The sight hit Belmorn like a kick to the gut.
Realizing what he was doing, he dropped the hooded man. Both horrified and ashamed, he took a step back--gasping as if he had been the one nearly choked to death.
5 - 4
Dimming light rushed back in an explosion of color and shock.
The alchemist gasped, hungrily gulping down air that both froze and scalded his lungs. Kro's mind raced, but one thing was certain: He wasn't dead yet. He'd been gifted with mercy once again by a tall stranger whose name he hadn't bothered to learn. And now, that man was stepping toward him, frowning deeply.
Clutching his bruised throat, Tenebrus Kro held up a submissive hand. "Wait!" His voice gave way to a bout of dry coughs.
The tall man stopped. Anger melted into concern across his dark face and grey eyes. "I almost--"
Kro waved away the rest of the man's sentence. "Forget it," he said. "Had it coming. Look, I'm probably the last person you'd like to trust right now, but if you want to get out of here..." He threw a nervous glance towards the only way out of the narrow structure. "But we have to move quickly. Not out of the woods yet, so to speak."
Still looking guilty, the tall man pick up the bear pelt from where it lay near the cell's gate. As he threw the garment over his shoulders, Kro remembered what he'd seen and grabbed on his way to find this person who kept stubbornly intersecting with his life.
"Here. They had the rest of your effects in a box outside." He offered the headscarf and a leather band with several burnished medallions. As Kro pushed these forward, a beam of moonlight landed right on a small inscription carved into the inside of the headband. "Lord Belmorn?" Kro read this with as much amusement as surprise. "Are you from a noble house?"
"No." The newly-freed prisoner took the ornament and slipped it over the marbled black fabric of his headscarf. "Just a bad joke. Forget it. Let's go."
Kro nodded and led the way down the hall, past the two guards he'd treated to a pinch of Gorgon dust.
"You froze them," the large man said loudly. "Like you froze me."
Warily, Kro looked around, searching for new arrivals and other unwanted surprises. "That is the wrong word for it. Think of it this way... If you imagine every muscle in your body as a hand..." He held up an open hand. "The Gorgon dust turns them all into fists." He clenched to demonstrate. "Typically, consciousness fades fast, like snuffing out a candle. As you can attest, the effect isn't pleasant." He turned to regard the men on the ground. "But they'll live. And that is more mercy than those masked idiots will spare us if we are caught again so, if you don't mind."
Kro headed out to where two horses--a chestnut gelding and a silver mare--had been tied to a pair of posts.. With a pleasant smile, he quickly freed the mare and checked her temperament. The horse was lithe and lovely, turning her head with the slightest touch of rein.
"So sorry to ask this of you, lady," Kro spoke gently, offering the back of his hand for her to sniff. "But I need your help." After ensuring her girth was secure, he stepped into stirrup and eased himself onto the saddle. His smile grew as she accepted his mount--turning willingly when asked.
Noticing the larger man had not even approached the chestnut, the alchemist called, "What are you waiting for? We have to go."
"No," the man growled. "Not without the horse I rode in on. He doesn't belong so far from his home. From the river. And he sure as hell doesn't deserve this frozen city. I'll not leave without him."
"Aah! A riverman, blackfoot maybe. That explains a lot." Kro nodded with the realization. "Damn," he said. "So we are talking about the big one, yes? The adamandray?"
Surprise widened the eyes of the other man as he stared back at the alchemist.
"River men and their horses." Kro sighed. Pleased with his revelation but now aware of new challenges, he shook his head. "He's right where you left him. Just go fast."
"What do you mean 'where I left him'?"
"Town square. By the statue. They built a makeshift corral around the beast. From what I've heard, not even a battalion of guards could move him." Kro gave a chuckle, unsurprised in the least from what he remembered of those horses.
The riverman's face flushed with pride. "Well done, Old Man."
