Chains of the Heretic

by Jeff Salyards

  Then he dropped to his belly and started slithering across the stones of the aqueduct, the starry vault of the sky the only roof now.

  After letting him get ahead a bit, I did as he ordered, fighting the mad urge to stand and unfurl my muscles. The crawling pace was painfully slow, and difficult to do with a muffled sword on one hip and a quiver on the other.

  Sounds carry queerly at night, but it was a while before I started catching the faintest sounds from the mostly-sleeping city ahead of us. A muted snippet of conversation from a guard on the wall. Someone whistling far, far away. I smelled wood burning, distant but somehow still tangy.

  I was glad I couldn’t look over the edge, as I probably would have only seen the Trench and vomited. I heard the hints of something scraping the stones in the dark below.

  Head down, I kept moving slowly—every sound we made seemed amplified in my ears, as if resounding across an auditorium and capable of reaching ears hundreds of yards away.

  We continued on like that, making torturously slow progress, when suddenly I heard something different, closer, a scuttling of some kind. I looked up, raised myself on my elbows, and saw some shadowy thing crawl over the edge of the conduit ahead.

  There was a muffled sound, someone or something struggling. Mulldoos pulled his suroka off his belt and crawled forward.

  I elbowed my way forward as well, wondering if I should pull the crossbow or not, but sure that wouldn’t do any good, panic welling.

  Vendurro was on his back, the thing on his chest—large, round, with multiple legs—and his own suroka was plunging into its side, though it sounded like it was hitting a breastplate and not flesh, skittering off.

  Mulldoos scooted alongside and grabbed at a leg, twisted it, pulled the creature back and turned it, then thrust his own suroka into the underbelly several times. The scuttling and scraping and muffled struggling was over.

  I moved closer as Mulldoos hauled the creature off. It looked like a giant, bloated tick, covered in speckled chitin, and the front legs ended in thick terrifying claws that looked like they could have easily crushed a man’s skull, maybe even in a helm.

  Mulldoos whispered, “You okay, Ven?”

  Vendurro couldn’t sit up, but rolled over onto his stomach and looked at Mulldoos. He wiped some dark gore off onto his trousers and waved a shaky hand. “Vambrace took the worst of it,” he whispered back. “Would have lost an arm otherwise. Thing clamped down good.”

  “That’s a bull crab?” I asked, trying not to let my gorge rise as one of the creature’s legs twitched, scraping on the plaster, splashing the water.

  Mulldoos looked back over his shoulder at me. “Ayyup. Plaguing bull crab.”

  “Will . . . are there more?”

  He wiped his bloody suroka off on his leg and said in a rough whisper, “Who plaguing knows. Don’t usually come too far up out of the Trench. But there are hundreds, maybe thousands of the fuckers down there.”

  Azmorgon and a few Syldoon ahead had crawled back and the Ogre had to stifle a bristly laugh. “Looks like crabs got a taste for squirrel meat, eh?”

  Mulldoos looked at the huge lieutenant. “Send word to any ahead to keep their surokas out. Might be more of the bastards on the aqueduct.” Then he relayed the warning back to the Syldoon behind us again, adding, “Everyone shut your yaps. Got a ways to go yet. Anyone screams on account of a big bug, I’ll gut the plaguer myself and drop him off the conduit.”

  I didn’t doubt he meant it.

  We crawled on, and while I didn’t allow myself to look over the side, I knew we were nearly to the walls and Towers encircling the entire city, and had to be above the Trench. Even without seeing the massive chasm, I started to sweat more heavily, hearing the breeze whistle up from the depths below, carrying the stench of waste and rot and the things that roamed through it in the night looking for food. The bull crab might not even be the worst of them.

  Gulping, I forced myself to focus on one elbow and knee at a time, moving slowly, and trying to be sure the scabbard and quiver didn’t make any loud scraping sounds on the stones beneath me.

  Finally, we passed over the wall and were one hundred and fifty feet above the mostly sleeping Capital of Coups, Sunwrack. The sounds were still infrequent, but louder, and though a trick of the ear or the air, sometimes seemed far too close—a snippet of conversation drifting up from guards on the ground far below us; the clip-clop of a horse moving down an avenue; the gurgling of a fountain.

