by R. S. Ford
‘We must leave,’ she said.
Livia’s heart leapt. Escape at last. She moved to follow the woman but then stopped.
What was this? Yet another rescue by someone who wanted to use her? Was she to flee the hands of one captor to fall into the grip of another?
The woman stared at her with those cold blue eyes. ‘You must come now. There is no time.’
‘Who are you?’ Livia whispered.
‘I am here to help. Now you must come with me, before it is too late. You do not realise what is at stake.’
‘How do I know I can trust you?’ Livia asked, desperate for some reason, any reason, she could flee with this woman.
Those blue eyes glanced down at the storehouse below. No one had stirred yet and the woman continued. ‘We are bound, you and I. We are of the same ilk. You must know that. Look inside and ask yourself. You will know you can trust me.’
Livia stared at the woman, the contours of her face seeming to solidify in the dark. There was something overwhelmingly familiar about her, as though they had shared a past Livia had somehow forgotten. Try as she might though, Livia could not conjure the memory.
‘What is your name?’ Livia asked.
‘I am Silver,’ said the woman. ‘But the time for questions is later. For now, we must go.’
Silver rose to her feet, taking a step back as Livia stood up beside her. The woman wasn’t tall but there was an aura of power that surrounded her. She was dangerous, of that Livia had no doubt.
The woman climbed out through the glassless skylight, nimbly pulling herself onto the roof. Quietly as she could, Livia followed, struggling out onto the rickety tiles. The city seemed oddly subdued as Livia stood on the roof, looking across the distant towers and out onto the sea. The sun was rising over the distant horizon, bathing the buildings in an ominous red hue.
Silently, Silver led her across the roof, but as Livia followed she heard one of the slates crack beneath her foot. Half the tile slid down the face of the rooftop. Livia stared at it in dismay, until it tipped over the guttering. There was silence for a moment. Livia held her breath in anticipation until the smash of slate made her gasp.
Silver didn’t hesitate, moving swiftly across the roof, and Livia took that as her cue to follow. The woman reached the end of the building and leapt, spanning the gap to the next building. Livia got to the edge and stopped.
‘Come on,’ urged Silver.
Livia looked down into the yawning darkness. A glance back and she saw a masked warrior already climbing up through the open skylight. Livia felt panic grip her and she turned, leaping before she could think.
Her foot slipped as she landed on the opposite rooftop, another loose slate moving beneath her foot. Livia felt her balance shift and she reached out for help. Silver stood back, just watching without emotion. Livia’s hands grasped at the smooth slate of the roof and she managed to gain her balance, cursing her clumsiness, cursing this woman for not helping, cursing her pursuers for forcing her into this. But she had little time to rant, as Silver turned and moved on, forcing Livia to act on instinct and follow.
Silver led the way, her pace inhumanly swift, every step measured and perfectly placed. She was like a panther picking her way across well-trodden terrain. Livia stumbled after, her eyes wide as she tried not to trip in the morning light. Behind her she could hear her pursuers. As she jumped over a low wall, Silver was waiting.
‘Don’t wait for me,’ said the woman, slowly drawing her sword.
Livia allowed herself another brief glance back, seeing three of the desert warriors pursuing them. Silver waited for them with sword drawn. It seemed a suicidal move, but Livia was too caught up in her bid for escape to care. She crested another low wall and dropped down to the street below.
As she hit the cobbles she heard the clash of steel. That was the only sound – no desperate grunting as swords met, no stumbling footfalls as the fighters tried to gain purchase – just metal striking metal in a rhythmic staccato.
Livia knew she should run, putting as much distance between her and the fighters as possible, but instead she remained in the alley listening to the ringing sounds above.
Almost as soon as it began the combat ended. Silver dropped down from the roof above to land beside Livia, barely making a sound. Her breathing was even, not a bead of sweat on her brow, but the blade she held in her hand was slick, her sleeve spattered with what looked like black oil in the morning light.