"Just be aware..." Worry crept into Kro's voice as he recalled the set-up in the square. "You may have to fight for him. There were three guards posted earlier. One more than they spared for you here! Some or all may be occupied with other matters. It's possible. I did buy us some time, but little of that remains at this point. So get your horse and meet me there, at the north gate." He pointed. "Opposite direction of all the smoke."
"The smoke?"
"You'll see it." Kro couldn't keep the grin out of his voice. This rescue plan, at least, was unfolding as efficiently as he'd planned it. "Hopefully, I'll have the gate open by the time you get there."
The riverman relieved one of the frozen guards of his long sword. Pulling the blade from its scabbard, he tested the weight as he asked, "What if you can't get the gate open?"
"Well," Kro shrugged. "In that case, Roon's executioner is going to have a busy couple of days. Now move, riverman." With this, Kro rounded his horse and began to gallop away.
"Hey!" The voice of the man boomed. "Who are you?"
"Call me Kro," the alchemist called without looking back. "Pleasantries later. Just go!"
5 - 5
Rander Belmorn gripped his stolen longsword. Though he was glad for the weapon, the weight felt strange in his hand. Alien. He hoped he could use it well enough, if it came to that. By Rinh, what he wouldn't give to hold his axes again.
Just as he finished rounding a corner, Belmorn stopped and sniffed. Upon the night air hung a dangerous, unmistakable scent.
Smoke.
He glanced to what he regarded as south. The streets of Roon were utterly empty. Was the hour so late? Or was this due to something else? The work of this new hooded ally?
Shouting came from a distance, from the same general direction as the smoke.
Belmorn ducked into the shadow of a small overhang. Approaching from another direction was a garrison of mounted soldiers. Five or six, he thought. They were riding hard toward him. Heart in his throat, Belmorn pressed his back against a wall, willing his body to flatten. He became acutely aware of minute details regarding the sword in his hand--from the weight down to the texture of the grip.
What if the blade caught some errant beam of light and proved his undoing? Quickly, quietly, Belmorn positioned the stolen weapon in between his body and the wall. He held it there, too nervous to even breathe.
On the stone street, the coming hooves pounded a terrible, chaotic rhythm. In a great gust of air, the soldiers thundered past, pushing their horses not fifteen feet from where Belmorn stood. With a mixture of horror and relief, he watched them go. Riding off and away, in the direction of the shouts and smoke.
It took a moment before the man in the shadows dared move again. Then he ran. Ran for all he was worth. Cold wind blew through the street, filling and freezing already chilled lungs. Still he pushed, forcing his legs to keep their pace. Ahead, Belmorn could see a familiar intersection. He had passed it the night before. Or had that been two nights ago?
Ignoring the meaningless question, he dashed out of the safety of the shadows to where he'd last seen his oldest friend.
The silver man with the sword through his heart stood as proudly as before, one hand holding out a flickering lantern. From such a distance, the tiny light seemed almost alive--like the careless glow of a candle fly. Kro had spoken true. By the statue was a fence that hadn't been there before. It was a sort of corral, hastily built but nearly five feet high. Inside was a sight for sore eyes.
"Magnus!" Belmorn's shout caused the horse to swing its massive head in his direction. Unfortunately, the call had a similar effect on the pair of armed guards outside the corral.
"Oy!" one guard shouted as both men unsheathed their long swords. Each was an exact duplicate of the o
ne Belmont gripped. More than ever, the weapon felt strange, but he managed to block a hard downward thrust.
To his surprise, the attacks came rather clumsily. One from the front, and then a second from the side. These men, these Roonik Guards--though their black and silver armor lent a fearsome aspect, they seemed hesitant. Even with such an ungainly weapon, Belmorn was able to block and move fast enough to prevent the guards from flanking him.
The fact was, his fighting skills had been honed battling slithering river beasts--pounding forearm-length harpoons into their hides. It was a prowess they celebrated back home, but hardly useful in his current predicament. So what then was giving the guards pause? Was it simply the Belmorn's size or the storm which raged in eyes? Or is it possible that his new false identity was actually doing some good?
If I ever meet this Morgrig person... thought Belmorn, deflecting another attack. I may actually have to thank him.
