By the time Feral and his friends crested the final hill that brought them into sight of Farview, dusk was settling upon the town. The setting sun shone red upon the ocean, the dark shoreline softened by a hazy mist, the town smudged into pastel grey shapes by the distance.
“Are you sure this is such a good idea?” Feral asked, not for the first time. “Just walking in like this?”
Blue stopped, turning to regard him with a raised eyebrow. “Well ‘ow else do you want to get there, mate? Fly?”
“No, I mean, I just...”
“Look, we’re not the only people gonna be on this road. See down there,” the sciurel gestured towards the dark fields, where several flickers of light were moving towards the roadway. “There’s plenty of ‘em been working until sunset, we’re no different from any of them lot, right?”
“But...” Feral paused. He caught Balthor’s eye as the lupari raised his eyebrows in a shrug. “No, I guess not,” he shook his head. Sighing, his gaze wandered to the darkening hillsides that overlooked the town, scanning the dark grasses and trees, and completely unaware that that very morning, Cassanya had been looking down from one of them to where he now stood.
Cassanya’s first impression of the morning had been Tallow shaking her, and announcing that the eggs were ready.
“Eggs?” the leonin mumbled sleepily.
“The ones I bought at that little village yesterday,” Tallow elaborated. “Come on, Cass, up you get.”
And so she had, although Tallow noticed that it was with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. In fact, it seemed to her that the leonin had been somewhat lacking in motivation ever since the accident at the magefort. Whether she was feeling guilty, or just missing her friends, Tallow wasn’t sure, and Cassanya had proven uncommunicative on the matter, as if not talking about things would bury the problem. Overall, Tallow thought she had better start taking charge of getting them places – which is exactly what she had done. With the aid of a map, and using Woodward as an advance scout, she had managed to lead them on a more or less direct line towards their goal.
“I didn’t realise we were so close,” Cassanya commented after breakfast, her gaze roving across the hills around them, towards the town in the distance.
“I did, that’s why I sent Woodward out to mister Forester.”
“You did?”
“I did. And there he is now!” With a flutter, the raven alighted on Tallow’s outstretched arm.
“What does he say?”
“Wait…”
“Wait?”
“Yes,” Tallow shrugged. “Wait.”
And so they did.
On the expectation that Fellirion would come to them, they were rather surprised when, a couple of hours later, three men arrived, introduced themselves as having been sent by the Farview Liberation Front on behalf of some strange wizard, and asked them to follow. Mystified, but recognising the description, Cassanya and Tallow did as they were instructed.
Following, unfortunately, turned out to be less simple than it sounded. Indeed, it involved a wagon, a large quantity of hay, a dark alley, a manhole cover, and a sewer. By the time they finally exited via an unexpected side tunnel, winding up in a dark basement, neither of them were in the best of moods.
Five minutes later, however, any of the previous locations seemed preferable to standing in front of Fellirion as the old man’s gaze bored into them.
“Lost him?” he asked quietly. In one hand, the bearded man held his battered old staff, though Tallow noticed he leaned no weight on it, and that the entire length of wood was trembling slightly.
“Yes, sir. I’m sor...”
“Lost him?” Fellirion repeated, apparently having assumed he had misheard his apprentice.
“Yes, sir. I’m really very...”
“Lost him...” Turning away, the old man paced to the far wall, and then back again, stopping almost toe to toe with Tallow as his glittering blue eyes held hers. “How?”
It took a while, but Tallow did eventually manage to explain, aided by Cassanya when the young woman’s version of events unavoidably skipped several hours. Fellirion listened, steepled his fingers a few times, looked pensive, thoughtful, angry, and regretful in rapid succession, and eventually slumped to sit on a battered old crate.
“I see. And the pointer charm?”
“Feral had it,” Cassanya hung her head. “It looked like it was picking up the other fragment...”
“The fragment that you assumed was there because of a note whose source you could not identify, and the behaviour of a magical device which neither of you fully understand,” Fellirion stated.
“Yes, sir.” Swallowing uncomfortably, the leonin looked away.
“I see,” the old man’s gaze rested on the floorboards. Tallow exchanged glances with Cassanya, both of them feeling quite wretched. “You acted correctly,” Fellirion said at length.
“Sir?”
“The fragments, if they can be found, are of utmost importance. I have no doubt, that in times to come, many lives will be risked to obtain them, if indeed they are not already being so,” the old man said, raising his head, his expression tired. “But I wish it had not been Feral.”
“Me too,” Cassanya looked at the floor. “Where are we?” she asked suddenly, looking around.
“Hmm? Oh, the cellar of the local butcher.” Cassanya blinked a few times, and Fellirion continued. “It’s a long story, but I suppose it bears the telling.”
