The Eye of Glory: Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The early light of dawn did little for the dilapidated buildings and the piles of refuse that lay about the streets. The only light likely to improve them would be that of a great city-wide inferno, Talsin mused as the first feeble rays of sunlight failed to warm the two chilled figures trudging over the packed earth towards an unknown destination.

Dalden had given up walking around or stepping over the worst of the filth, and now his boots were covered in human and animal waste. Talsin remained fastidious enough to try to keep his footwear clean. His efforts made little difference, but he kept trying all the same.

“I have a plan,” announced Talsin after a long, thoughtful silence.

“Better than the last one?” Dalden muttered sourly in reply.

“Much better.”

They slogged wearily on, having left the familiar streets around the Fighting Chance far behind. Probably. It was just about possible that they’d got turned around in the dark and were heading back towards their old haunts. But no, Talsin was sure they were not. He and Dalden had covered a wide area in their maraudings, and he had never seen this part of the city. The buildings were newer than he was familiar with and of an age, as if they had been rebuilt after a fire or some other disaster. And the river was still on his left, which meant that they were headed east, downriver towards the sea. Other than that, Talsin admitted to himself that he was pretty much lost.

“Don’t you want to hear my plan?” Talsin said after another long silence.

“Not much,” Dalden groused. “The last one was a bust.”

“Thanks for your support. You got any ideas?” Talsin said. Getting no reply, he went on, “Well then. I say we keep going east.”

“Masterful.”

“Right out of the city. We’ll head downriver on a grain barge, or go through the farming villages. Make our way to the Port Fortress,” Talsin’s tone became defensive “It’s the only other big settlement.”

“Right. Then what? Hide out for a while?”

“I thought maybe we could take a ship. Go to Noppon or one of the legendary lands overseas.”

Dalden snorted derisively.

“I’m sure they’re real. The ships go somewhere. And that stuff that comes up the river isn’t local,” Talsin added hurriedly.

“Not the point,” Dalden muttered.

“I’m sure we could sneak aboard a ship.”

“Yeah. You know anything about ships?” Dalden asked sharply. “Not grain barges or river-traders. I mean ships.”

“Well, no....” Talsin conceded.

“They go to sea for weeks. Months, I hear. You want to hide out on a ship for months? Most of the traders I’ve seen sailing out of the Port Fortress are about the size of the Fighting Chance.”

“We lived there for weeks on end without going outside....”

“Right,” said Dalden. “And you know what happened to outsiders in the Chance? Especially ones that weren’t supposed to be there?”

“Oh....” said Talsin.

“No. Worse. And that’s if you can get onto a ship in the first place. The Prince-Admiral and his marines run the Port Fortress. Nothing comes in or out unless he says okay. That’s fisherboats, merchant ships, even grain barges. It’s a duff idea, Talsin.”

“Well... we’re city guys. It’s the only other city we can reach. Even if we don’t go overseas, it’s the obvious place to hide out.”

“Somebody hit you on the head? Talsin, you don’t hide out in obvious places.”

“Hmm. What’s your idea then?” Talsin asked.

“Don’t have one.”

“So we keep on wandering until we starve or someone catches up with us?”

“Huh. Maybe we could sign on with the Prince-Martial. He’s always got room for swordsmen and there’s so many border posts we’d be impossible to find.”

Talsin sighed. “My plan was dumb, but this? Gods, Dalden! Discounting for a moment the possibility of a gruesome death at the hands of raiders, or border post personnel for that matter, which I’d rather discount because I don’t wish to think about it....”

“We could more or less pick our assignment - you know how they’re always looking out for mages,” Dalden interrupted.

“Real mages, Dalden, not the likes of me. My most powerful enchantment can do - nearly - fatal damage to an average-sized cesstoad or rat. My abilities are quite useful for avoiding irate husbands or slipping into dark places to borrow things, but that’s about it. You think the Prince-Martial would pay mage-rates for that?”

“Just an idea,” Dalden groused. “You did ask.”

“Okay. Two plans, both duds. But we’ve both decided we need to be out of Kerinstye. So let’s get out and see what happens after.”

“Agreed, Dalden said. How?”

“I say downriver on a barge or a tradeboat. We’ll find a dock and ride a boat out of town.”

“Why the river?”

Talsin grinned and shrugged. “Beats walking,” he said for lack of any better reason.

There followed a long silence filled only with the sounds of weary trudging, the odd squelch and its associated curse. Finally Dalden spoke.

“Okay.”

“You agree then?”

More silence and further trudging followed. The town slowly woke around them. Wives and eldest children set off for the wells. Men headed for the docks or opened their workshops. A couple of footpads, returning from a hard night’s ambush and robbery, eyed the pair and moved on, too tired or wary to make an attempt in the face of Dalden’s surly expression.

