Arm Of Galemar (Book 2) (22 page)

Scrapes sounded in the office.  They pressed their
backs against the mesh cubicles, waiting to see what would happen.  The lift
faced the storage area but the stairway was off to the side.  If their pursuers
chose to check above, they must come around a corner to find them.  Landon
nocked a shaft when soft noises told them people had moved into the gloomy
warehouse proper.

Scant light penetrated the few filthy windows set high
along the wall.  If a fight erupted, it had better be sooner, before they lost
it altogether.  At that thought, Marik suddenly cursed himself for a simpleton
and switched over to magesight.

Faint purple illumination brightened the warehouse’s
interior.  Very little etheric mist hovered within the building, probably due
to the paved streets everywhere choking out natural plant growth.  Enough
people wandered through during the day to leave behind energy in the form of
mist.  No other living things in or around the building contributed.  A battle
between true mages here would be short before the available energy was
expended.  There was a valuable lesson; other magical talents would have a
natural advantage over mages in a city setting.

He let his sense of self drift, which allowed his
point of view to float away from his body.  Forward enough to see around the
corner, he could scarcely believe it when two men crested the steps.  How in
the world had they managed to climb the slat stairs while making no noise?  The
sounds from below must have been made deliberately in order to deceive any
lurkers hiding above.

Marik quickly flew past the lift to study the
warehouse floor.  Two others searched the ground.  The depleted mists made it
difficult to be certain, but the weapon silhouettes all appeared to be the long
knives of the ambushing group.  He tapped Dietrik’s arm, twice on the shoulder,
then twice on the elbow.  In the dim gloom, his friend nodded, understanding at
once, then passed it to Kerwin.

Landon stepped away from the mesh.  He paused only
until he fixed his mark then loosed a shaft into the darkness.  Though he was
an excellent shot at the worst of times, the arrow barely missed over his
target’s shoulder.  The clatter and alarmed shout brought the two below
running.  Marik and Dietrik stepped forward, the latter leaving Hilliard’s bag
behind.

Kerwin stayed by Hilliard’s side, and not just to
protect the young man from sudden appearances by enemies.  He also stayed to
prevent the youth from acting foolishly.  Their charge had begun to silently
run his thumb along his blade while they huddled, a sign the mercenaries each
noted and uniformly disliked.  It might mean nothing, but by silent agreement,
a beneficial ability stemming from many shared battles, they decided one should
stay near him.

 The two by the stairs flung their bodies against the
wall, waiting out the moments their friends needed to make the climb.  Once
they regrouped, their bravado return.  All four charged.

Marik had hoped for this and signaled for Dietrik to
stand aside.  He swung wide.  The thugs were unable to accurately gauge his
sword’s length in the darkness.  His sword tip ripped through one, the red aura
suddenly splitting when the flowing energies swirled away into the ether.

The thug’s falling body tripped his friend,
inadvertently saving the fellow’s life from Marik’s follow up.  The cut
swished
through the air over the second’s head.  Dietrik engaged the third while the
fourth stopped to avoid tangling in the first two.

Marik cut through the second man’s shoulder on the
ground to take him out of the battle.  Another arrow whistled past between him
and Dietrik.  It caught its mark this time, making Dietrik’s foe double over in
agonized howls.

These are no fighters!  They’re back-alley cutthroats,
no better than the worst E Class!  So much grass to be mown down by our blades.

Dietrik whipped his rapier in a fluid movement and
ripped open the throat of his arrow-struck opponent.  He spun, following the
swing, which left him facing the fourth man, who had been attempting to circle
the fight.  The deaths of his partners happened so rapidly he only then fully
realized his danger.

The thug wanted to pass by Dietrik to the staircase so
he could escape.  Marik’s friend would have none of it.  They could not afford
this fool to raise the alarm.  With his usual enthused cry of
‘ho’
,
Dietrik attacked using both his rapier and its companion main-gauche dagger. 
Caught with no retreat, the last thug met the attack.