"You there!" One guard backed several steps away and shouted through panting breaths. "Go! Tell the captain! Mannis Morgrig is loose!"
KLANG!!
Sparks flew as Belmorn's sword clashed with another.
"Hurry, Damn you!"
KLANG!! KLANG!!
A misstep sent one guard lurching forward, just enough for an opening. Unlike the captain's metal, these guards' armor was designed to cover the shoulders and chest, leaving certain areas unprotected. Belmorn buried his fist in the man's stomach and the guard dropped to the ground.
"Behind you!" a voice shouted, high in pitch. The voice of a child.
Belmorn turned just in time to see the gaping end of a black powder pistol. The second guard was smiling.
BAOH!!
With a flash of light, the top third of Belmorn's sword disappeared. River man and Roonik guard stood frozen, mouths agape, eyes wide and white. Belmorn heard a terrible wailing. As if there were a miniature pipe organ in his skull and someone was holding down one of the high keys.
Looking at what remained of his longsword, he watched a tendril of smoke drift from the point of impact in a long, liquid thread. The world beyond, for a moment, faded to non-importance. Right then, reality was reduced to the ragged remains of this sword. This stolen weapon that had miraculously saved his life.
There came a great crack, the breaking of wood. The sound ripped Belmorn into the current moment and set his mind back on course.
The adamandray brought down its massive hooves, further splitting a section of fence. The boards had no chance but to be split and pummeled into a mass of wooden quills. Barking a deep, angry neigh, the horse Magnus leapt free of the enclosure he had, until that moment, chosen to abide. The huge animal arched its neck and lifted its tail.
The guard with the pistol turned just in time to see a flash of feathered hoof. The hop and strike happened faster than one would expect from such a massive animal. Like the boards of the corral, the guard's fate was sealed. His body crumpled lifelessly. And there on the cobbles, blood flowed from a new canyon in the man's skull. Within seconds, a pool had grown. A lake of the most vibrant red that Belmorn had ever seen.
Tossing aside the shattered, miracle sword, Belmorn looked into the large glassy eyes of his oldest friend. "You waited for me." He slid a hand up the animal's jaw--patting it firmly. "I only wish I had something for you. You must be starving."
The horse snorted into his human's face before sniffing at the man's forehead.
"Yeah," said Belmorn "They didn't feed me either." His gaze moved to the horse's flanks. To the intact saddle bags and, more importantly, the twin pair of Graelian axes, still secure in their sheaths. "Well done, Old Man." Belmorn practically bubbled with elation. "You didn't let them near you, eh? Of course you didn't. Come on, I think it's time we leave."
One hand was on the saddle horn, one foot already in the ladder of rings when Belmorn paused. There was a small sound. A weak whimpering coming from somewhere close by. It was a sound that right now, Belmorn did not have time for. Every nerve in his body was on fire with the need to ride. He recalled his cardinal rule, the one about never investing in business outside of his own.
"But--?" came a small voice from somewhere behind. "Can't... I can't..."
A distant battalion of armed guards was running their way. They were crossing the wide intersection now. They would be on him in under a minute. Much closer, however, was a small child. A waifish thing, draped in a smelly old blanket
Protruding from the small body, from the soft patch between collar, chest and shoulder was something that did not belong. Something long and thin that gleamed metallic in the light of the September moon. The object's identity clicked in Belmorn's mind as the blanket changed color from dirt brown to a deep, dark red.
"Sir? I... can't..." The boy looked at the shard of the exploded sword that had impaled him. In his eyes were questions, though Belmorn did not know what to say.
5 - 6
The adamandray thundered over the cold cobbles of the ancient city like wind born of a hurricane. The fur of Belmorn's bear pelt buzzed on either side of a prominent collar. The long, tattered ends of his haresh headscarf flapped behind like twin lashes. His eyes were hard, focused. They had to be. One hand was holding the reins of a galloping horse while the other cradled a small child.
