Chained By Fear: 2 (28 page)

“He may come, if that’s his choice,” Torg said. “But if he betrays us, he will do so at his peril.”

“The same goes for you,” Lucius said to Torg.

“You do not know to whom you speak,” Torg said, “so I’ll forgive your brash words
 . . .
for now.”

Soon after, the innkeeper entered the room with her scrawny assistant, both of whom carried trays of food laden with trenchers of brown bread topped with sizzling chunks of venison. The trays also contained peas, beans, and onions; cheese spiced with salt, pepper, and garlic; waffles with apple jelly; and dandelion wine. They ate and drank like animals, including the woman, who attacked her food as though she hadn’t eaten in days. Ugga was so hungry he even devoured most of his trencher, though the bread was stale.

While they ate, Torg did his best not to stare at the gorgeous woman. The yellow-haired man sat next to her at the table and watched Torg’s every move. The woman, for her part, glanced at Torg often, but turned away quickly each time, as if embarrassed.

After their meal, the innkeeper presented Torg with new clothes, and he dressed in an anteroom behind a dark curtain. When he emerged wearing a black tunic with loose-fitting breeches, the woman put her hand to her mouth. The man named Lucius saw that—and scowled.

Elu walked over to the woman and tugged on her skirt. “What’s your name, nice lady? Mine’s Elu.”

Lucius scowled again. “Her name’s not your concern.”

“Don’t worry,” the woman said to Lucius. Then she looked down at Elu and smiled. “I promise to tell you later, Elu
 . . .
once we’re safely away from the city. All right?”

“Sure. Until then, Elu will call you Nice Lady.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

When they went downstairs, it was almost noon. The innkeeper and her assistant packed dried meats, fruits and vegetables into leather pouches small enough to tuck inside their cloaks. They carried no water, but it was plentiful in the wilderness.

Ugga and Bard gave the innkeeper a goodbye hug. Elu trotted over and wrapped his arms around one of her massive thighs.

“One day, we hope to be back,” Bard said. “If not, it’s been a pleasure doing business with ya.”

“You’ll be back,” the innkeeper said. “I’m not worried. There’s no place better.”

“Thank you for your courtesy,” the woman said. “You trusted a pair of strangers. Not many would do that in these times.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” the innkeeper said. “First time I saw you, you were sitting on the bed. How did you get inside, anyway?”

The woman looked confused, but Torg took her arm and led her toward the door. “It’s time to go,” he said. “Thank you for your hospitality. If the moment ever comes when I can return the favor, I most certainly will.”

The innkeeper smiled and nodded; then her face turned serious. “The streets are dangerous. Blend in as best you can. It would help if the two of you (she gestured at Torg and Ugga) weren’t so damn big, but there’s nothing to be done about that. If you can make it to the markets without being stopped, you’ll have a chance. May the
One God
see you clear of the walls.”

They stepped outside onto a street swarming with people, some headed outward to the markets, some inward to the brothels and baths, some just wandering from tavern to tavern. Despite the previous night’s chill, the day had become unseasonably warm. Torg’s sword was hidden beneath his cloak, but Ugga carried his axe openly and Bard his bow and arrows. This was not unusual. Visitors were permitted to carry weapons outside the fifth wall.

Even with his great size, Torg had ways of remaining unseen. He was superbly trained in the art of evanescence. Among this many people, he could flit from place to place, especially if he were alone or with other Tugars. But his companions hindered him. Elu was the cleverest of the bunch, but even the Svakaran slowed him down, preventing him from taking full advantage of his instincts.

Armored Sāykans patrolled in small groups. Torg studied their behavior and found it curious. Their efforts to catch him—if they were trying at all—appeared half-hearted. Rather than accost and detain, they were simply watching—or pretending to watch. Was it possible they believed he had already fled the city? Torg was dubious. They should have been doing more. The Sāykans were capable soldiers, but they weren’t acting like it. It was as if they were under orders to fail. And if so, whose orders? And why?

Disturbing Torg even more was Lucius’ behavior. The yellow-haired man hovered over the woman as if she were a child. It was obvious she was still weak, but to fawn over her so lavishly might draw attention. And that was the least of it. Torg could barely tolerate Lucius touching her. His jealousy eroded his concentration, and he could not afford to make a mistake. If they were discovered, they would have to fight their way free—and she might be harmed. That was not an option. He would have to find a way to overcome his annoyance until they escaped.

