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<blockquote data-quote="RangerWickett" data-source="post: 5104992" data-attributes="member: 63"><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><strong>Chapter Three</strong></span></p><p> </p><p> Rantle shouted for the people in the streets to keep back. Holding the huge sword he had stolen from Kathor, he sprinted down the street to the door of the Apple, where the men with the battering ram had just managed to knock the door open. Over the panic they didn’t hear Rantle coming, and he aimed for the first man’s neck.</p><p> </p><p> Rantle had been in a lot of fights, and he had killed a man once, a guildsman from the Takers gang. The fight had been over turf, and Rantle had meant to leave the Takers guildsman with just a scar, but his blade had gone in farther than he had expected, and – since the man had been trying to kill Rantle anyway – he hadn’t regretted it. Better, his fellow Mauser guildsmen had treated him to a night of drinks to reward his toughness, so in the end Rantle had come away feeling alright with the idea of killing people.</p><p> </p><p> These bounty hunters might have come looking for his sister, so Rantle did not hesitate as he swung.</p><p> </p><p> “Come out quietly, or we’ll lock you in here to burn!” one of the bounty hunters was shouting. “Surren-”</p><p> </p><p> Kathor’s sword was nearly as long as Rantle was tall, heavy enough to crush plate armor and sharp enough to sever a horse’s leg. It cut through the first man’s neck cleanly, and its momentum carried its tip into the side of the second man’s jaw just as he was demanding a surrender. Rantle imagined he could feel bone crunching and teeth snapping free through the blade’s hilt. The man screamed, dropped his metal club, and collapsed. Rantle staggered back, shocked, but then he heard shouts inside the Apple, and saw the man was still moving, red steam filling the air with his every breath. Shuddering, Rantle stepped over the man’s body and in through the pub’s front door. </p><p> </p><p> Overhead, the roof and second story burned like they were coated with pitch, and the explosion of the adjacent building had fractured the walls. Fiery oil had somehow seeped through the cracks, setting one wall on fire. On the far wall behind the bar, dozens of bottles had fallen during the impact, leaving the shelves bare. Still upright, though, a bronze bust of the late Emperor Coaltongue took in the battle without expression.</p><p> </p><p> Throughout the pub’s common room a half dozen men dressed like the thugs outside fought amid clustered tables and chairs against their five potential bounties. Rantle recognized no one in the small melee, and he scanned the wrecked walls for signs that Katrina might be trapped or hiding.</p><p> </p><p> Just inside the doorway lay a dead bounty hunter, and near him the herethim man Rantle had seen outside earlier slumped against a table, blinking dully and hissing in pain. He held a blood-soaked sword, but a dagger had punctured his chest, and blood poured down his forehead from a wretched wound where something had bludgeoned his skull. </p><p> </p><p> To the right of the bar the black-haired woman Rantle had seen enter earlier hid behind an overturned table, shaking and yelling at the other man who had come with her as he bled to death from his throat. Between them and the thugs stood a young white-haired woman in breastplate and greaves. She thrashed a flurry of axe strikes into one bounty hunter and shoved him back into his allies, but another bounty hunter, his clothes and face burnt from dripping oil, flanked wide through the common room tables so he could get her from behind. She yelled to the dark-haired woman for help.</p><p> </p><p> To the left of the bar, a bloodied bounty hunter wrestled with a short jispin man that Rantle had not seen with the group earlier. The jispin man, wearing what looked like an expensive servant’s outfit under a tattered brown cloak, was barely half the size of the bounty hunter, but he was kicking and flailing with the tenacity of a cornered dog, slashing his enemy’s arms with a tiny knife since he could not reach the man’s throat.</p><p> </p><p> The dark-haired woman in the far right corner of the room screamed, and Rantle leapt into the battle.</p><p> </p><p> He switched the oversized sword to his left hand, drew his dagger, and ran up behind the nearest bounty hunters, who were keeping the white-haired woman busy. The thug who was trying to flank her called out a warning to his allies, and one of the two bounty hunters spun and swung at Rantle with a sword. Rantle saw the attack coming, knocked it aside with a clumsy one-handed wipe of the two-hander, and then lunged in with his knife. He almost stopped himself, remembering the dying man he had left in the doorway, but then his blade slipped into the bounty hunter’s belly, and the man doubled over. Rantle ripped his knife out and drove it into the man’s throat.