It was indeed a fairly long story, the leonin soon discovered, and much of it didn’t really stick in her head. The important parts seemed to be that Farview had an active resistance movement, that Fellirion and the junior Goldwood...
“Minister Goldwood?” Tallow interrupted.
“His son.”
... had encountered. Their arrival seemed to have caused a good deal of confusion, as Troyston – with his position of Minister for Military Mobilisation – was theoretically empowered to command the town guards, now forming the backbone of the resistance. Nobody quite knew what to do about this, with the result that Troyston found himself hanging about in the background of the planning sessions, nodding his agreement without really taking an active role or influencing anything.
And then, Fellirion explained, waving a piece of parchment at them and looking unusually flustered, there was the unexpected presence of Princess Aleana Irontooth on the north road, and, apparently, approaching the town.
“Princess Aleana?” a blonde young man asked, appearing half way down the steps into the cellar. “What’s she doing here?”
“I have no idea,” Fellirion shook his head. “But I think it would be wise to find out. This is Troyston Goldwood,” he said as an afterthought, glancing at Tallow and Cassanya.
“Hello, si-miss,” Troyston descended the last few steps and hastily amended his greeting as his eyes adjusted to the dimness and spotted the feminine face beneath the boyish haircut. Tallow hesitated, looking wary as he extended his hand. Cassanya intercepted it.
“Cassanya,” she stated. “Tee,” she indicated her friend.
“Tea? Er, if you like, give me about ten minutes?” Troyston appeared slightly confused as he looked from Tallow to Cassanya, and back again.
“My name,” Tallow said, dryly.
“Oh… I’m sorry, miss Tee, minor misunderstanding there, my fault” he gave her a sheepish grin and offered his hand again.
Tallow looked at him for a few moments before giving his hand a brief shake, apparently content that he was harmless enough. “And it’s just Tee.”
“Right, just Tee it is, Tee… How do we find out?” Troyston looked at Fellirion, hurriedly moving on and picking up the interrupted thread of discussion. “The town’s crawling with patrols, if any of us step outside in daylight we’ll be stopped, questioned, and asked for papers and a reason why we aren’t working.”
“I have an idea about that,” Fellirion said, smiling slightly.
“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Troyston groaned quietly, peering out from under the rim of his large and battered hat. “No way are we going to get away with it!”
“Calm yourself, my lad,” Fellirion smiled, studying the chess board for a few moments before moving a pawn. “Fidgeting is for the young. And stop tugging your beard, you’ll pull it off.”
Troyston did so, eyeing Fellirion dubiously as the old man’s gaze wandered along the road. As unlikely as it seemed, the old man appeared to have made a good choice of disguise. Two patrols had thus far passed, neither giving more than a glance to the two bent old men playing chess at the road side, enjoying the last of the sunshine that the year had to offer, taking in the sweeping views of the surrounding countryside.
After half an hour or so, Troyston began to feel a little more secure, even relaxing enough to suggest that it seemed like a good plan.
“I rather thought so,” Fellirion nodded, then his expression changed as he looked over Troyston’s shoulder. “Focus on the game,” he said quietly. “Don’t look up.”
A prickle ran up Troyston’s back at these words, the urge to turn his head becoming suddenly overwhelmingly powerful, half the muscles in his neck fighting against the other half. Staring intently at the board for a few moments, he moved one of his knights. Behind him, the footsteps of several people were audible on the road, a jangle of metal announcing that some of them were armed or armoured. Another patrol, he thought – but then why was Fellirion so intent on keeping his face averted?
As the old man moved his bishop, the footsteps reached their loudest, several uniformed legs intruding on Troyston’s peripheral vision, along with two that weren’t. Eyes flickering upwards for a mere moment as the group passed, he caught glimpse of a young human woman, and a lupari male, both in clothing that looked like it had once been well made, but was now showing signs of hard wear and travel. Around them, a full patrol of six soldiers kept in step, glancing now and again at the young woman, but neither speaking nor offering any form of expression that would have let Troyston figure out what was going on. For a second, the young woman’s gaze went to her left, putting her face in profile as she glanced across the darkening fields, and Troyston nearly bit his tongue. Catching Fellirion’s glance from beneath grey eyebrows, he managed to repress his reaction, hastily moving a random piece with a hand that was shaking slightly.
The footsteps, and their owners, receded along the road, and quiet fell once more, with only the soft noises of the wind and animals in the fields washing over them.
“Oh dear,” Fellirion sighed softly.
“That was Princess Aleana, wasn’t it?” Troyston said, looking after the distant party.
“I fear so.”
