“Seventy-seven: Trust in patterns to guide your future, even when they appear to be nothing more than chance. You can always be assured that it is fate and not chance alone behind lucky repetitions.”
— “Two Hundred Heroic Axioms”, author unknown
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Just one more time, Abigail. Please, Abigail. It’s not stupid, Abigail. Even if I come back with half a dozen less wits to show for it, Abigail.
Abigail chewed on a strand of raven hair as she sneaked away from the sally port. Cat would be fine, and if she wasn’t fine, she’d find a way through, and if she didn’t find a way through, she’d kill the problem. There was a part of her that whispered traitorous thoughts in her ears about what if the problem was too big for her friend to kill, but Abigail brushed it under a dusty rag and ignored it. If Cat couldn’t kill the issue, then was too big for Abigail to worry about.
A brief stretch of the legs down the dark corridor and through the heavyset wooden door saw her back on the streets. Her shoulders relaxed once she was out of the gatehouse. Many of the guards knew that she was in with the Novice, but there was a slim chance she was caught and drilled by one of the grim-faced tin soldiers who didn’t know any better. Still, she considered this plan better than setting all the horses loose in the stables, though less bad than the idea had landed her in enough hot water to drown the Tower was a low bar to clear.
Abigail scowled.
She took an abrupt turn away from the watchtower into the shadow of a nearby alley as she spotted those two god's damned Akouan assholes once again. Small footprints marred the road ahead. Abigail frowned. There weren’t that many children on the streets. Everyone knew that they were more Proceran than Callowan, and it showed with how they treated her. Why were they always patrolling nearby? Well, at least the third one wasn’t around.
Those guards reminded her of her brothers.
Her brothers had nagged on her before she met the Novice, and since then had only become worse. When can we meet the hero, Abigail? Why do you never bring her home, Abigail? Why don’t you have to learn how to be a tanner, Abigail? Never mind that her da had told her never to being the hero to visit, in case she turned up her nose at the smell.
Abigail rounded the other side of the building and let out a sigh. The Summerholm guards stationed at this watchtower looked far more reasonable. She waited as a small crowd of children carrying rusted knives and wearing nothing more than rags chased a rat down the alley. She watched them for a few moments. Perhaps there were that many children on the streets, she thought darkly.
God’s Above, she shuddered as they disappeared, what a mess. Her da would warn her that it could be her. That it didn’t matter if the “hero” was daft, or shifty — or maybe, possibly, not a hero at all — she shouldn’t squander her chance to pull herself up. He hadn’t had enough coin to feed their whole family after Abigail’s ma was knifed two years ago. Not enough people visited the family shop any more, and it wasn’t long until it needed to be sold. Abigail and her brothers had helped her uncle out in the tannery outside the city walls to make ends meet.
Abigail would rather run away from home than end up like that.
A loud rattle above caused her to halt. She stopped and looked towards the flattened roofs above her. A crow cawed at her. She scowled, picked up a rock, and fed it what it deserved.
“Are you lost, little miss?” a blonde guard in heavy armour waved a hand at her as she reached the next watchtower.
“Headed to the Last Stop,” she shook her head and waved back in turn.
“You take care now,” the light skinned woman smiled down at her, “times are hard on all of us.”
Abigail scratched at the uncomfortable leather covering her chest as she left the shadow of the watchtower. It wasn’t long before she arrived at the Last Stop. A dozen wooden tables with at least two to four times as many stools were lined up in a grid along a deck that extended outwards from the weathered brick building. The usual trio of girls had dragged two tables together and rearranged the seating as well. The fact that one table provided enough space for all of them had never been considered to begin with. The owner glared at them while dusting down a table from under the shelter of the rafter, but Abigail knew that she was kind at heart.
“Alone this time?” a clipped voice called out.
“For now,” Abigail looked to the speaker and lowered her eyes.
“So the Princess left her palace,” a petite girl with green eyes and narrow black eyebrows puffed out her pale cheeks. “Who’d she kill this time?” She drummed her skeletal fingers on the tabletop, “Was it only one soldier this time, or did she get ambitious?”
Abigail sat facing the main road. She hoped she’d be able to see Catherine arriving. The other girls had stopped giving her lip about following Cat around all the time. Well, they’d stopped after Cat had overheard and given them something to complain about. It didn’t help that her da was trying to set her up with the hero, but he’d told her he’d be happy even if she got herself a well paying job out of the arrangement as well.
