by Brett Vonsik
“We cannot wait until morning, Imtaesus,” Sarafi stated, as if her words should be obvious to everyone...and obeyed.
“The cut-throat will have time to strike again if we wait.” Rogaan said making sense, he thought. He reasoned through the possibilities. Staying in his home was too likely a place to hide from those seeking him. “And the Tusaa’Ner might return looking for us.”
All but Suhd nodded their agreement, with Suhd looking as if she was about to bawl, again. Rogaan looked at his home sullenly. Shattered crystal, torn tapestries, broken furniture, toppled statues, disheveled rugs, and cracked tiles...his home. Once a place of comfort, peace, and safety, but no more. It was stained in blood and treachery, and Rogaan felt as if there were no sanctuary from those intending his family harm. He felt vulnerable, and that made him angry. Rogaan had no intention of hiding in the Ebon Circle, but he needed to allow his mother her illusions, or she would send a small militia after him. He planned to take the fight to his father’s jailers. He just needed help, and hoped he could convince his mother’s brother or find some help on the road.
Chapter 10
Dangerous Streets
The cool night air made cold the sweat on Rogaan’s face and neck, causing him a slight shiver. The strong odor of animal dung carried on a north breeze, making his nose wrinkle. At least the cool air of the early evening brought a less pungent stench from the sarigs, kydas, and niiskus in the stable some fifty strides on his left. Rogaan crouched low behind a stride-high shrub thick with new leaves. Good cover, he concluded. The shrub abutted a single-story wooden-plank building with a mortared stone foundation as tall as the shrub. A stone and brick building to their left framed the other side of the alleyway, offering concealment from the guardsmen manning Hunter’s Gate. Despite the darkness and the uneasy feelings that always came with it, Rogaan felt renewed and alert after the quick bath and donning fresh clothes his mother insisted on his wearing before setting off on his journey. She kept him from his hunting clothes. He reluctantly wore his long-sleeved dark-blue shirt that laced up the front, black soft-hide pants, black hide boots, and a charcoal-colored hide vest. His cased shunir’ra and a capped quiver of his best blue metal arrows, the last of them, were slung over his back. The knife given to him at the Hunt was sheathed and hung on his right from a wide charcoal-colored hide belt. His green and tan carry pack, stuffed with food and other essentials, lay at his feet. Pax, also freshly bathed – another insistence of his mother’s that Rogaan heartily agreed with – leaned against a young cedar tree as thick as his body while crouching next to Rogaan. Pax fiddled with the slightly-too-big sleeves of a forest-green shirt, one of Rogaan’s, tucking the sleeves under so they would not get in his way. Pax still wore his patched black breeches after trying several of Rogaan’s that proved a bit too big in the waist and legs. The clothing exchange gave Rogaan the opportunity to see just how many knives his friend possessed: an impressive arsenal of ten in all -- kept in a harness under his shirt that attached to his belt. Pax even had a pair of knives tucked into his tan boots. While changing, Pax demonstrated a deftness and confidence with the knives that surprised Rogaan. How did I miss his kinship with blades? Pax never led on his fondness for them.
Anything but innocent was Rogaan’s reading of Pax’s mood; even with his friend’s uncertain and nervous eyes peering from underneath that wide-brimmed hat he insisted on wearing. Hooded oil lamps atop three stride tall wooden poles cast a weak light on the street’s paving stones ahead of them. Beyond, a row of ten-stride-tall cedar trees marked the edge of the road, and the Tamarad River ravine beyond that. Pax looked north toward Hunter’s Gate, then south toward the Water House, looking for guardsmen or watchers. He gave no hint if he saw trouble; he just kept scanning. Imtaesus stood behind Rogaan with his back flat against the wooden-plank building, his blood-soaked tunic replaced with a blue one from Rogaan’s wardrobe. Imtaesus’ left arm hung in a makeshift sling and was mostly useless. He carried a short sword in his right hand and looked as dangerous as any baraan Rogaan could remember. The weapon suited his mother’s brother well.
Rogaan protested Imtaesus’ accompanying them, but his mother and Imtaesus had none of it. This made his plans more difficult. Rogaan hoped he could convince his uncle to bypass the Ebon Circle, but feared his mother’s instructions would win the night. Imtaesus appeared to be a baraan of courage and purpose and integrity. She was very clear and direct when she told her brother that Rogaan’s life was in his hands, and she would hold him to account in getting Rogaan to the Ebon Circle. So much for allowing my mother her illusions, Rogaan worried.
