Return of the Exile

20 Run for the Hills

The Akkad-Dar stood at the threshold of the Treasurer’s Guild and frowned. Dead guards and priests lay slumped on the floor, on the front portico, and in the halls. Blood was everywhere. The front hall was a scorched mess, littered with burned debris and scattered bodies. Some of the bodies had been stripped of their cloaks, weapons, boots, or clothes, and several piles of tattered rags lay on the floor.

Lanther kicked one ragged tunic with his toe, knowing full well what it meant. Beside him, the city dekegul stood silently, making no excuses.

“So,” the Akkad-Dar said in a voice edged with steel, “the bronze dragon is still alive. Good. I can kill him myself.” He strode into the hall and worked his way through the mess to the stairs leading down to the vault. He knew what to expect, but he wanted to see for himself. The dekegul went with him. They walked down the stairs without saying a word and studied the devastation below.

“These priests were brave, I’ll give them that,” Lanther muttered. He stepped over the bodies and pushed open the door. The emptiness mocked him. The eggs were gone, every one of them. There were only empty trays and the body of his chief priest lying on the floor.

A small shape caught his eye and he leaned over to pick it up. It was the key he had given his wife on the day of their joining. A cold smile flicked across his face, and he pocketed the key for safekeeping. He would give her that key back soon, he vowed.

He turned around and nearly bumped into his silent officer. He cursed, about to raise his sword and behead the fool for falling for such a trick, but he paused and gave it some thought. “Be at ease,” he said at last. “Better men than you have been outwitted by that woman. Be responsible for her capture or the capture of the bronze dragon, and I will let you live with your honor. Fail and you may kill yourself.”

The dekegul nodded his appreciation for the second chance. They were very rare from the Akkad-Dar.

Lanther stalked back upstairs and went outside, away from the smells and the scenes of loss. By the graciousness of the Dark Queen, he prayed for vengeance on his stubborn, treacherous, perfidious wife and that vile dragon that held her affections in a way he had never been able to do. They couldn’t go far, he knew that. The eggs were heavy and had to be kept warm. They would have to find a place to keep the eggs safe until the hatching. And of course, there was the rebel army that was obligingly marching toward the Missing City. With the help of the Dark Queen, his beloved goddess, he would be able to rid the Plains of their army and rid himself of Crucible at the same time.

“Bring me the Abyssal Lance.”

“This isn’t good,” Linsha muttered beside Sir Hugh. She scanned the blackness on both sides and saw nothing. “This reminds me too much of the ambush when Sir Morrec was killed. All we need is the rain.” A cold, queasy feeling settled into her stomach at the memory of that night. She never wanted to repeat it in any manner.

“Are you thinking they will ambush us?” Hugh asked in a voice just above a whisper, while keeping his eyes on the draft horses pulling the wagon.

Although the fog, the late hour, and the fire in the warehouse district had served to cloak their escape, the Tarmaks were not completely lax. Several patrols had already attacked, and they had been forced to slow down and fight their way through the dark streets. They had finally entered the ruins of the North District where many of the streets and buildings had never been rebuilt and the old city wall still lay in ruinous disrepair. There were no lights in this part of the city, no torches or lamps or fires, only eerie shadows and the fogbound darkness of night. The wagon and its escort had to slow down even more to avoid injury to the horses. There was only one road that had been repaved and repaired to serve as a highway out of the city, but it was difficult to follow in the mist, and to either side lay treacherous sunken holes, half-buried foundations, and heaps of rubble.

“It’s possible,” Linsha replied. “There are surely warriors by the wall, even if the wall isn’t complete. The Tarmaks are fanatical about setting guards and keeping watch. They would have heard the warning horns, and they know this is one of the few roads out of the city.”

“They can see the glow from the fire, too. Maybe they’ll think that’s the problem?”

Linsha continued to peer into the darkness. “It’s too bad Varia went to find Falaius.”

Sir Hugh looked up. “Is Crucible still flying up there?”

“I don’t know where he is.”

They rode on in tense silence, listening to the moans of the wounded in the wagon behind them and the clatter of hooves on the old road around them. The thick mist began to settle in a light drizzle that quickly soaked clothes and chilled the skin.

Linsha, Crucible’s warning spoke in her mind. There are Tarmaks ahead. Stop where you are.

“Stop the wagon,” Linsha ordered. “Everyone stop. Now!”

The wagon and the riders drew to a nervous halt. “What is the problem?” asked the eldest elf from the back of his small horse.

A gust of wind blew over them and they caught a glimpse of a large, winged shape flying in the mist overhead.

“Crucible sees something in front of us,” Linsha replied in a hushed voice. “Since they’re not too close, he can deal with them.”

They waited, not daring to move or even breathe too loudly in the dense blackness.

A horn blew one single note before it was cut short by an intensely white beam of light that shot through the clouds and mist somewhere on the road ahead. There were muffled shouts and sounds of confusion. A second beam seared from the sky to the ground, creating more chaos.

Crucible called to Linsha again. Go, now, while the Tarmaks are disorganized. There is only so much I can do while I’m carrying the eggs.

Linsha gave the order, and the troop started out once more. They urged the horses into a canter in spite of the road and hurried as fast as they could through the ruins. They reached a curve, followed it around, and there in front of them was the smoking ruins of a Tarmak patrol. A few bodies lay sprawled on the ground, and the two large wagons that had been used to block the road burned furiously. The troop pushed on without a second glance. A stray arrow flew at them from the scattered Tarmaks in the ruins, but that was all. There was no sound of pursuit from behind.

