Walk Through Fire (14 page)

Not to say he didn’t seek a bit of glory himself from time to time. He had his faults like any man, but they paled in comparison to his virtues. We’re all worse off now that he’s gone.

Jonrell gazed over the open waters toward what remained of Asantia, the horizon swaying with the movement of the ship. Smoke still billowed in gray puffs, rising until it mingled with the dark clouds hanging over the city. Those from the Hell Patrol who had been able to move joined him to watch the city burn.

All except Krytien, that is.

The mage hid below deck, still mumbling to himself.

A flash of lightening raced across the sky, followed by another.
Looks like the rain will prevent the entire city from going up.

Raker spat over the side of the railing. “Good riddance. I hope they all rot in hell.”

Jonrell and Raker were the last two on deck. “So, were you really going to set it on fire?”

“Huh?”

“I saw you with the vial when we came aboard. And a lantern in your hand. You could have burned the whole ship and no one would have been able to stop it.”

“Aye. That was the plan.”

“But what about our men below? They would have been burned alive as well,” said Jonrell.

“I ain’t said it was a good plan. But it was the only thing I had at the time.” He shrugged. “I’m better at planning how to kill men, not how to save them.”

Jonrell grinned. He clasped the man on the shoulder. “Well, we made it back to the ship. So whatever you did, I’d say it was a success.”

“I guess it was.”

The two watched Asantia fade out of sight as
Nuisance
sailed farther out to sea.

* * *

Krytien flinched awake violently. Every time the mage closed his eyes, he saw the horrors over and over, the men he fought next to fall one by one. He knew they were dreams, but they seemed so real. The screams of men crying for forgiveness before breathing their last breath, others cursing the man who sank steel into their chests.

Then Ronav would fall.

Rage came next as he felt the power once again flow through his limbs. Then the realization struck that he wouldn’t be able to control the power released. Every muscle in his body spasmed. And then he’d wake.

He had relived the dream half a dozen times just in the past hour. He tried to stay awake to avoid the nightmares, but exhaustion overpowered his will.

He would never forget what happened.

Never again,
he thought rocking himself with his head in his hands.
Never again will I try to reach for such power. Philik, you were wrong about me. I was a second rate mage then and I am no better now.

He clenched his fingers in his hair and began to weep.

* * *

The ship groaned with each sway of the waves. Above, the scampering of boots and thunderous shouts marked the captain doing his best to make up for lost time. Thankfully, the man had not begrudged Raker for his crazy attempt to stall the ship.

“Just stay out of my way and the passage will be more enjoyable for all of us.”

Jonrell couldn’t argue with that reasoning. He sat with his back against a barrel of salted cod, gazing out with somber eyes at Krytien.

Jonrell knew the mage did his best to hide his tears, but the glassy red eyes gave him away. Krytien looked much older, as if the stresses had doubled the man’s age.

Jonrell wanted to ask Krytien how he was able to tap into such power, but his compassion for the man’s suffering outweighed his curiosity.

The rest of the survivors, just fifteen men, fared little better than Krytien.

One Above, only a week ago, we were over a hundred and twenty strong.

Between sleeping, the men filled their empty bellies with food, and their torn hearts with wine. Raker led the charge, taking two gulps from the skin he passed around for every one the others took. In between, he shoveled pieces of hard cheese and salted pork into his mouth. Others ate as well, but from the looks on their faces, none found any pleasure in it.

Jonrell turned to the sound of ragged breathing. Hag tended to one of the men they were able to save. She wore a look of concern as she checked over his bandages and gave the mercenary a sip of something dark to ease his pain.

The old woman was as hard as any man Jonrell had ever known, but for the first time he saw the compassion in her face that only a woman could offer. As if feeling his stare, she glanced up and scowled through her mop of gray hair. Jonrell forced a small smile.

Jonrell’s gaze moved down to the soldier then back up to Hag, asking a silent question. Hag frowned and shook her head, then wiped the man’s brow before moving to another lying next to the first.

He will not survive the journey.

