The Arcanist (39 page)

He'd always planned to blow the thing up if it proved dangerous, and especially if and when Vesar turned on him. This seemed like the perfect time. He might not have killed Vesar, but he could certainly make him suffer.

Then something happened right in front of him that shook his confidence. One of his soldiers fell from the battlements, knocked off by another huge explosion of stone on stone. It was a big fall and the man was injured, struggling to get to his feet but not really able. It wouldn't be long before he was dead Simon knew. But he couldn't have guessed how he would die. In his worst nightmares he could never have imagined that one of Vesar's royal guards would simply tear off his own veil, snarl like a wild animal and leap on him, biting his neck out with those terrible tusks.

The man died quickly, barely able to get out a quick shriek. But the image of his death lingered in Simon's thoughts. As did Vesar's words.
They had his scent
. They would hunt him. Suddenly he knew those words were true. These creatures might walk and talk like men, but they were animals. Wild animals. Animals killed by tearing peoples' throats out with their teeth. Wolves did that. And wolves hunted by scent. If Vesar was right, there were hundreds of these animals with his scent, all simply waiting for the order to hunt him down. Hundreds of them spread out all over the realm.

He was in trouble.

The thought of Vesar's teeth biting into his neck made Simon shudder a little. He was suddenly frightened as he had never been frightened before. And the worst of it was that even if he could control his fear, he knew he probably couldn't stop them. The only thing he could do was run. And he had to start now. Before the battle ended and they started the hunt.

Simon crept back down the stairs, desperately careful not to make a sound in case any of the royal guards were nearby, and then back into the tunnels. They were the only safe place he knew now. And they wouldn't be safe for ever.

Having had a brief rest Simon was able to walk a little more easily and he made good time through the side tunnels, pushing himself as hard as he could. He would have run if his leg would have let him. Instead he had to settle for hobbling quickly. But it was enough and soon he was standing beneath the hatch leading to the underside of the temple. After that it was a simple matter of climbing the ladder and raising the hidden drain cover until he could see the fuses. He could see everything from his vantage point, hidden as he was behind the half built stone walls.

The workers were of course still there. All the excitement at the castle couldn't stop them in their duties. Vesar would never have allowed that. And the veiled guards watching them would make sure that they didn't stop. They were making good progress, with many of the stone walls already twenty feet tall and he could see the shape of the temple rising out of the ground. It was a huge open air arena as far as he could tell. Maybe an amphitheatre. But not a temple. But whatever it actually was, it was being built quickly. Something that could only happen because all of his workers had been stolen by Vesar. That made him angry. If they'd been working for him half the city would have been rebuilt already. But Vesar had stolen them away. Now he would pay for that treason. They all would.

Blowing up the temple was going to kill a great many people. But that he thought as he touched his torch to the fuse was for the best. Without a workforce it would take Vesar longer to rebuild the temple. And the thing had to come down. Besides, many of the victims would be Vesar's own soldiers. Every one of them he could kill was one less that could come after him.

Simon celebrated as the tip of the torch touched the fuse, sending a little cloud of smoke into the air and then quickly rushed back down the ladder, slamming the cover shut behind him. After that he hurried through the tunnels, knowing that he had no time. When the charges blew they were going to blow big. Very big. He'd made certain of that. Which was why he'd made the fuse as long as he could. He knew that if he lit it he wanted to have time to get a long way away from it before it blew. But when he'd planned this Simon hadn't been planning on limping.

He ran through the tunnels as best he could, heading for the city wall and hoping he'd have enough time to reach it even limping as he was. But when the charges went off he was still a good five hundred yards from it. Still, he was at least seven hundred yards from the temple if his counting was good. And seven hundred yards should have been enough distance.

But it wasn't.

The explosion sounded like thunder; as if lightning had struck right next to him, and the ground shook under his feet. Stones from the tunnel came falling down from above his head, and more shook loose under his feet exposing the sewers below. And then he fell into them, splashing down into the foul water along with half the tunnel above. But he didn't care about the water. Not then. All he cared about as he splashed about in the water was that nothing heavy was going to land on his head. And in the darkness he had no way of knowing what was loose above his head and what wasn't. The torch was gone.

