Hunted (Book 3) (20 page)

“They will lock the entire city down,” Torbrand stated. “It will be amusing to see what tale they offer as justification, and even more amusing to see how we will get off this shard.”

Hardman asked, “How far away is the carriage, Maewen?”

“I cannot say for sure. Come. I think we can sneak by now.” They turned away from the main street that led by the front of the inn, slipping to the rear of the structure and ducking down behind a low fence that bordered a tree-lined road.

“I can see two of the Church soldiers,” Maewen announced, peering into the dark. “They seem at their ease.”

“Only two?” Hardman complained.

“We’re dead,” Volney lamented, voice echoing in the impenetrable darkness. “We’re dead and in the Abyss. What did I do to deserve this?”

“We’re not in the Abyss,” Gerand disagreed, voice exasperated. “For Eldaloth’s sake, Volney, get a hold of yourself. This is no worse than the sacks they put us in before.”

“I expected there would be a lot more pain and torture, perhaps with some fire or demons, but I think the dark will drive me barking mad.”

“You already are,” Gerand said. “Look, people go to the Abyss when they die and
if
they have been disposed to evil. We sank into the ground. Didn’t you hear them shouting in surprise? This was some sort of magic. If we could get out of this accursed wagon, we might just find our way to light. If you listen carefully, you can hear the wind moaning from time to time. That means there is a way to the surface.” Gerand yanked at the bars, kicked the lock, and then slumped down in frustration. “At any rate, since they can’t drug Gen anymore, perhaps he’ll wake up and have some sort of brilliant idea.”

Since their disastrous encounter with Padra Nolan on the floating dock, the Puremen who fed them their meals had always forced Gen to drink some foul-smelling liquid. Not once since their capture and entrapment within the carriage had Gen managed any sort of coherency, even if he managed to open his confused, bleary eyes. Gerand shook him, eliciting a brief moan.

“Why do you think they did that to him and not to us?” Volney wondered aloud. “Drug him, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” Gerand admitted, leaning back against the wall. “I’ve asked myself that on occasion. I would say that they fear that he might use his intelligence, fame, or persuasiveness to find some way out of this rolling jail cell.”

“And what are we, a couple of dog-brained morons?” asked Volney. “We’re both in the upper classes! We’re both educated and eloquent!”

“If that’s the way you feel, if they find us, I’ll ask them to drug you, too—for the sake of your pride and a little peace and quiet. We need to think.”

When the wagon had passed through the ground and into the empty chamber, it fell several feet, splintering the wheels. The carriage rocked back and forth uneasily with their movements. The absolute, enveloping dark clouded their notion of the passage of time. They said little save to engage in inane conversation just to gain the reassurance that another person waited with them in the dark. 

Gen began breathing more shallowly, turning restlessly and mumbling.

“I think he’s coming out of it,” Volney observed hopefully.

“And I think it’s getting lighter out there,” Gerand added.

After butting heads with Volney scrambling for the window slit, Gerand gripped the bars and peered out, noticing a faint orange glow. Periodically, the faint echo of whispered voices would reach their ears, or the staccato of a loose rock kicked about the stone walls.

“We’re definitely in a cave,” Gerand asserted.

“Have the Eldephaere have found us?”

“I don’t think so. Whoever is coming treads lightly without a lot of armor. They are too quiet.”

“And you two thunder mouths are not.”

Maewen’s voice sent a surge of hope through Gerand’s veins, her torch blinding him as she rounded the corner of an underground passageway. Once his eyes settled, he saw that the carriage had fallen into a large, damp cave with stalactites and stalagmites sticking up like points of wet clay.

“I hope Ethris is with you,” Gerand commented.

“He is not,” Maewen reported. “I have Torbrand Khairn and. . .”

“General Harband!” Volney exclaimed. “I’d recognize him anywhere, after all the stories.”

The General executed a small bow for his benefit.

“Recognition is not our friend right now,” Torbrand cautioned seriously, “and neither is the door of that carriage, I assume.”

“It took a Padra incanting some spell to open it,” Gerand confirmed. “We’re trapped, aren’t we?”

“For the time being,” Maewen said, face troubled. “Is Gen well?”

“They drugged him to keep him incapacitated. They usually administered a dose at night when the caravan stopped. They did not get around to that tonight, so perhaps he will wake soon. I don’t know.”

Maewen crouched on the ground and rummaged through her backpack. “Just a moment. Tell me, does he have both of his legs?”

Gerand and Volney both creased their brows. “Yes,” they answered in unison.

“Then he truly is the most dangerous man alive. Put a pinch of this under his nose,” she said, handing Gerand a small pouch she produced from her pack. “Just a pinch, mind you.”

“I need a bit more light!” Gerand requested after fumbling in the dark for several seconds. Maewen strode forward and put the torch near the bars.

“What do you mean about Gen and the leg?” Volney inquired, perplexed.

“The Church has sent riders throughout Ki’Hal proclaiming that Gen was the Ilch, attacked Chertanne, and was then killed by him. They say they amputated Gen’s leg and are carting it around to major cities in a grand procession. So you see, if Gen shows up not dead and with both legs attached, the Church has a major credibility problem.”

