Bowe laughed. “Exactly.”
Then he turned and dashed back down the stairs, returning to the small hall. Thankfully, Xarcon was still there. “Come on. Things are in motion.”
Xarcon followed Bowe out. “What things?”
Bowe didn’t answer, but passing through the entrance hall, they both saw two marshals dragging a barrel of lamp oil around by the side of the stairs.
The sun had set and Helion was low on the horizon. In the eastern sky, the black rock of the upper tower of the Fortress was just about visible over the rooftops. Time was pressing, but Bowe couldn't help but turn back and look upon the mansion, his home, one last time. It was more than just bricks and mortar; from the first moment Bowe had seen the place, it had been special to him. It had been at the heart of his journey from doomed Green to Arcandi Guardian. And now?
Xarcon was watching Bowe, and he raised his eyebrows, questioning. It was time to leave it behind. “Let’s go.”
Liaano was reluctant to open the gates for Bowe. “Just let me get the rickshaw, Guardian. And Toose will want to be with you if you are leaving.”
“Open the gates.” Bowe used a tone of voice that brooked no argument. “I am leaving with just this escay here. Stay at your post. Understood?”
Liaano lowered his forehead and opened the gates for Xarcon and Bowe, then closed them.
Before Bowe and Xarcon had a chance to get more than a few paces away, a figure materialized out of the darkness. Oamir. “Where are you coming from?”
“Why are the streets so empty?” Oamir asked.
“You mean you don’t know what’s going on?”
“I was at the Refuge and I heard some of it. But I didn’t expect this. You’re...” Oamir studied Xarcon, struggling to remember his name.
“I am,” Xarcon agreed.
“I need to talk to you, Bowe,” Oamir said. “About the Refuge.”
“Later.” He was being forced to look his family in the eye one by one as he betrayed them. First Toose, then Zofila, now Oamir. At least Sorrin and Thrace hadn’t arrived. “Go inside and stay with Zofila. Make sure she stays safe tonight. You understand?”
“I will, Bowe. You can rely on me.” Bowe had said it more with the intention of having Zofila take care of Oamir, but the way Oamir spoke and the way his chest swelled showed Bowe that he was underestimating the young ascor. Oamir mightn’t be the best warrior, but he’d defend Zofila to his last if it came to that.
“We better get going,” Bowe told Xarcon, taking off at a run. Xarcon ran alongside Bowe, taking long easy strides alongside Bowe’s labored ones.
“Am I understanding things correctly?” Xarcon asked. “You are burning down your own mansion?”
Bowe was struggling for breath, and grunted as a reply.
They ran through the dark empty streets, silent except for the slapping of their feet against the ground and Bowe’s gasps for breath.
Reaching the street that led to the Fortress, they came to a stop. Bowe bent over, taking in deep breaths of the hot night air. Under his clothes, a layer of perspiration clung uncomfortably to his skin.
“And now?” Xarcon asked.
“We wait until the fire is visible.”
“Did you have to actually set it on fire? Couldn’t you have pretended there was an attack?”
“This is no time for half measures.” There was no going back. Bowe might as well put everything into making sure that the betrayal made a difference. “I don’t want to leave the Greniers in any doubt. It’s not like they trust me.” Bowe had a thought. “You seem to be trusting me without questioning much.”
Xarcon shrugged. “Nothing to lose. The alternative is the suicide attack.”
“Fair enough. When we see the fire, I report the attack. Hopefully, most of the Grenier marshals will respond, leaving the Fortress thinly defended. Even more hopefully, I’ll be able to open a gate to let the attackers in.” Bowe considered. “I could look the part more.” He pulled his knife from his scabbard and made a few cuts through his cloak and tunic. Then he yanked on the right side of his tunic until it ripped enough to bare his shoulder. “Now?”
“Like you were in a tavern scuffle.”
“We can do better,” Bowe decided. He touched the point of his knife to his bare right shoulder, grimaced at the prick of pain, then sliced downward. The blood flowed out. Bowe smeared the blood around his shoulder, then wiped some along the side of his face.
Xarcon nodded. “Good. Elevated from tavern scuffle to victim of Guild attack.”
