Bells tolled off to the west first and were soon picked up by the other belltowers. The city quickly descended into an orchestra of panic. Soldiers rose from their stations. Citizens opened their windows at the alarms, only to find reason to shut them tight again. Bartiin cursed to himself as the first bell tolled, knowing he had likely missed his window. He was still a few blocks from the bay. Setting sail now might prove difficult. They could fight their way through. Escape. But that would be an admission of guilt. And what if the Casoyans sent ships in chase? What if they caught us? He prayed it wouldn’t come to that.
With that decision weighing heavily on his mind, Bartiin pressed on. He followed along the grand canal until he met up with his men. They were an odd mix. Careyago mercenaries and Gaagian military men Bartiin had little history with. Neither side liked the other. All tolerated his leadership. Eight soldiers. Sailors and crewmen aboard the ship. All hoping this would be one that would send them home. Bartiin shared their hope.
He had come from the auction house where he had facilitated the sale of the Gaagian throne. He and the ambassador had worked together to whisper the rumours that would make their way to Aramuk, coaxing him from his den. The others had checked in on Yoharum, tracking his actions and keeping tabs on his progress. They knew of the dozens of men who had been snuck inside the city’s walls. All it took was confirmation that Aramuk had left the safety of Yohati’s estate, and Bartiin’s men had given the signal. Then Yoharum’s army of thugs would do the rest.
Finally, after years of planning and attempts, threats to the new stronger Gaag would be crushed. A new era of prosperity for Gaag could begin. One under the empire and its hunger for resources and power, yes, but one where a strong leader could use the empire for Gaag’s own gain. Belvaas was that leader. He was every bit the man his father was. Equally capable.
The others were already waiting for him when he arrived. New bells joined the ruckus. The echoes of alarm emanated from all sides. The tune was lost to noise. The narrow alleys became even more claustrophobic. Crossing the canal into the southern half of the city, Bartiin and his men let a platoon of soldiers pass. They marched across the bridge with haste in the direction of the Great Auction House. Bartiin held his breath. The streets quickly emptied. Regular citizens became scarce and sought the safety of closed doors.
Without a crowd to blend into, Bartiin felt exposed. Their foreign clothes and faces and armour, once a source of pride for him, now felt as if they drew unwanted attention. Between the noise and the stares, Bartiin felt he was going mad. Each passing face seemed to see past his façade and cast judgement. Each step they took out in the open sought to betray their escape. He could swear they were being followed. Unable to face the stares. The fear. The soldiers on every corner along the wharf. Bartiin deviated from the plan. He ducked his men into an alleyway. The ship wasn’t far now. They could make the rest of the journey without attracting attention. It would be easier that way. Despite the grumbles from his men, they listened and followed Bartiin into the dark alley. As did the figure that had been tailing them.
Out of the eyes of the public, the soldiers under Bartiin’s command walked at most in pairs as they navigated the narrower street. With dusk still an hour away, the main cobbled street had been bright and wide despite the setting sun. Now, tucked in between tight buildings, shadows lurked in each corner. The bells tolled on, but their screams were muted here. The men crept around the piles of garbage and junk that had been discarded. Hens clucked away in boxy wire cages. Ahead, a small dog chased a rat across a narrow intersection, yipping the entire way. At the junction, only echoes of the animals remained. The constant noise crept through him like nervous reverberations. He was going mad. Anxiety buried itself under his skin. Not for what was done, but for getting caught so close to the end. Just make it to the ship. Everything will be alright. Soon I’ll be home. Safe in bed with my family.
Squeezing between two black-cobbled buildings, Bartiin finally emerged from the alleyways and onto the wider wharf. They were near the southern dockyards. In the distance, Bartiin thought he could make out his ship. Long storage warehouses reached out to sea. Here, business hadn’t ceased. The yards were still a bustle with workers who milled about and supervisors that were failing to keep them on task. Folks held their hands over their ears, annoyed at the disruption.
