In Wilder Lands Page 3

  “Seriously, is my accent wrong?”

  Giggling at him, Warra nodded, saying, “Yes, your accent is wrong, but that is a failing of your upbringing. My name is wee, eh, ar, ar, eh.”

  Estin started to snap at her, but stopped with his mouth open, changing pace in his thoughts. “Wait…vee?”

  “Yes, this is what I say over and over, wee!”

  Blinking at the woman, Estin was reminded how foreign the gypsy accent was everywhere they went. This drove that idea home for him.

  “So your name is Varra?”

  “Yes!” Varra exclaimed and began walking again. “Now, what we are doing is reclaiming something that is ours, plus an appropriately-sized apology for having taken it in the first place. The man of bad clothing has this something and I wish it back.”

  “The…duke?”

  “Yes, that man. We will be going into the tall house and taking it. To do this, I needed someone who climbs better than I do and will be unpredictable if they catch us. The wilder-folk are the only ones I would expect to do both and be willing to take this job without too many questions. I have watched you and I think you can do this. Without this job, Nyess will stay angry about the necklace. So is good for us both.”

  Estin nodded.

  “Probably right. I’ve just never known a gypsy with more money than I have, let alone enough to pay off my debts like that.”

  “Ah yes, about this.” Varra gestured grandly, as though trying to pull the correct words to her from the air. “I do think someday you will meet one of my cousins who has wealth…maybe I will, too. For now, Nyess will have to wait.”

  “You don’t have a cousin coming with the money?” Estin asked incredulously. “He’ll kill us both.”

  “Yes, is likely,” she answered, taking a right and heading up another street, still meandering towards the keep. “I am thinking that if my life is in danger and my cousins cannot save me, perhaps I will give him the necklace he wants so badly. Is rather ugly and does not go well with my clan colors. I have found no shade of our blues and browns that can match the stone in it. I look better in brass than gold.”

  “You have the necklace?” demanded Estin, feeling the hair on his ears stand up. “How did you steal it, when the owner left town before Nyess even contracted the job to me.”

  “She left town because I told her a thief was coming for it,” answered Varra, slyly. She giggled again. “I followed her and switched out the necklace for fake before she left the mountains. Perhaps she made it to Lantonne before she realized the loss, yes?”

  Estin closed his mouth and shook his head. This girl had put his life in danger, used that angle to gain his help, then used the act to save him. He could not even think straight about why any human would be so unpredictable—let alone one who seemed to think he would be the unpredictable member of the party.

  At length, they reached the wealthier homes as the sun was about to come up. This made Estin twitchy and alert for any citizens who might notice him and call for the guard, but apparently at this hour no self-respecting resident would be out of their home.

  “Up here,” Varra told him, pointing at a gorgeous home that was larger than any inn Estin had ever stayed in…or on. “We will wait on the roof until tonight. From there, it is short walk to the tall house’s outer wall.”

  “So your plan is to scale the wall?” he asked, lifting his head and gazing up the incredible structure’s walls. It was easily as tall as twenty houses, stacked one atop another. The first window was about thirty feet up the walls or higher. “Where is the item we’re taking?”

  Varra tapped his shoulder, then pointed at a spot near the top of the wall.

  “The badly-dressed man keeps it in his gallery, as though it were prize. We go up near the top, where only the man and his friends may go. You will climb the whole way, then let me in. I will walk up so many stairs I will be tired and cranky when we meet at top.”

  Even Estin wondered if his arms would let him climb that far. It was going to be a long time getting up there and far longer coming back down. It was taller than the city walls, which he knew for a fact were difficult for him to climb.

  “Do you think we can do it in one night?”

  Varra frowned and studied the wall.

  “No,” she replied softly, squinting at the sheer stone. “We may have to stay inside and escape the next night. I had not thought about the time it would take.”

  She perked up and slapped Estin on the shoulder, exclaiming, “This is why I bring you, yes? You are thinker.”

  “Yeah, that’s me,” he muttered, staring at the window far above the city. “We are definitely going to die.”

  *

  For most of the daylight hours, Estin dozed off atop the roof, occasionally waking to the sounds of an overly-loud youngster or an overzealous merchant announcing their wares. He generally was able to sleep through nearly anything that was not right next to him—or at least that did not sound like something coming to eat or chain him—so the day passed quickly between the times he opened a drowsy eye to double-check on his surroundings.

  Just past midday, he popped an eye open after hearing the snarls of a dog somewhere nearby and realized that Varra was gone. Some of her bags were still there, letting him know she intended to return, but he had no idea how long she had been gone or how much longer she would be away.

  Sighing and rolling over to put his head in the shade of a tall chimney, he went back to sleep. He could only hope that when he woke the next time, she would be back. If not, he would think about how to escape Nyess’ debts and whether that meant leaving town for a while.

  Estin was woken by close noises again as the sun began to drift towards the horizon. He checked the roof, but Varra had still not returned, making him start to wonder if he would have to leave on his own. The noise that had woken him was a man making announcements in a voice that carried for far around. The sounds of many other people created a blanketing din that made it difficult to think.