Rogaan was surprised at Imtaesus’ nearly instant transition from a talkative fellow to a silent and alert sentinel the moment they stepped from home. Imtaesus’ demeanor gave Rogaan a shiver as the baraan’s eyes turned into a fury held back by what Rogaan thought was only will…a will Rogaan was not so certain of.
The three of them quickly made their way to the east side of Brigum with the plan to use the Tamarad River ravine as a means of escaping town without needing to pass through any of the closely watched and heavily guarded gates, or needing to climb over the stone wall protecting all those within from the beasts of the Wilds. Rogaan’s mother, Suhd, and Igim left for the Isin countryside estate just before dusk as a distraction to all, allowing Rogaan, Pax, and Imtaesus to travel more easily. Pax and Suhd protested at the plan…loudly, several times, and argued that she would be safer with her brother. It was obvious they did not want to separate. Rogaan could not blame them for their grief and fear of losing each other now with their parents in the hands of the Tusaa’Ner. Despite his desire to have Suhd close, Rogaan made the final and successful plea to Suhd, reluctantly supported by Pax, that she would be safer away from the Ebon Circle, and for her to accompany his mother into Isin’s protection, since town was clearly no longer safe. The moment of their separation was difficult to watch, with tears and hugs and promises that they would once again see each other and their parents. Rogaan’s mother’s departure was grandiose, with a sedan chair and hired guardsmen called to carry them to the South Gate where they planned to take an armed carriage to the Isin estate nearly a day’s ride south of Brigum. They all hoped that the sedan chair’s passage would hold the attention of anyone in town seeking Rogaan, and maybe Pax, at least long enough for them to slip from Brigum.
“I do hope Suhd be all right,” Pax mumbled, more to himself than to anyone else.
“She is in good care with Mother.” Rogaan did his best to convince his friend that he had made the best choice.
“Ya ma better take care of her,” Pax said somberly while keeping his eyes on the street. Rogaan took Pax’s tone and words more as his trying to convince himself that he made the right decision, and not as a threat. “Da way be clear. Come!”
The hairs on Rogaan’s neck prickled. Something was wrong, but he did not know what, and he did not know how he knew. He tried to stop Pax before he exposed himself to the street, but Pax darted away too quickly, around the cedar tree and into the street three paces before he stopped to see if Rogaan followed. Rogaan urgently waved him back, but Pax only returned a questioning look.
“Hold!” A booming voice commanded from a distance. Pax held a startled gape as he stood frozen, looking toward the Water House.
“Damnation!” Imtaesus cursed. Grabbing Rogaan by the shirt with his sword hand, Imtaesus dragged Rogaan to his feet while growling, “Run, youngling! Back this way.”
Confused and off-balance, Rogaan felt himself being pulled back into the shadows while watching Pax take a step back toward him, then pausing, as if considering something, then sprinting off on Waterside Road toward Hunter’s Gate.
“No!” Rogaan protested and he ripped free of Imtaesus’ grip. Pax was alone. It would not take long before he was caught. He needed to help Pax...somehow. Rogaan snatched up his satchel as he bolted into the street, chasing after his friend. When his boots hit the paving stones, he sensed something...the presences
of others. Snapping a look over his shoulder at the Water House, he spotted more than a hand’s-count of Brigum Tusaa’Ner running at them some fifty strides away. Startled and confused about what to do, Rogaan stopped and looked back to Imtaesus. The baraan remained hidden in the shadows and unmoving. Why does he not follow? Is he afraid? Confusion turned to frustration and frustration turned to anger within the span of several heartbeats. Rogaan’s anger quickly brought clarity to his thoughts and he broke into a sprint after Pax, not caring to learn of Imtaesus’ reasoning for hiding in the face of danger. Pax needed help.
After his third stride, Rogaan looked up seeking his friend. Surprisingly, Pax was running back in his direction. He looked to have run past the four-way crossing-street some twenty strides ahead, making his way along the stable yard then turned around for some reason. With another look, Rogaan saw that reason...Kantus and his Band, now six strong, were on Pax’s heels. Pax’s frustrated eyes met Rogaan’s as they both entered the crossing-street where they darted west onto the street they crossed earlier sneaking from the center of town to their shadowed hiding place Rogaan now wished he remained in. After a brief sprint, they came to a sliding halt less than ten paces before another troupe of eight guardsmen...all Tusaa’Ner with weapons drawn.
