“Wait,” Fadan said. “There’s one little detail. How are we going to find one of your Lieutenants now?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Alman replied. He opened his arms. “Ta-da!”
“What?! I thought you just helped with supplies…”
“That was just part of his scheme to get you to join the Rebellion,” Sabium said, a finger aimed at his brother’s nose.
“What does it matter what my rank in the Rebellion is?” Alman asked. “Now come on, before they come sniffing around this way.”
“Before who comes sniffing around?” an unfamiliar voice asked.
All three of them turned at the same time to see four Paladins, two of them with swords aimed high and two holding rectangular, man-sized shields, blocking the way out of the small nook of wooden crates.
A cold hand squeezed Fadan’s stomach. He instinctively went for his sword, but he was carrying none.
“Get down!” Sabium thundered, opening his arms.
Alman and Fadan dove to the ground, just in time to avoid a wall of crates flying towards the Paladin squad. With remarkable precision, the shield bearing Paladins stepped forward to protect their comrades. The massive crates exploded everywhere, shattering on impact with either the ground of the Paladin shields.
“MAGE!” one of the Paladins yelled.
Somewhere near a horn wailed, and shouts of alarm erupted from every direction.
“We have to go,” Sabium cried. “Run!”
The Prince jumped up and lunged towards the huddling Paladins.
“No!” he heard Alman yell. “This way.”
But Fadan knew exactly what he was doing. With a quick slide, he grabbed the fallen sword of a Paladin, then raced back after Alman and Sabium.
They jumped over the remains of the wall of crates that had formed their hiding place up until moments ago only to find another one just as tall beyond it. They looked left and right. All they could see were containers and more containers. It felt like being inside a maze, the echoes of their pursuers seeming to come from everywhere.
Alman made a decision. “This way,” he said, running left.
Fadan and Sabium followed him, glancing backwards in search of their pursuers. They turned left again, and then right. Some of the piles of crates were taller than others, but none were short enough that they could climb over. They would have to find a way out of the labyrinth.
After another turn to the right, the three of them were forced to skid to a halt. They were at a dead end.
“Goddess damn this!” Sabium cursed.
Fadan turned back to the way they had come, lifting his sword into a guard position. “I can hear them coming,” he said. Neither of the two brothers seemed to hear him, though.
“You’re a Goddess damned Mage,” Alman said. “Just a carve a path for us already!”
Sabium closed his eyes, whispering a curse, but obeyed nonetheless. There was a loud, thundering sound and the crates began to slowly slide, half to one side, half to other, slowly parting like the gates of a great hall.
“There they are!”
Three Paladins had just turned a corner and charged towards them.
“Here they come!” the Prince said, testing the weight of his sword.
“Don’t use magic on them,” Alman told him.
“What?”
“I said don’t use magic on them!”
“Quick, go,” Sabium said, sweat breaking out on his temples. “I’ll hold it.”
The crates had parted enough to create a narrow opening, but only the ones stacking up to a few feet high, which meant the crates stacked above were teetering on the brink of collapsing through the gap.
“Quick!” Sabium repeated.
Alman hesitated for a moment, then jumped through the precarious opening.
“Now you,” Sabium gritted out.
Fadan looked over his shoulder at the opening Sabium had created, then back at the Paladins lunging towards him like a pack of starving wolves. The last time he had faced against several opponents in a real fight, he had woken up hours later in Alman’s house. A magically hanging tunnel of crates was certainly the wiser choice. He spun and raced through the makeshift archway, then turned back again in case any of their pursuers had followed him through. None of them had the chance.
Sabium lunged after Fadan, and just as he crossed the threshold, the passageway collapsed, blocking the Paladins on the other side.
Screams and curses echoed from the other side and Sabium wiped sweat from his forehead, panting heavily.
“That was great,” Fadan said, his heart pounding in his chest.
“We’re not out of this, yet,” Sabium told him. “Alman, where to?”
