Chapter 6 #7
A small crowd of sutlers and their workers had gathered round, haranguing the drivers and the guards to let them have a first look at the newly arrived provisions. The usual cutpurses and pilferers joined them, waiting for a chance to steal cargo.
Bron despised thieves, but the presence of those here now worked in his favor.
The wagon with the amphorae was meant for the brewers, vintners, and oil millers to fill with their stock and return to the first encampment for distribution among the troops and camp cooks.
It would have been better were they full, but empty ones would work well enough for his plan.
He slinked past the clusters of bystanders, keeping an eye on the guards who were too busy arguing with the group of familiar larcenists to notice the lone figure moving along one side of the amphorae wagon.
He studied the spiderweb of ropes holding the jars in place.
From the look of it, he’d only have to cut a few of the ropes instead of all of them.
Losing a few would destabilize the stack.
Once one jar fell, they’d all come crashing down.
He just needed to make certain he cut on the side that ensured they fell away from the wagon where Disaris hid.
He crept closer to that side of the wagon.
The darkness helped him stay invisible to the guards, and the clatter of the nearby crowd hid the sounds of his blade cutting through thick rope.
The groan and snap of breaking rope, followed by the agonized groan of the unbalanced wagon halted all conversation.
The first jar tilted in slow motion, falling end over end until it shattered on the ground in a spray of ceramic shrapnel.
People shouted and fled in every direction as the tower of amphorae gave way, tumbling down in a thunderous crash punctuated by the heavy thud of the wagon overturning on its side.
Bron didn’t hesitate, rushing to the back of the adjacent wagon and ripping the tarp aside. “Disa!” he shouted amidst the chaos of guards, merchants, and thieves trampling each other to get out of the way.
“Here!” Disaris’s voice was faint, but her grip strong in his hand as he yanked her out of the wagon and into his arms. She immediately jerked back, eyes wide with fright, then confusion as she stared at him. “Bron?”
“Later,” he said, tipping her out of his embrace to let her stand.
He didn’t pause to inquire if she was all right.
They had only a small window of opportunity to escape and make their way to Uzmina’s tent where his horse waited.
“Keep up,” he said and pulled her along with him in a sprint out of the loading yard.
She might have been thin and malnourished, but she matched his pace as they raced down curving pathways and rutted alleyways.
Bron held back a victorious shout when he spotted his gelding patiently grazing on a small pile of hay Uzmina must have put there when he left.
“Almost there,” he told Disaris running silently behind him.
He spoke too soon.
A figure stepped onto the path from the leaning shadows of an abandoned sutler’s stall. Backlit by the distant light of the camp, they were nothing more than a silhouette except for the metallic glint of a sword blade.
Bron halted, pushed forward as Disaris knocked into him from behind with a soft “umph.” He didn’t need to see detail to know who confronted them. “Cimejen.”
His fellow battle mage shifted in a way that partially revealed his features. Anger harshened his already dour face. “Give me the itzuli, Bron. I’ll pretend you’re deep in your cups and not thinking clearly.”
Silence spooled out between them as Bron considered the choices before him. Turning Disaris over to Cimejen wasn’t one of them. Behind him, she gripped the back of his cloak in tight fists, her breathing shallow and quick. “And if I don’t?”
The mage shrugged. “Then I’ll take her. In the end, it’s all the same.
Even if you get past me, you’ll never make it out of the Nesting Grounds before it’s swarming with troops whose sole purpose is to find you and the itzuli.
You can evade ten of us, but not a hundred or more.
” He stepped closer, sword raised. “Don’t be foolish, jin Hazarin. She isn’t worth it.”
For a moment Bron considered urging Disaris to run, lose herself within the second camp’s teeming population while he battled Cimejen long enough to buy her time.
He discarded the idea as soon as he thought of it.
There were too many things working against her.
Even if he managed to defeat Cimejen in a fight, he’d never find her before others did and turned her over to Golius.
“Step back,” he instructed her as he unsheathed his sword.
“Bron,” she whispered. “I’ll go with him.”
“Do as I say, Disa,” He sketched invisible symbols in the air with his free hand, savoring the cold pulse of magic that surged through his body.
The clean, sharp scent of lightning carried on a sudden breeze crackled between him and Cimejen.
