by David Ekrut
Jax flipped his legs over the rail of the balcony and quickly climbed down the side of the Lord of Wiltshire’s manor home. Daren still stared at the boy with a panicked expression, like a monotooth struck on the nose with a sweaty kerchief.
Dragons take him if he didn’t have to do everything. Pulling his dagger, he placed it on the kid’s throat. “What the thump are you doing here, kid? Did Brinnon send you?”
“Who?” he asked, clearly not knowing the name. “I’m just trying to get away from—”
“No time, Jax.” Daren pointed up.
“Hey you, stop! Thieves!”
Jax didn’t need to glance up to the balcony to see their perfect heist had been completely spoiled. Fortunately, he did look. In doing so, he was aware of the heavy crossbow bolt aimed at his face. On the other side of the hedges, he heard the footsteps of the angry mob. How in the thumping ninth circle of the abyss had this happened?
Jax sheathed his dagger, giving the men on the balcony his full attention. He held his hands high enough to appear unthreatening. Still, the bastards took aim. He didn’t wait for them to fire. He dove to the side. The bolts struck the dirt where he’d been the moment before.
“Curse it all. This way!”
Glad to have set up a contingency for an expeditious retreat, he ran for the back of the manor. He glanced to see the kid following behind Daren. His expression was decisively calm for one so young, running for his life. This was definitely not his first experience in a pinch. No matter. They could puzzle out the young man and who sent him later. First, they needed to determine how to elude those guardians on the street before Lord Wiltshire’s soldiers shot them in the backs.
“Wait,” the boy said. “I can get us out of this.” He began mumbling some strange words.
Jax struck his arm. “Stop that. We need to move.”
The kid reeled back as if Jax had punched him. He clutched at his head. Blood trickled from his nose. His cheeks paled. He wiped at the blood and looked at the crimson stain on his hand, confused.
He spoke as if in a daze. “Nothing like that has happened before.”
“Jax,” Daren said, pointing to a small wagon beside a lean-to. It held tools and items for maintaining a garden. It was tall enough to give them a boost up the wall.
“Makeshift ladder,” Jax said, veering toward the cart. “Good eye.”
Daren threw the artifact into the back of the wagon, gripped the neck-yoke, sized for a single horse, and lifted. He turned and pulled for a few seconds before the wheels let loose of the dirt and rolled forward.
The kid still stood there as if in a daze. His eyes were fixed on nothing. Not his problem. This debacle was the boy’s fault to begin with. Let him stare like a simpleton. Beyond the manor, Jax could see the mob rounding the hedge.
“Help me,” Daren said between his teeth. “Push from the rear.”
Jax ran around to the back of the cart and pushed as Daren pulled. It moved very slowly. This wasn’t going to work.
“Snap out of it, kid. We are all going to die here. Thumping move.”
Finally, the boy’s eyes focused. He shook his head, noticed the mob, and moved in beside Jax. They pushed while Daren heaved from the other end. A baby could crawl faster. This wasn’t going to work.
Pain slammed into his hand. Jax looked down to see a crossbow bolt pinching the skin of his hand into the weathered wood. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw two of the manor guards loading another bolt to their crossbows. Behind them the mob began to spread out, blocking any hopes of escape.
“Dragons thumping take me,” Jax yelled, yanking his hand free. “Move faster!”
Between grunts, Daren said something in Kalicodian, a bit too muffled for Jax to catch.
“What was that?” Jax asked.
Daren did not reply. With a surge of strength, the cart lurched forward. Jax found his legs moving faster. He put his head down, trying not to picture the crossbowmen at his back. He felt more than heard a clunk. Then the cart wouldn’t move. Panic gripped him.
Then he looked up. They’d made it. They’d reached the thumping wall. He almost laughed. Then another bolt whizzed by his ear.
Daren leapt atop the car and frowned, “It is still too short. Come. I will give you both a boost.”
Jax shook his head. “Not an option. We all go, or we all stay and fight.”
“I can jump up afterwards,” Daren growled. “Hurry.”
Another bolt slammed into the wall behind Daren and another one next to Jax’s foot. The crossbowmen were running and reloading. His sword still held Air from the trap stored in it, but he had no idea if releasing the energy would call down the dragons. Better to test that at a later time and place.
“Fine,” he said, looking down at the blood oozing from the cut in his hand. “Let’s do this.”
Daren cradled his hands together, giving him a foothold.
He grabbed Daren’s shoulders and leapt. He caught the top of the wall and pulled himself up. Laying on his side for a better perch, he lowered his arm down to Daren, who was still cupping his hands for the kid.
Glancing up, he saw the mob moving closer. Both crossbowmen were almost ready for another shot.
“Leave the kid.”
Ignoring him, Daren turned to the boy. “You next. Hurry.”
The boy leapt nimbly into the back of the cart and placed a foot in Daren’s hands. Daren threw the kid upward. He reached the top of the wall and hauled himself up. Instead of dropping over the other side to safety, he lowered his arm to help with Daren.
Daren retrieved the artifact from the back of the wagon and threw it toward the boy’s outstretched hand.
“Hold that. Don’t drop it.”