Or his crossbow, which was unmistakably pointed in their direction.

As the footpads retreated, Dalden finally answered, “Best of a lousy bunch of ideas is still a lousy idea. But yeah. We’ll do it. Got to go to a market first. We need food and something warm to wear.”

Talsin sighed. “What does ‘warm’ mean?” he asked wearily.

One of the many crossroads markets of Kerinstye lay ahead, all but blocking the well square. This one was a little less poverty-stricken than most, but the patched and faded awnings of once-bright cloth covered the same battered old barrows filled with second-rate goods. The merchants, engaged in setting up their pitiful wares, eyed the approaching pair with open apprehension. A squad of four Streetwatch personnel followed time-honored City Administration policy and looked the other way.

Talsin approached the barrow of a clothing-seller, who hurriedly fumbled about under his barrow and produced a cashbox. A few small coins rattled about in the bottom.

“Here, take what I have!” said the merchant, eyeing Dalden’s cocked crossbow.

Talsin responded out of habit, “And the rest! The ones you tipped out under the counter!”

The merchant swallowed nervously and began mumbling something about early morning and no takings yet, just a few coins for change. Perhaps they could rob him later? Not that there’d be much any time today, not with such poor goods for sale.

Talsin suddenly remembered that he was here to buy, not to rob. “I want two hooded weather-cloaks. Gloves, too, if you have any. How much?” he snapped.

The merchant recovered himself a little, named his price and began to demonstrate his incomparably wonderful wares. They ran through the ritual; haggling, walking away, slamming goods back into the barrow, shouting and arm-waving. Talsin’s heart wasn’t really in it, but he still remembered to palm some of the coins and yell about being shortchanged as well. He left the booth carrying his purchases, to find that Dalden had become bored and wandered off.

The haggling had to be done all over again to obtain a skin of wine, bread and some slices of dried meat. The fruit was dried too, but it wasn’t supposed to be. Hurrying through the market, his arms filled with food and clothing, Talsin found Dalden suddenly at his elbow.

“Where you been?” demanded Talsin testily.

“Getting directions to the nearest barge-dock,” Dalden said cheerily. “There’s a trade-barge due to be leaving sometime this morning. We’ll buy passage and get out of town in style.”

“Buy passage with what?” Talsin said. “We can’t afford what a river-trader will ask for passenger status. And you can’t beat tickets out of him. No, we’ll have to hire on as guards. Or you will, at least.”

“We can afford it,” Dalden asserted, taking the wineskin from Talsin and opening it. He poured a generous mouthful down his throat and a smaller one on his shirt front.

“Like how?” Talsin slipped into his new weather-cloak, then took the skin back and drank. “Urgh. Poison,” he said disgustedly, making a face. “No, poison would have to taste better or nobody’d drink it.”

“We have money.”

“I spent it on this lot,” Talsin said.

“Yeah. But I robbed the clothing merchant while you were buying up these strange wooden things....”

“... that’s meat, Dalden....”

“... and this skin of poison.”

“... that it is.... wait... you did what?”

Dalden nodded, showing his friend a proud grin. “I reckoned the merchant was worth robbing, now that he had your money.”

“You’re an evil man, Dalden. But should we be standing about here?”

Dalden shrugged. “There were no guards, only some Streetwatch bods... they’ll just look at us funny and move on.”

“I don’t know about that. Pay them a decent bribe and most of them are quite willing to freelance as retribution men. And besides, most markets have a few enforcers on call.”

“Huh. Nothing I can’t.... Bloody Hell!” Dalden had glanced back towards the market as he spoke. “Talsin. Run!”

Talsin was experienced enough not to even bother looking. He took off like a sprinter after Dalden, who was trying for a new market-to-docks speed record.

They ran. Talsin’s longer legs gave him a slight speed advantage, but Dalden had greater endurance and besides, he’d seen who was chasing them. Amazed at his inability to catch his stubby friend, and tiring fast, Talsin risked a backwards glance to see exactly who or what they were running from.

Everybody.

They were being chased by everybody in Kerinstye. The pursuers poured down the narrow filthy street in a yelling mob, bowling over barrows and splashing through pools of ordure. They waved knives and swords, hatchets and clubs. Some brandished fenceposts or work tools. One man was hefting a small bronze statue with murderous intent.

Talsin overtook Dalden, racing between the houses and onto a bridge. Below, two rivermen were casting off a large, ornate barge. A couple of armed guards stood beside the heaps of cargo lashed to the deck. A richly-dressed man was giving orders. Talsin’s panicked glance revealed a couple more crewmen, which meant that at least seven people currently resident in Kerinstye were not among the horde pouring onto the bridge behind him.

