The Tears of Kas̆dael

“You didn’t have to kill him,” Asata grumbled as they stole out of the temple, with the Fey charms bound securely around their wrists.

“You’re right. Maybe I should have just let him attack you.”

“We could have bound him-”

“He had a sword. Were you going to disarm him and hold him in place while we tied him up?” Ihra snapped. “Look, I didn’t want to kill him either. Maybe he was a bad guy, or maybe he’d just been mind-controlled to attack us, but, you know what? It doesn't matter. We were three floors below the temple with hundreds of potentially mind-screwed acolytes between us. If we let him raise the alarm, we'd never have gotten out.”

“Ihra’s right,” Erin blurted out abruptly. “It sucks he had to die, but if she hadn't killed him, we'd probably have had to kill a lot more.” Ihra had honestly expected the scout to be squeamish about her actions and she shot him a grateful look. Maybe he’s beginning to understand what it takes to survive here.

“I’m sorry, Asata,” she added, “but I did what had to be done if you want to save Ardil and the rest of your priests - if you want to save Birnah.”

Scowling, the healer refused to meet her eyes. “We could have done it another way,” she muttered petulantly.

Ihra decided to pretend she hadn’t heard the comment, and led the group toward the east side of the street, where the shade cast by the temple walls offered a slight respite from the rapidly rising morning heat. “You know this city better than I do, Asata,” - it was a bit of an understatement, given she knew the city not at all - “Where we should look?”

Asâta remained silent, sulking like a petulant child, and Ihra felt her frustration rise. She was about to yell at her when Erin grabbed the Corsyth’s hand.

“Asâta, we’re sorry about what happened, but if you want to save your city, we can’t stand at the corner forever. You've seen what the Atrometo are doing to the villages - don’t you want to stop that?”

Her scow receded begrudgingly and she sighed heavily. “I haven’t forgiven you yet, but for the city’s sake…” She turned to look down the street, and her eyes widened. “We might want to move.”

“What?”

The healer pointed mutely behind her, and Ihra turned to see a group of acolytes spilling out of the temple’s doors like a frenzied mob, weapons in hand.

“How could they already know-” Erin started to ask.

“Doesn’t matter,” Ihra cut him off, and grabbing his shoulder, spun him around with a little shove. “Time to run.”

Angry shouts erupted as the mob spotted them and gave chase. The two followed Asata around the corner, where she darted across the street and toward a small alley that dissected two large storefronts. Unfortunately, the healer wasn’t much of a sprinter, and the mob reached the corner before they disappeared down its dark corridor. We need to go faster, Ihra decided.

A shrill squeal echoed down the alley as Ihra sped up and tossed the healer over her shoulder. While Asâta might not have been fast, Ihra knew the priests should be no match for the speed of a warrior. She could only hope that Erin, despite being a mage, could keep up. He did train in the scouts for months, she reasoned.

“Let me go?!”

She ignored the girl’s protest and lengthened her stride. “Just tell me where to go,” she commanded. The alley spilled out onto a larger thoroughfare and Asâta complied with the order. "Turn right - wait, no, no - there’s guards ahead.”

Ihra jerked to the left and, grabbing hold of Erin’s hand, dragged him behind her. With the city closed to all outside traffic, the streets were almost empty, so there was no hope of simply disappearing into the crowd. All she could do was outrun them.

“Left!” Asata called out again, and Ihra careened around the corner onto a small sidestreet. The ugly stone houses that dominated the city were replaced by a thick grove of trees whose boughs reached far enough over the street to meet in the middle, protecting the whole street from the sun's scorching gaze. The boulevard wasn't that long and they reached its end in a flash, exiting into a small sylvan glade with a shady pond beside which sat a small temple-shaped structure. “Is that the catacombs?” she snapped.

“They won’t look there.”

Trusting the Corsyth, she darted up the steps and flung the doors wide. The silence of the crypt was broken as they slammed against the walls, but Ihra ignored the sound. Skidding to a stop, she shrugged the healer off her shoulder and grabbing the massive bronze doors, swung them back in place.

“You sure they won’t look here?” she questioned Asâta dubiously.

“The catacombs are dedicated to Lady Kas̆dael,” the Corsyth explained. "The priests of S̆ams̆a won't come here without permission."

Ihra was skeptical that a mob of mind-controlled clerics would be so discerning about priesthood etiquette, but as they waited within the shrine, the continuing silence suggested the healer had been right. Perhaps there's only so much of a person's basic instincts you can override without specific instructions. When twenty minutes had passed in peace, Ihra decided to risk looking. The small glade remained empty and the side street remained equally bare. Returning to the shrine, she flung the doors open jubilantly. “I think we gave ‘em the slip.”

Erin and Asâta sat beneath the small shrine to Kasdael, and the scout spoke softly to the healer as Ihra approached.

“Something wrong,” Ihra asked.

The girl blushed, but slowly raised her eyes to meet hers. “I…may have been wrong. Back there,” she admitted reluctantly. “I didn’t expect…”

“It’s alright,” Ihra waved her apology off. “You’re a healer. Killing shouldn’t come easy for you.”

The girl swallowed her words and bowed her head. “Thanks for getting us out of there.”

“No problem.” Leaning her back against the wall, Ihra slid down beside them. “Now, before we got interrupted, you were going to tell us where we should go.”

