A/N: The beginning of the end

Leaving the Tower

A wall of warm, humid air enveloped Alfred as his feet touched down on a back street of Drachma. He took a deep breath, not caring that it carried the faint stench of marshland, and let it fill him up, dispelling Caelei's pervasive chill. The late afternoon sun was lost behind the tall buildings of the city, but sparkles of orange light reflected off bits of polished stone. It made the city look as if it were alight.

But they had no time to contemplate the play of light in the decaying city. As soon as he got his bearings, Gilbert set out at a run, pulling Alfred after him.

"What's the plan?" Alfred shouted ahead. There was a dim roar of voices in the direction they seemed to be heading.

"The temples," Gilbert shouted over his shoulder. "If I can just get there soon enough, I might be able to get my dedicates to help get Drachma prepared."

"And what about the citizens?" Alfred asked. "What can we do for them?"

"Not enough."

Alfred stopped short.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked.

Gilbert turned to him. He looked pained. "It means that there's no good option for us to take. We tell them what's coming, we panic them. We don't tell them, they get slaughtered by invaders."

"So what do we do?"

"I told you," Gilbert snapped. "We go to the temples—"

"Who are crawling with dedicates who will do anything to stop us!"

"Alfred," Gilbert said impatiently. He turned back and began dragging Alfred after him down the narrow alleyways. "The citizens here aren't going to trust us. My dedicates are the only source of information and influence in the city."

"But—"

Gilbert glared at Alfred over his shoulder. "Sometime you have to accept imperfect solutions. It's the only way we'll be able to make any difference before the Aeneans get here."

Alfred dropped the argument. It still sat with him wrong, but Gilbert had a point.

After a few more moments of navigating the streets, the narrow alley opened onto a square. It sat in contrast to the rest of the city, a jewel in the mud. The stone of the square was washed clean, and the lapis shards were dazzling in the late light. This was clearly a stronghold of the gods in the otherwise daemon-friendly city, and that set Alfred's nerves on edge. He half expected to be attacked as they ran over the open ground, but no one stopped them.

Gilbert hit the temple doors and a run, cracking the old wood as they passed. Dedicates in colors of many gods stared at their passing, but Gilbert didn't stop to speak to any of them. Finally, at the end of one of the temple wings, there was a chamber that seemed halfway between an office and a hall. It was filled with furs and weapons of the hunt. The room was too large to be just for one person's use, as the room could comfortably hold dozens of people.

A large woman sat behind an enormous wooden desk. She had the pale skin of a northerner, but it was deeply tanned from time in the southern sun. She stood and bowed as she recognized Gilbert.

"Lord of the Hunt," she said with reverence. "To what do—"

"I need information, Liga," Gilbert said, interrupting her. He turned and closed the doors behind him, giving them at least the appearance of privacy. The woman, Liga, looked between Gilbert and Alfred, curiosity plain on her face.

"I will do what I can, My Lord."

"What do you know of the movements of the other dedicates here in Drachma?"

Liga frowned, and looked to the ceiling in thought. "I concern myself mostly with my subordinates," she said after a moment. "But they often work side my side with dedicates of other gods."

"I need as many of them as you can round up," Gilbert said.

Liga nodded and prepared something at her desk. "I will ring for as many of them as I can. Come with me."

As they walked through the temple halls, Liga seemed to gather her courage. Finally she asked, "My Lord, may I ask what this is about?"

Gilbert eyed the dedicates that surrounded them. Many stared at him and Alfred, alarmed. It was usually an event of great fanfare for gods to appear to their dedicates. "Not here," he said in a low voice.

Liga glanced around. "You distrust the others." It wasn't a question. She eyed the dedicates they passed with sharp eyes, her suspicious aroused.

"I'll explain when you've gathered who you can."

Alfred trailed after the long-striding hunters, feeling every minute that slipped by. They exited onto the roof of the temple, where an enormous iron bell hung. Liga rang the bell seven times, the deep tolling echoing over the entire city. They stood at the precipice of the temple, gazing down upon the tangled streets and waterways of Drachma as the sound echoed away. Alfred peered out to the north. The soldiers from Aenea were out there, though he couldn't see anything through the haze and humidity. When the bell was quiet, the three of them left.

Once they had returned to Liga's chambers, Alfred began pacing, rifle and his pouches of lead slugs and powder heavy across his back. Though Gilbert's dedicates arrived at a run, he felt the room was filling far too slowly.

Gilbert clearly felt the same way, because he started talking before many had gathered. He tried to keep his voice low, wandering among the dedicates and asking if they'd seen the other dedicates performing tasks out of the ordinary. Alfred left his pacing and followed him, keeping track of what the dedicates reported.

Apparently the last few weeks had been unusually busy for the dedicates of Pakram and Vahnic. The temples across the city had taken a sudden interest in providing for the poorer city folk, putting up or repairing some of the older buildings in the city.

