Adversaries Together (28 page)

“
Don’t tell me how it
works.” Roth snapped, “‘Whosoever kills an Athingani will be guilty
of no murder,’ that was the edict. Cassubian, Silvincian, and, yes,
Essian cities all realized they had an open invitation to kill off
the Athingani, to make their land part of their own kingdom. All of
these hills, those highlands,” Roth pointed, “Taken and divvied up
between the three, that’s how those nations got their land, made
their borders. Genocide.”

“
So the dead villages…”
Fery whispered.

“
There were other edicts as
well. Anyone aiding the Athingani was sentenced to labor for five
years. The dead villages were a mix of cleared out Athingani towns
and labor camps.” Wynne said.

“
Usually both.” Roth
sneered.

There was silence as the four stood looking
at the Siracenes. Roth tugged at this reins and continued on, he
called behind him, “What’s done is done. We need a fire.” After a
beat, the others followed.

Kira rode up beside Roth, “I didn’t
know.”

“
They wouldn’t have told
you or taught you that.” He dismissed her apology.

“
Still, it’s my family that
codified it.” She asserted.

Roth raised a hand to stop her talking, “If
it hadn’t been yours, then it would have been some other Spire
clan. Arius didn’t become Patriarch through faith alone. He had
sway in all the capitals.”

“
I didn’t realize.” Kira
shook her head, her eyes lowered.

“
The Cathedral has had its
fingers in everything for nearly a century. Don’t expect that to
change.” Roth spurred his horse and rode on ahead.

“
I can’t believe that…”
Kira stuttered but then found herself calling after him, “I can’t
believe that any true believer would do that, would allow it to
happen.”

“
True believers didn’t,”
Wynne’s voice surprised Kira, as he seemed to be at her side as if
by magic, but his tone was conspiratorial manner, “but The
Cathedral isn’t run by true believers.”

Wynne moved on to catch up with Roth. Kira
hesitated and waited for Fery. “Your friend seems quite angry,” she
said as she approached Kira.

“
He seems to have reason.”
Kira sounded weary.

Bandra

This would be the part
where someone pushes a stone aside to reveal a secret
passage
, Goshen thought of Kira’s
illuminated manuscripts. Stories of heroes rescuing imprisoned
prophets and blessed women, their romances as they founded holy
armies to bring the true Light to the heatheners. She devoured
those tales—The Wace of Gersui, Yvor and Nolan, The Canon
Brotherhood, the seemingly endless Devotions of Lampard, and the
Crystal Chapel. He had read them to her when she was a girl, and as
a young woman, she read at least one a day on top of her proper
studies. So this was too perfect, an imprisoned paladin in need of
grace.

Only he wasn’t a paladin any more. The Light
had abandoned him. Quite literally, he thought, since he had been
thrown down into this black penitentiary. His only light came in
dream or when the guards randomly came to throw him a bowl of cold,
snot-like porridge. This wasn’t imprisonment; rather this was
punishment, his penitence. He dreamt of Kira being alive, he hoped
for it but he couldn’t say. The last time he saw her face, that
last moment before he blacked out, she was standing bow in hand
defiant. After that, his memory was all fevered snippets. There was
another voice, a face with grey eyes and Kira’s voice accusing,
cajoling, and protesting. He had blurred visions of being dragged
over bogs, of being surrounded by the tumult of a marketplace, and
of being in a dark, silent room reeking of liniments.

Had Kira been with him that whole time? Had
she been killed after he was wounded? Was she out there, waiting
for him, in need, surrounded by outlaws and heatheners? Early on,
he tormented himself with these kind of questions. He created
scenarios where she was beaten bloodied, broken, or a flesh slave;
where she was filthy, hiding in the alleyways of Anhra fending off
rats for spoiled food; where she stumbled through the marsh, lost
and confused letting the earth take her life from her. Goshen’s
failure needled him, his “coarse failure” as the legate who had
sentenced him had said.

The cold stone was not going to give way.
There would be no rescue; there could be no rescue. Goshen had to
atone for his deficiency, for the offense of weakness. He wasn’t a
paladin any longer, he was a shamed warden and the shame would
plague him for the rest of his sad life. In this hole, he thought,
I will not rot, I will petrify, a nameless gravestone.