</p><p> </p><p> Rantle cringed, expecting the second bounty hunter to come at him, but the warrior woman had swung at that man, and he was desperately trying to keep her axe at bay with his sword.</p><p> </p><p> The third, flanking bounty hunter had given up on the white-haired warrior woman and was instead trying to grab the cowering woman on the floor. She scrambled under a table, but with all the scattered chairs and tables in the way Rantle knew he wouldn’t be able to get to her before the bounty hunter did. </p><p> </p><p> Hoping to distract the man long enough to close the distance, Rantle drew back the two-handed sword and hurled it lengthwise. It whirled through the air, twisting slightly so that when it struck the bounty hunter it was the flat that hit, but still the force of the impact staggered the man, and he turned to see what had hit him. With that moment’s pause, Rantle had picked up the sword from the last man he had stabbed, and now he shouted and charged in. </p><p> </p><p> The bounty hunter slashed as Rantle reached him. Rantle tried to parry, but the other man locked the crossguard of their swords together, then stepped in and lifted a knee into Rantle’s stomach.</p><p> </p><p> Rantle doubled over, expecting to die any moment, but no one hit him. He forced himself to straighten up and swung at his enemy, only to discover the man had an axe in his collar bone. The white-haired woman had managed to dispatch her enemy, and had come to his aid. </p><p> </p><p> She stepped in, gripped her axe tightly, and shoved the man off the blade with her foot. He slumped to the ground clutching the horrible wound in his chest, and for a moment the woman looked like she was going to finish him, but then she spat and turned away. The bounty hunter feebly clambered away to the door.</p><p> </p><p> Rantle sighed and nodded. “Thanks.”</p><p> </p><p> The woman was not looking at him, though.</p><p> </p><p> “Rivereye,” she shouted.</p><p> </p><p> “Alive,” came the reply from the jispin.</p><p> </p><p> The short man, barely four feet tall, had somehow managed to extricate himself from the bounty hunter who had been grabbing him, and who now lay curled in a pool of blood near the bar.</p><p> </p><p> The jispin man was ugly. Most jispin had that cute appeal all small things have, but warts riddled Rivereye’s face, and his skin had a blue pallor. Gem-studded rings adorned his hands, and he had slung a heavy pack over his shoulder, filled with something large and boxy. His eyes, squinty, nervous slits of dark blue, fixed on Rantle. He produced a knife and held it out warily.</p><p> </p><p> “I’m here to help,” Rantle said. “Is there anyone else with you? A red-headed woman?”</p><p> </p><p> The warrior woman shook her head, glancing around the room quickly as she moved over to the herethim with a knife in his side.</p><p> </p><p> “No,” she said. “We need to get out of here before this place falls on us. Kell, come on. We’ve got to get out of here.”</p><p> </p><p> Rantle had already stepped away, looking down at the black-haired woman who cowered on the floor. She wore the tunic of a craftswoman, dyed light purple, and had no weapons on her. Her hair was tied back in a thin braid, and her brown eyes stared wide and blankly at the floor. Rantle knelt beside her, holding up his less-bloodied hand to try to calm her.</p><p> </p><p> “This place isn’t safe,” he said. “Come with me.”</p><p> </p><p> The woman shook her head, quivering with fear. Her eyes flickered to the body of the man beside her, and then she closed them tight, her face twisting with grief. </p><p> </p><p> Rantle sighed and wished he did not have to, but the fire gave him little choice. He leaned forward, grabbed her by her armpit and waist, and threw her over his shoulder. She didn’t struggle, and a moment later he was outside, laying her down on the opposite side of the icy street, next to a closed shop. The short jispin Rivereye and the warrior woman had dragged their herethim comrade out as well, and were tending to the dagger in his ribs, but it didn’t look good.</p><p> </p><p> Overhead, families peered out of the upper story windows. The streets were swelling with confused people, but most kept their distance from the fire for now. Distant sounds like massive drumbeats called out from all around, but the people spoke only in whispers, unable to comprehend what was happening.</p><p> </p><p> As Rantle laid the shocked woman down, she said, “Torrent.”</p><p> </p><p> The white-haired warrior woman looked over like she had been called by name. “I’m here, Sorra. Don’t worry. We’re safe.”</p><p> </p><p> “Coran’s in-.” Sorra stopped, choking on her tears before she could finish. “Torrent, he’s still inside.”</p><p> </p><p> The warrior woman, Torrent, glanced at Rantle.