He proved capable where the others had been fodder. 
In each hand he wielded long knives, the steel nearly long enough to be a short
sword.  With fantastic speed he skillfully controlled the blades.  It was enough
to deflect Dietrik’s rapier.  His precision with both blades would have
qualified him for the Kings, Marik believed, but though he fended off Dietrik,
he found no opportunity to counterattack.

Instead, Dietrik pushed him backward by unleashing his
full speed.  The fight was impressive as Marik switched back to normal vision. 
The steel reflected what little light the dirty windows allowed through,
filling the air between the two combatants with a tempest of silver raindrops. 
Steel clashing off steel sounded twice a second if not faster until it seemed
an entire spectral squad battled within the darkened warehouse.

The thug continued back-stepping.  Dietrik pushed
hard.  They came to the edge.

Dietrik forced him onto the lift, then followed,
intending to finish the man.  When his foot touched the lift platform, Marik
realized his friend had made a serious mistake.

“No!  Dietrik!”

When both men’s weight pressed upon it, the platform’s
closest edge sank two inches.  It threw them off balance.  Both teetered, their
fight halted while they strove for equilibrium.  The lift fell away beneath
them before they could achieve it.

Either the tracks were grimy or the platform was no
longer level, but the lift did not quite plummet in a total free fall.  The
thud below still sickened Marik.  Before he reached the edge he saw Dietrik’s
rapier imitate the office padlock by skidding across the floor to bounce off
the loading doors.  Both men lay tumbled together.

Marik barely touched one stair, frantic to reach his
friend.  When he dropped to a crouch, Dietrik groaned and clutched at his arm. 
He still lived, much to Marik’s vast relief, so he quickly checked the other. 
That one also still breathed, although for only a short while longer.  His own
knife had penetrated his gut.  Soon he would be dead.

Dietrik shouted briefly in pain.  The second knife had
gone clear through his arm.  Landon examined it closely upon his arrival.

“Lucky,” he decided.  “The blood’s the right color. 
Missed all the greater veins.  Must hurt like a damn, though.”

“Oh, is that so?” Dietrik hissed through gritted
teeth.

“We need a binding.  And a tourniquet.”

“Use this,” Hilliard offered, quickly unlacing the
leather thong holding his shirt closed.

Landon decided it would do.  Kerwin handed him a length
of cloth he pulled from the top of his pack where any experienced mercenary
would keep such items handy.  The archer snapped one of his shafts into a piece
several inches long.

“Best to do it quickly, I think.”  Landon grasped the
knife and yanked hard to free it from the suction of living tissue.  Dietrik
nearly passed out with a tortured gasp.

Landon quickly wrapped the cloth tightly around the
wound, leaving several inches free on both ends.  While he wrapped the leather
thong around Dietrik’s arm above the injury, Hilliard knelt with his water
skin.

“Drink a healthy dose of this,” the young noble
ordered.  “Your body will be trying to make up for the blood loss, and so will
be burning fluids.  Keep as much down as you can until we find a good Healer.”

Landon slipped the broken arrow shaft into the leather
circles and twisted.  Dietrik groaned pitifully when the tourniquet tightened. 
Once Landon felt satisfied it had tightened enough, he immobilized the shaft
with the dangling cloth ends to prevent it from untwisting.

“That’s as good as you’ll get for now.  Up you go.”

Hilliard tugged on his other shoulder and the two
brought Dietrik to his feet.  Hesitant moments later, Dietrik could stand
without support.

“Can you walk?”  Marik worried about running through
the alleys in the dark with his friend so wounded.

“Sure thing, mate,” he replied with a weak smile. 
“Though…I think we should come back tomorrow.  Have a little chin-wag with the
owner about securing his bloody pulleys before locking up.”

“It’s a deal.  How’s the arm?”

“I can’t seem to move it a great deal, but it’s not my
sword arm.  I’ll have to prevail upon one of you to carry Hilliard’s baggage.”

