced to leave Nephali behind.”

  “Forget the sword,” Tenna blurted. “Leave it here and get us out. It’s done nothing but cause trouble since we found it anyway.”

  Zalas slipped an arm around his daughter and held her tight. “We can’t leave the sword, it’s the reason we must fight. Without it the whole world will be plunged into darkness. Far more will die if it’s lost to us now.”

  Doulos reached out and lifted her chin. Tenna met his eyes, finding their clear blue clouded with tears.

  “We’ve no choice, child. I wish there were another way, but we’ve been called to do works no one else can do. To do our part, we must win our freedom. With Nephali.”

  Tenna choked back a sob and nodded in resignation. She tried to pay attention as Doulos continued to lay out his plan.

  25

  The River Luwn

  Sidero let Tander sleep past the sunrise before rustling the boy awake. Tander shocked himself awake with a dip in the river, then sat eating sparingly from his stores as he watched the dragon expand into the riding harness.

  “You do that pretty well,” the boy said. “I guess you’ve done it a few times before.”

  “A few,” the dragon gave a rumbling chuckle. “You should have seen my first few attempts, I was always getting my wings tangled in the thing. Now climb up, we need to get moving.”

  Tander scrabbled up the dragon’s side, lashing his lute and packs down before buckling the harness around his waist. Sidero craned his head back to find the boy prepared, then spread his wings and leapt into the air. The boy’s sorrows were temporarily forgotten in the rush of the moment as he looked forward to the exhilaration of flight once more.

  Gloom hit him like heavy blows as they climbed high enough for him to look back down on the plains. He could make out the charred remains of his home smoldering in the distance. Long lines of refugees crowded the riverbanks, and multitudes more filled the plains on either side. Far behind, but gaining ground, was the wicked legion responsible for their flight. They were taking their time to follow as only a superior force knew how.


  “They’ll never make it,” Tander was on the verge of weeping again.

  “That’s why we must go our separate ways. Once you’re safe with Chrysafi, I’ll raise my army and send those traitors to the abyss.”

  The sounds of despair below never reached their ears as they flew, only the sometimes near silence of the wind rushing by. Sidero followed the river south, but made a point to stay away from the people lest he add to their horror. Most folks would only see a dragon, a monster, never understanding the difference between Sidero and his evil kin. Understanding the emotions of mammals was always difficult, but even he could relate to the loss of home and family.

  He looked back at the boy’s haggard face still so full of heartache. “I’m sorry for your loss, my friend.”

  Tander could only nod his head at first, turning away to hide the tears that never seemed to stop. “I can’t believe they’re gone,” he sighed. “None of this makes any sense.”

  “Loss rarely does, especially when it’s the result of darkness within those we loved and trusted. When evil takes root in the heart, tragedy is always the result.”

  Tander heard the shift in the dragon’s voice, an ancient pain wrought by the touch of experience. “Have you ever lost someone close to you, Sidero?”

  The dragon’s head snapped up as if surprised by the question, then drooped back down as he gave a quiet answer. “Yes.”

  “What happened?”

  “I was part of the last clutch our mother laid. By then my family was already divided. My brothers Mavros and Shiazo were already under the Deceiver’s sway. He persuaded them to steal one of Mother’s eggs. Whether by providence or fate they took my sister’s instead of mine.

  “They carried her north into the frozen wastes. By the time I was hatched, all hope for familial restoration was gone. Mother and Father grieved but carried on, nurturing me as they wished they could my lost sister. My siblings searched for my sister but were repelled at every turn by our renegade kin.

  “Many years later, the Deceiver bid our dark siblings to rise up and assault our home in the boughs of the Worldtree. My missing clutch mate, Dar, was among them, but she’d been changed. The Deceiver had given her over to Sane who had twisted her, pouring all her malice into Dar’s nascent egg. Dar was a depraved beast by the time she hatched, little more than a bloodthirsty animal.”

  Sidero paused and look out at the horizon ahead as if looking back into his past. Tander’s small voice pulled him back. “What happened?”

  “War,” Sidero’s voice was flat. “War the likes of which this world has not seen since. They caught us unaware. We clashed above the great expanse of the Worldtree, torn between our duty to protect her and not bring grievous harm to our kindred. They overwhelmed us with their fury, doing the unthinkable and using their strength and power to destroy the Worldtree. Though she did not die, she still bears the scars of our conflict. But then, our Father fell.”

  “Fell?” Tander choked back a sob as the image of his father plummeting from the rooftop flashed in his mind.

  “We don’t know who struck the blow, though I have my suspicions. His scream split the sky. We froze, every one of us, watching as the glorious Lord of Wyrms crashed through the limbs of the Worldtree to the ground below.

  “Until then, Mother had taken no part in the battle, refusing to bring her terrible might against her own children. But rage overtook her as she watched Father’s body burn to ash in the shadows of the Worldtree. She rose in fury and might. Her diamond scales blazed with the light of Onúl himself. We were dumbfounded and struggled to stay aloft as her voice rang out and pronounced our doom. She banished our kindred, forever cutting them off from her light and the gifts of the Worldtree. Her light suffused them, stealing the beauty of their scales and marking them as exiles. They fled from her wrath as swiftly as they could fly.”

  “You said she doomed you all?” Tander said.

  “She tasked those of us who had not rebelled with defending the people of Awia from the schemes of our siblings. We will not see home again until the final confrontation with our kin. This our Mother has foreseen.”