</p><p> </p><p> “Coran, the other man,” she said. “Get him out.”</p><p> </p><p> Her voice had a sadness that made it clear that she knew the man was already dead, but Rantle just nodded. He needed to get his sword back anyway.</p><p> </p><p> A minute later, Rantle staggered out of the door of the Apple, Coran’s body over his left shoulder, Kathor’s sword in his right hand, and a bundle of loot from the bounty hunters under his arm. The pub was filling with smoke, but it would still be a while before its ceiling would cave, Rantle guessed. Coughing, Rantle came over beside the other survivors and dropped the body and loot with as much finesse as he could, then slumped to the ground himself. </p><p> </p><p> His legs had been shaking, and now he realized his whole body was shivering, but not from the cold. He wanted to get up and do something. The city was in chaos, and Rantle did not know what was going on, but he felt like he should be helping, somehow. He considered running to the west wall, since the rags were probably attacking; or going back into the Apple to drag out some of the bounty hunters who might not yet be dead, but he could not bring himself to move, not yet.</p><p> </p><p> Far overhead, Rantle thought he heard a sound like a massive flag flapping in the wind, and the alarm bells were still ringing.</p><p> </p><p> “Feeling alright?” Torrent asked.</p><p> </p><p> Rantle glanced over to her. She leaned against the stone façade of the shop and rubbed a poultice into a gash on her shoulder. Her white hair – her most obvious feature – was almost short enough to be a military cut, like she had once been a soldier and had never been comfortable with letting it grow out. </p><p> </p><p> The light brown color of her skin marked her as being from the south-eastern Ragesian empire, the land that had been called Chathus before the Ragesians conquered it decades earlier, though Rantle wondered if she might be part jen – not of the han race, like him. She looked normal enough, but had a gentle jawline and piercing eyes that suggested jen, and her white hair was definitely unusual for a han woman her age. Also, the armor she wore was clearly of Shahalesti make, decorated with fine etchings of waves and sea creatures.</p><p> </p><p> Despite Rantle’s prolonged stare, she did not look at him as she tended to her wound, though it was clear she was waiting for his reply.</p><p> </p><p> “I’m not hurt,” he said.</p><p> </p><p> Torrent half-shrugged, half-nodded. “You’ll be alright. Thank you for the help.”</p><p> </p><p> “Yeah,” Rantle said.</p><p> </p><p> They watched the crowds filling the street, confusion on everyone’s faces. No one was trying to put out the fire in the Apple, and there were shouts that there fires all over the city. Torrent took out a flask, sipped a bit, then cleared her throat.</p><p> </p><p> “You were looking for someone when you came cutting your way into that pub,” she said. “A woman, right?”</p><p> </p><p> “My sister, Katrina,” he said. “Red hair. Twenty-two. She’s a mage, like these people with you are, I’m guessing.”</p><p> </p><p> “Yeah,” Torrent shrugged, “they’re mages. I’m trying to get them to safety. But I haven’t met your sister. Maybe she’s already on her way to Seaquen.”</p><p> </p><p> “What’s that?” Rantle said.</p><p> </p><p> “Seaquen,” Torrent said. “That’s why you came tonight, right?”</p><p> </p><p> Rantle said nothing, but he was sure his expression made his confusion clear.</p><p> </p><p> Torrent shrugged. “For whatever mad reason, Leska’s got the rags capturing mages, and we’re all heading to Seaquen, in south Dassen, where it’s safe. Tonight’s our last run, but there were other-”</p><p> </p><p> The force of another explosion a few streets away shook the ground and lit up the night with fire. People who had gathered outside screamed and fled, and Rantle and Torrent both cringed at the building-shattering roar.</p><p> </p><p> “What in hell are those?” Rantle demanded. “We’re a mile inside the walls. That couldn’t have been a catapult.”</p><p> </p><p> Torrent looked to the jispin man, who was trying to hide in the doorway of the shop, his eyes cast skyward.</p><p> </p><p> “Rivereye,” she said. Then again, “Rivereye!”</p><p> </p><p> The short man ducked, then looked over at the two of them. He carried himself like a dog often beaten, afraid of being struck again.</p><p> </p><p> Torrent tilted her head at the pub. “What caused that?”</p><p> </p><p> A smile flitted across Rivereye’s lips, then vanished. “Dractyls.”</p><p> </p><p> Rantle said, “What?”</p><p> </p><p> Rivereye scoffed darkly. “You’ve got great birds here in Gate Pass, right? Avilons?”</p><p> </p><p> Rantle nodded. Avilons were like eagles the size of a horse, just large enough for small women and young men to ride them. Though officially they constituted an aerial cavalry, most Gatekeepers just thought of them as unique entertainers who soared through the city during festivals, performing elaborate dances in the sky.