With Landon slinging his bow, Marik’s two-handed sword
and Hilliard already hauling his matching luggage, Kerwin was stuck holding the
bag.  They were worried about the noise from the fight.  It would be best to
move on.  Hilliard retrieved Dietrik’s weapons.  Marik drifted etherically
through the loading door to scan the road for auras.

He took the lead at a slower pace owing to Dietrik’s
arm.  Blood loss would take an eventual toll.  Forcing his body to move would
only hasten that condition.  Marik relied on his magesight to find people
wandering the warren and he brought them in an easterly direction.  That was
probably the direction they had come from.  Being the only part of Thoenar he
knew, he wanted to find the ancient city wall.  From there it would be a simple
matter to follow it and locate a decent inn near a tunnel.  Janus could bill
him for the cost if the old man disapproved of the expense.  Dietrik needed to
rest.

Tomorrow they would look for the Swan’s Down and
resume their schedule.  It seemed the best possible course.  He explained it to
the others, and they agreed.

Now someone needed to explain it to these bastards
running around everywhere.  Since drifting the etheric while walking was beyond
his ability, he was forced to keep a watch from ground level.  As a result, the
thugs who still had not abandoned their search were closing in.

Twice they fought briefly when auras, hidden by
buildings, suddenly rounded a corner.  Landon killed one.  Hilliard lashed out,
felling the second, claiming his first kill for the night.

That had been an accident. Their formation had
stretched out while their attentions fixed on other dangers.  The would-be
attacker had exited a narrow alley not five feet from the noble.  Marik endured
an eternal moment envisioning himself explaining how they had lost their charge
to a local ruffian when Hilliard demonstrated his sword skill, honed under so
many of the duke’s masters.

Moving instantly, he dropped his bag, followed by the
neat separation of the masked head from its supporting shoulders.  It happened
so quickly that Marik, still in mid-vision, almost missed the bouncing head
rolling along the ground in the dark.

A blood geyser sprayed from the neck stump while the
body collapsed.  It landed near Hilliard’s bag.  The canvas was soaked under
the torrent despite the youth’s sudden cry and snatching up of his possessions. 
His halfhearted attempt to shake the bag clean met with little success. 
Hilliard glanced down at the body.  Marik saw starlight reflecting from his
widened eyes.

Must be the first time he’s killed a man.  It’s a far
leap from the ‘civilized’ swordplay practice you upper classes like to play
with, kid.

It was a cruel thought, yet Marik’s sour mood nurtured
it.  He pressed on with fording a path back to the real world.

The dead bodies they left in their wake could hardly
have been clearer beacons for the remaining gang members.  Marik paused often
to drift upward on the etheric mists, each time discovering additional auras
closing in on them from several directions.  They were being pushed north every
time he changed direction to slip out from the tightening noose.

Around them, the buildings underwent subtle changes. 
The alleyways were still a narrow maze.  No longer strictly warehouses, a
scattering were businesses, closed for the night.  Others appeared residential,
though they kept massive dogs tied to posts near the doors.  At times Marik saw
people sitting by open windows, candlelight illuminating them so they were
floating portraits suspended on night’s wall.  He considered asking them for
help, but what could they do?  Run for the cityguard?  The thugs would cut
their group to pieces before they were halfway back.  Mobility was their
greatest asset.

Though that one advantage would soon vanish.  Dietrik
began to stumble.  His injury drained him the longer he walked.  These deserted
streets stretched on without end.  Scuttling from alley to alley, Marik
bitterly asked the gods where they had stolen the teeming crowds away to.  What
had they done with the largest population in all Galemar?

Dietrik would have gone to his knees if Hilliard had
not caught him before he tumbled.  Marik studied his friend.  They must stop
soon or else.  No help for it.  One of these buildings would have to provide
shelter.

The group began checking doors for an unlocked one. 
Marik drifted skyward and was alarmed to find several auras closing in from
everywhere.  He bent all his prayers on an open door.  If they forced one as
before, their pursuers would notice the damage in no time.