Ouch. I pulled a muscle in my neck head banging at a Sum 41 concert. Came
out of there blinder than usual, somewhat deaf, and with a British accent
that crops up whenever I can't hear myself speaking. Sorry it took so long
to get this chapter posted, but my teachers seem to have infected me with a
severe case of writers block in addition to routine piles of homework.
That, and I hated the way the beginning of the chapter kept starting out.
To Sors: What's going on at Ulara? Not much, and quite a hassle at the same time. Blah. I'll make it into a side story for the next chapter thing. Or something. ^-^x
To Striker: No, not exiled. Executed! Neheheh. Or at least, they'll try. Fun fun. What's up with Asalla and Mathis? Why can't they just have another kid? Well, I guess that they could have let Ayrel be horribly killed (Nyahahah) and then gone on to have another kid, but then I'd be out of plot for the last leg of the story. That's the bare truth of the matter. Bites, huh? But, for the covered-up story 'truth-of-the-matter', Mathis is a fanatic (killthemathiskillthemathiskillthemathisteehee! ^o^) and Ayrel, whether she realizes it or not, has her claws dug so deeply into his heart that he couldn't get away even if he wanted to. And as for Asalla, well, Asalla is Asalla. If she survives, I think that I'm going to have to nominate her for the 'Most Devoted Mother of the Millennia Award'.
Just to get this straight, in both my mind and for anyone who may be confused: For the cult's little private army, it's composed of Guardsmen and Dread knights. Guardsmen are normal infantry, while dread knights are the specialized elite.
Twilight had fallen over the ancient city of Kazas, plunging the muddy streets into deep shadow. From above the city gave off the impression of a vast grid: avenues, alleyways, and side streets in a tight, rigid weave. In the better kept, wealthier districts spots of light shone feebly from tin covered lanterns spaced along the roads, but for the most part the city was dark. Few people where out tonight; even the normally crowded market place was empty save for a few dispirited beggars huddled up on the doorsteps of shops. Normally the taverns would be doing a roaring trade in mulled mead and wine as their patrons tried to chase away the damp, but only a few brave customers sat on the stools tonight. An oppressive atmosphere had settled over Kazas, and few ventured out from their homes.
In one of the seedier districts of the city The Cradle was no exception, although it was dark and empty for a very different reason. In the wake of the brawl the street was quiet, holding its breath. Unlike most of the rest of the streets however, the road was not empty.
Sargent Winalf del Vanaa, formerly of the temple guardsmen, lay face down in a dark sticky pool in the middle of the street in front of The Cradle. He had lain there for ten minutes now without moving. Not that someone in his condition could really be expected to move. Sargent Winalf del Vanaa had caused problems for a great many people during his long life; maybe it wasn't so strange that even in death he managed to place one last problem at someone's feet.
That 'someone' was currently three streets over, running as though pursued by the hounds of hell.
Zion's POV:
The clouds that had hung over the city earlier in the day had thinned to a few wisps of drifting vapor, partially obscuring the moon's scarred face. A few stars shone faintly in the twilight, looking cold and lonely in the blue-black sky. Here and there bats flitted about over the rain soaked streets, oblivious to the damp chill that had permeated the city in the wake of the storm. Steeped in shadows, the narrow streets were scattered with detritus from the slate shingled roofs and crumbling walls of the buildings. The greased paper covering the windows of the houses let only a faint glow out into the streets, hardly enough to see by.
Stumbling over a rotten chunk of whitewashed log, I slowed my pace. Rushing headlong through the streets would do me no good, especially if I were to break my ankle tripping over a broken slate. Breathing hard, I reached up and touched the hilt of my sword. Whatever situation I may have gotten myself into, its weight was a great comfort.
And just what ~had~ I got myself into? By killing Winalf I had done the last thing I had wanted and seriously breached temple law: the headsmen's block was the best thing that I could hope for now. Brushing my fingers over the hilt a second time, I shook my head and let my hand fall away. But that was only if I was caught before I could find my way out of here.
I took a moment to gather my bearings. Standing halfway up a cobbled stone street glistening with puddles and wet, my panicked run had taken me in the direction of the Main Gate. No good; I retraced my steps to the head of the avenue and headed in the opposite direction. By the time I could reach the gate word of my crime would have already reached the guards. And even if I could beat the messengers to the gate, without a horse there was little chance that I would be able to get very far before they caught up with me. And my horse was hopefully half a league from the city by now, carrying Remmy and Tabby out of the danger zone. Maybe I should have taken the horse for myself and run, but I owed the woman. If it were discovered that I was missing, she would have been dragged in for questioning. And an inquisitorial session from the dread knights of the Temple is something that no woman, or man, should have to endure.
No, if I were going to get out of the city, it would have to be via a different route. Across the street a cur slunk out from underneath a rotting doorstep to watch me pass; he gave a few half-hearted yips, then retreated back into his den when I paid him no mind. Aside from the Main Gate, the only other exit was an old timber gate in the western wall. It wasn't any great secret in the city, but aside from going over the wall itself it was my only choice. Wishing that I had had the sense to grab a proper cloak before leaving, I continued down the road at a run. The western gate was a half-hour walk from my current position; now, I wasn't sure if I even had that much time.
The street fed into an intersection and there the paving stopped. A lone tin lantern hanging outside a seamstress's shop on the corner illuminated a small part of the street before it. The mud was thick with footprints and was carved up by the ruts left behind by wagons and carts. The wagon drivers must have made profit today, shipping away debris from the storm. Still caught up in my own thoughts I rounded the corner, stepping into the pool of light before realizing with a start that the street wasn't quite as empty as I had thought it.
I skidded to a stop and there was a stunned moment of silence as we stared at each other, almost nose to nose. Then the guardsman seemed to recover, tightening his grip on his spear and thrusting at my gut with a snarl.
By twisting aside I managed to escape being impaled, but the slim blade of the spear still caught my side, leaving a long shallow cut across my hip. The spear slipped past, and the motion of the thrust carried the guardsman forward a step. Moving in quickly I brought my elbow up and across my chest, catching the man in the center of his forehead. His eyes rolled back into his head and he fell backwards into the mud with a clatter.
Rubbing my elbow I took a step back. Another guardsman. Soa, when was this going to end? I glanced up and down the street nervously. Guardsmen weren't required to patrol the streets yet; that was a job still in the hands of the city guard. If they were out in the streets, then-
Hoisting the fallen guard up by the shoulders, I dragged him into the deep shadows of the low brick building next to the seamstress's shop. He wasn't completely out of sight, but there was no other place that I could really leave him. Letting his body sag to the ground again, I retrieved his spear from where it lay in the mud. It was a light thing, more like a throwing javelin than a proper spear. Hefting it, I started to pull my arm back to cast it away, but then stopped. If the temple's men were out in the streets, than the last thing I wanted to happen was to be caught unprepared. My sword may be dangerous once it's in my hands but it isn't exactly a quick weapon to draw, and those extra few seconds that drawing it cost me was ample time to shove a spear into my ribs. At least with the javelin then I wouldn't have to worry about being caught unarmed.
The streets were empty for several blocks, silent as the twilight covering the city slowly faded into the dark of night. I moved as quickly as I dared, my own footsteps sounding thunderous in my ears. At any moment I expected to hear the shouts of guardsmen, spears lancing out of the darkness to cut me down. But no shouts came, and I ran through the street without having to slow to a walk once. In fact, I had almost reached the Western wall before I saw anyone at all.
It's a stroke of luck on my part that the armor that standard issue of armor the temple equips their solders with is made almost entirely of chain mail. In the still of the night you can hear the 'clink' of steel rings rattling against one another long before you even see the man wearing the armor. In a group, they sound like a hyperactive child shaking a jar of coppers. When at last my path began to cross with those of the patrols, I was able to avoid them by backtracking or ducking into alleys or such. Each time they would pass by unawares, muttering quietly to one another as they made a show of peering into the shadows lining the buildings. For all their pretense of searching, none of them seemed very keen to leave the main streets.
Crouching behind a pile of crates after avoiding one such group, I allowed myself to pause for a breather. The gate was close now, just beyond the nameless plaza at the end of the street. I rubbed my forehead, smoothing out the furrows in my brow. The patrols were coming by more and more frequently, coming from or in the direction of the gate. A guard had probably been posted at the gate as well; with the way my luck was running, two or three guardsmen most likely. Well, as long as I had the element of surprise then I could probably end things quickly enough. The gate was only a small affaire anyhow, large enough for two people to squeeze through side by side. The locks were old and rusted; one or two strikes with my broadsword would act as well as any key. But first I still had to get through those guards.
As I eased myself slowly to my feet, I felt an uncomfortable warmth pressing against my chest. Starting, I reached into the folds of my overshirt. My fingers encountered something hard and smooth. The odd gemstone that Ry had forced on me. With all of the commotion I had forgotten about it. Pulling the stone out, I immediately covered it with both hands. It was glowing again, the fiery red filtering through my fingers and illuminating the air around me with a hazy light. Pulling open my shirt I tried to muffle the glow in the fabric but it did little good.
