The Web Rulers Weave: Ruins of Unity

by J Glen Percy

  “It’s a lie,” Ryecard growled.

  “Is it? What am I doing here if not confronting you? It is difficult to argue the prewritten words of a dead man when his blood is on your hands.” The grin slithering up the man’s cheeks was perfectly wicked. “A thread of insurance for one less brutish than yourself.”

  “Less truthful,” Ryecard forced through closed teeth.

  “Information or misinformation, the truth is what’s recorded. You kill me, and the guilt others conspire to shackle on you is confirmed by me. Cecily is gone; what will you do with this information? You do not have to believe the threads I spin and snip are for Cairanthem’s good, but you must believe I am not the only one who spins them. Your son’s eager blood and Prince Ceres’ wrathful, there will be blood in Shorefeld if cooler heads do not arrive.”

  The weasel of a man could be bluffing. Did Ryecard dare risk it? If he was telling the truth, he was also correct in his estimation that Breccyn and Ceres in the same province, let alone the same keep, were a mound of sulfur awaiting a spark. Cecily would be that spark.

  Ryecard stared through the wrinkled old man for a long moment, finally releasing him with a decisive shove. “You and I, we’re not finished.”

  * * *

  Dawn had come by the time Ryecard saddled Lore and rode down through the streets of Rosemount. Fountains, gardens, avenues; it was no longer his home upon which he looked but a foreign land set upon a hill. A place that held a different understanding of honor and justice than the surrounding world. A place he had helped create. The king’s decision would be as popular as Ryecard himself currently. A sign of weakness. A dangerous precedent. He kept his cloak drawn, his hood up, and his pace brisk.

  For as relieving as Erick’s decision was, Tobiah was right; the Rosemarked would not be satisfied. The ancient man had also tried to kill him, a fact that did not have Ryecard jumping at the opportunity to work together on solutions. Tobiah was a meddling snake, his loyalties a puzzle. Even now, riding out towards home, Ryecard couldn’t help feeling a pawn on Tobiah Jago’s board. Had the man abducted the princess or hadn’t he? Had he sent an assassin for Ryecard’s eldest or hadn’t he? The advisor claimed he wanted to falsify Breccyn’s death. One thing was certain; Ryecard was needed in Shorefeld before the Prince Ceres Romerian saw there was nothing false about it.

  CHAPTER 21

  Gabryel woke to the thundering of hooves. He was disoriented at first, not immediately recalling the wilderness capture nor his chance crossing with the princess. Wiping drowsiness away and taking stock of the situation, Aryella lay precisely where she had been dropped, entirely unaware of the early morning chaos. Princess Cecily was nowhere to be seen.

  Horses scattered in every which direction, and men – Gabryel had tallied at least a dozen before drifting off – shouted curses at the startled beasts and their fellow comrades alike. Had Cecily snuck off? Escape had been the last thing discussed in the dark hours before a grim looking man approached from the fire, silencing their conversation. It would be just like a Rosemarked princess to look solely after herself. Likely would have left her own mother behind.

  As the camp thinned in pursuit of their mounts, Gabryel contemplated an escape attempt of his own. His inert sister, more an anchor than a human being at this point, swiftly halted the idea. Not to mention that both Rudder and Poet were lost and afield along with the rest.

  The animals were returned to the line one by one, but not before the new sun was peering down into the grassy ravine. From the expressed frustrations of the returning brigands, the princess was indeed the culprit, having cut the horse line and taking flight on the impressive gelding. That was undoubtedly Poet. Figures. Leave the Starlings behind and steal the best horse. Their horse! Exactly like a Rosemarked.

  Princess Cecily herself was hauled back to camp a little before noon, dragged by her no longer perfectly curled hair by the very man that had silenced her and Gabryel the night before. The hulking grimling – Kadin – must have still been off wrangling the last of the horses. Gabryel was glad to have not seen him this morning. Thinking of the man’s wound in the daylight tickled the boy’s spine.

  Cecily was thrown to the ground where the fire had been. The men in camp quickly gathered round.

  “Pleasant morning for a ride,” Cecily taunted with a wide grin. She was rewarded with a boot to her stomach, the force evacuating her wind and curling her body on the ground.