The fortress atop the stone peak loomed high overhead, a reminder of Bartiin’s need to flee. All they needed to do now was walk to the ship. A shrill voice sounded from behind them. A lone figure emerged from the alleyway. Bartiin and his men turned. At first, Bartiin presumed the individual to be a local. Perhaps just somebody they had upset by being careless in the alleyway. Then he noticed the knife in the stranger’s hand.
Bartiin’s hand went down to the sword at his hip and he placed a firm hand on the scabbard of the thin weapon. His soldiers, seven in total, reached for their own weapons. The man with the knife didn’t react. Bartiin’s eyes darted left and right, expecting others to appear. No one else did. Bartiin took a closer look at the man with the knife. He was dressed in a dark cloak that hid his features. He had Gaagian features, the thick eyebrows and long face. He looked old and tired but his gaze was intense and murderous. Lord Kulimas?
The old Lord Kulimas stood across from them, alone. He was much older now, older than Bartiin thought he’d be. It has been a few years, he supposed. The old lord looked more like his uncle, King Zhiigan, than any of the kings’ true born sons had. Lord Kulimas shouted to be heard over the bells. He spoke Gaagian, “The bells; they’re for you, aren’t they? What have you done?” It was strange to hear his mother tongue in such a foreign place.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about” Bartiin shouted back over the noise.
“Don’t play me a fool, Bartiin Foxstring” Kulimas shouted. “I feared for the worst the moment I saw that throne appear on stage at the auction house. And I confirmed those fears when I caught you slinking out of the building. You sent assassins after Aramuk and Ohacha, didn’t you?”
Bartiin’s smirk was prideful, “I don’t know what you’re talking about” Bartiin repeated.
“I think you do” Kulimas said. “How many did you send?”
“Enough” one of his men shouted back. Lord Kulimas simply nodded at that.
“What was the purpose? Why sell the throne?” Lord Kulimas asked.
“That was the bait, to bring you to the auction” Bartiin said.
“We didn’t know about the throne until after we arrived.”
“You didn’t,” Bartiin taunted, “but I made sure Aramuk knew. Didn’t you think it odd he changed his mind at the last minute? Very unlike him.” That unnerved the old man.
“He’ll survive whatever trap you’ve got in store for him” Lord Kulimas replied.
“You wont” Bartiin sneered. “You made a mistake, coming after us alone Yoliim.” Bartin shouted back.
“No, I haven’t” Lord Kulimas said. There was no fear in his voice. He believed those words. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve come to kill you, Bartiin.”
“By yourself?” Bartiin shouted back, a little surprised.
“I must admit, I never wanted to believe it was you Belvaas sent” Lord Kulimas shouted. “I knew you were one of his favourite pets, but I didn’t take you as foolish enough to waste your life chasing ghosts. But, when I saw you at the auction, I realized it was time. I’ve had enough. Enough of running from your assassins. Enough of hiding. Enough of waiting and letting you make your moves. It’s my turn.”
“You’ve got a lot of guts, old man. Do you really think you can fight all of us?”
Lord Kulimas laughed gravely. “I don’t expect to survive this, Bartiin.” Lord Kulimas said, calmly. “Aramuk would have tried to stop me. Even after all these brutal years, he’s still a good man. Better than you and your governor.”
“They’re dead men, now” Bartiin taunted. “The bells toll the truth.”
It didn’t have the desired effect. The old lord appeared to ignore the comment. Unease began to set in. We’re were supposed to be fleeing to the ship. Not standing off against an old traitor. Now that weapons were drawn, people stopped. They stared. They, like him, watched nervously, unsure of what was about to transpire. Moments passed. The clangour of bells counted down the seconds Bartiin and his men had left to escape.
Bartiin waivered, unsure how to proceed. The easiest action would be cut the old lord down and run for it. It would be quick, but there would be no more hiding. It would be a sprint to the ship and if chance were on their side, they wouldn’t pass any soldiers. It will be risky. Unable to make a decision, Lord Kulimas made it for him. From behind his back, the older man drew out a slender device. He pointed it directly at Bartiin. With a squeeze of the trigger and a quick snap of the bow string, the crossbow launched a slender quarrel directly at him. A second crossbow appeared with a second click. The first quarrel careened over Bartiin’s left shoulder, missing him by a mere finger’s length. He felt the wind of it. His body reacted, but far too slow. The second quarrel imbedded itself deep in the shoulder of the soldier who stood in front of him. The man screamed in pain and hit the ground hard on the flat of his back. Bartiin froze. If he had been but a single step to the left, the first bolt would have killed him on the spot. His men, the ones who hadn’t just felt death’s whisper, charged.
