by David Pauly
Cantering through the Great Gates, Alfrahil received the salute of the guards and turned right to follow a road parallel to the main stone road through crowded market streets and streets lined with common homes. Gravel crunched under the horses' hooves. Within twenty minutes, they were beyond the buildings and out on a country lane of dirt riding through a barley field on their way to intersect with the great road just outside a small village, the last danger before more open country leading to the Escarpment. Seeing nothing unusual, Alfrahil was tempted to let his guard down but instead told his men to watch carefully for anything out of the ordinary. Joining the Great Road again, they came to a small merchant center filled with several two-story stone buildings, the businesses of merchants and traders.
The late afternoon sun cast deep shadows over the street, and Alfrahil saw an unusual congestion of people before him, with many citizens craning their necks to see what it was that delayed their passage. At this time of day, most people would be in the market streets shopping for their evening meal. Here there were no shops, just the unremarkable offices of businesses; therefore the crowd of people was quite unusual. Alfrahil suddenly noticed sheen to the white granite under his horse's hooves that bespoke oil of some type having been spilled ahead. He asked a nearby citizen, who nearly choked when he saw his Crown Prince, what the delay was. The man replied that the cart of an oil seller had collided with the corner of a building and that the guards were trying to apply sand and ashes to the spill to absorb it before it ran all over the road to the gates.
As if the man's explanation was a signal, flaming arrows suddenly rained down on the milling crowd, and more flames, deep and smoky, erupted from the front of the crowd. Screams and cries of fear were heard as the street before them was turned into a billowing quagmire of smoke. Alfrahil heard Alcar cry to gather round the Prince, and he realized that despite all Mergin's assurances, things were not as well in hand as he had been led to expect. But now was not the time for such thoughts. Alfrahil ordered Alcar forward, crying, 'We must force our way through the people!'
Whinnying and neighing, their horses initially balked at their commands, but having faith in their riders, trotted along the road into the smoke. At first all was gray, and Alfrahil's breath was choked by the smoke from the burning oil, but within a few moments the smoke cleared, revealing a path forward.
Alfrahil and his men soon found themselves clear of the conflagration. Advising his men to tear strips from their garments as smoke filters for both themselves and their mounts, Alcar had them soak the strips in a nearby water barrel. Now prepared as best they could be, they cantered up the road again. Behind them, Alfrahil heard the cries of the people and the strident commands of the street guards trying to reestablish order.
Now the great road was open before them, their destination the Bridge over the quarry. Alfrahil knew that this was the natural chokepoint for anyone riding through Eldora unwilling to take the small roads that led around the massive granite feature. He knew that there was danger here, but he also knew that Biramin would be holding the bridge with over a hundred handpicked guardsmen, with more guardsmen on either side of the bridge. Once safely across, Biramin and his entire guard contingent would escort Alfrahil back to the Citadel. Holding the bridge was paramount, and Biramin remained there because of the composition of the terrain immediately in front of the Escarpment: thin soil, full of rocks, only fit for growing of herbs provided even less cover than the vegetable fields closer to the city walls. Alfrahil felt certain that if there was to be any more trouble, it would come at the Bridge. But the massive reinforcements there set his mind at ease.
Approaching the Escarpment, Alfrahil breathed a sigh of relief; once on the other side, he would be safe on his way to the Citadel. The gap in the Escarpment was stark. Great steel picks and wedges had split the massive edifice into two slightly uneven pieces, and the artificial walls of a canyon rose up around them as Alfrahil and his detachment rode into the first part of the rock wall. Just ahead, Biramin sat upon his horse. There were only fifty feet between them when Alfrahil shouted a greeting and Biramin called back in a loud and confident voice, 'You're safe now, sire. Let us get you home to your father.'
Arrows hissed and whined in a virtual cloud that cut down Biramin and his men. Their horses screamed as their flanks were pierced again and again. Appearing out of nowhere on each side of the canyon, twenty archers were shooting nearly straight down into the mass of men. The fire decimated Biramin's handpicked guard force.