He took a few more knocks as things smashed into him, but none of them were too terrible. None of them broke anything, and that was all that mattered. And in time the shaking from above stopped.

He wished he could have gone up to look, to see the destruction with his own eyes, and most especially the look on Vesar's horrid face as he realised his precious temple was gone, but there was no chance of that. Even if it had been safe, he was at least forty feet below the city's ground level and he doubted there were any stairs or ladders leading up from the sewers. So he'd just have to settle for hoping that it had gone well.

And for somehow finding his way out of this foetid river in the darkness. Still, if Edouard could do it, he could.

Edouard! His little brother's name reminded him of one thing. Edouard was a spark. He had magic. And if what the reports he had been given were true, he had escaped with many others with magic as well. Three maybe four sparks, all trapped in that ugly looking holding of his. But all equally safe in it. Safe from Vesar. And Simon suddenly realised that he had a fall back. If everything went wrong and he couldn't run or hide from the monsters, he could still do the one thing Vesar couldn't do anything about. Find a place where he couldn't reach him. A sanctuary.

Still, that could only be his final choice if everything else failed. First he'd try and escape on his own. If he could get out of the city he could surely escape the realm. He hoped. After all, they had to find his scent before they could start the hunt, and they would have no idea where he was to start looking for it. Assuming that these creatures really did hunt by scent and it wasn't Vesar simply baiting him. And of course they were going to be very busy for a time, picking up the remains of their fallen people and screaming with rage over the destruction of their precious temple. All of that would keep them busy for a time. Long enough for him to make his escape.

Then, once he had escaped he had small holdings in the three cities of Farring Cross. Holdings no one knew about as he'd used an alias to establish them. Given his business it had always seemed wise to have a bolt hole.

As he set off through the foul water Simon knew one thing above all else. That he had to run and run hard. His life if he didn't would be a short one.

Then when he was safe he would find a way to kill the treacherous little monster who'd stolen his throne. Because Vesar had to die.

Chapter Thirty Six

“Bastards!”

Simon was angry when he spotted the patrol. But he was more than just angry – he was frightened. This time he'd thought, he'd hoped – this time he was finally going to get away. To crawl through their lines and escape. But he wasn't. Once more they were waiting for him.

How had they known to set up their check point just there? Right at the point where he would exit the wildlands, cross the trail and enter the wheat belt of Midfield? It was madness. No one should have thought he might try to escape through the Midfield wheat belt. But they had. Somehow they'd guessed that he planned to crawl through the three leagues of wheat on his hands and knees and decided to stop him. That or there were now simply so many of them that they were everywhere. And by the looks of things they didn't care what it cost them to catch him. Not when he could see torches in the hands of some of the soldiers and knew what they intended to do. They were going to burn the fields and take away his cover. Even at night he wouldn't be able to crawl through a burnt wheat field unnoticed.

Simon became very frightened as he lay in the bushes staring at them as they harassed anyone passing by on the trail while preparing to set the fields alight. Not that there were many passing them by. The guards had set up camp in that part of the road not to stop traffic but because it had a view. They could spot anyone in the surrounding fields trying to escape through the fields and reach the safety of the forest on the other side. Anyone trying to make their way through to Bitter Crest.

They weren't looking for just anyone he knew. They were looking for him. He knew that, though he didn't dare go up to them and ask. He didn't need to. His name and likeness were posted in every town he'd been to. Every town in Therion. And there was a hefty reward offered for his capture by the Regent. A hundredweight of gold. A reward far too great to be true. Vesar would never pay it. He could never pay it. But that didn't matter. All that mattered was that enough people were stupid enough to believe that he might.

Vesar, the Regent! The thought made him see red. What right did that disgusting creature have to call himself Regent? To steal his throne! But rights didn't matter anymore. What mattered was that Vesar now sat on the throne – his throne – while his soldiers scoured the realm hunting for him. And his soldiers were everywhere.