  “But what about your father?” Tander asked. “You said he died, but that doesn’t fit with the legends.”

  “Every dragon is born with a unique essence, an ability to manipulate the fundamental forces of nature. You’ve seen me demonstrate mine, what Bita called gravitic magic. Father’s province is life. Long after the battle was over, long after we were gone, he rose to life from his ashes.”

  “Then my sisters,”Tander’s hope soared, “your father could…”

  “No, my friend,” Sidero said. “Though his healing powers are extraordinary, Father cannot raise the dead. It was the power of Onúl working within my Father that brought him back, but the price was high. Since tasting of death he is barred from the fruits of the Worldtree, and thus estranged from Mother until the day of reckoning.

  “Legend says your family will war again.”

  “Just so,” Sidero nodded. “Mother foretold of a time when her children would again darken the skies over the Field of Valor before the Worldtree. There, clutch mate will rise against clutch mate in final battle, to kill or be killed.”

  “But that means…”

  “That means one day I will be forced to slay my sister. That day is nearly here.”

  26

  The Bastion

  Doulos refused to awake until just past the eighth bell, causing no end of distress to his cellmates. In contrast, he was calm and measured, taking his time to eat the last bits of bread and cheese and wash it down with murky water. He spent a few minutes reviewing everyone’s roles in his scheme one last time before rising to his feet.

  He motioned for his companions to be still, then waited until the guards moved past their cell on their round. When the way was clear, he brushed his fingertips against the door’s lock in a gentle circular motion. Wisps of smoke drifted up between his fingers and the air filled with an acrid tang that made the Tenna’s nose burn. A muffled sizzling sound found her ears and her eyes started to water. It was all she could do to keep from retching as a metallic taste coated her tongue.

  The sizzling cut short with a high pitched snap. Doulos seemed to slump as he pulled his fingers away, revealing the lock melting away in a molten stream down the door.

  “The lock mechanism is gone,” Doulos said, “but the outer face remains. We’ve been given our last meal, so the guards won’t have reason to try the lock again until it’s time to march us to the gallows.”

  “We’d better be long gone before then,” Zalas said.

  “We will be,” Doulos nodded. “Remember to move swiftly when you hear the bells. Retrieve our belongings and clothing first, then move for Jacque. I’ll have melted his lock by then, but he knows not to move until you come for him. I’ll take care of releasing the other two.”

  The mage stepped toward the wall and placed palms against it. He paused and looked back.

  “A final warning,” his voice was low and serious. “Nephali is vital, but don’t neglect to retrieve the rest of our gear. We won’t survive long without them. And don’t try to use the sword as a weapon. Strap Nephali to your back and leave it there. Tenna, take my sword and do the same. You’ll find it useless against common foes.”

  “Why?” Tenna asked.

  “An explanation best left for another day, child. Stay on guard. Don’t take unnecessary chances.”

  Doulos turned back to the wall and assumed his prayer-like posture. He faded before their eyes and melted into the wall moments later.

  Tenna passed the time watching her father pace across their tiny cell. His jaw was clenched so hard she could see his pulse racing up his neck. He never sat still unless he had a history book in hand, and then he could sit for hours, even to the point of neglecting food and sleep.

  A clang outside the cell startled them, something like the sound of a sword striking stone. Muffled shouts and stamping feet echoed through the
corridor. Tenna stood and joined her father as he stood peering out of the cell door’s little slit.

  Another clang sounded, followed by a rumbling from the levels above. The walls of their cell began to tremble as soldiers raced down the hallway with panic written on their faces. The pealing of the bells grew louder and more frequent.

  “Get ready,” Zalas shouted over the growing clamor.

  He edged the door open and peered down the corridor. Tenna followed as he stepped out of the cell. She could see soldiers milling around with their swords drawn at the far end of the corridor. Their captain came out of the guardroom and made for the stairs, ordering half of the men to follow. Three guards remained, shifting the odds in favor of the jail-breakers.

  The few occupied cells were already open. Doulos had released the captives from their sentences, serious about his intent to minimize the death toll. Prisoners bolted from their cells to surprise and outnumber the trio of guards. One soldier sprinted up the stairs yelling for reinforcements. The last two stood back to back in preparation for the attack they were sure was coming, but they were wrong. The inmates ignored them, dashing down a connecting passage.

  The soldiers ran off in pursuit, leaving the guardroom unprotected.

  Zalas grabbed Tenna’s hand and raced toward the guardroom. He paused at the intersection long enough to look for unaccounted guards but found the way clear. They went their separate ways then, Zalas to retrieve their belongings, Tenna to Jacque’s cell.

  The Bastion rocked as the implosion of upper levels escalated, throwing Tenna from her feet. Cracks webbed through the ceiling overhead, raining grit onto the shaking floor. The alarms had grown into a non-stop peal, deafening in intensity. If pursuit followed her she’d never hear them coming.

  She crawled the last few feet to Jacque’s door and found him struggling to stand. They helped each other gain their feet and stumbled arm in arm back down the corridor.

  They found Zalas sorting furiously through the odds and ends stored in the guardroom. He’d already accumulated a small pile of gear near the door. Everything seemed accounted for except the swords. Frustrated, he stopped and swept his gaze around the room until he spied a foot locker sitting under a pile of uniforms against the wall. Finding it locked, he snatched up Onahim’s battle axe and chopped the lid into kindling.