III

The High City district was in shambles. Between the looting, the fires, the rioting and other general mayhem, there weren’t enough of the Watch to deal with everything.

Arlian came up short, realizing there was no way into the city from the road. It was completely packed with angry Schuarists.

What was once a beautiful cobbled stone street leading up the hillside with a magnificent view of the castle and gardens to peruse, was now a ramshackle mess of looted goods, smashed vegetables, ripped furniture and trampled grounds.

The only thing not out of sorts were the thick-trunked trees, full of green leaves that shaded the walkways and the once gardens.

Wagons had been used to barricade the roads leading to the residential area at the top and the first gate had been locked with a thick chain, Schuarists in their purple cloaks and hoods guarding the lock with clubs, their black beakers making them look like demon worshipers.

Half of them were in favor of the necromancy. Damn the necromancy!

“You’re not getting’ in here!” they shouted.

“Come up here if you dare!”

“Back, you Watch scum!”

“Magic haters! Killers!”

“Prince Balthazar will reign and you’ll be getting’ what’s coming to you!”

They waved their clubs, beat them into their palms. Some of them picked up stones and tossed them in Arlian’s direction, but doing so through the artistically-barred gate was no use.

Just the sight of these rampaging fools made Arlian’s blood boil.

Where had the Watchmen gone? They should have been guarding this gate and the streets.

Watching the stones being pelted at them, but falling far short, Arlian noticed there were a lot of stones. Everywhere.

And empty baskets.

It hit him. These Schuarists showed up suddenly and pelted the Watch with stones, probably clubbing their way up the streets and forcing the far outnumbered men back.

No wonder it was such a mess. Looking at the gate, he realized there was no way up, not unless they were going to get through that barricade of forty or so men and women in hoods.

Now what?

“Commander,” Captain Lech said from behind. “We can’t get in there. We’d need a hundred more men.”

“Damn.”

The councilor was in danger. Left unaided, the Watch protecting the High City would eventually cave. There was no telling how far the Schuarists would go when carrying out their threats.

Jorrissiana could be killed, hanged or beheaded in the square—something that’s never happened before to a counselor, especially not in the protected area of the High City where their residences were located.

“We need to find a way up there,” Arlian called. The din from the shouting and looting was hard to speak over.

“Commander, look out!”

Glancing up, Arlian saw a chair flying toward him from the apartments above. He took a moderate step back and the piece of furniture crashed and splintered into pieces.

“Die, you tyrants!” the man shouted out of the window. The looter was certainly not a resident of the High City, but neither was he wearing one of the purple robes of the Schuarists.

With the political upheaval, the lack of general law and order, others had joined the Schuarists in their rampage, ostensibly to take up the same cause, but men like these were just opportunists playing the part.

As long as a man was a Schuarist—or a woman for that matter—they were almost untouchable. Any excuse for violence, and a civil war would break out.

The Schuarists would no doubt lose, but they did have a lot of magickers on their side, but the kingdom of Aevalin had a strong army—currently houses outside of the city walls so no accidents happened.

As long as the army was outside of the city, the Schuarists nearly reigned supreme. Perhaps Captain Lech was right, and Arlian should start to supply the Watch ranks with disguised soldiers.

He broach the matter to Prince Kandrion next time they were together.

Lech stepped forward, looked at the splintered chair and then caste a murderous look up toward the now empty apartment window. “What now, Commander?”

“We’re not getting in through the road,” he said. He stepped back a few paced in case any more furniture came crashing down at them.

Many of the rioters were looking for excuses to wound or even kill Watch members and Arlian would be damned if he died from a tossed footstool or a table!

Gritting his teeth, he surveyed the switch backed road, green trees and the trampled gardens. It was a veritable fortress. In fact, High City was once part of the citadel before the castle was erected.

They wouldn’t be pushing their way up there—not with two-hundred armed and armored men from the Watch, had they that many to even spare. And they didn’t.