“Whatever was she doing? Have they arrested her?”
“Oh, I doubt very much that they have arrested her. I would imagine she is doing exactly what I should have predicted – planning to take command of the town.”
“What? That’s crazy!” Troyston protested.
“Is it?” Fellirion raised his eyebrows. “Need I remind you that she does hold the title and authority of a princess, by declaration of King Irontooth. It will naturally occur to her to take control over the situation. If I were to guess, I would say that those soldiers are simply escorting her to their commander in order to verify her identity. You’ll have noticed neither she nor her escort were restrained.”
Troyston had not, but he nodded anyway, watching as Fellirion packed up the chess board. “What now?” he asked.
“Now? Now you go back to the Liberation Front, and I follow the princess,” Fellirion told him.
And so Fellirion did. Slipping quietly through the streets of Farview, unassuming and uninteresting, and somehow remaining inconspicuous despite several patrols crossing the street, or passing the other way. Those that came near seemed to have sudden and inexplicable urges to look the other way, and by the time they turned back, the old man had vanished, leaving them wondering if he had actually been there.
By the time he arrived outside the large manor house near the centre of town, the sun had long since set. A street lighter was making his way along the road, igniting the lanterns atop their tall pillars. Fellirion paused in the shadow behind a statue in the square, looking at the lighted windows of the elegant mansion.
It looked like something that had once belonged to the richest man in town – which in fact it had. Now, it quite evidently belonged to the commander of the invading army. Two solidly built soldiers stood at the ornate gate posts, guarding the thoroughly shut gate between them. Behind the iron bars, a little pebbled pathway ran a couple of dozen yards to the large doorway at the front of the house. Lights shone out from inside, casting moving shadows upon the garden as people passed the windows.
“Oh dear,” Fellirion sighed quietly as yet another uniformed figure passed the nearest window. “That’s going to make things more difficult.”
Across town, something very similar went through Feral’s head, although he didn’t give voice to it. Instead, he turned around sharply as the sound of boots rang on the cobbles behind him.
“Papers, please,” the uniformed leonin extended a hand, his expression bored, matching those of the four soldiers behind him.
“Papers?” Feral looked at him blankly.
“I see. Out after curfew, no permit,” the tall feline stated in a mildly bored way, as if this wasn’t the first time it had happened. The soldiers behind him approached, three of them pulling sets of wrist cuffs from their belts. “Hands out, gents,” the leonin said. “You’ve just earned yourselves a trip to the lock up.”
“’Ere, wait a minute, guv,” Blue frowned. “All we wants is to find an inn to stay the night.”
Regarding him thoughtfully, the leonin rubbed his chin. “Then you’re either dumber than you look, or you’re not from around here. The inns are closed to the public, as is the town. Mark ‘em down for additional processing,” he said over his shoulder and one of his men nodded, making a note on a slate he carried. “Three new workers, ideal.”
“Er...” Feral backed up as a bearded man approached him. As he did so, the wind picked up, gusting his cloak away from him.
“Blade!” The shout echoed from the buildings to either side, and suddenly the casual expressions evaporated.
“On the ground, now!” the leonin barked, drawing his own sword with a swish of steel, his gaze flickering between Feral and Balthor as the lupari brushed his own cloak back, his hand resting on the hilt of his weapon.
Glancing back at Balthor, Feral exchanged a small nod with him, bending his knees as if complying with the order. Seeing this, the bearded man advanced – only to be met by Feral’s shoulder as the half-race drove it hard into his midriff.
Bright, bluish light flared as the man fell back onto the cobbles, winded.
“Take ‘em!”
Not bloody likely, Feral decided. Not having come this far, and knowing there was a very good chance that Fellirion was already here and waiting for him. Feral was not going to be kept apart from his last remaining family now!
The leonin’s blade rang with the impact as Feral’s strike crashed against it, the metal buckling, and the bent weapon spinning out of it’s owner’s grasp. Feral had just enough time to notice the surprised expression on the feline’s face before his fist connected with that solid looking jaw.
“Ow!” Both of them recoiled, the leonin putting a hand to his face, Feral trying to ignore the stinging pain in his knuckles. He made a mental note that the Shining Blade did nothing at all to harden his flesh or strengthen his bones.
A shadow moved in the corner of his vision and he turned, just in time to intercept the man behind him, sidestepping and bringing a knee up into his stomach. As he went down, Feral looked over him, finding that Balthor and Blue had squared up to the remaining two soldiers. One soldier, Feral corrected himself as the sciurel performed a remarkably agile handstand, bringing both feet over and into the face of his opponent. Feeling fairly sure that the two of them would be fine, Feral turned back to the leonin only just in time to avoid the kick that would have connected with his chest.