  Over the edge, I could make out the silhouettes of mostly dark Towers in the distance, a little taller than the aqueduct, but those fell away as we moved away from the outer wall. We kept going, one deliberate and maddeningly slow foot at a time. It felt like I’d spent half my life on this damnable aqueduct, hunched over like a troll or on my belly like a ferret, following the slow turn as it made its way towards the center of the city.

  We pressed on though the last hour or two of darkness, progress in quiet inches. Finally, we stopped. I tensed, wondering if that meant another crab had made its way over the top or some other awful thing had happened. Even though the sun wasn’t up yet and we were hidden from eyes below, one wrong noise or move might give our position away. I’d never felt so exposed and helpless before and reminded myself to keep my mouth shut the next time I was itching to volunteer my services on a dangerous mission into the heart of what amounted to enemy territory.

  But there were no alarms raised, and no struggling ahead that I could make out. However, I saw a large dark shape ahead in the slate gray sky, about a hundred yards out, even higher than the aqueduct. And we appeared to be heading directly towards it.

  I whispered to Mulldoos, “Lieutenant, is that—”

  “Cistern tower,” he said. “And shut your plaguing mouth.”

  I did and continued waiting. Then I heard a single noise that sounded like the warbling cry of a gulley wren. Only I knew somehow it wasn’t.

  And then, several second slater, there was a trilling return call, coming from the streets or somewhere far below, a cheery three-note blast of a bird that did not exist.

  We waited there, and despite the imminent attack of bull crabs and risk of exposure and all the nerves that came with it, I was exhausted. I lowered my head for a bit, closing my eyes briefly and hoping they wouldn’t spring open when a claw closed around my neck, listening to the gentle and insistent flow of water a few inches away.

  I wasn’t sure how long I dozed, but then Mulldoos nudged me with his foot and we were moving again, though even more slowly than before. There was a pale pearl light to the east, and the first sliver of color that meant dawn wasn’t far off. I hoped we would be off the aqueduct soon. If not, the threat of discovery would increase tenfold.

  I looked ahead and thought I saw the silhouettes of men on the roof of the cistern tower, but couldn’t be certain. I clenched my teeth and kept moving, every slow incremental shift forward seeming to rub a welt or two the wrong way, dreading the moment we were found out and completely trapped.

  We stopped again. There were definitely guards or sentries or men of some kind up there. Not many, three, four, a handful possibly. But figures for certain. We couldn’t go any closer for risk of being spotted crawling, and yet we couldn’t delay there much longer or the sun would eventually creep over the horizon to reveal us hiding there.

  It seemed Thumaar and Braylar must have miscalculated, or we hadn’t made the night-long journey quickly enough. Something was wrong. And there was no going back. And climbing down was not an option. I licked my lips, shifted my weight, and waited, sure we were doomed.

  But then I heard something from one of streets below, around the cistern tower from the sounds of it, though it was hard to be sure—shouting, escalating, several different voices, then the clash of steel. A fight of some kind. The figures on the building moved away from the edge. And quickly, from the looks of it, though I was squinting to make it out.

  Mulldoos looked back at me and said, “Now! Up!” And
he got to his feet and started jogging, hunched over.

  I stood as well and immediately wished I hadn’t—the majority of the city that had been hidden below the rim of the conduit was suddenly unveiled, and it was all I could do not to fall right over the side.

  Keeping my eyes fixed on Mulldoos’s back, I started to jog, sure I would slip and tumble with every step, my body protesting every step of the way, muscles tightening and threatening to clutch up or cramp. We ran the slowly winding last stretch. Perhaps Braylar or Thumaar assumed that with the streets mostly deserted before dawn, and sound carrying strangely, no one would think to look up. Or maybe it was desperation and we simply didn’t have the time to go slowly. Whatever the motivation, we kept going, and my thighs burned and there was a painful hitch in my side when we stopped, twenty yards out.

  Everyone was panting, but the Syldoon in front had dropped to their knees and had their crossbows up. A few behind them were standing in a crouch, crossbows also trained on the roof.