“This way,” Alman replied.
The distant sound of the fire still raged, and they could hear the shouts and yells of the collective effort to put it out. Their pursuers weren’t exactly silent either. Echoes of officers trying to coordinate their squads reached them from everywhere.
“East side is clear.”
“Circle back towards the warehouse. Block the exits.”
“They’re moving south!”
With silent gestures, Alman led them through the labyrinth of cargo, taking prudent peeks around each corner before turning them. On a couple of occasions, they heard the footsteps of patrols skittering by adjacent corridors, freezing with their backs to the wooden containers.
“There,” Alman said, kneeling behind two barrels oozing with the delightfully woody smell of brandy. He was pointing at an opening between two stacks of crates, beyond which stood the main street. Civilians raced from one side to other, carrying buckets to and from the fire.
“So we make a run for it?” Fadan asked. “Seems like an obvious exit. Won’t the Paladins be covering it?”
“Yes,” Alman confirmed.
“Where are they, though?” Fadan wondered. “I can’t see them.”
“They are there, believe me,” Sabium muttered.
“Our only option is fighting our way out of here,” Alman said. “They are covering multiple exits while chasing us in here, which means they’re spread out thin. That should be enough of an advantage. Besides, we do have two Mages.”
“Why did you tell me not to use magic on them?” Fadan asked. “Back there, when they had us cornered?”
“Because it wouldn’t have worked,” Sabium explained. “Paladins wear Syphons. It’s a Glowstone device that absorbs any spell. Pretty ingenious, actually. It uses the energy of the absorbed spells to recharge, which means once built, a Syphon lasts forever.”
“I see…” Fadan let out a sigh. “So that’s how they defeated the Academy during the Purge.”
Sabium nodded. “It still cost them. If you keep your distance to them, you can still cast spells. They just won’t work if they’re aimed at the Paladins themselves. The trick is using indirect attacks.”
“What does that mean?” Fadan asked.
“Use spells on other things,” Sabium explained. “Hurl a heavy object at them, or block their path with fire. After an object is in motion or a fire is burning, there’s no more magic at work. There’s nothing for the Syphon to absorb.”
“But if you try to set their clothes on fire, for example,” Alman added, “it won’t work.”
Fadan nodded. “I get it.” He took a deep breath and adjusted his grip on the sword. “Ok. I’m ready.”
The two brothers exchanged a look, then nodded at each other.
“I’ll create a distraction,” Sabium said. “On my signal, run.”
The old Mage stood up, a blue aura thrumming around him. He raised his hands as if pushing an invisible wall in front of him, and the tall stacks of crates began to tilt outward and into the street.
“Watch out!” someone yelled from the other side. “It’s going to fall.”
There was a high pitched scream of a woman and what seemed like a dozen yelps and gasps as the large containers tumbled and fell down to the street.
But the mage wasn’t listening. His arms swung down into an upward hook as if holding an invisible baby and…
Silence.
None of the crates ever even touched the ground. The massive wall blocking the street from view had disappeared, but the containers that it had been made of were now floating in the air about three feet above the ground, held in place by Sabium’s magic.
“Quick!” Sabium said, his face red and every vein in his neck and forehead standing out. “Before they recover…”
The Prince was dumbstruck by the sight. It was Alman who snapped him out of it, rushing past him and hauling him by the arm. They raced out through a corridor made of magically flying wooden boxes. Dozens of people, Paladins included, crouching beneath them with hands over their heads. It took them all a moment to come to grips with what was happening, long enough to allow Fadan and Alman to run through and disappear into the shadow of a back alley.
Alman kneeled behind a pile of trash, panting, and Fadan skidded next to him, squatting low to stay out of sight.
“That was amazing,” the Prince said. He wasn’t breathing as heavily as Alman, but he was panting as well.
Alman punched the ground. “It was stupid!”
“Are you kidding? It was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen. Where is he, though?”
