Bloodguard

chapter 37

Leith

Hand on my sword under my cloak, I ready for attack.

“Just keep moving,” Caelen murmurs.

“Halt,” the elf in the lead calls again, his voice carrying over the growing discord behind us at the gate. “You!” he shouts, and I glance back to see that he’s pointing at a giant with a huge pack slung over his shoulder.

I release my sword and let out a breath, resisting the urge to look back while the unmistakable sounds of clubs striking flesh break out behind me as the soldiers subdue the resisting giant.

“This way,” Caelen says. He leads us through the bailey into an open courtyard flanked on either side by tall battlements. Wait…this isn’t a courtyard, even if there are fountains and draping flowers and pruned trees. This is a clever funnel. It’s the only way into Tunder—which leaves us like fish in a barrel.

If the many archers upon those battlements decide to shoot down on the procession of travelers crowding along with us toward the next gate, we’re screwed.

“I take it Tunder is about as receptive to immigrants as Arrow?” I grumble.

Caelen nods stiffly.

Once we’re through, I twist in my saddle for a better look at the trolls and giants, the humans and elves, the shifters and fairies who are screaming back at the first gate. As guards with drawn swords surround the giant who is now face down on the ground, I hear that lead elf’s voice again, ordering someone to get on their knees.

“Quit fidgeting,” Caelen tells me. “Focus forward.”

Though it’s hard, I force my gaze ahead.

One block. Two blocks. Three. That’s how long it takes before I manage a breath that isn’t painful to take.

All the structures along the cobblestone main street are constructed of white stone. Their rooftops resemble a field in bloom—all bright colors, although I notice some method to the hues. Blues on the bigger homes, yellows for what appear to be businesses, reds for restaurants and taverns. The colors are bright, sweeping like strokes of a very thick paintbrush.

Caelen offers a stiff nod to pedestrians on the way to market. Everyone from a troll with soot on her hem to a young elf dressed from head to toe in silk gives Caelen ample space the moment they catch sight of his green-and-blue military uniform and how his hair is shaved on the sides. They know he’s a legitimate member of Arrow’s army—a high-ranking member—even if they recognize that he was once one of their own.

We reach the top of one street and descend another before either of us speaks again. “The inn where we’re meeting him is not much farther. Giselle should already be there.”

“Giselle?” I ask.

Caelen presses his lips into a thin line. “Giselle does what she wants, when she wants, and her steed, Usic, is faster than any moon horse, save for a few in the army. With her royal crest, she would have been permitted entry automatically.” He sighs. “I know she wants to see an herbalist here, and in her own way, she wants to watch over us. She’ll be here. On my life, it’s only a matter of time before she shows herself.”

Watch over us? I glance at the fearsome soldier next to me who clearly needs no watching over but decide to keep my mouth shut.

He’s done talking about Giselle, and despite wanting to, I don’t ask about the affliction that no one dares speak of. Maeve’s secrecy about it bothered me at first—and I still want to understand the gloves and know what threat, if any, Giselle might pose—but I respect her loyalty and Caelen’s, too.

Our moon horses pick up to a trot as we reach Tunder’s main square. Two streets past, and then down another four. There are lefts and rights, and though I try to commit the directions to memory, it feels like we are turning circles in this place.

Finally, Caelen pauses. “We’re here,” he says.

A stable girl reaches for his horse’s reins.

Another young girl reaches for Star’s bridle as I idle beside where Caelen strokes his white-and-tan mare. He looks up, so I do, too, releasing a string of curses when I catch the name of the pub.

Your Mother’s Bloomers

Now there’s a place you want to meet the man charged with your mother and sisters’ safety.

The roof of Your Mother’s Bloomers is more moss than shingles, coating the tiles in red and green patches. The pointed roof arches go this way and that, more of a last-minute thought.

I glance into the elegant tea shop beside it. Through the window, I see an assortment of well-dressed patrons sipping from teacups and sating their appetites on towered plates of pastries and pies.

“Tell me we’re going into that tea shop,” I say through my teeth. The last thing I want to do is sip tea with my pinkie high in the air or whatever the fuck, but the pub looks like where murderers go to put hits on their grandmothers, not a place we’ll find someone trustworthy to safely transport my family.

Caelen strokes his horse one last time. “We’re going into the tea shop,” he says.

I hop down beside him, staring at my mud-splattered boots, and scratch Star behind the ears before she’s led away. “We are?” I asked, relieved.

“Nope,” Caelen says. “I’m just telling you what you wanted to hear.”

Caelen strides toward the pub as a dwarf and a very naked giant stumble out. An enthusiastic roar of the crowd in the tavern shouts, “Drink, drink, drink,” loud enough to overtake the busy street.