“About that…” Asâta’s face scrunched up in concentration. “Birnah has seven major castles - we can’t scout them all.”

“What are the most important ones,” Erin asked.

“Well...there’s Dūr-Salmu. Traditionally, that’s the castle reserved for visiting dignitaries, but we’ve already been there, so we can scratch that one off the list. Then there’s Dūr-Asīr, the prison - that might be where Lord S̆ams̆ādur’s friends are being held. Dūr-Biḫurtu is the main barracks, and Dūr-Rabû is Lord Sarganīl’s personal hold. Those are probably the most important,” she replied thoughtfully.

“So three castles,” Ihra grimaced. “Breaking into one castle is tough enough, but three?”

“There are three of us,” Erin pointed out. “If we split up, it might make things easier.”

“No,” she shook her head decisively, “I don’t think splitting up is a good idea. These amulets should protect us, but only as long as we’re wearing them. If we get captured…” She left unsaid that she didn’t trust the healer not to get captured. “If we can only scout one,” she asked Asata, “which one would you advise?”

“The barracks?” she responded tentatively. “I imagine the guards will be more vigilant at the prison and in the keep, but there’s probably not too many people looking to break into the barracks.”

“Then let’s scout the barracks,” Ihra agreed.

Ihra had been half afraid that when they left the safety of the catacomb shrine they’d find the mob waiting for them back at the main street, but the thoroughfare proved as empty as before. Whether the priests had returned to their temple or were still roaming the streets in a vain search for them, she couldn’t say, but at least they had escaped unscathed. Still she kept a close eye on their surroundings as she followed Asâta, just in case.

“Do you have any suggestions on how to get into Dūr-Biḫurtu?” she asked the healer, though she didn't really expect her to have any idea. But the girl surprised her again.

“The barracks has a contract with a nearby bakery to deliver fresh bread twice a day. The second shipment should be delivered in about an hour.”

“You think we can sneak in while they’re distracted with this shipment?”

“No, I thought we’d just help deliver the shipment ourselves.” Noticing her confusion, the healer explained. “Every day, the bakery pays folks from the streets to deliver the goods. They pay generously, a loaf of bread for each basket carried, so there's also a decent number of the poorer folk waiting around to deliver them. We’ll need to change our clothes to blend in, but it should let us get through the gates.”

Following her advice, the three ducked into an alley, and changed out of their armor and the fine tunics that the Royal House had provided them. Looking poor, on the other hand, was a more difficult task as none of them had particularly shabby clothes. Instead, they settled for the worst of what they had and, after getting them a bit dirty, had to hope that no one would look too hard. Then they headed to the bakery.

The shop was exactly as Asâta had described. Situated just two blocks away from Dur-Biḫurtu, the storefront was already obscured by rows of heavy baskets that were piled high with bread. A small crowd waited as the baker’s assistants dragged the baskets aside while an overseer kept an eye on them, and when the last of the baskets had been set down he waved them forward.

“A loaf per basket carried, two loaves of day old,” the man offered.

Ihra pushed her way toward the rows of baskets, choosing a spot as far away from the overseer as possible, and grabbed one of the baskets. It was surprisingly light, and she nearly snagged another, when she noticed Asâta straining under her own load. Probably shouldn’t advertise how strong I am. Settling for one, she followed the crowd down the street toward Dūr-Biḫurtu.

Dūr-Biḫurtu made the castle they’d originally found themselves in look like a shabby watchtower. Built to withstand siege even if the city had fallen, the massive castle was the size of a small village and separated from the rest of the Birnah by a twenty-foot moat, filled with stagnant water, and a drawbridge that was raised every night. Sweat trickled down her brow as the sun beat down relentlessly upon them, and Ihra found herself glad she hadn’t taken a second basket.

The heat dropped off as they reached the far side of the bridge and stepped into a courtyard shaded by the castle’s towering walls. They hadn’t reached their destination quite yet, though, as the line of laborers wound their way across the outer courtyard and through a second set of gates that guarded the inner keep. There they finally reached the barracks’ kitchen, which was set up in the courtyard to keep the heat from cooking far away from the residential quarters.

A handful of guards stood watch as they dropped off the baskets, though Ihra could tell they weren’t paying close attention. “A loaf per basket! If you want the day-olds, go back to the bakery!” A guard cried, repeating the offer the baker had made.

Taking advantage of the swirling crowd, she slipped to the side of the courtyard, away from the gaze of the guards, and ducked into the shadows. But the guards weren’t quite as lax in their watch as they thought. As Erin tried to join her, ducking behind the line of haulers grabbing their portion of bread, the guards saw him headed toward the abandoned garden. “What do you think you’re doing? This isn’t a picnic ground!” one roared. Before he could take another step, the guard’s hand clamped around his shoulder and shoved him toward the entrance. "Get your bread and get out," the guard commanded.

With the guards' attention on Erin, Asâta made to scurry over to Ihra, but she shook her head. “Follow him,” she mouthed quietly. As much as she hadn’t wanted to explore the castle alone, she wasn’t comfortable leaving the scout alone. That amulet wouldn’t do anything if the guard tore it off.

The healer's moment of hesitation made the decision for her as another guard noticed her. “Hey, what are you lollygagging about for? Get moving!” Fortunately, the healer had the good sense not to glance in Ihra’s direction and headed out the gates following the guard’s command, leaving Ihra to explore the castle by herself.