Silver didn’t speak, just led the way once more. Livia dogged her heels as they ran through the narrow twisting passageways. Nothing stirred in the silent morning bar beggars and drunks as they threaded their way through the city. Excitement built within Livia as escape began to look like a real prospect. Whoever this woman was she surely offered a better option than enslavement to some Ramadi cult.
Silver led them out into a small courtyard, surrounded by high-sided dwellings. She stopped, raising a hand, and Livia came to a stumbling halt behind her. Slowly, from the shadows ahead, stepped a tall figure in a pristine red tunic, hunter’s eyes focused on his prey.
‘Run,’ said Silver, pointing to an adjacent alleyway.
Livia just had time to see Dantar draw his blade slowly, moving into a defensive stance, before she obeyed Silver, running down the alley as fast as she could.
The city was starting to wake as she ran from the sound of swordplay. Faces peered from doorways as she sped past, half-naked figures stumbling into the half-light at the prospect of witnessing violence.
Livia was hopelessly lost in a city of strangers, her breath becoming laboured as she ran endlessly through the narrow streets. Her path came to an abrupt stop, the street ending in a low ledge that looked out onto the harbour. She peered over, seeing a long drop to the cobbles below. If she could make the fall without breaking something maybe she could make it to one of the boats. Perhaps there was someone in this godsforsaken place who might take her to safety.
‘Livia, don’t run.’
She turned to see Kaleb, surprised by the relief she felt at the sight of him.
‘I can’t stay here,’ she said, edging back to the wall. ‘I won’t be made a sacrifice. I won’t be used as anyone’s pawn in some game.’
Kaleb lowered his eyes to the ground, his brow furrowing as he fought with whatever feelings roiled within him.
‘Then you must flee,’ he said, looking up at her. ‘Far away where no one knows who or what you are.’
That had been the last thing she expected from him. So far all he had demonstrated was blind devotion to his brotherhood. Only now could she see the conflict within him.
‘Come with me,’ Livia said.
Kaleb stared at her, considering the words. ‘I cannot,’ he said finally.
‘Yes, you can,’ she replied. ‘We can go together. Far from here. We can be free. You have a choice, Kaleb. Stay and be a slave, or run with me and be free.’
She could see he battled with the choice. It was clear he yearned to be as free as she did. Eventually he nodded his head as he realised there was nothing to stop them.
‘Very well,’ said Kaleb. ‘I choose freedom.’
45
THROUGH the window Josten could see the sky had turned from black to grey. He had no idea how long he’d been lying there staring into the dark but there was no chance he’d sleep now. He should have been exhausted, should have slept for a week, but there was no time for that. Sleep was an indulgence he couldn’t afford.
They’d spent the day searching for any sign of this Qeltine Brotherhood but with little joy. It seemed Livia and her captors had simply disappeared. The chances of them finding her now were all but gone.
Randal was snoring in the opposite bed. Josten rose, bending his neck to one side and hearing the sinews crack within. All the while he couldn’t take his eyes off the tallyman. Again, he asked himself why he shouldn’t kill the little fucker right now. It would be so easy – just creep across the room and clamp hands around that t
hroat. It would stop the snoring at least. But Josten knew he couldn’t. Randal was the only ally he had in this place, maybe even in the whole fucking world. Even an ally he wanted dead was still an ally.
A noise from outside prompted him to move to the window. As he listened he heard the unmistakeable sounds of violence. Josten wasn’t surprised that in a city such as this there’d be a fight when anyone with any sense would be asleep.
He leaned against the lintel, squinting out into the gloom. There was a grey haze hanging over this place to accompany the stale smell rising from the streets.
It was just bright enough for him to see her run below his window, her hair a dishevelled mess, bare feet clapping against the cobbles.
Livia.
‘On your fucking feet, Randal,’ he shouted, racing across the room. As much as he hated to admit it, there was every chance he’d need Randal’s help if Livia was fleeing from someone.
