House of Blades

by Wight, Will

  Simon shrunk into himself as they discussed such things without him. He could fight better than all of them put together, sure, but he had much less experience. And they had just as much of a reason to recover the captives as he did. Maybe more; some of those here had lost kin to the slavers’ ropes, while Simon had not.

  He had almost talked himself into giving up and waiting for Chaim to tell him what to do when a gold-armored dog bounded between the wagons. The gold plates of its armor shone even brighter than they should have in the direct sunlight, its bark somehow resounding like a great bell. Most of the villagers stumbled back en masse, crying at its sudden appearance. Some stabbed down at it with stolen Damascan swords, though their blades were turned by its armor.

  The dog, a waist-high beast with white hair peeking out between the plates of its shining armor, ignored them all, circling inside the wagons and letting out more of those echoing barks. Oddly, Simon noticed that the oxen didn’t seem alarmed by the beast’s arrival, continuing to calmly chew on grass and brambles.

  While the crowd was still milling and Simon was still trying to decide whether or not he should attack, Alin stepped in between two wagons.

  His fine clothes—once a suit of blue, probably, and certainly more expensive than Alin had ever before owned—had gone through a forest of thorns and a house fire. Possibly at the same time. The ash streaked on his face looked like war paint, and he strode into their midst like a battle-scarred king among his subjects.

  The Myrians cheered when they saw him. A few fell to their knees.

  “Brothers and sisters!” Alin exclaimed, throwing out his arms. “Welcome! I can’t tell you what good it does my heart, seeing you here today.”

  Simon almost gagged at the speech. Alin was speaking like he imagined a hero would in one of his stories. By all rights the other villagers should recognize it and laugh him away. Judging by their faces, though, they were eating out of his hand.

  “Alin,” Chaim called, “we’re ready. They took us captive, but we escaped. We are armed and ready to stand against the Overlord.”

  Nurita shouldered her way to stand beside him. “And Simon’s a Traveler now, apparently.” She pointed a finger straight at him.

  Now why had she said that? Simon hunched his shoulders and looked away from Alin’s disbelieving glance.

  “Really?” Alin asked politely. “Which Territory, Simon?”

  “Valinhall,” Simon responded. Why was he feeling defensive? He was a Traveler. He was! He had earned it! But for some reason he felt like a child propping up a disguise that the adults would soon see through. It made him angry.

  “I’ve never heard of that one,” Alin said.

  And how would you? Simon thought. Alin was talking like he had had a fancy education in the ways of Travelers, but he had grown up a quarter mile away from the hut where Simon had been born. Alin didn’t know anything more than Simon did.

  But Simon kept his mouth shut. Otoku laughed again, scornfully.

  “Will you be able to fight, when the time comes?” Alin asked.

  “Yes,” Simon responded. He offered nothing more. He didn’t have to prove himself to Alin.

  Alin looked doubtful, but he shrugged and wiped the doubt from his face, smiling instead. “Good enough for me,” he said.

  ***

  Alin knelt by Keanos, reaching between the plates of golden armor to ruffle the hound’s ears. The beast leaned into Alin’s hand, eyes half-closed, glowing with pleasure.

  “Seek,” Alin said softly, and Keanos let out one ringing bark before trotting off through the city gates.

  The humans followed, walking together between the guards. The guards glanced at each other but let them pass, and Alin heaved a relieved sigh. He hadn’t been sure they would be allowed to enter. Nurita had wisely insisted that the villagers limit themselves to whatever weapons they could hide, since a bunch of country folk marching into the city carrying weapons might well draw the wrong kind of attention. They should be safe, since there was nothing obviously dangerous about their group, but who knew what the guards would notice?

  And then, of course, there was Keanos. Alin had never seen Bel Calem before, but he suspected glowing gold-armored dogs weren’t common. As the hound leaped over the stone-paved streets of the city, weaving his way through the crowd with his nose pressed to the ground, people noticed. They gasped, shouted, or hurried out of the way. One woman with a woven basket in her hands turned, caught a glimpse of the glowing hound, and shrieked, tossing her basket into the air. Figs, olives, and tiny round loaves of bread rolled all over the street.

