Einsdee, the 1st of Falling, 768 A.E.

  “This way.” Makan called back over his shoulder, pulling Anthea along by her wrist.

  Bedros hunched over to hide as much of his size as he could, practically going down on all fours like a beast of burden, but even that only helped them escape the least discerning of eyes. Rolf followed behind Bedros, a rifle in hands and ready to use. From the looks of things in the streets, he was not the only one carrying a weapon tonight.

  “How do you know where we’re going?” Anthea asked wearily, both her previous enchantment and the darkness weighing heavily on her.

  “I searched for you for a few Dees. I saw much of the city and I remember much.”

  “Like where we can get a ship?” Rolf whispered ahead over Bedros’ hunched form.

  Makan was paused at the end of an alleyway, looking out into the dim streets to see if the way was clear. They were near the waterfront now, that much was obvious from the sound of footfalls on wooden docks and the telltale noises of water slapping piers and ship hulls alike. As he paused there, he looked back at his companions and grinned at Rolf in particular.

  “Have faith, Kerathi. We have already beaten the odds once tonight.”

  “Yes, but I fear we haven’t a repeat of that sort of luck waiting for us if we should come across more Aureans.” Rolf replied.

  Bedros grunted in agreement, which earned him a sympathetic and concerned look from Anthea, who knew too well that the Ox-Man had been hit numerous times by arc-sword fire. Even if he was stronger and had tougher hide covered with a healthy coat of fur, that didn’t mean it felt pleasant for him to be battered and attacked in such a way.

  “The Gods are on our side, Rolf. We will make it out of here tonight.”

  “Your Gods are different from mine, Mueran, and right now you’re on Kerathi lands.” Rolf said cynically.

  “The Gods are all the same, you just need to know which ones to pay the most homage to at the right time.” Makan replied, and before Rolf could reply, he darted ahead, saying, “Now!”

  The four of them crossed the cobbled street, all but unseen by the people of Norsjalde. They squeezed between boathouses and moved down to the rickety section of older docks maintained sporadically by local fishermen. Bedros had the hardest time maneuvering between the tight buildings, and his bovine nose twitched uneasily at the smell of rotten fish and seaweed that was strong in all their nostrils.

  Makan ducked in and out of boathouses, looking for a boat that would suit their purposes while the rest of them waited in the shadows. Rolf shook his head in wonder, surprised they had made it this far, but then his eyes swept across the port.

  Burning skeletons of ships were sinking to the harbor’s seafloor. They’d have to be floated out, dredged, or hauled up for dismantling, or they’d block the harbor entrance. The harbor tower was still a tall stack of flames, and fires had broken out along the docks and in the shorefront inns. The noise of people hurrying about to put out fires filled the night. Bucket brigades formed, but they were too slow to combat the new fires cropping up throughout the waterfront.

  “In here.” Makan ordered, carrying Rolf’s mind back to the task at hand.

  Rolf ducked into the boathouse, where they found a very modest fishing ship untended. They dared not light a lamp to work by, but the fires along the loading docks gave off enough light, even through the crud-covered windows of the boathouse, that they could see just enough to ready the ship.

  Anthea stayed out of the way, slumping down onto a pile of odorous fishing nets to rest while the men worked. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to help or wasn’t smart enough to take Makan’s directions and carry them out, she was simply too exhausted to be of any use. So, instead she sat there gathering her strength while Bedros did the heavy lifting he was directed to do, and Makan and Rolf checked the seaworthiness of the vessel.

  Nets were offloaded and extra gear was pitched overboard. Every extra Kee of supplies would just slow down their flight. Anthea had her doubts this would work anyway, but Makan, Rolf, and Bedros were working so feverishly to make it happen that she pushed the traitorous thoughts that they might fail out of her head.

  After what seemed like an Ouer, they were finally finished. Even Bedros was panting from the effort.

  “Where’s yours?” Anthea asked. “You need a ship too.”

