Maggie Furey - Aurian

The cramped drain continued for some distance back beneath the Academy’s promontory before connecting with the main sewers. The rusted stubs of an old inspection ladder protruded, sharp and dangerous, from the wall, marking the junction. Parric hooked the lantern to his belt and pulled on leather gauntlets to protect his hands from the jagged iron, before he began, very carefully, to climb. Any cuts or abrasions could be fatal down here—the chances of infection were high. They had already lost two men; one to a poisoned rat bite and the other to lockjaw.

The sewer was a tunnel of slick and rotting stone, with raised walkways on either side of the stinking, sluggish channel. Parric was glad that the water level was too low to reach the slanting mouth of the drain. He had sometimes done this climb with all manner of filth cascading down on him, and it was not an experience he cared to repeat. Emerging from the mouth of the drain, he made his way along the walkway to his makeshift raft. Since the stream was low, he could use it to return. When the torrent was in full spate, the journey had to be made via the slimy, crumbling walkways, with the prospect of drowning in the sewage-filled channel only a slip away. With the lantern that swung from his belt providing the only light, Parric picked up the paddle and began to make his way back through the network of tunnels that led to the rebels’ hideout,

Parric had almost reached his destination when he heard the first harsh sounds of fighting. His heart lurched. Great Chathak, no! He steered his raft into the side, his soldier’s brain already working out the odds. Who had betrayed them? No, that was for later. How long since the attack had started? How many of the enemy? They had the advantage of surprise, but they didn’t know these tunnels like Parric did! Once on the walkway, he extinguished his lamp. While his eyes to adjusted to the darkness he checked his throwing knives—one up each sleeve—and pulled a long dagger from his boot. He left his sword sheathed. This was knife work. With a grimace, he slipped over the side and began to wade, thigh deep, up the stinking channel, gripping the edge “of the walkway to keep from slipping on the sludge that coated the bottom.

Had Parric not wanted information, the guard would have died instantly. As it was, she only had time to feel a hand come out of nowhere to grip her ankle, before a quick jerk pitched her headlong into the channel. Before the choking, panic-stricken warrior could flounder to her feet, Parric was on her. He hauled her up roughly, his knife against her throat. “How many of you?” he growled, “Answer me!” He felt her stiffen against him.

“Great Chathak—I know that voice!” she exclaimed. “Parric—is it really you?”

“Bloody right itjs! Now answer my question!”

I

I

“Parric, it’s me—Sangra! Gods forgive us, they said you were dead! Put that stupid knife away, so I can hug you.”

The emotion in her voice was too intense to be feigned, and Parric felt a surge of joy. Sangra was an old, old friend—a big, rowdy, rawboned girl with assets that no fighting vest could contain. Ah, the tumbles they had had in happier days! Grinning, Parric lowered the knife, and managed to get in a quick grope before she turned to face him.

“Now I bloody know it’s you!” There were tears and laughter in her voice as her arms went around him with a force that made his ribs creak as they hugged, oblivious to the filth that coated them both.

“Sangra, what’s going on?” Parric disengaged himself reluctantly.

“The baker’s son betrayed you—or Vannor, at least. We had no idea that you were down here. Parric, are any of the others with you?”

“Yes. Quite a few.”

“Gods! I’ve got to warn our folk! We won’t fight our own!”

“That’s my girl! Come on—quick!”

The troops from the Garrison had Vannor’s little force penned into a cul-de-sac, and the fighting was fierce. The soldiers had brought torches, but most had been extinguished in the battle, and in the half darkness it was difficult to tell friend from foe. Sangra knew, however. She and Parric joined the melee from the rear and plunged into the fray. Parric, with his small stature, found itrcasy to worm his way through the press of fighters. His methods were straightforward. Anyone he recognized, he spared. Any stranger felt the bite of his knife. Sangra, in the meantime, was circulating, pausing to whisper to any of Forral’s old troops that she came across. The change in them was immediate. Relief and joy shining on their faces, they turned their weapons on Angos’s vicious mercenaries.

It was over very quickly. Vannor’s rebels, freed from the pressure of the fight, were able to take the offensive, and the mercenaries found themselves under attack from both sides. Parric managed to break through to the merchant, to explain what had happened, and before very long, joyous reunions were taking place between the members of Forral’s old band, over the bodies of the mercenary dead.

If Vannor looked bewildered to discover that his little force had doubled to some fifty-odd troops, he took it in stride, and when Parric introduced Sangra, he greeted her with the utmost courtesy, manfully ignoring the fact that she and the Cavalrymaster were in an appalling state after their immersion in the sewer.

“If we’d known you were all down here,” Sangra apologized, “we would have joined you. We’ve had an awful time up there since Angos brought his mercenaries in to augment our forces. But we felt we had to stay. We thought Forral would expect it, because of our Oath of Loyalty to the city, and because we wanted to protect the people from the worst deprada-tions of Angos and the Magefolk.” She looked at Parric. “What do we do now? Angos is waiting with more soldiers at the mouth of the drain, and now he knows you’re here, we daren’t stay.”

“Go north,” a decisive voice broke in. “It shouldn’t be difficult to get out of the city—Angos can’t be watching all the drains. The Nightrunners will take us in.”

Vannor grimaced. “Dulsina, will you never stop organizing?”

The tall, dark-haired woman grinned at him. “Not while there’s breath in my body,” she said cheerfully. “Besides, Zanna has been missing you, despite the messages we managed to send. It’s about time you saw your daughter again.”

“Wait a minute!” Parric interrupted. “You know the Nightrunners? Enough to leave your daughter with them?” The Cavalrymaster raised his eyes imploringly. “May the Gods give me strength . . . Those bloody smugglers were a constant thorn in Forral’s side. He drove us all to distraction trying to discover where they were hiding, and you knew all the time!”

Vannor winked. “How do you think I managed to make my fortune?”

Parric burst out laughing. “You villain! You were using them to trade with the Southerners, for gems and silks and stuff, weren’t you?”

“A man has to get ahead somehow.” The merchant shrugged. “Besides, my criminal past is proving useful now. Come on, let’s get going.”

There were few casualties among the rebels. But as they left the storm drains, Parric discovered the body of Tori, floating facedown in the sewer with a knife in his back. He sighed. Miserable as the old man had been, he’d been a good friend to the rebels. Still, it was better this way. At least he would never know that his own son had betrayed him. Or would he? On closer inspection, Parric saw that the knife was not a soldier’s dagger, but a long, saw-edged domestic blade—the sort that a baker might use.

The rebels decided to use the sewers to make their way across the city, then travel downriver to Norberth, following Aurian’s route. Once there, they could contact one of Yanis’s agents, who would arrange a ship to take them to the smugglers’ hideout. It was a nightmare journey. Vannor’s band were used to negotiating the slick walkways, but the new additions had a difficult time of it. Every few minutes, there would be a splash followed by curses, as someone fell into the channel, and had to be rescued. Though the troopers made light of it, Parric was concerned. He knew all too well the chances of losing some of their band to the diseases that proliferated in this place.