ShadowalkerChapter Seven

Sgt. Kylon's shift starts to the shouts of an angry merchant, furious with the mouth breathing incompetents that pass for city guards. Normally Sgt. Kylon would be more sympathetic as his men are drooling fools, but at the moment he can't tell which are worse: the merchant dwarf selling cure-all potions to the desperate populace or the thugs who smashed the stall and stole a crate of the useless extract to fence in a back alley. The merchant's angry cussing is followed by fourteen reports of pickpocketing, three muggings and street fight between two drunken laborers over a half empty bottle of wine. And when he returns to the guardhouse to toss the hooligans into a cell until they sober up, Sanga is waiting for him.

Sgt. Kylon groans and rubs the bridge of his nose. It's barely noon. If Denerim's most notorious madam wants to see him at this hour, it can't be a good sign. Neither is the fact that she sports a shiner on her pretty face.

"I have a problem," she says.

"You and half of the people in the city." But despite the weary words, he gestures to one of the rickety chairs in front of his even ricketier desk. "What happened to you?"

She pauses and sits, perching on the edge and folding her hands in her lap. "Lord Vaughan."

"Damn," Sgt. Kylon mutters as he drops into his own chair. In truth, he'd been hoping for a back alley mugging.

Sanga arches an eyebrow above her swollen eye. "My girls aren't the only ones he's roughed up then?"

"No." He does not elaborate. He does not have to. Denerim's native son has done nothing in the last seven days since his return but tear a swath of destruction from one end of the city to the other.

Sanga's lips thin. "I was hoping he would never come back."

Sgt. Kylon leans back. The worn wood creaks under the combined weight of muscle and armor. "Do you know why was he sent away?"

It's a question he's been asking for almost two weeks now but hasn't heard anything other than nebulous rumors and vague remarks about a scandal that happened years before he came to Denerim.

"The only thing I know was that King Maric himself exiled Vaughan. Vaughan's always been a bastard, especially when it comes to women. He must have crossed one of high rank." Her delicate hands clench in her lap. "Does it really matter now that he's back and making up for lost time?"

Sgt. Kylon lets out a deep breath. "Look, Sanga. It kills me that he's out there running loose, but if I bring him in without the authority of someone higher up the food chain than his father, Vaughan will be out in an hour and it'll be my head on the chopping block."

"Then get the authority," she says, as though finding a noble ally is a simple thing for a lowly sergeant.

"Do you really think I haven't tried?" He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. "Official word from Captain is hands off Urien's son." A stance, no doubt, brought on by bribes from his powerful and wealthy father. With a shake of his head, he takes in Sanga's pretty face and fine clothes, paid for by much of Denerim's male elite. "Frankly, you have more influence with the right people than I do."

"Probably," she agrees. "But they all left with the King for Ostagar. The only person of real power left in Denerim is the Queen. And Considering the circumstances, I doubt she'd listen to me." Sgt. Kylon wonders if it's because she is a madam or if it's because she's a madam who is rumored to serve the King himself. Before he can decide, Sanga's eyes alight. "But she might listen to you."

"I tried. I couldn't get past her advisers." Sgt. Kylon figures that either the Queen is being kept in the dark by someone on the take, or she doesn't care what Vaughan is doing. Either way, no help will come from the crown.

Sanga nods as though this was the answer she was expecting. She meets his gaze and murmurs. "There's a rumor that you have a friend who could take care of this problem..."

Her words tighten the cold knot of fear that has been in his growing in his gut since the first report of Lord Vaughan's mayhem reached his ears. His hand nearly goes to the summoning stone in his pocket – the magical device that signals when and where one of them wishes to meet. It has been oddly silent the last few days, as though the Shadowalker has had other things occupying her attention.

For almost two years the Shadowalker has helped him stop smugglers, catch murders, avenge rapists and catch thieves, but this… this man is beyond what either of their reach. "If the Shadowalker takes him out, there's going to be hell to pay for everyone in this city and you know it."

From all he has learned about Lord Vaughan, he is not the kind of man who would head a warning, even a nearly lethal one from the Shadowalker. Most likely anything short of killing him would only encourage him more. But killing a Bann would draw the ire of the entire nobility, and who knows what the Arl himself would do to avenge his son? It's the only reason Sgt. Kylon hasn't brought Vaughan to the elf's attention already. Although considering the destruction the Lord has already caused, it's only a matter of time before Vaughan and the Shadowalker cross paths and one of them ends up dead.

It's almost as if the thought summons the guard that bursts into room, panting for breath, doubling over, and clutching his knees as though he's just sprinted halfway across Denerim. In between gulps of air, the red faced guard confirms Sgt. Kylon's worst fear: Lord Vaughan lies dead by the Shadowalker's hand, and the Captain of the Guard is summoning every available man to search her out and kill her on sight.