Just then, Arlian spotted a suspicious-looking man watching them from the fountains several hundred paces from their left. He wasn’t suspicious in the way that he dressed—in the fine trousers and doublet that he wore. What was somewhat off, was his aggressive stare, and yet he wore no beaker.

No, he wouldn’t stop staring, half turning to walk away, but keeping eyes locked on Arlian.

The commander of the city watch narrowed his eyes. “Captain Lech.”

“Yes, my lord?”

“Be on your guard.”

“Do you think he’s a scout for an ambush?”

The man began to walk in the opposite direction, holding Arlian’s gaze, but then finally breaking off.

“I don’t know. Let’s follow him.”

“Are you sure that’s wise, Commander?”

He began to make his way toward the fountains and after the man, not quickly, just a steady gait. “Probably not, but something is going on here. He’s not a Schuarist.”

They followed past the fountains. The splashing water tinkled over Arlian’s armor, but the splashed that hit his bare skin felt like heaven’s touch on this hot summer evening.

“Is he going to run?”

By now, Arlian was at a trot, still after the man, but not running. He wouldn’t run unless the man bolted.

“Come on, Captain.”

“I’m with you, Commander.”

The man weaved his way into a crowd of angry people. The lot wasn’t facing in the direction of the High City—where the smoke was coming from. Instead they were yelling and screaming at a commotion near the front.

Shop windows, shattered. A wagon tipped on its side. A dog dead on the streets, its lifeblood spilled over the white stones.

There was a man curled up in a fetal position and a woman crying, screaming that he not be beat anymore by the three clocked Schuarists.

Supporters of Prince Kandrion no doubt. These Schuarists and their supporters were actually of a mind that Kandrion was anti magic—that he wanted the people of Aevalin and the other kingdoms to suffer and die while he say in his opulent palace.

The plague wasn’t even that bad, and Arlian knew this from firsthand experience, being on the streets, having gotten sick. Even Mariel had gotten sick. It wasn’t the danger Prince Balthazar and his criers made it out to be.

But these fools…

Unable to stop himself, Aralian pushed his way through the crowds and shoved one of the club-wielding Schuarists aside, then punched the other in the face.

The third came at him with his club raised, but Captain Lech moved in, flipped the man over his shoulder and took the club from him.

The crows screamed, their firsts upraised.

“Begone!” Arlian ordered.

They didn’t even care. In normal circumstances, they wouldn’t have hesitated the obey a Watchman, much less one of rank, of which even the common folk could tell that much about Arlian’s armor—but maybe not that he was the Watch Commander.

Looking into their eyes, he could see this mob, given half a chance, would kill him and Captain Lech both.

Half of the wore the black beakers, many of which who couldn’t afford, or simply didn’t have access to the twisted-looking bird-face masks had rags tied over their faces—the fools.

“We need to get out of here. Pick that man up!”

“I’m on it, Comman—sir!”

Two men moved forward, and balling his fist, Arlian swung at them in a backhanded swipe, but they stepped back, avoiding the blow.

This seemed to upset the crowd even more as they began to constrict the space between them.

Feeling no other recourse, Arlian let loose his blade with a sharp metallic hiss. Several of the crowd cried out in surprise, and the wave of angry faces and balled fists stepped back visibly.

“Not. Another. Step closer!”

“This way!” Lech called, as he trundled along with the man’s arm over his shoulder, his wife, clutching at his other arm.

“You scum!” she shouted.

Not helping, woman.

They moved toward the edge of the crowd and down a narrow alleyway where not too many of the angry Schuarist supporters could follow them.

The brick walls were close, the lighting back here shaded and almost full dark. There was a palpable coolness to the stones as well. They blocked the noises of the city and the mob—not completely, but enough to make Arlian think it was almost peaceful back here.

He wished he could just lean up against the brick wall and fall asleep, forgetting the troubles of Aevalin for a night.