Not that it helped a great deal.

A tiny corner of Talsin’s mind tried to fathom this response to a fairly routine robbery. Dalden subscribed to the “get some money and go; maybe do it again tomorrow” style of robbery. He wasn’t the sort who gruesomely tortured his victims for hours, poisoned the local well and kicked the dog into the bargain. Besides, there hadn’t been time. So why the over-reaction?

Someone yelled something about five hundred Kerine as they reached the far end of the steps - for each of their heads. That explained it then. Rentamob tactics. It happened once in a while, though usually so that some enterprising thief could rifle the belongings the mob left behind.

Talsin was willing to bet this had something to do with the Eye in his secret pocket.

Dalden reached the bottom of the stone steps as the barge began to slide away from the dock. Frantic rivermen poled for all their worth, seeing that Dalden and Talsin intended to board, and that they would bring the frenzied mob with them if they did. The merchant yelled to his guards, who drew their broadswords and advanced menacingly.

“Halt! You may not board!” shouted one of the guards.

Dalden leaped out over the widening gap, landing sure-footed on the barge’s low deck. He leveled the crossbow at the nearest guard and grinned. Talsin hit the deck planks close beside him, falling in a swearing heap that brought down the guard and the nearest riverman, too.

“We are aboard,” Talsin said breathlessly from the ground.

Dalden, with more presence of mind added, “Pole like hell!” He waved his crossbow at the merchant and the rivermen for emphasis.

The other guard had decided that he was too ill-paid to take on either the mob or the crossbow, and terminated his contract by leaping to the dockside. The merchant’s eyes widened in panic as he realized he was too overweight and unfit to follow this sensible example, and called out, “Pole like hell!” as he threw himself behind a stack of crates.

The rivermen poled like hell.

The dock area was built on a small inlet. It had no current to assist their progress toward the main river, but still the barge sped out from the dockside in record time.

The mob reached the dock edge. Those who tried to slow down were hurled forward by the press of those behind, spilling dozens into the oily black water like so many randomly-armed lemmings. A few leaped onto the barge from the dockside. Others tried to swim, or, realizing that the water was a mere three feet deep, slogged murderously towards the retreating barge, still waving their slime-covered weapons.

Talsin rolled to his feet and stood beside Dalden. He drew sword and dagger and assumed what he hoped was a threatening pose. Dalden tracked from one target to another, trying to decide who to kill. The guard scrambled to his feet then hesitated. There were a dozen or so of the mob aboard the barge, plus several more trying to haul themselves up from the greasy water. They clutched at the ankles of the rivermen, who stamped on their heads and kept poling.

It was obvious that the blood-maddened mob would slaughter everyone aboard the barge, and probably one another, before pillaging the spoils. Each of the crew responded according to his character. The rivermen sought escape by saving the barge. The remaining guard rushed to the edge of the barge and began finger-stomping, punctuated by bouts of head-kicking. Dalden shot an axe-waving retribution man in the chest then drew his hand weapons. Talsin jumped atop the crates and tried to hide. The merchant gibbered, and fainted.

Dalden glanced at the guard, who seemed to have decided that repelling the mob was more important than challenging the fugitives. Reasonably sure that his back was safe, Dalden stepped forward to confront three wild-eyed men who had managed to leap aboard. He rapped his shortsword against the face of his buckler and grinned.

One of the attackers hefted a makeshift club and advanced directly at Dalden. A second darted aside, trying to get around behind and use the knife that was his only weapon. The third had fallen against a stack of crates and was groping frantically about for his weapon, lost between the heavy boxes.

Dalden was reasonably skilled with blades, but by inclination he was a hand fighter - one reason for his choice of the handy shortsword as a main weapon. In this cramped arena of combat, skills honed in a hundred barfights and bushwhackings would serve better than a swordsman’s formal training. He grinned confidently and advanced to just within club range.

The club hissed through air thick with river-stink as Dalden ducked the swipe and kept moving forward. He made a wide, flat slash to force the club-wielder to duck, then rammed the buckler into his face. Blood burst from a gash above the man’s eye. He staggered back.

Dalden spun, meeting the knifeman’s rush. He shoved the buckler far out, presenting a defensive wall in the knifeman’s face, under which the point of the shortsword jutted menacingly. Dalden took a quick step forward and gave a great bellow. The knifeman dropped his weapon and fled, scrambling over crates, boxes and the recumbent barge owner. Dalden kicked the third man unconscious before he could find his weapon.

Someone crashed against Dalden from the side. He turned to stab but found no attacker. Instead it was the guard, borne back and overwhelmed by the mob, his sword arm gripped by two workmen and several others battering and tearing at him with makeshift weapons. The guard struggled for his life, his thin quilt jerkin little protection against a welter of knives and clubs.