</p><p> </p><p> “The Ragesians have avilon cavalry?” Rantle said, bewildered.</p><p> </p><p> “Better,” Rivereye said. “Or worse, I suppose, for us. Dractyls. They’re like stupid dragons, twice as big as an avilon, big enough to carry a knight in armor. I once saw a group of dractyl riders training. They could get a dractyl to pick up a clay urn the size of a keg and drop it on a target ten feet across from a hundred feet up. Of course, the ones they were using were for practice. The ones they’re carrying now use some sort of fire magic, and are filled lots of oil.”</p><p> </p><p> “Dragons?” Rantle said. “The Ragesians have dragon cavalry? That’s impossible.”</p><p> </p><p> “Don’t believe me then,” Rivereye sneered. He turned away and began muttering.</p><p> </p><p> Torrent said, “They’re not true dragons. More like cats, bred down from mountain lions. You notice they’re not breathing fire. You’d be surprised what magic you can buy with an empire’s fortune.”</p><p> </p><p> “Still,” Rantle said. “We’re helpless, and more important, worthless. My city is being destroyed by ‘cats.’ How do we fight something that flies?”</p><p> </p><p> Torrent had a small, tight smile on her lips. “You’re too eager to fight. Your city has its own defenders who will do the fighting. What we need to do is find some shelter tonight.”</p><p> </p><p> People were surging past them in the street – not enough to risk trampling them so close to the building, but enough to make it clear that most of them were just panicking, scared people, each trying to go wherever he or she thought was safest.</p><p> </p><p> “It looks like the Ragesians are just scattering the strikes randomly,” Rivereye said. “The army is probably attacking the wall right now, and the more people who are in the streets, the harder it is for reinforcements to get there. I think we should actually stay here, since they won’t drop another bomb so close to this one.”</p><p> </p><p> “No,” Torrent said. “I told you, we’re getting out of this city. I’m not letting you hole yourself up and wait to get killed.”</p><p> </p><p> Sorra, the dark-haired woman Rantle had carried out earlier, shivered as she said, “Inquisitors.”</p><p> </p><p> Torrent leaned over and put a calming hand on her shoulder. Then she looked back to Rantle.</p><p> </p><p> “I need to keep these people safe,” she said, “which means we’re leaving. We were lucky you came and helped us. We’re leaving the city, if you’d be interested in coming with us? Your sister might already be on the way to Seaquen.”</p><p> </p><p> Rantle shook his head and stood, holding the two-handed sword and wondering what to do with it.</p><p> </p><p> “She might be here too,” he said, “or she might never even have gotten here. I’m not going to run. Look, once you find some place safe, lay easy. I imagine it’s good to stay out in the open, or to be underground, away from the ‘bombs.’”</p><p> </p><p> Torrent stood and raised a hand in a mock toast. “I hope you have that luxury, because we don’t.”</p><p> </p><p> “Yeah, well,” Rantle said, “it’s a new year, so I wish you – and me – the luck to make it through tonight alive.”</p><p> </p><p> Torrent said, “Don’t run into any more burning buildings.”</p><p> </p><p> Rantle smirked and then, before his nerve and legs grew weak again, he headed down the alley beside the nearest three-story building, jumped onto the ladder built into the bricks, and started climbing. Halfway up, he glanced down and saw Torrent, Rivereye, and Sorra heading off. They had left behind Coran and the herethim man whose name Rantle had not caught. Only then did Rantle realize the herethim must have died from his wound. </p><p> </p><p> Rantle kept climbing.</p><p> </p><p> When he reached the roof he threw the sword he had taken from Kathor up first, then clambered onto the flat, icy rooftop, careful not to lose his balance. More than anything else, he had chosen to take the skybridge route because he wanted to see what was happening from a high vantage point, and when he stood up he cursed.</p><p> </p><p> Scattered fires lit up his city, stretching away a mile to the west gate and miles more eastward. The sky was dark with clouds, but their undersides reflected the dim orange of the burning flames. As he watched, another explosion blossomed in the central district, and it took a long breath for the muted thump to reach his ears. When the bomb flared, its light glinted off bronze high overhead, hinting at the shape of a mighty statue, a colossus that had been left forty years ago, the last time Ragesia had attacked Gate Pass.