Swearing, Sgt. Kylon runs out of the guardhouse in time to see a contingent of the Captain's elite guards marching towards the docks. As the midday sun beats down, he follows the shouts ahead and falls into a quick trot. But instead of yelling at his own men to pick up their pace, for the first time ever he is grateful for the noble bastard's laziness.

Instead Sanga is the one who keeps pace with him, her face looking grimmer and grimmer the closer they get to the docks. When they are close enough to see the waves and feel the cool breeze, she points overhead. "Look!"

The dark shape sprints along the roof of the adjacent tenement, dark cape flapping behind. Four guardsmen wearing the Arl of Denerim's livery chase her with drawn swords. Bogged down by their armor they cannot catch her, but she is running out of rooftop and the gap between the street and the warehouse on the other side seems too wide. The Shadowalker doesn't even break stride as she launches herself off the end. The men behind trip and stumble to keep from falling off of the edge.

For a few seconds Sgt. Kylon's heart seems to stop completely. She almost doesn't make it, arcing almost short of the building, only catching hold with what seems like the very tips of her gloved hands. She clutches the lip of the roof, her strength the only thing keeping her from plummeting five stories into the street below.

Sgt. Kylon can almost hear her grunt of pain as she tries to pull herself up. But the creak of bows being drawn snaps his attention to the men on the ground and one word booms through the shocked silence.

"Fire!"

Bows twang. Arrows arch. The Shadowalker pulls herself up with agonizing slowness. She almost makes it clear, but one arrow catches her square in her thigh. Sgt. Kylon flinches and hisses as though it is his own wound as she limps out of sight.

Within seconds the building is surrounded by both the city guards and the Arl's personal soldiers. Sgt. Kylon's stomach twists as he realizes that this building stands alone along the pier, flush along the docks and ship births.

For the woman who saved his life, there is no way out.

There's nothing Sgt. Kylon can do as men that outrank him bark out orders. A fight erupts between the Captain of the City Guard and the Lieutenant in command of the Arl's men over who gets the honor of storming the building. Arl Urien's Lieutenant prevails in getting the city guards to back off, claiming that the Shadowalker is theirs to kill. But Sgt. Kylon knows that it is not loyalty to their lordling that fuels their claim. It is terror. For if they do not return with the Shadowalker's corpse, it will be their heads that adorn the walls of the Arl of Denerim's estate.

Urien's men rush the front entrance to the warehouse finding it locked tight. There are no windows within reach, and the back entrance is discovered to be equally secure. Kylon wonders what the hell is stored in this warehouse that requires such protective measures, but is also grateful that for a moment the Shadowalker is safe.

It takes minutes of futility hacking at the front entrance with their weapons for the soldiers to scrounge up a makeshift battering ram that allows them to break the heavy wood down. In the meantime, the street clogs with onlookers drawn by the clamor, and Sgt. Kylon orders his men, who have finally appeared on the scene, to establish a perimeter and keep the growing crowd back. He can't help the Shadowalker, but he can keep innocent bystanders from getting caught in the crossfire.

A squad of ten soldiers vanish inside. For many agonizing minutes nothing happens. Outside, the growing crowd becomes restless. Shouts break through the murmurs. Word spreads of Lord Vaughan's death by the Shadowalker's blade. Some cheer the guards, but even more yell for the armsmen to let the Shadowalker free.

The crash of breaking glass draws everyone's attention upwards as a guard soars through a third story window. Another guard follows quickly, his screams silencing with a sickening crunch of shattered bone as he hits the dirt street. More cheers and angry shouts erupt from the crowd. A minute or so passes before another man comes stumbling out of the front entrance, moaning and clutching his face. Three more eventually stagger out of the building, with broken bones or covered in blood, faces pale with fear as they babble about the demon they think is inside. No more men walk out, and neither do they answer the calls of the other guards.

A second wave of the Arl's men are sent in and then a third of the City Watch's elite unite, each meeting with similar fates, each time the crowd growing more excited and difficult to keep back. And when the Captain of the Guard and Urien's Lieutenant agree that torches should be brought, the crowd begins to surge. It's everything Sgt. Kylon and his men can do to keep the crowd back, and he knows that they're on the edge of a full scale riot.

Sgt. Kylon watches in horror as the guards set the warehouse on fire, headless of their injured brothers and sisters in arms who might still be inside, or the dry summer weather, or the danger of fire to the rest of the city. A dwarf pushes through the crowd shouting, face red with panic as he points at the building. Sgt. Kylon can barely make out the words over the roar of the crowd, but then his eyes widen as the meaning strikes home.

The warehouse, that is now burning, stores crates of lyrium sand.

It's already too late to put the fire out between the dry wood, heat of the summer and the sea wind. Flames are already consuming the first floor. Sgt. Kylon shouts for his men to move the crowd back as far as they can. For once they actually follow orders, but the crowd wants a better view, pushing against the guards until the first explosion rings from the warehouse.