The kid caught the short staff with ease, his eyes roving over the eloiglyphs with recognition. Jax snatched the artifact and set it flat atop the wall.
“It’ll take both of us to help Daren up,” Jax said, lowering his arm.
“Just a minute ago, you were ready to leave me. Now you want my help?”
“Are you ready?”
The boy reached for Daren and flinched. A crossbow bolt thudded into the wall with a loud crack. But the kid held his arm steady for Daren. Jax lowered his good hand to the massive warrior as well, glancing toward the crossbowmen. One was kneeling and taking aim at Daren’s back. The other was running, reloading as he came closer.
“Dragons take you,” Jax told Daren, “jump already.”
Daren leapt upward, kicked off the wall, and reached for their hands. Jax clasped the big man’s forearm and braced himself. The jolt in his shoulders almost made Jax release his grip. Instead, he squeezed with all his might and heaved. Daren was even heavier than he appeared.
He heard the twang of the crossbow just before Daren grunted in pain. He could see the bolt sticking out of the man’s thigh. A second bolt hit the top of the wall and ricocheted away. Both crossbowmen ran forward this time, reloading as quickly as their hands could move. The mob had caught up with the crossbowmen, eyes filled with violent intent. He recalled the hanged bodies in the market square.
His heart lurched. He wouldn’t leave his friend to those animals. Reaching down with his other hand, Jax leaned back and pulled. Inch by inch, Daren climbed higher. He watched the crossbowmen taking aim.
The second Daren’s hands gripped the top of the wall, the weight vanished. Jax lost his balance and teetered backward. He flailed his arms in a desperate attempt to remain upright. His elbow hit the rod. He could see it spinning atop the wall as he fell. Hoping against hope the artifact would fall on this side, Jax turned and attempted to roll as he struck the cobbles.
The breath was knocked out of him.
For a few heartbeats, his lungs would not suck in air. He saw wisps of light flooding his vision. Then a small face, encased in curly locks, blocked out the morning
sun. She was bent over, looking at him with a quizzical expression.
“You all right, mister?”
She squealed in surprise when heavy thuds landed nearby. The girl ran.
He looked over to see a thick leg standing over him, a bloody bolt sticking out of the ruined trousers. On the other side, the kid who’d gotten them into this debacle, looked down with deep concern.
“Can you walk?” Daren asked, offering him a hand.
Jax took it. Standing, he could tell he was mildly concussed, but his legs still worked. He looked up and was surprised to see the artifact still in a slow spin.
“Curse it all! Neither of you thought to grab the artifact?”
“The crossbowmen,” the kid said with an apologetic shrug.
“He’s right,” Daren agreed. “We hopped down just before they shot. I am fairly certain they would not have missed.”
“Quick,” Jax said. “Cradle your hands together like this. Give me a boost.”
Daren did as he’d asked. Jumping hurt like the abyss, and Jax’s fingers fell several feet short of the rod. Now that he was assessing it, the wall appeared higher on this side. Likely they’d filled in the manor grounds with topsoil for the manicured garden and to make the rain runoff on this side. Thumping lords and their ostentatious, thumping tastes.
He glanced about for another wagon or a cart or a thumping barrel. As far as he could see were rows of houses with modest gardens hugging the road. The other direction would take them toward the market, where he had a nice little trap to aid their escape.
“Try it again,” Jax said.
“We need to leave,” the kid argued.
“We?” Jax said. “There is no ‘we.’ You are free to go to the abyss or wherever else suits your fancy. We need that thumping rod.”
Glancing up, Jax realized the artifact was gone. A head appeared atop the wall, followed by reaching arms. More to slow them than to do any damage, Jax pulled a dirk from his belt and threw. The small blade sunk into the man’s forearm.
“Dragons take you,” Jax said to everyone and no one. Pivoting on his heel, he ran.
“A little help,” the boy said.
Jax realized Daren could not run without aid, and the smaller boy could not hope to get the massive warrior very far alone. Jax moved to the other side and lent his support. Together, they hobbled toward his contingency plan. To emphasize his loss, another crossbow bolt struck the ground a few paces away. With his free hand, Jax flicked another dagger into his palm and hurled it at the guard. It missed, but, the man scrambled behind the wall, giving them a momentary reprieve.
Jax pushed Daren to move faster and cursed with every step.
Chapter 27
Foreign Powers
Dear Anetia,
The dragons no longer hold any animosity toward our kind. Three thousand years of solitude has a way of diminishing a person’s ire. As for Eleandarinius, she seems content just having someone else to speak with. In fact, she appears to care a great deal for all of us. And though she helps me with these incantations, she seems to hold elementalists in high regard. We discuss the folly of war in ways that remind me of our conversations. If given the chance, I believe you would like her immensely.
~R., 2996 A.S.
~
Zarah stayed far behind the guardians, following the sounds of their movements rather than their trail. When the forest ended, she watched from the cover of the trees as they dragged Feffer toward the southern gate. Ten or so guards stood in front of the entrance with dozens more beyond the wall.