I've probably said this before, and if I haven't already then I'll definitely say it again: Fate loves to screw me over. As I struggled with the damned lump of stone, the sound of jingling chain mail and heavy footfalls filled the air. Automatically I dropped to one knee behind the crates, but the damage was already done. Shouts echoed off of the buildings lining the narrow street; glancing back over my shoulder I saw a patrol of three guardsmen charging up the street, spears lowered and at the ready.
There wasn't really much else for it. Leaving the stone inside my shirt I jumped to my feet, hands groping for the spear that I had procured earlier. Taking two quick side steps I hurled it at the middle guard before turning to run without checking to see if I had struck my target. Guards or no guards, the only way I could possibly make it out now was by simply cutting my way through to the gate. Bolting down the remaining stretch of the road, I emerged out into the plaza in full flight, trying to heave my blade from its sheath as I ran.
The plazas that dot Kazas are all very much the same. Large open areas that are usually cobbled, they provide an area for public celebrations or bazaars. Trees grew through breaks in the paving, graceful white birches looking pale and ghostly in the darkness. Stone watering troughs for horses were placed near the shops ringing the edge, and a small wooden stage stood at the western end. The center of each as dominated by a large carved statue of some long dead ruler of Kazas; in the case of this one it was a stocky, robust looking man with a wicked looking sword held negligently in each hand. A tarnished engraved copper plate at the base gave the man's name, but time and the elements had all but worn it away. I had taken Tabby here during the Festival of Spring last year, so that she could see the company of actors who were in town. The gate was just on the other side, down a side street.
I made a beeline for that street, noticing as I did so a second and third patrol come rushing into the square from adjacent streets. Counting the men already on my tail, that brought the number to eight. Breath whistling out of my throat, I pushed myself even harder as I struggled to keep the pace as I passed next to the statue. And preoccupied with the men on my trail, I failed to see the shadow detach itself from the darkness at the foot of the monolith and thrust a slim stave out into my path.
It tangled in my legs as I passed and I was sent sprawling face first onto the ground. My head struck hard, grinding my lip and nose into the smooth stones. I lay there, dazed, as the rest of the guardsmen caught up, quickly forming a ring around me with the points of their spears tickling my shoulders. Tasting blood from a split in my lip, my stomach sank as the feeling of defeat settled in. I'd been beaten.
"Making a break for the West Gate, huh?" One of the men chuckled, his spear grazing my neck. "Ass. Did you actually think that you'd get out? I can't believe you tripped over your own feet."
I winced as one of the spearheads dug into my spine. "You guys must be getting slow if you only just caught up with me now. Its not like I was running the whole way or anything. Not just slow, soft too." I cocked my head to one side so that I could see the man who'd spoken. "Especially you, slime ball. How'd you manage to fit into a mail coat with a gut like that?"
The spear blade grazing my neck pushed into the skin, drawing a thin trickle of blood. "You filth," the guardsman spat, "I ought to split you open for that!"
I grinned lopsidedly, the hard taste of iron filling my mouth as more blood trickled in. "Go right on ahead. Bet you'd get a promotion for that; a sweet position training a new wave of trainees. Then you could sit about on your fat ass and yell drills at them while you just keep on packing on the flab."
He snarled, tensing his shoulders as though to shove down hard on his spear, but stopped as a hollow grating voice echoed from the shadows.
"That will be enough, Garth." The guardsmen stirred and then parted, making room for the new arrival. Garth's spear left my neck as he stepped back, startled.
"Who-? What are you doing here-" he faltered, his face paling as the speaker moved into view. "Captain Soltrane?" He choked.
Trying my best to look back over my shoulder without moving my head, I could just make out an ominous figure standing at my feet. Giving up, I closed my eyes. I didn't need a clear look at the man to know what he was. Short of the priests, there's only one caste in the temple that the guardsmen will give ground to.
The dread knight stirred. "Your men almost failed, Garth. I had expected better of you, for all of your boasting." The spears pressing into my back disappeared and the collar of my shirt was seized in a strong grip, hauling me roughly to my feet. My head spun as the blood rushed from my head; trying to stand upright, I was towed back down by a hard pull so that I stood with my back arched uncomfortably. Bent over backwards, trying not to let the hold on my collar choke me, I had my first good look at the dread knight captain Soltrane.
He wasn't very tall, which explained my awkward position. Unlike most dread knights, a long cape hung from the shoulder guards and the black enameled armor he wore lacked the dramatic spikes and angles that were so common among the ranks. The only exception to this was his helm: rather than adapting the twisted bestial shape used by the lower ranks, an artisan had created it in the image of a griffin's head, complete with a feathered crest falling down the back of his neck. The griffin's 'mouth' was open, and Soltrane's nose and mouth were just visible through the gap, covered by a thin strip of dark cloth. Distorted by the steel surrounding his face and muffled by the cloth, Soltrane's voice sounded strangely inhuman when he spoke. "Bind his hands. He goes back to the temple."
"But the commander told us that if we caught him, he was to be executed where he stood." One of the guardsmen protested. He shrunk back as the dread knight's gaze turned on him.
"I believe, Johansan, that I outrank your precious commander." The pressure on my neck lessened slightly as one of the men stepped forward, fumbling with a length of hemp rope. "Forsaken by the goddess or no, Damnen is getting a trail."
Johansan fidgeted nervously, but didn't interfere. As the other man finished tightening my bindings though he stiffened, starring at my chest. "Hold on a minute. What's that?"
One characteristic that Soltrane's armor didn't lack was the short bladed protrusions on the steel plates covering the back of his hand. These were pressed flat against my jugular as one of the guardsmen stepped in close, cutting open my over shirt with a small dagger. As the coarse fabric flapped loose, a small crystalline object dropped to the ground. It bounced on the stones once or twice before rolling into a small rut; the air around it infused with an angry red glow.
There was a sharp intake of breath next to my ear. "For the love of the goddess," Soltrane whispered. "Pick that up, man, now!"
Looking as though he had just been told to pick up a venomous serpent, the guard bent over to retrieve the object with shaking hands. But when his fingers brushed the smooth surface the glow surrounding the stone seemed to grow and intensify and the air suddenly felt as though someone had opened an oven. The guard flinched back, trying to shield his eyes, but the stone continued to radiate heat, the light pulsating in time with some unseen source. And as the heat reached the point that beads of sweat had begun to break out on my face, the gem lifted off of the ground of its own accord, slowly rising into the air until it hovered level with my chest.
Soltrane had let go of my neck, stumbling backward into the statue in a frantic attempt to escape the blistering heat. Strange; as hot as it was, it seemed to be affecting me far less than the other men. I starred at the floating stone bemusedly, my thoughts suddenly seeming to be coming slowly to me through a heavy fog. From somewhere infinitely far off someone was shouting something; whether it was at me or because of me, I had no idea. In any case, I wouldn't have much time to think about it. As suddenly as though someone had doused it with a bucket of water, the glow surrounding the stone flickered and died, leaving us to stand in the pitch darkness.
A moment later my world was consumed by fire.
Dart's POV:
/So what now?/
//Find an inn. If nothing's happened yet tonight, then we're probably safe for now//
We stood on a street corner within sight of the main gate, watching the dread knight sentries pacing back and forth on the catwalk at the top of the wall. From time to time one would stop and stare out over the countryside, the light from his torch reflecting off the ridges in his helm. Some clever craftsman had been hired out of late to shape the helms and armor of the dread knights; with the traditional ridged breastplates and helms carved and shaped to resemble some sort of fanciful behemoth, they resembled semi-human beasts stalking about in the moonlight.
Tucking my left arm further underneath my coat, I frowned and tugged the knot holding the sling experimentally. I had managed to heal the worst of the breakage and stop the bleeding with a potion, but the flesh and muscle would have to heal on its own if I was ever going to be able to use it again. Potions are convenient quick solutions in a battle, but sooner or later they need some proper attention and time in order to heal completely. Time consuming, but I would rather fight with one hand now than have my arm give out on me later when I really needed it.
/Probably. Some mulled wine sounds good about now/ Pulling my coat closed, I started down the road in the direction of the town's heart. I had seen a relatively clean inn there earlier today, just before I had caught up with Zion that would do for the night. /Hey, what do we have left for funds?/
Ragnarok started to answer, but changed his phrasing mid-sentence. //I'm not sure. Two hund- Listen!//
Dull hoof beats were pounding up the road in our direction; a moment later a horse and rider was bearing down on us at a dead gallop. Stepping back out of its path I watched as it flew past, the cloak of the rider trailing behind it like a ragged banner. A small child sat on the withers of the horse, clinging to the beast's neck as it ran. The rider was a plump woman riding lightly and very well, taking her figure into account. She was also driving the horse onward with a short leather quirt.
//She's running scared//
Without slowing down they rushed on through the open gates, nearly mowing down the city guard who tried to stop them in the process. The horse quickly was swallowed up in the twilight, until all that was left to show of their passing was churned up mud and hoof beats fading rapidly into the night.
/I think you're right/ I replied after a minute, watching as one of the city guard scrambled onto his horse to give pursuit. He was quick to mount, but by the time he finally rode out his quarry had probably managed to put almost a mile between her and the city walls. Rubbing the back of my neck I continued on. /What do you think happened?/
Ark didn't reply. Not wanting to press him, I turned my attention to the shops nearby. Most of the windows were dark, but near the central marketplace two torches had been thrust into the ground. Guttering brightly in the night, the only thing more welcoming was the smell of roasting meat drifting from the inn. On cue, my stomach gurgled loudly. Suddenly remembering that I hadn't eaten since I had arrived in the city early that morning, I climbed the steps and ducked through the curtained doorway.
