My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  "Hey! Did you hear something?"

  Fuck! Forget slower. Go faster. Much much faster.

  Myra's fingers dug into every crevice in the stone wall, mortar flaking into her hair like snow as she climbed. Four voices increased below her, wondering if they could all hear the same thing. Sounded a bit like a girl climbing the walls. Odd that. No reason to check though. Maybe it's just a nug or a bat out for a midnight climb. They do that.

  "Someone's on the wall!" the voice shouted causing Myra's mind to blank. She wanted to whip back to see who it was when a light landed right upon her body. Forgetting anything of tactics, Myra leapt out of the spotlight. She flew sideways, further from her target but the damn light followed.

  "Damn it," the man shouted, "get some archers and pick her off!"

  Okay, climbing with an arrow embedded in her back would make it a wee bit harder. Myra glanced up but the roof was a good two more stories away. Who decided the damn palace needed to be so tall? She could drop, and then they'd be able to kill her on the ground. Duck into a balcony? Spin around and shoot magic at them? Thereby revealing to everyone else she was there.

  Think, Myra! The whole time she berated herself, she kept moving, her fingers more certain, her body more careful as she scrabbled up between the third and fourth floor. Not that it mattered, the lantern light wasn't leaving her body until she fell dead off the wall.

  Her eyes darted down and a very stupid idea struck her. Which was when the first arrow shattered into the brick an inch from her fingers. Yelping, Myra slunk her hand back beside her head.

  "Get off of the wall!" the voice commanded, "or the next one's going into your skull!"

  That could have been a warning shot, or they could be shit at aiming. No reason to chance it, Myra, unless you want to spend the rest of your days being a pincushion. Right. It's stupid idea or nothing.

  Rolling up her fist, Myra splattered apart the veil. It was so sloppy, no doubt some of the normals down there had to feel it, but she wasn't in the mood to care about their feelings.

  "One," the asshole was counting, "two..."

  She had to time this perfectly. Swaying her body to match the rhythm, Myra mentally mimed her plan twice even while certain it'd end with her cut to pieces. No choice.

  "Th..."

  Jamming her fist at the wall, the magic splintered not into the rock but the window itself. As the glass flew inward, so did Myra's body. She released her grip from above the window and dove feet first right into a room covered in shards of very pointy glass. Shit, shit, shit! Her ass slid over the shattered remains of the window, small cuts jamming up through her dress as she glided over the floor.

  Myra winced, waiting for another arrow to come flying through, but nothing happened. She turned around, about to laugh at the foolish mercs, when she remembered that they probably had control of the palace. And knew just which window she went plowing into.

  Leaping to her feet, glass scattered off her ass like icy rain. She moved to leave, when Myra suddenly realized she wasn't alone. Four women stood huddled in the corner, their eyes wide as oranges while staring at the crazed woman who broke the window.

  "Um, sorry about that," she flinched. "Send the bill to my dad."

  Myra grabbed onto the door handle, when one of the girls suddenly shouted, "No, you can't go out there!"

  "Why?"

  "The bad men. They grabbed us all, corralled us in here until..."

  "Until what?" Myra glared at her, hoping for an answer.

  "We don't know," their lone speaker said, her lips quivering. "Just until... It's not safe."

  Myra grinned and finally slid the staff of her back. It hummed with power, but more than that it was sturdy in her hands. The blade on the bottom in particular caught her eye. "Don't worry," she winked, "neither am I."

  Lifting the latch, Myra spun out into the hall to find a man in armor with his back to the trapped women. His head pivoted slowly, trying to figure out who dared go against his orders, when one of the serpent heads of the staff smashed into his jaw. Crying in pain, the man stumbled backwards, when Myra whacked him again, this time in the chest with the other serpent head. He collapsed to his feet, the breath knocked out of him.

  She could take the time to slit his throat, but there wasn't any. They'd be coming and fast. And they'd bring back up. Certain he couldn't scream for help, Myra began to run down the hallway. Her feet pounded against the same rug she once rolled Cailan up in. Blood from the glass dribbled down her legs and feet leaving macabre footprints in her wake as doors began to open.

