Joshua Simon - Forgotten Soldiers

Ira said a few choice words. “So much for a night of fun.”

As if on cue, angry shouts erupted from the streets. I recognized several of the voices.

“Molak be cursed,” I whispered. “Let’s go.”

We rushed outside. Steel upon steel rang out.

Pandemonium had hit the streets.

Over a hundred of Damanhur’s citizens had armed themselves with anything they could find, blunt or sharp. Not the whole city by any means, but a mob nonetheless.

It appeared the soldiers not caught literally with their pants down by the locals had already come together, coalescing as a unit at the entrance of a narrow alley. Many held overturned tabletops like shields to push against the frothing mass.

Smart man, whoever had made that decision.

Pitchforks stabbed like spears, branding irons swung like swords, and cast-iron skillets clubbed like maces. The Damanhur citizens attacked with such ferocity, many of their own fell injured by the carelessness of the person next to them.

“Well, we’re not flanking that with only four of us,” said Hamath.

“We could just head back to the wagons while no one’s paying attention,” offered Ira.

He spoke with such calmness it made me realize how empty the rest of the street had become.

Dekar cuffed him.

“I was only joking,” muttered Ira.

“We need to draw them away from the alley,” I said.

“And what would be the point of that?” asked Hamath.

“To have them chase us. It’s far easier for four people to evade a mob than several dozen.”

“That’s crazy,” said Ira. “Besides, there ain’t no way we could get enough of them to come after us so everyone else can escape.”

“Not necessarily,” said Dekar, calling out from back inside the bar. He had slipped inside a moment before. Glass shattered over and over.

“What in the name of Xank are you doing in there?” asked Ira.

Dekar appeared in the doorway, carrying three lit oil lamps. “Creating a diversion. And getting them good and mad so they’ll come after us.”

He threw one of the lamps down, busting it open. The lit flame ignited the spilled oil, then crawled along the floor. Streams of fire spread across the common area, especially by the bar. Within seconds the entire lower floor was in flames.

“Weren’t there people still upstairs?” I asked, taking a step back from the heat.

Prostitutes came running out a side entrance on the right of the building, fleeing down an alley.

“Not anymore,” Ira snorted.

“Uh, Tyrus?”

I turned to Hamath. “Yeah?”

“I believe Dekar’s idea worked.”

I followed his gaze to the mob still at the alley mouth. People in the back had noticed the rising flames and were making it known to the rest of the group. Within a matter of moments, over a hundred angry faces stared in our direction.

“We should probably start running,” I said.

“Yep,” Hamath said.

The crowd came screaming toward us.

We set off in a sprint, but not before Dekar took the last two oil lamps and threw them through a window of the adjacent building. I spared a glance back long enough to see the window dressing ignite.

A smile crawled across my face as some of the mob regained enough of their senses to stop their pursuit in an effort to put out the fires. Those not blessed with common sense came at us more angered than before.

I lasted a full block before I vomited a couple mugs of ale. The rest came up half a block later. Though I stank worse than ever, the trade-off was worth it as we began to distance ourselves from the mob.

A thought struck me and I called out. “Hamath, slow down a bit.”

He looked back, “Come again?”

“Slow down. They’re getting tired. We don’t want to lose them yet,” I huffed.

“Why not?”

“Because they’re just going to go back and find the others.”

He grunted. “So, what’s the plan?”

“You peel off and get back to the wagons. Make sure Captain Nehab wasn’t targeted. If he was, then meet us by that lake we passed on the way to the city. If he’s all right, help him get the wagons hitched and out of the city to that same lake. Direct others who make it out of the city over to that point. We’ll try to buy you some more time.”

“All right.”

He took the first right and disappeared. Ira moved up and took his spot. I tried to focus on the pace he kept rather than the burning in my legs. It was disheartening that just after a short time on the road, I already felt out of shape.

Dragging or not, we all had to keep moving. Ira made sure of that as we weaved in and out of alleys and side streets that cut through several more commonly traveled roads. Twice we had run-ins with small groups of citizens trying to box off our escape. Twice we survived, leaving dead and dying in our wake.

The swarming mob had begun to catch up to us for a third time, pushing our path farther west of the city center. Ira led us down another trash-filled, grime-covered, death-smelling, alley. The alley banked right, hiding the fact that it ended in a dead end with the brick walls of buildings all around us.

Ira swore.

“Turn around. Hurry,” I huffed.

We wheeled quickly, Dekar leading as we retraced our steps. We only made it back as far as the bend before Dekar pulled up. A small horde of citizens pushed their way into the mouth of the narrow pass, stopping as they realized they had us.

“Xank be damned,” said Ira behind me.

I counted fifteen men, which were at least ten too many, and fifteen more than I preferred. They held their position hunched over and huffing for air. Thankfully, they were in far worse shape than we were and that was after a night of drinking. I wasn’t going to let that advantage slip by.

My eyes scanned the dark alley, seeing for the first time a ledge above our heads jutting out from the building to the right. It was only about two feet wide and looked to be of no use other than adding an architectural touch to the structure. It would have to do. Another eight feet above the ledge, closer to the alley’s entrance, rested a small balcony that hung off a third story window.

“Tyrus?” asked Dekar.

“Up the ledge, then to the balcony. Quick,” I hissed.

“That ledge has gotta be nine feet, Ty. I ain’t no frog,” said Ira.

“Better become one,” I muttered. Having recovered enough from their jaunt through the city, Damanhur’s citizens started coming forward.

Someone from the mob shouted. “Why don’t you boys come along now? We can end this nonsense and take you to the watch for questioning.”

“Under what charges?” I hollered.

“Arson. Assault. Murder.”

“All done in self-defense,” I said. “What about the charges against you for attacking us?”

The man said nothing more. I took that to mean that our conversation was over.

I whispered. “Dekar give your brother a boost and then get up afterward. I’ll buy some time.”

Sword in hand, I strode toward fifteen men like a legend of old, ready to take them all down in a single blow. At least that’s how I hoped I appeared. The lingering effects of the alcohol gave me a false bravado, even if the spots of vomit on my shirt worked against the image.

Grunting sounded behind me as the brothers worked on getting up to the ledge. The mob saw their efforts, called out, and picked up their pace. I ran ahead six steps to a stack of old crates, stopping where the alley narrowed. I figured that the four men running abreast would narrow down to two or three once blades started swinging. Odds were still in their favor, but I could at least hold out for a little while against that number. Hopefully, Dekar or Ira would figure out a way to get me to safety in the meantime.