  Serves her right, Gabryel thought. She had deserted him and his sister. Her father would soon order the execution of his brother. These were Rosemarked men. This was a Rosemarked problem.

  Then the beating continued. Fists and feet, the man in the center of the ring continued his assault to the cheers - and eventual grimaces - of those surrounding.

  Rosemarked or not, deserved or not, Gabryel’s parents had taught him better. Like sitting the night with Aryella’s lifeless form outside the mysterious cave, this was one of those moments a man would be judged upon. A moment that made a man, as his father would say. Fear had paralyzed him that night, and again when Kadin had stared into his eyes last night. This would not be another one of those times. He had to act.

  Crawling past Aryella, he carefully made his way to the nearest bedroll. There he found specifically what he was looking for; a filled leather quiver and a walnut short bow. Not as fine as his own osage – which was presumably roaming the countryside strapped to Rudder’s saddle at the moment - but picky idlers were left empty handed as his mother always said. Taking less time than he would have liked, he ran his fingers along the limbs and tested the string’s will.

  It was like trusting a person you had only just met. Yet, as his father had instructed time and again, knowing your weapon was only part of proficiency. A single ingredient in a complicated recipe. He had never taken interest in swordplay – wild game wasn’t killed at a blade’s proximity, why should your enemy be? – but similarly, it was as much about anticipating your target, your environment, as it was working your body through the forms.

  Gabryel knocked an arrow, stood, aimed, and released. A single motion to any observer, each phase was distinct to the boy’s mind, exacting attention given to the finest details. His feet found harmony with the earth beneath, his measured breaths taken in chorus with the shifting air. His mark was shielded by the men encircling him, but the narrowest of gaps was sufficient for Gabryel’s skill. He anticipated his target’s movement perfectly. An awkward jerk, a scream, and a feathered shaft protruded from the shoulder of the abusive man. Gabryel’s fluid motion was completed by mating another arrow to bowstring.

  More than ten full-grown men turned instantly on Gabryel.

  “Who’s first?” Gabryel challenged, putting on his bravest front. This was not like pinning straw bales in the Old Ward. He suspected he could take three before they closed the gap, then he’d be wishing he had spent some time sparring with his brother. “The next needle threads an eye.” Nobody moved.

  Abruptly, Gabryel’s feet were dangling above the dirt, the bow torn from his hands by an irresistible force. He hit the ground hard several paces away, the earth treating his lungs similarly to the boot against Cecily’s chest. The rising dust cloud choked him further as he fought to regain his breath.

  All Gabryel could do was watch as Kadin, the leader of this unknown band, strolled over to the princess. The man kneeled, studying Cecily’s battered face for a long moment. Then standing, he towered over the arrow-punctured man.

  “He shot me, Kadin. The little bastard shot me.”

  Kadin appeared to examine the wound, noting the shaft had punched clean through. Never removing his eyes from the arrow, he took the man’s injured arm in his sizable hands. A distinct crack followed by more agonizing cries, and Kadin was helping Cecily over to where Gabryel lay.

  “She was not to be harmed,” Kadin spoke levelly, his back to the men. “Perhaps an arrow and a broken arm will remind you of orders next time.”

  The boy forced himself uprig
ht as the paralyzing man approached. Gabryel was right, the gash traversing the man’s face was worse by daylight. Almost gently, the man helped Cecily to the ground, then kneeled in front of the two children.

  “There’s a law against harming the Rosemarked, young Starling,” the man said, the fleshy gap opening and closing as his jaw worked. “Your family gives little consideration to such things, or so I’ve heard.” Kadin pulled a long knife from his boot, pushing the point against Gabryel’s shoulder. “I’d be within my lawful right to deal you the same you dealt my man.”

  Gabryel did his best to ignore the pinprick sensation. “How do you know me?”

  “I know more than this scarred scalp lets on,” Kadin replied, withdrawing the blade and tapping it against his bald head. “It’s not as if your family is an obscure one. I’ve no quarrel with you or them. If I keep you, I soon will. Letting you and your sister go presents a very obvious predicament, however. One certainly compounded by my... distinct appearance.” The man spoke half to Gabryel and half as if he were working through a problem. “Perhaps the lord steward can be bartered with.”

  “He’ll never talk with the likes of you,” Gabryel said. “My father is a good man.”