The streets were paved with red bricks, cutting their way through white buildings topped with clay tiles. Even from here, she could feel the overwhelming power of Earth used to craft the structures. With the exception of the tiled roofs, wooden doors, and glass windows, the entire city had been tamed into existence. This city had always been a beacon for elementalists and a testimony to their achievements.
Now, the greatest city on Arinth had fallen.
The king might not yet have been killed, but his capital was in civil war. Was her home in Justice in the same dire straits? She desperately wanted to reach out to her father, but Feffer carried the rod of sending. Likely the artifact had been taken from him by now.
When the guardians reached the entrance, the others gathered around Feffer. She could not hear their words, but their smiles sickened her. How could her people have ever trusted the Guardians of Life? They had been wolves in sheep’s skin. Their white coat had blinded everyone to the dark ambitions they hid.
After Feffer disappeared inside, she studied the walls. Having been crafted from the Elements, they were impregnable and would even resist tamings. She had expected as much, but she had needed to see for herself.
Zarah turned south once more and hiked back into the forest. After what she judged was a safe distance from the city of Alcoa, she jogged, keeping an eye out for traps. Being captured would mean more than just the end of Feffer’s life. Jorus Teblin would surely ransom her back to Zaak and settle for nothing short of the keys to the Kingdom of Justice.
She would die before allowing that to happen.
As the road came into view, Zarah slowed to a brisk walk. She wanted to appear composed and in control when she confronted the farmer.
Trees canopied the path but cleared enough to reveal the sky. She was surprised to find the sun only a quarter of the way to noon. Too much had happened for so little time to have passed. She could do nothing about the bandits, but she could confront the people who had most recently betrayed her.
By the time she reached the farm, she’d stopped sweating. There was little she could do about the dirt on her dress, but there was more to being regal than a person’s attire. She would show these people what it meant to earn the ire of a Lifesong.
The fields seemed quiet, but she watched for signs of the guardians before stepping from the cover of the forest. No apparitions from the future appeared to attack her. In all possible futures, she was alone in the rows of crops. The feeling put her at ease. As she reached the steps to the porch, she loosened her shoulders and took a deep breath.
Zarah could smell the stew from earlier. It would be ready now. She could imagine the family sitting around their dinner table, enjoying a meal together. Likely, none gave a thought to the torment they had caused.
Rather than enter with the brandished weapon, Zarah stabbed Feffer’s dropped sword into the dirt. Remembering the beating he had suffered, she did not trust herself to confront the farmer with a weapon in hand. This way she would need to draw her own blade first. She marched up and kicked the door open. She heard the clatter of spoons and the over-turning of chairs. Two steps into the common room, she could see the family through the narrow hall. The farmer and two larger boys stood in front of the woman and the younger ones, shielding them from her.
Zarah stalked forward as if this place belonged to her, and they were the interlopers.
“Sit,” she said, pointing to an empty chair. “We have much to discuss.”
The farmer’s mouth trembled as he said, “Restrain her.”
She focused on their future selves. One would pick up a knife. The other would try to tackle her. Kicking the knee of the first, she side-stepped the second and shouldered his backside with great force. His head slammed into the wall with a loud crunch. He slumped to the floor, blood gushing from a cut to his head. The other boy slashed with his table knife.
Zarah stepped back. From the corner of her eye, she saw the farmer pick up a chair and ready it like a two-handed club. She took a heartbeat to watch the apparitions and saw what she needed to do. She pivoted around the next knife thrust and spun behind the boy. She shoved him into the path of the farmer’s chair. The wood crashed into the boy. He flattened to the ground without so much as a grunt.
“Enough,” she said, taking a step back. Zarah unshea
thed her sword and aimed the tip at the ground. “I would consider my next actions very carefully.”
The farmer’s face paled as he looked to his unconscious sons and her naked steel. He set the chair next to the table and held his hands up in surrender. “I am sorry. Please, don’t hurt them!”
“I have no intentions of doing them any further harm. Unless you force me to. Sit.”
He fell into the chair, eyes welling with tears. “My boys,” he said. “Please. Let me check them.”
Without taming a trickle of energy, Zarah moved her essence over them and checked their vitals. The scalp wound on the one had already clotted. Both boys were concussed and would wake with a headache, but they would wake.
“Do not move,” she told him. “They are fine.”
“My boys,” he said again. “Please. He’s bleeding.”
“I have already checked them. They will live.”
“Checked them? You haven’t moved.”
She met his gaze and said in the coldest voice she could muster, “I am Zarah Lifesong, daughter-heir to the kingdom of Justice, gifted in the powers of Air, Water, and Life. I have come as an emissary treating with King Thirod Alcoa, bearing a message of how to defeat the dragons. And you and your kin have attacked me. As a member of the allied court, under the treatise of the Island Nations, I charge you with treason. How do you plea?”
No one spoke. The wife had stopped crying, eyes filled with something between surprise and horror. The farmer’s mouth gaped and moved without words.
Zarah lifted the sword, resting the flat of the blade against her shoulder. “I need an answer.”
“Please, I only wanted to save my family. The guardians are ruthless.”
“So treason against your king was your answer?”
“They give rewards for the capture of lords and ladies. I did not know who you are. You must understand. I only wanted to help my family.”
