by A J Witt
Rex Ruga clenched her fists. I’m the commandant, not you. Battle cries need to be voiced by someone who’s fighting the war. She calmed herself, taking solace in the upcoming execution and the attention it would bring to her.
“The Temple shall forever be your star, your guiding light. May the Gods look down upon you with love.”
Another round of applause, one Rex Ruga opted not to join. Instead, she hurried to the Inner Sanctum’s doorway, impatient for it to be unlocked. Under the commandant’s intense scrutiny, a nervous initiant pulled the key from his robes. He accomplished the task in double time, unsealing the chamber only to witness Rex Ruga push her way out without a word.
The bells were much louder in the courtyard than within the impervious walls of the Inner Sanctum. The commandant surveyed the area. No pilgrims? Strange, considering the sermons are to go on all day. She spotted Najara waiting near the gates which had been closed shut. The two women walked toward each other.
“I trust the sermon was—”
“What’s happening?” Rex Ruga asked, cutting short the confidante’s pleasantries.
“Oh, you mean the bells?”
“You’ve already taken one seat from me. If you’ve also conducted the execution, there will be consequences.”
Najara smiled. “Empty threats are useless, dear.”
“I haven’t made any empty threats.”
“Do you seriously believe sanctions can be imposed upon me?”
“Political retributions? Perhaps not. But you, of all people, are not stopping me from wringing your neck like a balbak, should I so desire.”
It was Rex Ruga’s turn to smile, as Najara’s expression turned from one of arrogance to something resembling fear. The commandant, still furious with her confidante for vesting upon Tibon the responsibility of Council member, took a step forward.
“Don’t be stupid.” Najara backed into a hedge. “I need you, and you need me.”
“I’m wondering if that’s true.” The conversation had taken a dangerous turn, and Rex Ruga knew she was nearing a point of no return. It’s not time for this. Not yet. “I’m sorry. The sermon … umm … was quite an emotional one, and hearing the bells … as well as thinking about the execution … I …”
“My dear, it is forgotten. And there will be no execution today.”
“Why’s that?”
“The prisoners have escaped.”
“What!” exclaimed Rex Ruga. “How?”
“No one knows. We were able to catch one of them, but the two Adept brothers somehow slipped out through the Crypts.”
“How did they find those tunnels?”
“It looks like they had inside help.”
“From?”
Najara inspected one of the Temple’s spires. “A certain girl with whom I believe you are familiar.”
“What are you talking about?”
“According to your report, you had a run-in but days ago.”
“Th … that foolish girl? I can’t even remember her name.”
“Sabine.”
“Right, Sabrine. She … uh … assaulted me in the halls, and I was fortunate there were others to help me.”
The confidante raised an eyebrow. “She must be a vicious girl to assault one who speaks so casually of wringing necks.”
Rex Ruga had no answer. “You said you captured one?”
“Well, to some extent, yes. Gorgios’s pack found him first, in the fourth spire’s common room, so I’m afraid he had little time to tell us anything of use.”
“I need to speak with Gorgios. Now!”
“Oh, he’s already on the hunt.”
“Of course, he is.” The commandant gritted her teeth, unsure whether to be grateful for her Master of Arms’ initiative or curse him for taking off without her.
“There’s something else.” Najara paused. “During their escape, the Adepts bumped into Tibon. Suffice to say, they left him grievously injured.”
Rex Ruga’s heart leapt at the news. “Is he dead?”
“No, but he has yet to awake.”
“The Council seat?”
Najara made her way toward one of the Temple’s entrances. “You should know there’s more to life than Council seats, dear.”
“A strange comment coming from you.”
“There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”
“Is that so?”
The confidante turned to face Rex Ruga. “Yes, and there’s a lot about yourself you don’t know, either. Now that there are only three functional senators present in this Temple, our work has gotten more interesting, and it’s time for you to grow up.”
“Two senators.”
“Dear, you will not harm Vasant, under my strict command.”
“I’m leaving to find the Adepts.”
“No. That’s what Gorgios is for.”
“Gorgios will kill them just like the first escaped prisoner, he has no restraint. I want them here, alive.”
“So you can be the one to kill them instead?”
Ignoring the question, Rex Ruga followed Najara down the Stairs of Judgment. Obviously, that’s why. Those Adepts are my prize and no one else’s. If Gorgios slashes their throats somewhere in the Woods of Murcavis, I risk a significant loss. Her plan had been perfect, with a coin flip so moronic, it actually worked. And, as always, details of the incident were already morphing into exaggerated tales, much to the commandant’s delight. In fact, she had even made sure to leak several sensational versions of the events. Discord always made for more intrigue, Najara taught her early on. The old woman had employed her own tactics that very morning by opting to broadcast the Adepts’ escape with a loud concert of bells.
A pair of Overseers was still in the dungeons surveying a cell when the women walked in. Behind them, a body lay underneath a sheet, and another Overseer was slouched on a stool with a pack of ice on his neck. Upon seeing their commandant, they stood at attention.
“What happened here?” asked Najara.
Cyrus spoke up. “I was on my routine inspection of the dungeons. Out of nowhere, I get hit in the head. Wake up, they’re gone, and this one’s dead.”
