Rocalla's Saga: Arrival

27: Near the South Gate —

1054 Kyabalaka 7

The next morning, we all rise early, well before dawn, and eat some bland cereal while drinking raw tea.

“What are you going to do about your house?” I ask Elanor.

“Nothing.”

“You don’t have anyone to watch it?”

“No. It will be okay. I don’t expect that anyone will bother it while I’m gone. Besides, if they do, there isn’t much that I can do about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not really my house, I just live here.” After a brief pause, she continues. “Why do you look so puzzled? I’m North Plessian and a woman. I can’t own this house, or any other property.”

“I didn’t realize,” I say. “Well, I knew that women here didn’t own property, but I never really thought that they couldn’t. I never gave it much thought. What will you do if you come back and this house is occupied?”

“Wander around until I can find an empty house. Stay in an inn until then or until my money runs out.”

“Oh,” I say. No other words come to mind.

We depart as the west sky is brightening. The sunrise is dull, lacking color, and overhead a heavy blanket of clouds covers us. It takes only minutes for us to walk the two blocks to our meeting place.

Clavius is already there. The town guards at South Gate are close enough to be clearly visible, but far enough away so that our presence is not obvious to them. Still, we step back into the side street as a precaution.

I introduce Clavius to the others. Minutes later, Borojs arrives. “Are we ready?” he grates.

“Everyone is here except for the naturalist,” I say.

“Is he coming?” Borojs asks.

“I’m not sure.”

“Then let’s get on with it.”

“We’ll give him ten minutes,” I say.

“I guess you’re the leader,” he says.

For the next ten minutes, Borojs glares at me. Finally, I sigh. “Okay,” I say. “Let’s go.”

We step out into the main road and start walking south. We go only half a block before we hear shouting coming from behind us.

“Stop, hold there.” I look over my shoulder to see who is calling, and there is Xerxes, running down the road.

“Wait a minute,” I say. “Our naturalist is here.”

Xerxes reaches us, out of breath. “Weren’t you going to wait for me?”

“We did,” I say. “I didn’t think you were going to show.”

“Well, I’m here. Which one of you is going to carry my bags?”

“You are,” Dierdra says. “So if you’re ready, we need to go. I doubt that we have escaped the notice of the town guards, what with all of your shouting.”

“So what if the guards do notice? If you’re not going to carry my stuff, we should hire a porter,” he says.

“We don’t have time,” I say. “Carry it if you want it, or leave it here in the street. Either way, we’re going now.” Clavius raises his eyebrows as he watches the exchange between the two of us.

“Okay,” Xerxes says. “But I don’t know what the big hurry is. I’ll carry it for now. We can divide the burden later on.”

I ignore him and lead the way down the road once again. The group is quiet, and only the sound of our boots on the cobblestones breaks the silence.

We fall into a rhythm, slowly walking together, a group of eight diverse souls making our way out of the city. The streets are empty, and we travel south without interruption. Coming to a split in the road, we take the left fork. We barely make it around the corner when we find the street ahead of us blocked by a band of twelve soldiers standing in formation behind a short woman with sandy brown hair.

“Gorla Nen,” gasps Dierdra.

I continue leading our group forward until we are about ten strides from Gorla Nen and her group of guards. Not wanting a confrontation, but not sure how to avoid one, I merely come to a halt. The others stop as well. Dierdra and Clavius are on either side of me, the rest remain behind us.

“Where do you think you’re going this fine morning?” Gorla asks.

“We’re leaving Mandelbroggen,” I say.

“Not without my permission, you’re not,” she says.

“Who are you to tell me and my friends that we can’t walk down the street?”

A mischievous smile graces her lips. “I’m surprised that you don’t know who I am. Or maybe you’re just pretending not to know. In either case, I’m Gorla Nen, Minister of Internal Security. That gives me the right to decide when and if you’ll leave.”

“We’re no threat to you.”

“That’s one thing we can agree upon.”

“I mean our presence in Mandelbroggen is hardly a threat to your position or the Pyrusian government. We’re leaving. I would think you would be happy to see us go.”

“You took some things that belong to us.”

“And what things would they be?”

“Things that need to be tucked away back in the castle and not paraded around the town square.”

“Afraid the townspeople will learn the truth? Afraid the population will find out that the castle is harboring high level wizards in the governor’s employ?”

“And then what?” Gorla asks. “After you blast your big mouth all over the city, will the people rise up against us? Storm the castle? What purpose could their knowing the truth possibly serve?”

Gorla gazes straight at me, her short frame standing a head shorter than most of the guards. But her unmoving determination demands caution, if not outright respect of her power.

“Tell me,” I say, “You’re not Pyrusian, so why do you care if their occupation endures? Why are you so set on defending them?”

“Rocalla Rastama, you are incredibly naive. You might think that in the sixty-seven days you have lived in Mandelbroggen, you might have learned something. Apparently, that’s not the case. But the rest of you, what is your excuse? Dierdra Laak? Elanor Fhar? Don’t be so shocked that I know your names. You know how women are treated here. You know how we are marginalized. Do you think that I could be a member of the Council of Nine Ministers if the North Plessians and the church were in charge around here? I wouldn’t even make it to sergeant of the guard without the Pyrusians.

“I will not let you do anything that might bring down the Pyrusian government.”

