Legacy, page 28
‘Why did Eleusia tell you about all of this?’
‘Because I asked her. I could see the same worry in her eyes that I’ve had ever since I took her in over fifteen years ago. I found her sheltering in the doorway, a little girl of four or five. She wouldn’t tell me who her parents where at first, but eventually she opened up enough for me to connect some of the dots. Her father was an elf from the Republic of Castar, whilst her mother was a human from the Sultanate of Fashaddon, though I’m still none the wiser about what happened to them and why Eleusia ended up on our doorstep. I suspect that she couldn’t being herself to tell me, couldn’t bear to put herself through that pain again but, regardless, we gave her sanctuary, food and a bed.
‘She’s been with us ever since. First, she was washing pots in the kitchens, then she was waiting tables. Before long, she was beating patrons at cards, honestly and dishonestly, but whenever they suspected foul play, the extra cards always ended up in their own sleeves. Even if they had caught her in the act, Gods she could fight like the wild animal she was … made everyone who came in here think twice before having a go at her, or anyone else for that matter, which was no bad thing.
‘We used to have a more rough-and-tumble crowd come in then and they all liked her, taught her all manner of things, knife work, sparring, shooting. They saw in her one of their own, a child of the streets, kept alive by their own sheer force of will to survive. That’s certainly what Björn saw in her.
‘It didn’t take him long to ask me if he could take her under his wing, give her a chance to make something of herself and make a fair bit of money along the way. As I said to him, the choice wasn’t mine to make, and I wasn’t surprised when Eleusia went to work for him, but she never forgot us and, if nothing else, I’m glad that all this nonsense has brought her home for longer than she normally stops now.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘Now though, she has her own people to worry about, just remember that, Torben.’
With that, Madame Fleurese put a hand gently on his shoulder and then left the balcony, pulling the door shut behind and leaving him alone at the breaking of the dawn.
18
A vortex of words and whispers swirled around Torben’s head and blazed with the same golden fire he’d seen surging up his arm. The rasping tones of Hrex’s voice was everywhere, wrapping itself around every part of his being.
Piercing the noise was a dull regular thud that scattered the flames, sending the words spiralling out of control before they slowly drew themselves back together. A volley of panicked shouts and cries accompanied each thud as it rocked his battered subconscious. Far away, in the distance, beyond the cacophony, he thought he could hear a different voice calling his name.
‘Ashak.’
‘Torben.’
‘Ashak.’
In the haunting dream, a shadow descended over him, growing larger and larger, snuffing the light of the golden flames and stifling Hrex’s horrible voice. He looked up, tried to sprint as the shadow bore down on him faster than he could run, threatening to crush him.
‘Torben!’
He jolted awake and flinched instinctively, trying to save himself from the crushing force of whatever was about to land on him. He cried out in desperation. ‘No!’
‘It’s alright; it’s only me. You were having a bad dream.’
Opening his eyes, he saw Eleusia peering at him, concern visibly painted on her face. ‘Oh, right. Sorry, you must have taken me by surprise.’ Sitting up, he realised he was still on the balcony of Ivy House, where he’d finally fallen asleep.
His forehead and hair were dripping with sweat, and he hastily wiped both with the sleeve of his jacket. It was still early. The pink and purple lights of dawn were just peeking over the walls of Karpella, but it was enough to dispel the oppressive rasp of Hrex’s voice in his head. However, he could still hear shouts and screams drifting from the street below. The noise was swelled as a loud thud and crack split the air, sending reverberations through the building itself. ‘What the hell was that?’
‘The Sharisians have started their bombardment of the city. They finished bringing up their catapults late last night. Are you alright?’
Torben cleared his throat and tried to inject a note of confidence into his voice, but it cracked slightly, betraying him. “No worse than normal, I guess.”
Eleusia’s brows furrowed, but her face relaxed as she extended a hand to help him to his feet. ‘Come on, it’s time to go.’
