“Sir Unger, what are you doing here?” Lucas asked, voice quavering, as he finally gained the courage to step up beside Torsten.
“Saving you, apparently,” Torsten replied.
“Sir, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Save it for confession. We have work to do.”
Lucas swallowed back a retort. “Valin said the Queen Mother’s funeral is tonight,” he said instead. “It was them, I think. Just as you thought.”
“I know.”
“I’ll d…”
Uhlvark stomped again, and both of them winced.
“…distract him while you climb out,” Lucas said. “You can grab one of his men, make them lead you to the exit.”
“I don’t need guidance anymore,” Torsten said.
“What are you talking about, Sir? Just go. Leave me. It’s what I deserve.”
“Would you be quiet and listen!” Torsten seized Lucas by the shoulders and hurled him out of the way just before a large chunk of stone tossed by Uhlvark squashed him like a bug.
Lucas rolled over, and his gaze darted between Torsten and the enraged giant, who suddenly didn’t seem so dumb and innocent. Torsten stared straight in Lucas’ direction. No words needed to be said.
“How...” the young man marveled.
“Ours is never the place to ask how or why,” Torsten replied. “We are the right hand of Iam. The Sword of his justice and the Shield that guards the light of this world. And right now, Lucas, I need you to forget everything else.”
Uhlvark roared, causing the very ground to rumble and the crowd into eerie silence. Then he charged.
“What do we do?” Lucas asked, clutching his halberd tight.
“Stay away from his hands, and for Iam’s sake drop the weapon, you’ll only make him angrier.”
Lucas threw the halberd aside without asking. “Now what!”
“Move, you fool!”
Uhlvark’s boar-sized fist slammed toward Lucas, who snapped out of his state of terror and rolled aside a beat before being crushed. The crowd groaned in disappointment. Lucas didn’t have time to rest. Uhlvark moved slow, as would be expected of anything his size, but his attacks came with incredible range. A flat hand slapped down, a giant pinky clipping Lucas and knocking him into the wall.
Torsten quickly studied the pit. There were three gated passages out, including the open one where he’d emerged from. He couldn’t be sure whether or not he’d missed a stairway out of the dungeon area through there, but the risk wasn’t worth it. If they escaped through there only to find dungeons and torture chambers, they’d might as well hang themselves. The other two were locked. A fourth and larger one had two rows of retractable metal bars behind which a few cows roamed, constantly taunting Uhlvark’s stomach.
The pit wall was high, even for Torsten, and spikes capped it. He might’ve been able to climb out, but in the time it would take, he’d be caught by Valin’s men if the giant didn’t get to him first.
Motion in his peripherals stirred him, and he ducked. Uhlvark’s tree trunk arm swept overhead.
“Get over heeeeeere,” Uhlvark’s deep voice sounded. “I’m huuungry.”
He grasped at Torsten, who sidestepped. But a second hand promptly followed, and Uhlvark hooked his index finger around Torsten’s heel. He lifted, Torsten’s legs slipping out from beneath him like he’d been rammed by a zhulong.
At the same time, Lucas shouted, “Stop!” and rammed into Uhlvark’s hunched-over frame.
Torsten slipped free and sprinted for the open gate where Uhlvark’s keeper stood atop it, sneering. Promptly, the gate crashed back down. But Torsten wasn’t looking to escape just yet.
He skidded to a stop before the pile of Uhlvark’s chains. Each iron link was the size of Torsten’s head, and far heavier. But Iam had grown him abnormally large for a reason, that much was clear.
Torsten peered up and saw Lucas struggling. The young man dove through the giant’s legs before he was crushed. Uhlvark leaned over, peeking beneath his loincloth. He grasped outward for Lucas, but couldn’t find the angle and nearly rolled heels over head. If he had, Lucas surely would’ve died. Lucas could barely stand, so exhausted he was from throwing his body around.
Torsten had to gain the giant’s attention somehow.
“Coward!” someone in the crowd shouted at Torsten.
“Help him!” yelled another.
A chunk of bread pelted Torsten in the shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispered toward the ceiling as he snatched up the debris.