  Scooting up to the edge of the roof, Estin peeked into the streets to see what the commotion was about. Up against the keep’s wall, an elven royal herald—Estin recognized the red and white standards of the city’s duke—was glaring at the crowd, while holding up a large parchment he had apparently been reading from. Once the crowd quieted down slightly, he continued talking.

  “…as per the Duke Harlin’s orders, we have begun looking into other ways to keep the city safe, with the defeat of our army. Our lord is committed to ensuring that the sacrifices of those drafted or enlisted will not be in vain and he hereby pledges that there will be no further drafting, despite the recent decimation of our military, defending this land against the incursion of Lantonne’s forces.”

  “If there are no troops, how the high hells does he expect to protect us?” shouted a dwarven woman, shoving several humans aside so she could be seen, her braided hair slapping at the people near her as she spoke. “We demand that something be done to keep us safe!”

  A cheer went through the crowd and the herald gave an incline of his head to acknowledge the woman, waiting for the chance to speak.

  “Our lord has not abandoned us,” he advised the crowd, though boos and derisive cries indicated many did not believe him. “As he has said many times, he will do anything to protect this fair city, even if it is unpopular. In this case, he has heard your pleas and will send no more of your sons to war. A new plan is in motion.”

  Disgusted muttering drifted throughout the crowds and people began to disperse, several stopping by the herald first to spit at his feet. The man just stood there regally, staring straight ahead. Once the streets were mostly clear, the elven herald seemed to relax and his shoulders hung weakly. He stalked off towards the entrance to the keep, appearing as though he had been beaten, which Estin had to think was very close to having happened.

  “They do not wish to be forced to fight, yet they fear having no soldiers,” noted Varra, lying beside him on the roof. She had so
mehow snuck right up next to him. “City-folk do have strange ways.”

  “I didn’t even know we were back at war,” Estin admitted, sliding back from the edge so that he would not be spotted by people on the ground. “Thought that ended a while ago.”

  “Oh yes, this you are. What hole have you been hiding in, my furry friend?”

  Estin gave her an annoyed growl. “The slums mostly. Lantonne’s armies could be inside the city before we knew anything was happening.”

  “Ah, this I do see.” Varra shifted a large sack that Estin was sure was new, using it to sit upright. “You know of Lantonne?”

  “Yeah, a little. Not sure how much is true. Crazy city to the southeast, outside the mountains. They say it’s ruled by a king who consults with a council of humans and dwarves and that they use magical war machines to decimate other nations. The rumor is that we only have held this long because we’re so far up in the mountains that they can’t bring their war machines up here.”

  “No, no,” laughed Varra. “This is hardly true. Lantonne is beautiful place, though they make my people stay outside of arrow range from the walls. They have defeated many armies, but always to defend farmlands that they claim. Like so many city-folk, they think they own dirt, yes?”

  Estin just shrugged. “I’ve never owned anything myself, so I can’t say I understand that, either.”

  Waving away his comment, Varra continued, “They do have great machines for war, as you say. It was these that let them destroy Altis’s entire army as the sun set. This they did from within the mountains, maybe a mile or two down the road. Rather than invade, they have retreated, announcing that they do not wish to harm the people of Altis, though the badly-dressed human in the tall building will not say that, I am sure.”

  “Any idea what the great plan to defend the town is, then?”

  Varra shook her head, her various jewelry chains jingling softly.

  “The army lies dead and no one collects them. The badly-dressed man’s scholars walk the fields of the dead, talking about what to do about it, while they do nothing. This is a shame my people would never allow, but the city-folk have their own ways, yes?”

  “How do you know all this?” Estin asked, glancing at the large sack again.

  Varra laughed.

  “This is where I went while you spend the day sleeping. Dead men have no use for many things that we, the living, must regretfully take and put to good use.”

  She slid the sack between them and began emptying it, surprising Estin with each item she pulled out. First came several swords and daggers of varying styles and sizes, all stained with dried blood…sometimes on the blade and sometimes on the hilt. Next, she drew out a bag that gave a metallic rattle that sounded like a few coins. Lastly, she took out several belts, pouches, and leather armor accessories.

  Varra was smiling to herself as she looked up at Estin, then frowned.

  “You do not approve? I collect things to help us. This should be a good thing, no?”

  Estin shook his head slightly as he picked up a short sword and some of the leather bits that he thought might help keep his arms and legs from getting too torn up on the climb up the keep walls. If he had to risk his life foolishly, he hoped at least to mitigate the damage to his hide.

  “Stealing from the dead wouldn’t be my first choice of ways to get the gear we need.”

  Varra shook her head vigorously.

  “First, the city-folk say we are thieves for taking things that they do not need or have left lying around, uncared for. This my people just cannot abide, letting things go to waste. I learn from my error and try to do the right thing and take only from those who will not be deprived by the loss, but now you think this is bad, too? I am saddened that your people have so little respect for their dead…they no longer need these things and would want them used. I only honor that.”

  Estin snugged the straps on an armguard as he stared with annoyance at Varra.

