6 Treachery

FIRES RAGED, ECHOED by red clouds over the city. The cries intensified amid the stomping boots of soldiers. They snuck along a dank alleyway, led by Podral Pole. Sprog had vanished, though Tezcat appeared unconcerned.

The thief was mumbling again. ‘Don’t like this one bit. Bastard, taking off like that. Can’t see what’s ahead but I know what’s behind. Left it too late. Scats will have my hide for this.’

‘Of course something’s not right,’ snapped Threadfin, the man’s muttering starting to grate, and who was Scats? ‘Look around. What did you think was right?’

The girl gripped his hand, pulling him onward. ‘It’s okay,’ he said in a calm voice, though he felt anything but. ‘I’ll not let anything happen you, I promise.’ It was easier moving about since dusk had descended, though the shouts of their pursuers remained close behind.

‘Don’t be so grolg-stupid,’ she hissed, as they halted. Pole scouted a little ahead. ‘Not me they’s after is it?’

He knew, if not for her, he’d be full dead. Another addition to her tally. No need to point it out, though. Rats scurried through the inedible mulch at his feet as the trio shuffled along in the growing dark. All day, they’d been running and hiding. Their pursuers had entered the alleyways too. Pole was good at keeping a step ahead, good for a breather he supposed, and kept them hidden when he couldn’t. Redcloaks appeared to watch all exits from the city, but there were two left to try. There seemed no way out. He said as much to Pole.

‘You think I’m a fool?’ the thief asked, scratching the scar on his face.

‘That a trick question?’ asked Tezcat.

Pole glared at her. ‘I know what I’m doin’. You’ll see. I’ll get us out.’ Threadfin noticed his usual malice had vanished, replaced by a general grumpiness.

A figure materialised from the shadows towards the end of the alley. It was dark, but Threadfin saw well enough to recognise who it was.

‘Lud,’ hissed Pole, when the old veteran got closer. ‘I had figured you a goner by now.’

‘Wishful thinkin’, eh Pods?’ said Ludwole as he reached them. ‘Didn’t I tell you to stay put?’

A flurry of movement followed. Threadfin had no clue what had happened until he saw Pole on the ground. A dark stain spread across the man’s tunic below the chest. Tezcat had disappeared. Clever girl. He eyed the curved Nephilim-styled dagger in Ludwole’s hand, Threadfin’s dagger.

‘Where’d that little bitch get to?’ Ludwole growled. He kicked Pole’s body and spat on it. ‘Guess I gave you too much credit. Still, you managed to evade longer than expected. After all, had to come myself, didn’t I.’

Threadfin had already turned to run, but two figures blocked the other end of the alley. He couldn’t see their faces, just silhouettes against an orange glow. Ludwole Felps grabbed him by the neck and dragged him into the shadows.

His cheek scraped the rough wall, grazing his right ear. Pressure on his skull kept him pinned. ‘Apologies, my lord prince,’ Felps hissed. ‘Is that comfortable enough for you?’

Threadfin attempted to wrench free but the veteran was strong for a breather, freakishly strong. Felps whirled him about, and slammed him against the wall. ‘No point fighting it,’ he snarled. ‘Can’t win, can’t escape.’

He dragged Threadfin out from the wall and grabbed him around the neck, holding him in place. ‘He’s all yours, as promised.’ Another man stepped into view. An exemplar, Threadfin realised with shock, before he recognised which one. The high exemplar in imperial clothing; red cloak and iron scale. The imperial garb was a throwback to the ancient empire, worn by only the patrician elite and legionaries. Everything about this man screamed tyranny and death. He was everything Threadfin had tried to forget.

A light filled the high exemplar’s eyes, as though his pupils were diamonds in sunlight. Spider-like veins of red and orange pulsed beneath the skin of his face and neck as though molten fire filled him instead of blood. Wasn’t a look Threadfin would’ve gone for himself. A bit too last century and way over the top.

He noticed at the corner of his vision two others moving closer. ‘What are you?’ he asked in a hoarse voice. Speaking was difficult with a crushing arm against his neck.

Canaan Pen Luthus raised a dagger with a bone hilt. The double-bladed serrated weapon shimmered as though forged within the sun. Threadfin knew he wasn’t going to enjoy the next bit. A man and woman stood to either side, one wearing an imperial cloak, the other in borderlands garb.