“And your observations?” the confidante asked another. “Is this accurate?”
“None of the cell doors were opened by force. So the prisoners used a key to get out. And we found these ceramic shards on the ground. Given he’s got the nasty bruise on the rear of his head, I think the story checks out.”
“They used your keys?” Najara asked Cyrus.
He bowed his head. “I suppose.”
“What terrible luck!” exclaimed the confidante. She paced back and forth. “If only you hadn’t been in the dungeons.” The old woman paused. “Again, what were you doing down here?”
“Routine inspection, ma’am,” replied Cyrus.
“Is that so? I’ve checked past inspection reports, and not once was your name registered on any of them.”
“I was covering for a friend.”
“Who?”
“Uh … Matthias.”
“Matthias was killed yesterday."
Cyrus cringed. “Um … that’s why I was covering for him.”
“By the Gods!” Rex Ruga stunned her subordinates with her brazen language. “You’re lying.”
“No, I didn’t let them out, I swear it!”
“You did come down here to save her, didn’t you?” prodded Najara.
He lowered his eyes to the ground.
“Save who?” asked the commandant. “Sabrine?”
“I think it’s Sabine.”
“Whatever!” It was starting to make sense to Rex Ruga. “And the Adepts somehow snatched your keys when you let her out?”
Appearing to be studying the floor, Cyrus kept silent.
“Commandant,” said one of the Overseers. “We’ll bring him straight to the Court of Justice and—”
Najara interrupted. “You will do no such thing.” She handed them the torch. “In fact, we found no
one down here, understood?”
They looked at the confidante, not knowing what was expected from them.
“You may leave.”
The two men walked away. While going up the stairs, one of them glanced back, curiosity getting the best of him. He caught Najara say something about wringing necks, and there was just enough light to see Rex Ruga’s hands wrapped around the traitor’s throat.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Thousands of villagers trudged along the ravaged dirt path. Most were exhausted and restless, having likely walked for days from their small towns in the outskirts of the Dominion. Phaidros, their ultimate destination, was nearing.
“How far to the Temple?” yelled out one man.
The query prompted several grunts.
“Where are the Overseers?” someone else shouted.
The three fugitives watched a woman walking on Merchants Road. She wore overworked leather boots and a green dress tattered and washed out by the sun. Wrapped around her midsection, a gray shawl held what appeared to be a baby. The mother turned toward the woods. “Everything is fine, little Matthias. We’re almost there.”
Bringing a hand up to his mouth, Kyran averted his brother’s sharp stare. He fought the urge to laugh. Matthias, of all names?
“We just need to get out of here,” Edvon whispered.
“And go where?” asked Sabine. “Isn’t Merchants Road the only safe way through these woods?”
“Yes, but there must be …” The Adept looked at the thick cluster of jakarhandas behind them.
“I’m not going in there.”
“Those are rumors, ghosts don’t exist.”
“Actually,” interjected Kyran, “I don’t want to go in there, either.”
The reply from Edvon was undiplomatic and rather scathing. “No one asked you.”
“Why can’t we just wait for them to pass?”
“We’re being chased, remember? We can’t remain in hiding forever, at some point someone will see us. And if—”
The sound of a gong interrupted Edvon.
“What—” Kyran paused as the gong resonated a second time, “—was that?”
To their dismay, a large group of Overseers was waving and shouting greetings as it approached the refugees.
“Gods.” Without another word, Edvon darted into the forest and disappeared from sight.
The abruptness of his departure stunned Sabine. “Where … where did he go?”
“We have no choice but to find out.”
The young woman shook her head. Taking a deep breath, she too vanished among the trees, and Kyran followed close behind. They ran after Edvon for several minutes, dodging low-hanging branches and leaping over protruding roots. A narrow stream came into sight, and the escapees slowed down as they approached its banks. They took time to recover, listening to the sound of trickling water.
Edvon massaged his tired temples. The day had been long and exhausting, constantly hiding at the sight of other travelers. At one point, they had spent more than an hour behind thick bushes, waiting for a large caravan to move along. The forest was cold and somber, yet it provided for a quicker means of transportation. If we don’t get lost.
“Now what?” Sabine’s eyes were darting from tree to tree, as if she expected a monster to come careening out.
When her shifting gaze crossed Edvon’s, it gave him a troublesome feeling. He had come to realize, granted only in the aftermath of their escape from the Temple, that Sabine was beautiful. Quite stunning for a woman.
“It’s getting dark,” she continued. “What are we going to do?”
“I think if we walk upstream, we hit the Wimau River.” Edvon had earned a perfect score in Dominion Geography. “Which would then guide us to Fermantis.”
And so for an hour, they followed the winding creek. In synchrony with the fading daylight, the temperature had dropped, causing the young companions to shiver. Mind over matter, they were trudging through the woods when a modest clearing came into view. An older SPC was parked along the trees.
“Wh—whose is that?” Sabine’s teeth clattered as she spoke.
Edvon frowned. “Keep your voices down.”