Jonrell reached over and grasped the soldier’s hand. It was caked in blood and clammy. The man’s eyes opened and his hand gave Jonrell’s a light squeeze.

I tried my best,” he whispered, regret in his voice. “But it wasn’t enough.”

“You gave more than you took. That is all any man can ask of another who stands by him in battle. Without your warhammer, there’s no telling where we’d be.”

The man smiled. “Aye. They’ll be cursing my name in whatever hell they went to.”

The man started coughing and Jonrell moved his hand to his chest to steady him. “Get some rest, Meker. You’ll need your strength for the journey.”

The man closed his eyes then and went to sleep, a thin smile resting on his lips.

* * *

Kroke pushed himself up to a sitting position and waved off Hag’s help. He had dozed for a bit and woke to find the old woman leering over him while inspecting his various wounds. She made a face at him, showing her displeasure at his dismissal but left anyway. As bad as he felt, he could have used her help, but he hated relying on others, whether warranted or not.

A stabbing pain shot through his side and another through his leg as he sat up taller. It made him feel light-headed and nauseated. He took a sip of the concoction Hag left for him. It was awful, but he drank it anyway in three quick gulps. After a few minutes he felt mildly better though he hated to admit the drink had anything to do with it.

Probably should give the old woman my thanks next time she waddles this way.

What’s the matter with me?

Earlier in the day he fought harder than he ever had in his life, and suffering in droves as a result of it. He could have left long before the fighting began, and could have snuck away before things got even worse, but something had caused him to stay.

Looking around through tired eyes he saw that many of those who had survived gave him nods of appreciation. The gratitude felt foreign to him.

That was all I ever wanted from my mother and my siblings. I know what I did could be considered ruthless, but a little appreciation for ending their suffering, a little understanding for my intentions would have been nice.

There was a tugging in his chest and his eyes began to itch. He rubbed them and assumed Hag’s concoction had something to do with it.

To his right, Jonrell talked to a man on his back. Kroke didn’t know the man’s name, but that wasn’t a surprise since the killer had done little to befriend anyone in the Hell Patrol. The first real conversation of any value had been with Jonrell only days ago. Then a few more came afterward when he escaped Hezen’s camp with Jonrell, Ronav, and Glacar.

He found it odd that in a matter of days he had grown more comfortable around Jonrell than any of the assassins he had worked with in the guild.

Jonrell whispered a comforting word to the injured soldier and removed his hand from the man’s chest. Kroke caught his eye and Jonrell forced a smile as he inclined his head toward a bandage on Kroke’s leg.

Kroke answered with a nod to let Jonrell know he was ok. Jonrell mouthed the words “Thank you.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

There’s that appreciation again.

Yanasi slept with her head in Jonrell’s lap, body curled tight in a ball. Raker huddled in the corner with a handful of other men, doing his best to brighten their mood with food and wine. Raker looked up for a moment and met Kroke’s eye. Something passed between them as well.
They may not be exactly like me, but they would cleave a man’s head in half if it meant saving one of their own.

Kroke had never understood camaraderie before, but looking at his wounds one last time, he realized he had fought as one of them today more than ever before. He finally understood what it meant to be a part of the Hell Patrol.

I'm one of them now.

Chapter 14

The next day, three more corpses went over the railing, the early morning hours claiming another handful of men. The survivors of the Hell Patrol now totaled an even dozen men. Barring any major catastrophe, it appeared the others would survive the long trip. Krytien chose not to watch the burial at sea.

I should have died with him. That would have been the best thing to do.

A commotion by the stairs caught Krytien’s attention as Glacar shuffled down into the hull. The noise startled Krytien into a cold sweat. Visions of Asantia’s destruction flashed before his eyes. The massive warrior pushed people aside, in a foul mood. It seemed Glacar hadn’t stopped drinking since they boarded.

Krytien found it remarkable that Ronav’s death had affected Glacar so much, since he had only known their commander for a short time. It was as if the young warrior looked to Ronav as some sort of myth, a hero from yesteryear, the only man to ever beat him in single combat.

With my help.

