CHAPTER 35
The Standing Man
Venn’s feet were itching. They were itching to spring forward into a run, because his sister was within reach at last. The only thing slowing him down was the man walking next to him. Really, he would have rushed ahead already if Georg hadn’t said that they needed him. Master Lucan. Or Lord Lucan, as Georg called him in whispers.
Venn trusted Georg, but he doubted his judgement of the man’s station. It didn’t matter though. Master Lucan was helping him, and for that, Venn would forever be grateful. He’d been honest in his intention to pledge himself to the man should he save Lyanna. He’d been honest, but he wondered if that would simply put her under the power of another man who would only want to use her. It mattered not, for he would never tell him what she had. He would not let her be used again.
“Can we not go faster?” he complained.
“We are going at a reasonable pace, considering she’s in no danger yet,” Master Lucan said, strolling lightly on the street, though he carried two sheathed swords. Why? Venn knew not. “Unless you want the whole city to know we are rushing towards something.” He gave him a downward glance. “It’s not unlikely that word would reach the other gangs if we did.”
Venn blew out a breath in surrender. “No. No, I don’t.”
“Where did they say they found her?”
Venn pressed down his excitement, stepping on its throat, squeezing the air out of it. He’d been anxious for his sister’s return for so long, and he’d always managed. It wouldn’t do to lose his patience now. “It’s the old temple lane, mostly abandoned.”
“Abandoned?”
“Yes, nobody lives there,” Venn said. “They say that during the city’s dig to make the dungeon, a few collapses happened there, killing two dozen people. The city denies it, but no one wants to hazard living in that district.” He paused, wondering if he should tell him of another rumor he’d heard. After a thought, he decided that he would not lie to his benefactor, even if he thought the man needed more zeal in the pursuit of rescuing Lyanna. “They also say that beasts sometimes Break out of the dungeon there. The guilds deny that, too.”
“I see,” Master Lucan said. “Quite a dangerous place to hide.”
“Lyanna is clever,” Venn said, excitement welling up again. “She always has been. Georg said the Scars are roaming about the lane, looking for her–”
“And he needs our aid to reach her,” Master Lucan finished for him.
“Yes!” Venn said, hopping on one foot. “We only need to slip away with her, then we can flee the city.” They were now going through one of the lanes near their destination, where fewer people than was common lived. Slowly, they felt the dereliction enveloping them as they approached the old Temple Lane.
“What mark do you and Georg use?” Master Lucan asked.
“Mark?”
The man looked down at him, this time with some level of disdain, perhaps not disdain for his face but for his answer to the question. “The letter. How can you know it is truly from Georg? Does he use a word that only you two know? Does he use a seal, a drawing? A splash of color, perhaps?”
Venn looked at the man with a frown. They were now walking through a thoroughly abandoned street. They were in the Lane. “I don’t know…” He shook his head uncertainly.
“Who delivered the letter?”
“A courier.”
Master Lucan frowned, slowing his stride. “Do you know Georg’s handwriting?”
Again, Venn slowly shook his head, though his mind still gave him the words he needed. “It must be him. He is the only one who would send such a letter!” He needed to find his sister. They couldn’t linger and wait for certainty on such a small thing.
“Do you even know if Georg can write, boy?”
He’d stopped now. He’d stopped, and Venn had to stop with him, because he remembered Georg once complaining about the difficulty of writing. He could write, true enough, but he could not write as well as that letter Venn had received. Lyanna had taught Venn to read and write well, but he often forgot that most did not enjoy such a privilege. He looked around them, and there were only decrepit houses and half-collapsed walls. The dirty road they’d taken had snaked through two buildings leaning against their neighbors, and he couldn’t see the way they’d come. “I-I-”
“He can’t, can he?”
“He can!” Venn couldn’t help but shout, turning to face the man. “It’s only that…” He saw Master Lucan perk up, looking away, and that was when he heard it too. Movement. Venn turned around and saw him. Him? Who was that? What was that?
A man lumbered out of one of the buildings before them. At first glance, Venn knew the man was not well. His clothes were torn up–no–his leather armor was. His hair was wild and long, covering most of his face and touching his shoulders. The most frightening thing about him, however, was the claws. They poked out of his bony fingers, longer than daggers, as though emerging from a beast. For a moment, the wind blew his hair aside, and Venn saw fangs poking out of his mouth. He gulped, his skin tingling, invisible needles piercing it. He had never felt like this, not even when the gangmen had had their knives to his throat. “What is that?” he croaked out.
“Well,” Master Lucan said calmly. “I can’t claim to have seen one before, but I believe that is what the books call a Feral.”
“What is a–” Venn paused, glancing to the side as more noise heralded the arrival of another of them. Then more noise from the right.
“We are surrounded,” Master Lucan said, his voice graver this time, tighter. “Do you see that crack in the wall behind you to the left, Venn?”
“What?”
“Quickly, boy! Do you see it?”
“Yes!”
“Run,” Master Lucan commanded. “Get my men, or the Guard. Whoever you can reach. I will keep them at bay.”
He saw more coming out of the buildings. Six of them. He saw six, he knew. And he knew then that he’d led this man, perhaps his only friend beside Georg, to his death. “I am sorry.” His voice came out in a whisper, hoarse and faint.
