All Things Impossible: Heartstealer, page 9
She had to find somewhere to hide! More buildings flew past, and she was beginning to run out of them. She stopped running as she saw the stone communal barn. She could hide in there and -
She skidded and bounced to a total halt as she stared at the wall.
Her eyes found the hidden door like a lodestone finds metal. It was actually just some extra scratches in the gray stone, but it was a gateway to freedom for her. She would have to thank Thistle the next time she met him for his hurried but ruthless tutelage. Her hands flattened against the stone wall of the barn.
Her questing fingers flipped the switch and the stone rumbled and slid into the wall. She pressed her weight on the door to make it move faster. She didn't stop to wonder why someone even built this secret chamber.
The scent hit her first. It was as tangible as a wall. Der slapped a hand over her nose and gagged, but the smoke and blood still nearly overwhelmed her. Her eyes widened even further as she suddenly saw that whoever built this place was currently using it.
Seven men and women clustered around a stone slab representing an altar. They stared at her in as much surprise as she stared back. She eased back up a rickety wooden step, and then saw the sigil carved into the side of stone table. Sennha.
She cursed - words weren't required. Shaking an angry fist at them, she scrambled back out the door and into the alley. She sprinted away to the sounds of unorganized pursuit starting up behind her.
Of course! Why couldn't the blasted secret chamber be empty? Despite her rage and desperation, Der grinned. She always, always, always stumbled into those bastards! Sometimes, even she couldn't believe her bad luck. And that included the times she was traveling through the unpopulated Wild Lands!
And these were her enemies! She'd made that declaration in another blood soaked cellar last winter. They'd aided the chemmen's bloody quest for vengeance, willingly and then as undead fodder. But, even if she had a weapon, she might concede that the odds were in their favor this time.
She ran back into Hughling. It seemed smaller than it did before - if that was possible. Now, she had too many people after her. And, her newest pursuers would certainly know their way around town, and she had no idea where her original captor was.
She jumped around the next building and nearly collided with Tom. He slammed his hand against the wall next to her head. The closed corners of his mouth were turned up tightly, and in the loosest interpretation could have been a smile. They were nearly nose to nose, and his breath was cold as he snorted.
She slouched against the wall. Her gaze slid away from him and back down the alley. When he grabbed her arm she didn't fight him. He growled under his breath. "You are so much trouble. I don't like trouble. I like things to run smoothly, and you're not a wrinkle, you're a godsdamn mountain."
She had the grace to nod, and spared another glance over her shoulder. She mounted up willingly and didn't even try to take the reins from him. As he led the horse out of town, she craned her neck behind her. The bulk of her sword bulged beneath the blanket on his backpack, and she pondered fishing for it with her foot.
When the trees closed in around them, Der breathed a small sigh of relief, but kept listening anyway.
Tom stopped the horse. "You hear it too, don't you?"
She bobbed her head a little. She wasn't sure until he mentioned it.
"You should be able to speak again soon." His radiant eyes pierced into the trees behind them. "It sounds like people, running."
She dropped off the horse. Tom whipped his head around. "You were better at the subtler attempts."
Der knelt on the ground and snatched up a rock. In the soft soil, she drew a curving figure.
He hissed between his teeth. "What are you doing? Don't you know whose symbol that is?"
Insistently, she pointed back toward the town just beyond the trees. Now, she heard sounds of pursuit as clearly as bracken crunched beneath hurrying feet.
"What!" He whirled in the direction of the town.
She nodded. With the rock, she enthusiastically obliterated the symbol.
Anger flared around him like an aura. "We were only in town for a quarter of an hour! What did you do?" He held his hands out like he was choking someone.
She shrugged and coughed. "R-ran." She struggled with her breath, and then just stabbed a finger toward Hughling.
The seven devil worshipers emerged at a run from the trees. The man in the lead pointed. "That's her!"
Tom's face was a physical slap as he glared at her. She shrugged innocently again, and gestured hopefully to her sword.