  “This is mine.” Makan replied.

  “What? What are we going to escape in then?”

  “Something smaller,” Makan answered. “Rolf will have to pick something from among the ships in the nearby boathouses. As it is, this has might not even have a shallow enough draft to make it out of port.”

  “Smaller? How?” Anthea demanded from her seat on the pile of nets. Her head swept from bow to stern of the battered fishing vessel. “This would barely fit all of us on to begin with.”

  “Anthea, we cannot travel in comfort. For that, I am sorry. With any luck, we will only be on whatever ship Rolf chooses for a short time. If you have to abide a few hours in a fish hold, I can’t help that. It may be the choice between life and death here. Take what the Gods offer and do not think to question them, for their mercies are quickly withdrawn.”

  “Haestos and Maletos have nothing to do with this rattletrap or this city for that matter.” Anthea remarked bitterly, touching her middle and forefingers to her forehead as she mentioned her people’s favored Gods.

  Makan moved off the vessel, hopping down onto the narrow ledge along the wall – the boat took up almost the entire boathouse. He knelt beside Anthea, taking her small hand in his. “Dear one, you must do this.” He insisted. “You know that those men out there mean us no good, least of all you.”

  “I know… it’s just that I never expected this, and the darkness already has me feeling ill.” She said wearily.

  “Illness you can recover from, but death or imprisonment are much harder to undo.”

  Anthea laughed. She didn’t know why. What he said wasn’t really that funny, but the way he said it reminded her of her father, and for a moment she was caught between tears and laughter. “I will do this thing then. The quicker we begin, the quicker I am to be getting off whatever boat we choose too. Let us not tarry here long.”

  Makan nodded. “Then help with the illusion of this boat having all of you on it, or at least do something that will fill my sails with wind and push me out of port as fast as possible.”

  “I don’t know that I have the strength for that.”

  “Child, when the body is weak, it is the mind and the will that tell it to go that extra step. It is the mind that carries a dead man ten more steps on a battlefield to win the Dee. It is the mind that defeats nature and reason to make the impossible possible.” Makan said impassionedly.

  “He’s right.” Rolf said solemnly. “The Gods of fate and battle have chosen todee to test you, and I know that you will prove to them, that regardless of what task they have entrusted you with, you are not lacking.”

  Bedros nodded heavily, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Anthea couldn’t help but get caught up in the moment. They were placing their trust in her. Their faith was unwavering. She searched each of their eyes for doubt, but there was none. Makan’s eyes shown with piety and will as hard as stone, Rolf’s glowed with confidence that she knew he rarely felt, and Bedros – her rock in a world of slipping sand – would move the world for her if she but tried to do what she knew she must. His eyes said as much.

  If her body protested and felt weak, and if a wave of dark poisoning’s nausea swept over her, she did not give it notice. Instead, she drew on her own will, which she found was not lacking. “Give me my box. I’ve work to do. Finish readying this, and I’ll speed you out of here as if you were a leaf caught in a high mountain wind.”

  “Save some for your own boat, Anthea. You’ll need to make it as unnoticeable as possible. You’ll need to hide it from sight as best you can or disguise it as something else.” Makan advised, while Bedros dug through their supplies for her box.

  “I have to enchant two boats?” Anthea asked in surprise. Her legs twinged and she felt that she might fall over. One boat was possible, she thought, but two?

  Makan nodded. “Even if I draw them off and they think they’ve killed us all, they will not hesitate to check and make sure. Every boat seen leaving will be checked.”

  “Two enchantments, Anthea, and then you can sleep for a Munth if you must.” Rolf said.

  “That’s easy for you to say.” She replied, frowning. “I’ll do what I can.”