For eight long days he'd run, dogged at every step by them. By the hounds as Vesar had called his inhuman soldiers. And they did have his scent. Everywhere he went they were behind him. Every road out of the realm was blocked by them. They were scattered across the countryside too. And even if they hadn't guessed who he was they still would have instantly chased him down if they saw him. And they would have seen him. He was the only man walking anywhere.

All of Therion was locked down tight. There were no merchants travelling the roads. No farmers transporting their food to the markets. There were no pilgrims, bards or priests. Not even wandering peasants hunting for work. The towns were blockaded. Movement was stopped. And no one could travel any further than the fields they tended – provided those fields were close to their homes. That was why so few people were being stopped on the road in front of him.

As if that wasn't enough there were other soldiers riding the land. Those who had fled Theria and found themselves new homes in the nearby realms, had started sending patrols riding through the land. They weren't looking for him – yet. But they were checking the movements of his former royal guards as they took control of the realm. And sooner or later they would know he was a wanted man. If they didn't already. They were no friends of his. He had no friends.

He had no allies either. None of those he'd once hired to do his dirty work could be trusted. Nor those he had once dealt with. They would happily take his coin. But they would also betray him in a heartbeat for another's coin. That was the trouble with criminals.

To add to his troubles he had no one he could turn to anymore. Once he had had many who wanted to spend time with him, even if it had mostly been for their own selfish purposes. No longer. No one would show him kindness or sympathy. Even if there hadn't been a price on his head of a hundredweight of gold, he was despised so greatly that they would have cheerfully handed him over to the veiled guards. Sometimes at night as he lay in the bushes outside of the towns he overheard the conversations of the people as they passed by. It seemed he was truly hated. Apparently there wasn't a man, woman or child he hadn't hurt in some way.

That annoyed him. But more than that it confused him. How could it be? Sure there had been executions. But it couldn't be as many as they claimed. And it was necessary to maintain the rule of law. The people had to know that. And the mammoths and the sprigs, that had been Vesar. The black priest was the true monster here. But he had been the figurehead and the people blamed him.

They blamed him for this latest disaster too. For the veiled soldiers blockading every road, preventing them from travelling anywhere.

He was on his own.

It wasn't fair. But Simon knew that fairness didn't matter. This was about survival, and he wanted to survive. Nothing else mattered.

For the first couple of days he'd tried to take the back roads to Farring Cross. But they were guarded. Then he'd tried the fields and valleys only to find they were guarded too and he'd been forced to turn back. In desperation he'd tried the forest between the realms, but that had been a terror in its own right. He'd been chased, lost his way among the endless trees, run around in circles and ended up still in Therion with the hounds somewhere behind him. After that he'd run in the opposite direction thinking Bitter Crest might be an easier destination. But now he knew that wasn't to be either.

His own family were there according to what he'd been told, and he'd hoped they might grant him some shelter. Blood counted after all. But he'd already seen Marcus' patrols out riding through the land, engaging in battle with Vesar's hounds, and he knew when he saw the ferocity of the battles that they had no more love for him than anyone else. He was a prize for both groups. The soldiers would have picked him up in a heartbeat if they'd spied him, and quite probably strung him up on the spot. He had no idea at all what his family might do to him even if he could get through to them in the city, but he doubted they'd protect him.

If he could get to his father on his own – perhaps. That had been his hope. His father was soft when it came to his children. He surely wouldn't have handed him over to the soldiers. But now that hope was gone. He couldn't get through.

The veiled soldiers guarded every road, even the small ones. They watched and patrolled the fields. They had sentries posted throughout the forests and the swamp. No one was getting past them.

Simon had remained free as long as he had only by being intimately acquainted with a number of smuggler's dens. It had been a part of his life back when he had first been starting out in business. When he had first bought and sold his illicit wares in person. Before he had set up his own markets.

So he knew most of the abandoned mines, hidden caverns, secret camps and ruins that were being used by the various gangs, and he sought them out.

But smuggler's dens weren't safe for him either. Many people there knew him from the black markets he ran, and every single one of them would cheerfully have handed him over to the veiled guards for the reward. There was no loyalty among them. So he had had to use the ones that had been emptied out. But even when a den was old and long since abandoned, he could not stay for more than a handful of hours. The hounds would track him to them and he had to secure the front entrances and escape though the hidden back passages they all had. It was just lucky he knew them.

