A March of Woe

by Aaron Bunce

  “Piss. You’ve nothing to apologize for, just me being nosey. What happened, if you–” Aida started to say, just as someone passed by, their heavy cloak swishing as they settled into the chair opposite the sleeping woman.

  “My father and I went north to help a friend find his missing children. We encountered a rather nasty death fisher…I being the lucky one,” Dylan said, gesturing to his face, “Well, the blasted thing spit in my face. The venom…it took my eyes.”

  “You poor thing,” Aida whispered, listening, but unable to look away from the new arrival. The man was short; at least she thought it was a man, as their heavy cloak obscured almost their entire body. With their large hood pulled down, and the fire behind them, Aida couldn’t see their face.

  A familiar and uncomfortable pinch formed in her gut. She knew the feeling well. In her profession, she’d been forced to entertain all sorts of men. Some meek, others simply lonely or road weary, but others were wretched, cruel, and sometimes dangerous. Many girls were beaten or mutilated. Some disappeared. But not Aida. She’d learned to listen and watch for the signs, and when her body warned her, she listened.

  “This is a nice, warm little spot you all have found here,” the man said, his voice gravely and strangely muffled. He shifted on the chair, pulling his cloak open and revealing dark padded armor.

  “Quite warm, especially with such bitter wind from the mountains,” Dylan offered. He shifted on the bench next to her, and started humming a tune under his breath. His voice was soft and melodic. She listened, his presence helping bolster her nerves.

  “I hope that you fine folk do not mind if I share your fire,” the cloaked man said. “You see, I’m hoping that you will be able to aid me. I am supposed to meet some travel companions, but I fear they have become turned around in the storm – perhaps you have seen them. He is a seasoned man of many thaws, with silvered hair and eyes like the bluest ice. He is traveling with a young woman.”

  “Many a’ folk could fit that description, sir. We’re all just weary travelers, too. Cannot you leave us be?” the man seated nearest the fire, groused. He wore a long beard, his eyes sunken and weary. “Damned hells, folk are in, out, and through King’s Fall day, night, and all hours between. Best you put your eyes to work…sure’n that’s the fastest way to be finding ‘em.”

  The large, bearded man shifted as he spoke, jarring the woman next to him awake. She grunted, wiped her mouth, and sat up.

  “King’s Fall? Ironic, don’t you think. They used to call this quaint town King’s Rise. Devoted folks lived here, praising their sovereign and serving the kingdom. Now, only talk of the council fills the taverns and shops…” the cloaked man said, trailing off.

  “What does that matter? Talk of kings and councils matters little to us. Those pompous, frilly men will do what they like, and not waste one moment listening to commoners like us,” the bearded man shot back.

  “It matters more than you realize, friend,” the cloaked man responded, quietly, but he turned to the formerly sleeping woman before he could respond. “A seasoned man, have you seen one? Silvered hair with eyes like ice, madam?”

  “Uh…I be Margaret,” she slurred, sleepily, surprised by his sudden attention.

  “Margaret,” the man said, his gravelly voice wrapping around her name.

  “Yes…yes,” she replied, moving nervously in the seat. “An elderly man with silver hair, and a…? Gerald you would know, you like watching people come and go. Help, why don’t you? Help him find his companion. You are always boasting about how nothing gets past your notice.”

  “Gah, woman! Enough! Bad enough we’re bothered, you don’t need to go nosing around as soon as some stranger starts asking you questions,” the bearded man, Gerald, protested, turning more fully to the fire.

  The two men seated furthest from the fire tapped their pipes against chair legs, emptying the ash onto the floor, and excused themselves. Aida watched them leave, the cloaked figure tracking them all the way to the stairs.

  “Margaret, he is not elderly, but not young either –a seasoned man with short, silver hair. The young woman, I confess, I do not know,” the cloaked man said, turning and leaning a little closer towards Margaret. She nodded eagerly, leaning forward as well.

  Aida recognized the signs. Margaret was nosey – the kind of woman always fussing over others’ affairs, likely sharing gossip with the old crones and unmarried biddies.