The Silent Room was busy as they entered. The table was covered with Antauros’ neatly organised equipment. He tightened the strapping around the handle of his war-hammer and the newly honed points of his javelins gleamed wickedly in the firelight. Gwilym, on the other hand, was hopping frustratedly around the room, struggling to fasten one of the buckles on a greave. The rest of his Imperial Guard uniform and armour lay in a disorganised pile on the floor. ‘Best get a move on, you two. These things are an absolute bugger to get into! I don’t see the point in all this clobber anyway; it’s far too heavy and makes you into an immobile target!’
‘Stop complaining, Gwilym, you have to look the part.’ Eleusia moved to her own pile and dressed far more elegantly.
From behind the table, Antauros smirked at Gwilym’s grumbling figure. He wore his own chainmail as easily as a linen shirt. ‘You’ll be glad of that armour when someone’s trying to plant a halberd in your chest.’
‘Unlike you, I don’t often get myself into those situations.’
‘Stab first and ask questions later, more like.’
‘Perhaps more focus is called for … from all of you!’
The conversation had roused Hrex, who sat cross-legged on the same chair she’d occupied the day before. She glowered and they averted their gaze, and continued preparing in silence—silence heavy with anger and resentment.
The downstairs rooms of Ivy House were quiet and still as the party made their way from the Silent Room to the front courtyard. Here and there, the occasional patron from the night before, too inebriated to make his way home, slumbered fitfully in partially hidden corners.
In the courtyard, they stopped and Antauros grudgingly passed his shield, war-hammer and javelins to Torben and Eleusia, and turned to face a grinning Gwilym.
‘Guess I can’t put this off much longer,’ he grimaced.
‘If it’s any comfort, Antauros, I can assure you that I won’t enjoy this a single bit.’
Antauros grumbled as he knelt down low enough for Gwilym to place the large, specially made manacles over his wrists and secure them shut. He took a hold of the long chain and led the minotaur towards the gate, pulling and rocking the chain as if trying to coax a dog to follow him on a leash. ‘Come on boy, time for a walk!’
‘Shut it, dwarf!’
‘I hope the shackles aren’t too tight. Wouldn’t want them to chafe now, would we?’
‘Shut it!’
Eleusia sighed and caught Torben’s eye as the odd couple weaved their way through tables. The chain Gwilym was leading Antauros by scraped wooden tabletops and threatened to knock over the remaining detritus that had yet to be cleared up.
Hrex began to follow, muttering to herself as she walked, her hands drawing strange symbols in the air faintly picked out via strands of blue flame. As the symbols multiplied in the air, they stuck to Hrex’s body and clothes, making her form shimmer and fade until all that could be seen was an occasional ripple of air as she moved through the courtyard.
‘Great,’ Torben muttered, ‘now we don’t even know where she is, or what she’s doing.’
Eleusia nodded grimly in agreement as she hefted the straps of Antauros’ shield over her shoulder. Torben followed her lead, picking up the rest of Antauros’ things. He nearly tipped over as he picked up the war-hammer and, with the extra weight of the weapon, felt his belt slipping down his body, threatening to drop his trousers. There was a soft squeaking noise from the Ivy House gate as Gwilym swung it open and the foursome were in the street, Hrex presumably close behind, hidden in her web of sorcery.
As they made their way through the streets of Karpella, Torben and Eleusia flanked Antauros to give the impression that he’d been arrested by the Imperial Guards. The guard uniform and armour Torben was wearing felt tight and hot, the chainmail coat rubbing his neck uncomfortably; after a few minutes, it felt as if it were rubbing away skin.
Even at this early hour of the day, plenty of people were out and about; however, rather than the hustle and bustle of people going about the business of a working day, they moved through the streets looking decidedly panicky. The commencement of the bombardment had brought home the reality of the situation, with residents trying to secure their homes and businesses as best they could, and many streaming towards the castle in hopes of shelter.
The party made slow progress, pushing their way through the crowds that thronged the streets; a normally twenty-minute walk took over an hour. Torben, Eleusia and Gwilym were constantly harangued by passersby as they inched through, people berating them for not being up on the ramparts defending the city, appealing to them to take them to shelter; one appeal came from a lavishly dressed merchant, offering them several thousand gold pieces to smuggle him and his family out of the city.