Everything descends into blurred chaos. People screech and panic, stampeding away from the building, trampling those in their path. More deafening explosions rock the ground. Heat rolls out in a great wave and everyone runs, desperate to get clear of the building that is now a towering inferno.

One last explosion rattles the windows of nearby buildings. Black smoke blocks out the sun. Fiery debris and hot ash rains down singeing bare skin. Kylon keeps people moving, stopping only to pull Sanga to her feet and push her in the right direction, keeping as many people moving as he can until finally, three blocks away, he's clear.

And then the real work begins to keep the fire from spreading into the city and pull the wounded clear of debris. Royal soldiers appear and seize authority, but the work of extinguishing the flames seems endless. The damage is extensive, and by the time the fire is under control almost an entire city block has been reduced to ash. It is full night before Sgt. Kylon is able to sit on a crate and catch his breath and rest his aching muscles. More troops from Ft. Drakon arrive to relieve Sgt. Kylon's singed and weary guards.

Sgt. Kylon knows he should go home and hug his wife and son before he collapses from exhaustion. But all he can do is look at the where the warehouse once stood and wonder if somewhere in Alienage tonight a family will be panicking because their daughter or sister or wife hasn't returned. The urge to act is strong. He should be the one who breaks the news to whoever might grieve for her death, he owes her at least that, but even though he has worked with the vigilante elf for nearly two years, he doesn't even know her name, so instead he stands and heads for home.

He's halfway back when he feels the magical vibration of the summoning stone. For a minute, he's too shocked to do anything, and then he's ripping off his glove and fumbling through his pocket. Callused fingers wrap around the magical object, and then an image of a back alley that he barely recognizes on the northern end of the city near the piers flashes before his eyes. His heart hammers more from anticipation and hope than exertion even as he runs through the dark streets.

Sgt. Kylon slows as he reaches the narrow path between buildings. It is deep into the night now, and this far from the rubble the streets are mostly quiet, but he draws his sword anyway, not knowing what to expect.

He spots movement at the other end, close to where the water laps the pier. He approaches cautiously, and then he sees her – a slender woman propped up next to the wall and a face that he does not recognize. But he can see the pointed ears underneath short cropped hair, a nasty gash above her left eye and a face covered in blood. Her leg is stretched out and a makeshift bandage is covered in blood. And whatever she was wearing is now in complete tatters and smells like charred leather, the skin underneath red and blistered.

He crouches next to her, wondering if this is really her, wondering if he's too late. But he can see the rise and fall of her chest. He reaches out and touches her hand. Slender fingers fall open revealing the summoning stone and a gold wedding band. Grey eyes that he would recognize anywhere flutter open, and she struggles to speak, but she falls unconscious again.

It's her. He doesn't know how she escaped that blast, but he supposes that doesn't matter now. And so he scoops her up as gently as he can and makes his way back across the city trying to stay as out of sight as he can, briefly considering taking her to the Alienage. But he doesn't know who would help her, and he doesn't want to draw attention to her by being the shem who creates an uproar in the middle of the night, so instead he takes her to someone he knows is sympathetic and will provide refuge if he asks.

One of Sanga's girls leads him through the discreet back entrance and down a quiet corridor to a room with a narrow bed where the madam herself awaits. Sanga murmurs to the elf about sending for a healer and Sgt. Kylon frowns.

"Don't worry," she says as the girl leaves and the door shuts behind her. "I know someone who is quite discreet. He doesn't want to be discovered anymore than you do." She places her hands on her hips and looks down at the woman now on the bed. "So who is she?"

Sgt. Kylon clears his throat. "Just someone who got caught in the blast."

But Sanga is no fool. The slash wounds, burns and the filthy blood-soaked bandage that binds the elf's leg make her identity obvious. "Right."

She ushers him to a nearby table and then in her very capable hands things start to happen. A girl brings blessed food and wine and as Kylon gratefully eats and rests, a healer comes – a human man with a glib smile, smart words, and a gold earring that shines in one ear. Kylon knows an apostate on the run when he sees one and suspects that the apostate knows a guardsman by sight too. By mutual silent agreement both men do their best to ignore each other.

The mage does excellent work and within an hour she breathes a name before falling into a deep healing sleep. Sanga sends one of her elven girls to the alienage and returns with a pair of men, one young, one old. The hope that shines on their faces turns to relief. Tears streak down the face of the man who could only be the Shadowalker's father, as he kneels by the bed and holds her hand in silence. Sgt. Kylon takes the younger one aside. He doesn't even have to interrogate the kid who willingly tells the horrific story of a wedding day interrupted and the chance meeting between a monster and a hero. When the boy is finished, Sgt. Kylon nods and leaves the family, who has been through enough for one day, in peace.

Dawn breaks over the city as Sgt. Kylon returns to his own home to a tear streaked embrace of his own. He holds his wife and own son close, grateful that Denerim's native son is dead, but fearful of the wrath his returning father will bring.