  Please let it still be there. Please let them still be lazy!

  Myra could try to hide inside another room, slip inside and vanish, when she heard a voice from the stairwell behind her shout, "She's up here!"

  She didn't look back, but her mind could feel the acrid breath snorting down her neck, the gnarled and bloody hands grabbing towards her. If they caught her, she was dead.

  Please be there.

  "Stop her!"

  Forming the fist again, Myra shattered her second window of the night, glass raining down on the heads of those armored mercenaries below. Not slowing for a second even at the massive drop outside, Myra leaped up onto the sill, ducked her head to fit, and flew from the window.

  "Holy shit!" voices cried, fingers pointing upward at the girl who seemed to be jumping to her doom. Which was when Myra swung the staff up over her head, caught the clothesline the servants always kept in place, and began to slide towards the ground. More merc voices cut the air, Myra barely able to see with the wind rocketing past her face.

  Well, they all knew she was here now. But maybe she'd confuse them enough. There didn't seem to be as many outside the gate as before -- their tarnished helmets growing larger as Myra began to slide closer to the ground. It was a brilliant escape plan. Too bad there was nothing at the end to slow her body that was picking up speed fast.

  Shit, shitshitshit!

  The gate house the girls shot the line into sprung up fast right before Myra, its wooden walls ready to crunch her ribs to dust. She didn't have any choice. Closing her eyes, one of Myra's hands let go of the staff and she took falling from the unknown height over smashing her face to a bloody pulp. Both girl and weapon tumbled through the air, her skirt whipping up to her face as she tried to find her footing.

  For the second time, she landed smack onto her ass, the pain slicing her apart. How much glass was still in there? Myra groaned, her eyes opening from the jarring shock of striking hard into stone. But she was alive, so plus there. And...

  Myra turned behind her to spot the lever, unguarded and waiting for her attention. Scrabbling to her feet, her ankle twisting in the stones, Myra launched for the lever and shoved into it with whatever remaining strength she had. The chain beside her rattled upward, yanking apart the great gate! She did it!

  Which was when she heard the tramp of boots increasing in speed and all honing right towards her, every armed man chasing for the girl that fell from the sky. It would be smart to run, but they'd close the gate again. No. She had to stay. She had to fight to protect it until the army came through.

  Oh Maker, Myra swallowed hard. She hoped there was an army outside the gate otherwise she was truly screwed.

  Turning to face the horde about to swoop down on her, Myra lifted her staff. One of the serpent heads hung cockeyed, its neck partially sundered when it smashed into the man. Still, it had to be good for what it was made for.

  With a roll of her arm, Myra flipped the staff around and launched a ball of fire towards the men. That caused them all to rear back instantly. Eyes that were bleached white from her fire shattering the night attempted to follow it back to the girl who wasn't so toothless after all. Myra smiled, her hands rolling with the night as she drew a wall of flame around her. Try and pierce that. She wasn't moving from her duty for anything.

  "Archers!" that fucking man said again, and Myra's blood ran cold. Her head snapped up to find a merc with a bow standing
right in the window she leapt from. A barrier, that'd save her.

  Too bad she didn't know how to cast that spell.

  Time slowed to a crawl, Myra's heart falling dead in her chest as she watched the merc draw back the bowstring, his cheek dented inward from the force. She should duck. Dodge out of the way. Throw a fireball at it.

  Her body was frozen, her fingers limp as she helplessly honed right in on the tip of the arrow. When the merc released his grip, Myra screwed her eyes up tight, the last image seared into her retinas of the arrow flying through the air right for her chest.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  Walls

  Watching Myra vanish into the night, Gavin tried to rub away all the conflicting emotions out through his hand and into the hilt of his sword. He didn't have time to weigh any of them, there was a battle to wage. Even if...

  No. She'd be fine. She was Myra. She did this kind of stuff all the time.

  "We need a battalion," his father said, the few people left behind staring up through the impenetrable bars.

  Reiss smashed her fist once more against the gate, then turned to begin walking away.