They healed him, raised him to fitness, tried
him, and then threw him down into this darkness. What had it been
since the lowlands? Maybe a month, maybe more. He was losing his
sense of time. Losing. No, he had lost it already. The cell was a
rough cut deep into stone; he suspected that they had just thrown
him into a hole they had carved in a mountainside. He remembered
when they had pulled him out of his cell after his sham of a trial.
That cell was a luxury compared to this—a full high window that let
sunlight flood the room, a bed with a thick straw cot, and even a
desk. They had pulled him out of that cell and put a canvas hood
over his head when they brought him to this cell. It was dark and
then it was darker and then they pulled off the hood and all he saw
was the deepest black.

At first, he had felt his way around this new
cell. It was jagged, there were odd slashes marked in the stone. He
found the door, he could tell it was wooden by the texture but it
felt just as hard and cold as the walls around him. No light came
from the seams or hinges; he had nothing in the cell. He wore a
thin, hemp tunic, no pants only his underclothes, and scratchy
slippers. At night, he curled up into a fetal position and used his
slippers as pillow. He slept, woke, and then slept again. There was
nothing else for him to do. His eyes winced when the guards came
with his food. They held torches that blinded him at first but then
gave him just enough to see his cell in a gray shadow. It had gone
like this for hours, days, weeks; he had no idea really. He only
knew that it felt like forever yet seemed like only a moment
ago.

He slept, he woke, and then he slept again.
This was his routine. When he did eat, the mucus-like porridge
tasted bitter. He ate it all yet never felt full. He’d put the bowl
between his slippers and had the semblance of a firmer pillow. It
did little for him. His back was knotted, his neck stiff with a
crick in it, his thighs sore, and his shoulders burning from how he
had to lay. One of his limbs was always tingling asleep leaving him
with no sense of touch. It was becoming more and more difficult to
stand and as such, he was becoming less and less interested in
trying to do so.

What day it was he didn’t know but he heard
in the distance the sound of hard boot heels, the clatter and creak
of iron, and hard voices. Goshen realized he was lying on his side,
and he pushed himself up to a sitting position with his back
against a wall. He had no idea how near or far he was from the door
to his cell; it was too dark. The guards were getting closer, then
he heard the locks and the sliding of the heavy wooden door as
torch light flooded his cell. Goshen was entirely blind; he saw
only a glaring white beacon with no definition. Suddenly there was
a yank on his manacle chain, “Up with ya.” Goshen fell forward, his
legs too numb to move.

“
C’mon, I’ve not time for
this.” The guard reached down grabbing Goshen at the armpit and
wrist practically dragging him toward the door.

“
Wait…what…” Goshen’s eyes
were beginning to focus, the guard’s riveted brigandine was wet and
he wore no sword but rather two degens. He pulled Goshen along more
roughly, mumbling. The light of the torch illuminated the hall from
the cell, which turned out to be little more than a poorly carved
tunnel. With no flat floor, Goshen had a difficult time staying on
his feet. The tunnel seemed to go on forever and although he had
already fallen down a dozen times Goshen was beginning to
stabilize.

“
Where are we
going?”

“
What do you care?
Rather’ve stayed in the pit?” The guard guffawed. The tunnel rose
up and then opened to a proper cellblock hall. The pair stood still
for a moment, and then the guard pushed Goshen back against the
wall.

“
Hold this,” he shoved the
torch in his hand, stepped back and drew his degens. Goshen’s body
tensed and he held his breath, why kill him out here and like this?
The guard then turned and disappeared down the hall.

Goshen listened for any sound, he heard boot
steps, he heard talking, quarreling really, then a clash of metal.
There was a deep silence. Looking around, he saw there were bodies
pushed against the far wall, stacked upon each other lengthwise.
Goshen squinted as he tried to keep himself up right against the
wall and saw that the bodies were other guards. There was a black
looking pool beneath the bodies slowly making its way towards the
opening of the tunnel towards his former cell. These guards were
freshly dead. His mind raced as Goshen tried to piece this scene
together but he kept coming up short, losing his train of thought.
His grip on the torch tightened, the only weapon he had, but it
gave him away. He turned around and looked down the tunnel, when he
spied a sconce a few feet in. Goshen set the torch, and then
stepped back into the hall near the stacked bodies, well shadowed.
He waited.

