Chapter 88


    Distant Rhythms of the Drum


    Femira made her way through back alleys towards the dockyard. She could hear the sounds of rioting in the distance, people shouting in both anger and fear. Femira had never anticipated her actions leading to this. A part of her tried to convince herself that it wasn’t her fault. How was she to know that Port Novic had been on the brink of public uproar?


    Although destroying their thronehall probably wasn’t my best idea. It had all happened so quickly. She’d stagnated for weeks in Port Novic, she’d been so eager to get through the embargo that she launched herself into the plan to rescue Connie’s crew.


    She could hear the footsteps behind, keeping pace. She glanced back at the woman who’d been following her since Krastac’s Hall. It was like the woman was tethered to her, never more than a few yards away. As Femira had opened cavities in walls, she purposefully left open a few moments longer behind her to let the woman flee in Femira’s wake. She could hardly save the woman from being executed and then just leave her where the soldiers could easily find her.


    However, Femira had expected the woman to dash off into the crowds once they were out into the city streets. Instead, she stayed close to Femira, trailed her silently as Femira made her way towards the dockyard.


    Femira hadn’t a fucking clue what she was doing. What she’d done.


    “You don’t have to stay with me,” Femira said, pulling up. The woman stopped and watched Femira with a curious expression. Like a stray cat, wary to trust the scraps thrown her way in case of a trap.


    “You’re free to go,” Femira waved her off, “I don’t want anything.”


    “You saved me,” the woman said slowly.


    “I hardly tore down half that throneroom for the fun of it, did I?”


    “Are you one of Tormon’s agents?”


    “Listen, I’ve no idea who Tormon is, and I don’t particularly care.”


    “Tormon is the man who was executed before me.” The guy who was now mush. Femira’s stomach turned thinking about it.


    “If I was working for him, then I did a pretty shit job rescuing him.”


    “If you’re not one of Tormon’s then which group are you working for?”


    “I’m not working for anyone,” Femira shook her head, “I just want to get out of this place.” Femira turned heel towards the docks.


    “I’m confused,” the woman said, following after her, “if you’re not part of the revolution, then why did you attack the Red Throne? Why did you risk your life for me?” Revolution?! Oh Femira, you’ve really gone and stuck yourself in it now, haven’t you.


    “Not everything is about you and your problems. You got lucky. Very fucking lucky. I wasn’t there for you, I was there for someone else. I just couldn’t listen to you scream any longer.” Femira also wasn’t sure if she could live with herself if she had let this woman be burst like a blood bubble like that. Not when Femira had the skills to prevent it.


    The woman stopped, dumbfounded. Femira kept on walking.


    “You rescued me, by simple coincidence?” the woman asked, incredulous.


    “Yes,” Femira pulled up again, she was wasting time now. “Do you have a place to go? A place where you’ll be safe?” And not get caught again for whatever you did that ended you up on that dais in the first place. Femira still felt a fragment of responsibility for the woman. The guards would be looking for her once the riots were eventually put down. They’ll be hunting for answers of what happened. They’ll be hunting for me.


    “I…” the woman trailed off, a pensive expression on her face, “could I come with you?”


    “The place I’m going will be dangerous,” Femira said, flatly, “but… if you need to get out of the city then I can bring you with me. However, once we arrive at our destination, we go our separate ways, understood?”


    “I understand,” the woman nodded, then extended her hand out to Femira, “my name is Lydia.”


    “Femira,” she stepped forward and shook Lydia’s hand.


    “Thank you, Femira,” Lydia said, holding her gaze, “for saving my life. I owe you a debt, I will never forget it.”


    Femira groaned inwardly, she hoped she wouldn’t come to regret taking this woman with her.


    ***


    The trading vessel that Femira had managed to secure passage on from Epilas hadn’t been huge but at least there had been space to walk around on deck, a passenger’s lounge and private cabins. Connie’s ship, by comparison, was tiny.


    Femira hadn’t been expecting much from the smuggler’s ship but she had hoped for more than what she saw. There was a cargo hold and one communal sleeping cabin with a dozen hammocks for the crew and cargo of the human variety.


    “The more unassuming the better,” Connie said to her as Femira stepped off the gangplank. Femira didn’t think she’d been showing her opinions on her expression.


    “She comes too,” Femira nodded to Lydia behind her. Connie’s expression darkened, her eyes flicking to Lydia.


    “The deal was just for you.”


    “I just started a fucking revolution in this city to get your people out,” Femira pointed at the crew members setting up the ship to leave.


    “Revolution will be good for business, Con,” Sleek called over from where he was tying some knots, “lotta folk will want to be getting out of the city over the next few months.”


    “It will mean stricter patrols, harsher punishments, this is absolutely not good for business,” Connie countered.


    “Well,” Sleek shrugged, “ye cannae unring a bell.”


