James West - The God King

With quiet urgency, Kian turned the opposite direction and ordered the others after him. He did not retreat out of fear, but rather need. His battle was with Varis, not the rabble of the Chalice, the House Guard, nor Prince Sharaal’s forces.

Kian led his incongruous band into the makeshift stable. Without question, the air was colder than it had been when they arrived, colder than Kian could ever remember, even in Izutar. Their mounts’ rolling eyes reflected the orange light of nearby blazes whipped into infernos by howling winds.

Azuri squeezed past the others to peer out through a crack in the wall’s planks. “The fools are burning everything.”

“Madness!” Hazad said again, as that seemed accurate enough.

“Anyone in the alley?” Kian asked.

“No,” Azuri answered.

Kian did not hesitate. In one swift motion, he kicked the rickety door. Although just short moments before his strength had been in question, he now felt fully recovered, as if he had never been near death at all. The force of his blow ripped the hinges loose, and the snow-laden gale sent it flipping down the alley like a leaf.

“Do we ride or go afoot?” Kian asked sharply.

Hya, gaping at the chaos wrought by the storm and the hands of men, turned slowly. “By foot,” she said, pointing down the alley at a crumbling mud brick wall.

Kian dragged the borrowed dagger free of its scabbard, slashed the horses’ lead ropes, then swatted their rumps to send them out into the storm. He hoped that their pounding hooves would hide his company’s escape down the dead-end alley. He also prayed Hya had not lost her wits, and instead of escape was leading them into a trap.

Hya shook her head, and then moved with unexpected sprightliness into the biting storm, the others hard on her heels. Snow had already drifted against stacks of rubbish along the length of the alley, the pristine white speckled in brownish red grit and dark ashes. The bone-cracking chill shocked Kian’s mind to a preternatural clarity. He glanced about in anticipation of an attack. None came, but harried screams and shouts of command soared to them on the gale’s breath. Men and women ran hither and yon before the mouth of the alley, and their freed horses bowled over several people. No one stopped to help their fellows, and none looked down the alley.

Ellonlef moved to his side and drew her dagger. In the erratic light, a glimmer of ferocity shone in her eyes that he would have expected only in a hardened warrior. He could almost pity any enemy that might happen across her path. Unable to resist, he flashed her a smile, which she returned.

From behind, sounds of a brief, violent scuffle drifted out of the shop. A moment later, Azuri stepped free of the shadows, the end of his sword bloody. Shaking his head, he said, “We must be cautious. It seems the people of the Chalice have lost their minds to a sickness cured only by fighting.”

Hya motioned for the others to follow her. Hazad trailed her like a huge mastiff. At the end of the alley, she instructed him to heave aside a haphazard stack of rotting hides. Hazad slammed his sword into its scabbard, caught hold of a bundle, and hurled it aside. As Hazad labored, he revealed a small half-door set low in the brick wall. Its iron banding was rusted, the wood coated in ancient mold and fungus, but it looked strong and thick.

Once the way was clear, Hya produced a crude key and inserted it into a keyhole crusty with frozen slime. She tried to turn the key, but it would not budge. Hazad immediately squatted down, took the key in his fist, and cursed as he tried to turn the stubborn mechanism. After a vigorous rattle, it turned.

Behind them, a furious shout went up. Kian spun, as did Ellonlef. Azuri moved beside them, casual in his stance, his gaze merciless. A dozen howling men rushed forward like a pack of rabid wolves. Rabble they were, bearing knives and cudgels, their wrath fired by the mindless rioting. Kian had seen such crazed behavior before, and knew bloodlust had stolen their reason. Taking a wider stance, Kian made ready.

“Come!” Hya said sharply. She had to repeat the command twice more before Kian turned away from the fast-approaching mob. Hazad, his great bulk straining, heaved open the small iron door that lay just behind the outer wooden door. Rusted hinges shrieked in a voice higher and angrier than either the storm or the surging tide of murderers charging down the alley. Without pause for breath, Hazad turned, caught hold of Hya, and tossed her through the opening. He went after, straight into the face of her outraged curses.

Kian did not bother a second glance at the attackers, but rather spun Ellonlef around and propelled her toward the small dark opening. She vanished quicker than either Hazad or Hya, followed by Azuri.

The pounding of many feet rumbled the ground, maddened shouts filled the air. Kian dove headlong through the tiny doorway. He tumbled down a short flight of stone stairs, rolled a short way, and then shot to his feet. He rushed back the way he had come, lending his strength to Hazad’s in closing the iron door. A hand bearing a dagger poked through the shrinking gap, and bones broke with the sound of snapping twigs between mud brick and metal. The wielder screamed, the dagger clattered down the steps, and the mangled hand jerked out of sight.

After the door boomed shut, Hya’s voice rang out. “There is a bar to the right.”

From outside, heavy pounding shuddered the door. Hazad’s frantic curses told that he was searching for but not finding the bar. Then, as the door began to creak open under the press of the rioters, his oaths cut off in a shout of triumph. Kian was knocked sprawling when the man slammed his girth against the door and fumbled the bar into place. The pounding lasted for a time, but there was easier prey elsewhere, and the marauders gave up and went after it.

“Everyone stay where you are,” Hya ordered. “My warehouse is unkind to those who do not know how to navigate it without light.”

Kian waited in cold, lightless silence, as Hya shuffled through the gloom. After few moments, the gentle sounds of running water filled the chamber. Slowly, a faint amber luminescence grew brighter and brighter, showing a wide, low-ceilinged storage area. The water he had heard emptied from a crude spout into a long and winding trough that fed numerous firemoss lamps situated throughout the underground warehouse. While that was rather ingenious to his mind, what amazed him was the untold amount of loot stored in crates, barrels, or simply heaped up in wobbly piles. While a quick study told him none of the goods were worth much individually, taken as a whole, Hya was in truth quite wealthy.

Hya noted everyone gazing at the loot, then snorted quiet laughter.

“All this,” she said, motioning with a wave of her arm, “has been collected in payment over the many long years of my time here. The Chalice offers little in the way of enticement for an old woman, so I use what I need, and put the rest here.”

She got a faraway look in her eye then. “I had intended to sell it all and send the gold to Rida … now, I suppose that is a task I will never accomplish.”

Kian felt her sorrow, yet at the same time he felt a growing sense of urgency. Moment by moment, he was sure the tide was turning in favor of Varis.

Speaking gently, he said, “We must reach the palace, otherwise none of us, perhaps no one in the world, will ever finish put-off tasks, or any tasks, save those laid out by Varis.”

Hya scrubbed the sheen of tears from her eyes, and that distant expression was replaced by fierce determination. “You speak the truth, Izutarian. Come, follow me.”

Hya led them through the maze of stacked goods to the far side of the warehouse, and then climbed up a set of wooden stairs. She rattled a bolt and eased open a thick door, allowing the glow of leaping flames to filter past her. After a moment’s hesitation, she passed out of sight beyond the doorway, and Kian and the others hurried after.