  Bedros extended his heavy hands to her, holding out her silver box of flower blossoms. She took it, and after taking a deep breath, she opened it. While she examined the blossoms, herbs, seeds, and various parts of plants she had, each carefully maintained for as long as possible by the enchantments on the box, the others helped build the illusion. They set up crystal pods and other signs that made it look as if the boat were occupied by all four of them. She couldn’t pay much attention to what they did though, she had to find the right blossom among the dozens for the job she must do.

  After sifting through blossoms of pale blue, pink, lavender, and gold, her fingers touched a velvety, orange-tinged white blossom. She knew it was what she needed: Orange Mock – a flower perfect for deceit and beloved of the winds.

  She glanced up to see Rolf and Bedros untying the boat as Makan slid open the door that exposed them to the night, and with it the smells of fire, fish, and sewage. Makan boarded the vessel, taking with him one of Rolf’s rifles. Anthea didn’t ask why. Her mind was busy clearing itself of extraneous thoughts so that the words for the incantation would come to her.

  Rolf and Bedros moved clear. Makan stood beside the lay-down mast, ready to slide it up into place and push the pins into place to secure it in an upright position. The sail lay spread already, not something usually done, but it would fall tightly into place when Makan had lashed a pair of lines.

  “Ready.” Anthea announced.

  Makan nodded. “I will see all of you soon, Gandahar willing. But I think Fallu has brought me here and he will not let me down if I do his will.”

  Rolf nodded at the older man and said, “Good luck.”

  Bedros grunted loudly, nodding stiffly, as that was all an Ox-Man’s neck would allow them to do.

  Anthea didn’t say her farewell, for she knew that she would see the man again. If she did not, she would rather her last words to him not be a farewell – that was too foreboding.

  “Push me out. Hit the boat with the enchantment as soon as the mast is up.” Makan commanded.

  Anthea nodded. Rolf and Bedros released the levers that held the boat in the boathouse, and with a clunk and the grinding of the wooden keel on wooden rollers, the boat slid into the water, splashing more loudly that Anthea would have liked.

  Makan worked quickly, levering the mast into place as it was designed to be. He hauled heavily on the halyards and tugged the sail up into place. Then he said silent prayers to all the Gods and Goddesses that might help him in that very moment as he began tying off the lines. When he glanced back at the boathouse, there was a flash of light as the blossom vanished and Anthea’s mouth began to move.

  Orange Mock, help me tend to my flock;

  Draw winds and currents to carry this one to sea, and illusions to show our enemies what they must see.

  Carry him far and fast, and may he draw the Aureans one and last.

  The boat lurched beneath Makan’s feet; it pushed forward churning water behind it as if giant hands were scuttling it along like a leaf in a swift river current. The lines strained as summoned wind filled the sail and whipped at his back. He grabbed for the wheel and held on with all his might.

  His laugh filled the night as he looked beside him and saw a wavering image of his companions huddled on the deck of the fishing boat. With the crystal pods glowing their brightest, the boat was a beacon in the night.

  Back on shore, Bedros and Rolf hurried a faint Anthea down the shore in search of a boat that they could make their own escape in.

  Genero panted heavily. His limbs were shaking, his head felt like a ripe melon being split open, and his stomach was a great churning pit of bile. The girl’s enchantment, as that could be the only explanation for the sudden urge to flee that had entered him and his men, had just worn off a few Mynettes ago. For nearly ten Mynettes they had scattered to different corners of the city, running as fast as their legs would carry them. But then, Genero, ever one to do his duty, had worked his way back to the site of their battle, and had let himself into the inn through the back entry. What he had seen there had caused him to flee a second time.

  That was how Genero found himself alone in a dark alley in a dangerous city full of enemies, with the symptoms of dark poisoning setting in heavily. The sounds of a city rife with fear and anger surrounded him, threatening to engulf him. Yet it was his fear of what the girl had done to them that bothered him more than the bodies of Leander and his men and the untamed emotions that ran amok in the city.