Knife still drawn, Lord Kulimas stepped forward to meet his five attackers. He pulled another weapon from his hip and threw it as he charged the oncoming soldiers. The weapon, an axe, flew silently over the first soldier as he ducked and hit the soldier behind him square in the chest. The man dropped like a stone. Within seconds, the other soldiers were upon him. Lord Kulimas dodged the first sword swing, ducking under and sidestepping left to meet the next attacker. The second soldier was caught unaware as Lord Kulimas’ knife slid deep into his belly. The old lord pulled out the knife and stabbed again, but within another heartbeat, he was skewered by the first of the next three swordsmen who had charged him. Two more blades found their mark in his torso and the old lord cried out in pain.
In his dying breaths, the disgraced lord could only do one last thing. He stabbed the same soldier over and over, blood splattering everywhere. It gurgled from the old man’s mouth, from the dying soldier’s neck and stomach, from the countless sword wounds that pierced through the dying lord’s body. A soldiers wrestled the knife out of his grip. Yoliim Kulimas’ hands went to his face, blood smearing as he wailed. Bartiin watched in horror. They stabbed the dying lord again and again. Blood emptied from the deep wounds. Lord Kulimas buckled, no longer able to stand, but Bartiin’s men held him upright and took turns sinking their blades into his flesh. He was still upright and long dead as they finished their vengeful butchering. His insides were more outside than in by the time they let his body crumple to the cobblestones.
Screams erupted from the crowd. Bartiin cursed the old lord. We’re screwed. The soldier who had taken the crossbow bolt to the shoulder was injured, but alive. The man who had taken the axe to the chest stood, miraculously unharmed. The flat of the handle had hit him, rather than the blade. He held his abdomen, probably nursing a broken rib, and looked around at the others in bewilderment. Only the soldier who had been caught by Lord Kulimas and stabbed in the throat was dead. He lay next to the old nobleman in an equally blood heap.
It was a miracle. Bartiin had avoided death. Only one of his men had died in the attack. He had vastly underestimated the old man. If the spirits of luck had favoured him instead of Bartiin, half of Bartiin’s men would be dead, himself included. Bless the spirits who look favourably upon me. But what the old man failed to accomplish in life, he accomplished in death. Bartiin’s plan to avoid attention was as dead as the old lord. There would be no more hiding. Their only hope now was to run for the ship. They would need to set sail immediately.
Local dockhands shouted curses at them in Tralang. Another man shouted in Casoyan. Bartiin ignored them. I don’t have time for any of this. His men were crowded around the two dead bodies in the streets. The alarm bells continued to toll their incessant noise and the crowd around them grew larger as the shouts and screams and curses grew louder.
“Time to go!” Bartiin ordered.
“What about Benzha?” somebody answered. They stood over their fallen comrade.
“He’s dead. We need to leave, now!”
“We can’t just leave him here!” somebody argued. He was Careyago like the dead man.
“I can and I will!” Bartiin shouted. The crowd parted for Bartiin. His soldiers followed.
*
Rolena watched from the alleyway as Lord Kulimas’ killers turned and fled. She kneeled in the alleyway, a perfect witness to the horrible butchering before her. Lord Kulumas’ body lay motionless in a vulgar desecration of his own insides. For the first time in the many years she had served as a hired soldier, Rolena thought she might be sick. As the soldiers fled, locals chased after them. They hurled stones and insults. Rolena wanted to follow. She wanted to give chase. Her legs didn’t budge.
