“And what of Ellonlef?” Azuri said.
“What of her?”
Azuri’s gray eyes were hard as ancient ice. “You cast aside all caution, without a care for her feelings … or your own.”
“I am doing what I am doing because I am burdened to be the only man who can,” Kian answered darkly. “What’s more, I go for her sake, as well as yours, Hazad’s, and everyone else who Varis would conquer. I must abandon her feelings. To carry them would be a distraction I cannot afford to have when I face Varis.” Such, Kian admitted only to himself, was easier said than done. It pained him greatly to anger or worry Ellonlef.
Hazad dribbled the last of his jagdah in his upturned mouth, swiped his lips with the back of his hand. “If Varis cuts your heart out, or burns you alive, can I have your sword?”
Kian scowled in consternation, then burst out laughing. Hazad joined in, his braying guffaws echoing in the rocky, mountainous terrain rising all around them. Even Azuri laughed aloud. Ellonlef, a hundred paces on, wheeled in her saddle at the outburst, staring as if the three Izutarian mercenaries had lost their minds.
Perhaps we have, Kian thought when the hilarity passed, for even among Izutarians, laughing at death was ill-advised.
“Come,” Kian said, “the Chalice, at the least, awaits.”
As they rode by Ellonlef, Kian nodded to her as if nothing untoward had happened. Her lips thinned into a tight line, but she held her tongue-just, by the look of it.
Over the rest of the day talk was scant, and the air grew colder. The horses seemed restive, as if they sensed the end of their long journey, and the riders did not hold them back. Although he took no satisfaction in it, Kian’s estimation of Varis’s plan to let them come unmolested proved accurate. Not once over the last leg of the trek did they see a soldier of Aradan, nor anyone else, until the Chalice’s southern wall came into view, just as night was falling.
Only as they passed through the guarded gate did Kian notice anything that gave him pause. A beggar among the sea of desperate-looking people suddenly sat up straight, eyeing them with more than passing curiosity. A moment later, he lost the man amid the milling throngs. Unless he was wholly wrong, Varis would learn of his arrival within the hour. What would happen after that, Kian could not be sure. However, he was still certain Varis would wait for him. And after that … well, such was in the hands of the gods. For the time being, he concerned himself with the changes to the Chalice since last he had been there.
The Chalice was a place of warehouses and bawdyhouses, trulls and whoremongers. All great cities had their sordid districts, places where depravity was embraced, even encouraged. Nevertheless, a quick inspection of those huddled near the gate told Kian these people were not of the Chalice, but new arrivals. The weakest of these the Chalice would devour, and the strongest would forsake common decency and live, perhaps even thrive.
“Gods good and wise,” Azuri said, holding the back of his hand up to his nose. “This cesspit smells worse than I remember.”
Unperturbed by the reek, Hazad said, “I have never seen this many folk in the Chalice.”
“Doubtless people have come to hide behind whatever walls the king can offer,” Ellonlef said. “Better if they had stayed away.”
Kian agreed, offering strategic glares to any who came too close. He did not see covetousness in the many hollow stares focused on him and his companions, but rather a desperate hunger. He pitied them, but knew as well that such a hunger could prove deadly to him and his companions.
Before they had moved far into the Chalice, his hard looks began to lose their effectiveness. Eyes turned, mouths murmured, and hands stiff with cold reached, eager for anything to help them, freely given or not.
With no other choice, Kian used his boot to shove people back. As well, he loosened his sword, a visual incentive to warn off the starving horde around them. It worked for but a short time. More and more people were taking notice of the riders. Despite that Kian and the others looked as ragtag as anyone, they carried with them the unfortunate perception of wealth, for they rode horses laden with panniers.
Like a slow spreading fire, word passed from mouth to ear, telling that newcomers were amongst them, people who might be able to help. Farther back, the mutterings grew in volume, and the crowd started pushing forward. Demands quickly buried the pleas for aid. All at once the throngs surged, like an incoming tide, forcing those nearest Kian and the others even closer.
Feeling like a crumb of bread before a swarm of converging rats, Kian looked to Ellonlef. “We must go to your friend, now,” he said in a tight voice.
Ellonlef scanned the mob with a nervous eye and nodded.
Kian could have wished for more men to guard her, but he had what he had. “Hazad, Azuri, fall in behind Ellonlef. Watch her flanks and your own backsides. I will lead.” He did not have to explain that they should draw their swords, nor what they should do with them, if the crowds became dangerous.
“And what should I do,” Ellonlef demanded, “cower and snivel?”
“Draw your dagger,” Kian said gruffly. In the face of possible danger, a familiar grimness was falling over Kian, the blood in his veins cooling. There would be no mercy shown, no quarter given, should they fall under attack. He could forgive these wretches for thinking he had something to give when he did not, but he would not be their living sacrifice. “If one of them gets past Azuri or Hazad, kill them,” Kian said flatly. “Now ride!”
With that shout Kian wrenched his sword free and brandished it overhead, kicking his mount into a plunging trot. The others closed in behind him. With the sudden movement of the horses, and facing bared steel, the crowd had no choice but to throw themselves out of the way. Most were too slow to react, and the horses battered them aside. Angry shouts went up, and in moments people were teeming about like a swarm of angry wasps.
Kian paid those behind no regard, but focused keenly on those ahead. The people who had moved away from the gates and deeper into the Chalice, he understood, had begun to think about survival over safety. Although given no real choice, these folk had made the decision to turn their faces from light to darkness, no matter the cost. He did not fault them, for he, Hazad, and Azuri had done the same long ago, when they were but outland urchins fighting and stealing to survive the unforgiving streets of Marso. While he did not begrudge them, he was unwilling to bow to them. By their choice or not, they had come into a den of wolves, and so must learn the way of wolves.
Trailing shouts rapidly overtook the riders and passed them by. Heads turned at the cries and the sound of hooves pounding over the dirt street. As if of one mind, men and women in ragged garb closed ranks. Some stood unarmed, others bore cudgels or the odd spear or sword. Kian did not balk. With a roar, he kicked his horse into a full gallop. Hazad and Azuri voiced their fury, and he knew they were with him. A quick look told him Ellonlef was still safe, her features resolute.
As he looked back around a spear thrust at Kian’s face, and he viciously hacked off the rusted tip. Another man tried to snatch his stirrup, and he slammed the flat of his blade against the attacker’s skull, dropping him like a stone. If he could avoid dealing death, he would.
As the horses picked up speed, those blocking the way began to reconsider; those who thought too long, Kian rode down. Erstwhile assailants flew in screaming tangles of arms and legs.
And then they were through, the shouting crowds falling behind. They continued at a gallop, making hard turns and wild charges down streets and alleys, until the Chalice and its people began to look like Kian remembered it.