Sleeper Of The Wildwood Fugue (Book 7) (20 page)

“We’re rivals who have to be civil when in public,” Kira replies, picking her weapon up and shaking the filth from the sickle. “As for the hate, I don’t know. You frustrate me and I’m trying really hard not to despise you. Luke and I were going to have a difficult relationship from the beginning. It’s made me question a lot about myself and it’s been hard to find answers without him by my side. Now that you’re more of a threat than I expected, I’m not sure what to say or do around him. I can only hope that he’s as uncomfortable with you as he is with me after he leaves Bor’daruk.”

“Oh, that isn’t petty.”

“I’m not denying that it is.”

“Like you said, you brought this on yourself.”

“To be perfectly blunt and honest, I thought you were only going to use him for sex and toss him aside,” Kira mentions with a shrug. She notices the twitch of Sari’s eye and cannot stop herself from pushing a little more. “After all, gypsies aren’t known for relationships outside of the clan. Loyalty to family and all outsiders are toys to be played with. So I was surprised you became so attached to my fiancée.”

“Luke is my family,” the gypsy states in a voice tinged with rage. She is surprised when Kira smiles and gently touches her on the cheek. “What’s so amusing?”

“And that is why I never believed you’d give him up so easily. May the best woman win.”

The tunnel rumbles and a rush of putrid wind rushes from upstream, making the pair cover their mouths. A dull roar rolls from the shadows and the distant sight of something moving toward them catches their attention. It is an undulating line of white against the darkness that Kira quickly realizes is an incoming flood of sewer water. She glances at Sari, who is backing away and blushing. Not waiting for an explanation, the heiress sprints downstream with her companion a few steps behind.

“What did you do, gypsy?”

“This is why you shouldn’t have made me mad, heiress.”

Glancing over her shoulder, Kira sees that the flood is gaining and will take them if they cannot find a ladder. “You’ve been having trouble with your powers this whole time. How was I supposed to know you’d make a flood?”

“I didn’t know either. It just kind of happened . . . so that’s where that flood came from back then,” Sari replies with a smirk. She darts forward to grab her companion’s hand and locks her fingers. “Hold onto me and you’ll be fine. I think. I’m really not sure what’s going to happen here.”

Kira opens her mouth to argue, but sees how close the flood is and takes a deep breath instead. The sewer water engulfs the two women and they hold each other tight as they are carried through the tunnels. Sari is able to stop them from getting dashed against the walls by using quick bursts of control over the current around them. This does not help when they hit a waterfall and burst out of the sewage. Spinning wildly toward an overhang, Kira takes the brunt of the impact and is barely aware of falling back into the racing flood. She manages to get another gulp of air before they are swirled in an eddy and sucked down a drain.

Fearing that the heiress will drown, Sari kicks her legs to strengthen the current, which launches them out of a small tunnel to where their flood meets another blast of water. The gypsy is surprised to see one of the mercenaries frantically trying to escape the river of sewage ahead of them. He no longer has his chainmail like she remembers, so he is able to break the surface to gasp for air and grasp at ladders. She tries to call out to the man when she sees him break the surface dangerously close to a hole in the ceiling. The filthy water chokes her throat, so she can only watch as his face is smashed into the solid stone. His head flops around on his broken neck as the current carries him along, his body moving in an eerie, unnatural way.

A hum can be heard within the roar of the water and Sari cranes her neck to see a barrier of white energy ahead of them. Sparks fly off the water that strikes the purification wall, which disintegrates all of the pollutants. The corpse of the mercenary evaporates as it hits the barrier, making Sari desperately try to control the flood. She manages to slow their advance, but it is not enough to avoid the spell and she closes her eyes as she feels the raw energy pull at her hair. A horrible pain burns through her veins and she sees Kira’s eyes fly open as the purification wall attacks all of the impurities in their bodies. Being still alive, the pair are not mistaken for refuse and destroyed like the dead warrior. Unconscious, but still breathing, the two women pass through the barrier and are launched out of the tunnel. They land next to the northern most pier with a loud splash, startling a trio of drowsy sailors who are suddenly wide awake.