Inside the common room was nearly empty, but the fire burning on the hearth chased away the damp from the outdoors. Warm, honey colored boards paneled the walls; clean wax candles burned in tin holders every ten feet or so on tables around the edge of the room. Small round tables, some cluttered with empty dishes, but for the most part scoured clean with sand, were arranged in a broad arc next to the fireplace. At the moment only one was in use; three men of varying ages lounged about it in chairs playing cards and sipping ale from dented tin cups. Off duty guards, most likely.
Seating myself at a table on the other side of the fireplace, I rapped my knuckles lightly on the tabletop. A serving maid, her long blonde hair caught in a braid that hung down to her waist, popped her head out of a doorway that I assumed led to the kitchen. "Sir?"
"Food. Doesn't matter what kind, just as long as it's hot." I leaned back in my chair as she disappeared back behind the doorframe, enjoying the feel of the fire at my back. The heavy heat that had been so unbearable in Lohan just two days ago seemed worlds away.
Shortly the serving girl came back out, carrying a tray loaded down with a thick clay bowl filled with stew and part of a loaf of bread. Setting it down in front of me, she watched curiously as I started to eat.
"Haven't seen you around here before. I'm Shelia. What's yours?"
"Ry." Soaking up some of gravy with a chunk of bread, I took a bite. The gravy was a little watery, but the bread was still warm from the oven.
"Funny name. Are you foreign or something?" She asked, her brow furrowing slightly. "We had a few merchants through here from Fletz yesterday."
"Foreign?" I swallowed the bread and picked up a spoon. "You could say that."
Shelia made one or two more attempts to strike up conversation, but gave up when she realized that I was more interested in food than talking. Giving a little huff, she tossed her braid back over her shoulder and flounced prettily over to the table occupied by the guardsmen. Pausing with the spoon halfway to my mouth, I watched her go out of the corner of my eye. Shame, really. I should have talked to her some more; she was quite pretty. Maybe I'd catch up with her later on.
//Quit eyeing the wench, Dart. You don't have time//
I snorted and finished transferring the spoon from the bowl to my mouth. /You take all of the fun out of life, you know that?/ Something jabbed me in the roof of the mouth, and I spat out a bone. Pushing the stew aside, I reached for more bread.
The curtain hung across the doorway moved, and a grizzled man with sparse, iron-grey hair ducked inconspicuously into the room. Or made an attempt to, anyway. He was only about five feet tall and had a large, purple birthmark marring the left side of his haggard face. His clothes, dark peasants brown for the most part, were stained and the spurs on the back of his boots were caked with mud from the streets. Most importantly, he wore a green surcoat over his chain mail shirt, marking him as a temple messenger. Tossing his worn cloak negligently back over one shoulder, he ignored me completely and headed for the guards lounging about around the table.
As he approached one of the men, a young man with his chin covered in stubble, looked up from his cards long enough to give the messenger a scathing look. "Hey, Thwal. What the hell does your bloody Temple want from us now?"
Shelia fled to the kitchen. The other men seated around the table looked about apprehensively, and Thwal's jaw tightened angrily. "Watch your tongue Mao, or I'm going to have to cut it out." His hand drifted to a narrow dagger shoved through his belt, and he thumbed the blade almost eagerly. "The city guard has been ordered to provide us with assistance tonight as needed. And right now, we need you slobs out helping to patrol the streets."
"Why would we do that? Trump," he added, laying a card on top of the pile in the middle of the table. One of his partners cursed under his breath and shuffled through his hand.
"Mao, your attitude is going to get you into trouble one of these days." Thwal growled ominously.
Picking up a card, Mao raised an eyebrow. "Not from you it won't. You're an errand boy, not a guardsman. And you're downright foul to boot. No one'd miss you enough to convict me anyhow." He winced as another card was laid. "Shoot. You cultists have become way too full of yourselves for your own good. Now, if there were more people out there like Damnen-"
"Damnen is as good as dead. That coward just murdered Winalf del Vanaa!"
I dropped my spoon onto the table with a clatter, but no one seemed to notice. The room seemed to be holding their breath; the cook was peering out through the kitchen door.
"Did he? A guardsmen? Good job!" Mao chuckled and took a drink from a tankard. "And now I suppose you want us to go and help to track him down? Forget it. Anyone going after Damnen is picking a fight with the reaper."
Tossing a handful of small coin indiscriminately on the table, a pushed back my chair and left the table. No one took any notice; all eyes were on the two men arguing at the table. Crossing the room and pushing the curtain aside, the last sound I heard as I stepped out into the night was a startled gasp from the cook standing in the kitchen doorframe as Thwal hit Mao upside the head with his fist. Letting the curtain fall closed behind me, I glanced around. A small horse, probably Thwal's, had been tethered to an iron ring set into the wall of the inn; jumping off of the step, I fumbled with the leather reins with my good hand, ignoring the animal's startled spook. /What the hell is that kid thinking, killing a guardsmen?/
//Who knows, but I applaud him for it// Ragnarok sounded grimly delighted. //He must be trying to get out of the city before they can hunt him down//
/If the city guard's been mobilized, he'll never make it/ I replied, tossing the reins up over the horse's head and swinging awkwardly up into the high-cantled saddle. /Not through the main gate, at any rate/
//Then he won't be heading in that direction// Ark hesitated as I twisted my belt around so that the sheath rested more comfortably over my left thigh. Thumping the gelding's sides with my heels, I wheeled the animal about and urged it into a fast trot. //Don't bother// He snapped. //Do you honestly think you'll find him before they do, running about blindly?//
/Do you have any other ideas?/ I asked as the horse broke into a canter.
//Several, actually. And if you would so kindly stop this blasted creature and listen for a moment, I'd tell you//
I did as I was bid. /Well?/
//Give me a moment. You gave the red-eye spirit to Damnen, didn't you? We can use that link to track him, if need be//
/I'd say that there is a need. Why didn't you mention this before?/
//It only works if you were the one who passed on the stone// Ragnarok said irritably. //Don't you think that I would have mentioned it earlier if I thought there was a use?//
The magic itself wasn't particularly difficult. At least, it wouldn't have been for Ark. At least I didn't have to deal with the headache that always came when he channeled it through me. But for a human whose natural skill with magic is next to none, it felt as though I was trying to lift a mountain with my fingertips. The basic principle involved sending my mind 'out', as Ark called it, to find the spirit. That I was already used to surrendering control of my body to Ark helped somewhat, but taking my mind out of my body completely required an effort I hadn't realized previously. After several false starts, I finally managed it on my fourth try. The world around me plunged into darkness, but my mind remained alert. Something felt odd; it was a moment before I could place it. Floating bodiless in the void, for the first time in centuries I was alone in my own mind. Ark was still trapped within my own body, unable to leave the vessel that carried his spirit. I drifted about aimlessly, trying to come to grips with what to do next when I felt it. A trail, like but not quite the same as a scent, wound off into the blackness. It was warm; touching it once, I followed it through the dark, the hound coursing for the rabbit. Images flitted through my thoughts: muddy, narrow streets soaked in shadow, broad avenues paved in cobbles and lighted by tin lamps. Direction and distance was meaningless in this place, but the figures still attached themselves to the images. Abruptly the train of pictures disappeared and a red light was left burning alone in the blackness. The red-eye spirit. And then the light and the void disappeared, and I was back sitting in an uncomfortable saddle in the middle of Kazas' damp streets.
//Well?//
My thoughts slowly re-organized themselves. /West, I think/ I gave my head a little shake, then picked up the reins. /Yeah. He's a little less than a mile to the northwest, near the gate in that section of the wall/ Moving my horse back into a canter, I followed my own directions and took the first street that branched off in a northerly direction.
The red-eye spirit was a constant pull in the back of my mind as we raced through the streets. It made a good guide, although it did nothing to help us to avoid the chunks of wood and plaster littering the streets. We avoided the worst of it, but more than once the gelding tripped, nearly throwing me, and once he almost went down, but by some miracle of Soa I managed to stay in the saddle through the whole ride. The only good thing about Kazas at night is that the layout of the streets is so predictable that it's relatively easy to find your way around the greater part of the city, as long as you keep the idea that it's laid out like a grid firmly in your head. Taking two streets to the north, I cut across onto a street heading more or less in a western direction and let the horse stretch out into a gallop.
When my link with the spirit dissolved at last, we were barreling down a broad avenue sparsely lighted by tin lamps hanging from wooden posts every hundred feet or so. The far end of the street opened up into a plaza, similar to the central marketplace. I'd been there once before, when I had last come to Kazas several years ago. When the spirit's pull, which had been growing steadily stronger as we'd traveled, disappeared I started to rein in my mount, confused. As the animal's strides collected and became shorter, I sat deeper into the saddle and leaned back to avoid being bounced off. /What happened?/
Incandescent light flared up in the plaza ahead. Seeming even more painfully brilliant because of the somber dark it spread and grew, burning the shadows covering the square.