But they soon were out of the alleyway. They continued this way down the street where some few looters were making off with whatever valuables or foods they could without being accosted by their owners.

The plague worshipers—that’s what Arlian had taken to calling them in private, were out in force—to show the king and the councilors their wrath.

Always wearing their beakers to keep distance from catching the evil, and yet their bodies so closely packed together that half a pace could scarcely make any difference.

The irony.

“Here,” Lech said, gasping, and helped the man sit on the edge of the well in this deserted square they had entered.

Arlian sheathed his blade, looking about. But the man was nowhere to be seen.

“We lost him.”

The woman was instantly attending to her husband. He was awake, but wasn’t speaking. The front of his shirt was socked in his own blood as he dabbed his face with a bit of wadded up cloth from his wife’s skirt.

“Shouldn’t Brakso be returning, Commander?”

“That’s assuming whoever he went to ask for help doesn’t have their own problems.”

“I suppose you’re right, sir,” Lech said, scooping water out of the well bucket. It was one of the older wells that had no pump.

“Thank you for helping me,” the man finally said. His wife nodded profusely. “I can’t believe what this city has come too,” she said, an accusing look cast Arlian’s way.

“You and your men should be filling the dungeons.”

“Unfortunately, it’s more complicated than that.”

“Oh, to be sure, sir.”

“We’re leave you to alone now,” Arlian said.

“Again,” the man said. “My thanks. They were looting everything I had, and I have no doubt they’d have killed me if not for you. The blessing of the gods be on you, sirs.”

“And to you,” Leck said.

“Try to stay out of trouble,” Arlian warned. “These are… difficult times, such the like we’ve never had before.”

“You don’t have to tell us twice,” the woman said. The nodded Arlian’s way and the two Watchmen left them there.

They came to a clearing in the parks, even further away now. “We should head back, see if Brakso had any luck.”

Captain Lech nodded. Arlian could see the worry on his face. “If they kill her,” he said, “Prince Balthazar wins.”

“Oh hells, man.”

Arlian didn’t want to think about that.

“You there!” a voice called.

Arlian whirled, his sword hissing out of its scabbard. It was that man, his hands upraised. He had stepped out from behind one of the marble statues. The parks, if it weren’t for the turmoil of Aevalin, would have been fields of tranquil gardens, shade trees and waterfalls, but right now they served only to contrast the current upheaval.

“I nearly killed you, man.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Arlian said. “I know you, don’t I?”

He nodded respectfully. “Gracian Lorenovar, my lord.”

“That’s right!” Arlian said. “You serve her ladyship Councilor Jorrissiana.”

“That, I do. I couldn’t very well approach you out in the open. I’ve nearly been killed thrice as it is.”

“I understand.”

“Do you know a way to the High City dwellings?” Captain Lech asked.

“I do. I came to tell you.”

It was like having a rope thrown to you after losing your horse in a river in full plate. The armored man caught that rope, or he drowned in the water.

“Do you not have more men?”

“We do,” Arlian said. “On the way. Hopefully.”

“That doesn’t sound reassuring, Commander.”

“It is what it is.” To Captain Lech he said, “Go back and find Brakso, lead his men here.”

“Will you not be here when we return, Commander?”

“You’re right. Gracian, where are you taking me?”

He pointed, a hurriedness in his movement. “Deeper into the parks, my lord. Do you know the cliff face carving of King Kiryndaro?”

“Of course, I do, man. The one will the gold etchings—who doesn’t?”

“My apologies. But there’s a secret passage into the High City above that cliff. I climbed down on ropes.”

“Why didn’t her ladyship come with you,” Lech asked.

“She’s seventy and three, sir.”

Lech nodded.

“All right,” Arlian said. “Gracian, take me. Captain Lech, you meet us there with whoever Brakso manages to bring.”

“Yes, Commander. May the gods protect you.”

“And you. Gracian, lead the way.”