*****

Timoran’s knuckles are white from clinging to his great axe, the weapon lodged within a narrow tunnel entrance. His legs and back ache from being braced against the wall to prevent him from getting sucked away by the unexpected flood. The water subsides and is left as a weak rivulet instead of the strong river it was before. Wringing the filthy liquid from his hair, the barbarian catches his breath and frees his axe. The stench of exposed muck is a nightmare to his senses, so he fumbles with a pouch of aromatic herbs. He sticks his nose inside to inhale deeply and relaxes for the first time all night.

“I guess your stomach gets weaker as you get older,” Alanik taunts as he walks into the tunnel. His friends are a few steps behind him, all of them drenched and covered in muck. “It must be fate that we found each other in this place. Alone to discuss our business. Kerr must be on my side.”

“More that Gabriel is bored,” Timoran mutters, putting his back to the wall. “I have no business with you. It would be best if we go our separate ways. Besides my disappearance will bring my friends on your head.”

“Your oath means we have the advantage, so you should listen,” Banton says from the back of the group. He waits for Alanik to nod his support and moves within a few feet of the redheaded champion. “We discussed our options if we found you again. Well, we actually agreed to hunt you down, but disagreed on what to do after.”

“I wanted to kill your silver-haired friend and chop off your arms,” Ralgin claims with a proud grin. “I’m still missing teeth from that fight.”

“I voted for capturing you and your friends than selling them to pirates,” Sentrent admits with his hand raised. The heavily scarred warrior drops his arm when his companions growl at him. “That was actually Alanik’s idea. I wanted to go in the opposite direction and never see you again.”

Timoran keeps his eye on Banton, who is wiping filth off the head of his maul. “That would have been the best idea. So what is the decision that you four came to? I assume it is something that takes advantage of me not being able to truly fight back. I am not in the mood for a guessing game.”

Banton draws a scroll from under his bracer, the crushed parchment stained with sweat and sewage. He puts his maul on the ground and hands it to Timoran, who wrinkles his nose at the other barbarian’s stench. Ralgin grins and chuckles, earning him a smack to the face from Alanik. The exchange makes the champion more nervous and he eyes Banton with suspicion. The blonde man casually recovers his weapon and returns to his friends, patiently standing behind his leader.

“This is impossible,” Timoran states while he tries to read the scroll. He hears the growls from the others and flicks the parchment into the stream. “I meant that sweat and filth have made the scroll ineligible. All I could discern from the remaining words is that you want me to sign a contract of alliance.”

“That is the basic idea,” Alanik says, approaching his fellow kinsman and putting a meaty arm around his shoulder. “All five of us have been banned from ever returning home due to archaic laws. My friends and I didn’t leave the field of battle due to cowardice. We left because we didn’t believe in the fight. Killing ogres because they took an extra piece of land and our king got nervous about an attack? We refused to die for his paranoia.”

“The ogres took the land from our halfling allies. It was about honoring our treaties. If you did not abandon your post out of cowardice then you did it out of disrespect for our people. A barbarian never goes back on his or her word.”

“How many promises have you broken since leaving the tribe?”

Timoran removes the other warrior’s arm from his shoulder and shoves him back to the others. He chokes down the urge to attack, his primal rage making his heart beat loud enough to fill his ears. Repeating his oath in his head does nothing to quell his anger as he watches the four men grin and chuckle. With a shaky hand, he takes another sniff of the herbs to cleanse his nose and calm his nerves.

“We don’t need this pathetic loser, Alanik,” Ralgin argues, pushing to the front of the small group. He tries to tap his spear on Timoran’s head, but his weapon is easily batted away. “I guess he’s fast and strong, but he won’t be any help. Remember, he can’t shed the blood of his tribesmen, so he’d be dead weight in our plan.”

“What are you planning?” the champion asks as he shifts his feet. His muscles tense for a pounce, which causes the younger barbarian to back away.