That caught Alfred and Gilbert's attention. They drew together near the back of the chamber.

"What do you think is going on?" Alfred asked.

"I don't know," Gilbert said. "But those projects aren't just coincidence. The dedicates here have been preparing for the invasion."

Liga strode over to the two conversing men. She crossed her arms and said, "Are you going to tell me what this is about?"

Gilbert bit his lip, as if trying to decide. He nodded, deciding to trust his dedicates.

"Do you know what's going to happen tonight?"

Liga shook her head.

"A force from Aenea is marching on Drachma," he whispered. "Daka and Pakram's people."

"Why?" Liga asked. "What is going on?"

"It would take to long to explain the why," Gilbert said.

Alfred interrupted, "They're just trying to kill as many Southerners as possible."

Liga paled. "And you think the dedicates here are going to help them."

Gilbert nodded. "I think they're going to spring some sort of trap from within the city. Give their Aenean counterparts some aid," he said.

"We're trying to stop them," Alfred added.

Liga nodded and worried her lip. She turned to the gathered dedicates. Immediately, a hush fell over the room as the hunters turned their attention to Liga, their leader. She clasped her hands behind her back and barked, "Hunters! We have dedicated our lives to Gilbert of the Hunt, and now he asks for our aid. As hunters, it is our holy duty to feed and protect the people of this world. Our people are in danger now, but not from beasts.

"An army from the mountains marches on this city, a city filled with people of the land. They wish to slaughter them like vermin."

Murmurs or surprise and anger rose from the assembled dedicates. Liga raised her voice further, silencing them.

"Worse still is the treachery at play. Lord Gilbert suspects the dedicates of this city are prepared to spring traps from within to aid the invaders with their slaughter. I ask of you all to come forward if you have any information about anything suspicious you have seen your fellows doing in recent times."

Liga looked into the faces of the gathered hunters, letting her own rage shine through. After taking a breath, she continued.

"We would not slaughter a cub to bait a mother bear, and so we shall not let our siblings in this city be slaughtered for Aenea's purposes."

Liga stepped down, and the crowd of gathered dedicates erupted in chatter. Gilbert and Alfred stood by as hunters shuffled forward, and the group sorted through rumor to find solid leads. Finally, a number of buildings were circled on a map of the city. These were the most likely places that the dedicates would have set traps.

"We'll take this one," Gilbert said, pointing to a circle in the center of the map. It was one of the buildings that was supposedly being reconstructed. It lay near the top of the city, near a major headway of the canals that wound through the entire city. It seemed like one of the more strategic points in the chaotic city. "Spare who you can to try the other areas on here, but I want most of my dedicates working to get people out of the city or prepared for the invasion."

"Yes, My Lord," Liga said, then turned back to the gathered hunters. "You heard The Lord of the Hunt! I want everyone working with their partners or in small groups. Henriett, Dagon, Osrik, Penelope, I want your groups to investigate the other buildings. The rest of you, evacuate who you can, prepare those who won't or can't leave."

The crowd broke apart, and Gilbert and Alfred made their own exit.

"Meet me at the building," Gilbert said once they were outside. "I'll scout it out."

He vanished on the spot, leaving Alfred alone. Alfred took to the air, making his way to the north. He found the building they were looking for easily enough. It was the only wooden structure in the area that wasn't sagging from age.

The skeleton of the building rose from the edge of the canal. Thick ropes hung to keep citizens out. Alfred touched down outside the building and peered inside. The walls of the ground floor had been erected, but inside the large rectangle, the foundation of the building was in disarray.

Alfred looked up examining the area. This was clearly a poor part of the city, given the disrepair of the neighborhood. However, on the opposite side of the canal there were a number of houses in much better shape. They didn't gleam like the dedicate's buildings, but they also didn't look like they were about to collapse. Just past the houses, Alfred glimpsed a crowd of people packing what was probably a neighborhood square. It was likely that many people from this dilapidated slum were over there enjoying the richer celebrations.

"They're certainly up to something," Gilbert said, appearing beside Alfred. Alfred dragged his mind from wondering about the citizens back to the job at hand.

"So are we going in?" Alfred asked.

Gilbert thought for a moment, rubbing his hand against his chin. Finally he said, "I see no other way. If we do run into enemies, we should be able to get a drop on them at least."

They ducked under the rope and snuck through the doorway. The setting sun filtered through the gaps in the wooden walls, illuminating the wrecked floor. The stones that had been placed as the foundation for the original building had been torn up, leaving a gaping hole. Hastily built stairs disappeared into the dark below.

"What were they doing?" Alfred asked.

"No idea. But we're going down there."

"And if there are other dedicates down there? The tunnel's a chokepoint. We can't maneuver down there."

Gilbert dropped a hand onto Alfred's shoulder. "Neither can they," he said. "And we've got that rifle of yours. We'll be able to compensate for their superior numbers that way."