What wasn't so lucky was the fact that he was running out of them. One by one as he was tracked to them the dens were being destroyed. The veiled soldiers would arrive and not long after he was gone he would hear the sounds of destruction. Terrible destruction. He knew that they were making sure he could never return to those dens.

Occasionally he'd risked covering himself in mud to darken his hair and hide his face, and then crawled inside a den that was still occupied. Dressed as he was in rags and covered in filth no one had recognised him. Presumably they had assumed that he was another thief hiding from the soldiers. But he hadn't stayed there either. Only long enough to eat because he was starving, and then travel on. But after he'd left he'd heard the sounds of battle behind him. And he knew that the thieves and smugglers hadn't won. Not when he heard the sounds of rocks exploding behind him and knew that those armoured wind monsters were also on his tail. Apparently Vesar hadn't lied when he'd said he could build him an army after all. He could and he had. It just wasn't Simon's army.

After eight days on the run, wearing stolen farmers clothes and coated in dirt, being cold, tired and hungry, Simon was running out of places to hide. And as he watched the patrol setting up their checkpoint in exactly the worst place he could have wanted, he knew that his time was running out.

Soon, in a few more days, a week maybe, they would have him. Then Vesar would have him, and he could already feel the pain as his former advisor leapt on him and tore his throat out with his teeth.

But not yet. Simon promised himself that as he started crawling away through the scrub. Vesar wouldn't have him just yet. He would deprive that treacherous monstrosity of his prize for as long as possible. Even if he had to crawl on his hands and knees through the entire realm he would make that creature wait until the very last.

Then his foot snagged on a branch, the bush shook a little, and his heart almost stopped beating. Had they heard? Simon didn't know. He couldn't see the soldiers while he was on his hands and knees in the long grass and scrub. And to see them he'd have to raise his head. He didn't want to do that. If nothing else it would mean that they might see him.

So instead he lay there very quietly and listened, trying to work out if anyone was heading his way from the sounds of their foot falls. And praying desperately to the Seven that they weren't. He didn't really believe in the gods. But even if he had he knew that they wouldn't help him. Not after he'd helped destroy their temples. But they were still all he had to pray to.

The seconds dragged by like hours as he lay there, hearing nothing. He saw no one approaching either. Eventually he started breathing again. He was safe. For a little while more. But as he turned around and started crawling around the bush he'd snagged his foot on, heading for the safety of thicker bush, he knew he'd barely avoided capture. And he knew as he heard the sound of Vesar's soldiers yelling at one another about wind directions and not wanting to be caught in the fire, that the next time it would be even closer.

He couldn't afford that. He couldn't get much closer to being caught without actually being caught.

Which meant he had only one chance left.

Suddenly it was beginning to look as though he would have to fall back on his original desperate plan to go to the one place they couldn't follow. He would have to go to Breakwater, try to get through the spell and then convince his little brother to take him in. It was his only remaining chance. And it was only a chance assuming that Vesar's new soldiers couldn't get through the spell and that he could. Naturally there was no guarantee of that. Because that was one thing that Vesar had promised him. That his new army would be able to pass through the magical wards that kept his brother safe. He could have been lying. But it could also be that the fort had fallen and Edouard was already dead.

Simon hoped not. Because that would leave him without any refuge at all.

But even if it still held, Edouard's fort had always been a place of last resort. And it would not be easy to reach.

First he would have get there, and he didn't fancy crawling however many leagues there were between here and there. And all through countryside infested with Vesar's inhuman soldiers. Especially when they had to know it would be the one place he would try to go to. But he was going to have to walk just as far anyway even if he didn't head for Breakwater. Then he'd have to find a way past any number of other blockades, all of them filled with soldiers that could smell him.

Then, when he finally reached Breakwater and passed through the spell if he could he would somehow have to persuade Edouard to let him in. And his brother would likely be angry. Angry enough to not let him in. Persuading him to his cause would not be easy. Edouard was sometimes difficult. After having been whipped and thrown in the dungeon, he would be more so.