They cautiously approached, and a pleasant wave of warmth hit their faces. Sitting in front of a campfire, a lone man was reading from a well-worn parchment. He bolted to his feet. “Who are you?” His hand was wrapped around the haft of a knife fastened to his belt.
“Umm … Broque, sir,” said Edvon. “And these are my friends. We mean you no harm.”
Broque? Kyran grimaced.
The man pulled his fingers away from the weapon. Donning a thin beard that extended to his sternum and a round bonnet covering his ears, he could have been a merchant with his long vest and tight black stockings. “Name’s Volos. What’re you doing walking through the forest?”
“We … umm …”
“You what, huh?”
“We’re hunters.”
“Oh! Is that so? And what do you hunt?”
“Whatever we can catch.”
Volos laughed. He turned around and walked back to the fire, kneeling and tending to it with a wooden stick. “Liars. You’re Overseers from Phaidros, aren’t you?”
“Well—”
“Yes, exactly,” interjected Sabine. “Would you be so kind as to share your fire with us?”
Both Adepts prepared to object, but Volos was looking at Sabine with a salacious eyebrow. “Of course, my dear.”
The young woman hurried to sit by the warm flames. “Thank you.”
Volos broke the awkward silence. “It’s incredible, just incredible, what’s happening.”
“Umm, what’s happening?” asked Kyran as he and his brother sat next to Sabine.
“Another village wiped out last week. The one closest to mine, if you can believe it. All burned. No survivors.”
The newly minted campers averted each other’s gaze.
“Whole houses razed to the ground. No sign as to what’s caused it!” cried out Volos. “There’s mass hysteria out there in the countryside right now, let me tell you. That’s right, let me tell you.”
“That’s … uh … crazy.”
“I sure don’t want to end up like the others. Fourteen villages destroyed.”
Edvon remained composed and attempted to contribute to the conversation. “We saw some villagers when we crossed Merchants Road.”
“Is that so? Is it?” The light coming from the fire engulfed Volos’s long beard and pointed cheekbones, while the top of his head remained hidden away in the shadows of the night. “And where will they go?”
“They’re going straight to the Temple,” said Sabine. “Where they’ll be fed, given clean clothes, lodged, and—”
“Indoctrinated?”
The young woman turned to Kyran with a deathly stare and was about to respond, when Volos diverted their attention with a delayed laughing fit.
“Right on, boy!” he exclaimed between coughs.
The man was bizarre, Edvon had established that early on, but it was especially unusual for a villager to dislike the Temple. Outside of Phaidros, Overseers exerted more influence than Adepts, their many outposts and shrines ensuring everyone had access to the Book of Provenance’s divine verses. Equally perturbing, though, was the substance of the conversation. Are we going in the right direction? If they were leaving Phaidros only to burn in a village, then Edvon would have entertained his brother’s original suggestion. The Academy was without doubt their safest choice. No, we’ll be fine. There were hundreds of villages in the Dominion, and only fourteen of them had been attacked. The odds were still stacked in their favor. I mean, how could they not be?
“You hungry?” asked Volos. He left no time for an answer. “Then, why don’t we eat what you’ve hunted?” The villager laughed at his own joke. “I’m just kidding. And in any case, I eat from the earth. You, girl!”
Sabine lifted her head in his direction.
“Get up and walk to that tree
.”
She hesitated.
“Go on. Go!”
“Wait a second, she doesn’t have to—”
“Trust me,” urged the merchant. “Just go!”
Sabine walked toward the tree.
“You see on the ground there? Mushrooms. Why don’t you get us some?”
The young woman bent down, and she returned with several brownish masses in hand.
Volos took the mushrooms from her and selected the largest of the bunch, distributing the rest to the tired escapees. “Go ahead, take the first bite,” he said to Sabine.
She shook her head. “Please, not me.”
“Yes, you.”
Closing her eyes, Sabine chomped on the mushroom. With a frown on her face, she swallowed the raw mouthful and sent Volos into yet another fit of obnoxious laughter.
“I can’t believe you did that!” he exclaimed, flicking his own mushroom into the fire.
“Wh—what?”
Volos was laughing so hard, tears ran down his cheek. “Didn’t think you’d actually eat that gross thing.”
Sabine coughed twice and turned away from the group, gagging.
Kyran contemplated the mushroom he was holding and dropped it to the ground. Volos kept shedding tears. Are we safe with this weirdo? “Mister …? Are you still laughing? Or crying?”
“Both,” said a voice.
A man had cropped up in the darkness, causing an already shaken Sabine to shriek. Volos instinctively sprang up. “Who are you?” he asked, a clumsy hand feeling for the knife’s hilt on the side of his hip.
The visitor did not bother to answer and invited himself to sit by the fire. He wore gray robes and thick glasses over the bridge of a nose too small for his wide face. His scalp was visible under buzzed dark hair. “Want a drink?” He pulled a flask from beneath a fold in his robes.
Volos held out his arm for the receptacle and took a long, hard gulp. “Thank you, stranger. Excellent.”
“Wait, who are you?” asked Kyran.
The peculiar man frowned. “I thought I told you to be quiet.”
“Oh, that’s right, sorry. He told me to be quiet.”