“If you’re so hungry, eat this, beast!” Torsten shouted. His aim with projectiles had never been his strength, but without being distracted by the details of his surroundings, it felt easier. Uhlvark was too gargantuan a mass of light and shadow to miss. The bread pelted him in the side of his mangy, balding head. By then he had Lucas lifted by the heel with two fingers. He turned toward Torsten, nostrils flaring.
“Mean man dies fiiiirst,” Uhlvark said.
He flicked Lucas aside like nothing, then barreled at Torsten. Every crash of Uhlvark’s enormous feet made it difficult for Torsten to stay upright, but he dug his feet in, bent at the knees, and wrapped his hands around the links in the heavy chain. He watched the unsightly giant closely, looking for where his muscle’s tensed. Torsten could feel the anxiousness of the crowd hopeful of satiating their blood lust.
Uhlvark punched down with both fists. It was a clumsy move, but it was clear the giant had never been trained to fight. He was all bulk and no skill.
Torsten waited until the last moment, then dove out of the way, heaving the chain with him. His shoulder apparently hadn’t been dislocated earlier, but it still burned from the weight, and as Uhlvark’s fists cracked against the wall of the arena, Torsten wrapped the chain around one wrist. The giant screamed and smacked Torsten with his other hand, sending him flying.
He rolled to a stop, dizzied from the blow. The pain in his shoulder from bashing down Valin’s door flared up worse than ever. The taste of blood filled his mouth. He fought to focus and saw Uhlvark’s fingers clenching, just out of reach of him as the giant yanked on the chain which wrapped his other arm.
“Let me go!” Uhlvark shouted as if the chain could respond.
Torsten yanked again and a few links grated, providing enough slack for the tip of his fingernail to scratch across Torsten’s face.
“Die!” Lucas yelled. At some point, he’d retrieved the halberd and slashed Uhlvark in the back of one thigh. Giant skin was tough. It had to be to endure the bitter cold of their homes in the Pikeback Mountains. The blade drew blood, but didn’t pierce deep, nor did Lucas’ second slash. It did, however, earn Uhlvark’s attention.
The giant kicked at Lucas, who abandoned the weapon and leaped onto Uhlvark’s horse-sized foot. Uhlvark shook his leg like he’d stepped in shog.
Torsten darted forward, ducking under a thrashing limb. He grabbed the heavy chain, gritting his teeth as he lifted it. He waited until the giant’s arm swung his way, then caught it with the chain. The force sent Torsten skidding back, but he stayed upright and wrapped the links around the limb, then yanked the end beneath through the giant’s legs, not daring to look up.
“Huuuuh?” Uhlvark moaned. He bent over to look back, then fell forward, his arms crossed and the chain so tight he wound up stuck. Torsten ripped Lucas free of Uhlvark’s death-clutch on the boy’s leg and pushed him aside. Then, snatching up the halberd, he leaped onto Uhlvark’s back and raised it high, with every intent on stabbing it down into Uhlvark’s neck and severing his spine.
But Torsten had fought in too many battles to remain blinded by the fog of war long. He noticed all the faces in the crowd, their tide turned, desperate for him to land a killing blow. Fickle as the seasons.
“P… p… please no hurt me no more,” Uhlvark muttered. “Pleeease.”
Uhlvark glanced over his shoulder, unable to break free. His eye went bright with fear. Tears even welled in its corner, and Torsten remember
ed that the poor being was forced to fight; turned into a plaything by greedy, salacious men.
Torsten lowered the weapon. “Lucas,” he said, turning to the boy. “Let’s go.” He extended a hand, and it took a few seconds for Lucas to gather his wits enough to take it. He climbed up using the giant’s thigh, and Torsten heaved him up.
“Get offs me!” Uhlvark roared, his back heaving. Torsten grabbed a clump of the giant’s withering hair, using it to steady himself.
“You’ll be free soon enough,” Torsten said to him as he grabbed Lucas’ wrist. Together, they stepped on the back of Uhlvark’s head and leaped into the stands, Torsten leading Lucas for once.
Gasps sounded. Every patron nearby jumped from their seat and backed away. A few of Valin’s cronies were present, including Curry, who’d allowed Torsten inside in the first place.
“How in Elsewhere...” Curry stammered. “You’re blind.”