    “No,” Connie agreed, then looked Lydia up and down. “You’re another lucky throne-dodger today?”


    “Yes,” Lydia replied, stepping onto the ship after Femira.


    “Some of the others followed Sleek and Cowbell here, figured they wanted out of the city too,” Connie nodded to some of the people on the boat that Femira now recognised as other non-crew members that had been in the execution procession.


    “I’ve taken them on as trial deckhands,” Connie continued, “you need work too?”


    “No,” Lydia replied, then added a hurried, “but thank you.” Connie nodded in response.


    “Right, well, now that everyone’s here,” Sleek piped up, “I suggest we crack on. Riots are spreading through town so most ships are moving out of harbour to anchor in the bay for safety. Last time there was riots, half the dockyard was burned down.”


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    “This gives us good cover to leave harbour without a permit,” Connie added, “too many scared merchant vessels are pushing through the blockades that there’s nothing Avriem’s guard can do than just let ‘em pass on through.”


    “But there’s still the travel embargo to Rubane,” Sleek warned, “Avriem will have patrol ships along the coast. If any of them think we’re veering towards Rubane, they’ll be quick to intercept us. Connie and I can do what we do to make sure that doesn’t happen. But if we do get stopped and interrogated, we’re a small fry trading vessel bound for Estarhall. Both of you,” he gestured to Femira and Lydia, “will be hiding in a cargo crate.”


    Femira didn’t like the idea of being trapped inside a wooden box at sea, but she could argue that point if it ever came to that. I could dissolve the nails anyway if I wanted to get out. That thought settled her. She nodded in understanding.


    “Sleek is the Captain,” Connie told them, “at sea, you do what he says, when he says it. No arguments.” Their speech had practised flow to it.


    “I thought this was your ship?” Femira asked.


    “It is,” Connie replied, “I’m the proprietor. You also have to do what I say. In fact, the only reason I’m joining this run is because I don’t want to be anywhere near Port Novic for the next few weeks.”


    Femira and Lydia were shown to their sleeping hammocks and were each given a storage box for their belongings. Lydia had nothing other than her prisoners'' rags. Femira had figured that she likely wouldn’t be returning to the inn where she’d been staying after the escape plan unfolded, so she’d brought her belongings with her. Which wasn’t much.


    She had the black travel garb and cloak that she currently wore along with a small satchel containing the few things she’d brought with her; some changes of underclothes and the notebooks she’d stolen from Garld. She also had the book—The Art of Soulforging—that she’d stolen from Landryn’s office.


    All of her silver—the pay that she’d been earning while employed by the Reldoni military for the past year—she kept dissolved inside of her. It was the safest place for her money and she could reform the metal into coins any time she wanted.


    Nyth buzzed inside of her as she went through her mental checklist of possessions. Yes, yes, you too Nyth. She received a mental image of the helix blade in her hand, then warping quickly into the coiled armour. Yes, you’re very important. Nyth sent back the vision of a tranquil sea, Femira figured it meant contentment.


    Nyth truly was her most valuable possession. Although it felt strange thinking of it as something to be owned and less like an actual person. She hadn’t needed to fight much over the past few weeks. Not until today. Nyth’s adaptive armour had been integral while she was rescuing Lydia. Some of the soldiers had been armed with crossbows and had fired on her as soon as she had taken down the executioner.


    Femira had taken effort to not actually kill anyone. Although, she wasn’t certain how many people might have been crushed when she dusted the support pillars to the ceiling. Most of the civilians had fled by then and even the soldiers had been smart enough to back away when the roof had started to crumble.


    More will die in the riots. She hadn’t meant to incite riots. It wasn’t her fault. Then why do I feel guilty about it? It’s Duke Avriem’s fault for being such a bad ruler. It was the revolutionaries'' fault for stirring the population to rebel. Femira had just been the catalyst, an unknowing one at that.


    Sleek and the crew wasted no time now that Femira was aboard. The ship’s sail was up and was pulling them out of the harbour amidst the exodus of ships leaving the docks. Just as Sleek had predicted, none of the Duke’s ships barred their passage out.


    Bells could be heard tolling from the town. When Femira came back up on deck she could see that smoke was rising in different parts of the city. She felt a knot growing in her stomach. The scene evoked a dormant part of her mind. The memory of her brothers faces’ watching their village burn as they sailed away surfaced. Femira had caused that destruction too.


    “The boys told me what you did,” Femira heard Connie’s voice behind her.


    “I told you I could get them out.”


    “And that you did,” Connie replied, and then a touch softer, “thank you for that.”


    “I didn’t know that this would happen,” Femira admitted.


    “Don’t burden yourself with guilt over it,” Connie leaned against the rail, alongside Femira, giving her an appraising look.


    “I’m not,” Femira lied.


    “Port Novic has been balancing on a knife’s edge for weeks,” Connie went on, “ever since this new Sorcerer King declared war on Rubane.”