“Who knows, Elara.” Abigail fidgeted with her hair, “She’ll return.”
“Joining us?” a taller girl with long blonde hair and a freckled nose asked as she dealt herself a hand. “We’re starting a new round.”
The cards were worn around the edges, but the girl palmed each one with care. The owner of the Last Stop loaned the pack whenever better off kids like these stopped by. Making a mess of that seemed like a fine way to have a good thing revoked. There was no harm in whiling away the hours like this while she fretted over past and present events.
“For a few hands, Teresa,” Abigail replied.
The game started as the four of them fell silent. Abigail looked at her hand and fidgeted with her hair. She drew, discarded, then risked a glance over the Elara’s shoulders on her right. Her rival had a bad hand. The narrow-faced girl opposite Abigail took her turn. Abigail peeked over Teresa’s shoulders on her left. Another bad hand.
It wasn’t long before her attention drifted away from the game to the streets.
Where was Catherine?
The next game began and a couple of rounds passed. The last round came just as fast as it did during the first game. Abigail paid just as much attention to the outcome as well.
The fighting should have ended by now.
The cards were shuffled, Abigail drew again. The third and forth games passed in a blur of easy bickering. Abigail’s mind was outside the city walls. The fifth game started. The other girls kept trying to pull her into the conversation, but didn’t find much success.
“Hey Abigail,” a smile crawled up Elara’s face as she raised an eyebrow, “you should knife whoever stole your breakfast.”
Some of Elara’s mannerisms reminded her of Catherine.
The cautious girl muttered a vague response and licked at her dry lips as the next hand was dealt. She told herself that nothing was wrong. That the Loyal Aegis would ride out if a drunk started a fight in the tavern. Abigail was about to begin her next turn when a procession caught her eye from behind Twyla’s back. Her card’s fell against the table.
A score of bloody Watch members limped towards the inner city.
Abigail was halfway towards the main road before she even realized it. She slowed and adjusted her jerkin — her nipples itched something fierce — then squared her shoulders and followed after the Watch.
You don’t care about Catherine, you’re only looking out for her to look out for your own future.
It wasn’t long before she caught sight of Catherine. She was carried unconscious by the armoured form of the Loyal Aegis. Her hands were bound, her head was shaking from side to side. She had a pained look on her face, and blood stained her armour. The man’s helmet was off and his short crop of crimson hair faced towards her. His procession stood apart from the rest of the Watch.
Abigail’s stomach fluttered like the wings of a dying moth as she approached. Every step felt heavier, the distance to her both too close and too far.
“What happened to her?” she tugged at the man’s gauntleted hand.
The Loyal Aegis halted. A single swift motion saw him facing her way.
“You are her friend?” his cow brown eyes fell upon her and softened, “I’m sorry.”
“Another?” a grey cloaked man glared at her. “Ah, I remember you.”
Shit. Abigail took one look at the malevolent storm cloud brewing beneath the man’s face and thought to herself, feelingly. Shitshitshit. What had Cat done? Had she gone strange in the head and attacked the Watch members? Abigail knew that she was probably not a hero. Everyone knew that heroes didn’t dress in black and get all dark and broody, or always jump to killing people first. The shadows didn’t behave like kittens mewling for the attention of their mother around heroes, either.
“Whatever it is th-” Abigail cut off her words and took a step back as the man bared steel.
There was a scraping noise as the Loyal Aegis placed himself between her and the Watch leader.
“You would shield her as well?” Brennan sneered.
“She has done nothing,” the Loyal Aegis shook his head. “You know about my orders.”
“Stand aside,” Brennan took a step forward.
The Loyal Aegis didn’t flinch. His gaze was hard. His jaw set as if he was carved from stone. He was a wall between Abigail and the Watch leader.
“Your orders say nothing about this one,” the grey cloaked figure tried again.
“I’ll keep them safe,” Eadgar replied, “that’s all that matters.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. His grip tightened around his blade. He scowled, sheathed the weapon, then turned away and joined the rest of his fellows.
“Can I come with?” Abigail’s hands drifted to her arm guards before she stilled them.
“You should find new friends,” Eadgar advised, “she’s not safe.”