“Now what?” Rogaan asked in a grumbling growl as the crowd of determined, grim-faced armed guardsmen closed on them. Uncertain how they would get out of this predicament without hurting anyone or being hurt themselves, or being jailed, he asked Pax, “Any ideas?”
“Ya. I be takin’ ‘em away...from ya,” Pax stated. “I was ta have ‘em chase me...away from ya, lose ‘em, then find ya and get gone from town. I can no do that now since ya be too slow.”
“Oh....” Rogaan’s face heated at the realization that he had ruined Pax’s attempt at drawing the guardsmen away. “So...now what?”
“You surrender.” A familiar and haunting voice taunted him triumphantly, somewhere behind them. Rogaan and Pax wheeled about to face a gloating Kantus, with his fists firmly planted on the hips of his hunter’s outfit. Rogaan thought it looked too much like Kiuri’Ner eur armor and that Kantus wore it dishonoring the protectors of Brigum.
“You first,” Rogaan growled with a toothy grimace.
“You two have been so much trouble,” Kantus continued smugly, as if Rogaan had not spoken. “You break the law, then flee the guards, then attack those same guardsmen, some of which are still being tended to by Healers, and...oh, yes, you’re part of a conspiracy that caused the death of Akaal.”
“We had nothin’ ta do with his dyin’,” Pax growled. “And ya know it.”
“I saw him fall to his death -- messy it was -- and you the nearest to him.” Kantus countered Pax’s denial while wearing a smug smile. Kantus looked left then right then beyond Rogaan and Pax before smiling broadly with what appeared to be a mix of amusement and satisfaction. “You’re outnumbered and, oh...the Town Council placed a bounty on your heads. My father made sure that they gathered today. Give up and you won’t get hurt...too badly.”
Anger burned intensely inside Rogaan, and became more intense with every smug word Kantus spoke. Rogaan’s contempt for Kantus grew just as bright. Fighting down his anger so to control himself, Rogaan wanted a peaceful way out of this, but was uncertain what to do. His thoughts were clouded with a yearning to smash Kantus into a broken lump. With an effort, he fought to keep his wits, to think of escape, not let his anger control him. He and Pax were surrounded by no fewer than twenty armed guardsmen, better than ten on each side blocking their escape, and the spaces between the buildings on either side of the street were filled and blocked with crates or stacked rubbish too high to climb before getting pounced on by guardsmen. Rogaan considered surrendering, but only for a moment…that passed quickly. His pride would not allow it. Where is Imtaesus? Rogaan realized his uncle was nowhere to be seen. Where did he go? A War Sworn would not run from a fight. Rogaan’s hope sank.
Rogaan knew there was little hope of fair treatment if taken by these jailers. Kantus and his father would see to that. He and Pax would be at their mercy…and that gave Rogaan the shivers, angry shivers. The chance of rescuing his father and Pax’s parents would be forever lost even if they eventually were released -- unlikely, that -- or managed an escape. No, this would not end without a fight. A calm sigh escaped Rogaan. It surprised him, how calm he felt. He had resolved himself to this fight a long time ago and had been waiting for this day to come. Who to strike first? Without warning, and as if Pax had read his thoughts, Pax put on a sly smile as two knives suddenly appeared in his hands, then just as quickly found themselves in the thighs of two new members of Kantus’ Band, one on either side of their smug-smiling leader. Both went down howling in pain. Rogaan gaped, shocked at Pax’s boldness and impressed at the same time.
“Stomp’em!” Pax shouted at Rogaan with eyes wide, looking as if they would pop out of his head.
Kantus recovered quickly from seeing his bandsmen drop withering on the ground from the two blades whirling past him so closely. Rogaan found himself wishing Pax had plunged those blades into their nemesis. His taunting of them would be done. No. I should not think as such, Rogaan chastised himself. Kantus’ face exploded with anger as he jerked free his long knife. “Take them!”
Everyone stood looking at each other. A long moment passed -- it seemed forever to Rogaan -- before Pax produced two more knives, hurling them at two guardsmen. One went down growling with a blade deep in his thigh. The other, surprised by the knife buried to the hilt mid-thigh, stumbled backwards in a silent scream. Chaos erupted behind Rogaan before he could act. Imtaesus, wielding a short sword in his good hand, plunged into a group of guardsmen cutting at their legs, sword arms, and less vital places -- obviously striking to wound and incapacitate instead of killing. Three guardsmen went down howling before any of them realized what hit them.