This wasn’t right; this guard was doing
something queer. The thought flashed across his mind, you can
escape.

“
How?” he mouthed, he
thought he caught a faint echo of movement. “I can’t follow after
him…I have no idea where this all leads.”

You have to do something,
you can’t just squat here.
He
thought.

You can’t just walk out, I need a weapon, I
need to break these binders…fuck…I need shoes

You can get them on your way.

I’m too weak to beat the guardsmen.

You’re not so weak. What else are you going
to do?

Wait here.

For that guard to come back and drag you to
the headsman?

They wouldn’t kill me.

You’re not a paladin anymore.

“
I am.”

“
What the hell are you
muttering?” the guard came out of the darkness behind him startling
Goshen.

“
Damn it.” Goshen thought
to strike out at the guard but he realized he didn’t have the
balance or strength.

“
Smart with the torch.
Almost thought to go look for you in there,” the guard nodded and
then thrust into Goshen’s arms a jack of plates, boots, and a
single sleeve pauldron. He grabbed the manacle chain and pulled it
up toward his face, “Hold your hands up.”

The guard was fumbling through a key ring
trying one, then another, then another, he cursed, and then found
one that worked, “Fucking finally. Now get dressed, double
quick.”

“
What’s going on here?”
Goshen dressed as best and fast as he could.

“
For a hero, you’re pretty
fucking stupid.” The guard scoffed, “I’m getting you out of
here.”

“
Who are you?”

“
Declan.” He slapped him on
the back and it almost landed Goshen on the floor.

“
Goshen.”

“
Yeah,” Declan shook his
head, “I know who you are, ya dolt.”

“
Sorry…I’m not
quite…”

“
Again, I know.” Declan
pushed a flanged mace into Goshen’s hand, it was lighter than he
was use to—maybe just under three marks—but it hardly mattered he
was too out of sorts to really be effective with it, “Just stay
close to me.”

“
You cleared the cell
block?”

Declan nodded, “Not really a cellblock.
You’re the only prisoner here. At least, far as I know. Might be
some more Hopeless squirreled away but they’re not our concern,
eh?” Declan gave him a playful slap on the cheek. “There’s a
stairway up to a garth,” he reached down and pulled a thin mail
hood off one of the guard bodies, then held it out to Goshen, “I
don’t think anyone will recognize you but all the same, put this
on.”

They moved up the stairs, Declan gestured for
Goshen to harness the mace, “We walk out of here and to the left,
no rush and no worry. Once out of the courtyard, we follow the hall
to the guard kiosk, a chokepoint that I’ve already cleared for us
but we havta ‘urry.”

Goshen nodded but he was sweating like a
madman. It was taking all of his focus to stay standing. Declan
continued, “Then we’ll be in a huge quadrangle,” he put out his
hand to calm Goshen, “we just follow the path and it’ll take us to
the bazaar.”

“
We just disappear into the
crowd then.”

“
Something like
that.”

Goshen grabbed Declan’s arm as tightly as he
could, “I need to know what’s going on.”

Declan smirked, “I’ll tell you once we’re out
of here. I’ll tell you what’s happened to Kira.”

It was enough. He felt a surge go through
him, just enough conviction to keep him moving. Goshen let go and
followed. There were other guards milling about but none of them
seemed pressed to any particular task, he figured they must have
been in some kind of barracks. The two moved quickly but without
panic, casually and no one seemed to pay them much heed. Goshen was
seeing stars and it mystified him how he was still on his feet. The
lawn was empty and it seemed that Declan picked up his pace a bit,
uncomfortable with being so exposed. Coming down a wide and long
stone stair they found themselves in the midst of a bustling
market. Before stepping down to street level, Goshen could see that
the multicolored tarps and overhangs of the bazaar stretched for
blocks.