He shook his head resolutely. She wrenched her head back toward the oncoming attackers. Without her sword, this wasn't going to go well, she thought.
And suddenly, Tom wasn't behind her. She looked around and didn't see him anywhere. "Cow-ward!"
As her pursuers began to close, she glanced down in the hope of finding a large rock. She shook her head, even she wasn't going to try that. Spinning on her heel, she ran for the horse. But, the mare already had the same idea, and was running away without her. She stumbled after it for a few steps, but it was already far ahead of her.
What to do? She needed a weapon! Where could Tom have vanished to? The godsdamn coward! She looked behind again and six of them were holding pace. She blinked, she thought she had counted seven. This wasn't the time to worry, she told herself as she started to sprint away.
Behind her, she watched as the quickest runner gained distance on his companions.
She would have to be fast. She slowed just enough to let him close the gap. Behind her, she could hear the rhythm of his feet and his heavy panting. The sounds were almost on top of her.
She ducked to the side and stuck out her leg. Her pursuer tumbled headlong over her leg and his wild sword swing passed overhead. Before he hit the ground, she pulled her leg free and dived for his weapon. Success! His hand relinquished his grip before he fully realized what was happening.
She dragged the blade's edge along his neck and slammed it back down for good measure. It felt bulky and in her hand when she came on guard to face the remaining four.
Der shifted her weight anxiously. Four against one.
"No..." She started running again. There was still no sign of Tom, damn him!
She looked behind her again, and saw how they were spacing themselves since they couldn't run as fast as each other. She subtly slowed her pace again. The fools, she thought, they saw what happened to the fastest runner! The leaders ran harder and a little faster as they gained, again leaving their comrades behind.
She waited until they almost overtook her.
Their blades swung madly at her back and whiffed by within inches. Then, she wrenched to the side so suddenly the front two runners shot past her. A cultist woman whirled around and thrust at her with her shortsword. Der parried and riposted. The woman folded around her blade with a gasp.
But, while she stabbed the woman, the remaining two caught up to her and the last one turned around. Der struggled to move her sword nimbly enough as the blades clawed toward her body.
She felt the blow coming before it landed, but there was no space to dodge. The sword struck her back squarely. She gasped as the blade rebounded off the elvish mail. Her confidence blew out with the explosion of air from her lungs.
The young warrior staggered forward as if she'd been sliced. She patted her chest and felt the mail underneath her shirt; she'd forgotten about the featherweight mesh.
She turned slowly. Her breath came in ragged chunks and burned all throughout her swollen throat. The cultists were so surprised that she survived they didn't even press their attack.
Der jumped forward with her sword ahead of her in point-in-line. She cut the arm of the nearest one and ran to the side. The cultists followed her quick lead painfully slowly. She clashed blades with one and spun on her toes to the next. She had to move, despite the fiery pain growing in her back. If she were caught between two of them, it would be her undoing.
She gasped for air and kept circling the group. The shortest man was the brightest and jumped the other way and Der was suddenly trapped between the three of them. To her surprise, she was quick enough to parry on both sides of her body.
She kicked out at the short man and spun away. She hated the thought of spinning and exposing her back to her enemy; but it was a much quicker move than turning and she needed that speed against multiple opponents. She parried behind her back, twisted, and brought her sword around to the short man's head like a club.
Two left.
Two too many. The remaining woman's sword slid into her right leg like the world's heaviest bee sting. Der yelped and swung for the woman's throat. The cultist brought her sword up as fast as she could, but it was only even with her stomach by the time she was dead.
Der put all her weight on her left leg and brought her sword up to meet the last challenger.
Only silence assailed her ears. The corpse of the last devil worshiper lay on top of the others. Above him, Tom cleaned his knife. He sneered, "What the hell was this all about?"
