Fortress Walls: Chapter X, Part 5

Phineas reappeared about half an hour after he’d stormed out, but he simply got in bed without looking at or speaking to any of them. The others, subdued, went to bed not long after. Struck by a fit of what they seemed to consider genius, they pushed the two beds together to form a single large one to share. The three of them slept as peacefully as toddlers now, huddled together in a pile.

But Tariq couldn’t sleep. His instincts told him not to. He hadn’t planned on making the boys keep their normal watches, but he found himself sitting up to do them instead.

He leaned on the windowsill sharpening his swords as the moon rose. He sharpened them until he couldn‘t justify sharpening them anymore and had to put them back in their sheaths. Then, still on edge, he sharpened each of his knives as well.

Midnight came and went. The tavern downstairs had gone quiet, its patrons gone home or to their rooms. The wind whistled around the eaves, and the inn rustled and creaked. Tariq shivered. Settling, his roommate Corbin had used to call it. It seemed like a different lifetime, those nights when the old barracks had made noises like enemy footfalls, and he’d sat up in his bed with every muscle burning. Corbin, who was a light sleeper, would turn over in his bunk and murmur, It’s just the house settling, Tariq. Go back to sleep.

Corbin was a philosopher, but Tariq was not a philosopher—he was a soldier. And now there was no Corbin to tell him to be rational, that the house was just settling. So he stood there by the window, his whole body tingling, watching and waiting.

The moon cast long shadows into the room. Tariq gazed at his tall, sharp silhouette on the floor, stiffening at a sound that wasn’t the house settling. The groan of a door downstairs, the low murmur of voices. A cold breeze slid along his cheek, lifting the hair off his forehead for a moment. He shut the window quietly and waited.

Footsteps came up the stairs at the end of the hall. He counted the uneven strides. Four or five men? He bent to pick up his sheaths from where he’d left them leaning against the sill and slid one sword out, careful not to let the metal so much as scrape. The other sword he merely loosened in its sheath so he could draw it easily if it came to that.

In his paranoia, he’d fully expected the footsteps to stop outside their door, so he wasn’t much surprised when they did. He waited. He could hear, distinctly in the wee-hour silence, the jittery clinking of someone fiddling with a lock.

Five men at most. They’d have to come through the door one at a time. He waited, and the door swung open.

The first man straightened, slipping his lock-picking tools into his pocket. His face, half-hidden in the shadows of the hallway, registered surprise, but only for a moment. He took a confident step into the room, a grin spreading across his face. A revolver gleamed in his hand.

“Looks like you were expecting us.”

Tariq shifted his weight a bit. He glanced at the forms of his companions in the bed, the moonlight soft on Phineas’ sleeping face. The man followed his gaze.

“Yes, I do know about your friends. But I’ll leave them alone if you put the sword down and come quietly." The man pointed the revolver at the bed.

Tariq thought for a moment, then carefully put his sword down on the windowsill.

The man gave a low laugh. “Good decision. It’s nothing personal, kid. Sixteen thousand is sixteen thousand, you know.”

He came forward, training the gun on Tariq again. Three more men slid into the room behind; a fifth shape lingered just outside the door. Tariq stood quite still, his hands by his sides.

The man beckoned. ”Come on. No tricks, now. Away from the window with your hands up."

Tariq obeyed, taking a couple wary steps towards the man and raising his hands slowly. His knife blade tickled the back of his hand. He itched to close the distance between them with a bound, but then the hunter would see him coil and have time to react. The hunter's guard was down right now, his finger loose on the trigger, his smile wide with the relief of an easy victory.

The man crooked a finger at one of his companions and deftly caught the length of rope he tossed to him. He stuck the revolver in its holster and found the end of the rope, pulling a length of it out as he approached Tariq.

Tariq flipped the knife into his hand. He didn’t even have to reach his full arm length as he slashed. The man gave a gurgling cry and fell, choking on fountains of blood. Tariq hopped back to snatch his sword as, with cries of shock and rage, the man’s three companions rushed him.

The first one to reach him swung, but Tariq knocked his blow aside with a clang. The man underestimated the speed of Tariq’s recovery swing and crumpled with a scream, his legs cut from beneath him, blood gushing from his artery. Tariq leapt straight at the next, who bought his feint and dodged. Tariq came at him from the side and slashed deep enough into the neck to sever his spine. He fell dead instantly.

One left in the room, another just outside. Tariq stepped over the body at his feet, wiping his blade on the man’s jacket.

“Nothing personal.”

The fourth hunter had backed towards the door. He was cautious, now he knew Tariq wasn’t easy prey. He held his sword low and relaxed, mimicking the way Tariq held his, and they eyed each other from across the room.

The hunter barked an order in Tavarian at the man who waited outside the door. He ducked into the hallway, out of view.

“You’re good,” the man said to Tariq.

Tariq gave a slight nod, glancing at the bed. The three boys had wakened and stared in horror at the three bodies, the floorboards swamped in blood.

Tariq raised his sword. They’d be sensible enough to stay put, he hoped, or at least too petrified.

The hunter slid into a stance and attacked.

Tariq brushed his blow aside easily, but the man had clearly meant it to be weak, a mere distraction. He dodged Tariq’s answering downward strike and spun, aiming at Tariq’s temple. Tariq hopped away just in time.

He took a few faltering steps back and dropped his sword low as if caught off guard, feigning an opening. The man bought it and went for him, but Tariq turned sideways, grabbed the man’s arm, and pulled him forward onto his blade. The sword sank up to the hilt into the base of the man’s neck. He gasped—struggled for a moment—went limp.

