Chapter 18

“Stop,” Osric called out, more to his friends, whose hands were going instinctively to their weapons, than to the guards. “We surrender. There’s no need for violence.”

“A wise choice,” the woman, who was clearly their leader, said. “Disarm them.”

The latter was said to the men with her, who quickly removed everyone in his group’s weapons, finding a surprising number of knives and other small implements on Grace, suggesting the thief was more dangerous than she let on. They even took Talia’s staff, although Osric didn’t know whether it was out of precaution or because they recognized that it was, in some way, magical.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Osric said as he handed over his sword. “Please, let us speak to your superior and we can work this out.”

Osric wasn’t sure who he’d need to talk to, but considering Godfrey was the highest member of the Brethren in the city, Osric hoped that someone in a position of authority might be safe to deal with, and not be a member of the Brethren.

“I’m Captain Lockewood, and I’m in charge of the guard. So if you need to talk to someone, you talk to me. Not that it will do you any good.”

Everyone was jumpy, and all it would take was one person overreacting for things to go wrong very quickly.

Holding up a hand in a pacifying gesture, Osric said, “Captain Lockewood, I understand how this must look, but I assure you, we are not criminals. We were merely searching for information vital to the safety of the world.”

“The safety of the world?” Lockewood asked, an eyebrow raised, her tone dripping with skepticism. “The world hinges on two children, an old man, a thief, and a Ranger? We should be so lucky. And I suppose breaking into a nobleman’s home and rifling through his possessions is just part of your noble quest?”

“Godfrey was not the man you think he was. He’s the leader of a secret group that has spread itself throughout the barony, attacking people in the forest.”

Not exactly true, but also not untrue, and it saved trying to explain about the Veil and messages sent through time and space.

“Which explains why you murdered him, left, and returned to the scene of the crime, does it? Witnesses saw you. Several witnesses reported seeing you two, along with a Ranger and his pet wolf, leaving in quite a hurry.”

“We didn’t murder Godfrey,” Osric said firmly. “He attacked us, and we defended ourselves.”

“A likely story,” Lockewood scoffed. “I’m sure the magistrates will take it under advisement.”

“Captain, I am Rowan Wycliff, a duly sworn Greenwood Ranger,” Rowan said, pushing his way in front of Osric. “I am tasked with the defense of the realm. The defense against Godfrey was done under my authority, in protection of these people who are under my protection.”

“Is that so? Well, Ranger, let me make something very clear. You hold no authority here. In Farvale, the law is upheld by the guard, not by self-appointed vigilantes who think they can play judge, jury, and executioner. Your kind has always seen themselves as above everyone else, a law unto yourselves. But not in my city.”

The Ranger looked to the guards, who seemed to stiffen at that proclamation, then back to Lockewood, and said nothing in response. She eyed him for another hard moment, and then turned to Osric.

“Your story might hold more weight if you weren’t gallivanting about with a known thief and nuisance. This one,” she said, gesturing toward Grace, “has been a thorn in Farvale’s side for a long time. Breaking into homes, stealing from honest citizens, and now, apparently, graduating to murder to get what she wants.”

“Please,” Grace said, scoffing and crossing her arms. “Like I need to murder someone to get what I want. I’m not an amateur.”

“Grace,” Jasper said. “Shut up.”

Grace opened her mouth to retort, but a sharp kick against her heel from Jasper silenced her. She settled for a disgruntled huff instead.

“You’ll have your chance to plead your case before the magistrates in the morning,” Lockewood said, watching the interchange. “Though I wouldn’t get your hopes up. The penalty for murder is clear. You’ll be taken to the block come dawn.”

“Captain, please,” Osric said, seeing everything they’d worked for coming to a screeching halt. “Godfrey tried to kill us. He was a dangerous man, involved in dark things. We were only defending ourselves.”

“Which naturally explains why you came to his home, knocked on his door, and were seen being ushered inside. Because that’s what one does when defending oneself from a dangerous man.”

Osric opened his mouth to defend himself further, but Captain Lockewood cut him off with a sharp gesture.

“Save it for the magistrates. I’m sure they’ll be fascinated by your tales of secret societies and noble quests. Personally, I’m just glad you were foolish enough to come back and try to loot Godfrey’s house. Makes my job that much easier,” she said, waving a hand to her men. “Get them out of here. I want them in cells before the sun rises.”

Osric sat on the hard wooden bench in the dimly lit cell, his head in his hands. This had all gone so wrong, and exactly at the moment they found out where the temple was. What if they couldn’t talk their way out of this? He’d heard that prisoners who weren’t sent to the block were shipped off to the mines on the far west side of the kingdom, to work the outer ranges of the Cragshire Mountains, digging into the ground until either they died in an accident or from sheer exhaustion.

Or maybe the Veil would break and the world would end before that.

The rest of his companions looked about as dejected as he felt. Well, except for Grace. She acted like this was some kind of fun excursion. Of course, she’d been in this position many more times than he had, so maybe for her, it was.

He was finally pulled out of his wallowing by the clang of a key in the thick metal door. For a moment, he hoped it might be Captain Lockewood, here to tell them she’d examined their story and they were free to go, but when the door opened, it was just some junior guard officer. Osric thought maybe he was here to bring them food or interrogate them some more until he saw the cold look in the man’s eyes.

He ignored everyone else and looked directly at Osric. “You, come with me.”

Something about the way he said that, and the look in his eyes, told Osric not to trust him. That there was more going on here than just normal guard business.

