The Blood Sigil (The Sigilord Chronicles Book 2) (28 page)

"Burn all of the pieces," Murin managed to say despite his lungs pounding against his chest. "And do not touch the skin without protection."

Murin examined the burns on his hands. "I grow weary of my current form, Timoc."

"Master!" Timoc chided. "You shouldn't even think about such things. If they find out, they could send you back…exile you again."

"Be calm, Timoc. The Vyes Mind has far better things to do than seek me out." Murin turned to observe the soldiers covering the severed wolf parts with pitch and setting them on fire. "You have never known anything but the chrysalis, so you do not know what it feels like to suffer in this form, trudging through the muck and filth, your mind smothered by the ceaseless prattle of every nearby human."

A man outfitted similarly to the others, but who carried himself with the presence of a veteran and leader, stepped into view. He made his way among the carnage to approach Murin and Timoc.

"I am Commander Jols," he said, offering a hand covered in blood, bile, and countless other foul substances.
 

"You will pardon us if we do not shake your hand," Murin said. "I have touched more than enough of the innards of a bile wolf for one evening. I am Murin of the house Futanishar, and this is my apprentice, Timoc."

"So that's what they're called. Bile wolves, eh?" Jols asked. "It appears my men and I are in your debt. We might not have found the creature's weakness without you."

"Classifying a jaw that can crush the finest forged swords like bits of candy as a weakness may be inappropriate, Commander," said Murin. "Their jaws can detach to help them swallow much larger prey. The wolves don't expect that prey to be alive and resisting at the time. It is more of an evolutionary oversight than a weakness."

"Weakness or not, we'll use that strategy on the next one we kill."

"There are more?" Timoc asked.

Jols nodded and tried to wipe some of the fluids from his armor. "We don't know how many there are. We've killed two tonight, and one of them got away from us earlier this morning. The damn Urjican scarabs are out in the street, preaching about the end times and evil attacking the city."

"What should we do with the remains, Commander?" asked one of the soldiers.

"Let it burn to ash. When the fire's out, spread the ash in the canal," said Jols. The commander finally seemed to notice the strange appearance of the two men, eyeing them from head to toe. "Just what I need, more strangers."

"More strangers?" Murin asked, raising an eyebrow. "You have seen more like us?"
Impossible
.
There should be no other grey men in this universe
.

"Strangers, yes," said the commander, idly kicking a piece of smoldering wolf. "But not like you. No, you win the prize for the strangest looking of strangers."

"What did these strangers look like then?" asked Timoc.

"A couple of devils," Jols said with a grin, as though recalling a funny memory. "One of them helped us track one of these beasts this morning, though we didn't know what it was at the time. After it got away, the scarabs got it in their heads that the devils were the ones who'd brought the beasts on us. They got the whole city out looking for 'em."

"What do you mean by devils?" asked Murin.

"You're not from around here," said Jols. "The Urjican Friars—we call 'em scarabs—their holy texts are full of stories about devils that come up out of the sands in the desert and do all sorts of terrible things. We're a superstitious people, Murin Futanishar. Kids in this city grow up learning to fear the devils of the desert."

Desert devils
, Murin thought.
Kestians!

"These desert devils…what did they look like, and how many were there?" he asked.

"There were two boys and their commander. As for what they looked like, a devil's a devil. They were dark-skinned, dark haired, and covered head to toe in weapons. One of the boys, the tall, lanky one, had this crazy curled chain with a mace on one end and a blade on the other."

"Was one of the boys named Urus?" Murin asked. From the description, at least one of the boys could have been Goodwyn.

Jols shook his head. "Name doesn't sound familiar. The commander, said he was the Knight Marshal of Waldron. One of the boys had a weird name, like Goodie or Goodin or something."

"Goodwyn," Murin declared.

"Yeah, that could be it," said Jols. His brow furrowed and he stepped in closer so that only Timoc and Murin could hear him. His expression had grown more grim than before, his eyes watering from more than just the smoke and flames. "I need to find that boy. He's the only one who can track these beasts, and I need to find them now."

"Commander, what aren't you telling us?" Murin asked.

Jols looked about to make sure none of his men could hear. "One of these things…these bile wolves…carried off my little girl. I chased it," Jols whispered, swallowing hard. "I chased it as far as I could, but I lost it. The damn thing outran me, and I can't find it again. I need to find this Goodwyn devil so he can lead me to the beast that took my daughter."

Murin and Timoc exchanged glances, a mixture of elation at being so close to the Kestians and fear for the safety of the little girl.

She's likely dead already
, Murin thought.
Eaten as a snack on the wolf's way back to its master
. He decided not to share his thoughts with Jols. The only thing keeping the man going was the hope that he might be able to get his daughter back in one piece. Murin knew all too well the pain of losing family, and could only imagine the emotional tumult the commander must have been holding in check.

"Begging the commander's pardon," said one of the soldiers, inching his way closer, his uniform stained with blood and soot. "But these demons you're talking about—the Urjicans have their commander, Knight Marshal Aegaz from Waldron, at their church. They're putting him on trial tomorrow."

"For what crime?" Murin asked.

"Take your pick," said Jols. "Black magic, heresy, and anything else they can cook up to blame these wolves on him. The scarabs are convinced the devils brought the creatures here with their evil."

"That is utter nonsense," Murin spat. "Religion is a crutch of the weak-minded to compensate for their own inability to deal with mortality, to grasp the concept of the nothingness that awaits everyone upon their death."

"He's a real cheerful one, isn't he?" Jols asked Timoc. "You'd best not talk like that out loud around here, else you'll end up burning on a stake alongside the Knight Marshal."

"Burning?" Murin exclaimed. "I thought you said he would be put on trial."