Among the sea of faces flowing past them, Torg unexpectedly saw someone he had known for many years, and a warmth flowed through him that smote his heart. This man wore the robes of a wealthy merchant, but Torg knew better. Soon after, the others revealed their presence, each in a different disguise.

Beyond hope, the Asēkhas had found him. Torg recognized nineteen faces, one of them newly promoted to replace Sōbhana. The twentieth still would be in Anna, left there to lead the Tugars. But the greatest of them all was here in Kamupadana.

Kusala approached, and for the briefest of moments Torg and the chieftain clasped each other’s forearms. Then Kusala handed Torg a tall staff—Obhasa stained brown by pomegranate and sulfur to avoid unwanted attention. None of Torg’s companions seemed to notice this encounter.

When his faithful warriors surrounded him, Torg could not have been more pleased. Now
 . . .
anything was possible.

Escaping Kamupadana could be done.

The Asēkhas encircled their king and his six companions. Of them all, only Torg seemed aware of the warriors’ presence. Even Rathburt, who should have been able to recognize fellow Tugars, was oblivious.

Kusala walked three paces to his king’s right, dressed as a well-to-do merchant. Three paces to his left, Podhana shuffled along, pretending to be crippled. Three paces in front walked Rati, appearing as a warder from one of the inns. Three paces behind was Tāseti, the most powerful female Tugar in the world and the first in line to succeed Kusala as chieftain; she wore a narrow cloak with silken cords, mimicking a noblewoman strolling among commoners. The male Asēkha next to her also was fancily dressed, playing the role of her husband. Fourteen others completed the circle, each indistinguishable from the swarms of people around them despite the fact they were a span taller than most others in the crowd. Their
uttaras
were hidden, as were their daggers and slings, which the warriors used as effectively as bows and arrows, casting metal beads with wicked force, accuracy and rapidity.

Although Torg was in the center of the circle, it was he who led their procession. The Asēkhas were sensitive to his every movement: a twitch of a finger, tilt of the head, shift of the shoulder. Their circle was part of a larger group of at least one hundred people, which veered to the right and passed through one of the widest gates in the eighth wall, finally flowing into the crowded market area.

Though they appeared to be strolling from booth to booth, Torg and the Asēkas were on high alert, watching the movements of the Sāykan soldiers with a mixture of interest and bafflement. Torg was convinced that at least some of the soldiers were aware of his presence, but for whatever reason, the Sāykans feigned disinterest. Torg could think of no explanation for their behavior—which made him distrust it even more. Were they waiting until he reached open ground before attempting an ambush? That was possible, he supposed, but would they risk giving him that much of an opportunity for flight? Torg couldn’t help but think they were under orders to avoid him. If so, whose orders? Only a Warlish witch or a high priestess would have the authority to command such an act, and why would they want to help him, especially after the damage he had inflicted inside the ziggurat? The only other being who could command the Sāykans was Vedana—and again, why would the demon want him to escape?

Your daughter is lost in the darkness!

Kusala looked at him with puzzlement. Torg’s mind had wandered, and it had shown in his expression. This was no time for carelessness. Too much was at stake. Torg regained control of his concentration. His musings would have to wait.

He gestured to his traveling companions, and the Asēkhas took note. For whatever reason, their lord wanted these six to accompany them. The warriors would not question his command, but they were confused. The strangers would slow them down. Of what value could they possibly be? Regardless, the warriors would defend each of them with their lives.

Now it was well past noon. The sky was perfectly blue and the sun ablaze, as if too impatient to wait for the arrival of spring before spewing its fire. Already, as many people were leaving the city as entering. Most of the early morning crowd was returning to a heavily populated area along the Ogha River, which lay about a half-day’s journey to the east.

Torg, however, had no plans of going that way. East and south would bring him ever closer to Avici. Instead, he had decided to head southwest toward the Gap of Gamana and then skirt the northern edge of the gap, using the foothills and forests as cover. If he were able to journey past Duccarita, he would come to the portion of Dhutanga that reached almost all the way to the mountains, thereby avoiding a dangerous crossing of the gap.

But that was weeks into the future. Assuming they were able to escape the city, they still faced three leagues of open plains before reaching the foothills. In that regard, Rathburt had been right: The woman
would
slow them down. Considering how ill she had been just a short time ago, she was moving along quite well now. But would she be capable of outrunning pursuers?

