Vol.6, Ch.3, P.6
“…Nothing here, either…!”
“…Bloody…! Where the devil’s he got to…!?”
So filled the air the barkings of my frustrated foes. The chase had snaked its way to a small, nearby college, betwixt some buildings whereof I now couched and watched things unfold, having eluded the sight of my pursuers some while ago. I could’ve long put this race behind me, but I’d thought better of it. Though risky, I needed to stick close and assess the movements of these men.
“…No good, man…! The trail’s gone all cold…!” echoed one of their number nearby. His fellows far off, met with no better luck, were also quick to quit.
“…Bugger… Right, we’re headed back… You, report to command…!”
“…Aye…!”
Growls and footfalls then faded into the distance. Count that a wild-goose chase won. It was rather smart of them to forfeit, I’ll concede. Priorities more pressing lay elsewhere, and they knew it.
That tiff back at the lectitōrium… It was when I’d made my escape that they’d realised my words and manners to have all been a mere bluff—that despite my comrades having long quitted it, I’d returned to the lectitōrium for one very good reason: to seek after the blade the bombing had bereft me of.
The spellbreaker; the brightless brand—by now was the soot-steel’s quality known amongst my enemies. Without question, then, would they assay to find and confiscate it. They wouldn’t be able to touch it as I could, of course. But if the aim were to transport it, well, then that’s another story. Indeed, my one and only means of resistance, of waging this war, was at this very moment falling into the enemy’s hands.
But that’s fine enough. Nay—“fine” is a foul word for it, maybe. No, rather: this was for the best. For with my own eyes had I seen and understood it; that, given time so limited, never could I alone have found my sword amongst so immense a mess. But not so for the enemy. They had got men, means, and much time to spare. Yes; let them find it for me, why not?
And they ought get to it at the soonest; by day’s end at the very latest, I reckoned. Even should they have this blasted incident dealt and done with, not for so long could they keep Merkulov all clammed up, no. And that was the key to my brewing scheme: they would scramble to find it—and I would steal it back. A windy tightrope to walk, no doubt about it; but hiding and huddling as I was would only worsen things on. So yes, if it would win me back my blade in the end, then this was for the best, though very bad it might be.
“Well, tightroping has become rather a forte of mine…” I said to myself as I got out of the ginnel and began on my way.
“Forte” is right. It’s little to boast about, but by then, I’d faced more than my fair share of brushes with Death. In fact, before ever I met the soot-steel, tightropes and thin ice were all I knew, thinking on it now. Whether at the Erbelde or the mines of Godrika, I’d won through by the skin of my teeth, and without so much as a wisp of odyl wielded, at that. This dangerous day, then, ought prove little different of a challenge. I could get through this. I could.
“Over water, under mountain…” reminisced I along my stealthy way. Not the best of times to muse upon old memories, I’ll grant, but that’s just the thing about battlefields, isn’t it? In straining and striving to survive hell on earth, sentimentality’s really all that keeps the heart from coldening hard. A desperate defence of the cornered conscience, perhaps, but that’s the reality. “…Would that looking back could balm this blasted flank of mine,” I grumbled. But bearing the piercing pain, I looked whither my next objective lay: an outdoor colonnade of a walkway, running long across this east end of Merkulov.
I recalled next the cottage, after I’d interrogated that “sword of Central” and recovered my overcoat. There when I’d hid myself, I’d not merely watched these conspirators scramble and collect at their south-east post. No: I’d also noted closely the paths they’d taken. And in so doing, I’d found from afar that ever would several groups of them take this particular colonnade. In other words, it saw regular traffick—perfect for stalking and pouncing some passerby conspirators to… “politely” enquire them as to whither they intended to take my weapon.
And carefully coming up to the colonnade, I discovered it to be rather opulent. From college to college it ran, sporting repeating pillars that held up a high and long-going roof; a gracious amenity for commuting on a rainy day, no doubt. And after ascertaining the coast to be clear, I climbed a column and up to the joists under the rafters.