When they finally reached the foot of Karpella Castle, a huge crowd had flocked to the banks of the channel that separated the castle and its island from the rest of the city. The main gate was shut, with the drawbridge raised against the tide of refugees. Torben drew a sigh of relief as they inched close enough to see that the postern was still open, surrounded by a large cordon of Imperial Guard keeping crowds back from the drawbridge via a close formation of guardsmen sporting tower shields. As they approached, a cry rang from behind the wall of shields: ‘Patrol returning, make way!’
Two guardsmen pulled their shields to one side, and those around levelled spears to keep back the crowd, which surged towards a gap in the formation to follow the party through the barricade. As they squeezed through the gap, Torben heard panicked shouts and screams of those at the front when people behind pushed them into the shield wall. As the two guardsmen forced their way back into position, and the others raised their spears, several of sharp points were stained with fresh blood.
Inside the defensive crescent, a young worried-looking officer stood on a barrel, surveying the increasingly angry crowd. He jumped down as Gwilym tugged Antauros before him and waved his hand limply towards his temple in recognition of the dwarf’s flourishing salute.
‘Prisoner for incarceration, is it?’
‘Yes sir. Caught him trying to stir up trouble in Thirsty Bear on Weaver Street,’ Gwilym responded.
‘Gods, he’s a big fellow! I’m glad he’s not egging on the crowd to mischief. They’re already getting hot under the collar and I’m not sure how much longer we can hold them back. We’ve still got five patrols in the city and once we’re forced into shutting this gate, there’s no way to get them back.’
‘Yes sir, bad situation through and through, sir.’
The officer continued to mutter worriedly as he pulled out a battered notebook and a stub of pencil tucked into his belt, and scribbled down a short message.
‘Here’s your warrant to admit the prisoner into cells. Report to Captain Sudthorpe at the main gate for redeployment once you’ve delivered him.’
‘Thank you sir, good luck!’
Gwilym yanked on the chain to get Antauros moving and they proceeded over the narrow drawbridge of the postern, leaving the officer to mount his barrel again and nervously watch the crowd.
The air cooled quickly as they entered the arched corridor that lead from the postern into the castle proper. Gwilym and Eleusia took torches from a box beside a large brazier and ignited them, lighting the way down a corridor that was almost pitch-black. They walked in silence for some time as Gwilym led them through a maze of corridors before they finally arrived at a large junction.
‘That’s your exit,’ he said, pointing at stairs that ascended into darkness.’
‘Good luck, all of you.’ Eleusia handed Antauros’ immense shield to Gwilym, who could barely hold it. ‘All being well, it won’t take me long to get into position. Just remember, kill as much time as you can before the alarm is raised. Once the garrison is distracted, you should be able to make your way to the Great Hall with ease.’
‘Look after yourself, and don’t get caught!’ Torben blushed in the darkness as the words blurted from his mouth.
Eleusia looked at him with a sly smile. ‘Don’t worry, I know how to handle myself. See you on the other side’. With that, she bounded up the stairs and disappeared from sight.
Torben stood looking into the gloomy void she’d ascended before being jolted back to reality by an elbow to the leg from Gwilym.
‘Come on, lad. This is not the time for you to go all mushy on us. Let’s keep moving.’ He led the way down another corridor, away from the stairs.
Torben reluctantly followed Gwilym and Antauros and, as the light from his torch illuminated the passageway stonework, he saw a distinctive rippling of air: the invisible form of Hrex was following his friends. Deep in his mind, he swore he heard Hrex laughing at him.
The four of them moved through corridor after corridor, worming their way up from the bowels of the castle. They passed innumerable rooms and antechambers that made up the underground complex, but didn’t see another soul. It was only after they’d climbed a spiral staircase, barely wide or tall enough to accommodate Antauros’ bulk, that Torben heard voices echoing through the halls around them.