Alarmed by the flash my mount squealed and reared up, front legs flailing in the air wildly. Caught off balance, the reins I had been holding were jerked out of my grasp and I tumbled backwards over the horse's rump. Landing hard, I cried out as pain stabbed through my left shoulder and arm. Without anyone to prevent it from running, the horse wheeled about sharply and bolted back up the street, still squealing. I remained lying on my back on the stones, trying to find the breath that had been knocked from my lungs.
//Get up!//
I didn't immediately comply, gasping as a second wave of pain racked through my arm. Of course, Ark would ignore that. /Give me a second, will you?/ Slowly shifting my weight onto my good arm, I pushed myself up onto my knees. /Sadist/ Lifting my head, I starred at the light. I could see the blurred silhouettes of people moving about in its depths, most of them moving away as quickly as possible. All save for one, who stood directly next to the source.
//I think that we just found the kid//
The light died, and I struggled painfully to my feet. /Wha-?/ Odd, transparent colors swam across my vision as my eyes struggled to adjust to the change. As good as blind, I slowly reached for the hilt of my sword and gripped it tightly, waiting for my eyes to focus again. Unfortunately, they didn't get much of a chance.
A great gout of fire blossomed up in the center of the square, spitting liquid flame in all directions as it spread outward in an ever- expanding circle. From the depths of the inferno someone screamed harshly, the sound raising the hairs on the back of my neck. Instinctively I took a step back, squinting and half-raising one hand to my face. "What the hell's going on?!" I asked aloud.
As we watched, the flames at the core slowly began to condense.
//It's that kid, damn him! He must have activated the stone sub- consciously!//
Zion's POV:
I was burning.
Fire charred my clothing and licked at my face, the heat so intense that it was a wonder that my skin didn't erupt into a mass of blisters. Sweat would have been rolling down my face, were it not for the fact that it evaporated faster than it could form. Somewhere nearby someone was screaming in a hoarse, broken voice; it took a moment to realize that it was me.
I wasn't the only thing burning either. Waves of flame swept through the square, scorching the stones and setting fire to the trees and buildings. The guardsmen whom had held me at spear point moments before were fleeing, trying desperately to outrun the wall of fire bearing down upon them. It died several meters from the edge of the streets, but those who escaped didn't stop running for a very, very long time. Soltrane was nowhere to be seen.
Stop it, I pleaded silently. Someone please, just make it stop!
As if in correspondence with my thoughts, the flames feeding off of my clothing seemed to turn to liquid, melting slowly off of my limbs. What was left behind in its wake, however, was a far cry from the rough linen shirt and loose fitting breeches I had been clad in before. I brought my hand up to my face, starring at the smooth, burnished crimson gauntlet covering my fist.
"Wh-?" I couldn't get the words out. Instead I dropped my gaze to the ornate breastplate, tentatively touching the huge green gemstone that was set into the center. Strange, armor should be made of steel. This was made of something entirely different, harder and lighter. Still stunned, I reached for my sword, which lay on the stones where I had dropped it earlier. It had morphed to match the armor, the plain blade and crosshilt inlaid with curious small stones akin to the one on the breastplate.
There was the scuff of boot on stone behind me. Rising from my crouch, I turned to see what had made the sound.
Stars exploded in my vision as the butt end of a staff slammed into the side of my face. As slumped somewhat awkwardly to the ground, a second blow rebounded off of one of the shoulder plates of the armor. I tried to roll over, but something hampered my movement, and as a result I only made it as far as getting onto my side. Before I could move a heavy boot came down on my arm, pinning it to my ribcage. The butt of a blackthorn staff ground into the stones a hairsbreadth from my nose.
"It's a shame that you've chosen to forsake the Moon Goddess, Damnen. Spirit bearers are rare, and the high priests favor them over all others." Soltrane's voice was soft. "Your life could have actually been worth something. But alas." His voice sharpened. "Where did you come across that stone?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about!" I snarled, glaring out of the corner of my eyes at the other man. To my surprise, he chuckled humorlessly.
"And yet here you are. As I said Damnen, it truly is a pity." Raising the staff, he held it poised to crush my windpipe. "But I guess there really is no excuse for plain stupidity."
'What is going on?' I was starting to get tired of that question. But then again, I was starting to get sick of everything that was happening tonight. Was it just this morning that my biggest worry had been how to get eighty pounds of groceries back to Remmy's? And now here I was, lying on the ground about to get my brains smashed in by a dread knight captain, dressed in some seriously bazaar armor, with the increasing (and justified) feeling that there was something seriously wrong with me. Not to mention being horribly confused as to how exactly the whole affair had come into being. So you can probably piece together what my mood was starting to develop into.
Wrenching my arm out from underneath my body, I seized the end of the staff and yanked. As Soltrane lurched off of me I rolled to my feet and, on some strange instinct, kicked off into the air. Not just jumped; one second I was firmly on the ground and the next I was hovering thirty feet over the cobblestones. It took me a moment to connect the strange flexing feeling in my shoulders to the phenomenon. Wings. I had bloody /wings/ for crying out loud! What sort of freak was I becoming now?
Getting to his feet, Soltrane snarled. Dipping into the neck of his armor, he pulled out what looked like a curiously shaped bottle. Hurling it at me, he dove out of the way.
I reacted without thinking, dipping into a quick shallow dive to dodge the bottle, then flipping over and stretching one hand out towards Soltrane. A torrent of fire burst from my palm, spiraling crazily through the air before colliding into the dread knight with a muffled concussion. Soltrane was thrown backwards, slamming into the statue behind him and collapsing to the ground like a limp rag doll.
The bottle he had thrown smashed on the stones below. Green flames were spreading quickly across the square, seeming to feed off of the stones themselves. I returned to the ground, odd, gossamer wings beating the air slowly as I eyed the emerald fire nervously. Landing well clear of it, I stood subdued watching as the square burned in red and green flame. From where he lay, Soltrane groaned and moved slightly, but I made no move toward him. Reaching back over my shoulder, I felt where my wings protruded from the back of my armor near the base of my neck.
"Wha- what am I?" I asked, my voice sounding hoarse to my own ears.
Unexpectedly, someone answered.
"A dragoon, to put it simply."
"Huh?" I tried to spin around to see who had spoken, but at that moment all of my strength seemed to desert me. My legs buckled underneath me, and I went down to my knees with a clatter. The armor covering my body became uncomfortably warm for a moment, then disappeared in a flash of light. Without it, my exhaustion seemed to become even worse. The gemstone that I had received from him earlier that day dropped to the stones, and I picked it up quickly. Slumping into a sitting position, I looked up. Ry stood several meters away, watching me with an odd expression on his face.
"Dragoon?" The word tugged at something in my memory. "That's impossible. They're just fairy tales."
He laughed quietly. "You'd be surprised how many fairy tales turn out to be the truth, and what truths are really the fiction." He shifted his weight. "No, you're a dragoon alright. That was some powerful magic you did just now," he said conversationally, extending his hand to help me up. "No wonder you're exhausted. You might want to go a little easier in the future."
I hesitated before taking his hand and allowing him to pull me to my feet. In a roundabout way, he was the one who had brought me into this whole mess in the first place after all. But if he had any answers-
Hoisting me to my feet, Ry supported me by one arm until he seemed sure that I could stand on my own. Then he let go and walked away, heading for a gap in the emerald flames.
"Wait!" I started after him, willing my knees not to shake with the effort. "What do you mean 'in the future'?"
He stopped, but didn't look back. "You're a dragoon, Zion. Whether you want it or not, you're a dragoon. Sooner or later you're going to get dragged into the heart of some bloody conflict, and the only way you'll survive it is by relying on your own powers. It comes hand in hand with being one of them."
"One of them? What, there's others like me?"
Ry started walking again. "Who knows?"
I stumbled. I tripped once or twice. But somehow I managed to catch up with him. Grabbing one of his shoulders, I let go quickly as his face contorted in pain. Right, he had that arm in a sling. But he did stop. I starred at him for a moment, trying to get my thoughts in order, but they kept slipping away before I could form the question. Finally, I just asked the question that weighed on my mind most heavily of all.
"Why?"
"That's a big question," Ry replied, raising one eyebrow. "Are you sure you really want to know the answer?"
"Better than ignorance."
He laughed again, but this time it sounded harsh and somewhat flat to my ears. "You may regret saying those words someday."
The clatter of armor filled the air, accompanied by the rumble of many, many footsteps. So the temple had sent reinforcements. Absolutely brilliant. Ry obviously heard it too, because he nodded his head in the direction of the western gate, now only a short distance away. "Come on, then. Regrets or no, you've made your choice." Without waiting to see if I would follow, he turned and ran towards the gate.
Summoning up the strength to follow, it never really occurred to me exactly what he had meant by that. It would be a while before I ever found out. Right then, all I knew is that ahead there was safety, and behind was probably then entire temple garrison.
Too bad I didn't have the faintest idea what I meant by 'safety'.
Shade: **standing in the center of her subdivision, holding aloft a small white bag labeled 'Hershey's'** Chocolate bars for sale? Support your local high school?
**The doors of the houses lining the street slam shut as a one**
Shade: **looking hurt** Anyone?
