City in the Sky (17 page)

On reaching them, he found half a dozen Aeradi, several of them with blood on their drawn swords, gathered around a seventh on the floor. The seventh was wearing sergeant’s bars – was, in fact, Sergeant Gared, the commander of First Platoon's Third squad. The Aeradi were all
Cloudrunner
men.

“What the hell is this?” he repeated as he took in the scene. Then he got a closer look at Gared and realized why the man was on the ground: several nasty wounds gaped across his chest and left arm.

Before anyone else could respond, Erik took a glance around the street. He didn't see anyone who could have attacked them, but the way the men were gathered around, an attack could get through. “This isn't a clusterfuck, men,” he snapped before any of them could begin to reply. “Perimeter, close. Slope arms, Fires burn it!”

'Perimeter, close' was a specific formation that had been trained into the men. Despite their shock, the men quickly fell into it, sloping their drawn swords back against their shoulders as they faced outwards, watching the crowd.

Erik knelt by Gared, joining the man's squad corporal, who was dressing the wounds with cloth torn from Gared's uniform. None of the wounds looked immediately life-threatening, but the Aeraid had lost a lot of blood.

Worse, as Erik knelt, he started coughing, a horrible fit that spewed blood across his hands.
None
of the wounds touched his lungs, which made that bad.
Very
bad.

“Ennie, get to the Temple of Edril,” Erik said distractedly. The Temple was just across from the Temple of Hydra they'd just left. “Bring a healer. At sword-point, if necessary.”

“Yessir,” the corporal replied, and took off at a run.

Erik turned to Gared's corporal. “What happened?” he demanded.

“Some kind of street thug,” Gared told him between coughing fits, overriding his man. “I'm not that bad hurt, just flesh wounds,” he continued trying to rise.

“
Flesh wounds
aren't causing him to cough up blood, sarge,” the corporal told Erik softly.

“I agree,” Erik said, helping the man press Gared back to the ground. “There's a healer on the way, stay down you Fires-burnt fool,” he hissed at the older sergeant. “You've probably been poisoned, and if you move you'll only help it spread.”

The corporal had done all that could be done to bind the wounds. Erik left the man to it, standing and looking for the healer.

As he did so, Ennie returned with a brown-robed man with a shaved head. The priest took one look at the Aeradi soldiers and snapped, “I'm a healer, let me through.”

“Let him through, men,” Erik ordered, and the soldiers opened a gap for the priest.

The healer brusquely pushed Erik aside and knelt by the man. “How recent?” he asked.

“Fifteen minutes, maybe,” the corporal replied. “He keeps coughing, but none of the wounds touched his lung.”

The priest touched Gared's chest and closed his eyes. “
Dragonshit
,” he swore. “Cathnicket.”

“What?” Erik asked.

“Poison,” he said grimly. “A nasty one – not the worst, not by far – but bad. Kills the lungs, slow for a poison,
fast
by any other standard.” The priest glanced at the corporal, Erik, and the half-dozen armed men. “I need space,” he said firmly. “This man may yet die, for all that I can do.”

“Open the perimeter,” Erik ordered. “Give the healer room.”

The Aeradi spread out, leaving the healer room to work while still keeping a clear space open around their sergeant. Their dark looks and bare steel kept passersby at bay, but drew more official attention. The healer had barely closed his eyes and gone to work when a squad of the City Guard arrived.

The Guards eyed the Aeradi troopers warily. They had twice the marines' numbers, but they were only lightly armed and armored. The Aeradi marines looked far more dangerous than they were being paid to tangle with.

Leaving Gared to the healer and the two corporals, Erik strode to meet the Guards. “I am Sergeant Erik
septon
Tarverro, off the
Cloudrunner
,” he told them.

“Sergeant Lors Dhan,” the squad commander introduced himself. “We received word of an altercation here. Do you know what's going on?”

“One of my fellow sergeants was set upon by thugs,” Erik told the man. “Fortunately, several of his squad members were with him and the thugs were driven off. However, Sergeant Gared was wounded, and at least one of the knives was poisoned. Cathnicket, according to the healer.”

“
Cathnicket
?” the sergeant demanded, his face growing cold as stone.

“That's what he says,” Erik confirmed.

The Guard nodded slowly and turned to his men. “Sweep the street,” he ordered. “If there's
any
trail, find them.”

He turned back to Erik as his men spread out, his face grim. “Cathnicket, Sergeant Tarverro, is a plant that grows
only
up near the northern coast of Ell,” he said flatly. “We grow it for medicinal purposes, but it is very,
very,
controlled, as while the seeds are medicinal, the
leaves
can be used to make a deadly poison. There shouldn't be
any
of it in circulation, even in the criminal community.”

“I see,” Erik said. “That is what the priest said, though.”

“I don't disbelieve you,” Dhan replied. “It simply makes things far more complicated. Did you see which way they fled?”

Erik shook his head. “I wasn't here, but you're welcome to question Gared's men. The healer gave the impression he'd be a while.”

Unfortunately, Dahn and Erik's questioning of the men turned up nothing. The attackers had apparently just appeared out of the crowd. As soon as Gared went down, they'd grabbed their wounded and vanished back into it.

Clearly, they'd been after the sergeant. Which was a disturbing thought in Erik's head. Either someone was systematically trying – and so far, failing – to take out the
Cloudrunner
's marine sergeants, or someone was specifically after one of them.

If someone had been after the squad leaders in general, Erik was sure there would have been more attacks. There was a specific target, and he couldn't help noticing that Gared was wearing his sergeant's triple chevrons. If the thugs had simply been told that their target was, say, a tall Aeradi sergeant, they would likely have targeted the other Aeraid.