  Mulldoos ordered the rest of us down on our bellies as we waited.

  Whatever was causing the commotion in the streets below had stopped.

  The guards came back to the edge of the roof of the cistern tower and were filled with a dozen quarrels as the Jackals loosed simultaneously. The figures dropped behind the lip of the roof, dead or bleeding out of three or four holes each.

  We jogged up to the wall, and then I saw the Syldoon ahead of me gathered at an opening. A very small opening. That had an iron grate over it. The conduit continued through the bottom, and the water flowed inside, but we weren’t going to be entering the tower that way. These were stout bars and even Azmorgon couldn’t pull them out of a well-maintained stone wall. A Deserter might have had trouble, it looked so sturdy.

  One of the Syldoon ahead pulled something out of a sack, and another on the other side of the channel did the same. The pair worked quickly, assembling something, and then both took a few steps away from the wall. One soldier held the other two by their belts to steady them as they each threw some kind of a hook towards the roof with something trailing. Both hooks clanged against the lip of the roof and then fell. Another Syldoon barely managed to catch them before they hit the conduit or, worse, dropped to the street below.

  On the second effort, they got both hooks to stick. I saw then it was a rope ladder that was trailing. One Syldoon tested the ropes, another Jackal knelt to weigh the ends of the ladder down and steady them, and then a soldier started climbing.

  Two Syldoon waited below him in case he fell. Though if he did, it was just as likely he would take them down to their deaths in the street as they would stop his fall and save him. But while the ladder didn’t behave like a wooden one and shook and wobbled, the soldier didn’t fall. He climbed up to the roof edge, over the lip, disappeared, and then appeared again a few moments later to give some kind of hand signal.

  Thumaar went next, and the rest of the Eagles followed him to the top, climbing slowly one by one. I stayed crouched low, watching the men ascend and glancing over the edge to the street below. Mulldoos caught me looking down and hisspered, “Scribbler! Quit gawking!”

  I did, though I was sorely tempted to point out that if anyone looked up to see anything, it would be men climbing a rope ladder on the tower, not the top of my head peering over the aqueduct edge.

  The sound of more scuffling or fighting in another street rose up to us, though it didn’t sound as close.

  “Jackals?” I asked.

  Mulldoos only nodded.

  I looked to the cistern tower and saw that Soffjian was struggling to get Nustenzia to start up the ladder. The older woman was shaking her bowed head, crouched down, leaning against the wall, any haughty composure utterly gone.

  Braylar hadn’t climbed up yet, likely sensing trouble there. He grabbed Nustenzia by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet. I couldn’t make out what he said, but she shook her head, though less vehemently this time.

  Braylar pointed up to the roof and this time I did catch the snippet, “. . . voluntarily or I’ll tie you by the ankles and order you dragged up.”

  To her credit, Nustenzia rose to her full height, stuck out her chin, tucked some wisps of white hair behind her ears, and grabbed the closest rope rung. She took another moment to compose herself, and then started up, going slower than anyone who’d preceded her, but going just the same. I found myself admiring her. She was in a captive in a foreign land, separated from family who needed her, and dragged along on a dangerous mission, with no hope at all of escape, and yet aside from that lapse before climbing, she rarely showed how difficult this must have all been for her, the strain she was surely under.

  And then I reminded myself who she had served on the other side of the Veil—the admiration didn’t lessen, but it was the kind reserved for accomplished foe rather than respected friend.

  The ladder seemed to be even less steady the more hesitant or slow the climber, but she finally made it to the top, pulled over the edge by soldiers who had been ducking behind the lip.

  Other Jackals went, with one slipping a little. Vendurro scurried up as if he practiced on rope ladders his entire life or actually did have squirrel blood. Azmorgon followed with a deliberate plodding ascent, and then it was Mulldoos’s turn. I wondered how his arm was holding up, the strength in it, especially since he had lost some of it after Rusejenna’s attack, but he managed to climb up without too much difficulty.