“Gen? The Ilch? That’s ludicrous!” Volney exclaimed. “Who would believe such a fable? And if Gen is such a liability, why haven’t they killed him? He’s been helpless in this wagon for days!”

“Information, perhaps,” Shadan Khairn ventured. “That would assume, however, that they truly believe he is the Ilch. If they could spend time and search his mind, he might reveal some clues as to what Mikkik was up to. Of course, with Chertanne dead, I suppose the outcome of the prophecy is already set.”

“Chertanne is dead!?” Gerand nearly smashed Volney’s face into the bars as he shot from Gen’s side. Volney’s mouth hung silently open as his companion pushed him out of the way. “Who killed him?”

“Keep your voice down,” Maewen hissed. “Jaron killed him. Few know that. Mirelle was able to sneak the news to us before she left for Aughmere.”

In the wagon, Gen began to wheeze and cough.

Maewen looked behind her nervously. “I’ll tell you all we know when Gen awakes. I dislike telling the same story twice. Return the pouch to me, please.”

Gerand complied, returning to Gen’s side, helping him struggle to a sitting position, clarity returning to his troubled, dark-rimmed eyes.

“Easy, Gen,” Gerand cautioned.

Gen sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. “Where am I? The last thing I remember was greeting Padra Nolan on the dock.”

“Gerand smiled, relieved to see Gen awake and coherent. “Well, my friend, we have quite a tale to tell you.”

“It will have to wait,” Maewen said, voice sharp. “Listen.”

Ears strained, reaching out into the darkness, but it took nearly a minute for Maewen’s human companions to hear the sound that alarmed her—above them, in the darkness, someone was pounding on stone.

“Unbelievable!” General Harband laughed. “They actually dug a hole all the way down here! They really are desperate. Well, Torbrand, ready for a fight?”

“Always, but I’m afraid I have an idea that may delay the pleasure, at least momentarily.”

“What are you proposing?” Maewen asked.

“I’m proposing that we let them open the carriage door for us. The wagon is broken. I’m assuming they won’t take the effort to fix it and haul it back up the hole. If I guess right, they will lower a token force of men down here to secure the area, and then send in a Padra to open the door. Once he is sure that Gen is sedated, they’ll haul them out. With limited opponents and the element of surprise, this should be relatively easy, especially if we can eliminate the Padra early.”

“The plan is sound, but I don’t want to kill a Padra,” Maewen said.

“I can incapacitate him without killing him,” Gen offered. “If I can get close enough to him.”

“They’ve been drugging you. . .” Gerand began

“Yes, I can taste the elm’s draught on my lips.”

“If you feign that you are near waking, perhaps the Padra will enter the carriage personally to administer the drug.”

Torbrand loosened his sword in its scabbard. “It’s set then. Maewen, you’ll need to cover our tracks in this room so they won’t suspect that anyone’s been here. General, pass those swords inside so they can fight for us once the door is free. Gerand, Volney, when they start coming, yell for help and act as terrified and alone as possible. Gen striking the Padra will be the cue to advance. The cave entrance exits into a sewer a half mile from here. We will likely have to fight most of the way out. Soldiers will drop through the hole like rats fleeing a flood once we hit them. Go!”

Hardman shoved the swords through the bars and retreated back into the passage, Torbrand following. Maewen stayed behind for several minutes, using her cloak to smooth the dirt into as natural a state as she could before she turned the corner and extinguished her torch. Darkness fell again, Volney muttering uncomfortably under his breath.

Nearly an hour passed, the sound of the pick and then shovel resounding ever more clearly in the benighted cavern. “It appears our haste was unnecessary,” Torbrand observed. “By the sound of it, there are three diggers at most.” As he finished his sentence, a rumbling shook the cave, and all at once the ceiling above the carriage collapsed. A thunderous wave of rock, dirt, and diggers’ bodies showered down to bounce off the carriage and onto the hard cave floor. Two of the diggers lay motionless while a third yelled in agony, clutching his legs.

Hardman snorted. “Morons.”

Pale, flickering light from bonfires around the hole provided weak illumination to the scene below. On cue, Volney and Gerand yelled for help.

“We’ve found them!” someone shouted from above. “Lower Padra Seffire first.”

“Mikkik’s fury!” Torbrand swore quietly. “I miscalculated. They aren’t expecting us down here, they’re expecting a Magician. They had at least three Padras in the caravan. I expect we’ll see all three shortly. You may have to reevaluate your reluctance to kill Padras, Maewen.”

True to Torbrand’s prediction, the soldiers above lowered Padra Seffire first, and as soon as his boots touched the ground, he incanted, a translucent sphere of dusty air encompassing the cavern. Maewen frowned and Torbrand shook his head in disappointment.

“Wouldn’t have had much fun if it had gone according to plan,” Hardman whispered consolingly. “Let’s hope Gen is as clever as I’ve heard tell.”

Two other Padras were lowered in immediately after Seffire, one attending to the fallen diggers. Maewen watched as Padra Seffire approached the bars, holding a brief conversation with the incarcerated. He approached the door, removing a flask from a cloak pocket.

“Here we go,” Hardman said.