She leveled her sword at him. Hot blood dripped down her leg. She tried not to notice as she kept her weapon trained on him. He wasn't even breathing hard. She growled, "I wondered why you didn't carry a sword. Now, I know, you coward." Her voice was shredded in her throat, but the words finally came.
"Save your strength." His eyes narrowed. "You didn't tell me you wore elvish mail."
She didn't lower the blade. "You're not the only one who can keep a secret." Her throat was raspy and painful, but it was nothing comparing to the pain in her back. She pressed a hand against her leg; she felt her energy draining out of the wound.
He glanced at her bloody hand and his lips formed a curse, but there was no sound. His frown deepened. "You're good, but you're not quite good enough."
"I wouldn't be hurt if you hadn't run away!" She yearned for him to try to take this sword away from her now. She had proven that she could use it.
Tom shrugged nonchalantly and tossed her a clean cloth from the folds of his cloak. "You need to bandage that. I noticed a stream on our way out of town, it's around that hill. You'll walk that far whether your leg can support your weight or not. I'll retrieve the blasted horse."
"What! If I walk around that hill you'll never see me again!"
He smirked to himself. "On that leg? With the blood trail you're leaving? Spare me, Derora."
Her face flushed and she glared at him with all her might. Especially since he was right, and she hated him all the more for it. And the way he just turned her aside as if she was a child! The sword thrashed around in her grip and she cursed and dragged herself toward the water. She felt him watching her until she was out of sight.
Then, she tried to run, flailed wildly and collapsed. Swearing vivid oaths, she picked herself up and limped to the stream. Before she could entertain thoughts of escape again, she thought through the red mists across her vision, she had to clean and bandage the cut. Carefully, she set the sword down within easy reach. She arched her back. It already throbbed worse than the leg, and this was only a prelude to how much it was going to hurt tomorrow.
With practiced hands, she began to clean her wound. A hollow sensation seized both her leg and mind. She remembered why it was better to have someone else dress wounds. Someone else wouldn't feel so badly drunk, as well as dizzy and in pain. She did her best to just get it done.
After she secured the cloth around the cut, she dug her fingers into the water and took a long soothing drink. The cold shock cleared her mind.
Her shoulders stiffened. She reached for the sword, but it was missing. Two bear trap-like arms snatched her from behind.
"You are good," Tom's voice hissed beside her ear. "You almost knew I was here."
Der kicked back with her good leg to try to force both of them off-balance. Nothing happened but her foot digging its heel into the mud. He shoved them both to the ground. The soft mud did little to lessen the impact. Tom's palm slapped against her wound and hot spasms of pain coursed through her body.
"Stop struggling or I'll dig my fingers into it!"
The threat only increased Der's fight. Tom pinned her between him and the ground. She finally quit when she had absolutely no possibility.
"Alright," he said calmly. "Now, I know you've got some brave ideas in your puerile mind about fighting me and I won't have those."
She ground her teeth. "You won't even fight face to face, coward!" She swallowed against the pain in her throat as her voice started to give way again.
"Yes, but I've got you." He pulled back one arm, but kept her expertly pinned. A heavy and very expensive velvet bag dropped in front of her. "I'll strike you a bargain. Help me and those are yours."
He allowed her one arm free to pull the string on the bag loose. Gems sparkled within. The multitude of colors reflected the sunlight in a rainbow of bold colors. Her mouth went dry at the sight of the fortune. She had never seen so much! Not even in Arborn!
Clumsily, Der tightened the pouch again and lifted it from the ground. She weighed it in her hand. Then, she hurled it as far downstream as she could. "That's what I think about that."
"You fool." He tightened his grip. "Understand that you're going to help me regardless, so I suggest you fish that bag out and get something out of this ordeal."
"No!"
He sighed. "You are more trouble than you are worth."
* * *
"The inn is always a good place to start," Jakkobb murmured under his breath.
"It looks like the only place in this town." Mora straightened her stained and faded robes. She picked at some dirt stains with her fingernails. "Where did Spike go? Shouldn't you mind your horse, sir?"