  Then it was my turn. And I suddenly understood Nustenzia’s reluctance. Even though it was only one story up to the top, the thought of leaving the sturdy stones of the aqueduct and trusting rope or the Syldoon below to catch me if I slipped suddenly made it seem like climbing a mountain.

  I grabbed the rungs above me, put my foot on the one nearest the stones and took my first hesitant step. The ladder shimmied and shivered. I told myself at least it wasn’t a single rope, took a deep breath, and started up, making sure I had one hand and foot on securely before moving the other. I suddenly wished I hadn’t taken my writing case after all, as everything on my back and hips was throwing me off balance, but before I knew it I was at the lip.

  As I pulled myself up, a hand grabbed either arm and pulled me the rest of the way.

  Vendurro said, “Thought you decided to take a nap halfway.”

  I moved away from the edge and ducked down like everyone else. There were three dead Imperial soldiers lying in the gravel on the roof, bolts protruding everywhere, but the fourth wasn’t among them.

  I looked over and saw Thumaar and Braylar kneeling on either side of him, another Syldoon behind propping him up. The man had a bolt in his thigh, another near his collarbone, and a third in his belly, and his scale armor hadn’t done much to stop any of them, as it looked like dark pools were all over his trousers. Braylar was giving him sips from a flask, and Thumaar appeared to be questioning him.

  I heard Mulldoos behind me say quietly, “Gut wound. Bad way to go, that. Could be a long time dying. Never wish that on any man, even a plaguing Leopard.”

  Another Syldoon came over the roof edge, and I turned around and asked, “What are they interrogating him about?”

  Mulldoos said, “Location of other guards, most like. Though knowing Cap, could be one of a thousand questions. Probably promising him a mercy death if he talks. Right about now, betting that sounds plaguing good.”

  Vendurro helped another Jackal over, grunting, and then said, “Lot of blood loss though. Might not be a long time dying after all. Man might hold out a stretch if mercy’s got no leverage.”

  I looked back at the questioning. The man propping the Leopard up reached around and covered his mouth, and Braylar grabbed the bolt in his stomach and twisted. I winced at the muzzled scream.

  “Ayyup,” Vendurro said. “Looks like mercy ain’t on the table anymore.”

  The Leopard shook his head, and Braylar released the bolt. After waiting a moment, the man behind him pulled his hand away from the man’s mouth, though kept
it close in case he cried out or screamed again.

  Rudgi came over. I smiled, though felt foolish immediately and glad the dawn wasn’t quite there yet.

  I looked back, and the Leopard was talking quickly, though defiantly by the looks of it. Braylar nodded once, and the Jackal holding him brought his suroka across the man’s throat and let him slide to the gravel on the roof.

  Benk made it up and over and pulled the rope ladder up after him, bundling it in his arms and crouch-walking forward. We all did the same, moving towards the opposite side of the roof. There was a wooden trap door near Thumaar and Braylar. The deposed emperor seemed inclined to lead the charge again, but Braylar spoke a few words in his ear, and the older man relented, though grudgingly. Very grudgingly.

  I was looking at the fourth dead Leopard, amazed and sickened by the amount of blood he seemed to have lost before his heart stopped pumping it out, when Braylar addressed the group, though still keeping his voice low. “Well done. But the easy part is over. Our bloody Leopard here wasn’t especially forthcoming or helpful, but we know already that there are still guards in the tower below, likely doing rounds. Thankfully, most of the building is full of cisterns, reservoirs, and pipes, so it isn’t occupied like a Tower proper, but we still need to take out most of the Leopards in here quickly. The shift change will occur not long after dawn and we have to be on the ground floor to welcome them. So, we spread out and go floor by floor, eliminate most of the Leopards, and convene on the ground. Do note I said most. We need another prisoner. Preferably two or three, if possible.”

  Soffjian said, “I need to conserve myself for the frame, but when the relief shows up at dawn, I can take out one or two without killing them, or stun them long enough for you to subdue them.”

  Braylar looked at her and nodded. Then he addressed the small company. “Very good. New plan, yes? Kill anyone you encounter. Though do try to spare some Leopard armor and badges. We could use any that isn’t soaked in blood.” He gestured towards the trap door. “My lord, if I may?”