Focus! Feral reminded himself, dodging, and taking full advantage of the Shining Blade’s magic to pick just the right moment to put both hands under the feline’s outstretched leg, pulling upwards with all his strength. With a roar of dismay – and possibly some pain – the leonin found himself overextended and off balance. Feral gave him no time to recover from the error, continuing his motion, keeping his hands on the leonin’s boot, he jumped, his weight flipping the feline in mid air, sending him crashing back onto the cobbles.
“Please just stay there,” the half-race asked politely, looking down as the large leonin blinked dizzily up at the night sky.
“Help! Help!” The shout brought some degree of awareness back, and Feral turned to find the last of the soldiers fleeing away down the road, shouting at the top of his lungs.
“Uhoh...” Balthor looked at him.
“Kill the light,” Blue hissed, and Feral did so, sheathing his sword quickly, leaving them once more in near darkness.
“This way! Quick!”
“Right,” Feral did as he was told, taking several paces towards the shadowy alleyway before he realised that both his friends were accounted for and neither of them were in it.
“Wait...”
“No time to wait!” an anxious looking lutrani appeared in the shadows, bright eyes darting here and there in the moonlit night. “You want to be away from the Irons, you follow me, now!” With that, he turned, and retreated into the alley.
Feral felt a hand on his elbow and looked down.
“You ‘eard the gent,” Blue said, hurrying him forwards.
It seemed like a good plan, Feral decided, and besides, Balthor was now on his other side, hand gripping his shoulder. Together, they moved forward into the alley, shadowy darkness falling about them. Something squelched underfoot, but there wasn’t enough light to figure out what it was and Feral didn’t care to let his thoughts linger on it. He could hear Balthor behind him, the lupari taking rear guard as Blue stayed at his side.
“Left,” their unnamed guide announced, waiting for them at a narrow junction, hurrying ahead again as they caught up.
“Down.”
“Down?” Feral asked, wishing the walls of the buildings either side weren’t quite so close together, or that they had more light to work with.
“Manhole,” the lutrani stated. “Ladder this side. Hurry!”
It wasn’t that he was afraid, Feral told himself, but there was something unappealing about intentionally lowering himself into that cold, black hole at his feet... Somewhere in the distance he could hear a trumpet, harsh, and blaring, calling the troops to alert.
“I’ll check it,” Blue announced, moving around him, locating the ladder apparently by luck, disappearing into the void.
“Go,” Balthor told him, and Feral nodded, following the sciurel into the darkness.
Five rungs... ten... fifteen... At twenty two, he found the bottom.
“Blue?” his voice wavered a little in the darkness.
“Right here, guv,” the sciurel’s voice sounded to his right. “Keep near the wall.” Feral followed the nudge against his back.
A scraping sound from above announced the cover being pulled over the manhole, and moments later Balthor and the lutrani reached the bottom of the ladder. A shower of sparks as steel struck flint, and a torch flared.
“Follow me,” the lutrani said, heading immediately down the tunnel into the darkness.
The companions hurried after him, casting occasional glances over their shoulders.
“Don’t worry,” their guide said. “The Irons never come down here. Don’t know the sewers are this extensive.”
“Sewers?” Feral asked, eyeing the trickle of water running down the middle of the tunnel. Well, that did explain the odour, he thought, wrinkling his nose. Catching Balthor’s expression, he had a moment of realisation that the lupari was probably experiencing the situation far more intensely, and decided not to complain about his humanly dull sense of smell.
“Where are we going?” Balthor asked as they turned left at a junction. The new tunnel was lower, and he had to bend his head to clear the wet ceiling.
“Safe house,” the lutrani said over his shoulder, his eyes on the filthy floor. “Anyone who gives the Irons that much grief deserves a bit of help – though I’m damned if you ain’t the fellow I was out looking for,” he said, giving Feral a glance.
“Me? Why were you looking for me?” the half-race blinked in surprise.
“Seems we’ve got some old man from the council of magi...”
“Uncle Felli!”
“Shh!”
“Sorry,” Feral lowered his voice and his ears as his exclamation echoed eerily along the tunnel before and behind. Nonetheless, his spirits instantly lifted, the darkness of the sewer feeling less oppressive.
“Captain said I was to do as told, so I am doing,” the lutrani concluded. “Not far now. I’ll take you through into the back room, you look like you could use a warm by the fire.”
As it transpired at the moment of arrival, the warmth of the fire was the last thing on Feral’s mind – occupied as it was by the stinging pain and ringing in his ears. Recoiling from the blow, trying to figure out what hit him, he found himself grabbed from behind, spun around, shaken hard... and hugged tightly.