There! It's done! Hope you guys liked it, because it was a pain in the arse to write. Took me long enough. So throw pointy objects at me. Gently, though. I still need to get through the rest of the story.
To Sors: What's going on at Ulara? Not much, and quite a hassle at the same time. Blah. I'll make it into a side story for the next chapter thing. Or something. ^-^x
To Striker: No, not exiled. Executed! Neheheh. Or at least, they'll try. Fun fun. What's up with Asalla and Mathis? Why can't they just have another kid? Well, I guess that they could have let Ayrel be horribly killed (Nyahahah) and then gone on to have another kid, but then I'd be out of plot for the last leg of the story. That's the bare truth of the matter. Bites, huh? But, for the covered-up story 'truth-of-the-matter', Mathis is a fanatic (killthemathiskillthemathiskillthemathisteehee! ^o^) and Ayrel, whether she realizes it or not, has her claws dug so deeply into his heart that he couldn't get away even if he wanted to. And as for Asalla, well, Asalla is Asalla. If she survives, I think that I'm going to have to nominate her for the 'Most Devoted Mother of the Millennia Award'.
Just to get this straight, in both my mind and for anyone who may be confused: For the cult's little private army, it's composed of Guardsmen and Dread knights. Guardsmen are normal infantry, while dread knights are the specialized elite.
Twilight had fallen over the ancient city of Kazas, plunging the muddy streets into deep shadow. From above the city gave off the impression of a vast grid: avenues, alleyways, and side streets in a tight, rigid weave. In the better kept, wealthier districts spots of light shone feebly from tin covered lanterns spaced along the roads, but for the most part the city was dark. Few people where out tonight; even the normally crowded market place was empty save for a few dispirited beggars huddled up on the doorsteps of shops. Normally the taverns would be doing a roaring trade in mulled mead and wine as their patrons tried to chase away the damp, but only a few brave customers sat on the stools tonight. An oppressive atmosphere had settled over Kazas, and few ventured out from their homes.
In one of the seedier districts of the city The Cradle was no exception, although it was dark and empty for a very different reason. In the wake of the brawl the street was quiet, holding its breath. Unlike most of the rest of the streets however, the road was not empty.
Sargent Winalf del Vanaa, formerly of the temple guardsmen, lay face down in a dark sticky pool in the middle of the street in front of The Cradle. He had lain there for ten minutes now without moving. Not that someone in his condition could really be expected to move. Sargent Winalf del Vanaa had caused problems for a great many people during his long life; maybe it wasn't so strange that even in death he managed to place one last problem at someone's feet.
That 'someone' was currently three streets over, running as though pursued by the hounds of hell.
Zion's POV:
The clouds that had hung over the city earlier in the day had thinned to a few wisps of drifting vapor, partially obscuring the moon's scarred face. A few stars shone faintly in the twilight, looking cold and lonely in the blue-black sky. Here and there bats flitted about over the rain soaked streets, oblivious to the damp chill that had permeated the city in the wake of the storm. Steeped in shadows, the narrow streets were scattered with detritus from the slate shingled roofs and crumbling walls of the buildings. The greased paper covering the windows of the houses let only a faint glow out into the streets, hardly enough to see by.
Stumbling over a rotten chunk of whitewashed log, I slowed my pace. Rushing headlong through the streets would do me no good, especially if I were to break my ankle tripping over a broken slate. Breathing hard, I reached up and touched the hilt of my sword. Whatever situation I may have gotten myself into, its weight was a great comfort.
And just what ~had~ I got myself into? By killing Winalf I had done the last thing I had wanted and seriously breached temple law: the headsmen's block was the best thing that I could hope for now. Brushing my fingers over the hilt a second time, I shook my head and let my hand fall away. But that was only if I was caught before I could find my way out of here.
I took a moment to gather my bearings. Standing halfway up a cobbled stone street glistening with puddles and wet, my panicked run had taken me in the direction of the Main Gate. No good; I retraced my steps to the head of the avenue and headed in the opposite direction. By the time I could reach the gate word of my crime would have already reached the guards. And even if I could beat the messengers to the gate, without a horse there was little chance that I would be able to get very far before they caught up with me. And my horse was hopefully half a league from the city by now, carrying Remmy and Tabby out of the danger zone. Maybe I should have taken the horse for myself and run, but I owed the woman. If it were discovered that I was missing, she would have been dragged in for questioning. And an inquisitorial session from the dread knights of the Temple is something that no woman, or man, should have to endure.
No, if I were going to get out of the city, it would have to be via a different route. Across the street a cur slunk out from underneath a rotting doorstep to watch me pass; he gave a few half-hearted yips, then retreated back into his den when I paid him no mind. Aside from the Main Gate, the only other exit was an old timber gate in the western wall. It wasn't any great secret in the city, but aside from going over the wall itself it was my only choice. Wishing that I had had the sense to grab a proper cloak before leaving, I continued down the road at a run. The western gate was a half-hour walk from my current position; now, I wasn't sure if I even had that much time.
The street fed into an intersection and there the paving stopped. A lone tin lantern hanging outside a seamstress's shop on the corner illuminated a small part of the street before it. The mud was thick with footprints and was carved up by the ruts left behind by wagons and carts. The wagon drivers must have made profit today, shipping away debris from the storm. Still caught up in my own thoughts I rounded the corner, stepping into the pool of light before realizing with a start that the street wasn't quite as empty as I had thought it.
I skidded to a stop and there was a stunned moment of silence as we stared at each other, almost nose to nose. Then the guardsman seemed to recover, tightening his grip on his spear and thrusting at my gut with a snarl.
By twisting aside I managed to escape being impaled, but the slim blade of the spear still caught my side, leaving a long shallow cut across my hip. The spear slipped past, and the motion of the thrust carried the guardsman forward a step. Moving in quickly I brought my elbow up and across my chest, catching the man in the center of his forehead. His eyes rolled back into his head and he fell backwards into the mud with a clatter.
Rubbing my elbow I took a step back. Another guardsman. Soa, when was this going to end? I glanced up and down the street nervously. Guardsmen weren't required to patrol the streets yet; that was a job still in the hands of the city guard. If they were out in the streets, then-
Hoisting the fallen guard up by the shoulders, I dragged him into the deep shadows of the low brick building next to the seamstress's shop. He wasn't completely out of sight, but there was no other place that I could really leave him. Letting his body sag to the ground again, I retrieved his spear from where it lay in the mud. It was a light thing, more like a throwing javelin than a proper spear. Hefting it, I started to pull my arm back to cast it away, but then stopped. If the temple's men were out in the streets, than the last thing I wanted to happen was to be caught unprepared. My sword may be dangerous once it's in my hands but it isn't exactly a quick weapon to draw, and those extra few seconds that drawing it cost me was ample time to shove a spear into my ribs. At least with the javelin then I wouldn't have to worry about being caught unarmed.
The streets were empty for several blocks, silent as the twilight covering the city slowly faded into the dark of night. I moved as quickly as I dared, my own footsteps sounding thunderous in my ears. At any moment I expected to hear the shouts of guardsmen, spears lancing out of the darkness to cut me down. But no shouts came, and I ran through the street without having to slow to a walk once. In fact, I had almost reached the Western wall before I saw anyone at all.
It's a stroke of luck on my part that the armor that standard issue of armor the temple equips their solders with is made almost entirely of chain mail. In the still of the night you can hear the 'clink' of steel rings rattling against one another long before you even see the man wearing the armor. In a group, they sound like a hyperactive child shaking a jar of coppers. When at last my path began to cross with those of the patrols, I was able to avoid them by backtracking or ducking into alleys or such. Each time they would pass by unawares, muttering quietly to one another as they made a show of peering into the shadows lining the buildings. For all their pretense of searching, none of them seemed very keen to leave the main streets.
Crouching behind a pile of crates after avoiding one such group, I allowed myself to pause for a breather. The gate was close now, just beyond the nameless plaza at the end of the street. I rubbed my forehead, smoothing out the furrows in my brow. The patrols were coming by more and more frequently, coming from or in the direction of the gate. A guard had probably been posted at the gate as well; with the way my luck was running, two or three guardsmen most likely. Well, as long as I had the element of surprise then I could probably end things quickly enough. The gate was only a small affaire anyhow, large enough for two people to squeeze through side by side. The locks were old and rusted; one or two strikes with my broadsword would act as well as any key. But first I still had to get through those guards.
As I eased myself slowly to my feet, I felt an uncomfortable warmth pressing against my chest. Starting, I reached into the folds of my overshirt. My fingers encountered something hard and smooth. The odd gemstone that Ry had forced on me. With all of the commotion I had forgotten about it. Pulling the stone out, I immediately covered it with both hands. It was glowing again, the fiery red filtering through my fingers and illuminating the air around me with a hazy light. Pulling open my shirt I tried to muffle the glow in the fabric but it did little good.
I've probably said this before, and if I haven't already then I'll definitely say it again: Fate loves to screw me over. As I struggled with the damned lump of stone, the sound of jingling chain mail and heavy footfalls filled the air. Automatically I dropped to one knee behind the crates, but the damage was already done. Shouts echoed off of the buildings lining the narrow street; glancing back over my shoulder I saw a patrol of three guardsmen charging up the street, spears lowered and at the ready.