  “I…I understand. Well, tis a shame, I mean for your companions to be lost in the snow,” she sputtered, reaching out to pat him on the knee, but pulled back instead, wringing her boney hands together and bunching up the fabric of her dress, “quite a few travelers have come and gone–”

  “I must confess,” the cloaked man said, interrupting her, “this man means a great deal to me. You see, I’m not sure if I could live with myself if something were to happen to him. He is somewhere, cold and alone.” The door to the inn opened, allowing a billowing gust of air into the confined space. Aida shivered, rubbing her arms. Margaret looked to the door, back to the cloaked man, and then to Gerald, her face drawn with concern.

  Aida tried to appear disinterested, but watched in horror as Margaret grew increasingly agitated.

  “That is horrible!” she said, angrily, turning to the rest of the group. “I been sleeping. I ain’t paid attention to no one coming, nor going. Ain’t none of you decent people…want to help a man find his special folk?” Margaret added frantically, and turned on her mate. “You been awake this whole time, Gerald. You seen who he is looking for, I just know it. You have…hasn’t ya? Tell the nice man, tell him!!!

  Gerald ignored her, however, which only drove her deeper into her mania. She clawed at Gerald’s arm, and then turned angrily on the others. “Ain’t none of you got anything to say? This…good man needs our lookin’ after and you all sit suckin’ yer tongues!”

  “Thank you, Margaret!” the cloaked man said.

  Aida looked up to find the cloaked man’s seat empty. When did he stand? She hadn’t heard him get out of the chair.

  “My name is Balin,” he said, suddenly, standing on the other side of the fire. The rest of the group started, just then noticing him. “I was hoping to find help here, but instead am treated with silence. I can feel the secrets seeping off of you. They taint the air like a foul, oil cloud. I will scour this shitty little village, until I find who I am looking for…if I have to. But before I do, you people are going to tell me what I want to know.”

  “Yes…yes! I will!” Margaret cried, almost falling out of her chair as she dove at the small man’s feet. He pulled away, melting into the shadowed corner. The older woman doubled over, crying pathetically, her hands searching the darkness. Margaret turned around, whining pathetically. Balin appeared again half a dozen paces away, standing casually behind an empty chair.

  Margaret spun around and noticed him, just as her husband pulled her back into her seat. “What’s wrong with you, woman?” he asked, and then stood. “It’s you! You worked her up something fierce…and…and gave her a fit,” he grumbled, straightening and standing from his chair.

  “Gerald, you are calm,” the cloaked man said.

  Gerald promptly fell back into his chair, tumbling as if he had been pushed. Balin appeared behind him, the fight melting away from the larger man as a blade glinted against his neck.

  “I am calm,” Gerald whispered back, lifting his head to pull away from the blade.

  Aida watched the blade, terrified that it would open the man’s neck at any moment, her heart pounding like a trapped rabbit in her chest. Gerald had been sitting before the fire when she and Brother Dalman arrived. He’d seen them enter together. He would tell him exactly who she was, and then she would die.

  Run! Aida shifted to stand, but a strong grip latched onto her wrist and pulled her back down. She struggled for a moment, but Dylan was strong, and pulled her closer.

  “Young woman,” Gerald mumbled, his arm rising to point directly at her. “T
his one…she come in just a bit ago…with a man. I swear she did. She did. She did.” The large man’s body began to shake as he spoke, tears threatening to break free from his eyes.

  “Well, that news pleases me very much, Gerald,” Balin said, and pulled the knife away. He moved to his left, until he was standing directly across from Aida.

  “Can it be, girl? Are you the one I am looking for?”

  Aida refused to look up and meet his gaze. She was terrified of what she would see, so she shook her head in a silent denial.

  “Oh, but Gerald, she denies it. And she sits hand in hand with a handsome young man. A lover…perhaps a suitor? Surely he hasn’t seen enough thaws to be the aged man I am seeking. Look, Gerald, he doesn’t have silver hair,” Balin said, sliding back behind the bearded man.

  “No, sir, I’m sorry. I mean, yes, sir. But I seen him, or, her, together,” Gerald blubbered.