Dalden stepped out to the side, slashing at one of the workmen. His victim let go of the guard and staggered away, clutching at a blood-spouting arm. Dalden slammed the hilt of his shortsword into a skull, kicked a knee and heard it break. A club glanced from his buckler. Dalden ducked and stabbed, feeling the hot rush of abdominal blood over his right hand and wrist. Something struck the side of his head a glancing blow. Heat soaked his trousers where a knife jabbed the muscle of his thigh.

Then the mob was thinning. Extraordinary energies sizzled the air as bolts of power lashed the struggling horde. Men leaped and yelped in pain, or fell to the deck, beating at sudden flames and scorched flesh. Some leaped overboard in terror.

Saved! thought Dalden. For a fleeting second he wondered what passing enchanter had chosen to intervene, then a sizzling bolt of blue energy struck him on the left shoulder. It scorched his flesh but did no real damage.

Dammit! It’s only Talsin! Dalden raged, hurling himself forward to bowl three shocked assailants over in a mighty shoulder-charge. He straightened in time to receive a crashing club blow to the side of his head. Dalden staggered, his eyes blurred. More blue bolts were fizzling among the attackers, frightening some but causing little real harm to the stouter-hearted. Dalden recognized the club-wielder as the man he had injured earlier. He saw the club go back for a swing, tried to raise his buckler to defend himself. Vomit spewed unexpectedly from his mouth, rendering him helpless but incidentally ruining the attack as the club-man flinched from the hot, acidic spray.

Dalden sagged back against the crates, unable to control his stomach. Foul wine and worse meat spattered down his shirt front to the deck. His limbs felt weak and rubbery. His body was hot and cold at the same time. His shield arm wouldn’t obey and the club was coming down.

It met the guard’s broadsword. The guard had seen off the last few of his assailants and now lunged to return Dalden’s favor. He thundered into the club-wielder, hurling him back by main force. The man scrambled out of reach, then leaped into the water as more energy bolts sizzled overhead towards the aft end of the barge.

Suddenly there was no more mob, just a thrashing horde in the water behind the barge. The guard kicked a corpse overboard and turned back to Dalden. He made as if to say something, then glanced at where the bolts were going.

Five armed men - actually three armed men, a woman and an Oaf, had managed to jump onto the aft of the barge and were advancing with drawn weapons. These were no mere rioting mob armed with whatever came to hand. They wore light quilt armor and carried swords and bucklers. Patches of their clothing smoldered where Talsin’s bolts had struck.

Talsin stood atop the biggest pile of crates, hurling wave after wave of his most powerful magic. He was hurting these new attackers, but nothing more. They’d already realized that and begun to advance more confidently, no longer remaining concealed behind the cargo. And Talsin was quickly running out of energy.

Talsin jumped down from the crates, onto something soft that groaned. He stepped quickly off the semi-conscious merchant and moved to stand beside Dalden and the guard. The new attackers were fanning out, picking their way across a deck cluttered with bodies, makeshift weapons and loose cargo.

Talsin glanced once at the guard then at Dalden, who was on his knees, still vomiting.

“Dalden, get up. We have trouble,” Talsin said.

“Head blow. Concussion maybe,” the guard put in. He transferred his broadsword to his other hand and hauled Dalden to his feet. “Can you fight?”

“I’m not...” Dalden retched again, “jumping into that!” he pointed at the murky, foul river.

“That’s a yes,” Talsin said lightly, eyeing the advancing warriors. “Why're you still here?”

“He saved my life,” the guard replied. “I'll fight with him against his enemies. That’s the code.”

“Urrgh... I’m Dalden,” Dalden stuck out a vomit-stained hand.

The guard took it without hesitation. “Olakai.”

“Well, since we’re being polite... I’m Talsin, and those five over there are about to try to kill us for a piece of jewelry they think we have. The tall one in leather is a man named Malrein, whom Dalden has upset to some degree,” Talsin’s tone was cheerful, but he swallowed hard as he gripped his thrusting sword.

“You’re a mage?” Olakai asked of Talsin.

“Only very slightly.”

Dalden dragged himself upright, leaning on Olakai for support. “Why is the barge slowing?”

“The crew jumped overboard,” Talsin replied.

“But we’re so close to the main river... almost clear,” Olakai said, puzzled.

“Yes, but this lot seem to intend to kill everyone aboard, just for completeness’ sake. And besides...” Talsin trailed off.

“What now?” asked a despairing Dalden.

Talsin sucked air through clenched teeth, and looked embarrassed.

“Tell us!” snapped Olakai as Malrein’s troops closed in.

“The barge is on fire.”