  “Good is as open to interpretation as the Five. Your father is an effective man, no more good than the Grayskins looking to make socks of your skin. If Lord Starling can’t be reasoned with, I’ve no reason to take your carcass, alive or dead, out of this here ravine.”

  “You won’t harm Gabryel,” Cecily challenged, attempting composure despite her tattered clothing and the unhealthy tones coloring her skin. Her face was badly swollen on one side.

  “I won’t?” Kadin seemed amused.

  “You have threatened me twice now. When your man delivered, you broke his arm for it.”

  Her defiance actually provoked a small laugh, a strange sound coming from the cruel man. “I wonder if your horse feels the same?” he asked, rubbing his belly. “Perhaps I need you in one piece, princess. The same cannot be said for another heartbeat within a hundred leagues.”

  “You’re a large wall that’s easily toppled, all appearance with no underlying structure.”

  Kadin’s smile turned to a sneer. As quickly, he plunged the slender knife into Gabryel’s shoulder. Gabryel released the excruciating pain with a terrible scream.

  The sneer did not disappear as the huge man withdrew the dripping blade. “I am every bit as monstrous as appearances would have it, princess. For now, consideration must be given as to whether shedding more Starling blood will aid or abate my cause. I will return shortly with an answer.”

  “Keep still,” Cecily commanded, placing hands over Gabryel’s wound as Kadin walked back to his brigands. The boy’s legs writhed involuntarily as Cecily tore cloth from her already tattered garb for bandage and sling. “A monster,” she repeated over and over, exchanging soiled material for new as necessary. “A cowardly monster.”

  When Gabryel’s groans - and more importantly, the bleeding - finally subsided, the Romerian girl and Starling boy sat in silence for a long while. Gabryel watched from the corner of his eyes as Cecily probed at her damaged face with a finger.

  “I teased you about your bow last night,” Cecily spoke finally, moving on to her ribs. “You have a remarkable skill.” Gabryel remained silent, and she tried again. “I know you didn’t have to stand up for me. It was a courageous thing you did. Thank you.”

  “My life for the Rosemarked,” Gabryel replied finally, more than a little scorn drying his tone. The sting in his shoulder was near unbearable. His mouth felt parched, his head light.

  “Look,” Cecily said. “We may be from different worlds, but we’re living the same one now.”

  “The same world?” Gabryel replied with disbelief. “The same world? Your entitled mouth put a knife in my arm! And supposing we both come through this, my life ends at the headsman for assaulting a Rosemarked villain.”

  “You won’t be punished. You’ll be pardoned for protecting a lady.”

  Gabryel snorted, recalling Breccyn’s predicament. “Tell that to your father.”

  “For protecting the princess, then.”

  “I risked myself for you because it was right. You can do with your thanks what you will.” He turned sharply towards Aryella. “Right now I have more to worry about than my own blood. The world we live in, I am all she has.”

  “Not if we work together,” Cecily responded softly.

  “Together? You left us! You stole our horses and left us!” Gabryel was young but he was a Starling sibling, and they knew something of loyalty in sticky situations. “Just leave us alone.”

  It was Cecily’s turn to don scorn, her face intensifying as much as the swelling would allow. “I didn’t leave you, Gabryel. These men will kill a horse sooner than they’ll capture it. Escape towards Shorefeld, then accidently fall from horseback, and they forget all about the true escapee. Your sister’s gelding is smart. Good blood. He’ll find his way home, and when he gets there, so will a message for your brother. I did leave, but I did not leave you.”

  Gabryel could not deny the cleverness of her plan. Cleverness that had resulted in a good pummeling. He kept his mouth shut, nodding his appreciation instead. Perhaps a slight apology too. It was then that the very man responsible for the princess’ pummeling – now wearing his arm in a makeshift sling matching Gabryel’s, the arrow shaft still in place – made his way over. His working arm held a drawn sword.

  “I’ll be lucky if I ever use this arm again, you dung-stained monger,” he slurred. “Lucky for me, I only need one for retribution.” Gabryel had enviously watched the man emptying a brown jug down his throat as he and Cecily argued. A jug of mead would be just the thing to wet his mouth and numb the pain.