“Then let us walk out of here,” I say. “Exile us if you must. We’re leaving; you can do what you want to maintain your power here. Let your conscience be your guide.”

“Someone has to take the blame for the massacre the other day,” Gorla says. “I believe you were there.”

“If you know that I was there, you also know that I didn’t fire the crossbow that killed Father Hafhmar Maan.”

“A crossbow killed Hafhmar Maan? I heard that he was consumed in a magical fire of his own creating.”

“You lying, scheming excuse for a woman. You know…”

“I know that it is time for you to come with me now. So put down your packs and your weapons and you won’t be hurt,” Gorla says.

“Rocalla, you can’t,” Elanor says. “They’ll kill us.”

“We’ll see how strong our priestess leader is now,” Borojs says in his grating, high pitched voice.

I glance back and see Dierdra’s hard look of determination, the look of annoyance and judgment on Borojs’ face, and the sheer terror displayed by Elanor. Ignoring their words, I have already come to my own decision. “I tell you again, Gorla Nen, Minister of Internal Security, that we are leaving the city. Let us pass.”

Gorla says nothing. Instead, she motions with her arm, and the twelve men step forward as one.

“Rocalla?” says Clavius.

“We are not surrendering,” I say. “Please stay on my right, Clavius. Dierdra, drop back and use your bow.” I quickly dump my pack and ready my quarterstaff. Watching me from the side, Clavius drops his pack as well and draws his two-handed sword.

“Your resistance will only make your impending imprisonment that much more unpleasant,” Gorla says.

I have no will or desire to fight these young town guardsmen, but I have no choice either. As much as the imminent violence saddens me, I will not step aside. The first rank of four swordsmen reaches us, and the battle is joined.

I duck, turn, and swing, catching a young dark-haired man across the side of his head with the full force of my quarterstaff. As he staggers, I plunge the end of the rod with all my strength into the center of his abdomen. His cloth armor is insufficient to dissipate the full force of the blow and he sinks to his knees. With two more blows, he is unconscious on the ground.

In the short time that it took me to vanquish my first foe, Dierdra put two arrows into the swordsman next to him and a third into a halberdier in the second rank. Clavius is fighting two swordsmen, one of which is already lying motionless in the street.

The last rank splits and tries to flank us on either side. While I face the halberdier who steps forward to meet me, the air sizzles with magic as bright orange fireballs zip past me, and arcs of white lightning crackle to my far right.

The halberdier in front of me now is a tougher opponent, as his long pole arm keeps me at a distance. I retreat slowly as he presses his attack. Glancing blows from his halberd open cuts on my arms and roughen my left cheek. Still, I manage to land an occasional blow, and as we fight on his halberd is not held as high, and his jabs become less frequent.

My chest is heaving with exertion and I am sweating despite the cold. All of my attention is on my opponent now as I await an opening. It comes when his halberd drops a little lower, and I spin around and whack the side of his head with all the force I can put behind my quarterstaff.

The man staggers backward several steps, but does not fall. I take a couple of deep breaths and prepare to move forward when Gorla pushes him aside.

She stands there facing me, empty-handed, her green eyes looking deep into my own. “You surprise me, priestess woman,” she says. “But now you’re mine.”

I straighten up, standing a good fifteen centimeters taller than her. Not knowing what to expect, I proceed cautiously at first, taking a defensive stance and only lightly pressing the attack.

She easily blocks or dodges my first quarterstaff swings. I try harder, aiming a strong sweeping blow low to her body. She ducks under it, crouching impossibly low, and the momentum of my swing carries me too far to the right. Gorla’s right foot comes up and deals a hard blow to my left side. Pain shoots up my back and I stumble further right.

The fight continues.

I try multiple blows and quick combinations, but Gorla blocks every one with a forearm or a leg. As I recover from the effort, she spins and kicks again, hitting my right hand with her booted foot. The hand goes dead for a moment and I barely manage to hang onto the quarterstaff with the other hand as one end of my staff clatters on the cobblestones.

A few seconds later, she twists the staff from my grasp and disarms me.

I try to block her hands and feet as best I can, but she is fast and I am growing fatigued. I relax for only a moment, and she places a kick directly into my abdomen.

I lose my breath, and my knees crumble. Spots swim before my eyes as my arms hang uselessly at my sides. Gorla twirls and kicks the side of my head and I go down, sprawled across the street.

My vision is badly blurred, as I try to focus on her standing above me. Her hands are on her hips and I imagine that she is smiling. Someone may be calling my name, but I am not sure. Warm, metallic tasting blood fills my mouth.

Then Gorla’s head snaps forward and she staggers toward me. She turns away to face a new opponent. My mind is slow to realize what is happening, until my vision clears enough to recognize Mariyiybha fighting Gorla.

Like me, she uses a quarterstaff, but she is slow and out of practice. She manages to get several blows in while Gorla is stunned, but then Gorla recovers.

“No,” I gasp, barely audibly. “No, Mariyiybha, not you too.”

Gorla disarms her easily. Mariyiybha is facing me, tired, but standing tall. Reaching behind her back with both hands, Gorla Nen pulls out two daggers hidden in a fold of cloth in the small of her back.

“No!” I scream.

The hands dart forward and I see Mariyiybha’s body react as the daggers plunge into her chest. Her eyes glaze over. Gorla pulls out the daggers, and Mariyiybha falls in a heap on the cold ground.