  They had followed the dog for only ten minutes when two soldiers in purple-and-brown ducked in out of a side street, carrying long spears. Alin braced himself for a fight, reaching out to Elysia and stopping a hair’s breadth from calling its power. If they attacked, he would be ready.

  The helmeted soldiers surveyed the procession of Myrians and stepped back against the wall of a nearby shop to let them pass. As Keanos trotted past them, they kept their eyes fixed on the opposite side of the street.

  Alin kept walking after the hound, his confidence growing. The guards clearly recognized the dog as Traveler work, and had apparently decided to keep their hands out of the matter.

  Wise decision, Alin thought, and ignored the soldiers as he marched past. He didn’t so much as turn to look in their direction.

  Keanos finally stopped almost an hour later, plopping down on his haunches in front of an ordinary-looking house, the sort that Alin had seen a hundred times since passing through the Bel Calem gates. It was a simple cube, made of pale yellow bricks, with a door of plain wood and a single window covered by a red-patterned curtain.

  “This is it?” Simon asked. He moved up to stand next to Alin, doubt showing in every line of his face.

  Alin suppressed a twinge of annoyance. Who was Simon to doubt the hound’s tracking? Simon certainly hadn’t done anything to help. “Yes,” he said. “Keanos found someone from our village inside that house. Isn’t that right, boy?”

  Keanos gave another ringing bark. A few women who had been chatting across the street stopped, startled, and turned to look.

  “Then what are we waiting for?” Simon asked. He stepped forward and knocked on the door.

  “Just a moment!” a woman called from inside the house. “Just...wait right there!”

  Simon made as if to open the door anyway, but Alin gestured him back. They didn’t need a hotheaded response, but a mature discussion. Besides, Alin was confident that he alone could handle any trouble that might be waiting inside. It wouldn’t hurt to show this woman a little courtesy.

  After a few more seconds, in which Alin heard the clatter of furniture and the sounds of someone muttering to herself, a woman tore open her door. Strands of white hair stuck out in all directions from underneath a red kerchief, and the wide-eyed expression of fear on her wrinkled face suggested she thought they were there to rob her.

  “May I help you?” she asked. Her voice creaked and trembled.

  Alin cleared his throat, embarrassed. This had to be the wrong house. But Keanos just sat there on his haunches, staring into the open doorway as though the woman didn’t exist. How was he supposed to handle this?

  You’re the mighty Traveler now, he thought. Act like it.

  But he had hesitated too long. The woman’s eyes found the crowd behind him and widened even further. But that hardly touched her reaction when she noticed the bright gold-armored dog at her feet.

  “Seven stones,” she whispered. “What is that? Who are you? Did the Overlord send you?”

  Behind Alin, Simon muttered something that sounded like “...getting really sick of that.”

  Alin put on what he hoped was a comforting smile. “Ma’am, is there anyone else at home? Anybody else in the house?”

  She half-covered her mouth with one hand and glanced behind her, as though she thought his words might have summoned
a thief into her home.

  “No,” she said. “I never had any children. What is this about?”

  Alin cast about in his mind for an innocent reason that might bring a crowd of thirty country villagers to a city woman’s door. He came up empty-handed. What he said instead was, “We’re looking for some friends of ours.”

  The woman gasped, which told Alin what he needed to know. This woman was hiding something. But instead of admitting her guilt or trying to run, she shook her head vigorously.

  “No one like that here. No one but me.”

  “You won’t mind, then,” Alin said gently, “if we come in and check?”

  “Of course not,” she replied, and stood to one side.

  There was no way the entire group could squeeze into a house meant for one family. Alin followed Keanos, who sniffed around every corner of the floor with intense fascination. Simon came in afterwards, since there was nothing Alin could do short of rudeness to keep him out, and Chaim and Nurita followed. Stern words from Nurita served to keep everyone else in the street.