Jakkobb shrugged. "I'm sure he's fine. He does this a lot. Let's get to where we can ask questions."
"The Mad Frog? Who names their inn The Mad Frog?" Kelin coughed. The sign creaking in the wind displayed a leaping frog with crossed eyes that just about exploded from its skull. Its tongue was also wrapped around its head. Below, the inn's name was painted in small, yellow letters.
"I don't know," the knight snapped. He sighed. "Look, at least we'll get a meal along with a few answers." He ducked under the doorframe. The interior was just the same as inns everywhere; decorated with tables, chairs, some items on the walls, except it was painted a hideous green. The usual afternoon crowd populated the common room, those passing through or those too old or injured to farm. Sighing again, the captain took a seat at an empty table. The humans took their chairs opposite him.
A surly barmaid brought them out tankards and three bowls of stew. Mora delicately pushed her mug of beer away. She sniffed the steaming bowl. The fermented carrot smell pushed her back. She prodded it with her wooden two prong fork, trying to find a single carrot to blame. Despite the odor, the stew was bereft of carrots. She shared a look with Kelin, and he wore the same expression. She spared a glance at the knight. He seemed not to notice. "They say that the poorest man in Pallens eats on silver, and this is definite proof the Empire's gone."
Kelin suddenly grinned. "You know, I used to say that all the time."
She smiled. "It's always been one of my favorite expressions."
"Well, I've always thought-"
Jakkobb slapped his hand on the table. "Quiet, and listen."
"We don't have your hearing, sir," Kelin said.
"Then don't add to the noise."
Mora cupped her hand and whispered, "Why's he in such a foul temper?"
Kelin shot a frantic look to the knight and shook his head rapidly at Mora. Jakkobb smiled coldly. "I can hear you perfectly fine. My recruit has been kidnapped by some dark stranger after I told her to take a walk. I take this personally. And as of now, we don't know where they are."
"It's Der, sir," Kelin said. "She probably found a way out of it by now."
The knight scowled. "Der's good, but I think he's better. I also think he's a magic user of some sort."
"But, it's Der."
"She's young and she honestly doesn't know what she's doing. Now eat your stew and let me listen."
Kelin and Mora glanced at their stew, and then at each other. Kelin cleared his throat. "Um, sir, how about we search the village?"
Jakkobb sighed. "Yes, as long as you can do it quietly."
The young man nodded and he and Mora tiptoed out the door. Outside, the sun breathed down on them. Its warmth easily relaxed the tension from the tavern. Kelin smiled, and immediately blushed when she smiled back. Suddenly, the sun felt a little too warm.
He couldn't define it. She reminded him vaguely of Avice, back when he thought that Avice was the entire world, back when the world was the far-flung village of Riversbridge. At least, the good parts of the world and not the white-knuckled terrors wrought by his best friend.
He'd always liked Der. He wouldn't dream of replacing her friendship. But, well, she wasn't exactly a girl. In a physical sense she was, although she had always been able to run with the boys and punch as hard as she got punched. He was starting to wonder about that... That wasn't what he was thinking about, he told himself, the point here was that Mora reminded him of Avice. Only, the yearning burned a thousandfold stronger.
A sugary fragrance always flitted about the air around her, and he knew that she had no perfumes hidden in that stained and ripped robe. He wondered if it was some sort of magic. He didn't know. In fact, he mused, there was quite a lot about her that he didn't know. But, he really wanted to.
However, when she wasn't mulling about what horrors she had so recently endured, she moved like a witch dancing over coals. Her hair constantly swayed and gave the appearance of a shimmering waterfall when she walked. And, on those rare times that she smiled he could hear the woodland songs of the fairies.
His smile stumbled as she smiled back. He managed, "Uh... This village looks like every other village I've ever seen. You know, one tavern, one forge, one stable, one well, one barn. Same old, same old."
