by Greg Curtis
The timing made sense too. He had been on the trail now for eleven days. It would have taken five days for the mercenaries to reach him from the city. That was sixteen days ago. And people were claiming that this war had started between two and three weeks before that.
Unfortunately, though some of his questions were answered, more quickly arrived to take their place. And most important to him was what had happened to his family? What could he do about it? What should he do about it?
He hadn't seen his mother in eighteen years. She'd visited him a couple of times while he'd first been locked away in the monastery with the priests. After that she'd written a few letters. But even those had ceased a few years later. He hadn’t understood at the time although Father Daen had explained that she had had no choice. Hendrick had never fully been convinced of that though he did understand her reasons.
His mother was the King's fifth wife. Lady Peri Mountforth. She was in a precarious political position and she still had one son – her heir – living in the city with her. Myka, was older than him by one year and sixteenth in line to the throne. Naturally Myka had little more chance of inheriting the throne than he did. Not unless something truly catastrophic happened to all the other princes and their mothers. But even if he couldn't inherit the throne, he could still find a worthy position in the city. A title, an income and the prospect of a good marriage. And he was well on his way to achieving all of that or so Hendrick understood. He now had a wife and family, and operated a trading concern based out of Styrion Hold. In time no doubt, there would have been more. But having a brother who had been afflicted would stand against that. It was a mark of shame for a family. He was an embarrassment.
And that was how he'd ended up consigned to the Abbey. His mother had had to remain in the city as the King's fifth wife. She could not leave the King without causing a great scandal. People would have said she was running away. That could not be allowed. He meanwhile could not remain in the city as one of the afflicted. This was Styrion Might after all. But Myka had had a choice. He could stay or go. But his chances of attaining a high office and making a success of the family concern were vastly improved if he stayed and Hendrick left and people forgot he had a younger brother who was afflicted. And their mother was not about to let that chance be lost.
So his mother had made a choice. To look after one son and forget the other. It was a perfectly logical decision if a completely horrible one. He couldn’t deny he still felt angry that she had made it. Even though he really did understand.
The problem was that he didn't fully accept the argument. His mother could have left the city and the King's side. It might have created a scandal but that wasn't the same as being prevented from doing it. And it wasn't as if she would have been divorcing the King. She could also have brought Myka with her. They could have had a life outside of Styrion Might. A less prestigious life but a life nonetheless. They could have been a family. She had chosen not to. And a year or so after that she had chosen to break off all contact with him.
No matter how many times the priests at the Abbey, and in particular Father Daen, had tried to explain it to him, he had always known that she had abandoned him.
So what did he owe them? Though she had left him she had still given birth to him and helped raise him until he was seven. She was still his mother for good or ill. And while he had only seen his brother from a distance over the years when he was occasionally forced to attend official functions like his father's weddings and they had probably spoken a dozen words in twenty years, Myka was still his brother.
There were more family too to consider. Hendrick had learned that Myka now had children. No one had officially informed him of that, and of course no letter had ever been sent. But sometimes the priests carried word to him. So he had more family than he knew, even if he had never seen them and never would. Nieces and nephews – all of them just children. And now presumably, they were all somewhere in the city. Maybe hurt. Or trapped. Maybe they needed to be rescued.
But was it his responsibility to rescue them? To put his own life on the line for theirs? He had the horrible thought that it might be. That he should at least try rescue his brother and his family. It wasn't about love. It wasn't about becoming a family again – if they had ever been one. It wasn't about right and wrong. It wasn't even about compassion and goodness, as much as the priests of the Benevolent One might have wanted him accept. It was about duty, something Hendrick understood all too well. He could not fail in his duty. And he could not be a man who let his family die. And after all, who else would if he didn't?
Then again, it could be about giving in to Vitanna's drunken mist as it settled over him. Because no sober man would ever consider it!
His decision made, Hendrick realised the first thing he needed was more information. Like finding out if they were still in the city or had left with the other refugees. And if they were in the city, then he needed to know whether they still walked free or had been imprisoned. The only way he would find that out however, would be by entering the city.
So he reined his horse around and heading west toward the gate, against the steady flow of people leaving.
A few people stared at him as he made his way along the road. More than a few actually. But while they stared none said anything. Probably because they were already weary and broken in spirit and still had a long way to go. A man on a horse going the wrong way simply wasn't important enough to make them ask questions.
When he reached the main gate half a dozen men and women with the markings of magic clearly showing, asked him to state his business. They were standing to one side of the huge stone gate, watching the people walk by, and though they wore no uniforms and carried no weapons, he knew they were acting as soldiers. Mainly he knew it because he watched the people walking past them. Heads down, giving them a wide berth where they could, making sure not to catch their eyes.