The naked giant holds the door for us before joining his gentleman friend…vomiting into a sewer. Yes, indeed. This is a classy establishment.

“Drink, drink, drink !”

A crowd gathers around a small table where an ogre with spiky fair hair and black clothing guzzles down a pint of beer. The changeling in front of him morphs from a large cat to a pink possum and then to a stunning, brown-skinned human before slamming her metal cup down.

Caelen stops briefly, taking in the madness and the scathing looks tossed our way—can’t blame them, I’m dressed like a real asshole right now—before he quietly crosses the room and into a dark corner.

He slips into a booth, and I follow, sitting beside him. My companion raps twice against the wooden table, pauses for a moment, and adds a third. As if materializing from the shadows, a mountain troll appears, pushing our table out of the way to make room for his massive body on the bench across from us. Traces of barely there black strands poke through a mostly bald head.

The troll smooths out what little hair he has like someone with bountiful locks, starting from his forehead. As he glides his palm over his scalp, I catch sight of a deep scar in the shape of an X carved into his forehead.

“Xavier.” Caelen nods.

The troll huffs, annoyed. “I go by many names. Pick the right one, and you might get what you need.”

Caelen tosses a small sack filled with coins to the middle of the table. Xavier scowls at it and then at Caelen, who asks, “Do I have the right man now?”

Xavier doesn’t open the sack. Just smacks a meaty claw over it and drags it to his side. “What do you need, soldier?” he asks.

“A human woman and her two young daughters brought to Arrow.”

A strike of a match lights the scars that mar his face. A stab wound along his cheek is fresh and still not fully sealed. He takes a drag from whatever fragrant herbs he’s rolled and releases puffs of smoke through his large nostrils and the gash on his cheek. “To sell?” he asks.

His exhale is strangled by my sudden grip on his throat. I’m not sure I could actually strangle a mountain troll, but I’m willing to try.

“Do not insult my bride,” Caelen offers casually.

Bride? Does he mean my mother? Rose?

“My companion here knows I don’t like to play games,” Caelen says.

Xavier coughs, smoke billowing from his nostrils and mouth. Caelen is taking responsibility for my family. He’s trying to help, and I’m only impeding his efforts.

Xavier gestures with his eyes for me to look down. I may have him by the throat, but he has me by the balls.

He smirks, jabbing my crotch with the flat side of his knife. “I think you may want to keep that.”

Why, yes. As a matter of fact, I do.

I release Xavier’s neck and ease back slowly.

He waves a hand, leaving a swirl of smoke in the air. “I only ask because I don’t sell or buy,” he growls. He narrows his gaze at Caelen, using the rolled-up herb in his beefy fingers to point at him. “But three bodies means three passes, means three times the price, Cael. And my rates have gone up.”

It’s clear Xavier knows exactly who Caelen is.

In the next blink, Caelen has the troll lifted with one arm and slammed against the wall. Xavier is easily four times the soldier’s weight.

“I said no games,” Caelen growls. His eyes are glowing amber, and the skin on his arm is expanding. His voice… It isn’t elven.

The troll grins.

Before I can get a word out, Caelen releases him. Without further negotiation, my companion tosses three small sacks of coin to the troll. “I’ve brought no more than usual, Xavier. Take it or leave it.”

Xavier peeks inside each bag, weighs them crudely between his hands, and eventually tucks the pouches into his very large pocket.

“And there will be three more when they come back to me.” Caelen transfers a note into the troll’s hand. I recognize it as the one Maeve wrote with descriptions of my family. She made it so I wouldn’t have to come here myself, but I refused to entrust my mother and sisters to a smuggler I hadn’t seen with my own eyes.

I have my own dagger out now. “Or three times more torture if you fail.”

Xavier jabs himself in the chest with each word. “I don’t fail. Neither does my crew.” He pauses. “Two weeks from this day. And they’ll be with you.” His eyes dart around the room before settling back on us. “Here.”

I frown as the chanting crowd bellows and the newest chugging-contest participant, a mage, face-plants onto the floor, sparkles of red floating from his unmoving form. “Here?” I question.

Xavier nods. “Here and safe, Cael,” he promises.

Caelen jerks his chin toward the door. I follow him outside.

The purpose was to get them into Arrow. But perhaps that isn’t possible? Even through the mountains.

“Caelen—”

“Steady, soldier,” he says. “The last bit was for anyone eavesdropping. Xavier knows where to find me.”

Rather than head toward where the horses are being watered, Caelen marches to the establishment next door.

Where the tavern was dim and smoky, here everything is pristine and white, and I feel as out of place as a donkey in a palace.

“What are we doing here?” I ask as we’re led by a very tall female elf toward a table beside the front window.

“Drinking tea.”

We sit. Caelen orders. Tea is served.

