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The sound of tires screeching on pavement slices through the utter stillness that has befallen the bar. Gone is the clamor of bodies colliding with one another, ragged breaths and weapons striking. And so is the silence of death that followed. Like a high-pitched scream of a wounded animal, the arrival of the Urthmen has been announced. They are upon me.
Cautioning from beyond the flimsy walls of Vox, light from their headlights pours into the space like molten steel, blanching the macabre scene all around me in a chalky hue. The bright light temporarily disorients me. I crouch, concealing my form beneath the bar and staying close to the interior wall, but not before chancing a glimpse beyond the window pane, straining to see that five large trucks have arrived. All filled with Urthmen.
My eyes water from the intense glow and my breath catches in my chest. Squatting beside Mim’s corpse with my sword held close to my body, his lifeless eyes almost smile, mocking my predicament. If I could kill him again for the expression he wears I would. But time doesn’t allow for me to so much as roll him over. The thin wooden door separating me from the Urthmen is only locked at the handle, not with a deadbolt. They wouldn’t even need a battering ram to get through it, just one among them with a well-placed, solid kick and they’d have access.
Within seconds, pounding at the door ensues. It pauses only when a grating voice beyond it grinds, “Mim! Open up! We know she’s in there! It was radioed in!” The incessant knocking resumes.
The Urthman who called out tries the handle. “Mim! Have you secured her?”
“Mim!” Another screams.
You’d think that after the first question went unanswered and Mim didn’t rush to the door to let them in they’d have figured that perhaps Mim was either maimed or dead. But no. Ever the buffoons they’ve always been, they continue to ask asinine questions of a man who has his throat severed right beside me.
“Can you hear me?” the first one shouts. “Do you need help?”
“Mim? Are you okay in there?” the other asks.
I’d laugh if my life hadn’t transformed from peace to a swirling vortex of carnage in a matter of hours, and if it weren’t in jeopardy at the moment. Neither is laughable. Especially now that a glimmer of hope exists that Sully and the children live.
My gaze sweeps the bar, skimming every wall in search of a way out, until a loud thwack against the front door sends a bolt of terror screaming through my body. Another strike lands against the wood with force, a single hit that sticks briefly then lands again.
An ax.
They’re swinging an ax against the door.
Any second now they’ll breach the rickety wood and swarm.
Scrambling to my feet, I take off, careful to remain as low as possible. I hop over Mim’s dead body and move as quickly as I can to the rear of the pub. Stepping over bodies, the metallic stench of blood mingles with sweat and alcohol. The stink is cloying and feels as if it clings to my nasal passages. My clothes. My skin. The stew I ate hours earlier threatens to spew. But I force myself to keep from being sick. Force back the lightheadedness and fear that darkens the edges of my vision. I need to keep going. I know an exit has to exist somewhere, likely in the back of the kitchen. I hope an exit exists there.
Racing through a set of swinging doors, I step inside the kitchen. Gingerly at first, I remain crouched and vigilant, my eyes searching the immediate area first before inspecting the perimeter. I do not see Urthmen encroaching. If a door exists, they haven’t located it. Yet. I need to get to it before they do. I need to escape this tavern and find Sully and the children.
Sliding a foot in front of me, I dart forward, half-expecting an ambush. When none occurs, I find myself standing in the center of what would typically be a busy work station. A multiple-burner range is to my left. Sauté pans and tongs sit atop it with uncooked food still inside. Whomever was in charge of it left it in favor of joining the mob that tried to kill me. Opposite the range and uncooked food is a prep area with multiple ingredients sitting on top of a smoothed block of thin wood that is scored from cutting and chopping various vegetables. I walk the narrow space between the two stations and pass a grill and twin fryers before I reach a back room where grains are stored. Beyond the grains and at the rear of the room is an exit. My muscles twitch, the want to race headlong through it and out into the night burgeoning. But I can’t. The vicinity is undoubtedly crawling with Urthmen. Especially after hearing mention that they were cognizant that “she” was there, and that the hope was that “she” had been subdued. The “she” to whom they refereed was me. And clearly Mim or someone in the bar had radioed in as soon as I arrived. But why? Why would a local barkeep be given a radio to collude with the regime that overthrew King Garan? Had those who assumed power been studying my activity so intensely and for so long that they knew I’d flee Cassowary and head to Vox? Or did they simply know that if I lived, I’d eventually turn up at Vox, counting on Mim as a friend and looking to him for support? The question is one I can’t answer. As much as I’d like to know how they found me, the only part of the equation that matters is not how they knew, but how I am going to get to safety. How I’m going to get out of Vox. Out of Tyr.