“Green fire,” Catherine slurred in her slumber, “walls, night.” Her fingers trailed along the pavement and she shook again. “Watch out for the walls at night.”
Abigail stiffened and looked down at her friend.
“She used Goblin Fire on the Watch,” Eadgar explained.
Abigail thought about correcting the man. She decided against it. He’d claim it was a fever dream and dismiss the importance of it. Her shoulders slumped. She backed away from the stubborn ox. She had spent enough time around the Loyal Aegis in the company of Catherine to know that he never changed his mind. It was all duty and blind loyalty to those he had devoted himself to with him.
“I’ll consider it,” Abigail lied.
“You can’t,” the Loyal Aegis denied.
Her feet wandered as she considered what to do. She brushed aside a lock of black hair and scratched an itch on her nose. Abigail would bet her last aurelius that Mabli knew that Cat was a villain. She’d also bet that was why Mabli had sent the Loyal Aegis after Catherine. She’d only need to ask the man for an oath, and he’d carry it out even if he disagreed with it later.
Don’t do anything.
Abigail set coins that Cat had “rightfully retrieved” from somebody else and given to her on the table before the owner of the Last Stop a few moments later. The woman’s lips pressed into a line, but she said nothing and pushed over a vile smelling brew. She picked up the drink and approached the trio once again.
Abigail hoped the drink would keep her from making any stupid mistakes.
“Back again?” Twyla’s grey eyes met hers as Abigail sat down opposite her, “Do we need to worry? I thought you’d be sticking with your friend.”
The wind died as she approached the table. Abigail spared another glance at the empty road. No, she wouldn’t do anything rash. She’d play the game and not think about the looming threat of Goblin Fire.
“I was told to leave,” Abigail explained as settled down to play cards with the others while she pondered the future. “Deal me in.”
She took a sip of the beer and grimaced. It tasted even worse than it smelt. Ah, well, anything was better than drinking the slop her da used to peddle. She clung to the hope that it would drown out her worries. Abigail was no hero. She had no lofty dreams of coming out of nowhere and saving the day. She was comfortable being as far as physically possible from anything dangerous. Her brief adventures with Cat had been enough to cure her of any ambitions in that direction.
“Two rounds passed since you left,” Teresa shrugged from her left and brushed aside a golden lock.
Teresa finished shuffling the deck, then spread the cards out one at a time, going from right to left. Abigail picked up the hand she was dealt and frowned. It wasn’t a good one. One of the cards was also upside down. It featured a dark, faceless woman holding a red banner with the word TRIUMPH written large. Abigail took another sip of the drink, then almost spat it out only a moment later. Did the woman just wink at her? No, no, it didn’t. She shrugged to herself. She’d be damned before she cared enough to think more about it.
Or to turn it right way up.
“I heard she set the stables on fire once,” Elara fretted with the hem of her stained, threadbare shirt as she drew a card and discarded three cackling goblins standing at the mouth of a cave. “Isn’t that right?”
Do something once and see it get recounted wrong forever, Abigail thought darkly. Just think about the game, forget everything else.
With the Three of Pentacles gone, Elara could be counted to be playing something else. That, or she had some kind of mixed hand with the Major Arcana. Abigail rubbed the sweat off her brow. The strategy of play was a headache to keep track of. Her thoughts drifted.
Goblin Fire.
How was she going to deal with the problem of Goblin Fire?
No, don’t think about it.
Abigail caught a glimpse of the new card in the other girl’s hand. Five metal blades resting at the feet of a man in green. With the Five of Swords in hand, it stood to reason that she either held more of them or that the Three of Cups was her lowest card.
Abigail fidgeted with her hair.
The two Legions that disappeared were set to make a reappearance soon. Abigail was sure of it. Should she flee? Should her family? Abigail almost snorted. It was the kind of idea Catherine would come up with. It wasn’t like there was anywhere for her to go in the middle of the siege.
“I only let the horses loose,” Abigail denied as dark and broody Twyla tossed aside a fair-haired woman subduing a lion. “Anything else is made up.”
That made two players who weren’t playing the Major Arcana. Should Abigail aim to win that way? Her hand was so bad that winning by either rule was liable to take multiple rounds.