“So are any who would feed the existence of this place,” Torsten said. He raised the halberd and pointed it at Curry, so there would be no mistaking he now saw him. “Move aside, or Iam help me, suffer the fate of the enemies of the King’s Shield.”
One of the thugs laughed. “You’re outnumbered Shieldsman.”
“Am I?”
“Lucas, stop him,” Curry said. “Stop him, and all will be forgiven. Think of your poor parents. Think of how Valin so generously rebuilt their world for you.”
Lucas stepped forward, glanced at Torsten, then back at Valin’s men. Lucas’ hair was matted to his forehead by glistening sweat. Exhaustion seemed to plague every inch of him. For a moment, Torsten was unsure, not confident his aide was truly on his side. His lead foot slowly rotated toward the kid, but then Lucas dropped into a fighting stance and faced back toward Curry.
“I know what they’d want me to do now,” Lucas said.
Torsten flashed a grin.
“Take this.” He tossed the broken halberd to Lucas, then turned toward the rock wall where Uhlvark’s chains were attached using a colossal pin. Nervous chatter broke out in the crowd. Lucas swung the halberd to keep Valin’s men at bay, who had only clubs and daggers. More, however, fought through the stands toward them.
It took every ounce of Torsten’s already near-depleted energy store, but he finally lifted the pin free. Uhlvark promptly collapsed on his side, the metal links clanking against the opening in the wall through which they had been secured by his keeper.
“Ouuuch,” he mumbled. He went to scratch his nose, and the chains slid free. “Huh?” He turned around fast, and though the other end of the chain remained around his wrists, the back side whipped up and slammed against the stands, sending rock fragments flying.
A large chunk hit Uhlvark’s keeper, pulverizing his head in an instant. The crowd broke out into a frenzy of fear. Screams echoed all around. Abigail had tried to use the giant to get Torsten out earlier, and now he cleared a path for her freedom by doing the same.
“Let’s go!” Torsten hollered.
He and Lucas took off. Curry was the only one brave enough not to abandon his post, but Lucas dodged a swing of his club and jabbed him hard in the gut with the snapped shaft of his polearm.
Getting lost in the chaos that ensued was easy. Valin’s men, nobles, Docksiders, streetwalkers—anything with a brain got caught up in the frenzy. Torsten and Lucas flowed with them, cramming down the tunnel and back upstairs into the Vineyard. Torsten was lucky for his size. Otherwise, they’d have been stampeded like some of the poor souls he heard howling in anguish behind.
They burst through the front doors, out into the cool, salty breeze of a Yarrington night. Dockside city guards converged on the street in a hurry. Without their former captain alive and in Valin’s pocket, Torsten wasn’t sure what to expect. Considering his experiences with Redstar, however, he figured the worst.
Torsten pulled Lucas out of the mob and into an alley. A blind beggar rested against the wall, a small fire burning beside him.
“I can’t believe...” Lucas paused to catch his breath. “Sir that was... That was incredible!”
“Not for those who failed to escape,” Torsten said.
“No, but we did.”
Torsten permitted himself a sigh of relief. War was about planning, layers of strategy that allowed one to react to the enemy in an informed way. It wasn’t improvising, like how Whitney Fierstown lived, yet, from the moment he left the castle to invade Valin’s Tehr’s domain, Torsten had barely a plan to run with.
“We did, indeed,” Torsten said. “And now, it’s time to end this.”
“Sir.” Lucas took Torsten’s arm. His features darkened. “I should’ve told you about Rand, Right from the start, I should have—“
“Yes, you should have. And you should have told me how Valin threatened your parents. We could have protected them.”
“I know…”
“But second chances are the way of Iam. You will be disciplined accordingly; however, now is not the time.”
“No, we have to stop Valin. Look.” Lucas reached down and pulled a tiny shred of paper from within his boot. He held it up for Torsten to read.
“I can see, but not that well,” Torsten realized, seeing only the shape of it.
“It’s Yuri Darkings’s signature and the last bit of the letter, ‘Get him here!’. I’m pretty sure Valin burned the rest, but I managed to hide this. It’s not much.”
“Let’s pray it’ll be enough,” Torsten said, taking it from Lucas. He clasped the boy by the forearm and shook. “Faith will handle the rest. Good job. I knew you’d be a fine Shieldsman one day.”
