Darkfall. Janice Hardy

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СКАЧАТЬ of aristocrats set up camp and keep everyone else out? What would you call it?”

      “Rude.” She smiled and handed him another sack. “Want me to look into it?”

      He shook his head. “Nah. No self-respecting Baseeri wants to bed down there anyway.”

      Ellis glanced at me and winked. Wasn’t too long ago I thought no Baseeri had any self-respect, and she liked to remind me of that.

      “Oh, you might want to send the Healers round,” Cook said.

      “Is someone hurt?” I asked.

      “Might not be serious, but three families came in an hour ago, and they look like they barely made it here. I told ’em to go up to the house, but they insisted they were fine. I said they didn’t have to pay, but it didn’t change their minds.”

      “I’ll let Jeatar know.” We didn’t have many Healers, and most of them were apprentices or first or second cords only, but that was more than most folks had access to these days.

      We finished up and headed closer to Jeatown and the nicer camps. Carriages, bigger tents, more dark-haired families. Baseeri aristocrats, even a few rich merchants. Dozens of servants still wearing their house colours hovered about, waiting on orders.

      Joke or not, it really was Little ’Crat City. Just like in Baseer, they’d closed off their territory, using the carriages like a wall around the camp. They even had their own guards protecting it. Of course, the guards moved out of our way pretty quickly. Ellis had taught them the first day who gave the real orders around here.

      They had their own community fire, but you’d never catch them sharing food, just gossip and opinions. We parked the wagon, and the servants lined up while the aristocrats stayed in their comfy chairs. I couldn’t imagine how they’d managed to get them out of Baseer, but I suspected more than one servant had hauled furniture out on their backs.

      “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” a woman in red and blue silk scoffed. She sat around the fire with a few dozen others as well-dressed as she. They didn’t look at us or the food. “Was the Saints themselves. They reached down and crushed the palace with their hands. No living soul did what I saw happen there.”

      My stomach twisted. They were talking about me. No good ever came of Baseeri aristocrats talking about me.

      “Don’t be daft – it was an attack. Verlattian retaliation, probably.”

      “I heard it was a girl,” said another man. “One of those quirkers.”

      “The Shifter?”

      “That’s right. Part of a Gevegian kill squad to assassinate the Duke.”

      I was what? Danello slipped a hand to my shoulder and leaned close. “Easy, ignore them. It’s just gossip.”

      Easy for him to say – they weren’t calling him an assassin. I glanced at Aylin and Quenji, both surrounded by children as they handed out the sweetcakes and cookies. She looked back, worry in her eyes, but Quenji had a sly smile like he approved of the story. Quenji liked to tell his own tales. On the streets, a good story told at the right tavern could get you a meal.

      “She’s as bad as the Undying,” a woman said, her voice cracking. “They killed my husband. He wasn’t doing anything wrong! Just trying to bring the carriage round.” The young girl beside her started crying. She looked like the girl from Baseer. The one I couldn’t save.

      “Fenda, no!”

       Metal clanged against metal, then a girl screamed in pain.

      “She’s just a child!” the man cried. “How could you?”

      Anger chased away some of my fear. I wasn’t anything like the Undying. They’d murdered an innocent girl who’d only been trying to protect her father.

      “We traded my wife’s jewellery for a gate pass.”

      A man grunted. “I had a soldier ask me for my wife to get through.”

      Some folks chuckled, but most looked around as if unsure if he was joking or not.

      “Well,” a woman said, “we’re better off than those left behind.”

      I pictured Tali and my guts twisted.

      “I don’t know what that flash was, or who caused it,” she continued, “but things aren’t right in that city. They haven’t been right since Bespaar—”

      Angry shouts came from behind the tents, then repeated orders to stop. Ellis jumped up on to the driver’s bench, her sword out a heartbeat later. Danello drew his rapier.

      “What’s going on?” Aylin whispered. The children who had gathered around her moved closer, their blue eyes wide and scared. Quenji stepped in front and nudged them back.

      “I don’t know,” he said, “but it doesn’t sound good.”

      Three men burst out from behind some tents. Two were blonde, one dark haired. All wore old clothes and masks covering the bottoms of their faces. One man had a bag clutched against his chest, but it wasn’t one of ours.

      “Thief!” someone cried, and the camp guards appeared, chasing down the bandits.

      Ellis swore and hopped off the wagon. She went after the thieves and Danello followed right behind her. The thieves ran like chickens, darting this way and that, knocking things over, throwing them at whoever was close. Folks ran everywhere, just as wild, just as scared, no one paying any attention to where they were going.

      Elbows jabbed me, jostling me further out into the crowd. A man slammed into my shoulder and spun me around. The second wagon guard, Copli, was on the driver’s bench protecting the food but looking like he wanted to chase after Ellis and Danello. Quenji had his arms around Aylin, keeping her tight against the wagon and blocking her from the panicked mob. The children ran into the crowd, between legs and stomping feet, caught in the chaos.

      I struggled through the bodies and grabbed a boy by the hand, yanking him back before a panicked woman ran him down. He clung to me, trembling. I looked for another. Saw one of the thieves instead.

      He pulled out a knife, then dodged back and thrust it at the guards. Several people screamed, but only one body stumbled, then fell to the ground.

      “Stop right there,” a tall Baseeri said, waving something at the thieves. I almost missed the glint of blue metal.

      Pynvium. He had a pynvium rod. A good one, too, the metal pure enough to shine a rich blue.

      The aristocrat pointed the rod into the crowd full of scared people – and children.

      “Wait, no!” I yelled.

       Whoomp.

      Pain flashed from the rod, the familiar prickle of blown sand stinging my skin. People all around me screamed and collapsed – guards, thieves, children. Even the horse shrieked and bolted, sending bags of food flying off the wagon and Copli СКАЧАТЬ