  Balin struck the older man hard across the head with a fist, knocking him from the chair and silencing him.

  “But that leads me to ask…are you that young lady? The one good Gerald saw walk in to this inn? The same one people outside saw walking into town not long ago?” he returned his attention to Aida, and this time she didn’t look away in time.

  The fire’s dancing light penetrated the shadow of his hood, glinting off something hard. It wasn’t his face, but something hard. Like a mask.

  “Is he still out there in the cold, alone? You would be saving his life, after all, aged men do so easily catch ill in this wicked weather,” he added.

  Aida could feel him edging closer, his words tainting the air between them and prying into her head.

  Run…Run, must go. I am going to die. The little voice screamed into her mind.

  “I’m not…” she finally managed to say, pushing her thoughts into the special secluded part of her mind. To the cabin in the glen, her sanctuary, next to the bubbling brook, where she escaped when nasty men forced themselves on top of her. She pictured the wicker rocker sitting before the hearth, a happy fire crackling beneath a steaming kettle. But his voice was there too, echoing out of the shadows. It wrapped around her, pulling her out of the chair and away from the protective walls of her cabin.

  “Girl, it is rude to not look at someone when they speak to you!”

  Aida didn’t consciously lift her gaze, but she was looking into his face in the next moment. It wasn’t a man’s face, but a melted and monstrous approximation of every nightmare she’d ever had. Her thoughts spiraled around and around in the horrible, green eyes hovering beyond the slits of his dark mask.

  She didn’t just want to run, but she wanted to run far, far away, where his face could never find her.

  Chapter Six

  Siege

  Tanea braced against the wall as the ground shook, dust rattling down from above. A ferocious crash reverberated somewhere in the distance. It could have been a building, or it could have been the rest of the city tumbling into a giant hole in the ground.

  “Grab those iron candlesticks, yes, those ones,” Nirnan yelled, grabbing boys and men alike and shoving them forward. “Wedge them in the window shutters. Bar that door…and smash those benches. Use the wood to brace… everything!” The big man continued to yell, pointing and directing the clerics and robed servants, pushing them off seemingly in every direction.

  “This building will not hold them out. We should look for another way out…get out of the city,” Tanea said, coming forward as soon as the big man turned around.

  Nirnan glanced towards the large door, before turning back. Tanea watched the big man, her heart fluttering anxiously in her chest. With the city crumbling around them, she knew they should be doing something. Every moment counted, and they were wasting too many of them.

  “Here…” Nirnan wrapped his hands around her arms and pulled her forward, stopping and turning her towards the large front doors. “I don’t know how you did that outside, but we need your fire. If this door gives way, they’ll overrun us in a wink.”

  Nirnan started to walk away, but Tanea caught him by the shirt and turned with him.

  “And do what?”

  “Bring down your fire, just like before,” he said, “leave ‘em smoldering husks like the ones outside.”

  “I don’t…” she stammered. They locked eyes. She saw his fear and uncertainty. “It’s more likely I bring the whole building down on top of us. I don’t know how I did it! I mean I just asked Mani to do it, but I can’t control it!”

  “Listen. I don’t know what we’re supposed to do, I’m not Ama’lik. I don’t know strategy. I’m a soldier. I just need time…a moment, to think. We don’t have the weapons to protect ourselves out there. But we can fortify this space, for now, at least for a little bit. I don’t know…” Nirnan shook his head in frustration. “We just need to hold those beasts off for as long as we can, and then maybe, well maybe help will come.” Nirnan finished speaking just as another crash shook the building, his mouth scrunching up beneath his reddish beard

  “Help, from where? There is no force large enough to take the city back a hundred leagues from here,” Tanea argued. She knew she had to convince him that they needed to flee the Chapterhouse, and the city. The further they went the better.

  “I don’t know!” the big man exclaimed. He turned and bellowed at Tristan, who led a group of clerics into the sanctuary from a side passage. They moved like a flitting, scared flock of birds.