As they approached the grand gateway of the ninth wall, Torg’s suspicions expanded. Their departure was progressing far too conveniently. If the Sāykans were determined to prevent his escape, they at least would have lowered the massive stone slab and sealed the entrance. Yet the gateway was open and lightly guarded. For whatever reason, the Warlish witches had chosen to let him go. The more he pondered it, the more Vedana entered his thoughts. Somehow the demon had become his ally—at least temporarily.

More than one hundred cubits above them, dozens of soldiers paced the wall walk. For every visible soldier, ten more probably crouched behind crenellated parapets and peered through loopholes. But if any of them saw him, they did not react. Torg, the Asēkhas and his six companions walked out of the city as easily as everyone else. In a short time they were more than a mile from the wall—and still nothing pursued them.

When they veered toward the southwest, they finally separated from the crowds. For the first time, Torg’s companions recognized the presence of the Asēkhas.

“Do not fear,” Torg said. Then he gestured toward the warriors. “They are with me.”

Lucius wasn’t impressed. “I don’t know them. What other surprises do you have in store?”

In two strides Kusala was upon him, nudging the woman aside and knocking Lucius to the ground. Then the chieftain placed the cutting edge of his
uttara
against the man’s throat.

“Speak to him like that again and I will spill your blood.”

“Do not harm him
 . . .
please
,” the woman pleaded. “If not for him, I would be dead.”

“Kusala, desist,” Torg said.

“As you command,” the chieftain said, backing away.

Lucius stood and brushed himself off, his face swollen with rage.

Torg walked over to Kusala and placed his hand on his shoulder. “He knows me naught. But now is not the time or place for introductions. I have much to say to you, not the least of which is I’m overjoyed to see you. But we must reach the feet of the mountains before exchanging pleasantries. As of now, consider these six as my guests and treat them accordingly.”

Then Torg nodded at Rathburt, who was watching with mouth agape.

“Kusala, it has been long since you have last seen him, but Rathburt has returned. Another Death-Knower walks among us.”

In response, the Asēkhas bowed.

“See, Bard?” Ugga said. “I told ya Master Slump isn’t such a meanie.”

The Asēkhas laughed heartily at the crossbreed’s words, but after their mirth subsided they urged the others to proceed as quickly as possible.

Lucius remained red-faced and angry, glaring at Kusala whenever the chieftain appeared not to be watching. But the Invictus look-alike continued to assist the woman, who obviously was not in condition for such a brutal march.

The ground was thick with the iron-colored grass of the Gray Plains, and though the land was relatively flat, sneaky swells sucked the energy out of unwary travelers. The Asēkhas, who never seemed to tire, brought forth tubular skins and passed them to the others.

“Aaaaaaaah,” Rathburt said, after a long swig. “The nectar of Tējo. There’s not much I miss about Anna, but this wine is unsurpassed.”

“Anna
 . . .
?” the woman said, but Ugga spoke over her. “And it makes ya feel so good,” he bellowed, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “Master Hah-nah, please thank your buddies for me. It’s dee-
licious
!”

The wine cheered everyone except for Lucius. Torg offered to help with the woman, but the yellow-haired man growled at him. Finally Kusala nudged Lucius aside, courteously, and lifted her in his arms.

“The foothills are two leagues distant,” the chieftain said. “Unless we quicken our pace, it will be dark before we reach them. This woman is not well. We should take turns carrying her.”

“If you harm her
 . . .
”

“You will do what? Cut off my head with the back of your hand? It is unwise to make empty threats
 . . .
sir
.”

“If we wished to harm either of you, it would have already occurred,” Torg said. “But our intention is only to help. As of yet, we have not been pursued. The reasons for this are unclear. But we’re not free from danger.”

Kusala nodded briskly. Though he was walking and carrying the woman at the same time, his voice remained steady. “Indeed, Lord, there is much evil about—north, south and east. Wolves, Mogols and monsters roam the land, in search of someone—or something. When we arrived at Kamupadana this morning, a great force was less than half a day from the city.”

“Avici has come alive because of me,” the woman said.

“Do not say more!” Lucius snapped.

“Of what use is secrecy?” she said. “These men and women are not allies of Invictus.”

“Allies we are not,” Torg said. “Invictus has no greater enemies. These ‘men and women’ are the Asēkhas of Tējo, and you can not hope to match them. Do not doubt it, for I am their king.”