Kian rejoined his companions, fury boiling in his chest. “Go!” he ordered, torn anew by the idea that he might well soon give his blood for people who deserved a life of chains and servitude. And if not for the little girl who had escaped, he might have changed his mind on the instant, and departed Ammathor and made for Izutar. But the girl, while he could not foresee her future, she at least deserved a chance at a better life, deserved to make the choices that would ruin her or bring her out of the sewers of the Chalice. Like her, and as he and Azuri and Hazad had been as children, there were countless others who were merely trying to survive in a merciless world. Varis would offer no choices, save to worship him or to perish.
The snow was falling faster and now lay ankle-deep. Above the dilapidated rooftops, wind-driven blazes tinted low, scudding clouds a baleful orange. Roiling smoke stung eyes and tightened throats. As they crossed one street, Kian saw the first soldiers under Prince Sharaal ride forth in a precise rank and file formation, their scarlet uniforms and flapping Crimson Scorpion banners making it seem as if they were on parade. Some bore lances, others swords, and still others rode with bows at the ready. They paid no heed to the swirling insanity, only rode north, pushing their adversaries under Varis’s command hard toward their ultimate objective-their master’s usurped throne. Before they reached their destination, Kian knew, they would fully meet Varis’s men and do battle. And such a battle, that of brothers-in-arms fighting each other under the command of a warring father and son, would leave a bitter regret in their ranks that would last a generation, no matter who triumphed.
Kian pushed that aside. His intent was to reach and destroy Varis, for the greater good of all men. Despite himself, he nearly laughed at that. He was a survivor, a man of battle and steel, a man of honor and duty even, but he was no hero as told of in a stories. He went because he must … for he was the only man on the face of the world who could.
After running from shadow to shadow for what felt like hours, Hya ordered them into the lightless throat of an alley that ran at a right angle to the storm’s ferocity, giving them a measure of relief from the stinging white gale. The others peered at her with concern, as she collapsed against a wall.
“Are you well?” Hazad asked. “Should I carry you?”
“I am well enough,” Hya gasped. “Just old and tired. As to toting me about like a sack of potatoes, there is no need. We are nearly there.”
“Down!” Ellonlef cried.
Kian threw himself flat just as a hail of arrows clattered against the wall where Hya had been standing a moment before. If not for the screen of swirling snow, the archers would have pinned them all. Gleefully calling out, as if murder was but a pleasurable game, the attackers galloped off into the night.
“By Memokk’s stones!” Hazad hissed, as he jerked his head out of a deep snowdrift. Frozen stiff, his beard braids poked out at all angles, like crusty white adders.
Kian scrambled to his feet with an enraged grunt, squinted into the storm as more riders charged past the mouth of the alley. The riders loosed flaming arrows at windowed shops along the street. Where flame kissed wood, infernos followed, eating quickly and hungrily. Soon, the whole of the Chalice would become a pyre.
“If we do not reach these friends of your soon,” Azuri said flatly, “they will be roasted alive before we can use their services.”
With a look of weary sadness in her eyes at the spreading pandemonium, Hya nodded. “Cross the street before us. Keep on as straight as possible, until I say otherwise.”
They continued, now matching their pace to the old woman’s. After many more twists and turns through the warren of streets and alleys, the worst of the fires and bloodletting fell behind, and they came to the northern edge of the district. Around them, massive mud-brick storehouses sprouted like fortresses. It was the only place where the lives of people from Ammathor and the Chalice overlapped. Here, bands of criminals propped themselves up as merchants, and kept their strongholds amid the common wares of the realm.
Hya continued to direct their course but she was flagging, growing confused, and more often than not led them down alleys that ended at brick walls. After taking a long, deliberate moment to get her bearings, Hya eventually led them to the mouth of yet another alley, this one cluttered with all manner of crates, pallets, and wine casks. To Kian, it looked like any of the other places she had led them, and his heart began to sink.
Unperturbed by the skeptical faces surrounding her, Hya nodded in satisfaction as she peered at the broad doors end of the alley. After a moment of contemplation, she advised, “If things go wrong, do not hesitate to kill every last one of these wretched fools.”
“I thought they were your trusted friends?” Hazad blurted.
“This night, I have seen the true manner of friends in the Chalice. We can trust no one. Besides, I never said that I trusted them, least of all the man I seek.”
Chapter 47
The sound of approaching riders grew loud too quickly. Kian and the others sprinted down the alley as far as they dared, then threw themselves behind any available cover. Kian ended up sheltering at the back a wobbly pyramid of casks. Through a gap he saw a passing rider-one of the House Guard, by his green and gold cloak, and presumably a lead scout-glance down the alley, then abruptly jerk on the reins, his horse skidding to a halt. Leaning over, the warrior stared at the ground. The storm had provided cover before, but now marked out Kian and the others by the fresh tracks left in their wake.
For a heartbeat it seemed that the guardsman would ride on, but then those trailing behind him, along with their leader, came into view and drew rein. There was a long moment of conversation, then all eyes turned to study the alley. All wore the green and gold cloaks of the House Guard, marking them as Varis’s men.
The leader, a master of spears by the triple-knotted scarlet cord of rank on his shoulder, kicked his mount past the scout. Sword already in hand, he raised it up. “Show yourselves!”
Kian gritted his teeth in frustration. There was simply no time for this nonsense. He tensed, then stood in one smooth motion, his own sword bared and ready. Borrowed though it was, and dull besides, it felt good in his hand. “I am the one you seek, though it would be best if you moved on, and told the demon-spawned fool you call king that you could not find me.”
“Such is not my desire,” the master of spears said. By the glint in his eyes, he had given himself over to Varis’s rule heart, body, and soul. Without question, Varis had promised much to those who remained loyal.
With a shrug, Kian thumbed the edge of his sword; it was sharper than it looked. “Come for me then, and learn the bitterness of your own death sooner than you might have otherwise.” The man’s glare shone with hatred. “Take him alive for the sport of King Varis!”
At once, a handful of guardsmen surged forward, not one with a look in his eye that suggested they had any intention of following their leader’s command to keep Kian alive. As Kian settled into a guarded stance, ready to cleave spirit from flesh of the first fool to attack, a clamor went up behind him. Ellonlef screamed, and before Kian could look about, rough hands caught his shoulders and hauled him backward. Both Hazad and Azuri spewed curses. Hya said nothing. Kian struggled in vain, heels dragging through the snow. He only ceased when the pair of heavy doors slammed shut on the night, barring the storm and Varis’s henchmen from sight.