Bowe wasn’t too happy that the blood continued to flow down his arm, but he couldn’t make the wound less serious. Like the rest of his actions this night, there was no going back.
“I think I see a glow.” Xarcon looked over Bowe’s head back toward Bellanger Mansion.
“It’s time then. Find Hess and let him know what’s going on. Make sure he waits until the marshals leave for Bellanger Mansion. Then give me a little time to get a gate open. I can’t guarantee anything though, so don’t wait too long. We don’t know how long they’ll be fooled.”
Bowe had recovered his breath, so he ran on until he was once again panting. Blood dripped down his stump and onto his feet. He sprinted toward the Fortress, making for a side entrance.
He grabbed the bars and rattled them. “Quickly, let me in.”
A marshal appeared on the other side. “What’s going on?”
“Bellanger Mansion is under attack. Quickly, open it.”
“We’re not supposed to open this gate after dark.”
“I’m the Bellanger Guardian. The Guild are attacking. Open the damn gate right now.”
Another marshal appeared beside the first. This one Bowe recognized and he wasn’t sure whether that was a good or bad thing. It was Hoag, who’d arrested Tealman.
Hoag pressed close to the bars, then looked both ways to make sure the street was empty. “Let him in,” he told the first marshal. He unhooked a ring of keys from his belt and handed them across, then shouted over his shoulder: “Someone get Stenesso.”
The first marshal unlocked the gate, then pushed it open. Bowe entered and watched carefully as the marshal locked the gate and gave the keys back to Hoag who hooked them back on his belt.
“That Guild leader you gave us hasn’t told us anything yet,” Hoag told Bowe.
“These things take time,” Bowe replied. “Now, where’s Stenesso?” The marshal had clearly exaggerated, telling his superiors that Bowe had told him that Tealman was a Guild leader. Bowe wasn’t going to contradict him. He looked around, and realized he’d been in this exact spot once before. This was the small yard in which Dulnato had almost beaten Vitarr to death. Not a nice memory, but it seemed fitting somehow.
Blood pooled at Bowe’s feet and he grabbed part of his sleeve and used it to staunch the flow.
A door opened at the back of the yard and Stenesso appeared. He wore light armor, and a long sword dangled from his belt. He’d been ready and waiting. “How many attackers?” he asked Bowe.
“It was hard to tell. But several dozen.”
“Must be most of the scum. They have brought them out into the open.”
“Your tactics worked.” The merciless brutality had achieved its purpose.
“Guardian, the men are ready to depart!” came a shout from another part of the Fortress.
“I saw the glow from upstairs.” Stenesso looked Bowe up and down. “You ran from your mansion while they set fire to it?”
“It was mayhem. I found myself outside the walls and knew we needed help.”
Stenesso studied him coldly. “And yet you stand there, having already summoned aid? You haven’t returned?”
Bowe shrank away from Stenesso’s gaze, nodding toward his shoulder to indicate the wound.
“I never thought I’d see such cowardice from an ascor Guardian. We’ll deal with that after this is over.”
Bowe watched Stenesso march away. Pretending to be a coward hadn’t hurt m
uch. It was nothing compared to the other things he’d done that night.
“Do you need a bandage?” Hoag was smiling. “Perhaps one of the ascora could spare a blouse. Some soft material is clearly required.”
Bowe didn’t reply. A wide arched entrance opened out into the main yard, and it was there that Stenesso had formed up his troops. Bowe watched them disappear out the main entrance of the Fortress.
They reappeared outside on the street, and Bowe pressed his chest against the gate, poking his cheeks and nose between the bars so he could watch. Stenesso and three of his ascor led them; they marched double-time, four abreast. A nervousness wiggled in Bowe’s stomach. He knew that Hess’s men were watching somewhere close. If one of them was spotted...
Hoag stepped behind Bowe and sniffed loudly. “I think that’s smoke I smell. The Bellanger family recently rose from the ashes, and it’s returning to where it belongs.”
With a deep clang, the main gate was bolted shut as the last of Stenesso’s force left. Bowe counted one hundred and fifty marshals run past him. He wasn’t sure how many were left in the Fortress, but it had to be less then one hundred, perhaps less than fifty, depending on how many Grenier marshals had been lost in the war with the Jarindors.