  "Where are you going?" Cullen continued, doing his best to take command.

  "To get help," the elf shouted, already breaking into a run into the night. Gavin slotted in beside his dad, the pair watching as the older elven woman was doing her best to not think about her daughter in so much danger.

  "We're going to need more." The voice of his mother caused both son and husband to whip towards her. She hadn't moved far, one hand cupped around her cane, the other lightly sliding up and down the bars.

  "What we need are archers, a few mages at the back, and a front line to form up before..." his father muttered at the obvious tactics they had no chance of performing. It'd be impossible to get any of that in time, much less command it. Cullen seemed to know how fruitless it already was as his chin crushed to his chest.

  A dark hand curled towards his arm, Lana sighing, "Honey eyes, this isn't a fight on a battlefield. We can do it, but we need more bodies. Sweetheart?" Now she turned right to Gavin who blinked a bit and gulped.

  It was so easy for him to fall back to silence. His father was the expert on such matters, he had been his entire life. The voice with the commanding tone, the eyes that could spot danger and plan around it. But this wasn't the abbey, it wasn't even his Inquisition.

  This was Denerim, this was supposed to be Gavin's home city now. And he had an idea. "I may know of some..." he began, his hands worrying back and forth the peeling leather on his sword. It shouldn't be cracked this poorly so soon but he couldn't cease fiddling with it.

  "Good," his mother smiled as if she knew the whole time and was waiting for him to find the answer.

  "At the tavern," Gavin pointed into the darkness of the city square. "The others, they..." Lambert extended him the offer to join with the fellow squires as they toasted to getting through another day, but he declined. He had his parents to deal with. And if he hadn't gone at all, he'd be trapped inside same as everyone else.

  Or you'd be able to help without waiting on tenterhooks to see if Myra survived.

  "How many?" his dad honed in on him, Cullen's shoulders that were often stooped from work snapping up high. The haze of a quiet life fell away, his voice honing to an edge while the eyes burned with purpose.

  "I...have no idea. I'll go and see who I can gather up."

  "Take your father," his mom said with a dismiss of her hand. Both men turned to her in surprise. "He's rather good at declaring doom and gloom for all. He'll get them on their asses no matter how drunk they are."

  "Lana," Cullen stepped close to his wife, a protective hand sliding against her back. "What about you?"

  "I'll keep an eye on the place. Walking that far seems unwise given what's about to occur."

  "You'll be left exposed, the mercenaries are already noticing..." his dad began before the small woman turned and pointed a single finger at him.

  "I can handle it. Now get going. Myra will need an army here when she gets the door open. Don't leave her waiting. Nor me." His mother's hand cupped his dad's cheek before she smiled and resumed watching over the dark courtyard.

  Shrugging, Cullen stepped back, "You heard her."

  The run to the tavern was less exciting than he feared. Myra spoke of the nightlife in Denerim as if vipers hid in every dark corner, but it seemed as if they were all curled up safe in their nests on this night. Odd. By the time Gavin threw open the doors, the stench of stale urine and staler mead nearly caused him to twist back outside. But there wasn't time. They needed to have a force to save Myra.

  To help Myra. She was fine.

  He had to shield his eyes against the weak candlelight while searching through the booths and tables scattered with people. A few looked like the servants to all the nobility that'd been dancing the night away and... "There," he pointed towards a clearly blonde head towering above the others as Cal tipped back a great stein.

  It was Cullen who stepped forward, his back rod straight and chest out as he approached the squires clustered together in the benches. Nearly all of the boys were here, even the ones who didn't come on the princess' trip, as well as half of the girls. They looked more or less besotted out of their gourds, but a few twisted at the clip of boots on the floor and blinked against a broad man with advanced years stepping briskly towards them.

  "Squires," he commanded with that voice. It was the same one he'd unleash upon Gavin when he needed to do chores, and no doubt marched armies through utter exhaustion and crushing defeat to stop Corypheus. Age hadn't dulled its power, a few of the squires struggling to rise to their feet instinctively before getting a good look at who supplied it.