The men on the bridge itself and the reinforcements waiting on the other side responded, sending volley after volley against the archers, whose initial effectiveness was rapidly reduced as they took cover. After a moment of shock, Alfrahil urged his men forward. As they neared the bridge, a terrible rumbling broke out, shaking the very ground. This was accompanied by the shrieks and groans of massive timbers. Suddenly the bridge began to collapse in front of them. The guardsman just in front of Alfrahil, unable to stop his horse in time, toppled into the abyss.
'Retreat!' bellowed Dark Mist, assuming command from Alfrahil. Alfrahil and his men began the difficult task of turning around and reversing course in the narrow confines of the canyon. Shouting men, screaming horses, and the constant buzz of arrows filled Alfrahil's ears. As they turned, the archers on the edges of the quarry trained their deadly arrows upon them again. Now, with only the Shadows providing covering fire, these archers were much more deadly. Six more of Alfrahil's guards fell and three others were injured as Alfrahil gave way to panic and kicked at his horse to escape the deadly trap, caring for nothing but his personal safety. Galloping ahead, he was soon beyond the reach of the archers. His guardsmen rejoined him. Despite the losses of half of his regular guards, all of the Shadows were unharmed.
Alfrahil, despite his brief time in the military, had been very sheltered and had never seen another man die before, much less been so close to death himself. He spent several crucial minutes trying to recover his equilibrium, lost within himself and oblivious to the shouts of Dark Mist. When he had finally recovered somewhat from his fear, he saw that they were about two hundred fifty yards from the Escarpment. Archers were running rapidly across the Escarpment. Clearly there was no way past the massive stone cliff: they would have to ride around it or proceed back to the relative safety of the guard barracks at the gates. But that route appeared closed to them, judging by the flames and thick smoke that could be seen rising into the sky.
'We must ride west, my lord,' cried Dark Mist. 'There is a passage known to only a few through the stone wall. We can penetrate it there, before the archers can reach that position.'
'What about going around the Escarpment on the side roads?' asked a dazed Alfrahil.
'There are fruit orchards on either end of the Escarpment, offering much better cover for assassins than is present here. This trap was cunningly laid. Riding around the rock will have been anticipated.'
'Very well. Let us proceed.'
With that, they rode slowly through tilled fields, their horses trampling the herbs and sending fragrant odors upward. The late afternoon sun made vision difficult, but he could still see the archers that ran along the top of the rock, seeking to cut off their escape. But their progress on horseback was faster, and at last they approached the narrow split in the rock.
Entering into this tiny natural ravine, Alfrahil saw that little had been done by the hand of Man to change the natural surroundings. Riding three abreast, they picked their way forward and upward, emerging into a small enclosure, just over a hundred feet deep and two hundred feet wide. Rude straw huts reinforced with mud greeted them. Thin lines of string linked the huts, and coarse peasant clothes hung from the strings, drying in the small amount of sunlight that penetrated the narrow opening. Flies buzzed over a fetid rubbish heap at the southern lower end of the village, but the huts were strangely empty. Only the wind, channeling through the small canyon, could be heard.
Dark Mist addressed the prince. 'A month
ago, my lord, I was on a routine scouting mission, and this area was filled with over fifty peasants and a thriving community of artisans, the most industrious of them a blacksmith who turned out tools and horse shoes cheaply and efficiently. Now everyone is gone. We must move quickly.'
Spurring their horses to a gallop Alfrahil and his men passed by the blacksmith's shop, where a large iron cauldron, hung above a bed of red-hot coals; emitted a high-pitched whistling sound. Glancing at this strange contrivance, Alfrahil saw that the cauldron's lid had been welded to the red- hot metal bottom, with a large stone block, delicately balanced, covering what appeared to be a vent hole in the center. Small flames appeared and disappeared around the block as hissing and gasping blue tongues caressed the edges of it.