    Landryn didn’t start this war. King Abhran did. Femira didn’t know what had happened in Epilas after she’d left. She couldn’t risk leaving word to Landryn, not until she’d managed to find his brother alive. Not until she had living proof of Garld’s schemes.


    She’d heard the stories that were being told in taverns and in newspapers. King Abhran and his heir were dead—killed by Landryn’s own hand. Landryn had then used the remaining bloodshedders in Epilas to seize control of the city. With the bulk of the military already en-route for Rubane, Landryn’s coup had been easily won.


    The newspapers in Port Novic had depicted Landryn as a ruthless killer. That the Reldoni highborn had crowned him King out of fear of his bloodshedders. Terms like ‘soulforged’ and ‘Sorcerer King’ were being discussed openly in taverns. The secret was out. People knew that Landryn was soulforged and that he commanded a growing army of soulforged like him.


    The people of Port Novic had been apprehensive about the news. Avriem’s military could barely keep control in the city let alone withstand the rising might of Reldon. They feared that this new ‘Sorcerer King’ would set his sights on Athlin once Rubane had been taken.


    Femira had heard Landryn being called many names over the past few weeks; some were fearfully calling him a Sorcerer King, others the Blightwind King. Both depicted Landryn as something he wasn’t. A monster.


    But all the people saw were the facts; Landryn’s career was made from his swift takeover of Altarea. In the year that followed, he had killed an Honorsword envoy from Kieran and had declared war with Rubane. And soon after, Landryn murdered his father—the King—and his brother, the heir.


    Femira knew the truth; that it had been Garld orchestrating the war with Rubane—and likely with Altarea before that in his desire to acquire the soulstone. Femira had little doubt that somehow Garld was involved with King Abhran and Prince Lukane’s deaths.


    “How safe is Nordock right now?” Connie asked Femira pointedly.


    “I’ve never been there, you tell me,” Femira replied.


    “Something tells me that you know a lot more about what’s going on in Rubane right now,” Connie pressed.


    “What gives you that impression?”


    “This King they’re calling Blightwind, he’s rumoured to have an army of runewielders that match the power of the Sorcerer Kings,” Connie replied.


    “Do you believe everything in the papers?”


    “No…” Connie smirked, “but I believe Sleek. I believe the riots happening in the city right now because an incredibly powerful stonebreaker destroyed Krastac’s Hall.”


    Femira was unsure how to respond. She could hardly argue with the facts laid out like that. There was no hiding her abilities from the crew on the ship. Most of them had seen for themselves what she’d done at Krastac’s Hall.


    “The newspapers are saying that the Reldoni have landed at Garronforn,” Femira decided to shift the conversation. “And that they’re heading east… to the capital,” Femira recited, “Nordock should be safe.” In truth, Femira only knew what the papers said. She had left Epilas right after the war announcement, she had no insider information about the war that could help her mission.


    Connie narrowed her eyes, she obviously did not fully believe that Femira only knew what was publicly known about the war. She can believe whatever she likes.


    “What do you know about Lydia?” Connie moved on.


    “Her name,” Femira replied.


    “You rescued someone you don''t even know?”


    “I didn’t know Sleek or the others,” Femira pointed out.


    “But they were part of the deal,” Connie countered, “Lydia was not.”


    “If you want to know about Lydia, you should ask her,” Femira advised.


    “I want to know what your connection is to her, that’s all.”


    “You have a problem with her being on the ship?” Femira asked, she’d already told the woman she’d never met Lydia before today.


    “I just think it was awfully convenient for her that you came to me the same day she was being executed… almost like this was planned.”


    Femira barked a bitter laugh. “You think I planned this? I just wanted to get out of the city. I didn’t want to burn it to the ground!” There was an edge to Femira’s voice as she spoke and Connie backed up slightly.


    “I believe you,” Connie said.


    “I don’t care what you believe,” Femira snapped, “I only care that you hold your end of the bargain.”


    “Of course, I will,” Connie said, almost offended, “my reputation is how my business thrives… but I simply like to understand the extent of what I’m involved with,” she explained. Trust me, you don’t. Femira nodded.


    “I’m going to get some rest,” Femira said and took one last look at the smoke rising from Port Novic. She wondered if she would ever leave a place better than when she arrived there. Not Epilas, for all the work she’d done to further Garld’s agenda. Not Altarea where all she’d done was lie and steal. Certainly not the village of her childhood.


    Temple Beach maybe… Femira had killed the Kragal there. She’d saved countless people from the creature and its draega spawn. Femira needed to hang on to that. She needed to hang on to what she could actually do to save people instead of hurting them. Fighting draega, that’s what she was good at. That’s what she was supposed to be doing.


    She could feel the eyes of the crew, stealing glances at her while going about their tasks. She’d saved them from execution on that throne. That should have made her proud. But the burning city on the horizon was a taint on it.