There wasn't really much else for it. Leaving the stone inside my shirt I jumped to my feet, hands groping for the spear that I had procured earlier. Taking two quick side steps I hurled it at the middle guard before turning to run without checking to see if I had struck my target. Guards or no guards, the only way I could possibly make it out now was by simply cutting my way through to the gate. Bolting down the remaining stretch of the road, I emerged out into the plaza in full flight, trying to heave my blade from its sheath as I ran.
The plazas that dot Kazas are all very much the same. Large open areas that are usually cobbled, they provide an area for public celebrations or bazaars. Trees grew through breaks in the paving, graceful white birches looking pale and ghostly in the darkness. Stone watering troughs for horses were placed near the shops ringing the edge, and a small wooden stage stood at the western end. The center of each as dominated by a large carved statue of some long dead ruler of Kazas; in the case of this one it was a stocky, robust looking man with a wicked looking sword held negligently in each hand. A tarnished engraved copper plate at the base gave the man's name, but time and the elements had all but worn it away. I had taken Tabby here during the Festival of Spring last year, so that she could see the company of actors who were in town. The gate was just on the other side, down a side street.
I made a beeline for that street, noticing as I did so a second and third patrol come rushing into the square from adjacent streets. Counting the men already on my tail, that brought the number to eight. Breath whistling out of my throat, I pushed myself even harder as I struggled to keep the pace as I passed next to the statue. And preoccupied with the men on my trail, I failed to see the shadow detach itself from the darkness at the foot of the monolith and thrust a slim stave out into my path.
It tangled in my legs as I passed and I was sent sprawling face first onto the ground. My head struck hard, grinding my lip and nose into the smooth stones. I lay there, dazed, as the rest of the guardsmen caught up, quickly forming a ring around me with the points of their spears tickling my shoulders. Tasting blood from a split in my lip, my stomach sank as the feeling of defeat settled in. I'd been beaten.
"Making a break for the West Gate, huh?" One of the men chuckled, his spear grazing my neck. "Ass. Did you actually think that you'd get out? I can't believe you tripped over your own feet."
I winced as one of the spearheads dug into my spine. "You guys must be getting slow if you only just caught up with me now. Its not like I was running the whole way or anything. Not just slow, soft too." I cocked my head to one side so that I could see the man who'd spoken. "Especially you, slime ball. How'd you manage to fit into a mail coat with a gut like that?"
The spear blade grazing my neck pushed into the skin, drawing a thin trickle of blood. "You filth," the guardsman spat, "I ought to split you open for that!"
I grinned lopsidedly, the hard taste of iron filling my mouth as more blood trickled in. "Go right on ahead. Bet you'd get a promotion for that; a sweet position training a new wave of trainees. Then you could sit about on your fat ass and yell drills at them while you just keep on packing on the flab."
He snarled, tensing his shoulders as though to shove down hard on his spear, but stopped as a hollow grating voice echoed from the shadows.
"That will be enough, Garth." The guardsmen stirred and then parted, making room for the new arrival. Garth's spear left my neck as he stepped back, startled.
"Who-? What are you doing here-" he faltered, his face paling as the speaker moved into view. "Captain Soltrane?" He choked.
Trying my best to look back over my shoulder without moving my head, I could just make out an ominous figure standing at my feet. Giving up, I closed my eyes. I didn't need a clear look at the man to know what he was. Short of the priests, there's only one caste in the temple that the guardsmen will give ground to.
The dread knight stirred. "Your men almost failed, Garth. I had expected better of you, for all of your boasting." The spears pressing into my back disappeared and the collar of my shirt was seized in a strong grip, hauling me roughly to my feet. My head spun as the blood rushed from my head; trying to stand upright, I was towed back down by a hard pull so that I stood with my back arched uncomfortably. Bent over backwards, trying not to let the hold on my collar choke me, I had my first good look at the dread knight captain Soltrane.
He wasn't very tall, which explained my awkward position. Unlike most dread knights, a long cape hung from the shoulder guards and the black enameled armor he wore lacked the dramatic spikes and angles that were so common among the ranks. The only exception to this was his helm: rather than adapting the twisted bestial shape used by the lower ranks, an artisan had created it in the image of a griffin's head, complete with a feathered crest falling down the back of his neck. The griffin's 'mouth' was open, and Soltrane's nose and mouth were just visible through the gap, covered by a thin strip of dark cloth. Distorted by the steel surrounding his face and muffled by the cloth, Soltrane's voice sounded strangely inhuman when he spoke. "Bind his hands. He goes back to the temple."
"But the commander told us that if we caught him, he was to be executed where he stood." One of the guardsmen protested. He shrunk back as the dread knight's gaze turned on him.
"I believe, Johansan, that I outrank your precious commander." The pressure on my neck lessened slightly as one of the men stepped forward, fumbling with a length of hemp rope. "Forsaken by the goddess or no, Damnen is getting a trail."
Johansan fidgeted nervously, but didn't interfere. As the other man finished tightening my bindings though he stiffened, starring at my chest. "Hold on a minute. What's that?"
One characteristic that Soltrane's armor didn't lack was the short bladed protrusions on the steel plates covering the back of his hand. These were pressed flat against my jugular as one of the guardsmen stepped in close, cutting open my over shirt with a small dagger. As the coarse fabric flapped loose, a small crystalline object dropped to the ground. It bounced on the stones once or twice before rolling into a small rut; the air around it infused with an angry red glow.
There was a sharp intake of breath next to my ear. "For the love of the goddess," Soltrane whispered. "Pick that up, man, now!"
Looking as though he had just been told to pick up a venomous serpent, the guard bent over to retrieve the object with shaking hands. But when his fingers brushed the smooth surface the glow surrounding the stone seemed to grow and intensify and the air suddenly felt as though someone had opened an oven. The guard flinched back, trying to shield his eyes, but the stone continued to radiate heat, the light pulsating in time with some unseen source. And as the heat reached the point that beads of sweat had begun to break out on my face, the gem lifted off of the ground of its own accord, slowly rising into the air until it hovered level with my chest.
Soltrane had let go of my neck, stumbling backward into the statue in a frantic attempt to escape the blistering heat. Strange; as hot as it was, it seemed to be affecting me far less than the other men. I starred at the floating stone bemusedly, my thoughts suddenly seeming to be coming slowly to me through a heavy fog. From somewhere infinitely far off someone was shouting something; whether it was at me or because of me, I had no idea. In any case, I wouldn't have much time to think about it. As suddenly as though someone had doused it with a bucket of water, the glow surrounding the stone flickered and died, leaving us to stand in the pitch darkness.
A moment later my world was consumed by fire.
Dart's POV:
/So what now?/
//Find an inn. If nothing's happened yet tonight, then we're probably safe for now//
We stood on a street corner within sight of the main gate, watching the dread knight sentries pacing back and forth on the catwalk at the top of the wall. From time to time one would stop and stare out over the countryside, the light from his torch reflecting off the ridges in his helm. Some clever craftsman had been hired out of late to shape the helms and armor of the dread knights; with the traditional ridged breastplates and helms carved and shaped to resemble some sort of fanciful behemoth, they resembled semi-human beasts stalking about in the moonlight.
Tucking my left arm further underneath my coat, I frowned and tugged the knot holding the sling experimentally. I had managed to heal the worst of the breakage and stop the bleeding with a potion, but the flesh and muscle would have to heal on its own if I was ever going to be able to use it again. Potions are convenient quick solutions in a battle, but sooner or later they need some proper attention and time in order to heal completely. Time consuming, but I would rather fight with one hand now than have my arm give out on me later when I really needed it.
/Probably. Some mulled wine sounds good about now/ Pulling my coat closed, I started down the road in the direction of the town's heart. I had seen a relatively clean inn there earlier today, just before I had caught up with Zion that would do for the night. /Hey, what do we have left for funds?/
Ragnarok started to answer, but changed his phrasing mid-sentence. //I'm not sure. Two hund- Listen!//
Dull hoof beats were pounding up the road in our direction; a moment later a horse and rider was bearing down on us at a dead gallop. Stepping back out of its path I watched as it flew past, the cloak of the rider trailing behind it like a ragged banner. A small child sat on the withers of the horse, clinging to the beast's neck as it ran. The rider was a plump woman riding lightly and very well, taking her figure into account. She was also driving the horse onward with a short leather quirt.
//She's running scared//
Without slowing down they rushed on through the open gates, nearly mowing down the city guard who tried to stop them in the process. The horse quickly was swallowed up in the twilight, until all that was left to show of their passing was churned up mud and hoof beats fading rapidly into the night.
/I think you're right/ I replied after a minute, watching as one of the city guard scrambled onto his horse to give pursuit. He was quick to mount, but by the time he finally rode out his quarry had probably managed to put almost a mile between her and the city walls. Rubbing the back of my neck I continued on. /What do you think happened?/
Ark didn't reply. Not wanting to press him, I turned my attention to the shops nearby. Most of the windows were dark, but near the central marketplace two torches had been thrust into the ground. Guttering brightly in the night, the only thing more welcoming was the smell of roasting meat drifting from the inn. On cue, my stomach gurgled loudly. Suddenly remembering that I hadn't eaten since I had arrived in the city early that morning, I climbed the steps and ducked through the curtained doorway.