Dark Mist suddenly shouted to Alfrahil's escort to ride for their lives. Two seconds later, as Alfrahil and the first of his men were clearing the cauldron, arrows hissed out of the sky and knocked the heavy stone block aside, freeing the boiling oil inside of the cauldron. A great whooshing sound went up from the vent, and a column of flame twenty feet high erupted from the cauldron. More arrows sped downward, and the cauldron's ropes, which had begun to smolder, were shot through. The cauldron collapsed onto its side on the bed of coals. Instantly, burning oil spewed forth from the vent in a fountain of orange flame, setting the entire set of buildings ablaze and firing the rest of the street in seconds. Two more guardsmen went down in the terrible flames, but Alfrahil and the rest of his men sped on, singed but alive.
Alfrahil exited the Escarpment, led now by Dark Mist. As they approached the great road, they found it crowded with hundreds of people who were trying to get through the Escarpment and out of the city before the gates closed but did not know that the bridge was gone. There were no signs of any of the guardsmen that Alfrahil had expected to find, only the swirling masses of common folk.
'Time is the enemy now, my Lord,' said Dark Mist. 'The assassins have been a step ahead of us so far, but they cannot know we survived the last ambush. If we dash for the Citadel now, I believe we can make it safely.'
'Then let us be off at once,' Alfrahil commanded. Resuming their flight to the Citadel, they trotted their winded steeds toward the Third District and its gate. Alfrahil began to relax at last. He was surprised at the lack of activity, thinking that Mergin surely should have sent additional guards down to them, but then he realized that only thirty minutes had elapsed since the attack in the Escarpment, and they were only a few minutes behind schedule.
Glancing at the curious faces of the guards who had noticed the smoke and sweat on their faces and their lathered horses, Alfrahil realized that no word of the disasters that had befallen them had yet reached the Citadel.
As they rode up to the gate, the guard sergeant asked if they needed any aid.
'Do you have any spare mounts at hand?' asked Dark Mist.
'No, sir, the messenger stable is well up in the Second District. We have no horses here. I could send one of my men to fetch some if you like. It would only take half an hour or so.'
'We have no time,' said Dark Mist. 'The prince has been attacked by traitors. Guard the gate well and prepare for anything. We must press on but sound the alarm.'
Dark Mist led them up through the gates and into the Third District as the deep growling moan of an ancient brass horn reverberated behind them. Alfrahil was beginning to relax slightly as they passed through the Second District gate. Alerted by the alarm, the guardsman reported no unusual activity here, and Dark Mist moved them on at great speed towards the Citadel gates, ten minutes away now.
The circle of the hill was quite small, and the road turned completely back upon itself as it wound up to the First District gate and the Citadel beyond. They were in a small exclusive market district, with the usual crowd of servants from wealthy homes shopping for last-minute items for the evening meal. Small shops of one and two stories, made entirely of stone, with tiled roofs, lined the narrow street. The odors of roasting meats, rich spices, and frying vegetables from the market stalls seemed surreal to Alfrahil after nearly having been burned alive. The hum of the shoppers was all around him as the people dutifully made way.
Rounding a turn, they found themselves facing a column of young Shardan orphans, whose parents and entire villages had been laid waste by the army of Eldora. This was an all-too-regular scene these days in Eldora, as the 'unfortunates,' as they were called, were organized by charitable men and women to petition the King and his ministers for funds to aid themselves in providing the necessary food, shelter, medicines, and other goods the orphans needed to survive. No doubt, thought Alfrahil, having received alms from the King, they were now returning to their compound within the Fifteenth District. Some of the children might be claimed by distant relatives in Shardan. Others would be adopted into local families. The rest, less fortunate, would grow to adulthood within the orphan barracks or the refugee camp; a grim life, Alfrahil reflected, but better than perishing from disease or famine.
'Wait, Dark Mist,' said Alfrahil. 'Let the children pass. I am exhausted and must rest for a moment.'
'My Lord,' replied the Shadow, 'you can rest when we are in the Citadel. Another ten minutes, and you will be safe.'