</p><p> </p><p> Ninety feet tall, it had been erected to mark the victory of the glorious emperor, Drakus Coaltongue, called the Old Dragon, who had conquered Gate Pass near the end of his ascension to power. Even after the resistance had driven out the rags, the city had kept the statue as a reminder to all Gatekeepers that they had the strength to defeat the greatest power in the world.</p><p> </p><p> Now, the rumors said Coaltongue was dead, and Ragesia had gone to war to avenge him, and to locate and recover that most precious artifact, wielded for the hundred years of the emperor’s reign, which had made the Ragesian Empire invincible.</p><p> </p><p> Coaltongue’s colossus towered over the city, its right arm raised to the heavens, holding horizontally over its head the bronze-cast image of that artifact, a jagged femur crowned with flame – the Torch of the Burning Sky.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="RangerWickett, post: 5104992, member: 63"] [size=3][b]Chapter Three[/b][/size][b][/b] Rantle shouted for the people in the streets to keep back. Holding the huge sword he had stolen from Kathor, he sprinted down the street to the door of the Apple, where the men with the battering ram had just managed to knock the door open. Over the panic they didn’t hear Rantle coming, and he aimed for the first man’s neck. Rantle had been in a lot of fights, and he had killed a man once, a guildsman from the Takers gang. The fight had been over turf, and Rantle had meant to leave the Takers guildsman with just a scar, but his blade had gone in farther than he had expected, and – since the man had been trying to kill Rantle anyway – he hadn’t regretted it. Better, his fellow Mauser guildsmen had treated him to a night of drinks to reward his toughness, so in the end Rantle had come away feeling alright with the idea of killing people. These bounty hunters might have come looking for his sister, so Rantle did not hesitate as he swung. “Come out quietly, or we’ll lock you in here to burn!” one of the bounty hunters was shouting. “Surren-” Kathor’s sword was nearly as long as Rantle was tall, heavy enough to crush plate armor and sharp enough to sever a horse’s leg. It cut through the first man’s neck cleanly, and its momentum carried its tip into the side of the second man’s jaw just as he was demanding a surrender. Rantle imagined he could feel bone crunching and teeth snapping free through the blade’s hilt. The man screamed, dropped his metal club, and collapsed. Rantle staggered back, shocked, but then he heard shouts inside the Apple, and saw the man was still moving, red steam filling the air with his every breath. Shuddering, Rantle stepped over the man’s body and in through the pub’s front door. Overhead, the roof and second story burned like they were coated with pitch, and the explosion of the adjacent building had fractured the walls. Fiery oil had somehow seeped through the cracks, setting one wall on fire. On the far wall behind the bar, dozens of bottles had fallen during the impact, leaving the shelves bare. Still upright, though, a bronze bust of the late Emperor Coaltongue took in the battle without expression. Throughout the pub’s common room a half dozen men dressed like the thugs outside fought amid clustered tables and chairs against their five potential bounties. Rantle recognized no one in the small melee, and he scanned the wrecked walls for signs that Katrina might be trapped or hiding. Just inside the doorway lay a dead bounty hunter, and near him the herethim man Rantle had seen outside earlier slumped against a table, blinking dully and hissing in pain. He held a blood-soaked sword, but a dagger had punctured his chest, and blood poured down his forehead from a wretched wound where something had bludgeoned his skull. To the right of the bar the black-haired woman Rantle had seen enter earlier hid behind an overturned table, shaking and yelling at the other man who had come with her as he bled to death from his throat. Between them and the thugs stood a young white-haired woman in breastplate and greaves. She thrashed a flurry of axe strikes into one bounty hunter and shoved him back into his allies, but another bounty hunter, his clothes and face burnt from dripping oil, flanked wide through the common room tables so he could get her from behind. She yelled to the dark-haired woman for help. To the left of the bar, a bloodied bounty hunter wrestled with a short jispin man that Rantle had not seen with the group earlier. The jispin man, wearing what looked like an expensive servant’s outfit under a tattered brown cloak, was barely half the size of the bounty hunter, but he was kicking and flailing with the tenacity of a cornered dog, slashing his enemy’s arms with a tiny knife since he could not reach the man’s throat. The dark-haired woman in the far right corner of the room screamed, and Rantle leapt into the battle. He switched the oversized sword to his left hand, drew his dagger, and ran up behind the nearest bounty hunters, who were keeping the