The foundations of the old wall appeared before them, and they saw a crude stone gate, a watchtower, and a small group of sentries who raised their bows and drew the strings to their cheeks. Then the tower, the sentries, and a section of the wall vanished in a bright explosion of fiery light and thunder. Smoke billowed up into the mist.

Linsha blinked in the sudden light, and when she could see again, the portion of the wall was a smoking ruin.

“He is very useful to have around,” Sir Hugh said, “Now that he can fly again. I take this to mean you got that bolt out of his back.”

“Yes,” Linsha said, as they drove past the wall. “With a little help from the Grandfather Tree.”

“When will he leave for Sanction?”

Although his comments sounded terse to her, from what she could see of his face in the dark, he looked cold and fatigued. She reflected for a moment about his words and what he was not saying. “Are you angry about the Scorpion Wadi? You were there, weren’t you? We thought for a while you had been killed.”

“Fellion, I, and a little girl were the only ones who survived the massacre and the capture.” He hunched forward over the reins and glared at the night. “He should never have left, Linsha. No city is worth that many deaths.”

“No, it’s not. But he’s not clairvoyant, Hugh. He never thought the Tarmaks would do that. None of us did. His first loyalty was to another city that needed him, a city he called his home. So he left, thinking we would be all right for a while.”

“And what about now? Is he going to dump those eggs somewhere and leave again?” He stopped and listened to his own question. Eventually he wiped his damp face with his sleeve, and sighed. “Could I sound any more petulant?”

She smiled at him in the dark, relieved by his change of mood. He really was exhausted. “You could add a little more whine.”

He coughed hard but managed a smile. “You will have to tell me what has happened to you—and to him.” His voice dropped into sadness. “And what happened to Mariana.”

“I will tell you everything when we have a few hours of peace. For now, we need to put as much distance between us and that city as possible. If Lanther really is here now, he will be after us with all the warriors at his command.”

“Lanther,” he said. “The traitor. I can still hardly believe it.”

Linsha did not reply. Her shock at Lanther’s betrayal had worn off the past months, mostly because of her constant proximity to him and the Tarmak people. But what had not worn off was the hurt and the outrage that he had so thoroughly deceived her to the detriment of everything she held dear in the Missing City. Crucible had deceived her about his identity, too, but whereas he had hidden his human shape out of the mistaken concern that she would hate him for his lie, Lanther had hidden his monstrous self in the desire to harm. She could forgive Crucible. She would never forgive Lanther.

She glanced back into the wagon bed and saw Callista wrapping a crude bandage around a man’s slashed leg. The other wounded men were either unconscious or groaning on their rough pallets. The wagon jostled them over the rough road, but no one complained.

They continued their journey through the night, taking a northerly course along the old rutted road that wound its way through the Rough, the rocky, scrubby grasslands on the outskirts of the city. A few miles beyond the end of the Rough, the road broke into a path that forked east and west. The company came to a halt, and some distance away Crucible flapped down to lay the net of eggs on the ground. He landed heavily beside them and tucked his wings against his sides. The weary riders dismounted to give their horses a rest.

Callista earned the gratitude of one and all by revealing a supply of water, trail food, and a bottle of homemade blackberry brandy that Mae had left for them in the wagon.

They passed the bottle around to salute their escape and the liberation of the eggs.

The four elves drank their share and came to make their farewells to Linsha and Sir Hugh.

“We must part ways here, Lady Knight,” the oldest said. “We shall go find our families.”

“Although your undertaking is so intriguing, it is hard to leave,” quipped a younger one.

The eldest elf nodded, his fair hair wet against his head. “Do you know yet where you will take the eggs?”

“Away from the Tarmaks,” she said.

“If I may make a suggestion, there is an old volcano called Flashfire to the west. It is only about two days’ ride from the source of the river. Perhaps the dragon could make a nest there that would be defensible and dry? Those eggs need to be settled as soon as possible.”

Linsha bowed low in gratitude. It sounded like an excellent suggestion.

The elves said good-bye to their fellow prisoners, bowed to Crucible, and trotted their horses onto the eastern path where the sun would soon rise. The heavy mist quickly swallowed them.

“Did you hear that?” she said to Crucible.

The dragon rumbled an assent. “I don’t know the volcano, but I will look for it. It might suit the eggs well. Will you come?”

Looking at the men around her, at Callista and Sir Hugh, Linsha felt torn. She desperately wanted to stay with the eggs, but she had been responsible for freeing these men and centaurs. She had promised them she would help them escape if they came to help her get the eggs. She did not feel it would be right to leave them now, with days of travel still ahead and the Tarmaks in pursuit. She would at least see them to the safety of the rebel army. “I have to stay with them,” she said, hoping Crucible would understand.

Her decision did not please him, but he did understand. She was a Knight of the Rose. She could not do otherwise. “I will be back,” he said. Rising on his wings, he lifted the net of eggs and flew west toward the headwaters of the Toranth River and a suggestion of a volcano.

The rest of the company shared a quick meal and did what they could for the four wounded men in the wagon. One had died of his wounds during the flight from the city, so they piled rocks in a cairn over his body and left him behind. At dawn they hurried across the open grasslands while the sun lightened the sky to the east.