Leybound Chapter Forty-Eight | Last Charge (Patreon)

Loic got to his feet, wincing, but Riot didn’t feel any sympathy for him; he still felt spasms of pain from his own knee where Loic had almost crippled him. 

“He was a slippery bastard, then, was he?” Riot asked. 

“I don’t know how he did it; he just spoke, and I couldn’t move,” Loic replied. “When I catch him, I’ll twist his grubby head off.”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter now; the jobs done.” 

They stood at the large gateway into the tower fortress and looked out at the chaos in the city. The sun tower had chosen a side, and the people of the city were rising up against the occupiers. Men and women armed with an alarming selection of weaponry, from long fish hooks to ancient halberds, flooded into the streets in roving bands, hunting Faelen. Ancient rusted swords had been removed from hooks above fireplaces and taken to the streets. Looting and pillaging were widespread as the frustration of a year under occupation was finally released. 

“What do you want to do now? Go look for Price and Miss Quinn?” Loic asked.

“How do you think we’re going to find them in this?” Riot replied. 

Two great plumes of smoke rose from the direction of the harbor where the Covenant ships burned. A group of armed citizens hurrying northward looked their way, but the hardened stares of the twelve leybound gave them pause, and they turned away to search for easier pickings. 

“What's happening at the port?” Loic cried to a group of wet-looking sailors.

“Chaos, the regiment ships are here.”

Loic handed them a bottle of the ancient wine, and they thanked him and continued on their way. 

There had been confused reports from the northern gate. Someone had died in the duel, but there was no way of knowing if it was Moran, Myam-tal, or a bystander. 

Riot had won his fight, but he didn’t feel like a winner. He’d won battles before, but this didn’t feel the same. If Moran was dead, then some officer would eventually find them, and they would be locked up again. Twelve leybound and their lame sergeant, transported back to Helgan’s Rest to sit in the prison until they were needed again for some Wikkan plot. But he could change that, at least. 

“Listen up,” Riot called, and they ceased their chatter. 

Twelve leybound, and the boy, Norton, who they had found on the road the night Riley died. Among them were Crease, the sharp-eyed cutthroat who took the first and last watch each night, and Lehan the skinny clerk who had guided them over the hills. Fletcher, the old boatman who had smuggled them into the city. Larkin and Rife, Emmerson and Rimmer, who had pissed and moaned but followed a step behind Riot as he charged the ridge,. 

Loic, who had tried to kill him, then found him in the forest and fought like a wild man to break through to the tower base.

Each of them was as ragged and filthy as the day he had met them, but now they stood taller, a pride in their gazes. They deserved more than the chance that they could be clapped back in irons and treated like animals by officers like Riley.

Riot gave them each one of the dull linium runes he had taken from the sun tower. “You all fought well, but they won’t thank us for this. So anyone who wants to leave should go now. I’ll report you as missing in action. Go make a new life.”

The sounds of fighting echoed around them, and not one of them moved. 

“Think you have your answer,” Loic said with a wide grin. 

“What are your orders, sir?” Rimmer asked, giving a sharp salute. 

“I’m going into the city; I’m going to find Price and drag him back to Helgans Rest, and I’m going to watch him hang.”

The leybound grinned at each other and nodded, but Loic gave a great shout and threw himself from the steps, smashing through the crowd below. Moments later, he returned, pulling a ruffled-looking Odred behind him. He threw the little man down at Riot's feet, where he cringed. 

“A little rough in the city?” Riot asked. 

“My mistress, I know where she is. Please, you have to help her; they are questioning her, and her screams are terrible.” Tears rolled down the small man's cheeks, and Riot felt as though an iced claw had gripped his heart. 

“Where?” He asked. 

“A house, a mansion on the hill to the west of the town, the home of Walden Morans family, seized by his brother."

A whistle blew from the far end of the street, and the blue uniforms of the regiments could be seen marching smartly up the street, pushing against a panicked crowd. Officers on horseback were whipping the citizens with their riding crops, screaming for order.

“What's your orders, sir?” Rimmer repeated in a growl. 

“We’re going to kill that bastard,” Riot replied, and he pushed Odred ahead of him down the stone steps and into the city. 

Odred led them down a series of narrow alleyways, only wide enough for them to run two abreast. Loic was by his side, and Riot felt the elation of a fight well up inside him. 

They emerged into a wider street that wound up into the higher part of the city, where the houses were grander.

"It's up there, the largest house with the Sun Tower crest!" Odred yelled as they outpaced him. 

“They’re going to be waiting for us!" Riot said to Loic. 

He turned a corner and saw the hastily constructed barricade. Half company of men awaited them. More of the tough brutes that had attacked them in the street. 

There was no time for hesitation; it was the ridge all over again; they would be pinned down here, the officers would arrive, and they would be taken away. So Riot charged. 

The defenders raised crossbows, but just when he was expecting to be stuck full of bolts, there was an explosion of leybound charges from behind him, and the wooden structure was battered. Riot jumped clear of the wooden barricade and slashed down with his sword, slicing a heavy-set man's face. Then he was among them, and their swords were too slow, and he snarled as he set to work. In moments, the leybound were beside him, screaming as they set about with their own swords, and the thugs fell back from the mad, filthy wild men. 

Odred drew clean gray leypower to his hands and blasted a man in the chest, throwing him clear off the barricade. “This is the house; hurry!” He screeched, running forward. 

The leybound were still fighting, and Loic swung a thick spar of wood in his hand. More men were arriving, running up from the street with short swords in hand and grim expressions. “Go!” Loic shouted. 

Riot ran, following the short arcanist up the street to a fine house set back from the road, a mansion in gray stone. 

There were footsteps behind him, and Norton caught up, sword in hand. “In here!” The boy yelled, kicking in a smaller servant's door. 

Riot followed the sounds of Norton's footsteps pounding through the residence, a blurred sense of comfort and wealth, and some servants looking aghast as he charged past. His knee burned, and he fell behind, shouting for the boy to wait. He heard the clash of swords ahead and a crack of arcane power and turned a corner to see Norton stood at the threshold of a great room, his sword dropping from his fingers and clattering onto the floor. One of the thugs stood before the boy, his blade wetted with blood and a confused look on his face as he fell to the floor, a burned hole in his back. Riot reached Norton as the boy fell backward. Blood trickled out of his mouth and pooled out of the wound on his chest.

Price waited in the richly paneled wooden room, the last of the ley power fading from his hands. Natalia Quinn stood beside him, unbound, and as Price handed her the hedron, she gave Riot a look of profound regret. 

“I’m sorry, Nathanial,” she said, before hurrying out.