The reply didn’t come right away.
“He’s not coming,” Alman replied flatly.
“What?!”
There was a crashing sound from outside the alley, followed by the echoes of a commanding voice.
“On your knees, Mage! Hands where we can see them.”
“He’s been Syphoned,” Alman said, covering his eyes. “They got him.”
They entered the finely cobbled streets of the Palatine district. Far behind them was the commotion of the besieged Docks. Every now and then, a squad of Paladins rushed by, headed towards the river, but that didn’t concern them. They were now two mere citizens on their way to their own affairs.
Beneath the gray, morning sky, the streets were teeming with people. Merchants finished opening their stalls, crying the merits of their wares to all passers-by. The smell of warm, freshly baked bread flooded their noses and Fadan felt his stomach wake up with a roar.
“Alman?” Fadan called.
“Yes?”
It was the first time any of them said anything since Sabium’s arrest.
“The rebels… do they know about me?”
Alman glanced back at the Prince. “No,” he replied. “To be honest, I was afraid of what the leadership might decide to do if they found out.”
Fadan nodded. “Can we please keep it that way?”
“Sure. Don’t say anything. Let me do the talking.” With trembling fingers, he massaged his baggy eyes. “I’ll still need your help to enter the dungeons.”
“You’ll have it, don’t worry. We’re getting Sabium out today.” Fadan sighed. “I’m pretty sure that’s all the time he has.”
“What about the others?” Alman asked. “There will be dozens, maybe hundreds of prisoners from today’s raid alone. The Rebellion will want to rescue as many as possible.”
“I’ve told you before. I’m not comfortable betraying my father.” Fadan paused. “But, I’m not sure I can rescue your brother alone so… if that is the price of saving him, then I accept. Besides, I was planning on rescuing Doric and his friends sooner or later. Might as well do it today.”
Alman nodded and the conversation died.
They stopped at a carpenter’s shop. A small counter, packed full of wooden tableware, separated the store from the street. The shop itself was small and rectangular, carpeted with wood shavings. Benches and small tables, stacked upon each other, lined one of the walls while an unfinished wardrobe occupied most of the remaining space.
Alman grabbed a spoon and started hammering on the counter with it. “Anyone there?” he shouted.
A man emerged from somewhere at the back the store. He wore a simple brown tunic and seemed to be as large as the wardrobe he was building.
“Morning. Anything I can do for you?” he asked, joining them at the storefront.
“Good morning, sir,” Alman greeted. “You wouldn’t by any chance have anything in alabaster, would you?”
The carpenter was carrying a chisel, and he was squeezing it so hard his knuckles had turned white. He studied both Alman and Fadan from head to toe. “Maybe,” he said. “Why don’t you come in? We can check the storeroom out back.”
Alman nodded and the carpenter lifted a section of the counter so they could step inside. They followed the man into a narrow corridor and down a staircase leading into a basement. A locked wooden door stood downstairs, and the carpenter knocked. First once, then three times, then once again.
Something clicked, and a rectangular slot opened in the door, revealing a set of eyes.
“I have visitors,” the carpenter said, motioning towards Fadan and Alman.
The peephole closed and the door opened.
“In you go,” the carpenter told them.
Alman motioned for Fadan to follow. “Come on.”
On the other side of the door, whoever had opened it was holding a lantern that barely lit the way. The basement had an old, dusty smell that somewhat resembled the dampness of the dungeons, even if it wasn’t nearly as bad. It was a cramped space, full of sacks, barrels, and chests. Three more doors led to what Fadan assumed were storage rooms.
Besides the man that had opened the door, there were two women inside, both staring intensely at Fadan, their hands resting on the pommels of swords at their waists. They weren’t making him feel very welcome.
The door slammed shut, its lock clicking into place, and Fadan realized the carpenter had not followed them inside.