It could easily be a case of mistaken identity, with the real target someone else. Given that someone had
already
tried to kill him on the voyage, Erik couldn't help but feel that the target was probably him.

“We have nothing,” Dhan told Erik finally. “Someone is attacked in the middle of
my
city, and I have
nothing
,” he snarled.

Erik raised a hand, forestalling further comment from the Guard as the priest-healer approached.

“Your man will be fine,” he told Erik. “He was lucky – only one of the daggers that cut him was poisoned. If the rest had been,” the healer shrugged fatalistically, “I would never have been able to save him.”

“Thank you,” Erik told the man softly, pressing a gold crown –
sept
Tarverro's money, really, but well worth it – into his palm.

“I can't take this,” the priest replied, offering the coin back. “It was my duty to Edril to heal those in need.”

Erik shook his head. “Consider it a donation to the temple then,” he replied. “Gared's life is worth it and more.” He paused. “What is your name?” he asked, finally.

“Edelnor Katel,” the priest replied, bowing his head. “I have dealt with the poison and his wounds,” he told Erik, “but he should rest for at least several days, more if possible.”

Erik nodded. “We will be leaving here tomorrow. We'll make certain he rests on our voyage west.”

“Good,” Edelnor replied. “I take my leave of you now. May Lord Edril keep you and bless you.”

Erik bowed his head to the man in response and watched him leave. As the priest continued down the street back to his temple, Erik turned to the Guard.

“I regret that we cannot help you,” he told the man.

“You should not apologize,” Dhan growled. “It is
we
who should be concerned. It is our duty to prevent attacks like this happening.”

“You do all you can,” Erik replied calmly. “The Gods and the Fates decide the rest.”

“Aye, that's true enough,” Dhan returned, “but I am still concerned. We shall do the best we can to track these thugs down, so that they bother no one else.”

“I'd thank you for that,” Erik told him. “If you have no more questions for the men, though, may we return to our ship? We need to Gared into a bed, I believe.”

“Yes, of course,” Dhan agreed. “Good luck, Sergeant.”

“And to you.”

The men of Gared's squad were justifiably paranoid after the attack on their sergeant, which suited Erik just fine. He quite happily ignored the drawn blades of the half-dozen marines, and their affect on the crowd around them. He preferred terrifying innocent people to being caught unawares again.

The arrival at the loading dock gate of eight Aeradi, half of them carrying a wounded ninth and the other half with drawn blades, caused a problem. The royal troops, Hiakhan's men, swarmed around the squad, and reacted the way trained soldiers react to drawn blades: they drew their own.

Erik, however, was not in the mood to deal with Hiakhan's men's offended sensibilities. “Back, Fires burn you!” he snapped. “We have a wounded man we need to get to the ship.”

The Ellian men, many of whom recognized Erik from his guard duty the day before, drew back. The squad commander appeared about to wave Erik through, drawn blades or no drawn blades, when Hiakhan himself arrived.

“What is the meaning of this?” the officer demanded, drawing himself up furiously. “Carrying drawn blades in my city? Put up those blades
now
, or we'll put them up for you.”

“Don't be stupider than the Gods made you, Hiakhan,” Erik snapped back. “I have a wounded man – wounded in your
precious
city – and I'm taking him to the ship. Get out of our way.”

“Like Fires I will,” the human officer replied. “Put your blades up and keep a Fires-burnt civil tongue in your mouth half-blood.”

“I'll put my blade up when I feel I can trust
your
city to guard my men,” Erik snapped. “Since I've seen no sign of
that
, get out of my way.”

“Why you stinking little half-breed,” Hiakhan snarled, his hand dropping to his sword.

Before the Ellian could do more than touch the hilt, Erik had crossed the intervening space, and his sword rested against Hiakhan's neck.

“Don't you bleeding
dare
,” he hissed. “I have neither time nor patience for your games. Get your men out of our way!”

Hiakhan's men had reacted to Erik's move by drawing their own swords once more, and for a long moment, the air was filled with a lethal tension. Then Tolars, who had thankfully been checking on the squad currently guarding the dock, arrived.

“What in fire is going on here?” he demanded. “Erik, release him! The rest of you, sheathe your fucking swords!”

Unlike Hiakhan, Tolars, firstly, was the Aeradi marines’ superior, and, secondly, had half a squad of Aeradi troops behind him. Relaxing, slightly, in the presence of their fellows, the men slowly lowered their swords.

Erik merely released Hiakhan without sheathing his sword. “Sergeant, Sergeant Gared was wounded on the streets – and poisoned, with a drug I'm told is under
sole
control of the Ellian Royal Army. I am unprepared to trust his safety to anyone other than our own men.”

“Well our men are here now,” Tolars told him bluntly. “Sheathe your sword.”

Slowly, Erik obeyed the command. Tolars watched him until he did, and then turned his glare on Hiakhan.

“Get out of my sight,” the Aeradi platoon sergeant snapped. “Do your fucking job, don't get in the way of men doing theirs.”

The Ellian officer looked like he was going to reply, clearly scandalized by being addressed like that by a non-com. Then his gaze flicked towards the heavily armored and armed Aeradi marines behind Tolars, and the men with Erik. With a stiff nod, he turned and stalked away.

Once the Ellian troops were out of immediate earshot, Tolars turned back to his men. “Enviers, Kelt, Sorn,” he said firmly, gathering the attention of the three corporals, including the one commanding the men with him, “Take the men and get Gared aboard ship. Erik,” he continued before Erik could pretend that also applied to him, “stay here. You have some explaining to do.”

Erik watched the men leave almost forlornly, knowing that he was going to get it.