‘What?’ Randal replied, rising from his bed like he’d been bitten by a snake.
‘She’s here,’ was all he had a chance to say before he ran from the room and down the stairs.
The ground floor of the bunkhouse was a mess of drunken, slumbering slavers and warriors in outlandish armour. Josten had the sense to strip a sword from the scabbard of one sleeping warrior as he moved past, heading out of the front door before its owner could wake. If Livia was running, then most likely someone was after her. Josten wasn’t about to face them with nothing but his dick in his hand.
Out on the street he turned left, following in Livia’s wake, his own bare feet clapping on the cobbles. He could still hear the sound of fighting, but it was a distant echo along the narrow alleyways.
Josten raced along the path, feeling excitement grip his gut as he ran until the cobbled street ended abruptly, the dock appearing just beyond it. Livia stood at the end of the street, her face flushed in the morning haze. Josten stuttered to a halt as he saw the man beside her.
A man he recognised.
The cripple stood tall, the scars that had once marred his face now faded. Livia stared at him, this man who had abducted her, but there was no fear in her face.
She looked up as Josten came into view and the man she was with turned. The three of them regarded each other until Josten said, ‘Livia, come with me.’
He expected her to rush forward and take his outstretched hand, to flee from the man who had stolen her away, but she paused.
‘I—’ was all she had time to say before Randal came running up behind Josten, huffing breath coming quick and heavy.
‘Livia, come on,’ said Josten.
‘What are you doing with him?’ she said, staring with hate at Randal.
‘It’s a long story. But you have to trust me.’
She shook her head. ‘No. I can’t—’
It was all she had a chance to say before the cripple walked forward. Whatever had ailed him before was most definitely gone, and he strode confidently.
‘You must leave,’ he said.
‘Like fuck I will,’ Josten replied, stepping forward, his stolen sword held low and ready.
His thrust was true. The cripple stepped aside as though Josten were shoving the sword through tar. Almost too quick to see, the flat of the cripple’s hand struck Josten in the jaw.
Next thing he knew, he was lying on the ground. Everything span, the cobbles cold against his cheek.
‘Get up!’ shouted Randal.
Josten staggered to his feet, seeing the sword lying useless on the ground. ‘Where?’ he said, seeing through his groggy vision that Livia and the cripple had fled.
Randal pointed toward the low wall. ‘That way.’
Josten picked up the sword, stumbling as his head cleared. When he reached the wall, he saw Livia and her cripple running to the dock. He looked down, head spinning at the drop. It was a long way down but an awning was spread across the bottom. It must have broken their fall.
Without thinking, Josten flung himself over the wall. The awning was surprisingly solid as he hit it. A crack and a tear and he hit the cobbled ground below, all the air shooting out of him. The sword went spinning from his grip, clattering to a halt a few feet away.
Josten hauled himself to his feet once more. His shoulder was aching from the fall, his head still spinning, but nothing would hold him back. He’d come too far to be stopped now.
Livia was in the distance, the cripple pulling her along toward a waiting ship. Josten lurched to the fallen sword, his foot catching a loose cobble and sending him sprawling to the ground. His hand reached out for the weapon, but a red-booted foot stamped down on it before his fingers could close around the handle.
Josten looked up in time to see a face regarding him, dark brows over an animal stare. The warrior held a naked blade in one hand and his arm was wounded, blood running slick down his crimson sleeve. He raised his blade dispassionately, a butcher at the block.
Before the blow could land a second blade stopped it mere inches from Josten’s neck, the ring of their clashing almost deafening his left ear. As his wits fast returned, he rolled aside and rose groggily to his feet.
With his head clearing, Josten saw he’d been saved by a woman. She stood in a defensive stance, weapon locked with that of the red warrior. The two stared at one another, weapons crossed, unmoving.
‘Josten!’