I guess he isn’t going to bring up what transpired in the tavern, but my suspicions are already confirmed. The night Maeve lanced the wounds on my legs, that ungodly roar, the weight and menacing voice of the shifter that constrained me…it was him.

“So, there’s a warm and fuzzy side to you,” I say. “What are you? Some super-sized bunny shifter?”

Caelen’s offended expression makes me snicker, then laugh outright. The sound is rusty, but even his lips twitch at this brief moment of levity. And he doesn’t deny it.

I realize why I feel good. Because for the first time in a very long time, I have hope. Getting my family out of Siertos means they’ll have a chance at a better life. Even if I don’t survive to make Bloodguard, they’ll be supported.

I can imagine them in a small house near the manor, helping Jakeb and his staff and being cared for by Neela and Maeve. My sisters will swim in the lake and pick flowers in the fields.

“Something to eat, sir?” The human serving our table addresses me, but her gaze stays on Caelen as if he’s someone important.

“No, thank you,” I mumble. Little cakes don’t call to me like the scents of the stewed meat and tangy ale the tavern had. I can’t help looking at the door.

Caelen follows my gaze. “We can go back if you want, but I’d prefer to scout the place from here. We’ll draw less attention this way.”

“We wouldn’t have drawn any attention if you hadn’t started to shift and lifted a troll over your head.”

He takes a beat, then makes a face that says fair enough, man . And then I’m smiling for the second time today. Maeve would be over the moon.

“I meant ,” Caelen clarifies, “we’ll stand out less among the other military officials here.”

He has a point. Though the colors are different—purple and white—there are uniformed members of Tunder’s guard here, along with what look to be merchants and members of the Middling class.

This may not be Arrow…but there are many similarities.

We sip tea and stare out the window at the sun setting over the walls. A muscle starts to tick in Caelen’s jaw. “She should have found us by now,” he says, worry casting a dull glow along his copper skin. “She knows we can’t afford to be here for long.”

Bells toll. The loud ringing makes my blood hammer through my veins and my heart beat fast. It’s the feeling I get before I step into the arena.

Caelen stands abruptly.

“What’s happening?”

Outside the tea shop, guards sweep the streets. They bear the colors of Tunder— and Arrow.

“Damn. I’d hoped we’d gone unnoticed.” Caelen drops a handful of coins on the table. “Time to go.”

The bells continue ringing as we rush to reclaim our horses.

“We need to find Giselle and get out. Now.”

“And if we don’t?” I ask.

“We will,” Caelen insists. “We must.”

I mount Star and follow him. The streets are too busy to hurry the horses, a fact that both mounts resent. We stand out on their tall backs, and where the colors of Arrow gained us entrance to the city, I worry that now those colors make us a target.

And still those damn bells ring. “What do they mean?”

Caelen’s expression is grim. “They’re closing the gates. Early.”

Shit. How are we supposed to leave this walled city?

We could find a place to scale the wall, but we can’t abandon the horses. On foot, it would take days to make the trek over the mountains—also, I’ll admit I’ve grown quite fond of my mare and don’t want to leave her behind. We can’t hunker down and hide, either. The penalty for missing an event in the arena is death. I must get back to Arrow.

“This way,” Caelen instructs, guiding his moon horse along backstreets until we’re approaching the main bailey at an angle.

I spot the platoon of blue-and-green-uniformed soldiers at the same time Caelen does. He growls something I can’t make out.

They block the only open path out of this walled city.

I reach for my sword.

“Wait!” Caelen says.

Then I see her. The Arrow guards have surrounded Giselle. “I’m a citizen of Arrow,” she proclaims. “Get your hands off me!”

“She knows we’re here,” Caelen whispers. “She’s providing us a diversion. Don’t waste it.”

“You dimwitted, arse-sniffing, swine-kissing fools, you have no right to detain me!” She starts pushing and shoving the soldiers as we walk our horses through the crowded courtyard toward the main gate.

Caelen has a bag of gold in his hand, and he drops it into the palm of a Tunder guard stationed near the gate. He’s a giant several feet taller than Luther. The guard strides ahead of us, blocking us from view. We clear the gate.

I know I shouldn’t look back, but I can’t stop myself. That’s Maeve’s sister. I can’t leave her.

The gate is closing. “Caelen…”

“Give it a moment,” he tells me.

His voice is a low, rumbling growl. His beast is at the surface. Maybe that’s his plan—to shift and go back for her.

But if they seal the gate…

The air around me charges like it did in the arena before that mage-made storm. I can smell the change in the air. It reminds me of the days leading up to flood season in Siertos, when heat-lightning would streak across the sky as the clouds continued to circle and grow.

The last thing I see as the gate shuts is Giselle peeling off her gloves.

Right before a massive ball of fire erupts.