Meek - Chapter 82: What We Have In Common

The first night that Eli escaped from the dungeon, he’d made sure to only make his presence felt as far as possible from the center of the Keep. The second night, too. And sure enough, the Rockbridge commanders soon transferred their troops to guard the perimeter. They covered the periphery of the grounds so effectively that he couldn’t have snuck through if he’d tried.

Not that he did.

Once the guards had been redeployed from their interior positions, Eli had a clear path to the Keep vault. Well, clear-ish. Still, with seven sparks keeping watch, avoiding notice was simple. And breaking into the vault was as easy as breaking out of his cell, once he’d learned how to solidify a spark inside a keyhole, to turn the tumblers.

The gold bars were heavier than Eli had expected, though. Forty pounds each, more or less. Still, he was stronger than he’d ever been.

He’d spent an hour creeping through empty corridors and dropping the gold bars from a window, to land in the muddy patch of ground that Lara had prepared. She’d arrived in Rockbridge before him. She’d left Leotide City earlier, then he’d snapped the wheels of his prison cart to buy her more time. The first night he’d escaped the dungeon, he’d woken her with a spark, and she’d whispered instructions about where to leave the gold bars. He didn’t know how she’d handle them after that, but he trusted her resourcefulness.

His next step had been creating a big enough diversion that nobody in Rockbridge would even think about checking the vault until long after Lara was safely away. Why bother counting the gold when there was a madman on the loose? And certainly, there’d be no reason to search the carts leaving through the main gate when the danger was still inside them.

That’s why he’d come. Well, that and revenge. He’d wanted to kill Treli Trestan, the blue-eyed torturer, and to take even more from Rockbridge.

Well, and to protect Brazinka from blowback. That’s why he’d told Lady Pym that he was working against Rockbridge and Brazinka, so she’d think Brazinka was his enemy. And that’s why he’d pretended to try to kill Pym. So she’d believe he was telling the truth.

He didn’t mind knocking her around a little, either. Every time he remembered her prancing on her horse while a wagonload of prisoners were being dragged to their death, he had to take a moment to rein himself in. Still, he needed her alive. That way, when Brazinka sent the gold to the throne, Pym would think that Eli was working on a clever frame-up, instead of just … helping Brazinka send money to the throne.

He didn’t know if Brazinka’s confidence was justified, if the throne would simply take the money and not care how she got it, as long as it was ostensibly legal. She’d know better’n Eli, though, and right then he had other things on his mind.

Such as following Pym from the Keep dungeon to find four guards running toward him, two with spears, two with swords. And others on the wall, taking aim with longbows and crossbows.

He thrust one spark against the stone doorway to his left while another pressed downward, taking most of his weight. Together, the two shoved him sideways at an impossibly sharp angle.

The guards in the rear adjusted fast, but the closer ones didn’t have time. He slashed one in the leg with his borrowed sword and punched the other in the chest with a spark. Two arrows flashed through the space where he’d been but a third flew at his chest.

He snapped that arrow in mid-air with a spark and smacked the third guard’s spear away and stepped inside his range while another spark rammed the fourth guard’s ankle.

That guard dropped and Eli elbowed the third guard in the face and grabbed her spear and turned and threw it at the archers.

He missed by about twenty feet.

Well, halo.

More arrows flew so he fled along a tree-lined path, using the greenery and sparks to block their shots. Soldiers shouted, a horn blared. Eli pulled himself into a tree with two sparks, landing lightly on the lower branches–he knew these trees, he’d traveled through them every night he’d escaped. Like a proper dryn.

Arrows pierced the leaves behind him as he sped through the branches, moving closer to the Keep building. When he was five yards away, he snagged a stone window sill on the third floor and pulled himself from the trees. He landed on a ledge separating the first and second floors. Barely the width of his foot, but with his sparks aiding his balance he could run flat out.

He did.

More shouts sounded as he rounded the corner and spotted Lady Pym on the ground below him. Maybe thirty feet away, surrounded by her personal guard.

They hadn’t seen him yet so he switched his hold on his sword. He held the crossgrip in one hand and threw the blade at her. Fishhook could actually throw a sword straight and hard for eight or ten yards. Eli couldn’t, but his sword still looked pretty fearsome flashing down at her.

He thought he might actually bang Pym up a little but one of the guards must’ve caught motion from the corner of his eye, and slashed the blade from the air.

Eli was already leaping down from the wall. He landed lightly and was running toward the stables before they realized what had happened. Once they did, though, another horn sounded and his trailing spark showed the guards desperately chasing Lady Pym as she chased Eli.

They were yelling at her to let them cover her, but she refused to slow.

Well, she didn’t lack for courage.

A guard approached Eli from the front, spinning his halberd in an impressive display of martial prowess. Eli smacked him in the groin with a spark then leaped a trough with the help of another spark, and landed in the stables area.

Two big men who looked like dockworkers or haulers stepped forward to stop Eli. He punched sparks into the back of their knees. They crumpled and he zigzagged through the area where the tradefolk had been quartered. He whipped sparks around himself in circles. Tents and dishes, drying clothes and makeshift furniture flew as he ran, like dust behind a horse galloping across a dry field.