white-haired woman busy. The thug who was trying to flank her called out a warning to his allies, and one of the two bounty hunters spun and swung at Rantle with a sword. Rantle saw the attack coming, knocked it aside with a clumsy one-handed wipe of the two-hander, and then lunged in with his knife. He almost stopped himself, remembering the dying man he had left in the doorway, but then his blade slipped into the bounty hunter’s belly, and the man doubled over. Rantle ripped his knife out and drove it into the man’s throat. Rantle cringed, expecting the second bounty hunter to come at him, but the warrior woman had swung at that man, and he was desperately trying to keep her axe at bay with his sword. The third, flanking bounty hunter had given up on the white-haired warrior woman and was instead trying to grab the cowering woman on the floor. She scrambled under a table, but with all the scattered chairs and tables in the way Rantle knew he wouldn’t be able to get to her before the bounty hunter did. Hoping to distract the man long enough to close the distance, Rantle drew back the two-handed sword and hurled it lengthwise. It whirled through the air, twisting slightly so that when it struck the bounty hunter it was the flat that hit, but still the force of the impact staggered the man, and he turned to see what had hit him. With that moment’s pause, Rantle had picked up the sword from the last man he had stabbed, and now he shouted and charged in. The bounty hunter slashed as Rantle reached him. Rantle tried to parry, but the other man locked the crossguard of their swords together, then stepped in and lifted a knee into Rantle’s stomach. Rantle doubled over, expecting to die any moment, but no one hit him. He forced himself to straighten up and swung at his enemy, only to discover the man had an axe in his collar bone. The white-haired woman had managed to dispatch her enemy, and had come to his aid. She stepped in, gripped her axe tightly, and shoved the man off the blade with her foot. He slumped to the ground clutching the horrible wound in his chest, and for a moment the woman looked like she was going to finish him, but then she spat and turned away. The bounty hunter feebly clambered away to the door. Rantle sighed and nodded. “Thanks.” The woman was not looking at him, though. “Rivereye,” she shouted. “Alive,” came the reply from the jispin. The short man, barely four feet tall, had somehow managed to extricate himself from the bounty hunter who had been grabbing him, and who now lay curled in a pool of blood near the bar. The jispin man was ugly. Most jispin had that cute appeal all small things have, but warts riddled Rivereye’s face, and his skin had a blue pallor. Gem-studded rings adorned his hands, and he had slung a heavy pack over his shoulder, filled with something large and boxy. His eyes, squinty, nervous slits of dark blue, fixed on Rantle. He produced a knife and held it out warily. “I’m here to help,” Rantle said. “Is there anyone else with you? A red-headed woman?” The warrior woman shook her head, glancing around the room quickly as she moved over to the herethim with a knife in his side. “No,” she said. “We need to get out of here before this place falls on us. Kell, come on. We’ve got to get out of here.” Rantle had already stepped away, looking down at the black-haired woman who cowered on the floor. She wore the tunic of a craftswoman, dyed light purple, and had no weapons on her. Her hair was tied back in a thin braid, and her brown eyes stared wide and blankly at the floor. Rantle knelt beside her, holding up his less-bloodied hand to try to calm her. “This place isn’t safe,” he said. “Come with me.” The woman shook her head, quivering with fear. Her eyes flickered to the body of the man beside her, and then she closed them tight, her face twisting with grief. Rantle sighed and wished he did not have to, but the fire gave him little choice. He leaned forward, grabbed her by her armpit and waist, and threw her over his shoulder. She didn’t struggle, and a moment later he was outside, laying her down on the opposite side of the icy street, next to a closed shop. The short jispin Rivereye and the warrior woman had dragged their herethim comrade out as well, and were tending to the dagger in his ribs, but it didn’t look good. Overhead, families peered out of the upper story windows. The streets were swelling with confused people, but most kept their distance from the fire for now. Distant sounds like massive drumbeats called out from all around, but the people spoke only in whispers, unable to comprehend what was happening. As Rantle laid the shocked woman down, she said, “Torrent.” The white-haired warrior woman looked over like she had been called by name. “I’m here, Sorra. Don’t worry. We’re safe.” “Coran’s in-.” Sorra stopped, choking on her tears before she could