Tariq straightened, about to pull his sword free, but he heard the click of a gun cocking and ducked hastily underneath his opponent’s body, using it as a shield. He felt the impact of the bullet and heard the gun click again—a revolver. The dead hunter’s blood ran warm down his hand and dripped onto his face.

He drew another small knife and dropped the body, his sword still stuck in it. The man in the hall fired another shot; Tariq leapt aside and into the hall before he could cock and shoot again. A flick of his fingers, and the knife found its mark.

Tariq didn’t allow himself to relax. His hands hovered by his remaining knives, and he ducked back inside the doorway as he scanned the hall for more hidden attackers.

There were none, nor did anyone seem to have woken, despite the shooting. He went to the body in the hall and retrieved the gun, checking the cylinder. Four shots left.

Still cautious, he went to pull his sword out of the last man’s neck and nudge the body. Dead. They all were, except for the man whose legs he’d slashed. He writhed on the ground weakly, trying to get up and fight again, spitting curses with the little strength left in him.

He’d bleed to death soon, but Tariq wasn’t taking chances. He cocked the revolver and pressed it to the man’s forehead.

The man’s eyes widened in his pain-twisted face. “Please--I’ll tell you who tipped us off—”

Tariq squeezed the trigger.

He felt the spray of blood hit his face, and in his peripheral vision, saw Phineas flinch.

“Get your things,” he said coldly, turning away from the body. “We’re leaving, now.”

The three boys, pale and shaking, didn’t dare complain. They scrambled out of bed and collected their luggage. Tariq set to work examining the bodies to see if he could salvage any weapons. He took the rope, the two revolvers, and all the ammunition he could find, which turned out to be a good deal, the military-issue kind in paper cartridges. He was grimly pleased. He stowed them in his pack, gathered and wiped off his own weapons, and stood waiting for his companions to be ready.

“What time is it?” Sutton dared to ask.

“I’d guess two or three. Hurry up. They’re certainly not the only ones who know we’re here.”

The boys scrambled to get the rest of their things. Tariq didn’t wait for them. He left the room and felt his way through the dark hall, down the stairs, and to the back door.

The street outside was empty and silent. A bitter cold wind sent dry leaves skittering across the cobblestones. The streetlamps had gone out hours ago, but the moon was bright enough to make up for it, turning every dull roof to glowing silver.

Tariq huffed, his breath freezing on the air. A fit of shaking took him, as it did after every fight, but it didn’t last long.

It wasn’t more than a couple minutes before the boys came stumbling out of the inn, still groggy with sleep.

“You paid, right?” Tariq snapped, starting down the road.

Phineas nodded, yawned. “Last night.”

“Should we have cleaned up?” Sutton asked.

“No time.”

Tariq led them down the backstreets. The front gates would be closed this time of night. He found a spot that looked promising and clambered up the wall. Perched at the top, he found the rope in his pack and threw it down to his companions. They struggled a bit. He was glad he’d thought to bring the rope, or they might not have been able to get out until dawn, and the town would be up in arms by then.

Finally, they were all on the other side. The forest pressed dense and dark right up to the wall, unpenetrated by the moonlight. The boys were panting and a little shaky.

“We should find the road and keep moving,” said Tariq. “There’s bound to be more of those hunters.”

Grimaces and groans. The boys were not pleased, and Tariq didn’t have the energy to force them. In the end, they moved a little way into the forest to rest for a little while. The boys found a comfortable nest of boulders and lay down. Tariq sat nearby, fingering his sword hilt, scanning the dark forest around them.

“Tariq,” Phineas said in a low voice from where he lay.

Tariq didn’t turn. “What?”

“You...you killed that man.”

“I killed all five of them. What are you talking about?"

“The last one. He...”

Tariq sighed and scooted around to face him. “I killed him after he begged, is that what’s bothering you?”

Uncomfortable, Phineas nodded.

“He would have killed me."

“But when you shot him, he was already helpless...couldn’t you have let him live?”

“I don’t think you understand. I cut his femoral artery. Didn’t you see how he was bleeding? He would have died anyway.”

“It just doesn’t feel right,” Phineas muttered.

Tariq shrugged. “So what? It was me that did it, not you. No need for you to worry about it."

Phineas couldn’t think of an answer to that. Tariq looked at him critically and turned his back again.

After a minute of silence, he said, “Fin.”

Phineas sat up, surprised. Tariq hadn’t called him by his nickname before.

His back still turned, Tariq said, “I was trained to kill. It’s instinct. I hope...it didn’t scare you.”

“Thanks.”

Silence fell again. A breeze rustled through the treetops overhead, sending a few invisible leaves floating downwards.

Sutton let out a tiny snore.

Tariq leapt to his feet and shouted, “Don’t sleep!”

Sutton and Cass both jolted awake. Phineas stifled a chuckle.

“Sit up,” Tariq growled, sitting down again. His hand returned to its resting position near a weapon.

“Sixteen thousand,” he muttered to himself.

Phineas sat up a little. “What?”

Tariq shook his head. “Nothing. I just think it’s funny."

“What’s funny?"

Tariq shook his head again. After a moment he half-turned and said, “If I turned myself in, d’you think they’d give me the sixteen thousand?”

“No.” Phineas settled back again. “They’d execute you, stupid.”

Tariq grunted.

Cass turned his head to whisper in Sutton’s ear. “Did he just make a joke?”

“I don’t think that was a joke,” Sutton whispered back.

Cass snickered.

Tariq stood up. “Time to go. This forest will be crawling with hunters by dawn. I’d like to be as far away as possible."

Reluctantly, they got up and collected their packs to set off again.