“Who’s this?” one of the women asked. She had thick, dark hair tied back by a blue bandana on her forehead. Fadan guessed she had to be about his mother’s age, and she was giving him what was probably the least friendly stare he had ever received.
“He’s with me,” Alman replied.
“That’s not a very good answer,” the other woman said. She had shaved her hair and wore full body armor resembling that of a Legionary.
“As we speak, hundreds of our people are being taken by the Paladins, Alman,” the woman with the bandana said. “And you come in here with a stranger?”
“Calm down, Shayna,” Alman replied calmly, as if trying to sooth a wild animal.
The woman with shaved haired drew her sword. “Don’t tell her to calm down,” she snapped. “We have a traitor in the ranks. Who is this?”
“Yes, we do,” Alman agreed. “We’ve had a traitor in our midst for a long time. Probably more than one. That’s why Doric, Hagon, and the others got arrested in the first place. But believe me, that traitor will be someone we know.” He waved towards Fadan. “Not some stranger.”
“I agree,” Shayna replied, then drew out her knife and pinned Alman against the wall, her blade pushing at his throat. “The traitor is definitely someone we know.”
“Wait!” Fadan cried, but as soon as the sound came out of his mouth, the man who had opened the door grabbed him from behind and locked his arms behind him.
“Easy,” Alman begged.
“Who is he?” Shayna repeated.
Alman sent Fadan an apologetic glance.
Please don’t tell them, the Prince thought.
“He’s…”
Please…
“He’s my brother’s apprentice.”
Both women turned to Fadan.
“He’s a Mage?” the woman with shaved hair asked.
Good idea, Alman, Fadan thought. He tapped his power, jumped, and dematerialized. By the time his feet fell back on the floor, he was free from his captor and twirled away from him.
The man did not pursue him, and both women lowered their w
eapons.
“Well, you could have said so sooner,” Shayna told Alman.
“I was trying,” Alman replied, indicating the other woman’s knife.
“So what’s your name, boy?” Shayna asked.
Fadan opened his mouth but said nothing for an awkwardly long time. “I… I’m Aric,” he finally managed to get out.
Stupid!
Alman glared at him, but Fadan pretended not to see it. The other two introduced themselves as well. The man was called Theudis, and the other woman was Lucilla.
“Aric, huh?” Lucilla said thoughtfully. “A friend of mine has a son called Aric.”
“That’s not Aric,” another voice said.
Fadan turned to the sound and his heart sank. Coming from one of the other rooms, an olive skinned woman wearing a flawless white uniform stepped up to him.
“Aric is his brother.”
“Lady Margeth?” Fadan mumbled.
The Arch-Duchess bowed deeply beneath the confused stares of her associates. “Your majesty,” she said, then stood back up. “Shayna?”
“Yes, mistress?”
“Syphon him.”
Intilla’s office was as spacious as it was austere. A plain slab of obsidian served as desk, standing atop square, iron legs. Behind it, a large window overlooked the gray wall of the Legion’s headquarters. It was remarkable how the architect had managed to find such a drab view in a place like the Citadel, where there were more gardens than actual buildings.
A file of busts representing each of Intilla’s predecessors lined one of the walls as if awaiting inspection. There wasn’t a single carpet warming the cold, stone floor, only a banner draping the wall opposite the dead High-Marshals. It was a washed-out blue and had a fading yellow inscription that read: Fifth expeditionary Legion – North Aletia. It wasn’t completely tattering yet, but it did have a couple of tears here and there, not to mention a handful of dark stains that Cassia guessed had to have been caused by blood.
The Empress had been sitting in that awful chair so long she had memorized the shape and position of every mold stain on the Legion’s Headquarters’ wall outside the window. Where was Intila? It wasn’t like him to make her wait this long.
The door opened and a Legionary tipped his head inside. “Your majesty,” he said, “is there anything we can bring you? A drink, perhaps?”
The Dragon Hunter and the Mage Page 38