The cityscape was lit up by the purple light of Helion night after night, and it seemed that having the rooftops dyed orange rather than purple wouldn’t be that different, but somehow it was. “Hoag!” Bowe called out. “Looks to me that it’s not just Bellanger Mansion that is on fire. Isn’t the glow originating from the direction of Raine Mansion too?”
Hoag squeezed close. “That can’t be.”
The marching footsteps of the marshals faded into the distance and Bowe’s fingers curled around the hilt of his knife. “I think Lessard Mansion is on fire too,” Bowe said. “You see, you were right. The Bellanger family deserves to return to ashes. But so do the other ascor families.” The knife slid soundlessly from its scabbard.
Hoag’s hand raced for the hilt of his sword, but it was too late.
Bowe plunged the blade up into the marshal’s gut. The man’s eyes bulged. Bowe didn’t feel good about killing him, but of all the people he’d stabbed this night, this one seemed the least underhanded, though underhanded it still was. At least this time, he was striking at an enemy rather than a loved one. Bowe twisted the knife, jamming it upward. A loud grunt spluttered from the man’s mouth.
Over Hoag’s shoulder, Bowe saw the other marshal approach.
Bowe released his grip on the knife, allowing Hoag to slump against his chest. He reached down and grabbed at the group of keys. Hoag started to slide down and Bowe grabbed him, and the keys fell out of his hand. Having only one hand was making what he was trying to do doubly difficult.
The marshal saw the keys hit the ground and ran forward. “What’s going on?” he shouted, grabbing for his sword.
“Hoag has taken a turn for the worse.” Bowe shoved Hoag’s body straight at him. The marshal grabbed Hoag and they both fell.
Bowe dived for the keys. They skittered out of his grasp, and it took two more tries to get them. He held them up to the light to examine them. When Hoag had unlocked the gate earlier, Bowe had been careful to note the correct key, but now they looked all the same.
“Attack!” the marshal screamed out, throwing Hoag’s body off him and picking up his sword. “We are under attack.”
This one. Bowe chose a medium-sized one with a flattened circle at one end. He was certain that was the key. Almost certain. He inserted it into the lock. It didn’t turn.
The marshal roared as he charged.
Bowe didn’t look back. He had to get the door open. Surely not the wrong key. The skin crawled on the back of his neck. He shoved the key in another notch, and turned. A click.
Bowe dived down and left, pulling the gate open. The marshal’s sword hit one of the metal bars, ringing it like a bell. Bowe rolled to the side as the marshal struck again. His sword clanged off the flagstones where Bowe had just been.
Bowe scrabbled backward.
“Attack, attack! We are under attack.” The marshal advanced, and Bowe scrabbled backwards. Marshals arrived from all directions, converging on the small yard.
Bowe’s back thumped against a wall, his retreat blocked. The marshal’s sword rose then began to descend. A shadow behind him moved, then blood spurted from his neck and his head toppled sideways.
He fell, and the shadow reached out its hand toward Bowe. Then it wasn’t a shadow at all; it was Xarcon. Bowe took the hand and was pulled to his feet.
Around them, metal clashed with metal, shouts became howls, and screams became shrieks. Sparring figures danced through the yard, space becoming ever scarcer as more Guild attackers charged in through the side gate and more marshals arrived to defend.
In a flash, two marshals stood in front of Xarcon and Bowe. Bowe reached for his knife, then realized it was still inside Hoag’s gut. Before he could react further, the face in front of him caved in, and Xarcon stabbed the other marshal in the neck.
Detaching a spike mace from the marshal’s face was Hess himself. “Seems it was worth sparing the one-handed Guardian,” he said.
“Was?” Bowe asked. “Or is?”
Hess took in the battle around him. “You shall be the last ascor to die. Your actions today deserve that reward.” Hess gave a smile, his teeth like the spikes on his mace. Then, with a roar, he charged to where the fighting was thickest, swinging left and right with his giant mace.
“Any chance Hess ends up getting killed in the battle tonight?” Bowe asked Xarcon. Bowe was now on Hess’s side, but he would have preferred it if Hess wasn’t the one in charge.
“No one survives as many Eye fights as Hess without a mountain of skill and the Helion’s own luck.”