“Who are you and what do you want?” A heavy set, middle aged man with a marking of crystallite running from his hand to his neck stepped up and challenged Hendrick while his companions watched him suspiciously.
They had had their eyes on him for at least the last couple of minutes as he'd approached. No doubt the very fact that he was heading toward the city made him look suspicious. But if they weren't dressed as soldiers, then neither was he. He looked like what he was – a brewer. He had no armour. His cloths showed no insignia. Nor did his clothes denote him as either nobility or beggar. He wore workmen's clothes. Above all he didn't look like a threat, and that, he thought, mattered.
“Hendrick. I've come to find my family.” Hendrick put it plainly. He didn't want trouble with the man. And though the man's marking showed that he had only one spell, something of water magic, he figured that it would be strong. He could be dangerous. “I mean no harm.”
Should he show the man his markings, he wondered? It might make things easier with them. He had decided against it before, simply because this was Styrion Might and his kind weren't allowed. He'd thought it would stop him entering. But now he thought it might make a different sort of trouble. If he was going to have any chance of finding and rescuing his family he would need to speak to people, and it was clear that no one was speaking to the afflicted. The people leaving were clearly scared of them. How was he to learn anything from them if they thought he was one of them?
Better, he thought, to keep his markings covered up like a warlock, hiding them from the other afflicted. And wasn't that a bitter irony!
“With all that?” The man nodded at his musket and pistol, both of which were hanging around his horse's neck, ready for him to grab at a moment's notice.
“I didn't know what to expect – the stories coming out of the city were strange. But I'm happy to give them up if that's what it'll take to allow me to search the city.”
And he was actually quite happy to do that. Mostly because the one thing he had learned during his long days in the saddle was that he was no good with the weapons. He'd pr
actised every evening on the trail, but had managed to hit nothing at all. Not even a stationary target twenty paces away. It seemed he had no skill with weapons.
“Fine, then I'll take those.” A woman with a tracery of dull grey Magnetite lines running up her leg raised her hand and floated the weapons out of their holsters and across to her.
Some sort of magic of force Hendrick realised. And judging by where the markings were he suspected she'd come into contact with the magic metal by standing on it. It happened more often than people would have thought. But that didn't concern him as much as the fact that he was staring at several of the afflicted. And everything about them tended to support what the others had just told him. That these afflicted really had attacked the city.
“Any other weapons?” The man grunted at him.
“A belt knife?” Hendrick raised his heavy cotton vest a little to show them the knife attached to his belt. It wasn't really a weapon though. More a tool for cutting things.
“I'll take that too.”
A moment later Hendrick watched his knife lift out of its scabbard and float across to the woman. Now that he would miss. It wasn't an expensive knife by any means as it was one he’d made himself. But he’d had it a long time. Still, there were more important things to worry about and he had a new knife back in Burbage.
“May I enter now?”
The heavy set man looked him up and down some more, perhaps looking for more weapons. Or maybe he was just naturally a suspicious sort. “No trouble?”
“None at all. And I don't intend to stay. I just want to find my family and leave.” He hoped it would be easy but doubted it. He didn't know where they were though he suspected they would be in the inner city. He also didn’t know if he'd be able to get to them. Or if they'd want to leave. From what he remembered of his mother she could be stubborn. And she had pride. But still, it was his goal.
“Fine.” Abruptly the man made his decision. “But you'll be watched.”
“Thank you.” With that Hendrick gave the reins a flick and headed on into the city at a slow trot. Now what did the man mean by saying he’d be watched, he wondered? Was it just a general comment as in that everyone was watched? Or a specific threat? He didn't know. But it worried him as he headed in to the city.
He soon forgot about it though as he ventured further in and saw the state the city was in. Things inside were worse than he had expected. A great many more buildings were damaged, and often in strange ways. Many showed the results of fire damage but some of the stone buildings appeared to have melted. Just how hot did it have to be for stone to melt? A few buildings had lost their walls entirely. The only evidence of where they had once stood were the broken roofs that lay on the ground where they had apparently fallen. Other buildings had fallen on to their sides. How exactly did a house fall on to its side, he wondered? It looked as if a great many more buildings had exploded – from the inside! That wasn't due to cannon fire. It had to be magic.
Of course, people were everywhere, most of them in much the same shape as those he had seen on the road leaving the city. Many were trying to rescue their belongings from what remained of their homes. Or perhaps they were looting other peoples' homes – he couldn't be sure. Others were wandering the streets, calling out peoples' names as they searched for loved ones. Still more were simply sitting on the ground, tired and broken and by the looks of things with no place to go.