  "Holy Andraste, are you him?" it was Lambert who was pointing in surprise, his face stretched into a long oval from shock.

  "Him?" his dad glared at the boy, "Him who?" That had the opposite effect, Lambert shrinking tighter into his chair as he muttered something under his breath, but the other squires were all taking notice of his famous father.

  Which was not what needed to be happening right now. Dashing forward, Gavin stepped into the middle and banged a fist on the table. That caused every head to swivel to him, "The palace is in trouble. It's filled with filthy mercenaries and we need you all to help take it back!"

  Most of the eyes that darted to him when he smacked the table, began to roll back to Cullen. Trying to keep from shrieking, Gavin continued to rally the blood of patriotism in them, "Your King needs you. This is why we're squires!"

  "Ha," Cal's grating bray puffed into Gavin's ear. "Maybe that's why you're a squire, farm..." He was cognizant enough to glance over at the famous general and swallow down the farm boy, "But that ain't why we're here. Right?" Cal turned to the others, half of which looked as if they wanted to leap to their feet in service of the Commander. But all were cowed by the boy who took charge every chance he could because his confidence overruled common sense.

  Gavin growled, his sneer snapping towards Cal, but it was his father that grabbed onto the boy's shirt and tugged his face right into the grizzled mass of scruff and worry wrinkles. "This has nothing to do with what you want. Your wants fled from thedas the moment you put on that uniform. You will do as ordered, and you will do it now. Or I shall find others that will, and you...you will not like what happens after."

  He braced himself for Cal to laugh and shrug it off, but the boy turned white as a sheet from the amber glare daring him to mouth back. "Ye...yes, sir," Cal bobbed his head, the cowardice rising from his gullet.

  "Anyone else planning on deserting their duty?" the man whipped his head around the table, pin pricks of honey lava daring each one to refuse.

  "No, Ser!" a few voices shouted, chairs sliding back from tables.

  "Good," the old general smiled, practically beaming with pride. If Gavin didn't know better, he'd swear his father missed this. All the younger men and women fell into line before Cullen, most trying to knot
back on clothing that tumbled by the wayside in their drink. He moved to inspect them a bit, when a voice broke into gargling laughter from the back of the tavern.

  "What do you think you're doing..." a shadow slid out of the booth and rose to rickety legs. Gavin groaned as the blonde woman stepped closer, her head rising high while she focused only on him. "Squire?"

  "Ser," he straightened up, wishing just for once she'd listen to him, "the King..."

  "I heard," she waved a hand, quickly getting back her balance despite how red her eyes were. How long had she been drinking in that corner? "You've imagined the King is in trouble and only you can save him. And now you're going to yank all your friends from the warm pub to rattle sabers outside the palace gates."

  "No, Ser, I have not..." He felt his knees begin to melt at her withering glare. Damn it, Gavin, this isn't about you. It's not even for you. If you don't help Myra then... "Remain here if you wish! We will do what we can to save Ferelden and the monarchy, because we were sworn to it, but you... You can do whatever you did when the darkspawn attacked."

  Her eyes narrowed to a knife's edge while she glared at his throat. That was the wrong move on his part, dredging up the past sins he carried over her head, but Gavin couldn't stop himself. He was so blighted tired of keeping everyone's secrets, of pushing forward the lie that they were better suited for this than they were. If his timidity caused Myra to get hurt, he could never live with himself.

  "You will stand down, Squire," his knight circled towards him with a growl in her eyes. The breath that wafted over him stank of death and was volatile enough to spark in the air.

  "No," Gavin shook his head, "I will not."

  "Your Squire is acting insubordinate," all the heads that'd been doing their best to not look at anything suddenly snapped to the Commander. More than a few mouths dropped as he seemed to be turning on his own son. Crossing his arms, Cullen jabbed towards Gavin. "What will you do about that?"

  If revile could sprout spikes, Daryan's entire back would have been coated in them. She swallowed down whatever she clearly wanted to spit at the old Commander and focused solely on Gavin. Her squire. The one she let in because she thought she could humiliate him.