The legionnaires stared around in wonder, then tensed as a young gnome in studded leather bounded at them beaming a wide smile in the depths of his russet beard, shaking a bone scroll case in either hand.
“Welcome to Blackstone, gentle Codians!” he sang in that tongue, taking note of the legionnaires’ armor if not of the state they were in. “Might I interest you in a map? Each is replicated in the minutest detail from the works of Ganhadarik Strong Axe, dwarven adventurer, who at the Fourth Opening brought enough wealth out of the Sable City to live the rest of his long years as a Laird of his people! Find the way to the fabulous noble district! Learn which streets lead to opportunity, and which lead to ruin! Do not wander the streets of Blackstone, friends, but travel them forearmed with perfect knowledge. Save time, and even your lives!”
The Sarge glared at the capering figure. “Get out of the way,” he growled through clenched teeth, but the gnome only went on.
“Buy now, for as men return this way bearing riches the price of everything will only rise!”
“I told you to shove off,” the Sarge spat, taking a step forward and bringing his uninjured hand to the hilt of the sword on his hip.
The wide smile evaporated from the gnome’s face and he snapped his fingers. Phin heard the hiss of a burning match from a nearby portico, and he turned to see four men and two more gnomes training crossbows and muskets in his direction. The short musketeers held smoking fuses close to their flash pans.
“There is no call to be rude,” the first gnome sniffed, opening his coat to replace the scroll cases in already stuffed pockets. “Save your strength for the beasties.”
The gnome strolled back to his fellows, who slowly lowered their aim and blew out their fuses. Phin and the legionnaires only stared at them until Rickard mumbled thickly to the Sarge.
“What are we doing, boss?”
The Sarge looked around the plaza and Phin did the same. The great black structures were all reminiscent of the Tower on Again Island, the First Fort, and the other ancient Ettacean works that survived in Souterm. Looking at the tall buildings drew Phin’s eyes up to the sky, and gave him a shiver. The light on the streets was similar to evening rather than the mid-morning Phin had left outside the city, but it had nothing to do with the height of the sun. Rather, the gray mist formed a vast dome overreaching the city, yet not one so tall that it looked like a cloudy sky. Instead, the very tops of the tallest towers extended up into it and remained obscured. The sun high to the east was only a pale disk which Phin could look at directly without blinking.
“This way,” the Sarge growled as he led the way toward the nearest building with Rickard now deathly pale and leaning on him heavily. A man in full armor stood in the doorway with a drawn sword, and the Sarge veered into a narrow alley next to the place. He told Ty to put the woman down and Phin caught her shoulders so she was not dropped roughly to the stone ground.
“You two wait here with the Duchess,” the Sarge said to Ty and Phin. “There’s a fresh-painted shield sign above that door across the way. If it’s Shanatarians in there they’ll be running a hospital and giving free healing.”
The Sarge braced up Rickard, whose eyes were now fluttering, and started away. Rickard’s feet dragged as he could scarcely raise them.
“We should heal her as well,” Phin called after them, for the Duchess had now been unconscious for several hours and her color seemed bad as Phin looked at her slack face. Though given the quality of light filtering down to the streets, everyone in Vod’Adia had an unhealthy pallor.
Ty had another suggestion what they should do with the woman, and Phin met his eyes with a hard glare.
“There will not be any of that,” Phin said in a whisper, surprising himself as despite his state of mind his voice took on all the menace and contempt befitting a Circle Wizard. Ty blinked, drew back from Phin, and it was a moment before the legionnaire remembered to look fierce.
“Phoarty,” the Sarge said from where he had stopped to look back. The sergeant did not need to put on a fierce face as his carried that look at all times. When he smiled he only looked more dangerous. He was keeping Rickard on his feet by the belt with his one good hand.
“We won’t touch the woman, if it means that much to you. But make no mistake. She is going to the Priests of Ayon. Do not get attached.”
“Why take her there?” Phin decided to ask.
“Because that is how we salvage a payday out of this damned mess. Beyond that, I could give a rat’s ass.”
The Sarge turned and dragged Rickard across the plaza. Phin looked after them with a slight frown, for even with the strange light in this place the Sarge’s eyes had looked gray rather than bright green.
*
The Shanatarians across the plaza proved to be a band of Ostrananyans rather than from a Codian church. They healed the Sarge and Rickard without asking any questions as to why the pair were armored as Codian soldiers. The pair rejoined Phin, Ty, and the Duchess after the Sarge gave up all the coins the legionnaires had left to the nearby merchants for a few days of food and water.
Phin had used the time to dampen a handkerchief with a little of the water he already had in a skin. He wiped off the blood caked under the Duchess’s nose, which like her left cheek was badly bruised but not actually broken. She had a large swollen goose egg on the back of her head in her thick hair, but it had not bled.
“Hard-headed little Duchess,” Phin murmured. Ty glared at him.
The Sarge and Rickard returned healthy but with the Sarge’s left hand still short by two fingers. What had formerly been his middle finger now had a deep scar at its base that looked old, though it was fresh. A fraction of an inch more and the Sarge would have lost it as well to the Centurion’s blade.
Phin suspected that the fact the legionnaires had been driven away from the burning inn while Centurion Deskata was still alive was the reason they left the area of Vod’Adia’s entrance with all possible dispatch. The Sarge led the way with the tower shield, gripping the straps with what remained of his left hand. Ty carried the Duchess after binding her limp hands with a cord from a water-skin, and Rickard and Phin split the provisions. There were not enough of them to be much bother.
Phin asked where they were going and the Sarge told him to shut the hell up. The four men spent the next several hours moving in silence, walking down the middle of dark streets and heading generally south, though the irregular angles of many city blocks forced their course away from true. Initially everyone kept a wary eye on the vacant buildings to either side, the doors of which seemed all to have been bashed in at an earlier Opening. Only once did they see any movement and that was from a party of adventurers, spearmen and archers, moving in formation a couple of blocks over. Phin was beginning to believe the tales he’d heard of a city stuffed full of fearsome creatures had been greatly exaggerated, and the legionnaires eventually picked up their pace from a careful creep to something like a march.
Sometime after noon the Sarge called a halt for a short rest and to get his bearings. Ty lowered the Duchess across a stone step halfway up to the landing of a building and sat down heavily beside her. The Sarge stood in the next intersection gazing grimly down the five streets that met there, while Rickard rolled up his own tattered trouser leg and looked with interest at the mess of scar tissue where his wound had been that morning. Phin again knelt by the Duchess and looked with concern at her slack, yet still fine, features.
“She should be conscious by now,” Phin said.
“Wake her ass up then,” Ty growled. “She can carry herself the rest of the way.”
Phin reached around the side of the Duchess’s face and gently slid his fingers into her tousled brown hair, which in spite of everything felt rich and clean. He eased the tips of his pale fingers to the bump on the back of her head, wondering if it might be possible to actually feel a skull fracture. The moment one long finger brushed the goose egg, the Duchess’s steel-grey eyes flashed open.