Vol.6, Ch.3, P.4
Quickly, I crept to the lectitōrium frontage. And stooping low, I pressed up against its heavy doors. A constant sigh of dust was issuing from their seam, being left a little ajar—whoever was last to pass had been in a hurry. I carefully peeked through.
Therein was not a single soul in sight. All silent it was and as still as sleeping stones, though the air yet thickly smelt of smoulders. This was my opportunity, prime as any. Then, as though to temper that hope, my flank-wound flared again. But this was no time to mind it. I had to move.
Slipping in swift, I gave the place another scan. First to baffle the eyes was all the ruin. Fumes and dust yet drifted hazily in the hall, illumined by sunlight shafting down from a great hole rent in the roof. Consequently, that high gap gave a wide glimpse of the skies above; and in it, there soared the adjoining steeple tower, smoking still and half-sundered of its topmost section. And it took not long at all to discover where that’d gone. For I did not mention what was sitting inside the lectitōrium itself: the fallen and collapsed steeple spire, coupled with broken stones, timber smithers, ash upon ash, and destroyed sections of architecture… all strewed themselves about the floor so as to give the feet nary a way to walk.
Absent that, however, the lectitōrium yet stood. Some other damage ran about the structure, but altogether, the place was in no immediate danger of downfall. Indeed, even the giant display of stained glass above the doorway yet endured, albeit with many a cleft and crack now coursing through it. Buffeting stones or trembling supports must’ve done that deed, when everything had come crashing down.
“Nothing if not stubborn, aren’t you?” I remarked upon Yoná as She loomed large in the pane, bright and loving still in all Her lucid colours.
But next in order, aside from the search for the soot-steel, was grim business: namely, the confirming of corpses. With such ruin wrought, there was bound to be dead bodies about. The question being: were any of them a face I knew? “Nay” ought be the answer, if the intelligence gained from that interrogation held any water, at least. Still, I needed to see for myself, and piece together precisely what’d gone on here.
And sure enough, corpses there were, indeed: a company’s worth, in fact, scattered and lying atop all the rubble about. And a moment’s scan revealed them each to be clad in the Church’s cloth—along with wounds woesome to see. Battle must’ve broken here; a blind and burning battle. But if so…
“…Came barging in after the blast, did they?” I guessed aloud of the corpses.
That surely seemed it. It must’ve been whilst I was dazed and dreadfully ringing at the ears when it’d all fallen out. Little wonder I hadn’t perceived the commotion.
Whilst playing it all out in my mind, I continued to scour the wreckage. At length, I sighed. No other corpses were found to be buried, not even beneath the twisted spire and masses of stone as they lay. And none of my comrades were to be seen.
Thank all goodness. Though I was certain such would be the case, everyone really had escaped this place alive, the princess and all the rest of our Londosian hosts included.
Now that left the soot-steel. Tried as I might, however, I’d yet to come across any sign of the sword. Except—
“Hn…?”
—there: something caught my eye. Something black and rather of size, peeping from further aback.
I waded through the thronging ruin, and coming just through the broken doorway leading to the steeple stairwell, I found it: my leather scabbard, splayed amongst some marred masonry. The soot-steel’s partner-in-crime it was, and like my coat, Dita’s masterpiece of a gift. The strap, of course, was shredded. But glad to have it back nonetheless, I tied it to my belt as best I could and quickly resumed my search.
“Well… a dratted long way to go yet…” I sighed again.
Now deeper into the lectitōrium as I was, the sheer chaos and quantity of wreckage struck home harder still. Even the stairwell was littered: aside from the fallen debris, there were dints and craters pocking its walls, and the exit sat broken and blocked by rubble. These all seemed wrought by stray spellblasts, if I had to judge. A true miracle that the others had made it out at all.
Nevertheless, the soot-steel had yet to show itself. There remained one dreaded possibility, then: that it was lying beneath the infinite rubble somewhere, after being blown and tossed from wall to wall. If only some hint of it, even just the tip, could peep out as its scabbard had done… But no matter whither my eyes went, no such sign caught their sight.