"That
is
the trial," said Jols.
 

Murin shook his head. The stupidity of humans never ceased to amaze him. For every remarkable person like Urus or Goodwyn, there were a thousand worthless apes constantly trying to undo the good everyone else had done.

 
"Well, there is one upside to all of this," Murin said. "Now we know exactly where to find Goodwyn."

"Where?" said Jols, grabbing Murin's cloak. "I have to find my daughter!"

"He will be on his way to the church to rescue Aegaz," said Murin. "And if we do not get there soon I suspect you will find yourself suddenly burdened with a mountain of scarab corpses."

Chapter Nineteen

"Are you sure you have a plan?" Goodwyn asked. "The church is in the other direction."

They lay in the darkness, their faces pressed into the hay covering the floor of the stable, waiting for the owner of the restaurant to finish closing and go upstairs for the night.
 

"Spider says we need cauldrons," Owl said. "So we're going to steal some cauldrons."

"What do we need cauldrons for?" Therren asked.

"Shush," whispered Owl. "Ferret, go check it out."

Without a word, Ferret slithered out from under his camouflage pile of hay. Dodging the light of the moon and lanterns, he slipped through a window in the back of the restaurant. A few moments later his hand emerged from that same window, waving the others on.

"Go go go," Owl whispered, ushering the group out of the stable.

Goodwyn crept out behind Spider and Therren, while Owl took up the rear position. Therren helped Spider through the window, then folded himself through the opening. Goodwyn shook his head, knowing that he was too tall to be able to contort through the window that way. He pulled himself up by the lintel and then dropped through the opening feet-first.
 

Spider held up three fingers then pointed several times at a stack of cauldrons piled upside down from floor to ceiling. Each of the cauldrons was probably big enough to allow one of the kids to fit completely inside.

Being the tallest, Goodwyn lifted the first cauldron off, setting it down gently. He grabbed two more and set them down as slowly as he could, trying not to make any noise.
 

"Do we need anything else?" he whispered. "Some stew or bread perhaps? Maybe some spices and a ladle?"

Owl gave him a sharp look. "Spider knows what he's doing. We just need the cauldrons."

Goodwyn lifted his by the handle, as did Therren. Spider and Ferret each took a side of their cauldron and shuffled toward the window. As the two boys approached the window, Goodwyn noticed a problem.

"The cauldrons won't fit through the window," he whispered.

"Damn," whispered Owl. "Back door."

Goodwyn put down his iron pot to examine the old, weathered door. Its rusty hinges would surely creak noises when the door swung open. With painstaking care, he lifted the latch. It took an excruciatingly long time, but he finally managed to get the door all the way open without making a sound. Only a few feet of lantern-lit ground lay between them and the dark sanctuary of the stable.
 

He went back for his cauldron, and the others picked up their burdens. Owl dashed for the stables ahead of them. Goodwyn went next, then Therren, leaving Ferret and Spider to carry out their cauldron last.

About halfway between the door and the stable, Spider lost his footing on the thin coating of powdery snow. The cauldron dropped and landed on some stray piece of metal, the loud clang echoing against all the nearby stone walls.

Owl let out a whispered stream of swears that would have made even the most crass Kestian warrior cover his ears. Goodwyn paused, waiting to see if the noise had attracted any attention.

Just a few seconds later, a voice called from the restaurant owner's window upstairs. "Who's out there? I'll call the watch on ya!"

"Run!" Owl hissed.

"What about our cauldron?" Ferret's gaze darted back and forth between Owl's place in the shadows and the fallen pot.

"Just run!" Therren called. He ran over and grabbed Ferret's cauldron by the handle, waited for Owl to lead the way, and then ran after her lugging two cauldrons.

Goodwyn and the others sprinted after them, past the stables and through the relative safety of the dark alleys. They paused to catch their breath and rest their arms a moment.

"I hope he doesn't call the watch," Therren wheezed, his chest heaving.

"He will as soon as he discovers we've stolen three of his cauldrons," said Ferret.

"Now that we've got our cauldrons, how do we use them to rescue our commander from the church?" Goodwyn asked.

"B-b-basement nearby," said Spider. "F-f-follow me."

Spider led them the rest of the way. Within just a few minutes they had nearly doubled back all the way to the inn. He veered left and stopped just a few houses down the street from the church.
 

"Inside," he said, waving them on.
 

"Does anyone live here?" Goodwyn asked.

"We don't have time to care," admonished Owl. "We just need to be quiet enough not to waken anyone."

They found a side door to the building, but it was locked. Ferret rolled up his sleeves, a professional about to delve into his work, and pulled a few small metal pins from a pocket. After a few moments of working the lock, the door clicked open. He stopped it before it banged against the inside wall. Ferret and Spider carried their cauldron inside, and Goodwyn and Therren followed with theirs.

Owl struck a flint and lit a candle. She led them through the house and down a set of stairs into the basement. Once at the bottom, they found that the basement was completely flooded.
 

"Now what?" Goodwyn asked. "There's nothing but water down here."

"Used to b-b-e first floor, not b-b-asement," Spider said. "W-water level rose."

"I'm still not following how that, or the cauldrons, are going to help us," Therren said.

Spider stomped his foot and glowered at Owl. The boy was clearly trying to make a point, and having to do so with words frustrated him. In that moment he reminded Goodwyn of a younger Urus, who had grown frustrated with Goodwyn's inability to understand tradesign.

"Just take a deep breath, Spider," said Owl. "Close your eyes and tell us what the plan is."

Spider huffed and puffed, then appeared to be considering kicking over a wooden crate, but thought better of it. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and said, "We can take the w-w-water under the street, take it all the way to the ch-ch-church b-basement."