A distant roar shook the air around her.
“No, it’s too early!” someone shouted from behind her. She recognized the voice as one from her troupe.
“Oh gods,” muttered Harmony.
The crowd was thrown into a frenzy, countless panicked women dashing this way and that, trying to get to the safety of their homes before the Judges emerged from their cages in the belly of the Castle of the Lion. Even a few Sisters of the Cloth seemed hurried. The throng became a stampede, threatening to trample or separate the twenty-four.
“Take hands and into the alleys!” shouted Laurel, and she reached behind her without looking. A meaty hand grabbed hers, and she yanked Harmony into a nearby gap between buildings. She didn’t glance behind her to see if her charges had followed orders; if some of them panicked and forgot to grasp the hand of the one in front of or behind them, it could not be helped. They would be on their own, and should they survive the night, they could try again another day.
She pulled them through narrow passages, around bends, and over heaps of festering garbage and human waste. The second roar filled the air, sounding farther away than the first, and Laurel slowed their progress. She could hear those behind her crying and huffing for breath, could almost feel the terrified energy that pulsed all around her. Someone whispered Karak’s name, and she stopped short. Harmony almost collided with her backside.
Laurel spun around, anger making her neck grow hot.
“I said no praying,” she growled.
Numerous eyes gazed at her. One by one, each of them nodded.
They kept going, the sky growing ever darker above them. Although taking the alleys offered more refuge than keeping to the main throughway, it was also a much longer route. The alleys also had their own dangers; one never knew if some frightened soul might spy them from above and call out to the Judges.
Yet no one caught sight of them, and a few far-off screams told of the Judges dispensing their brutal justice elsewhere. The structures surrounding them began to inch closer together, their walls old wood rather than stone. The scent of feces and rot, prevalent in all of Veldaren, was potent.
They had reached the Black Bend.
The Bend was situated in the northeast corner of the city, a woebegone slum where the poorest citizens resided. The old, the infirm, the orphaned, and the outcast were who lived in this place. Originally, it had been built by the first generation of humans to house the builders who had assisted Karak in shaping his crown city. This section of the city had been forgotten, its land useless for building on due to the natural caves lingering beneath the earth making further construction too risky. Every building was perilously close to caving in on itself, and the mold seeping into the old wood caused horrific illnesses, oftentimes leading to death. Still, the populace here was proud. The downtrodden stuck together, a kinship in torment that embraced the Specter, and she them in return. Only they remembered the tunnels that ran beneath the Bend. It seemed as if everyone had forgotten about the poorer sections of this city save the poor themselves.
Luckily, the king’s bodyguard Karl Dogon had been an orphan from the Bend. It was on his advice that the shoddy rebellion had moved there.
They emerged from the darkness and onto a cracked road lined with sewage. Those following behind Laurel gagged, but she and Harmony did not. They both had learned to cope with the incessant reek of the place.
From there they hurried down the street, the pitter-patter of feet echoing dully off sodden, crumbling walls. Shutters were slammed as they passed, candles blown out. It was almost completely dark now. None would grant them entry should Veldaren’s rulers fall upon them.
Around the next bend they ran, and Laurel’s heart leapt. A single door to a particularly ramshackle structure was propped open, and three men paced in front of it, each holding tight to his sword. The men swiveled at the sound of approaching footsteps, and upon sight of the women, they silently urged speed, waving their arms toward the opened door.
Laurel released Harmony’s hand and took her place by the side of the door, ushering her charges inside. She stared over their crouched heads at the man across from her, with his warm hazel eyes and mop of curly black hair. He started to say something, but she put a finger to her lips, silencing him. Another roar broke through the young night, followed by yet another tormented scream. The man took that as his cue, dashing to the back of the line and literally shoving the frightened travelers into the door.
When all were inside, the door shut and barred, Harmony led the throng down a hall whose walls were leaning perilously inward. Into the basement they went, where torches were already lined up for their use. Harmony opened a hatchway in the floor and urged the others to descend into the blackness below. A few hesitated, but all it took was a more violent roar from outside to get them moving.
Only after all the rest were out sight did Laurel follow them into the pit, descending the twenty crude wooden stairs and sneezing at the musty odor of the tunnel. She stood at the bottom of the well and watched the three men shut the hatch, then helped them stack heavy stones in front of the stairwell. Only when they finished did she breathe a sigh of relief.
“Laurel, you worried me,” said the man with hazel eyes.
“I worried me too, Pulo,” she said with a tired smile.
“You look horrid,” said Roddalin, one of the other men.
“She always does when she comes back,” said Jonn, the third.
“Enough.” She feigned offense, then looked up at Pulo. “Did you make the count on the way in?”
He nodded. “Nineteen. Twelve men and seven women.”
“Nineteen,” Laurel repeated. “We lost three.”
“Most likely the last of the screams we heard.”
She frowned. “I hope not.”
“They made feasts for the lions,” said Jonn, “but their sacrifice probably saved your hide.”
“That doesn’t make it any better.”
Pulo draped an arm around her shoulder, gave her a squeeze. “I know.”
“I should clean up,” she said, allowing a small, sad smile. “I’ll speak with the new recruits come morning. Let Harmony handle it until then.”
“Very well. I understand.”
Laurel left them, walking down a separate stone passageway. The place was murky and filled with swirling shadows, with a torch burning every thirty feet to light the way. No more were allowed, for the caverns had very little ventilation, and already thirteen people had died from smoke inhalation. At least it was warm down here, which was a welcome respite from the biting chill aboveground. Down here, her knees didn’t constantly knock from shivering.
The cavern walls were marked with painted arrows pointing the way to each populated section. The caverns were vast and confusing otherwise, descending deeper into the earth in spots through narrow tunnels. The first time she had visited here, after her rescue from the clutches of the mumbling priest Joben Tustlewhite and the castle dungeons, she had thought it too complex to ever remember. But now the arrows were for the refugees, not her.
The passageway she took was lined with jagged rock, and at a small triangular gash in the earthen wall she ducked down, entering the small fissure that passed for her quarters. Inside were her bedroll, a stinking chamber pot, and little else. What meager clothing she had-most passed on to her by those she had brought here-was resting on natural shelves protruding from the cave walls. Atop a higher shelf was a clay bowl filled with water, a washcloth, and a silver mirror King Eldrich had given her. All the more to remember who you truly are, the deposed king had told her at the time, though she had a feeling that he’d given it to her simply so she could make sure she looked her best when in front of him.