Was this it? What was the Watch’s problem with the Novice? Did the heroes know that she was a villain now? Abigail straightened her back and glanced towards the outer walls.
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The others at the table looked at her askance as she whined at the back of her throat. Too late. It was too late for her to bail now, she admitted to herself. There was nowhere to run. The Calamities were coming, and Abigail had already thrown her lot in with the creepy girl who made the shadows dance to her tune.
“Chin up and smile,” Teresa smiled at her and switched the Strength card out with a black spire of stone piercing even the clouds. “Don’t get all broody like your rich friend is.”
Another player not playing the Major Arcana. Another thorn in her foot. Abigail shook the wool from her head. She didn’t want to think about the game any further.
Abigail needed to find a way to get back to her friend. No, that was the wrong pile of stinking leather to worry about. Mabli wouldn’t allow Catherine to die. Abigail would eat her sole pair of shoes before the Reluctant Strategist changed her mind on that. The other heroes would leave if something didn’t happen, though. Perhaps they’d insist on having her imprisoned? Either way, Abigail had other rats to chew on.
“So hypothetically,” she changed the topic as she let go of a man holding two golden coins trapped in a knotted rope and claimed the Tower.
Not that any amount of switching cards would do her much good. Her hand was hopeless, like fate itself was using her for a laugh. Discarding the Two of Pentacles didn’t do much to change that. This game was as good as lost. At least it helped distract her for a few moments from the worries that Cat had dropped on her lap.
You were always one for theory, Abigail.” Elara cast aside a skeleton seated on a throne while raising a razor-thin eyebrow at her.
Perhaps Sullivan could help? No, bad idea. He was creepy. Besides, she’d need to find him first. Abigail could never remember what he looked like. It was better to try something else.
“What if you heard something big… and no one else believed it?,” Abigail tapped her foot on the ground, “what do you do?”
“Are you sure it’s important?” Twyla scratched at her narrow jaw as she picked up Death, then discarded a man in plate with nine wooden stakes behind him. Her eyes never drifted far from her hand. It was almost as if she expected everyone around her to break the rules.
Abigail scrunched her brow. That play puzzled her. Why pick up the discard if she wasn’t building a band of five? No, better to focus on the real problems.
Could she approach the Stalwart Guardian?
Glytha was practical, she might listen. The problem was that Abigail would need to reach her first. Abigail wiped the sweat from her brow and took a sip of the poison beside her. Couldn’t the sun set any faster?
“It was something the Novice said,” Abigail explained.
“She’s trouble, but…” Teresa relinquished Strength and picked up the Nine of Wands. “You could tell the guards you heard it from some other hero.”
Abigail considered both her hand and the play while she chewed on the idea. Teresa was playing Wands. Abigail was certain of it. Now, what should Abigail do with her turn? Should she pull from the deck or the discard? Aiming for a win by five seemed out of her reach even now. She drew from the deck. A crowned woman holding a sword. Mistake. She couldn’t discard that even if the rules prevented it, Elara would pounce on it. She discarded the Tower and held onto the Queen of Swords.
“Bad idea,” Elara shook her head and switched out a man holding four gold coins for the Tower, “she’d get punched for trying it.”
What could she do? Maybe the Reluctant Strategist would listen to Cat. Mabli was sensible, but there was a chance that Cat never repeated what she said. It was best not to leave it to chance. Abigail didn’t fancy the idea of being roasted in an open fire.
“They would doubt her,” Twyla murmured. Her eyes were downcast, locked to her hands. Then she set an upside down man hanging from a length of wood on top of the Four of Pentacles.
Abigail turned away from the Hanged Man while she considered further. Perhaps she should try to reach Mabli? No, that was a waste of time. It was rare that Catherine could talk to Mabli and the Novice had a Name. Abigail wasn’t anyone important. There was no chance of her arranging a meeting at all. She just needed to make do with the city burning while people with fancy colours on their clothes told others what to do.
“All right, who’s brave enough to count?” Teresa gave a sly grin. Then she set her cards on the table. There was a clatter as everyone else followed her lead.
Abigail scowled at her hand. Swords were her highest, but that didn’t count for much with the Empress and the Moon holding no weight.
Elara wasn’t doing much better. The first card she revealed showed a dark-skinned man with a crown on his head: the Emperor. Then came the next. A hunched over, tanned figure clad in grey holding a lantern and a length of wood: the Hermit. Abigail turned her gaze away. The rest of the cards were dross.