“Why?” Osric said.

“Because I told you to. Or do you want me to come in there and make you follow me?”

“Tell me what you want, first,” Osric said, standing up and backing away.

The rest of his friends, minus Grace, had started to close in on Osric, blocking him with their bodies. The guard, whoever he was, looked at each of them contemptuously for a moment before looking past them, focusing on Osric.

“I want you to come with me and stop giving me lip. If you listen to me now, your friends can live. But you’re coming out here one way or another.”

“He’s not going anywhere with you,” Talia said, standing in front of Osric.

“Have it your way,” the guardsman said and waved to the side, beckoning in six men who were definitely not part of the city guard.

They were, however, armed.

“Kill his friends and bring me...”

“What is the meaning of this?” a voice called out from just outside of the door, interrupting him.

A moment later, Captain Lockewood appeared behind them.

“Captain...” the guard said, whirling and staring at her open-mouthed, his calm demeanor gone. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”

“Clearly,” she said, laying a hand on the pommel of her sword. “Who are these men, and why are you in here with the prisoners?”

“Leave now, Captain, and we can discuss this later.”

“I will not.”

“Fine,” the man said, his surprise going back to confidence as he looked over his men and then back at Lockewood, clearly reasoning out the odds. “Kill all of them.”

Chaos erupted as the men all drew weapons and attacked. Lockewood reacted instantly, charging toward the traitorous guard, her longsword glowing faintly blue as she pulled it from its sheath, the blade just catching under the man’s shoulder pauldron, drawing first blood, causing him to stumble back in surprise at how quickly she acted.

She wasn’t the only one who acted quickly. Grace darted in between two of their attackers, pulling a pair of daggers that the men searching her had somehow missed. The man nearest her barely had time to register her as she came around him, one arm dropping low, slashing behind his knee, and the other swinging down as he toppled backward, puncturing the side of his neck with her knife. He didn’t even have a chance to look surprised as he fell, dead before he’d even taken a step.

The guardsman Lockewood was fighting was no amateur and brought up his own weapon as he staggered back, slashing out wildly at her. Lockewood ducked back and brought up the rear of her blade, catching his at the hilt and deflecting it before her sword whipped around in a lightning-fast riposte. She was at a full arm’s length away from him, so the weapon did little more than cut a gouge out of his cheek, but if he survived this, he would have a scar to remember it by.

Several of the men turned to see their friend falling from the seemingly unarmed Grace, an opportunity Rowan didn’t waste. Grabbing a nearby man’s wrist, Rowan tucked it in his own and twisted, his hands holding the wrist in place as the hand turned, causing the enemy to cry out and drop his sword.

Osric saw him moving and thought it the best chance for him as well, since he was equally unarmed. Unable to reproduce whatever maneuver Rowan had made, Osric instead went to grapple a distracted man, closer to him. Wrapping his arms around him, Osric pulled him close, putting the muscles developed over the years at the forge to work as he crushed the man’s body against his own, pinning his arms.

Talia brought up her hands and, as she’d done before, weaved them in a pattern, pulling at the parts of the Veil none of them could see, until the shards of magical energy appeared out of her palms, slamming into one of the men, sending him staggering back, multiple burn marks evident where they punched through his armor.

Another of the attackers, seeing Talia as a threat, slashed out at her. She managed to jump back just in time, but the blade came much too close to her.

“Heathus, aid us now,” Jasper said, his hand going into the air, a small symbol of his god in his palm.

While Osric knew the gods had the ability to work their magic here in their world, and had had them do it through him several times, he’d never actually seen their power invoked before. The medallion in Jasper’s hand shone a bright white that caused Osric and everyone else to have to look away, the light washing over everyone.

Osric felt something, as it did. Some kind of ... energy, or feeling maybe, surging through him. He suddenly felt surer, more steady, more confident. He didn’t know exactly what Jasper’s god had done, but Osric could definitely feel ... something.

Grace never stopped moving, darting behind the man Rowan had disarmed. He made a grab for her as she passed, but she easily ducked under it, bringing one of her daggers up underneath the leather front piece of his armor, whipping her blade across as she did, opening his stomach up. The man screamed, falling to the ground making an effort to hold himself together, the color quickly draining from him. Grace kept moving, ignoring the very soon-to-be-dead man.

Behind her, the traitorous guard, blood pouring down his cheek, pressed his attack against the captain, who managed to bring a metal bracer up, deflecting the blade.

Rowan scooped up the dead man’s sword and charged forward toward another attacker, who brought his sword up in time to block the attack.

Talia, seeing men pressing toward her, took a small step back and weaved her hands in a pattern around herself, until the shimmering field of energy Osric had seen before materialized around her just in time to stop one of the blades that would have otherwise certainly cost her her life.

Jasper brought his outstretched hand down, still grasping the amulet, as he pointed to the man who had just attacked Talia. In a voice that was his, but was also not his, almost as if a higher pitched voice mirrored his own, speaking simultaneously, he commanded, “Defend us!”

Osric wasn’t sure, but it seemed as if, for a moment, the man stiffened, before whirling around and bringing his sword down into the shoulder of one of his comrades, who looked from the blade to his comrade in horror.

Osric couldn’t think about that too much, as he was still tightly gripping the struggling attacker. Lifting him off the ground, Osric slammed him down into the hard stone floor with all of his might, causing his weapon to skid out of his hands. Osric released him immediately and scooped the blade off the floor, bringing it up in a defensive stance.