finish. “Torrent, he’s still inside.” The warrior woman, Torrent, glanced at Rantle. “Coran, the other man,” she said. “Get him out.” Her voice had a sadness that made it clear that she knew the man was already dead, but Rantle just nodded. He needed to get his sword back anyway. A minute later, Rantle staggered out of the door of the Apple, Coran’s body over his left shoulder, Kathor’s sword in his right hand, and a bundle of loot from the bounty hunters under his arm. The pub was filling with smoke, but it would still be a while before its ceiling would cave, Rantle guessed. Coughing, Rantle came over beside the other survivors and dropped the body and loot with as much finesse as he could, then slumped to the ground himself. His legs had been shaking, and now he realized his whole body was shivering, but not from the cold. He wanted to get up and do something. The city was in chaos, and Rantle did not know what was going on, but he felt like he should be helping, somehow. He considered running to the west wall, since the rags were probably attacking; or going back into the Apple to drag out some of the bounty hunters who might not yet be dead, but he could not bring himself to move, not yet. Far overhead, Rantle thought he heard a sound like a massive flag flapping in the wind, and the alarm bells were still ringing. “Feeling alright?” Torrent asked. Rantle glanced over to her. She leaned against the stone façade of the shop and rubbed a poultice into a gash on her shoulder. Her white hair – her most obvious feature – was almost short enough to be a military cut, like she had once been a soldier and had never been comfortable with letting it grow out. The light brown color of her skin marked her as being from the south-eastern Ragesian empire, the land that had been called Chathus before the Ragesians conquered it decades earlier, though Rantle wondered if she might be part jen – not of the han race, like him. She looked normal enough, but had a gentle jawline and piercing eyes that suggested jen, and her white hair was definitely unusual for a han woman her age. Also, the armor she wore was clearly of Shahalesti make, decorated with fine etchings of waves and sea creatures. Despite Rantle’s prolonged stare, she did not look at him as she tended to her wound, though it was clear she was waiting for his reply. “I’m not hurt,” he said. Torrent half-shrugged, half-nodded. “You’ll be alright. Thank you for the help.” “Yeah,” Rantle said. They watched the crowds filling the street, confusion on everyone’s faces. No one was trying to put out the fire in the Apple, and there were shouts that there fires all over the city. Torrent took out a flask, sipped a bit, then cleared her throat. “You were looking for someone when you came cutting your way into that pub,” she said. “A woman, right?” “My sister, Katrina,” he said. “Red hair. Twenty-two. She’s a mage, like these people with you are, I’m guessing.” “Yeah,” Torrent shrugged, “they’re mages. I’m trying to get them to safety. But I haven’t met your sister. Maybe she’s already on her way to Seaquen.” “What’s that?” Rantle said. “Seaquen,” Torrent said. “That’s why you came tonight, right?” Rantle said nothing, but he was sure his expression made his confusion clear. Torrent shrugged. “For whatever mad reason, Leska’s got the rags capturing mages, and we’re all heading to Seaquen, in south Dassen, where it’s safe. Tonight’s our last run, but there were other-” The force of another explosion a few streets away shook the ground and lit up the night with fire. People who had gathered outside screamed and fled, and Rantle and Torrent both cringed at the building-shattering roar. “What in hell are those?” Rantle demanded. “We’re a mile inside the walls. That couldn’t have been a catapult.” Torrent looked to the jispin man, who was trying to hide in the doorway of the shop, his eyes cast skyward. “Rivereye,” she said. Then again, “Rivereye!” The short man ducked, then looked over at the two of them. He carried himself like a dog often beaten, afraid of being struck again. Torrent tilted her head at the pub. “What caused that?” A smile flitted across Rivereye’s lips, then vanished. “Dractyls.” Rantle said, “What?” Rivereye scoffed darkly. “You’ve got great birds here in Gate Pass, right? Avilons?” Rantle nodded. Avilons were like eagles the size of a horse, just large enough for small women and young men to ride them. Though officially they constituted an aerial cavalry, most Gatekeepers just thought of them as unique entertainers who soared through the city during festivals, performing elaborate dances in the sky. “The Ragesians have avilon cavalry?” Rantle said, bewildered. “Better,” Rivereye said. “Or worse, I suppose, for us. Dractyls. They’re like stupid dragons, twice as big as an avilon, big enough to carry a knight in armor. I once saw a group of dractyl riders training. They