Inside the common room was nearly empty, but the fire burning on the hearth chased away the damp from the outdoors. Warm, honey colored boards paneled the walls; clean wax candles burned in tin holders every ten feet or so on tables around the edge of the room. Small round tables, some cluttered with empty dishes, but for the most part scoured clean with sand, were arranged in a broad arc next to the fireplace. At the moment only one was in use; three men of varying ages lounged about it in chairs playing cards and sipping ale from dented tin cups. Off duty guards, most likely.
Seating myself at a table on the other side of the fireplace, I rapped my knuckles lightly on the tabletop. A serving maid, her long blonde hair caught in a braid that hung down to her waist, popped her head out of a doorway that I assumed led to the kitchen. "Sir?"
"Food. Doesn't matter what kind, just as long as it's hot." I leaned back in my chair as she disappeared back behind the doorframe, enjoying the feel of the fire at my back. The heavy heat that had been so unbearable in Lohan just two days ago seemed worlds away.
Shortly the serving girl came back out, carrying a tray loaded down with a thick clay bowl filled with stew and part of a loaf of bread. Setting it down in front of me, she watched curiously as I started to eat.
"Haven't seen you around here before. I'm Shelia. What's yours?"
"Ry." Soaking up some of gravy with a chunk of bread, I took a bite. The gravy was a little watery, but the bread was still warm from the oven.
"Funny name. Are you foreign or something?" She asked, her brow furrowing slightly. "We had a few merchants through here from Fletz yesterday."
"Foreign?" I swallowed the bread and picked up a spoon. "You could say that."
Shelia made one or two more attempts to strike up conversation, but gave up when she realized that I was more interested in food than talking. Giving a little huff, she tossed her braid back over her shoulder and flounced prettily over to the table occupied by the guardsmen. Pausing with the spoon halfway to my mouth, I watched her go out of the corner of my eye. Shame, really. I should have talked to her some more; she was quite pretty. Maybe I'd catch up with her later on.
//Quit eyeing the wench, Dart. You don't have time//
I snorted and finished transferring the spoon from the bowl to my mouth. /You take all of the fun out of life, you know that?/ Something jabbed me in the roof of the mouth, and I spat out a bone. Pushing the stew aside, I reached for more bread.
The curtain hung across the doorway moved, and a grizzled man with sparse, iron-grey hair ducked inconspicuously into the room. Or made an attempt to, anyway. He was only about five feet tall and had a large, purple birthmark marring the left side of his haggard face. His clothes, dark peasants brown for the most part, were stained and the spurs on the back of his boots were caked with mud from the streets. Most importantly, he wore a green surcoat over his chain mail shirt, marking him as a temple messenger. Tossing his worn cloak negligently back over one shoulder, he ignored me completely and headed for the guards lounging about around the table.
As he approached one of the men, a young man with his chin covered in stubble, looked up from his cards long enough to give the messenger a scathing look. "Hey, Thwal. What the hell does your bloody Temple want from us now?"
Shelia fled to the kitchen. The other men seated around the table looked about apprehensively, and Thwal's jaw tightened angrily. "Watch your tongue Mao, or I'm going to have to cut it out." His hand drifted to a narrow dagger shoved through his belt, and he thumbed the blade almost eagerly. "The city guard has been ordered to provide us with assistance tonight as needed. And right now, we need you slobs out helping to patrol the streets."
"Why would we do that? Trump," he added, laying a card on top of the pile in the middle of the table. One of his partners cursed under his breath and shuffled through his hand.
"Mao, your attitude is going to get you into trouble one of these days." Thwal growled ominously.
Picking up a card, Mao raised an eyebrow. "Not from you it won't. You're an errand boy, not a guardsman. And you're downright foul to boot. No one'd miss you enough to convict me anyhow." He winced as another card was laid. "Shoot. You cultists have become way too full of yourselves for your own good. Now, if there were more people out there like Damnen-"
"Damnen is as good as dead. That coward just murdered Winalf del Vanaa!"
I dropped my spoon onto the table with a clatter, but no one seemed to notice. The room seemed to be holding their breath; the cook was peering out through the kitchen door.
"Did he? A guardsmen? Good job!" Mao chuckled and took a drink from a tankard. "And now I suppose you want us to go and help to track him down? Forget it. Anyone going after Damnen is picking a fight with the reaper."
Tossing a handful of small coin indiscriminately on the table, a pushed back my chair and left the table. No one took any notice; all eyes were on the two men arguing at the table. Crossing the room and pushing the curtain aside, the last sound I heard as I stepped out into the night was a startled gasp from the cook standing in the kitchen doorframe as Thwal hit Mao upside the head with his fist. Letting the curtain fall closed behind me, I glanced around. A small horse, probably Thwal's, had been tethered to an iron ring set into the wall of the inn; jumping off of the step, I fumbled with the leather reins with my good hand, ignoring the animal's startled spook. /What the hell is that kid thinking, killing a guardsmen?/
//Who knows, but I applaud him for it// Ragnarok sounded grimly delighted. //He must be trying to get out of the city before they can hunt him down//
/If the city guard's been mobilized, he'll never make it/ I replied, tossing the reins up over the horse's head and swinging awkwardly up into the high-cantled saddle. /Not through the main gate, at any rate/
//Then he won't be heading in that direction// Ark hesitated as I twisted my belt around so that the sheath rested more comfortably over my left thigh. Thumping the gelding's sides with my heels, I wheeled the animal about and urged it into a fast trot. //Don't bother// He snapped. //Do you honestly think you'll find him before they do, running about blindly?//
/Do you have any other ideas?/ I asked as the horse broke into a canter.
//Several, actually. And if you would so kindly stop this blasted creature and listen for a moment, I'd tell you//
I did as I was bid. /Well?/
//Give me a moment. You gave the red-eye spirit to Damnen, didn't you? We can use that link to track him, if need be//
/I'd say that there is a need. Why didn't you mention this before?/
//It only works if you were the one who passed on the stone// Ragnarok said irritably. //Don't you think that I would have mentioned it earlier if I thought there was a use?//
The magic itself wasn't particularly difficult. At least, it wouldn't have been for Ark. At least I didn't have to deal with the headache that always came when he channeled it through me. But for a human whose natural skill with magic is next to none, it felt as though I was trying to lift a mountain with my fingertips. The basic principle involved sending my mind 'out', as Ark called it, to find the spirit. That I was already used to surrendering control of my body to Ark helped somewhat, but taking my mind out of my body completely required an effort I hadn't realized previously. After several false starts, I finally managed it on my fourth try. The world around me plunged into darkness, but my mind remained alert. Something felt odd; it was a moment before I could place it. Floating bodiless in the void, for the first time in centuries I was alone in my own mind. Ark was still trapped within my own body, unable to leave the vessel that carried his spirit. I drifted about aimlessly, trying to come to grips with what to do next when I felt it. A trail, like but not quite the same as a scent, wound off into the blackness. It was warm; touching it once, I followed it through the dark, the hound coursing for the rabbit. Images flitted through my thoughts: muddy, narrow streets soaked in shadow, broad avenues paved in cobbles and lighted by tin lamps. Direction and distance was meaningless in this place, but the figures still attached themselves to the images. Abruptly the train of pictures disappeared and a red light was left burning alone in the blackness. The red-eye spirit. And then the light and the void disappeared, and I was back sitting in an uncomfortable saddle in the middle of Kazas' damp streets.
//Well?//
My thoughts slowly re-organized themselves. /West, I think/ I gave my head a little shake, then picked up the reins. /Yeah. He's a little less than a mile to the northwest, near the gate in that section of the wall/ Moving my horse back into a canter, I followed my own directions and took the first street that branched off in a northerly direction.
The red-eye spirit was a constant pull in the back of my mind as we raced through the streets. It made a good guide, although it did nothing to help us to avoid the chunks of wood and plaster littering the streets. We avoided the worst of it, but more than once the gelding tripped, nearly throwing me, and once he almost went down, but by some miracle of Soa I managed to stay in the saddle through the whole ride. The only good thing about Kazas at night is that the layout of the streets is so predictable that it's relatively easy to find your way around the greater part of the city, as long as you keep the idea that it's laid out like a grid firmly in your head. Taking two streets to the north, I cut across onto a street heading more or less in a western direction and let the horse stretch out into a gallop.
When my link with the spirit dissolved at last, we were barreling down a broad avenue sparsely lighted by tin lamps hanging from wooden posts every hundred feet or so. The far end of the street opened up into a plaza, similar to the central marketplace. I'd been there once before, when I had last come to Kazas several years ago. When the spirit's pull, which had been growing steadily stronger as we'd traveled, disappeared I started to rein in my mount, confused. As the animal's strides collected and became shorter, I sat deeper into the saddle and leaned back to avoid being bounced off. /What happened?/
Incandescent light flared up in the plaza ahead. Seeming even more painfully brilliant because of the somber dark it spread and grew, burning the shadows covering the square.