“This is no time for apologies, boy,” Master Lucan said forcefully. “Run!”
Venn obeyed. He put his head down and dashed towards the crack in the wall, even as he heard a sword clear its scabbard and glimpsed a flash of gold. He stopped himself from looking back at his benefactor. He stopped himself from looking at the creatures that surrounded him, from looking at their claws and their fangs and their shaggy, almost animal-like hair. He ran, leapt through the high crack in the wall, and rushed through the opening between two buildings.
He ran and ran until he heard civilization again. He was in that lane where few people lived. He didn’t remember its name. He found the street and ran as fast as his feet would carry him, his breath ragged and his clothes already soaked with sweat. His feet ached by the time he’d made it to one of the bigger thoroughfares. There, he found two guards, and he rushed towards them. “Help! Help us!” He came to a stop at their feet, drawing breath like it was the last thing he’d do before collapsing, but he couldn’t collapse, not just yet. He leaned on his knees and said, “Help, beasts! My-my master. He is being attacked by beasts.”
“Slow down, boy. T–”
“There is no time. You have to come!” He reached out to pull one of them by hand, but the man swept his hand out of the way.
The guards looked at each other, then the older one asked him, “What kind of beast?”
“A human beast!”
Again, the guards glanced at each other, then gave him a suspicious look. “And where are these human beasts?”
With a falling voice, Venn said, “In the old Temple District…”
“Hmm, hmm,” the older guard nodded, looking at his companion again.
The younger guard met the older one’s eyes. “Moonshine, do you think?”
“Or the blue flower.” The older guard huffed and reached for Venn. “Come with us, boy. Let us g–”
Venn grit his teeth, put his head down, and dashed away from them. Gods damn it! He ran, and they chased after him, but they were slower, with all their arms and armor, and he was used to running away, running away from gangmen, guards, and those few suspicious folk that gave him chills almost as bad as the human beasts he’d just seen.
He ran, knowing not where he ought to go. Georg and Ryder were out looking for Lyanna, and they likely hadn’t found her yet. He hadn’t seen the other man, Tomis. Master Lucan had returned from his errand alone.
The sun was beginning to sink towards the horizon. Perhaps they were all back, perhaps there was hope. Before he could think more about it, the world had blurred by him, and his feet had taken him to the tavern.
He stood in front of its door, his eyes beseeching it, hoping that they were hiding what he needed. He looked at the two guild guards flanking the door and wondered if they would believe him. Would they leave the tavern to save Master Lucan even if they believed him?
He shook his head and rushed into the establishment. As soon as he pushed the door open, he saw Georg and Ryder preparing to sit down at one of the tables. They both turned at the noise, seeing him there with what must have been a horrified face.
“Venn,” Georg called, voice hazy in his ears as though coming from behind a veil. “What is the matter, my boy?”
“Where is my master?” Ryder was quick to follow with his own question.
Venn’s throat folded in on itself, and he pointed behind him, towards the door, as though a foolish part of him thought that would explain everything. Stupid tears chose to come out of his eyes now. Damned tears. He shook his pointing hand as hard as he could, and through a clogged throat, he croaked. “Help. Master Lucan…they ambushed us. Help.”
Both men kicked back the chairs they were about to take and rushed him.
In another blur, Venn found himself back on the streets again, leading the two of them towards the old Temple Lane. He found himself running even harder than he had been before, and a moment later, he realized that they were helping him, nearly carrying him by his armpits.
They rushed through narrow and wide streets alike, sweeping aside bewildered passersby and drawing the attention of way too many guards. They ran faster, and Venn’s heart beat faster. Would they find him dead? Master Lucan. Would they find him clinging to life with a breath? Yes, that would be best. That would be most fortunate. They could bring him to a healer then. There were a few in the city. Surely, he could afford it. Did Georg not say that he was a lord? He could afford it. He certainly could. He only needed to survive for a moment longer. The moment it took them to turn that last abandoned street. They were nearly there.
When they came to the head of the street, his heart stopped drumming in his ears, and there was a brief moment of quiet. There was no noise, he realized. There was no sound of fighting. Was that good? No.
Why couldn’t he have just fought on for a little bit longer? Why?
They dashed to the end of the street, passing by the two buildings leaning against each other and the crack in the wall, and there, they stopped.
Venn saw him.
He stood, a golden sword in his hand. He had blood on his face. He had blood everywhere. Covering his boots. Soaking his clothes. Painting his cheek. But he stood there. A man could not stand if he was dead, right? And he stood there. Around him, carnage. Two pairs of legs stuck out of a collapsed wall of an old house. A headless corpse lay at his feet. Another lay behind him, lacking one of its arms and bleeding out slowly into the earth. The last two were in front of them. One lay at the bottom of a stone pillar of one of the stouter houses, its back broken and its throat sliced open, and the other lay at their feet, most of its thick neck cut through, as though it had met an executioner’s axe instead of a sword.
Venn’s gaze returned to him. He hoped he was right. He hoped that a dead man could not stand. Because the man who stood before them was eerily still, not unlike a corpse. Venn stood still too, waiting for proof.
Then a familiar voice emerged from the standing body.
“They say that folk only truly appreciate what they do not have.” Yes, yes, he knew that voice, even if it was a bit rough and strained and dry. “And I must say, I have never appreciated my armor more.”