could get a dractyl to pick up a clay urn the size of a keg and drop it on a target ten feet across from a hundred feet up. Of course, the ones they were using were for practice. The ones they’re carrying now use some sort of fire magic, and are filled lots of oil.” “Dragons?” Rantle said. “The Ragesians have dragon cavalry? That’s impossible.” “Don’t believe me then,” Rivereye sneered. He turned away and began muttering. Torrent said, “They’re not true dragons. More like cats, bred down from mountain lions. You notice they’re not breathing fire. You’d be surprised what magic you can buy with an empire’s fortune.” “Still,” Rantle said. “We’re helpless, and more important, worthless. My city is being destroyed by ‘cats.’ How do we fight something that flies?” Torrent had a small, tight smile on her lips. “You’re too eager to fight. Your city has its own defenders who will do the fighting. What we need to do is find some shelter tonight.” People were surging past them in the street – not enough to risk trampling them so close to the building, but enough to make it clear that most of them were just panicking, scared people, each trying to go wherever he or she thought was safest. “It looks like the Ragesians are just scattering the strikes randomly,” Rivereye said. “The army is probably attacking the wall right now, and the more people who are in the streets, the harder it is for reinforcements to get there. I think we should actually stay here, since they won’t drop another bomb so close to this one.” “No,” Torrent said. “I told you, we’re getting out of this city. I’m not letting you hole yourself up and wait to get killed.” Sorra, the dark-haired woman Rantle had carried out earlier, shivered as she said, “Inquisitors.” Torrent leaned over and put a calming hand on her shoulder. Then she looked back to Rantle. “I need to keep these people safe,” she said, “which means we’re leaving. We were lucky you came and helped us. We’re leaving the city, if you’d be interested in coming with us? Your sister might already be on the way to Seaquen.” Rantle shook his head and stood, holding the two-handed sword and wondering what to do with it. “She might be here too,” he said, “or she might never even have gotten here. I’m not going to run. Look, once you find some place safe, lay easy. I imagine it’s good to stay out in the open, or to be underground, away from the ‘bombs.’” Torrent stood and raised a hand in a mock toast. “I hope you have that luxury, because we don’t.” “Yeah, well,” Rantle said, “it’s a new year, so I wish you – and me – the luck to make it through tonight alive.” Torrent said, “Don’t run into any more burning buildings.” Rantle smirked and then, before his nerve and legs grew weak again, he headed down the alley beside the nearest three-story building, jumped onto the ladder built into the bricks, and started climbing. Halfway up, he glanced down and saw Torrent, Rivereye, and Sorra heading off. They had left behind Coran and the herethim man whose name Rantle had not caught. Only then did Rantle realize the herethim must have died from his wound. Rantle kept climbing. When he reached the roof he threw the sword he had taken from Kathor up first, then clambered onto the flat, icy rooftop, careful not to lose his balance. More than anything else, he had chosen to take the skybridge route because he wanted to see what was happening from a high vantage point, and when he stood up he cursed. Scattered fires lit up his city, stretching away a mile to the west gate and miles more eastward. The sky was dark with clouds, but their undersides reflected the dim orange of the burning flames. As he watched, another explosion blossomed in the central district, and it took a long breath for the muted thump to reach his ears. When the bomb flared, its light glinted off bronze high overhead, hinting at the shape of a mighty statue, a colossus that had been left forty years ago, the last time Ragesia had attacked Gate Pass. Ninety feet tall, it had been erected to mark the victory of the glorious emperor, Drakus Coaltongue, called the Old Dragon, who had conquered Gate Pass near the end of his ascension to power. Even after the resistance had driven out the rags, the city had kept the statue as a reminder to all Gatekeepers that they had the strength to defeat the greatest power in the world. Now, the rumors said Coaltongue was dead, and Ragesia had gone to war to avenge him, and to locate and recover that most precious artifact, wielded for the hundred years of the emperor’s reign, which had made the Ragesian Empire invincible. Coaltongue’s colossus towered over the city, its right arm raised to the heavens, holding horizontally over its head the bronze-cast image of that artifact, a jagged femur crowned with flame – the Torch of the Burning Sky. [/QUOTE]
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