chapter 3

Alaric awoke. Something small and hard bounced off his shoulder. He sat up, still half asleep in a daze. He was convinced he had heard children giggling. But clearly they had scampered off as he regained consciousness. He usually hated his sleep being disturbed but now he was grateful for it. Being late to rise was a luxury he could ill afford.

The sun had almost crested the horizon. The morning dew had cleared and light began to pour through the gaps in the clouds. Years ago he would have thanked R’hlor for the privilege. Right now, he would happily settle for being freed from the wooden post he had been tied to. His buttocks were sore despite the straw beneath them. He could hear the horse in the stall adjacent. It was if it could also sense the coming danger.

“You and me both.” Alaric muttered.

The words caused him to wince as pain flared in his jaw. The blows he took the day before still fresh in his memory.

His confinement by the wall was likely to keep him away from the brotherhood. His little stunt with the flames had put the guards on edge, and the town along with them. He had warned them about what was coming, but it was not enough to gain their trust.

Despite the early hour the town was in full throe. Women and children were being shepherded toward the centre of town. Men were rushing this way and that, hauling barrels and crates and munitions up the wall. Builders were frantically reinforcing the main gate with whatever they could find. Alaric was left unguarded for the time being. Likely they had nobody to spare for the task.

Given the uneasiness with which they felt around him he doubted there were any volunteers.

In their haste the guards had bound him with rope. Close to the wall so that he could not get up to any mischief without being seen. Thankfully he was in the shade and everyone was too preoccupied to keep an eye on him. The knot was tight but the rope was not thick enough that it could not be cut. 

The attack was coming, his dreams last night served as a stiff reminder. He had no intention of dying tied on a leash like a dog. Besides he still felt he owed Hawke and the others their escape.

It did not take him long to find a stone with a sharp enough edge. He had even slept upon a few. With his back to the post and his arms behind him he began to saw in earnest. Stopping only when any of the guards walked by. They did not look his way for fear of being cursed. They would cease talking and quicken their step. Some would even make quick signs of divine protection.

“Superstitious fools.” Alaric muttered to the solitary destrier.

“If I was really a demon would I allow myself to be bunked down next to horse dung? No offence.” He finished his thought out loud.

The horse snorted in response, but this may have been directed at the flies that were starting to gather. A few moments later and he felt the knot start to give. He became unconcerned with the guards. All of his attention was kept solely on the task at hand. He ignored the strain in his neck and the burning in his wrists. Both of the latter he wriggled in earnest, feeling them begin to come unbound. Then a voice stopped him in his tracks.

“And where are you intending to go fire man?”

Alaric dropped the stone in his hand and looked up. Before him stood a man, his skin was darker than most in the town, but not so dark as to be mistaken for a Summer Islander. He was tall, Alaric could tell that much from where he sat perched. The bemused look on the newcomer’s face did little to ease Alaric’s nerves. After all it was hard to ignore the spear tip pressed into his chest.

“To rescue my friends.” Alaric stated bluntly, abandoning his guile for honesty.

“And go where? We are all prisoners now.” The man before him was just as plain speaking.

His words were measured and the accent thick, even more so than the rest of the sellswords. Alaric paused before answering. It was true, whether bound or not they were all trapped within these walls. He used that point to his advantage as he pled his case. The man before him seemed to concur. His heart started to quicken. Perhaps he could get free after all. But any hope of this quickly faded.

“Or I could just kill you here... People here have a mistrust of things that do not burn.” The man before him spoke as if weighing up the choice.

Alaric was sure he remembered seeing this particular mercenary before. He seemed different from the rest. And not just in the colour of his skin. He was solitarily by nature as if loneliness suited him better. The others respected him, that much was evident. But it seemed to Alaric that there was also an underlay of fear. They would give way if he walked among them, bowing in their heads in deference more than greeting.

The ease with which he held the spear at Alaric’s chest gave him inkling as to the reason why.

There was something else but Alaric did not know what exactly. He recalled seeing him from time to time with a woman in the dying hours of the evening. They would tenderly hold each other and seemed content merely to talk and stroke the other gently. The others he caught coupling tended to be more carnal. They would claw at each other and the climax would come before Alaric could sneak away.

 More than one he stumbled upon in dark corners were absent any partners. These encounters were particularly awkward. Alaric would spurt out an apology before hurrying on. A name came to him then.

“It’s Talon isn’t it?” The former acolyte guessed in desperation.

When the man before him declined to make correction Alaric continued.

“I came here looking for a man to remove the curse placed upon me. But I fear he and I shall never cross paths. All I know for certain is that the gates must not be opened until the flayed wolf leaves.”

Alaric paused then. His eyes were locked with his would be executioner. If these were to be his last words then he was going to make sure they were believed.

“If I can help prevent it I will. If you doubt me in this then strike me clean through. My skin does not burn but it can be pierced as easily as any other man here.” Alaric vowed.

He lowered his head, expecting the cold steel to thrust through his breast. He just hoped it was clean and quick. At the very least his ordeal would be over. When no strike came he looked back up, a little surprised. This time it was Talon that spoke.

 “Very well. You can accompany me. But do not leave my sight.” His captor warned as he lifted his spear.

Alaric could have cried from relief, but did not want to give his new saviour and warden reason to regret his decision. Instead he sprang up as best as he could. Talon had barely taken two steps before warning him once more.

“Try to keep a low profile. I do not want the others distracted by your presence.”

Alaric nodded as he tried to keep up with the taller man.

“In fact, is probably best you do not speak at all, if possible.” Talon instructed as they climbed the narrow stone stairwell.

Alaric was about to respond, before stopping himself. It was better to demonstrate his compliance than to declare it in this case.

“Can you c**k a crossbow?” Talon asked him as they reached the top and stepped upon the rampart.

Breathless from the swift climb, Alaric tried to answer.

‘”I think so.” He replied between pants.

Alaric looked about him and saw a score of men readying themselves. Some were strapping their helms into place. Others were testing the tension of their bows. One appeared to be praying but Alaric could not recognise the signs he was making. The new conscript realised that he and Talon were among the last to make it to the battlements.

“I suggest you learn, and quickly.” Talon advised as he too donned his helm.

The leather was worn from years of use but appeared to fit his head perfectly. Not a speck of rust could be seen on the iron rim, though it sported more than a few nicks and dents. Alaric moved to pick up a spare crossbow perched against the rampart. As he went to draw back the string he noticed his hand was shaking.

Try as he might he could not make it stop.