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Upon a timber beam I balanced, biding my time. Presently, some enemy men came this way underneath. Two was their count, and maces were their weapons. But to judge by their gait and gear, it was clear that they were a cut above the rest I’d crossed. Salvator veterans they were, perhaps—making this a hard “pass”.
I let them march on untroubled and unaware. But a while thereafter, some more men appeared, passing hither below. These rather seemed softer targets… only, they numbered four. Another hard pass. Leaving them alone, I waited a little longer.
Ambush, of course, was the idea here. Have one wander nigh, and spring upon him from above. But wounded and weaponless as I was, I had to be picky with my prey. And speaking of wounds, mine stung and stabbed incessantly as I sat bent beneath the rafters like some old, grumpy spider. Add to that the life-or-death anxiety of it all, and I was a sweaty and unhappy stalker. Yet all I could do was to wipe away the wetness, lest too many drip onto the pavement below and leave a most suspicious mark. Nay, that wouldn’t do at all. And so I sat on whilst weathering both pain and impatience. And then, it all paid off with a newly approaching pair.
They seemed not so strong, these Quiremen; at the very least, not seasoned and swift enough to deploy a paling against an ambush. Were they so capable, then it’s me who would be checkmated. But nay; this, I could work with.
Closer and closer they came. And keenly and more keenly still I stared upon them. And right when they began to pass by below, I leapt.
“Gungh!?” one of them groaned, as my elbow drave into the knob of his nape. Fainting fast, he fell to the floor, whilst his friend gaped wide at both mouth and eye. But wasting no time, I lunged right as I landed, grabbed the second man, and sent upon his neck a knife-sharp shard of broken glass. Gaudily it gleamed, for it was, in fact, of the stained sort—stolen from the lectitōrium during my daring flight.
But I was not so merciful as to stop at “sending” it at him. The glass’s gleam dimmed as dark blood seeped over its crude blade, for it’d eaten into the man’s neck. Not deeply, mind—
“Ah aahh!!”
—but enough to earn from him a hoarse cry. Immediately, I muffled his mouth. And hearing his mace fumble and fall from his fingers, and seeing also his face whiten with terror, I brought mine most uncomfortably close and drilled a dread glower into his wilting gaze.
“I’ll ask you this once, and only once,” I said, stern and low. Being also in a pinch myself, my visage must’ve seemed grim and ghastly enough already. Indeed, as a rule, I very seldom thought any thankfully about my imposing appearance; but here, both affrighting face and form were working well in my favour.
The man nodded and squealed in consent. His knees were visibly trembling. And so very slowly, I released his mouth, before swiftly snatching his collar.
And then, clear and cold that his ears might not mistake me, I said, “Where in these parts have you lot most fortified yourselves?”
“F-fortif-fy’d…?” stammered the man confusedly.
The soot-steel, being a spoil most prized to the enemy, would doubtless be sent into safe storage. Nay, not just any mean storage sitting sleepily around here, but deep within a position fortified to the utmost. And to get my answer as to where that was, I strained the cold shard against the man’s neck. Dark redness oozed more readily.
Not yet had the glass-knife gained an artery. Yet deeply enough had it delved so as to move the man with the fear of death. But to hammer the point home, I dabbed a free finger in the flowing red and presented it right to his eyes. Instantly, he gasped.
“Come, now. Answer!—before you bleed dry,” I hissed to unman the man all the more. There was no other choice; give him a second’s composure, and he might turn the tables with that odyl of his. Besides, we were out in the open, and in a well-trodden area, no less. Any moment, and more enemies might come untimely by. Indeed, neither of us had got any time to talk much longer. But to mask my impatience, I frowned furiously into the fellow.
“Nothing? Fine, then,” I growled. “Another rat to the rot-pile it is.”
“S-s-s… s-studitōrium!” the man cried unsteadily.
One might sooner think me the rat in this case, fugitive and forlorn as I was. And frankly up till the man answered, I would’ve agreed. But nay, it was just the opposite, for tears now started in the man’s eyes as he continued yipping:
“The studitōrium! Th-that’s where we’ve set up command! I-i-it’s well-protected! Secure! Tight as a—”
“Good night.”
—Fump!
Fist fired unto his liver, the man lurched and fainted.
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