The orphans, meanwhile, had recognized Alfrahil and began to call to him as they approached, beseeching his generosity and aid. An older boy, perhaps fourteen, his white teeth gleaming in a smile brighter still in contrast with his brown skin and black hair, came up to Alfrahil with his palm out and a smile on his face. Alfrahil smiled back and reached for his purse. Dark Mist was abreast of the middle of the children, unconcerned with their plight, when he saw Alfrahil's mind briefly re-engage with this innocent procession, reaching in a trance for his purse to give this child some coins. Dark Mist noticed distantly that only the child's mouth was smiling, the rest of his countenance was sent in fierce determination. Black obsidian chips were his eyes, reflecting a desperation and anger rarely seen in someone so young. The dusky face was a fixed mask determined to reveal nothing until the ultimate moment arrived, maintaining his smile, and focusing upon Alfrahil. At that same instant, the youth reached under his robe and made a slight pulling gesture. Oil spurted from his tunic, dyed a bright shade of red. It poured down his limbs and pooled briefly around his feet before spreading rapidly downhill. An unusual pungent odor arose from this most unusual of oils as Dark Mist recognized the smell of pine pitch intermingled with the oil of the great sea creatures that were sometimes captured by the fisher folk. The cost of the oil of the sea creatures in such a vast quantity staggered the mind of Dark Mist, but chillingly he remembered how volatile and explosive the oil was and knew that his prince was in terrible danger.
Cursing his faith in Lord Mergin's security report, Dark Mist was the first to react. Ordering the men to gallop to the Citadel as quickly as possible, he reached out and pulled Alfrahil's horse, slapping its flank.
Alfrahil's horse plunged forward, scattering the remaining children. As the guardsmen began to react to the Shadow's orders, two other youths emerged from an alley ahead and similarly released a flood of oil upon the street. The Shadows reacted instantly, hurling poisoned knives to slay the children where they stood, the buzz of arrows followed almost at once.
One Shadow fell from his horse, impaled with arrows intended for Alfrahil. Another Shadow drew his sword and, in an incredible display, cut two arrows from the air before he was struck down by a third. But some arrows had been aimed at a different target: the oil. And these arrows were aflame.
In an instant, the street was on fire. Alfrahil, at the front of the column thanks to Dark Mist's quick thinking and quicker action, was able to get clear of the oil with mere seconds to spare. Feeling the flash of heat behind him, he turned and watched in horror as Dark Mist and most of his guardsmen vanished in a bright orange wall of flame. Before he could react, four horses leaped through those flames. One was rider less. Two carried soldiers of the guard. And the third bore a Shadow.
A grea
t explosion filled the street behind them. Alfrahil saw debris from destroyed homes and shops along the street flung hundreds of feet skywards. The acrid stench of burning flesh filled his nostrils, and the screams of men and the higher pitched screams of horses filled his ears. Vague, glowing forms that could only be guessed to be the shapes of men and animals moved within the billowing orange flames, beneath the ghastly black plume of smoke rising from the street.
Unable to think clearly, in the grip of a renewed panic, Alfrahil stopped his horse and made as if to flee in a different direction. But the Shadow, seeing the absence of reason in Alfrahil's face, screamed, 'My Lord, there is nothing you can do. You must save yourself and ride with us to the Citadel, for no one and nothing can save those men.'
At that, a new buzzing was heard. One of the remaining guards toppled from his horse, an arrow embedded in his chest. A blinding pain crossed Alfrahil's forehead, and blood filled his eyes. His horse screamed and then bolted.
Alfrahil, realizing that an arrow must have laid open his scalp—how badly, he did not yet know—was able to grab a napkin from his saddlebag and staunch the flow of blood into his eyes even as he held on to the reins with his free hand. Finally regaining control of his horse, he felt around his saddle and found his canteen. Pouring the contents over his eyes, he at last was able to clear the blood from his face. Glancing over his shoulder, with his horse still in full gallop, Alfrahil saw the Shadow and the last guard hard on his heels.
The Shadow, who had an arrow protruding from his shoulder, cried, 'Fly, my Lord, for the enemy are still on the rooftops!'
Glancing up, Alfrahil saw that indeed there were men dressed in drab gray colors leaping from rooftop to rooftop, determined to finish what they had started. Alfrahil spurred his exhausted, terrified horse. He saw the Shadow firing his bow at their attackers with blinding speed. Then his horse rounded a corner, and he saw no more.