Bowe had feared it wasn’t going to be that easy to get rid of Hess. “Let’s get to the cells and free the prisoners.” Having got this far, Bowe wasn’t going to miss his chance of freeing Sindar, and perhaps Tealman too. Bowe certainly didn’t want Sindar to end up in Hess’s clutches.
Spotting Hoag’s corpse, Bowe pulled out his knife and returned it to the scabbard. He stayed close to the walls, skirting the battle, with Xarcon just behind. Bowe had never been to the cells in the Fortress but he knew roughly where to find them.
They reached the small guardhouse that protected the cells without running into anyone. It was empty. Bowe started inside, then stopped, seeing a fight by the entrance to the harem. It was one attacker against two defenders and was over fast, with one defender and the lone attacker falling.
“Free everyone,” Bowe told Xarcon. “I have something to do first.”
All the main buildings of the Fortress fed into a large grass courtyard. Right now, it was quite dark with the orange glow of the Bellanger fire barely peeking over the walls and Helion only providing feeble light. Fighting was going on throughout the courtyard but it was spread out, and some of it had spread into the main buildings. Bowe ran across the courtyard to the harem entrance. When Bowe had decided he wanted Hess’s attack on the Fortress to succeed he had envisioned Stenesso being defeated and the all the escay prisoners being freed. He hadn’t stopped to think what would happen when Hess’s Eye fighters forced their way into the ascor harem.
The marshal guarding the harem raised an unsteady sword. “Who goes there?”
“Get inside the harem and lock all doors in and out. Then find a way to get all the women and children out. The Fortress is lost.”
“Who are you?”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s what has to be done. When they get outside the walls, escort them toward Bellanger Mansion, where they will find Stenesso and the main Grenier force.”
“How do I know it’s not a trick?”
“If I was one of the attackers I’d be trying to kill you. Go to”—Bowe searched his mind until he remembered the Grenier head wife’s name—“Freyya and explain the situation. She can make the final decision if that makes you hap
pier.” Bowe swiveled at the sound of rushing feet, drawing his knife, but whoever it was continued past without stopping.
Bowe darted back the way he had come. He had done what he could. He knew Freyya to be a resourceful woman. Halfway across the courtyard, Bowe’s foot caught on a stone, and he tumbled to the ground, skidding across the grass. His knife flew from his hand. Before he had a chance to stand up again, he felt a kick in his side and a shadow toppled over him. The other man sprang to his feet quicker than Bowe and pointed his sword at Bowe’s chest. “Which side are you on?”
Bowe shrank back. There was just enough light to make out the pinkish color of the cloak of a Grenier marshal. “Freyya has ordered as many marshals as possible to defend the women and children.” The marshal’s sword wavered. “Run, man. Help them. There isn’t much time. Protect the ascora.”
The marshal ran to the harem, and Bowe crawled across the grass until he found his knife. Then he hurried back to the guardhouse. There was no sign of Xarcon or any escaping prisoners. Bowe moved inside, frowning. A lantern hung from one wall, showing that the internal gate was still locked. Bowe quickly searched the room but there was no sign of any keys.
The room darkened as a large shadow blocked the door. Bowe backed away, but when the shadowed figure stepped into the light, it was Xarcon.
“Where have you been?” Bowe asked.
“Out of the way.” Xarcon rattled a set of keys. “I remembered the bunch that fell to the ground just as you opened the gate. Just have to hope one of them opens this.”
“Quickly.” Bowe leaned against the wall to let Xarcon move past, then took up position at the guardhouse entrance, glancing back the courtyard.
The fighting had died down. Sporadic storms of noise formed as opponents met, then died off as one combatant was killed or run off. In the dim light, it was impossible to make out exactly what was going on, but, here and there, pools of light revealed enough to allow the rest to be guessed: a hulking tattooed fighter with a bloodied sword in one hand and a gold candlestick in the other; three pink-cloaked corpses lying across each other, their blood mixing; a pounding on the outside harem door as fighters tried to break in. What Bowe had suspected when he’d urged the women and children to flee had proven correct. The Guild had won the night.
The Narrowing Path: The Complete Trilogy (The Narrowing Path Series Book 4) Page 62