“The Snow Tiger Tribe needs fresh leadership and new laws,” Alanik declares as he runs his thumb along the edge of his axe. “The laws are all about honor and courage, but that isn’t how the world works any more. Men like us are cast out because we refuse to lay down our lives for a battle we didn’t believe in. How is that fair?”

“You swore on your honor and ancestors to fight for the tribe,” the redheaded warrior angrily growls. He flexes his fingers in preparation of having to draw his weapon, the tension in the tunnel growing palpable. “If you did not want to do so then you could have become something else. It is not mandatory for us to remain warriors after our two years of training. You have nobody to blame, but yourselves.”

“The tribe has no respect for those who refuse to fight,” Banton mentions, spitting on the floor in disgust. “Even if we became farmers or blacksmiths, we’d still have to fight when the king declared a full-scale war. It was better to get all of the perks of being a warrior than be seen as pretenders.”

“You plan on overthrowing the king. I assume Alanik would be the new ruler.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be you,” Ralgin snaps, chuckling at his own comment.

“Shut up, Ralgin,” the armored warrior says in a cold, threatening voice. He stands before Timoran and looks him in the eye, refusing to back down from the brewing rage. “After this hunt, we’re going to travel to Arx and negotiate a price for a small force of warriors. Maybe get a few assassins too. Then we’ll conquer Stonehelm and put the Snow Tiger Tribe on a new path. If you’re willing to break your oath then we’ll let you join us.”

Releasing a tired sigh, Timoran turns away from Alanik and walks to the edge of the walkway. He stares into the rising river of sewage as he considers his options, drawing his great axe for comfort. A pang of homesickness is in his heart, but it is dwarfed by the rage and hatred he feels toward the four men before him. His eyes fall on the tiger-stripe patterned head of his weapon, the object signifying his passage into adulthood and his most precious belonging. He remembers his earlier days of exile where he would talk to the great axe and pray that Kerr would answer his questions through its polished surface. This habit stopped when he swore to live by his tribe’s tenants and bring honor to it even though he can never return home. He steels his spirit and accepts that these selfish men will have brought this fate on themselves.

“One cannot go to war against the tribe if he or she is still a member,” Timoran whispers, wiping a tear from his cheek. He takes a shuddering breath that the others see in his back and shoulders. “Do you forsake the tribe?”

“Let’s not-” Sentrent starts to say before Banton smacks him.

“If that’s what it takes,” Alanik proudly states, taking a confident step toward the other barbarian. “Let’s not pretend anyone here is still a member of the tribe. We’re all exiles, so why should any of us remain loyal?”

Timoran whirls around to take Alanik’s head off in one savage swing, the body standing for a few seconds before tumbling into the sewage. Ralgin and Banton rush at the champion while Sentrent holds his ground, his legs locked in place. The pair finds it hard to attack due to their muscular bodies and the width of the walkway. Banton comes close to hitting his friend with every swing while the spearman frantically jabs at their enemy. Ralgin loses his patience and rushes forward, but his clumsy attack is easily deflected. The redheaded barbarian thrusts his great axe at the crazed warrior, the top points piercing the younger man’s chest. With a roar, Timoran moves Ralgin in the way of the maul’s next swing and the force drives the great axe into the spearman’s heart.

“You cowardly bastard!” Banton shouts at Sentrent, whose broadsword is limply hanging at his side. “I knew we should have abandoned you years ago.”

Timoran swings at Banton and their weapons clash, the echo ringing down the tunnel. A quick jump back by the champion makes the maul-fighter stumble, leaving him open to a crushing blow to the back of the neck. The snap of his spine sends a shiver through Sentrent’s body, the swordsman letting his weapon slip from his grasp. Timoran keeps his eye on the shuddering survivor as he crushes Banton’s windpipe with a solid stomp of his heel.

“Will you let me live?” Sentrent asks, falling to his knees and holding out his hands. “I didn’t forsake the tribe or attack you. I’m not much of a warrior anyway. I . . . didn’t know what else to do so I went along with them. I didn’t even want to desert the tribe in the first place, but Alanik threatened me.”