Twyla’s set of five was such a mess that it made everyone else’s look good. The first was a fair prince, riding a chariot pulled by horses both black and white: the Chariot. Next came the Two of Cups and the Queen of Pentacles. A fair skinned woman in the nude who was wreathed in gold came fourth: the World. Death was last. What had she even been doing the whole game?
“See?” Teresa winked and gestured to her cards, “Clearly, Creation insists I’m right.”
“I don’t see what the two have to do with each other,” Abigail mumbled.
She glared at both the upside down clay wheel surrounded by creatures in the other girl’s hand and the dark skinned youth with stars for eyes wearing a red robe. Calling a count was a ballsy play, and yet not even the empty weight of the Wheel of Fortune and Hierophant offset Teresa’s win.
“I bet she cheated again,” Twyla mumbled. “It’s not by chance that she always wins when she deals.”
“Pffft,” Teresa exclaimed, “well you see-”
The clarion call of trumpets blared out and interrupted their talk. Abigail looked up and observed a procession march it's way down the main thoroughfare. The Faithful Warrior, resplendent on his white steed, rode with his senior officers. Cat had shared some of the things she’d heard the man say with Abigail, and she wasn’t impressed.
His arrival meant that the force under his command was either present at Summerholm or soon to arrive. Should she talk to him and warn him about the incoming attack? No, she decided that was a pants idea. He’d never met her before, and it was doubtful he’d take her at her word.
Perhaps she should listen to Teresa?
It was better to try talking to the local guards.
But what should she tell them? Cat had muttered about the walls burning green. Goblin Fire. She couldn’t go to the guards and warn them about that, they’d tell her to take the piss at someone else. Abigail needed something more real. A lie that sounded believable enough that people would go along with whatever she made up.
Abigail staggered to her feet and said her farewells. She ignored the heat on her cheeks, hunched her shoulders, then headed towards the second-nearest Watchtower, giving her two nemeses at the nearest watchtower a baleful glare as she passed.
“Back again?” the blonde woman asked. “If somebody stole your-”
“I’ve got orders,” Abigail interrupted, “you’re to investigate the sewers.”
“Really,” folded her arms and gave Abigail a flat stare, “and who gave you those orders?”
“The Reluctant Strategist,” Abigail lied. “Goblins are infiltrating the city there.”
It was a load of bullocks, but the idea was plausible enough that somebody might listen to her. There’d been plenty of commotion around the sewers after the Novice used them to escape. She just needed to kick up enough of a fuss and somebody important would come and investigate. If she’d learned anything from Cat, it was that. Then she just needed to pass on the warning.
The challenge would be talking her way out of the cook pot afterwards.
“That’s a good jest,” the woman gave her a half grin, “but I’m not falling for that unless you’ve got those orders written down.”
Abigail adjusted her armour and tried another watchtower. She was met with much of the same result. It took another three tries before she was frustrated enough to try an idea that she knew she’d regret.
“No, no, no, no, no,” the black haired guard with the curly moustache raised his hands and backed away as she approached. “I want nothing to do with whatever you’re bringing my way.”
What? Abigail hadn’t expected that reaction. She’d chosen the man because she knew that he’d recognize her. Her shoulders relaxed and her fingers unclenched. She took another step closer.
“I’ve got orders for you, Steve,” Abigail’s lips twitched.
“Orders?” the man whimpered. “You’re sure they aren’t for somebody else?”
It feels good when somebody else is eating crow, the cautious girl admitted to herself. Now, she only had one chance to get this right. She’d need to adjust her plan. Abigail couldn’t waste time finding other guards who would listen to her. Perhaps she could use him? Having him along with her would make it easier to convince others of what she said.
“There are goblins in the sewers,” she confirmed, “We’re rounding up guards and sending them down there.”
The man gave her another baleful glare. It didn’t matter. She turned away to hide her smile when he nodded. Was it really this easy? After all the trouble that the three of them gave her? Perhaps there was some justice in Creation after all.
“We’ll follow,” Steve muttered, “better than the alternative.”
It wasn’t hard to make headway with two guards following behind her. Soon over a dozen watchtowers stood abandoned with men running from their posts.