Krytien was fine with concealing the lie.
Ronav was better than Glacar in more ways than one. He just got older. Though how he fought as long and as hard as he did at the end, I’ll never know.

Cassus stepped toward Yanasi, helping the girl pour some fresh water into a cup when Glacar, oblivious to his surroundings, slammed into the man. Cassus careened to the floor, banging his head against the hard decking as he avoided Yanasi. Glacar roared at Cassus for getting in his way, swearing with spittle flying from his mouth.

Yanasi froze in fear and Cassus groaned on the ground near her. The hold grew deathly quiet and all eyes turned on the great ape of a man.

I knew he was a mistake, Ronav. You said you would be able to handle him. But now that you’re gone, we’re left to suffer his behavior.

Krytien saw the uneasiness in the men, none eager to stand in the warrior’s way.
I could take him easily.
He glanced down at his hands and they started shaking.
No. It’s too soon. One Above knows what will happen.

He looked up with a feeling of helplessness just as Jonrell climbed to his feet. He grabbed Glacar by the arm, spun him around, and with an open hand struck the warrior across his face, rocking his head to the side and cutting off his curses. An audible gasp came from the crew.

Krytien held his breath, waiting for Glacar to come back with a meaty fist, slamming into Jonrell’s jaw. But instead the man only touched the blood at his lips and faced Jonrell with eyes wide, mouth agape in shock.

Jonrell glared at Glacar with a cold intensity that sent a shudder up Krytien’s spine. He remembered Ronav’s words. “
I think he’s got what it takes if push came to shove. He just keeps it hidden. Look deep into those cold eyes of his when he’s serious. A man with a stare like that won’t have to act a certain way, or say a whole lot for everyone to know what he’s about.
”

“That’s enough,” said Jonrell. “You think you’re the only one who is angered by what we’ve been through? About whom we lost? You’re not, and I won’t have you taking your frustration out on the others. Ronav wouldn’t stand for it and neither will I.”

“So that’s it then. Ronav’s dead and you swoop down and make yourself leader.”

“No. I never said. . . .” started Jonrell.

“He didn’t make himself anything,” said Hag. “We chose him to lead. There ain’t any better among us.”

Krytien saw the brief moment of shock in Jonrell’s face but to his credit, he quickly composed himself.

“I never chose him. What if I say that I’m better?” said Glacar.

“I’d call you a liar,” said Raker, stepping from the back. Krytien noticed the mace held behind his back.

Glacar saw it too and laughed. “Ha. Try it Raker. I’d take you down just after I finished him.” He gestured toward Krytien. “And as useless as he is, there ain’t anyone here who can stop me.”

A low voice piped up. “I don’t know about that.” Kroke had found the strength to stand on his own for the first time since leaving the city. He cleaned his nails, blade in hand, shoulders set in the way of a killer. The assassin looked up with a flippant attitude and spun the dagger in his hand.

“You’re siding with them? Why? They don’t have the stomach or the skill to do what we do.”

Kroke shrugged. “Maybe that’s why we shouldn’t be running things.” He met Glacar’s stare.

“And what if I say otherwise?” asked Glacar.

“Well, as you said they don’t have the stomach or skill to do what we do. So with that in mind, you know that when I tell you this knife will be in your throat before you can raise an arm at anyone here, I mean it.”

“That’s enough!” yelled Jonrell, nostrils flaring and face red. “We’re better than this. This isn’t what the Hell Patrol is. We don’t fight amongst ourselves. Everyone sit down!” He met the eye of every man and each shied away under that icy stare, finding their seats once again.

Jonrell turned back to Glacar, his tone changing. “Look, you’re drunk and you’ve barely slept. Get some rest. It’s still a long trip to Slum Isle and there will be plenty enough time for you to think about what you want to do. Ronav made you an offer to join us and you did. So when we reach Mudhole Bay you can either stay on with us or go your own way.”

“And if I decide to take my chances now?” said Glacar.

Jonrell’s gray eyes went darker than coal, and Krytien swore he saw Glacar flinch. “Then my blade will be the first to reach you.”