  From the start, Alin could tell they had the wrong place. The house was all one room, stone floors covered in a layer of rugs, with a single reed mat in the back corner for sleeping. A second window, which he hadn’t seen from the front, sat in the side wall and looked out on a dirty alley. A shaky table stood in one corner, covered in pots, pans, and half-chopped vegetables. What possessions she owned were meager, even by the standards of Myria.

  Maybe the old woman hadn’t been hiding anything after all. It wasn’t like there was anywhere to stow prisoners in this hut.

  Nonetheless, Alin didn’t let that slow him down, glancing out of the side window and in each corner, just in case. Chaim lifted the few pieces of furniture, peering at the floor underneath. Nurita kept up a stream of questions directed at the woman, though she didn’t seem to be getting any helpful answers.

  Simon, on the other hand, just lounged against one wall. Sulking, probably, though his head was cocked as if he were listening. After a moment he raised one hand to look at—a doll? A little girl’s doll? Where had Simon found that?

  Well, it wasn’t important now. He’d ask later.

  It only took the three of them about five minutes to realize the woman wasn’t hiding anything. Keanos just ran around the floor in apparent confusion, still following the scent.

  The house’s owner stood in the center of the room, patting her hair in a vain attempt to keep it in place. Her eyes bounced around like she was trying to find a place to run.

  Alin walked up to her. “We’re sorry for our poor manners, and we will leave as soon as we can. Have you heard of the group we’re looking for? There would be about ten of them. Villagers, like us. Men and women both.”

  “Haven’t seen anybody new around here,” the woman responded. “Please, take your dog and go. My husband will be back soon.”

  “We will,” Alin promised. Embarrassment flooded him, and he fought to keep it from showing on his face. The party from Myria had followed him, trusting in his abilities, and he had let them down. He would look useless.

  “Hold on a minute,” Simon said. He kept leaning against the wall by the door, arms folded, but his eyes stuck to the woman. “Ma’am, would you move?”

  Alin was about to say something to shut Simon up—gently, of course, he didn’t want this looking like a child’s fight—but the woman’s face went visibly pale. And she didn’t move her feet from the rug.

  “I can’t,” she said, and Alin realized that Simon had been right.

  “What’s under the rug?” Alin asked. She glanced from side to side, looking for a way out, and caught a glimpse out the window at the same time Alin did. Two uniformed soldiers in Malachi’s colors were walking by, patrolling the streets for one reason or another.

  Alin lunged forward to grab the woman, to stop her from shouting, but there was nothing he could do. He wouldn’t make it in time. She filled her lungs, preparing to scream.

  Then Simon was there, behind her, one hand clapped over the woman’s mouth.

  “Shush,” he whispered into her ear. “Just relax.” Her eyes strained so far to the side that almost nothing showed but the whites, and Alin got the impression she was trying to see behind her without turning her head. But she didn’t even whimper against Simon’s restraining hand.

  Nurita walked over to the window and casually drew the curtain so that the soldiers wouldn’t happen to see anything. Alin looked back out the doorway, hoping the rest of the Myrians had been smart enough to avoid standing around in a crowd. They had, lounging in much smaller groups on either side of the street, seemingly engaged in taking in the sights or haggling with a street peddler. The soldiers took a quick look around, since the street was still more crowded than they were probably used to seeing it, but in the end they walked away.

  Alin turned his attention back to Simon. “How did you do that?” he asked. He tried to make his voice demanding, but he was afraid he just sounded impressed.

  “Do what?” Simon asked, though Alin could tell that he knew full well.

  “How did you get there before me? You were way over there.”

  “We Travelers have to have our secrets,” Simon said gravely. “You understand.”

  Alin glared, but let it drop. Simon could be so...irritating, sometimes. But the mature response was to leave it alone.