The body was cold but still alive. Belmorn pressed the small, unconscious form to his side, willing a fraction of his own warmth to be of some benefit.
The one thing he refused to do was look down. To do so now, to see the length of cold steel protruding from such a small being would surely be his undoing. As he galloped over the darkened streets of Roon, Rander Belmorn accepted a silent, wordless oath.
He did not know this homeless boy, had never even asked for a name. Why had he gotten close when all other children shrank away from his villainous appearance? Not once but twice. Both times by that statue.
It didn't matter. The why seldom did.
Why would the purple sickness return after so long? Why had it affected only one child in all of the towns along the black? And if one child had to suffer, why did it have to be his?
Sasha. The name burned in Belmorn's throat--behind his eyes.
But nineteen weeks and who knew how many leagues separated this man from his small, bedridden son. Sashander Belmorn needed his father. But in the last few minutes, something had changed. Another had needed him more.
Belmorn frowned; a stab of pain pulsing in his stitched lower lip. Urging his mount on faster, one thought burned in his mind.
To hell with the damn cardinal rule.
More hoof beats made him look behind to see three riders were approaching. Fast. Just not fast enough. Another turn set him directly toward the northern gate. The massive iron lattice work was already rising as wheels of varying size turned and moaned. The mechanical racket reached Belmorn in his saddle, even over the cacophony of hooves.
He glanced behind again. The riders were closing in. If it came to another fight, Belmorn would lose. He gripped the child more tightly in his arm and leaned into the speed of his horse.
Next to the sentry shack was the silver mare. It stood a few paces away from the gate, pawing at the ground, unsure what was happening. Not wanting to panic the animal, Belmorn urged Magnus to a slow trot. Inside the shack, a hooded man was furiously battling the control wheel. On the floor, the sentry lay stiff and unmoving, another victim of the wizard's dust.
"About time!" shouted the man. Belmorn remembered he'd called himself "Kro." He turned the wheel one last time with a loud, metallic clunk. "The mare! Get her out of here! I'm right behind you!"
Wasting no time, Belmorn transferred the reins to his other hand and whistled at the silver mare. As she looked up, he reached out for her bridle, then led her beneath the iron gate.
Once they were clear, Kro released the control wheel. With a guttural shout, he kicked a large, floor-mounted lever. The device gave a brief metallic squeal, sending the heavy gate outside into a free fall.
Dashing out of
the shack, Kro spared a glance to the three approaching riders. In the lead was a man with a wild mane of blond hair, billowing like the open flame of a torch. Even from this distance, the ice-blue eyes of Henric Galttauer burned with terrible, freezing fire.
Stealing a final breath of Roonik air, Tenebrus Kro threw himself forward. Rolling beneath the descending gate and out of that city of fools for what he hoped was the last time.
Leaping onto the silver mare, he met the shocked eyes of the riverman as the gate crashed behind them. The sound spurred the horses into a full gallop. Slender mare and gigantic adamandray raced hard and fast away from the ancient city that had treated its guests so poorly.
Kro looked back over his shoulder and through the bars. Though the good captain was riding hard, it would take many minutes to get the gate open again. Not that he would. By Kro's guess, Galttauer hadn't left his city in a long time. Years maybe. Long enough for his southern roads to become thoroughly infested.
Mannis Morgrig was no wolf. Only a moth whose flame was the inaction of a coward. In the moment, Kro's judgment of Galttauer felt righteous but his conscience put a stop to that. It reminded him that the sins of the captain paled next to his own. Still, it felt good to look down on someone else for a change.
Allowing the rhythm of the horse to erase his rising guilt, Kro took a deep breath of forest air. Then he set his eyes on 'Lord' Belmorn. The riverman was imposing. His height exaggerated further by the enormous horse he rode. The animal had to be twenty hands high at least.
"I see you've picked up a passenger," Kro shouted.
At first, Belmorn said nothing, but tightened his arm around the child. "Not a passenger," he yelled back. "A patient. An innocent. Will Galttauer follow us?"
Mark of the Witchwyrm Page 10