‘No matter to you, who he is,’ Felps hissed in his ear, and then louder, ‘Hurry up, and do it already. Haven’t got forever you know.’

Pen Luthus shot the old soldier a glare that should’ve split him open for all the lack of emotion. The woman answered for him. She had golden-white hair and a pale complexion. ‘Still your tongue or I will cut it from your head. There are things that cannot be rushed. There are forms to follow. Know your place, thrael.’

The soldier tightened his grip. He muttered several things he wanted to do to her. He was inventive, and twisted, although he made certain she didn’t hear.

Pen Luthus began to hum, his tone taking on an undulating cadence like a pagan rite from his homeland, but the voice was unnatural, inhuman. The woman added strange words to the rite, which were neither the Icarthian tongue nor Valtari.

Threadfin shut his eyes ... home. He focused on images of the palatium, of the leaf-strewn courtyards, of his sister, of a time when he’d been, if not happy, then content with his lot. I got careless, he thought. Should’ve known they would come.

A loud grunt, followed by the soft thud of a body, interrupted the ritual. He opened his eyes and saw Tezcat standing there. An exemplar was in a heap at her feet with a dagger in his lower back. The bloodied corpse began to rise, drawing its sword as it did. Pen Luthus tried to continue the rite. The female exemplar had drawn her sword, and turned to face the threat. The corpse swung the blade at her, and she blocked it with her own.

The ground shook. Threadfin stumbled, his captor losing his grip. An elbow to the bastard’s face hurried things along. Tezcat managed to keep her feet. ‘Run,’ she shouted. She’d let the corpse go with the wriggling body entangling itself with the female exemplar on the ground.

Threadfin hesitated. ‘Come with me.’

‘You thick-skulled idiot, they isn’t after me.’

Pen Luthus regained his feet, still holding the shimmering blade, skin pulsing with fire. He loomed over the girl. Tezcat, always so clever, so invisible, didn’t vanish this time, but mouthed one last word, ‘Run!’ Threadfin stared in disbelief as the blade entered her small body.

A fraction of a second later, she was gone, likely fallen to the ground. Pen Luthus was floundering about. The others were in motion. The high exemplar gestured at them. ‘Yala, get him!’ Just then, a small figure with a staff launched itself at Pen Luthus with a snarling assault. Turning and running, Threadfin lost sight of the mongrel. Sprog wouldn’t last long either.

Had he been capable, tears would’ve flowed down his withered face. Tezcat Licolo had never hurt anyone. Sure, she’d played jokes on folk, but who didn’t like jokes? She’d never prank anyone again. Full dead, because she’d been brave and loyal.

Because she’d been different.

Rage fuelled his speed, and as he raced behind a row of low buildings, he lost his pursuers. A part of him wanted to turn and fight, but he knew he would lose. His sister needed him. She was the one breather he cared for and he owed her. He would run, but he would never forget. A time would come when Threadfin Todder would avenge a little girl.

He’d heard Felps cursing with dark flavour before he was out of earshot. Quick footsteps had followed. No doubt, that exemplar wasn’t far behind either. What was he? To his knowledge, it was Plagueborn who possessed magical abilities. None knew how the Atlantians had done what they did, but he wasn’t at all sure it was magic. What he did know was that he needed to get away.

He clambered onto a low wall, landed in another street. Taking a left, he dodged along another alley, then a right, a left. He put his agility to good use, darting like a cat with a warg on its ass. There were people in the streets shouting, crying, and wailing as their homes burned. Not a few bodies lay about too, some shrouded with the green cloak of the Actaeon Guard. He dove into the middle of a crowd, not daring to look back.

Somehow, I must get home, he thought, trying to bolster his courage as he ran. I’ll find you, Aiy. They’d murdered little Cat, but he would not let them reach his sister too. He would not fail a second time.

He stumbled and ran as best he could until he reached the eastern Tarl Gate. It stood open and unguarded. His luck was in, a rarity these days. He followed the dirt road beyond the walls for a few moments. Then he veered left and across the rolling hills towards the dark eaves of Tarl Forest, leaving Lame behind forever.

You didn’t keep your promise, sister, he thought as he ran, but I vow I will keep mine.