“Hour-sand’s running low, too…” I groaned. It wouldn’t be long till the enemies returned, I had to reckon. But without the soot-steel, I would remain but a pup in this pen of lions. I bit my teeth. More and more my impatience mounted. More and more I rued having no better way to seek out my sword than to rummage the ruin rock by rock. But I had scarce any time to contrive something better when echoes entered the air.
Voices they were. Voices from outside.
“Company…?”
I turned about. Time, it seemed, had run out. Enemies were conversing as they came. I hadn’t expected them this soon. And their chatter sounded thick, as though numbering many—more than I cared to imagine, even.
With all prompt, I pelted behind a pillar at the southern arcade, couched, and bated my breath. Mere seconds later, the vestibule doors swung open, and the boots and banter of many men filled the forlorn lectitōrium.
“…ome on, man. There ought be bugger all here to find. Those reconciling scum’ve long turn’d tail, I tell you!”
“And I tell you no stone’s to sit unturn’d!”
None, indeed. This lot had reasoned aright to return and search for stragglers. After all, I was here. As a rule, one would think little to scour a raided hole for its rabbits. Yet by chance may one or two return, to lie low whilst the hounds sniff stupidly elsewhere. Some of these men seemed enlightened to this. Enlightened and—much to my annoyance—all too eager to act on it.
“Aye, you heard ’im. Can’t well trust a net to catch all the fish, now can we?” said one of the men, who sounded then to begin scouring the lectitōrium. His fellows followed suit.
And ever as they did, I dared a peek from behind the pillar. Quiremen they were, numbering six, eight, ten—a dozen. Bloody abundant for a patrol; a case of two, three squads joining up, I’ll warrant. But if that wasn’t evil enough, no less than six amongst them scintillated in silks of silver. Certainly not the sort I’d like to joust with, steed- and lanceless as I was.
“You fancy we’re fine missing the mustering south-east, then?”
“Ah, that. Some chap from Team Two urged for it, as I’ve heard. Something about the sicarius coming thither to cause a scene.”
“A ‘scene’! Well, he was awful cocksure when ’e reported it, though looking like ’e’s had a rough night at the bawdy house!”
“Bloody bloke’s just pleased with himself after slipping away like he’d done. Oh, but ’magine the stink on his face, if the sicarius ends up no-showing!”
Well, well. It appeared that the man I’d interrogated really had done as I hoped: he’d flown and got his friends to start gathering at the south-east post. Still, such hopes were as good as dashed if these scoundrels had the wits and bodies to send back to the lectitōrium, and so soon, at that. Indeed, my foresight had failed. Blast it…
“Search the fallen. Some may be breathing yet, if we’re lucky.”
So did the men search and chatter on, coming nearer and nearer this arcade as they did so. Curses. This was ill. Though other rubble lay infinitely about, none stood so high that might conceal my burly body, not least from this many eyes. And even supposing otherwise, I could not leave this pillar without giving myself away—I was, put plain, a hare stuck in a lair.
“Weeping welkins… This really is a mess!” one of the men muttered nearby. I risked a peep at him, and found him to be searching under the wreckage rather nimbly. This is the way of it with soldiers. Booking bodies, scouring for loot—a soldier must know well how to clean up a battlefield as he does how to march. And the very best of them can pick a place clean in no time at all. And to judge by the efficiency of these fellows, they seemed quite the company of competents, troublingly enough. Well, I should very much like to be rid of them, but with two empty hands and a battered body, the odds seemed dead against me.
The man then got up. I shrank back behind the pillar. Many footfalls drew ever nearer. No good. Even as I frowned and fretted, the men had already got dangerously close whither I was. At this rate, I’d be spotted for certain.
My brows shivered. A cold sweat was upon them. But shaking my head, I put a palm upon my breast. Rapidly it beat, but steadily all the same—a sign of tensions peaking, but not of judgement impaired. Good. For like it or not, the curtains were opening, and I’d better be ready to act than to stand dumb.
Steeled and decided—
“…Hn!? O—y-you!!”
—I stepped out into the open—
“Oy! There! The big bloke! Black hair, black eyes!”
—and stood for all my enemies to see.
“Rolf Buckmann!”
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