The dipping of the sun marked the passage of time.
The roads grew more for a brief while. Then, there was an up tick in guard activity. Long lines of patrols marched out from the inner city along routes she wasn’t familiar with. The back of her neck tingled. Those weren’t regular patrol routes.
Abigail’s sunburned cheeks let out a sigh when the sun dipped just below the horizon. She almost smiled when a red-faced messenger accosted her. Now I just need to find a way out of the trouble I’ve landed myself in.
“You’re the one who gave the warning?” he panted.
Abigail’s heart jumped.
“That’s me,” she squeaked.
“You’re coming to the walls,” the blue-eyed blond youth demanded.
“Something the matter?” her eyes widened.
“Nothing much,” he shrugged, “lot of people who want to know how you knew.”
Wait, what?
“How I knew?” Abigail’s voice rose an octave.
“About the goblins in the sewers,” he tugged at her hand. “Come on. They don’t have all day.”
Abigail could feel her stomach drop. She allowed the boy to lead the way. She’d wanted to land in just a bit of trouble. Enough to talk to somebody important. This was so much worse than she’d expected. Were they going to hang her as a traitor? What would her family say when they found out? She could feel a wave of manic laughter bubble up in her stomach. She was dead. Completely dead. Any moment now, and one of the guards would tell her which rope she should be hanging from. She was sure of it. Why didn’t she just run back home?
What were those noises? It sounded like cries and the scraping of metal. The other guards with her drew their weapons. No, it wasn’t her problem. She had other complications to concern herself with.
Abigail followed behind the fleet footed youth as her mind summoned forth more and more horrors to torment her with. They had reached the base of the stairwell leading up towards the ramparts when it all went to the hells.The boy’s scream was cut short as green shadows surged forward, a goblin’s blade slicing his throat. Abigail stumbled back, heart hammering as blood sprayed the stones.
Abigail stumbled back.
Steel glinted in the afternoon light. Abigail dodged to the side. She barely avoided being skewered by another. She drew the blade at her side, swung wildly and wailed. Fuck, she exclaimed in her head, fuckfuckfuck. Abigail had almost no skill with the weapon. She’d only been given it due to her friendship with Cat. What do I do? What do I do? Her sword met resistance. She wasn’t sure what it was. So long as it wasn’t friendly, she didn’t care. She pulled hard and stumbled backwards. Another one of the little shits threw itself at her. She swung again.
Red flew.
Abigail panted and glanced around. Five of the bastards lay dead in a circle around them. The messenger let out a dying gurgle, and so did the second guard. She’d killed someone. She’d killed someone. She’d really killed someone. What would her da think? What did she think?
… What was that taste? Was that goblin blood? She had goblin blood in her mouth!
Her vision blurred as acid tinged the back of her throat. What was that yellow mess on the floor?
She trembled and spat.
Deep breaths.
Deep breaths.
A voice interrupted her justified panic.
“Again,” Steve groaned and circled with his weapon drawn, “why is there always trouble with you?”
“With me?!” she wailed, “That’s unfair! I’m always dragged into this mess,” she glared. “Catherine is the one who-” she cut off, took two deep breaths and gulped.
The guard gave her a flat look.
Abigail ran an ichor stained palm through her hair, then realized the mess it would be to clean. Perhaps she could convince him to leave the walls now that the messenger was dead? Staying here seemed like a bad idea. Besides, the guards appeared to have everything on hand.
“Let’s go,” she urged, “We need to get away from the walls.”
Steve looked like he was about to say something before shaking his head.
“Anywhere else,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Anywhere else is better than-”
Hisssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss!
His voice cut off as a line of green erupted along the base of the fortification. Both of them turned and sprinted. The air behind her shimmered. So fast. This couldn’t possibly have been the work of a single day. How had the goblins pulled this off?
Dark figures coiled out of the shadows.
Catherine had said the walls would burn. What had made her think going to the walls was a good idea?
She spared a glance over her shoulder. Veridian flames twisted and roiled at the base of large parts of the now distant fortifications. Large swaths of the walls were ignited with each passing heartbeat. A hole had been burned through the city gates. The reinforcements brought by the Faithful Warrior were camped just outside the walls. Abigail looked further. Dark shapes gathered at the horizon, foreboding as storm clouds. No, not figures. The black tower on a red background told a tale all by themselves.