  White Lady, how do I help them? She pressed a palm against her chest as her heart fluttered. It felt like a butterfly was trapped inside of her, its wings tapping lightly against her heart. The room tilted suddenly, and an image appeared in her mind. She saw a dark tunnel, old bones and candles littering the ground. There was a bright opening ahead, a solitary, dark figure standing in its center.

  Tanea snapped back from the strange vision. Yes, the old tunnels. But El’bryliz told her that there was no way out back there. That they were a warren of isolated passageways cut off from everything.

  “There is another door, a small one, through the kitchens. It leads to a courtyard surrounded by a wall. Beyond the wall is a small garden and a path cut in the stone, leading back around to the Bringenhald gardens. They’ll find the path and make their way here, if they haven’t already,” El’bryliz said quietly, appearing suddenly behind Nirnan. “The door in the kitchens is small, but strong. It can be locked and barred from the inside. That is the route I had Tanea use when she escaped this place.” The young man clutched the bloody bandage on his hand, his face pale and drawn.

  Tanea took a single step towards him, but froze as the doors to the chapterhouse shook behind her, the boom filling the cavernous sanctuary.

  “We’ve got a siege now! They’ll be turning our own damned city against us,” Nirnan said, his large hands shooting out to his side, barring her protectively. Tanea grabbed his arm and tried to move past, but he felt like a block of solid stone.

  “He needs–” she started to say, but the doors crashed again, this time much louder. Wood fibers stretched and groaned, the iron fittings hugging the heavy stone ringing like a struck bell.

  “That door won’t hold too many of those,” Banner, the smaller of the two archers, said as he jogged up.

  Nirnan dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his face wearily. “It holds, or it doesn’t. If they find the path to the garden wall, we’ll have them bearing down on us from two directions. Can we escape down the path beyond the wall?” he asked.

  El’bryliz shook his head, his eyes ringed by dark shadow. He slumped towards the floor suddenly. “It just leads back out to Bringenhald Square and the fountains. The square is surrounded by cliff walls almost one hundred paces high.”

  “We brace the doors then,” Banner offered, grabbing a tall, thin cleric by the tunic as he tried to bustle by. “You, do you know your way to the kitchens? Good. Run there as fast as you can. Bar the door, stack anything against it you can find…barrels, boxes, an oven! The heavier,
the better. If anything tries to come through it…yell and die gloriously!”

  The cleric, wild-eyed and sobbing, nodded violently, sprinting out of the sanctuary once Banner released his hold.

  “It’s not enough. None of this is. We should go. Get everyone together and leave. There is another way out, an older way,” she said, pulling on Nirnan’s shirt until the fabric tore.

  “We pile something up and block it?” Banner asked, gesturing towards the large doors as they shook again, talking over Tanea.

  Nirnan nodded, his large eyes scanning the room. He seemed to be taking stock of everything in the wide space. He mouthed something silently, before finally speaking. “Benches, cabinets, robes, and scrolls. We could pile all of that up before those doors, but if they come down, they’ll take all of it with them. The windows are iron banded, and shuttered. They’re stout and should hold for a time. But if we can bar these doors, we only need secure and guard the door in the kitchens as well. This one,” he said taking a step towards the main doors, “we need to brace it. Nail a locking back across the top and bottom, and wedge beams between the door and the ground.”

  “We need lumber to do that, and time. We don’t have either,” Tristan said as the door shuddered violently, his hand twitching to his shoulder, to where a quiver would normally hang. “Why are we fussing with a door when the ground could fall out beneath us at any moment? I’m sorry, but did you see that out there? It’s like the ground swallowed half the city, and vomited those creatures from this land’s stinkin’ bowels.”

  Tanea nodded, feeling a rush of relief as the second archer appeared to agree with her. But before she could speak up, the argument continued.

  “We have no bows, no arrows. Sixth arm, Nirnan, we haven’t armor, or suitable blades. Say we bar the door. Great, but Tristan is right. What are we to do, beat off the beasts with candlesticks and dusty tomes when they get in here?” Banner asked angrily, “and they will get in here. Either breach their way in through the windows, or hells, pull down the stinkin’ walls. One way or the other, they will.”