Alfred gulped, then turned back to the tunnel entrance. He hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Gilbert set the little hand lamp on his belt alight, then drew two long daggers. Alfred loaded the rifle, and carried it across his front. The two descended down the stairs and underground.

In the slight glow of Gilbert's lantern, Alfred could see wooden beams supporting the tunnel every couple feet. As the stairs leveled out, they walked through water that pooled on the bottom of the tunnel. It deepened as they went farther. Soon, the water was knee deep and if weren't for planks of wood that lined the floor, they would have lost their boots to the brackish mud the bottom of the tunnel had become.

"I think we're under the canal," Alfred said.

Gilbert made a noise of agreement. "This tunnel can only be a few days old," he said. "Something like this will collapse before too long in land this boggy."

"What do you think it's for?" Alfred asked.

"Don't know. But we'll find out soon."

The tunnel rose again, and Alfred and Gilbert found another set of wooden stairs. Though this time, flickering lantern light and voices echoed down to them.

Alfred realized he was holding his breath, and he told himself to breath as he snuck up towards the voices behind Gilbert. They came around a turn in the tunnel and came face to face with two large men. They must have been standing guard.

The unlucky guards didn't have a chance. As soon as they came into view, Gilbert moved with animal grace. In two long steps, he closed the space between himself and the first guard and plunged his first dagger into the gap of his armor just below his chin. The man gurgled as he died. Gilbert whipped around, slashing at the second guard. The man managed to get out of the way of the first dagger, but fell as Gilbert's second struck flesh.

A commotion rose beyond the guards as several men and women came forward.

"Take them down, Alfred," Gilbert shouted, throwing himself down, out of Alfred's line of fire.

The weeks of training had turned aiming and firing the rifle into habit, and Alfred performed automatically. There was a flash of light and a bang so loud it made the rest of the world silent. The lead ball went flying, ripping into several men and women who were pressed together in the tunnel. After his ears had stopped ringing, Alfred heard the screams of those who hadn't been hit, but knew not what had made the sound and ripped their companions to bloody scraps.

The screams were silenced soon by Gilbert taking advantage of the confusion and fear, dispatching those who remained with a hunter's efficiency. When he was done, he absently whipped the bloody blades on his trousers.

Alfred stared at the carnage in the dim lantern light. The battle had only lasted moments, but now he counted eight people dead. He could make out colors of several gods, though some, like the three he'd caught in his line of fire, we so soaked in blood that he couldn't tell. A ball of panic formed in his gut, hot and cold at the same time. There was so much blood.

Gilbert's steady hand snapped Alfred out of his daze. "Come on," he said. "We still have a job to do."

Alfred nodded, refocusing. "Right. Let's find out what was going on here."

The two men stepped over the corpses into a larger chamber beyond. Along the far side of the little room were half a dozen large barrels, a pile of shovels, and a number of little wooden kegs. Alfred and Gilbert hurried over to them, and carefully pried a lid off one of the larger barrels. Inside was a liquid , but it was hard to tell what it was in the dark. It smelled strongly of pine. Gilbert dipped his finger in and licked it. Then he swore.

"This is oil," he said. "Though thicker than usual lantern oil should be. And I can bet I know what in the little ones."

"Blasting powder?" Alfred asked.

"Exactly."

"And that would set the oil on fire. And collapse the buildings above us."

"It's worse than that," Gilbert said. He approached the far wall of the room. Wooden supports still held, but the dirt wall was starting to fall away. "The canal flows right by us and into the rest of the city."

"The water will carry the fire everywhere," Alfred said with realization. "Gilbert. We have to get to the rest of those places your dedicates marked."

Gilbert shook his head. "We have to trust that to my dedicates. We have to make sure this place can't go off."

With a grunt, Gilbert pushed over the heavy barrel they'd opened. It sloshed onto the dirt floor.

"Help me," Gilbert said. "We'll mix the oil in with the mud and soak the powder. It's the best we can do."

It was hard work and it left Alfred coated in slightly sticky oil. As they ran back through the tunnel under the canal, it drifted off them. In Gilbert's little lantern light, Alfred could see the rainbow swirls in the water.

The roar of voices in the city had reached a deafening volume when Alfred and Gilbert stepped back into the streets. It seemed Gilbert's dedicates were spreading warning of the incoming invasion, but upon seeing people running about in a panic, Alfred wasn't sure how much good it had done.

The sun sat, fat and red on the horizon. Their daylight was fading fast.

Alfred turned to ask Gilbert what to do next, but he was cut off by the tolling of the temple bells. Ten times they rang, and their cold iron tones made Alfred's blood run cold. The people of Drachma stood frozen in the split second of silence after the final clang.

Explosions lit up the darkening city. The ground trembled with the noise. Somewhere in the distance, a series of echoing cracks signaled a falling building.

As the sun slipped past the horizon, a new glow appeared. This one came from the city itself. Around Alfred, the glow of fire blazed, carried throughout the city on the water.

A/N:

=)