  Citizens ran back and forth, working bucket brigades that battled fires that were spreading on the heartless winds from building to building. Illias’ men were still setting new fires too, Genero figured. Perhaps some of the men from Leander’s group were too. Scattered and afraid in a strange city, starting fires to chase away the darkness might not be such a strange thing to do. Even he had the urge to strike back at the city that had already caused him so much trouble in such a short amount of time.

  For a moment, his mind returned to the sight of the Ox-Man fugitive crashing down among them in a rain of glass shards. Between the length of his arms and the length of the mallet’s shaft, he had been death for anything within four Mayters. Even arc-swords did little more than sting the great beast man. His hide was more resistant than it should have been. Orestes must have conditioned the creature somehow.

  Just then, an Aurean in Kerathi disguise ran past the entry to the alley Genero was hiding in. Genero gasped in a deep gulp of effluvious air and darted out into the street after him. The Guardian, hearing heavy footfalls behind him rounded on him with his arc-sword drawn after they’d gone no more than a dozen paces.

  Genero held his hands up. “Wait! It’s me, Captain Genero.”

  There was a moment of hesitation, but the Guardian lowered his weapon. “Where’s your team?”

  What he said, as well as they way he acted were enough to tell Genero that this man was not from his team. He was from Illias’ group. “Scattered… dead… take your pick. The girl and her friends set us upon when we tried to corner them. At least five are dead.”

  “How is it that you were split from you group then, Captain?”

  Genero frowned. The way this insolent man used his title made it sound more like an accusation of cowardice than a dignified title of a superior. “Might I remind you that I am your superior, as well as Illias’ superior?” Genero remarked casually, though his hand strayed ever so slowly toward the hilt of his arc-sword.

  “Of course, sir.” The Guardian replied, an amused look on his face. “Now how did your team separate?”

  “I’ll share that information only with Illias, as you aren’t within the command loop.” Genero answered curtly.

  “Leander will–“ The Guardian began to say.

  “Leander is dead.” Genero interrupted. “I just checked. We were scattered, but I had to know the fate of those trapped inside the inn when the fight broke out.”

  “Illias with be wroth with you for the mess you’ve caused. Leander was his brother!” The Guardian shouted.

  “He had known the dangers this mission presented, though.” Genero replied. “It is the duty of a Guardian to do what must be done, even at the cost of their lives.”

  “Illias won’t see it that way. It’s just as well he sent me to do away with you if you failed – Orders from Corydon.” The Guardian replied, punctuating the end of his sentence with a bolt from his arc-sword.

  Genero had been expecting some sort of foul play. As a veteran of Yarres of arc-sword dueling, he was not easy prey. He flung his own sword out, catching the bolt on the flat of the blade. The energy diffused into the sword, fueling Genero’s own lightning quick counterattack, which stung the Guardian on the weapon arm, spinning him around and setting him off balance.

  Before the Guardian could recover, Genero was upon him, feinting, slashing, and stabbing in a whirlwind of motions. The Guardian’s heel caught the edge of a cobble, and when his arms began to flagellate about to keep his balance, Genero’s blade found his heart. The Guardian hadn’t even hit the ground yet before Genero sheathed his own blade.

  Cursing Corydon and Illias both, Genero set off to find Illias. He would let him know nothing of what had just occurred. He would have to bide his time and let things play out, like a serpent waiting to strike.

  For now, he had to find Illias and then they could hunt down Anthea. It was clear he couldn’t do it on his own, and every Mynette wasted was another Mynette for Anthea to escape. Her friends had already proved surprisingly adept at getting out of trouble. If Illias tried to make Leander’s death into being his fault, Genero was sure he could paint a picture that made it look like Leander’s incompetence that caused their failure. For all he knew, it had been Leander that had neglected to stop Anthea before she could do her enchantment anyway.

  As insurance, Genero picked up the dead Guardian’s arc-sword and slung it over his other hip, under his cloak. Then he set out toward what seemed to be the most chaotic part of town, for that was sure to be where Illias and his men were thick. The man wasn’t exactly subtle.