Suddenly, Rogaan stumbled left from the heavy impact of a guardsman rushing him from his right. He kept his feet, barely, as his attacker slipped off and went tumbling in front of him; the armored baraan lay sprawled on the paving stones several strides away. It took the baraan a moment to recover face down in the street before scrambling to a kneeling position with eager eyes fixed on Rogaan. Rogaan knew from the determination in the guardsman’s eyes promised he would attack again. Persistent. Motivated. The baraan launched himself at Rogaan again, but he did so slowly...too slowly for what Rogaan expected. A quick glance around showed Rogaan everyone moving slower than they should. That familiar nausea gripped him hard. He fought it back then it surged, again, and again as he fought it back. A moment of disorientation held him before he shook off the feeling and defended himself when the guardsman reached him.
The man was an easy target. Rogaan slammed his foot into the helmeted face of the oncoming guardsman, collapsing him into an unmoving heap at his feet, his face guard bent. A smile of satisfaction grew on Rogaan’s face as he admired his handiwork. That felt good, Rogaan admitted. He could not decide the exact words to describe what he felt unleashing his anger and frustration at those with Kantus. The sounds of footfalls drew his attention to two guardsmen rushing him from straight ahead with short swords raised. They also moved slowly, but simultaneously attacked, forcing Rogaan to be on the defensive. He ducked the swinging blade of the first guardsman, then felt the second blade slash his left forearm before he could rotate and slip out of range of a second attack by it. The first guardsman, now standing to his right, moved to deliver a backhanded swing that Rogaan thought certain to strike his upper chest or neck. Reacting without thinking, Rogaan blocked the guardsman’s sword arm with his right hand, stopping the blade just short of pain and bloodletting. In a fluid motion, Rogaan slammed his left fist into the guardsman’s unguarded ribs, sending the baraan to the ground in a convulsing heap of groans. Certain that he broke the guardsman’s ribs from the sound and feel of the impact, Rogaan smiled. The hairs on the back of his neck actually prickled.
Whirling,
Rogaan found the second guardsman already delivering a strike with killing in his eyes. Rogaan twisted, avoiding the short sword plunging at his chest, then grabbed the guardsman’s sword arm with both of his hands and tried to wrench the weapon away. No success. This guardsman was considerably bigger and stronger than the first, even a bit taller than Rogaan. A hard and painful yank on Rogaan’s hair pulled him off-balance and forced his head back in surprise, exposing his throat. Instinctively, Rogaan dropped into a crouch, pulling the big guardsman behind him over enough for Rogaan to explode upwards with his whole body into the baraan’s upper chest and armored face. Both struggling combatants went tumbling to the paving stones in a thud. Rogaan still had a death grip on the guardsman’s sword arm as his sword clinked and clattered to a stop several strides away. A wave of relief swept through Rogaan just as a burly forearm wrapped itself around his neck, crushing off his air. Gasping, Rogaan grabbed at the left forearm of his attacker, then tugged and pulled at it, but it held tight against his throat. A moment later a prick just below his right jaw told Rogaan the guardsman had a dagger pressed at his neck, ready to deliver a killing stroke.
“Give up or I’ll cut ya through,” a gruff voice growled triumphantly in his ear.
Rogaan struggled for a few moments more, then resigned himself to the guardsman’s demand, but only after he felt the blade at his throat pressed hard enough to start a trickle of blood running down his neck. He suddenly realized everyone moved normally and his nausea was replaced by hunger pains. His stomach grumbled. The sound of battle was strangely absent, and only the moans of pain pierced the night. Rogaan glanced around, moving just his eyes to keep from getting his throat cut. To his left he saw Pax on his knees held by two of Kantus’ Band with Pax mumbling something he could not make out. To his right, Imtaesus lay on his side in a pool of blood, bleeding. He lay motionless, surrounded by no fewer than eight guardsmen, writhing in pain on the paving stones. Two bleeding guardsmen stood over Imtaesus, both panting to catch their breath, blades coated in blood. Rogaan groaned, fearing the worst as strength drained from his body. His heart sank as he mumbled, “How will I tell Mother her brother died trying to save me from my own stupidity? I should never have run after Pax.”