The delivery drivers and servants scattered. Some started running for the exit. Good. He’d gotten them into motion.

He didn’t see Lara and he didn’t look for her–he sprinted from the tents and across a rose garden. Nobody spotted him so he kept going, circling the Keep until finally a soldier shouted, “There! There!”

An arrow followed a moment later, so he dove behind a bush. When a spark showed him a unit of soldiers in pursuit, he took off again, batting arrows from the air.

One caught him in the arm as Pym and her guards appeared in front of him. He pulled the arrow out and leaped inhumanly far forward, carried by sparks. He landed on his knees on the captain of the guard’s chest, and drove him the ground and shoved the arrow through the shoulder joint of his armor.

The captain managed to club him with his good arm, but Eli just rolled with the blow, dodging Pym’s sword and taking the arrow with him.

He blocked another blade with two sparks and punched a guard in the stomach with a third, then he spun in a sharp circle and grabbed Pym from behind, the arrow to her throat.

“Hold!” the captain roared. “Hold!”

The arrows stopped and the guards froze.

“Kill him,” Pym gasped, holding her sword down at her side.

“They’re trying,” Eli told her. “Have a little patience.”

Her brother Ty screamed threats, then pleas, then more threats.

Eli ignored him and dragged Pyn backward, away from the Keep. His plan was, Get to the edge of the plateau and let them see him jump off. Lower himself with his sparks. They’d follow, which would give Lara more time to leave the Keep with the rest of the tradespeople, who were desperate to flee from the madness.

Except he’d taken Pym hostage on a whim, and now he needed an excuse to not kill her. So instead of pushing fast for the cliffside, he veered toward the Keep blacksmith. Dragging Pym backward, his sparks ready to intercept arrows–with one spark scouting behind him, though the half-opened door of the smithy.

And that one showed him the blacksmith waited inside, ready to swing a hammer at him when he stepped through the doorway.

“If you hit me, smith,” he said, “the arrow goes in her throat. Get away or I’ll break your elbow.”

After a moment, the unseen smith said, “M’lady?”

“Go,” Pym snapped.

After the smith stomped away, Eli pulled Pym inside, watching all sides of the building with his sparks. He saw a lot of guards. Too many guards. If he waited too long, they’d overwhelm him once he released Pym. Still, they couldn’t do anything while he held her. Not even Lord Ty, who was red-faced and furious, and almost weeping in fear.

Eli kicked the door closed and thought for a moment. He needed to give them a chance to back him off, to ‘make’ him flee, so it looked like he couldn’t kill Pym. But he couldn’t make it too obvious. So he’d wait for the opportunity and then–

“What kind of mage are you?” Pym asked, in a surprisingly steady voice.

“Lost,” he told her.

“Oh. So you won’t live much longer.”

“We have that much in common.”

She took a less-steady breath. “My brother will make a fine Marquis.”

“I don’t know, my lady. He’s got a temper. He won’t rest till he gets revenge for this.”

“Which is exactly what you want?”

He released her roughly. “Your father was cruel.”

“He was strong,” she said, lifting her sword.

She didn’t attack him, though. She sheathed the sword. Brave and smart.

The guards fanned out in front of the smithy, then more moved into position, surrounding him. What he needed to do was to break out, holding Pym at arrow-point. ‘Try’ to kill her. Fail, and escape off the plateau.

Not yet, though. The longer he kept attention on himself, the better for Lara.

He turned his back to Pym and filled his cupped hands with quench water near the forge, and drank. She watched him, taut as a bowstring. Then he splashed his face, and she finally took the swing. She’d been well-trained, too: she drew her sword and slashed with the swift assurance of long practice.

He caught the blade with one spark and the hilt with another. He squeezed two more at her wrist, and disarmed her.

The sword clattered across the ground, and for the first time he saw fear in her eyes.

“Powerlessness is a terrible thing,” he told her, wiping water from his face. “Being at someone’s mercy. You never forget that feeling.”

There was a hitch in her breath for a moment, then she forced herself calm. She closed her eyes, then opened them and gestured to the sword on the ground. “May I?”

“Sure.”

“Because you want me to know that you’re not afraid of me.”

He smiled, but kept his eyes cold. “If you attack me, it makes killing you easier.”

“You need me alive to get away.”

“Alive, but not necessarily unhurt.” He gestured at the window. “One of your crossbowmen thinks he has a shot at my head.”

“Don’t shoot!” she yelled. “Stand down!”

Her brother bellowed at the crossbowers in impotent anger, and they lowered their bows a few inches. The physician mage Quiricas healed the captain of the guard while he spoke with his lieutenants. Eli drank more water and leaned against a table. Pym stood closer to the door, clenching and unclenching her right fist, and watching him from the corner of her eye.

“Where are your mages?” he asked.

“Recovering from you, I’d imagine. Quiricas doesn’t rush head injuries.”

He didn’t trust her, even though it sounded plausible. The mages were the only people who scared him. So he kept a careful watch as the last of the tradesfolk left the front gate, and the last of the moons rose above the horizon and–

A mage-shield shimmered into place between him and Pym.

A metal marble popped into existence ten feet away, already firing at him.