“I hope so, sir. Now, let’s get it to the King.”
“No. I’m going to stop Valin, and you’re going to get your parents to safety so they can never be used against you again.”
“What?” Lucas asked, incredulous.
“Go to them, Lucas. Valin might still have them under watch as insurance. Get them to the castle, and we’ll find somewhere new for them. Perhaps Troborough or Oxford, somewhere in need of fine food to brighten their spirits.”
“But Sir, what if you need my help?”
“The Glass Castle hasn’t forgotten me yet. I’ll be fine. Now go. That’s an order.” Torsten gave the boy a shove back toward the street. Lucas staggered and stared back. Torsten hated to be ungrateful for the modicum of sight he’d received, but he’d give Salvation itself if only to recognize the gratitude in the boy’s eyes.
“Iam bless you, Sir Unger,” Lucas said, breathless, then he scampered off.
Torsten squeezed what tiny shred of proof he had about Valin’s worst crime as he gazed up toward the Glass Castle’s spire casting its false light across all of Yarrington. Beneath it, the funeral for Oleander was being held; a sham designed by the man who’d caused her death.
“Not tonight,” Torsten whispered, a harsh edge entering his tone. “Not tonight.”
XXXVIII
THE THIEF
It took most of the day, but Whitney and his wagon full of refugees finally made it back to Fettingborough. None of them had planned for the return trip, it just seemed the most logical thing to do. For one, there was very little chance the Drav Cra would escape the bridge and decide to go back to Fettingborough. Whitney and his crew were worthless after being used to make the Glassmen hesitate.
The other reason Fettingborough made the most sense was it was one of the final communities until Panping. The Wildlands still stretched out before them, and although Whitney didn’t expect to find anything worse out there than a Drav Cra army, there would undoubtedly be the regular manner of beasts: lions, bears, your occasional goblin horde. Just like anyone in the Glass Kingdom, Whitney’d heard all the stories about bloodthirsty humanoid goblins living in primitive villages at the base of the Dragon’s Tail and sacrificing virgins to the sun and stars—but he was one of the few who’d encountered them in person. They were little more than scaly little lizard creatures that stood on two legs most of the time. They didn�
��t speak. He questioned whether they even thought. And they certainly didn’t wield spears or wear armor. They were, by far, the least threatening predator in the Wildlands.
For most, being back in Fettingborough conjured up bad memories, but no one complained at the opportunity to stretch their legs. The Drav Cra had left the village mostly intact. Now in the daylight, it was clear that about half the population of the place was left alive to grieve for those lost and others maybe never to return. They were all just tools for taking the bridge and making threats. The Five Round Trousers looked mostly the same as it had the night before, and the basement was still stocked with food and ale. The Drav Cra had been hasty and sloppy in plundering supplies.
Whitney felt a little bad, like he was stealing from the barmaid he’d met in his cage, but he was sure she’d have wanted the escapees to get a bit of respite.
The thought of her brought a pang of guilt. Had he left all those people to die back on the bridge? Would Rand actually try and help them? Whitney thought for sure the man had decided to grab the Caleef and high-tail it as soon as he’d stepped foot onto the bridge.
Whitney found a new room at the Five Round Trousers that wasn’t scorched by Aquira, and Gentry got his own since there weren’t many travelers left to take the rooms. There was nobody to pay for them either.
Gentry hadn’t spoken much since the return. He’d been through a traumatic experience and needed some alone time to process it all. They all would. Aquira wouldn’t leave Whitney’s side. He practically had to beg her to stay with Gentry so the boy would feel safe and promised if she did, he’d find a way to remove her crude muzzle as quickly as possible. There weren’t any locks so he wasn’t sure what to do yet.
Benon and another man Whitney didn’t know were off in the fields behind town burying Conmonoc alongside many locals. Some of the others joined them to say words, but most stayed in town, eating their fill and resting. A priest of Iam would’ve been nice to ease emotions—Whitney didn’t believe in much, but those eyeless weirdos always knew just what to say—but they were all still off in Hornsheim playing house. The church itself was empty but for a local woman and her kids, kneeling before the Eye of Iam and asking “why.”
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