Above the much more utilitarian basement levels, the castle’s corridors where more elaborate. Grey-white marble covered the floors, with pink marble columns continuing down the much wider thoroughfares. As they emerged from the staircase, a group of fraught bureaucrats in flowing black robes scuttled past, their ink-stained hands clutching rolls of parchment and quills. Several of them yelped in surprise and sprinted down the corridor as Antauros’ bulk emerged from the inconspicuous staircase. The cries of fear and shock from the rapidly retreating bureaucrats drew the attention of a small squad of Imperial Guard standing watch over a doorway further down. After a few seconds of staring confusedly at the strange party that had appeared before them, they advanced on Torben, Gwilym and Antauros, hands resting on sword hilts.
‘You there! Why is this prisoner above ground?’
‘We’ve, err … we’ve got orders to bring this beast up to the City Marshall’s chambers for questioning.’ An air of self-assuredness developed in Gwilym’s voice as he grew more confident in the lie that he’d plucked out of thin air. He cleared his throat and puffed out his chest as he continued to spin the yarn. ‘We apprehended this piece of scum trying to insight rioting in a crowd at the Dancing Bear on Weaver Street. With all of the commotion going on with the siege and all, we were ordered to bring him straight to the Marshall so he could ascertain whether this is part of a Sharisian plot to undermine the city’s morale, and cause rebellion against the crown.’
‘Who gave you your orders?’
‘Officer on duty at the postern gate.’
‘Who was that?’
‘I … I don’t know, but I have the order dispatch here.’ Gwilym placed a fumbling hand in a pouch hanging off his belt and produced the crumpled piece of paper the officer had given him. The leader of the group guards, who had three gold roses embroidered on the sleeve of his uniform, took the paper and studied it carefully.
‘This is just a warrant for incarceration in the cells. There isn’t anything written here authorising you to transport the prisoner to the Marshall’s chambers.’
‘There isn’t?’ Gwilym took a few steps forward, feigning interest in the paper, but the guardsman took a step back and his sword scraped through the scabbard as he half-drew it, sensing something was amiss.
‘Those orders were given verbally.’
Seeing that Gwilym was beginning to flounder, Torben stepped forward, looking the lead guardsman straight in the eyes and standing to attention. ‘We’re new recruits, sir, and we didn’t take proper care to insist that the officer wrote down all their orders. It’s pretty chaotic out there, sir, with the crowds trying to gain access to the castle. I believe the officer was preoccupied with locating the whereabouts of his last patrols; that’s why he omitted to write down all his orders.’
‘Is that so, eh?’ The guardsman looked hard at Torben for several long seconds.
Torben, guessing that the three roses indicated the guardsman was a sergeant of sorts, adjusted his gaze so that he was staring above the man’s head, and tried to do his best impression of a soldier standing to attention on parade.
‘New recruits? Makes sense, I thought you both looked a bit too green. Take the prisoner to the cells and the officer in charge will send a runner to the Marshall’s chambers to see if he’s free to question the prisoner, but take him down through the passages. We have enough to deal with without idiots like you, who haven’t got a clue what you’re doing, wandering through the corridors.’ With that, the Sergeant thrust the piece of paper into Gwilym’s hand and walked back towards his station, the other guardsmen following.
Just as the guards returned to their posts, one of them turned around and walked back towards Gwilym, hand once more on his sword hilt. ‘Where did you say you arrested the prisoner?’
‘The Dancing Bear on Weaver Street.’
‘The Dancing Bear isn’t on Weaver Street; that’s the Thirsty Bear. The Dancing Bear is down past the Spice Market and isn’t on any of our patrol routes. That’s City Guard jurisdiction.’
The other guards, who’d been listening, all turned to face the party. Torben heard Gwilym curse under his breath and he could see the dwarf moving his hand slowly behind his back to the hilt of the seax.
The tension was shattered as bells echoed all around the palace—so loudly that Torben nearly dropped his spear and shield in shock to cover his ears. The guardsmen looked worriedly to their sergeant, who pushed his sword back into its scabbard and jogged down the corridor, away from the party.