In her efforts to find Lord Kulimas, Rolena had inadvertently found herself in a restricted part of the auction house. She had been forcefully removed. The callous guard escorting her had practically thrown her out the nearest exit. She argued until the man pulled a ghata club on her, waving it threateningly. That shut her up. Then a man, another foreigner, appeared behind the soldier and squeezed through. He wore a large flamboyant hat and the soldier let him pass with only a sneer.
Dusting off her clothes, Rolena had gotten back to her feet. The door slammed and she was forced to walk around the large building to the front. She was stewing in her anger as she left and looked back at the door to give one last hateful look. That was when she spottled Lord Kulimas. She recognized his face, even if she didn’t recognize the determined look plain across it. He carried a pair of crossbows, and a single-minded focus. He didn’t even glance in her direction and stalked off alone into the city. It was bewilderingly strange. And so, Rolena followed him. He was her employer’s vassal. It seemed the right thing to do in the moment. It too was a mistake.
*
Sergeant Yuromi Ashill and the confused soldiers at her heels arrived just in time to witness the brutal public execution of an old man. Yuromi knew the sort of violence displayed from horror stories alone. Vendetta. Savagery. She presumed the killers were gangsters and promptly found her presumption incorrect. They were foreigners. What the bloody-hell did I just stumble upon? Who the hell are these people?
The figure Yuromi had been tailing through the streets kneeled just a few paces before her. She too had foreign features and warrior’s garb. But no crossbows. So, who is she? And why did she lead me here? What’s her connection to all this?
The crossbows lay abandoned in the street next to the body of the butchered man. The crowd was panicking. Screams of terror fought to be heard over screams of anger. People fled. The killers ran. Someone was calling for soldiers to act. For me. But what to do about the girl?
So, Yuromi did what she always did. She doubled down. “Drop your weapons” she ordered. She stood over the foreign woman kneeled before her. It was as commanding a tone as she could muster in a party dress. The foreign woman turned but Yuromi barked at her to stop. The woman raised her hands in surrender. “Empty your pockets! Drop any weapons you’re carrying!” Yuromi ordered, drawing close.
“I have nothing!”
“Who are you?” Yuromi demanded. She patted the woman down and found nothing.
“My name is Rolena” the woman replied, her voice cracking. Her accent was thick but her voice was low and smooth.
“What are you doing here? Who are those men? Why were you following them?”
“I… I don’t really know” Rolena answered, finding a strange truth in her words.
“Restrain her” Yuromi said, commanding one of the soldiers she had brought. “You keep her here and find out who the two dead men are. You and I,” she said, gesturing to the other soldier, “are going to follow and catch those foreigners.”
*
Passing by the long piers, Bartiin and his five remaining soldiers finally approached the docks where their merchant ship was moored. The crowd was relentless. Strangers continued to harass them along their journey. Bartiin’s hope was wearing thin. There was still chance that they would make it aboard but holding off the mob seemed a dauntless task.
But then, like a ship scraping reef, Bartiin’s hopes sank. Slowly at first. Then all at once. The useless Casoyan soldiers that had never so much as spared him a glance as he had come ashore and passed them as they played cards had decided that now was the time they would do their jobs. The three of them had the pier blocked off and a dozen more were running down the esplanade with spears in hand. Too many.
Bartiin considered his options. He only had two left. Neither appealed. They were boxed in now. Soldiers at the docks. Soldiers to the south. The mob at their heels. Curse the bastard Yoliim Kulimas, Bartiin thought. We could do it. Fight our way past. Kill again. Make it to the ship. Die trying. He knew it was foolish. And so that left only one option. The soldiers watched, uneasy as Bartiin and his soldiers approached with the angry mob in tow.
The Casoyans drew their weapons. “Don’t try it” the lead soldier said, eyeing the six men. Bartiin looked back and considered what they saw. Four foreign soldiers covered in blood. One bleeding from a shoulder wound. An angry mob at their heels. And at the front of the pack, leading them was himself. Yoliim-fucking-Kulimas will be my downfall. It might have almost been amusing if it weren’t the bloody truth.
“Please,” Bartiin pleaded, offering his sword, “An assassin tried to kill us in the street. We are ambassadors from the Careyago Empire. We surrender ourselves to you for protection. We submit in the name of justice!”
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