Abigail panted and pushed a lock aside as she stepped into a narrow alley. Boots echoed behind her. The missing Legions would crush the reinforcements against the burning walls. Then the rest of the rebellion would die horribly. The Black Knight had played them like a lute so far, so why shouldn’t she expect anything else?
“Why aren’t we sticking to the main road?” Steve scratched at his moustache.
“We’re more likely to be attacked,” Abigail lied, “it’s more open.”
She really just wanted to stay out of trouble. Somebody would notice her along the road and drag her kicking and screaming into another fight. The sound of conflict lessened the further they pulled into the city. Hiding was better. Much better.
“Just listen, and you’ll come out the other side,” the man muttered.
Abigail was about to reply when another green menace threw itself at her. She jumped to the side on instinct, then thrust with her blade. Her arm throbbed with the impact. Two more dropped from above, and then it was just a sea of terror.
Run, stab, run, stab.
Abigail didn’t know how long the fight lasted. Steve let out a choked cough and disappeared somewhere along her mad dash to safety. That, or he died. He was probably dead. If only tanning hides could save you from goblin blades. She whimpered. It was hard to see anything. The moon only lit up parts of the streets. The monstrous shadows of buildings still loomed over her.
Abigail stepped out of another narrow alley with a soaked brow, red lines down her face and snot staining her upper lip. Cooked. She was so cooked. The Greenskins were going to put her in a pot, and it was all over from there.
Where was safe? Abigail glanced towards the inner city walls. Next to Cat was probably safe. She wiped her brow and sprinted towards them. Well, it wasn’t safe. Cat would probably kill lots of people — was probably killing lots of people — but it was safer next to her than next to the people that Cat was killing.
Abigail was so lost in thought that she rounded a corner only to arrive at a dead end. A pit trap, its spikes gleaming — rarer than other defences in Summerholm. She should have been more careful. She turned to backtrack when three small shadows darkened the other end of the ally.
“Well, well,” the one in the middle cackled. “What do we have here?”
“Don’t come closer,” Abigail trembled, “I’ve got a weapon!”
Abigail needed a hero, or at least someone braver than her. This was when heroes rescued scared kids, right? She was backed in a corner with nowhere to go. Where was the hero? She glared as she backed away.
“Now then,” the rightmost goblin grinned at her, “we were just-” its voice cut off as a knife slammed into it’s head.
Oh, thank heavens. The Catherine Maneuvre worked. Abigail blinked. The goblins began to run towards her. She yelped and stumbled back, then scrambled against the wall as her foot went over the edge of the pit. Fuckfuckfuck. There was a ringing noise as her blade clattered to the floor, as well as a loud scuffle. She ignored the latter. She needed her weapon if she wanted to live. Why couldn’t she just have a normal life? Why did she choose to follow around a girl who wanted to be a hero? Abigail reached down and fumbled for the handle before the goblins killed her. A large shadow fell over her.
“Abigail,” a shiver ran down her spine, “important people are looking for you.”
Abigail’s breath caught in her throat.
That doesn’t count as a hero.
“Sullivan,” she gulped, “a pleasure.”
It was a bald-faced lie, but she had enough on her plate to not want to antagonize him as well. Especially after he’d just saved her from some goblins. Whattosaywhattosaywhattosay? Cat seemed to get along well with him. Perhaps this was something she could use?
“Where are you going in such a hurry?” he fell into step beside her. “You’re running as if death follows your every step.”
Abigail glanced at the bloody sword at her hand. At the cuts marking her armour. At the gore staining her armour. At the three goblin corpses near the mouth of the alley. Then she looked at Sullivan and scowled.
“The Novice is being held prisoner by traitors,” Abigail lied.
“I’m sure that she’s a cooperative prisoner,” Sullivan replied.
“I want to free her so that she can help,” Abigail winced.
“That’s fortunate.” Abigail could hear the smile in the man’s voice.
She’d bet it was the kind of smile a person gave when sharpening knives behind their back.
“Fortunate,” she narrowed her eyes at him, “why?”
“I’d like to free her as well.”
An image bloomed in Abigail’s mind with those words.
It was a vision of graves lined from one side of the horizon to the other.
The vision did nothing to comfort her.