He turned, seeing Randal standing behind him, pointing out towards the wharf. In the distance, he could see Livia aboard a ship, the mariners on deck unfurling sails, oars being raised by burly rowers.
Josten ignored everything else. He had to reach the ship.
As he sprinted toward the dock, more warriors came rushing from the shadows, faces covered by masks, their torsos wrapped in leather bindings, swords at the ready. They were barring his way, but as much as he wanted to smash his way through them and get to the ship he could see they meant business. There was no way out of this other than being hacked to death on the dock.
The woman who had saved him didn’t feel the same.
She came charging past him, throwing herself into the fray, taking on every one of the masked warriors like a demon.
Josten would have liked to help – he had a debt to pay after all – but instead he dodged through the fray, determined to reach the ship that was already pulling away from the jetty.
The red-robed warrior who had tried to decapitate him was sprinting for the ship too. Josten’s legs were pumping, his feet splashing along the wet dock, but there was no way he could match the warrior. He watched in vain as the man leapt the gap to the ship, clearing the bulwark and landing on deck with feline deftness. All Josten could do was come to a stuttering stop at the edge of the harbour, watching helplessly as the ship pulled away.
Livia stood at the prow looking at him, her brow creased in confusion. Josten could only watch as she disappeared into the distance, the ship cruising beneath the huge bridge that linked the two halves of the city.
Josten turned, remembering the woman who had saved him had run headlong into a group of swordsmen. He expected to see her corpse lying in the street, but instead she stood tall, not even out of breath. At her feet were three corpses, and Randal stood to one side with a look of stunned amazement on his face.
Josten approached them, unsure of what to say. This woman had saved his life but she had a wild look to her, as though she might just as easily turn that blade on him.
‘We have to find her,’ said the woman before either of them could speak. ‘We must follow, before it’s too late.’
Josten shook his head. ‘What’s all this “we”? I appreciate the help, but we don’t even know who you are.’
She looked him in the eye. Josten wouldn’t have wanted to admit just how unnerving that was. ‘You need my help, Josten Cade.’
The fact she knew his name was even more unnerving. ‘Look, I don’t know who you are, but—’
‘We could use all the help we can get,’ said Randal.
‘No one asked yo
u!’ Josten jabbed a finger at the tallyman, who raised his hands in surrender.
‘All right, you’re the one with the sword. Though I didn’t see it do you any good when you were being beaten by an unarmed man.’
Josten had no reply to that.
He turned back to the woman.
‘What’s your name? And how do you know mine?’
She sheathed her blade. ‘I am Silver. And I know many things. Things that will help us find Livia before it is too late.’
‘Things like what?’ asked Josten, wondering just what he was letting himself in for.
Silver turned back to him. ‘For one, I know where they’re taking her.’
That one made him think. Josten knew time was against them. He could spend all day weighing up the whys and wherefores.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Let’s get moving.’
* * *
For twenty days and twenty nights did I wander the desert. As my body deteriorated in the searing heat, so did my mind. My eyes began to play tricks on me as thirst plagued my every step.
On that twentieth night, twelve moons appeared in the sky, each a different hue, each imbued with symbols in a language I could not comprehend. But I was grateful for their illumination, for it laid a path in the night to my salvation.
A ziggurat of desert-worn stone loomed from the dark. It was a foreboding place, all alone amidst the endless sand, but I was too desperate to be wary of it. Half-dead from exposure I stumbled inside, wondering if this place would deliver me from the clutches of the Reaver, or become my eventual tomb.
Within was only blackness and I lurched blindly through corridors for what seemed an age. Eventually, just as I was ready to give up my journey and curl up in the dark to die, I came out into a giant chamber. The roof lay open, allowing the bright moonlight to illuminate a stone well in the centre of the room.
Words cannot express how I felt as I staggered towards it, delirium teasing the frayed edges of my consciousness. I drank long and deep. Soon I succumbed to the fugue, and my body sagged beside the life-giving well. It was then I was blessed with my vision.