  Both children scrambled to their feet. In the belly of the narrow ravine, there was nowhere to run. “Kadin will have your head if you hurt him,” Cecily shouted.

  “Kadin couldn’t give a bottle of bull’s milk about the boy. This is my right. My preeminent right.”

  Along with slurring the man’s speech, the drink sowed a wildness behind his cruel eyes. Gabryel took a timid step rearwards and his floating head caused him to stumble onto his back. Like a predator awaiting its prey’s misstep, the man set upon the boy, his sword swinging and falling in a wide arc. Time enough to clamp his eyes, Gabryel’s final thoughts were for his unconscious sister. He was aware of Cecily’s gasp. Hopefully she would look after Aryella.

  * * *

  Cecily sealed the one eye not swollen shut and braced herself for Gabryel’s ghastly end. He was to be her marriage brother, no matter the hostility he had shown her. Breccyn would be crushed. The Starlings would be crushed. If only her other senses were swollen shut as well.

  Tears fell, but the deathblow never did.

  She opened her eye cautiously, then reached up to rub away the fibs it was telling. Her groaning ribs prevented her hand from rising above her chest and she settled for several heavy blinks. The fuzzy scene remained unchanged.

  The drunken brigand, as if the air had thickened to impassable sludge, stood frozen with sword elevated in mid-swing. His face was one of uncertainty, though rapidly approaching on panic. Several grunts escaped through clenched teeth. His exertion bought nothing more. Cecily blinked harder. For all its inconceivability, the man’s futile struggle was commonplace next to the... apparition nearby.

  Aryella - or Aryella’s form anyway - had risen from the ground and stood with head bowed and eyes sealed. Out front, her hands and fingers were rigid, as if grasping an oversized melon. Cecily’s own disheveled curls hung undisturbed, yet paces away, Aryella’s light cloak whipped and fluttered against an unseen gale. Like the full moon shining through a cloudy veil, a spirit-aura enveloped the Starling girl. An unnatural symbol carved itself across her forehead, pronounced in thin lines of blood that eventually pooled and trickled over her brow.

  Cecily blinked again. She knew that symbol. The Sign of the Five had bee
n eradicated alongside the priesthood by her grandfather, long before her own birth, but lived on in at least one unlikely location. Her father referred to the room as a shadesayer’s hut, and in truth, her mother was the only person she had ever witnessed using the Rose Citadel’s sanctuary. Gazing skywards from a single location within the sanctuary, joints and crevices in the ceiling, and other architectural oddities, aligned to create this very symbol. The formation was no accident. Neither was its manifestation in Aryella Starling’s skin.

  Her mind racing, Cecily took in Gabryel as well. The boy was finding small relief in his apparent preservation. Stretched eyes bounced between the two spectacles while his skin faded to the color of freshly washed linens. The men in camp took notice too and their expressions were no less unmoved.

  “The monger girl!” the frozen man screamed, his sword still extended towards the heavens. “She’s a flaming witch!” At that, his comrades were yanked from their dumbfounded state and began advancing, weapons drawn.

  The following horror occurred so rapidly Cecily could not keep up. She was glad for it, and for the knots in her gut that prevented anything there from coming up.

  Without warning, the brigand’s sword-arm ripped free at the shoulder, an explosion of red sprinkling over Cecily like a spring mist. Her resulting scream was quickly muffled by a hollow crack, the sound itself, the result of his head spinning too far on his neck. As life left the man, so too did the invisible force holding him stationary, and his vacant husk crumbled to the ground.

  The earth exploded all around, rock fragments slamming into some men while others were swallowed whole by the failing crust. Still others turned on one another, swords ringing until one man lay mortally wounded at his companion’s feet. The horses vocalized their terror, breaking the lines once more, and scattering in as many directions as there were beasts. A stocky fellow simply exploded, as if the force devastating the ground had found his body instead.

  The deafening commotion was enough to bring Kadin. As their leader charged on horseback, the remaining brigands fled. They made it no farther than he. In one tremendous finale, the fleeing men were lifted high above the ravine walls, then suddenly released. Their cries led them head-first into the dirt. Kadin’s charging steed completed another beat in its streaking gait before disappearing in a cloud of fluids, Kadin himself landing awkwardly a dozen paces away. Silence returned to the gulley.