“Don’t you dare do that again!” Cassanya hissed into his ear, kneeling and locking her arms around his back. “What in the seventh hell did you think you were doing running off without a word?” Feral wondered if he should point out it hadn’t really been his idea to get separated for so long, but the leonin continued, forestalling anything he might have said. “Disappearing off to who knows where for days, no way of knowing if you were all right, or if you were still back there being held captive, or tortured, or… or…” she took a shaking breath and Feral realised with astonishment that she was crying.
“I’m sorry… it’s ok, Cassanya, we’re all right, really,” he said quietly, feeling thoroughly wretched as she clung to him. “Please don’t cry…” Heartfelt as his request was, it didn’t seem to help, as the leonin hugged him tighter, her breath trembling against his neck.
“Cassy?” Balthor’s hand landed on the leonin’s free shoulder.
“And you, you big ox!” grabbing his arm, Cassanya dragged him down to her level, managing to look quite ferocious despite the tears on her face. “I thought you were going to stick by me? What happened to that promise? You will tell me you at least looked after Feral and didn’t do anything stupid?”
“I…” Balthor didn’t get chance to confirm or deny, as he was pulled into what swiftly became a rather awkward three way hug.
“Blimey, missus, let the poor lads breathe,” Blue chuckled.
Cassanya glared at him, but loosened her grip until Feral could stand back, blushing, and rather grateful that she seemed content to hold on to Balthor for the time being. The lupari didn’t seem totally displeased by the exchange, either, putting his arm supportively around her and drawing her gently to one side. Finding Tallow looking at him, Feral exchanged a smile with her, relieved that she didn’t seem to feel a need to hug him or burst into tears.
A quiet cough sounded behind him, and he turned. “Uncle Felli!”
“Hello, Feral,” the old man smiled. “You’re taller than…”
“…shorter than I remember…” they said together.
Feral laughed, and stepped into Fellirion’s embrace as the old man held his arms out.
Aleana woke with a start as a tapping noise sounded at the window. Not that she had meant to fall asleep, right there in the chair by the fire, in the room that she had come to realise was not for guests, but for prisoners. She and Calinan had both been very well treated since their arrival, the commanding officer expressing both surprise and pleasure to see them, and offering assurances that they would receive every cooperation. Then, ten minutes after they had been herded into the guest wing of the mansion, Calinan had discovered that the door was guarded, and that neither of them were allowed to pass.
As the tapping sounded again, Aleana rose quietly from her chair, locating Calinan on the floor, sitting with his back against the door, and apparently sound asleep, his chin dipped to his chest. It seemed strange to catch him so vulnerable. Ever since they had been washed ashore he had been so strong, so steady and supportive. The sudden reminder that he was just as mortal and frail as anyone else brought her both a smile, and a pang of disquiet.
Crossing to the window as a third flurry of taps sounded, she peered through it at the dark town beyond, seeing nothing. Curious, she opened it. A fluttering sound, a flicker of black wings, and a raven sat on the windowsill, a folded piece of parchment in its beak. Somewhat flustered by such an unexpected event, Aleana paused, and the raven hopped forward, lifting its head and clearly indicating that she should take the parchment. She did so.
“Thank you,” she told it, uncertain as to why she was talking to a bird. It dipped its head in apparent acknowledgement, and watched her. Unfolding the parchment, Aleana found a hastily written note.
Princess Aleana,
While I am pleased to see that you are in good health, I am concerned about your presence here. We need to talk, face to face. Are you able to meet at the south dock, shortly after moonrise? Please send your reply with this messenger.
Kind regards,
F. Forrester
Forrester? The old mage, here? How had he known…? Of course, she was still carrying that little stone of his. But why… no, no time, that could all come later. Glancing at the desk against one side of the room, Aleana located a quill and ink bottle. Turning the parchment over, she wrote on the back.
Mister Forrester,
I am unable to meet with you. Calinan and I are being held under guard, and cannot leave the mansion.
Should we fail to escape this situation, it is important that you know this: my brother Tiernach now sits in control of the Senate after accusing Kaja of treason. I do not know his plans, but I believe that...
Aleana paused, realising that her next words might seem stupid, but then continued anyway.
...he has a dragon under his control.
My father now leads the war against the Freelands from the front line, and is unaware of these events. It is important that this information be delivered to him. Please, if you can, help me in this.
Aleana Irontooth
Setting the quill down, Aleana folded the note, and crossed with it to the window, where the raven was still sitting. “Please take this back to mister Forrester,” she said quietly, holding the parchment out. The raven took it from her, gave a bob of its head, and flapped off into the night.
