Chapter Thirty-Eight—Aftermath

Nearly Six Months Ago

Shiro still had blood dripping down his arm from the fight with vizier Faridoon’s men. The dungeon boss they had encountered. The one no one had ever seen before, had killed Mazi.

Now he was in his apartment. The one he had paid for all his own from his adventuring. He was here to leave, but first he needed to pack provisions quickly before escaping the city.

Faridoon’s men were still after him—would continue to pursue him.

His dead party members came to mind.

Mazi. and then Javed…

Dead.

Because of me?

Iie! They knew the risk. We all did.

The guardian had swallowed Javed like Mazi, then spit him back out just like the other man. A dangerous, caustic beast of poison and acid and razor teeth, it had decimated their party.

But Shiro, Mirrikh and Baibar had defeated it just before it was about to swallow Baibar, Mirrikh had picked Shiro up and swung him round to the beast.

“Throw me!” he had said.

“What?!”

“Throw me at it! We need to save Baibar!”

Once Shiro cut through the stalk of tentacles, the battle became one of slow attrition—all three adventurers surviving, though only just. Their alakyte armor had saved them from many attacks, though Baibar lost a hand near the end.

They’d had to retreat. Leave the dungeon of Narkuun before venturing on to the tenth floor. Having lost Mazi and Javed, Baibar his hand, the group was in no condition to go on, and even Shiro and Mirrikh were spent.

I can’t think about this now. I have to go. Where is Mirrikh?

Upon leaving the dungeon, Faridoon’s spy had reported their actions and Shiro and Mirrikh were quickly confronted.

They had killed Baibar.

After crossing swords and nearly killing Faridoon himself for his betrayal, Shiro had met up with Mirrikh in a back alley with plans to meet back at his apartment.

The door slammed open and Shiro whirled, his blade ready to strike.

“It’s me,” Mirrikh said, breathing heavily. “The counting houses are all closed. I couldn’t get any of the gold.”

“Kuso!” Shiro shouted. “We need that money to get out of here!”

“We will find another way.”

Then shouts in the streets erupted. Mirrikh ran to the window to look outside. “They’re here! Shiro! They’re here!”

“Agh!” Shiro looked. There were indeed men in the streets. His bag had water, some food and not much else. He pointed. “Through the window!”

They climbed through onto the terrace, then jumped to the roof of the next building.

Then they were spotted by two men they hadn’t seen previously.

“THERE THEY ARE! STOP THEM!”

Two men broke through the window with scimitars and jumped the distance. Shiro took his in the throat and Mirrikh kicked his attacker in the chest, sending him screaming down to the street below.

“Run!” Mirrikh shouted.

They jumped to the next roof, then found a latticework of vines against the next building and made their way down. Shiro landed in the dusty street.

“Go!” Mirrikh called. “I’ll catch up!”

Shiro ran down the street, turned to find Faridoon’s men just beyond in the street as Mirrikh ran toward him, but then he flinched and fell with two arrows in his back.

“Mirrikh!” Shiro shouted, but had to duck out of the way when another shaft sliced his cheek. He turned and went left through an alley with an arched roof and made it to the bridge. He ran across, pushing walkers aside with haste.

They screamed at him, but he didn’t bother looking back.

Shiro vaulted through an open window, slid over the dining table of a family at supper. They screamed for guards as he slammed through the door on the way out. He met a wall, jumped and grabbed for the ledge.

He hauled himself up and darted through the markets, smoke and sweat and haggling buyers and merchants alike of every race known in these lands obscuring him in the crowd.

When he finally stopped running on the other side of the river, Shiro, for his exhaustion, couldn’t turn to see if Faridoon’s men were still following as he gasped for air, his stomach heaving and his body covered in sweat.

There was a man with a small boat there poling his way through. He had a pile of fruit with a sack cloth covered half of them.

Shiro managed to jump on the boat. It nearly tipped and the man cried out, but Shiro put his dagger to the man’s throat, told him to take him down river as far as he could. When he nodded his compliance, Shiro covered himself up with sack cloth among the fruit.

He had escaped where none of his party companions did.

Kami guide me, he thought. How did this happen?

They will hunt me. Faridoon will want his gold, will want to tell the whole city—the whole region that he had gotten revenge on those adventurers who betrayed his trust, who stole his money.

We never stole his money.

I need to get out.

Some time passed before the samurai peaked out from under the sack cloth. He left the boat, then started making his way out of the city.

I was so close, he thought, his leather sandals crunching against pebbles and sand on the road.

How will I ever find out how I even got here? I was going to go to the capital. But now…

No. It was no time to think on this. He would resolve his immediate situation, find a safe place, make some more money and see where he could go from there. Perhaps Faridoon would forget about him.

I will just start over.