  “In a moment,” Alin said to the woman, “my friend is going to take his hand away. If you shout, or try to run, we’ll have to hurt you. Stay quiet and we can all be friends. Understand?”

  The woman nodded enthusiastically, kerchief-covered hair bobbing, and Simon removed his hand.

  “You’re Travelers?” the woman asked. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  Alin nodded, and she visibly relaxed.

  “That explains the...” She gestured one-handed at the gold-armored hound sniffing around her house. “I thought to my self, ‘who would have a great big glowing dog?’ and I thought it had to be...but then you didn’t say what you were supposed to, and I wasn’t sure.”

  “Move the rug,” Simon said. The woman stepped off and dragged the rug aside, one-handed, holding her other hand against her back as if it pained her.

  Like the rest of the bare floor, this patch was made of stone blocks. But the block that had been covered by this particular rug didn’t fit quite as closely with its fellows. There was just enough of a gap between one stone and another that one might be able to slip something between. Alin nudged it with his toe, and it didn’t budge.

  “I can’t open it,” the woman said quickly. “I can’t. It takes—”

  She was interrupted by Simon bending down and slipping his fingers into the crack, lifting the stone block out with one hand. It was a rectangular chunk of rock, two feet to a side and eight inches thick, that Alin would have wanted to lever out with two men and some tools. But Simon lifted it easily in one hand and set it to the side.

  “Seven stones,” the woman said again. “Can all you Travelers do that?”

  Alin did his best not to look as awestruck as everyone else. “As well as many other things,” he said. Simon snorted without looking up, but the woman began patting her hair again.

  Underneath the block of stone was a hinged lid of wood. When Simon pulled it open, someone down below gave a weak scream. Only one voice. Where were the others? Or were they just too scared to scream?

  Maker above. What had happened to them?

  “They moved them here about three days ago,” the old woman said, “when they thought somebody might come looking. I didn’t have any choice. You have to believe me. I didn’t have any choice.”

  She was shaking, now, as if she thought they would beat her. Alin gave her no sign whether or not he would hold her responsible, simply conjured a ball of golden light and holding it above the trap door so it shone down into the darkness. She flinched away from that as if from a bloody knife, wrapping both arms a
round herself.

  The light revealed a rickety ladder set into the side of the hole, and just a glimpse of a pair of grimy hands far below. Hands bound in thick, coarse rope.

  Alin moved to head down the ladder himself, but he wasn’t fast enough. Simon had already jumped.

  ***

  They found only one person bound in that filthy basement: Leah’s half-sister.

  Simon knew her. Not well, true, but he had grown up around Nurita’s family even before Leah had moved to the village. Seeing this girl cringing, broken, and dirty, hurt. But what hurt worse was the fact that there were nine captives missing.

  Out of ten captives, one remained. And Leah wasn’t here. Simon knew that shouldn’t matter, that getting Leah back didn’t matter any more than any of the others. But somehow he couldn’t feel like he had succeeded until he saw Leah free.

  And now she wasn’t here. His stomach twisted in knots.

  Once the girl—Simon couldn’t remember her name, except that she was Nurita’s niece and Leah’s sister—had been freed, watered, and brought up the ladder, she still wouldn’t speak for fear that the Damascan soldiers would return. Only once her aunt had convinced her that she was safe, that she would be taken out of the city and returned home, did she tell her story.

  She spoke of being taken through a moon-lit wasteland, probably someone’s Territory. She told about sacrifices chosen each day at noon, and how the soldiers said that some of them had a chance to live, but none of them had believed that. She spoke of being beaten, threatened, neglected.

  Only after she had spoken for almost half an hour did she tell Simon what he wanted to know.

  “They killed the others,” she said, her voice shaking. “Every once in a while they’d come take somebody...they killed them. They told us they did, and nobody ever came back. Everybody else is dead, Simon. They’re dead.

  “But that’s not what happened to Leah.”

  Simon heard Alin draw in a sharp breath. He stopped leaning against the wall, walking over to join Simon.