Alarmed by the flash my mount squealed and reared up, front legs flailing in the air wildly. Caught off balance, the reins I had been holding were jerked out of my grasp and I tumbled backwards over the horse's rump. Landing hard, I cried out as pain stabbed through my left shoulder and arm. Without anyone to prevent it from running, the horse wheeled about sharply and bolted back up the street, still squealing. I remained lying on my back on the stones, trying to find the breath that had been knocked from my lungs.
//Get up!//
I didn't immediately comply, gasping as a second wave of pain racked through my arm. Of course, Ark would ignore that. /Give me a second, will you?/ Slowly shifting my weight onto my good arm, I pushed myself up onto my knees. /Sadist/ Lifting my head, I starred at the light. I could see the blurred silhouettes of people moving about in its depths, most of them moving away as quickly as possible. All save for one, who stood directly next to the source.
//I think that we just found the kid//
The light died, and I struggled painfully to my feet. /Wha-?/ Odd, transparent colors swam across my vision as my eyes struggled to adjust to the change. As good as blind, I slowly reached for the hilt of my sword and gripped it tightly, waiting for my eyes to focus again. Unfortunately, they didn't get much of a chance.
A great gout of fire blossomed up in the center of the square, spitting liquid flame in all directions as it spread outward in an ever- expanding circle. From the depths of the inferno someone screamed harshly, the sound raising the hairs on the back of my neck. Instinctively I took a step back, squinting and half-raising one hand to my face. "What the hell's going on?!" I asked aloud.
As we watched, the flames at the core slowly began to condense.
//It's that kid, damn him! He must have activated the stone sub- consciously!//
Zion's POV:
I was burning.
Fire charred my clothing and licked at my face, the heat so intense that it was a wonder that my skin didn't erupt into a mass of blisters. Sweat would have been rolling down my face, were it not for the fact that it evaporated faster than it could form. Somewhere nearby someone was screaming in a hoarse, broken voice; it took a moment to realize that it was me.
I wasn't the only thing burning either. Waves of flame swept through the square, scorching the stones and setting fire to the trees and buildings. The guardsmen whom had held me at spear point moments before were fleeing, trying desperately to outrun the wall of fire bearing down upon them. It died several meters from the edge of the streets, but those who escaped didn't stop running for a very, very long time. Soltrane was nowhere to be seen.
Stop it, I pleaded silently. Someone please, just make it stop!
As if in correspondence with my thoughts, the flames feeding off of my clothing seemed to turn to liquid, melting slowly off of my limbs. What was left behind in its wake, however, was a far cry from the rough linen shirt and loose fitting breeches I had been clad in before. I brought my hand up to my face, starring at the smooth, burnished crimson gauntlet covering my fist.
"Wh-?" I couldn't get the words out. Instead I dropped my gaze to the ornate breastplate, tentatively touching the huge green gemstone that was set into the center. Strange, armor should be made of steel. This was made of something entirely different, harder and lighter. Still stunned, I reached for my sword, which lay on the stones where I had dropped it earlier. It had morphed to match the armor, the plain blade and crosshilt inlaid with curious small stones akin to the one on the breastplate.
There was the scuff of boot on stone behind me. Rising from my crouch, I turned to see what had made the sound.
Stars exploded in my vision as the butt end of a staff slammed into the side of my face. As slumped somewhat awkwardly to the ground, a second blow rebounded off of one of the shoulder plates of the armor. I tried to roll over, but something hampered my movement, and as a result I only made it as far as getting onto my side. Before I could move a heavy boot came down on my arm, pinning it to my ribcage. The butt of a blackthorn staff ground into the stones a hairsbreadth from my nose.
"It's a shame that you've chosen to forsake the Moon Goddess, Damnen. Spirit bearers are rare, and the high priests favor them over all others." Soltrane's voice was soft. "Your life could have actually been worth something. But alas." His voice sharpened. "Where did you come across that stone?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about!" I snarled, glaring out of the corner of my eyes at the other man. To my surprise, he chuckled humorlessly.
"And yet here you are. As I said Damnen, it truly is a pity." Raising the staff, he held it poised to crush my windpipe. "But I guess there really is no excuse for plain stupidity."
'What is going on?' I was starting to get tired of that question. But then again, I was starting to get sick of everything that was happening tonight. Was it just this morning that my biggest worry had been how to get eighty pounds of groceries back to Remmy's? And now here I was, lying on the ground about to get my brains smashed in by a dread knight captain, dressed in some seriously bazaar armor, with the increasing (and justified) feeling that there was something seriously wrong with me. Not to mention being horribly confused as to how exactly the whole affair had come into being. So you can probably piece together what my mood was starting to develop into.
Wrenching my arm out from underneath my body, I seized the end of the staff and yanked. As Soltrane lurched off of me I rolled to my feet and, on some strange instinct, kicked off into the air. Not just jumped; one second I was firmly on the ground and the next I was hovering thirty feet over the cobblestones. It took me a moment to connect the strange flexing feeling in my shoulders to the phenomenon. Wings. I had bloody /wings/ for crying out loud! What sort of freak was I becoming now?
Getting to his feet, Soltrane snarled. Dipping into the neck of his armor, he pulled out what looked like a curiously shaped bottle. Hurling it at me, he dove out of the way.
I reacted without thinking, dipping into a quick shallow dive to dodge the bottle, then flipping over and stretching one hand out towards Soltrane. A torrent of fire burst from my palm, spiraling crazily through the air before colliding into the dread knight with a muffled concussion. Soltrane was thrown backwards, slamming into the statue behind him and collapsing to the ground like a limp rag doll.
The bottle he had thrown smashed on the stones below. Green flames were spreading quickly across the square, seeming to feed off of the stones themselves. I returned to the ground, odd, gossamer wings beating the air slowly as I eyed the emerald fire nervously. Landing well clear of it, I stood subdued watching as the square burned in red and green flame. From where he lay, Soltrane groaned and moved slightly, but I made no move toward him. Reaching back over my shoulder, I felt where my wings protruded from the back of my armor near the base of my neck.
"Wha- what am I?" I asked, my voice sounding hoarse to my own ears.
Unexpectedly, someone answered.
"A dragoon, to put it simply."
"Huh?" I tried to spin around to see who had spoken, but at that moment all of my strength seemed to desert me. My legs buckled underneath me, and I went down to my knees with a clatter. The armor covering my body became uncomfortably warm for a moment, then disappeared in a flash of light. Without it, my exhaustion seemed to become even worse. The gemstone that I had received from him earlier that day dropped to the stones, and I picked it up quickly. Slumping into a sitting position, I looked up. Ry stood several meters away, watching me with an odd expression on his face.
"Dragoon?" The word tugged at something in my memory. "That's impossible. They're just fairy tales."
He laughed quietly. "You'd be surprised how many fairy tales turn out to be the truth, and what truths are really the fiction." He shifted his weight. "No, you're a dragoon alright. That was some powerful magic you did just now," he said conversationally, extending his hand to help me up. "No wonder you're exhausted. You might want to go a little easier in the future."
I hesitated before taking his hand and allowing him to pull me to my feet. In a roundabout way, he was the one who had brought me into this whole mess in the first place after all. But if he had any answers-
Hoisting me to my feet, Ry supported me by one arm until he seemed sure that I could stand on my own. Then he let go and walked away, heading for a gap in the emerald flames.
"Wait!" I started after him, willing my knees not to shake with the effort. "What do you mean 'in the future'?"
He stopped, but didn't look back. "You're a dragoon, Zion. Whether you want it or not, you're a dragoon. Sooner or later you're going to get dragged into the heart of some bloody conflict, and the only way you'll survive it is by relying on your own powers. It comes hand in hand with being one of them."
"One of them? What, there's others like me?"
Ry started walking again. "Who knows?"
I stumbled. I tripped once or twice. But somehow I managed to catch up with him. Grabbing one of his shoulders, I let go quickly as his face contorted in pain. Right, he had that arm in a sling. But he did stop. I starred at him for a moment, trying to get my thoughts in order, but they kept slipping away before I could form the question. Finally, I just asked the question that weighed on my mind most heavily of all.
"Why?"
"That's a big question," Ry replied, raising one eyebrow. "Are you sure you really want to know the answer?"
"Better than ignorance."
He laughed again, but this time it sounded harsh and somewhat flat to my ears. "You may regret saying those words someday."
The clatter of armor filled the air, accompanied by the rumble of many, many footsteps. So the temple had sent reinforcements. Absolutely brilliant. Ry obviously heard it too, because he nodded his head in the direction of the western gate, now only a short distance away. "Come on, then. Regrets or no, you've made your choice." Without waiting to see if I would follow, he turned and ran towards the gate.
Summoning up the strength to follow, it never really occurred to me exactly what he had meant by that. It would be a while before I ever found out. Right then, all I knew is that ahead there was safety, and behind was probably then entire temple garrison.
Too bad I didn't have the faintest idea what I meant by 'safety'.
Shade: **standing in the center of her subdivision, holding aloft a small white bag labeled 'Hershey's'** Chocolate bars for sale? Support your local high school?
**The doors of the houses lining the street slam shut as a one**
Shade: **looking hurt** Anyone?
There! It's done! Hope you guys liked it, because it was a pain in the arse to write. Took me long enough. So throw pointy objects at me. Gently, though. I still need to get through the rest of the story.