Filling my lungs with air, I take a deep breath to calm the panic creeping into my core. As I exhale, I spot a small, rectangular window which sits beside the door. Boxes are stacked in front of it, blocking it. I missed it upon first inspection. Now, however, I see it. I rush to it and peer beyond it. And what I see is just a darkened landscape. The area around the back of Vox appears to be clear.
Heartened slightly, I open the door and rush through it, out into the chilly air just as the thunderous boom of the front exploding inward echoes through the pub. The sound of wood splintering and the shards crashing to the floor is immediately followed by a rush of footsteps and raised voices.
I do not stick around to hear what they say, I dash out and freeze dead in my tracks as two Urthmen clad in olive uniforms not dissimilar to what King Garan’s men wore, round the corner of Vox. They spot me and my heart freezes mid-beat before setting off at a gallop. The soldier nearest the building reaches for the transponder holstered at his hip, preparing to call the cavalry and tell them they’ve found me while the other sets about unsheathing his sword. In the space of a breath, I lunge, thrusting my blade forward and stabbing the Urthman with the transponder in the throat and silencing the call before he can make it. The Urthman with him turns, shouting and warning the others in front of Vox. “She’s back here! We found her!” he yells as he starts to run.
Chasing after him, I push my legs as hard as I can, catching up to him quicker than I thought. I attack, extending my arm forward and driving my blade through his back. The Urthman stumbles forward a few steps before collapsing to the ground. I advance and can’t see the street but hear footfalls and voices coming from both the front of the building and the rear. Nearly a dozen Urthmen are closing in from behind and far more wait in front of Vox. Pulse hammering and thoughts racing, I have nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. I’m without a plan. I’m trapped.
I cannot overcome more than thirty armed Urthmen.
I will die here and now.
Clutching my sword in front of me with two hands, I make my way to the street. I will battle with honor. I will not turn and run and die in the back alley of an Urthman pub.
I hold my sword out in front of me readying for my last stand.
As my foot hits the dirt and gravel road, Urthmen take notice. They ready themselves to either kill or capture me until their attention is diverted by a sound. A noise rips through the night, loud and as guttural as the roar of a beast. All heads—including my own—swivel toward it.
No far away, a trio of motorized vehicles growl and bound from a nearby street like feline predators, snarling before the engines whine and they race down the road. Barreling straight for us, they devour pavement, the distance between the three bikes and us shrinking fast. The closer they draw, the better I can make out that the men who straddle the motorcycles are human men.
Gunning the engines and aiming for us, I vaguely make out that one of the riders screams a profanity as he hefts a sword over his head. I dive out of his path seconds before his front tire nearly mows down the Urthman beside me. The Urthman tries to dive out of the way and manages to escape being run down, but doesn’t escape the rider’s blade. Slashed at the gut, he twists, gripping the side that was opened by the razor-sharp sword. All around me, dust swirls in time with the incessant whine of motorcycle engines as the riders circle quickly, taking down Urthmen before they can react. Dizzying and deafening, I struggle to focus. Only the chrome pieces of the bikes reflect the lights of the Urthmen trucks, along with the weapons the riders wield.
In an instant, two of the motorcycles zip away, whizzing out of sight in the blink of an eye. My stomach bottoms out as I watch the last one circle the edge of the Urthmen soldiers. I expect him to take off, as well, but am shocked when, as he is about to pass me, he slows to a stop.
From just a few feet away he yells over the engine, “Come on!” He gestures for me to get on the back of the bike.
Rushing toward him as fast as I can, I throw my leg over the rear portion of the seat.
“Hold on!” he shouts. He twists the handle on the right and the bike responds immediately, lurching forward and rocketing with a shrill whine. We shoot forward, leaving Vox and all of the Urthmen behind.
The two motorcycles that accompanied him are already at the end of the street. Revving their engines for several moments, they blast forward once we catch up with them, kicking up dust and smoke as they charge ahead.
All three bikes take off into the night, speeding at a rate I never dreamed possible. I don't know who these men are or why they chose to rescue me from certain death, but they are human. Right now, I fear humans are the only people I can come close to trusting. My faith in Urthmen is lost. My hope for peace is shattered. My only hope is to find Sully, John, Willian and June alive.