And then there were the bodies. They were scattered everywhere. Some of the bodies had clearly been stripped for whatever valuables they might have. Others were far too damaged for that. Many had been burnt, others had been torn apart. And not all of them were soldiers. Many were women. Some were children. This had been a brutal battle.
The other thing he noticed was the smell. The odour of decomposing flesh permeated the air, mixed in with the aroma of burning. Burnt timber and burnt flesh. It wasn't overpowering yet. But as he watched the flies buzzing around the fallen, he knew it was only going to get worse. Already many of the bodies were beginning to bloat. Soon they would burst and once that happened the smell would become overpowering and the only creatures able to call the city home would be the scavengers.
Hendrick did his best not to look at the bodies as he rode on further into the city. But it was hard as with every step of his horse he kept running into more of them. It wasn't just the outer terraces that had been attacked, but the entire city. As to how many had died, he couldn't even hazard a guess. But it had to be in the thousands at least. And that was only counting the bodies he could see. How many more were lying dead inside their ruined homes?
Along the way he was approached by many of the survivors. Some asked if he'd seen their loved ones. Some begged for food or coin. Sadly, he had neither the knowledge they needed nor any spare food, and he had to send them away with his apologies. He simply hadn't come prepared for this.
Half an hour later he reached the sloping path leading up to the second terrace. After that there was only the inner city beyond. But the moment he trotted up to the terrace to set eyes on the walls leading to the inner city, he realised his journey had ended.
The afflicted had set up some sort of barrier around the walls. It was too far away to tell what sort of spell it was, but he could see it shimmering in the air just in front of the inner wall, and covering the entrances. By the look of it no one was able to get in or out of the inner city. And if his family were still here then they would be in the inner city.
As for the terrace, it was a complete ruin. The wide cobbled road that led to the concourse in the middle was wrecked. All of the buildings had burnt down, leaving just two long lines of blackened rubble. The cobbled street was pitted with craters. And the concourse beyond had become a field of burnt out blackness dotted with bodies. Obviously this had been the scene of a terrible battle.
So what did he do?
Hendrick pulled up on the reins and then sat there on his horse staring at the burnt-out battlefield and the distant barrier beyond, trying to work out what to do. Because it seemed to him that there was nothing left to do.
Suddenly he had been left without options. If he couldn't get in or out of the inner city, then he couldn't reach his family – assuming they were inside it as he expected. And if they weren't he had no idea where they were and so couldn't find them. Yet if he simply turned around and left not only would he be failing them, the guards at the gate would become suspicious that he had come all this way and left immediately without even looking for his family.
Of course simply sitting there on his horse, staring, was suspicious in itself.
“You just going to sit there?”
A woman's voice startled Hendrick and he turned to see a young, dark haired woman standing there beside him. With her raven black curls hanging down past her shoulders, refined features and her svelte figure she could have been pretty. But her scowl stole that from her. He couldn't see her markings, clothed as she was from head to foot, but he was sure she was one of the afflicted. Who else would be accosting him as if she owned the city?
“Apologies. I've just never seen anything like that.” He pointed at the wall and the magical barrier surrounding it. “What is it?”
“Some sort of force barrier. But we'll break it down soon enough.” She smiled as if victory was already assured. It was not a pretty smile. This was an angry, suspicious woman.
Hendrick noted that it appeared that the afflicted hadn't raised it. Which meant that those inside the inner city had. It wasn't a way of imprisoning those inside but a defence. Moreover, the spell must have been cast by someone afflicted with Magnetite as it was force magic. But how had they done that? No afflicted lived in the city. And those who were attacking were doing so from outside – weren't they?
“It's pretty.”
“Huh!” She seemed unimpressed. “Who are you knave and what's your business here?”
“Hendrick. Looking for my family,” he answered promptly. It was lucky he realised that he had hadn't
had to search for an answer. But why was he a “knave” he wondered? Not only was he no brigand of any sort, she had used the term as a soldier would to describe anyone they didn't believe worthy of their time. Things must have really changed if the afflicted now believed they were the righteous and everyone else was untrustworthy.
“Not inside the inner city?” She was quick with her suspicion.
“Do I look like a noble?” Hendrick raised his arms in question, then pulled the glove off his unmarked hand to show it to her. “Working man's hands. I brew ale.” And the heavy callouses had to show that.
“Hmmm.” She seemed less than convinced. “Then be quick about your business.”
“Thank you.” Hendrick made to flick the reins and set off, but stopped suddenly as he realised he still had a question he needed answered. And though it was madness, he asked it of the dark haired woman before she walked away.