“If you think she isn’t worth it, then let us go. I don’t want to fight you.”
Cimejen’s bark of laughter held no amusement.
“It doesn’t matter what either of us thinks, only what Golius wants, and he wants the itzuli.
” He raised the hand not clasping his sword, bringing his fingers together.
He blew gently on them, igniting a bright flame that danced on their tips like a fool’s flame.
It cast an eerie light across his face. “Do you really want to sling spells here? Wind and lightning courting fire? Together we’ll turn this encampment into an inferno. ”
The man had a point. There would be no winner or loser in such a contest, only the burning dead.
Not wanting to make the Nesting Grounds into a mass funeral pyre, Bron abruptly broke the thread of his incantation and watched Cimejen do the same.
“Cold steel it is then,” he said and lunged toward his opponent, sword raised and braced for a counterstrike.
His surprised yelp was echoed by Disaris behind him when Cimejen suddenly flinched and jerked sideways before dropping to his knees and finally his side.
His sword fell from his hand to land next to him.
Bron leaped over him to keep from trampling him.
A stuttering gasp escaped Cimejen’s mouth before his eyes rolled back, and he went limp.
The man might be his adversary for now, but he’d never been Bron’s enemy. He pivoted and crouched next to Cimejen, turning him onto his back. A soft exhale and the steady rise and fall of his chest, assured Bron his fellow mage was still alive, just unconscious.
The sounds of approaching footsteps alerted him to company.
He snatched up Cimejen’s sword and whirled to face a new enemy.
His jaw sagged when he saw who joined them on this evening of unsettling surprises.
“Uzmina? Elal?” he said as the two bed maidens drew closer.
A quick survey of the pair solved the mystery of Cimejen’s sudden, unexpected collapse.
Elal cradled a dart pipe in the crook of his elbow.
Made from river cane, it was a weapon employed for hunting small game and in ambush warfare against an unarmored or lightly armored foe.
Depending on the type of poison smeared on the darts, a single, well-aimed shot could bring down something as small as a bird or as large as a man.
Bron thought it ironic that a warrior of Cimejen’s sorcerous talents and martial prowess had been brought down by a bed maiden with a sharp aim.
Elal bent down next to Bron, bejeweled fingers carefully turning Cimejen’s head one way, then the other until he found what he was looking for: a dart the size of a rose thorn and wicked-sharp.
He plucked it from the mage’s neck and dropped it into a small bag tied to the belt at his waist. He stood and offered Bron a short bow.
“I used a poison that doesn’t kill. It just makes you want to die as it goes through you.
He’ll sleep for a day and wake up wanting to retch his guts out for another half day.
” The bed maiden glanced at his fallen quarry. “That’s if you want to keep him alive.”
Killing Cimejen while he lay defenseless at Bron’s feet was the most efficient action, and one that repulsed Bron.
Even without a personal distaste for such an act, it was only e in the short term.
Golius would turn Daes inside out hunting down the person who murdered the man who was his brother in every way but blood.
Bron understood the motivation. It was why he was in this situation with Disaris.
Uzmina swatted Elal on the shoulder. “You’re a bloodthirsty one, aren’t you, lad?
” She turned to Bron. “You were taking too long to return for your horse,” she explained.
“I bribed Elal for help.” She pointed to the unconscious mage.
“We saw him lurking about our domain. There’s no reason for a eunuch to be hanging about in bed maiden territory.
We guessed the fastest way to find you was to follow him. ”
Bron bowed to them both. “You’ve a hunter’s instincts, Uzmina. We owe you and Elal our gratitude.”
She shooed him away with an impatient wave of her hand.
“Pay us later. Your horse and another wait one alley over, guarded by another bed maiden. The sooner you leave here, the more distance you’ll put between yourselves and the Sun Crow by the time he’s fit enough to sit in the saddle.
” She clutched Bron’s arm for a moment. “He won’t stop chasing you, even if his master does. This will be personal for him now.”
He patted her hand. “Understood. Do you feel safe with me leaving him to you?”
Uzmina tutted at him and tossed her loose hair over her shoulder with a nonchalant flip. “I’ve dealt with meaner if not always smarter. He’ll never know who brought him down. Good luck.”