  “Ok, so I make that up. These things were left, so I took them. There is no harm…and some were quite pretty.”

  She held up a copper necklace as evidence.

  “Whatever makes it okay in your mind,” Estin told her, tying a belt around his waist to hold a sword and dagger he had picked up from the pile. “I just want to be done with this job before you get me into trouble with the law.”

  “Ah, the law. Is it still a crime if we do not get caught?”

  “For once, an idea I can agree with. You do know you’re rationalizing theft with a street urchin?”

  “And this is why I bring you here, yes?” laughed Varra. “You are urchin from these streets, where I am urchin from any streets that come along. You are more familiar here.”

  “Girl, I want to live to see tomorrow. Helping you just barely fits that hope.” He inclined his head towards the wall, perhaps twenty or so feet away from their position, asking, “Do you have a plan to make this work? We’ll need to start climbing in a few minutes as the shadows hit the wall.”

  “We do, but you will not like it.”

  Varra pulled a thin rope from the canvas bag that had held the weapons and other stolen goods. The rope would hardly hold a child’s weight, let alone the two of them.

  “Even if that could hold us, there’s nothing we can get a grappling hook onto,” he observed, studying the wall again. “I can probably make the jump to it, but you’ll need to get to the ground to climb it.”

  “No, I have a much more foolish plan. If we went down there, the guards would catch us before we made it even as high as we already are. Best time to climb is also when most guards are out. If you are ready…?”

  Estin nodded and tightened his belt over the weapons he had taken from her. They dug into his back where his thinning shirt met the small of his back, but he needed the belt tight to ensure the sword in particular did not slip as he climbed and catch on his legs or tail.

  “So what is this plan?”

  Varra nodded grimly and took out the rope. She uncoiled it, revealing two runs that were about thirty feet each.

  “How much do you know of magic, Estin?” asked Varra, pulling a small crossbow from the canvas bag, which she then began loading. Her dark skin seemed to take on a nervous pallor that made Estin truly begin worrying.

  “Not enough to even be dangerous to myself,” he admitted, wondering if all the guards and shopkeepers trying to kill him for years would be outdone by a little gypsy girl. “No one teaches my kind to read, let alone use magic. Why?”

  After tying the thin rope to a metal bolt, Varra aimed at the wall across from them. The other end she stepped on, to keep it from flying off the roof. She then lowered the crossbow slowly and fired. The bolt whizzed through the air, then made a sharp ‘chink’ as it embedded itself in the wall, leaving a drooping line of rope between their roof and the wall.

  “This will not be the wise magic of wizards that the tavern singers speak of,” she noted, affixing the second rope to another bolt. As she aimed, she added, “This will be foolish magic, based on the ramblings of a cousin who had much too much to drink.”

  She fired again, placing the second bolt just to the right of the first. Then, she pulled the ropes taught and put a brick on their ends, keeping them from dipping at all. With both relatively straight lines in a slight descent towards the wall, Varra sat down on the lip of the roof again.

  “The magic I will use is designed to create walls, for closing off rooms you do not want sneaky sneaky thieving people entering. It is dependent on having lines that it follows, such as the frame of a door. This type of magic has little use to my kind, as we are often in the open, traveling with only our wagons. It took a very smart and very drunk cousin to find another use for it.”

  For a moment, Varra’s left hand glowed faintly, tracing patterns in the air as though drawing symbols that Estin could not even visualize. Varra then spoke a faint word and touched the space between the ropes. The air rippled and seemed to solidify, appearing like glass between the
roof and the wall.

  “Now, the reason that this is foolish,” she explained, tugging at the ropes until they pulled free of the bolts. The barely-visible ramp remained as though anchored to the keep, “is that the wall is like the most smooth ice you have ever walked on. If I have gotten the angle wrong…well…we shall meet those soldiers below the hard way, yes?”

  Contemplating the risks he was taking, Estin leaned out over the roof’s edge and tapped the magical wall with his finger. It appeared solid, but his finger’s claw slid right off it. He tried again and could not press against it without his hand sliding away.

  “I should go first, yes?” Varra asked him sheepishly, standing up and brushing her silk garments with her hands nervously. She pulled out two metal spikes, the likes of which Estin had seen before, usually used for letting humans climb walls or rocky surfaces. Over her shoulder, she draped a ten foot loop of heavier rope, also designed for climbing. The girl looked to be genuinely terrified of trying this, taking one breath after another. “I just slide down, stop on the wall, then climb. Should be easy enough.”

  Estin put an arm in front of her, blocking her way onto the magical wall. He stood slowly, eyeing the angle of the slide and looking for any handholds he could get to once he reached the wall.

  “I’ve got this, Varra,” he told her, stepping up to the edge. “I don’t have great balance for my people, but it’s still better than most humans. If I fall, you can be gone before they’re done slapping chains on me. If you were caught, they would look for more gypsies.”

  “This is true.”

  Varra stepped away and motioned grandly for him to go ahead.

  Estin stepped out onto the magical platform, hoping he would be able to reach the wall without falling first. If he could just get his fingers onto the rough stone, he was sure he could cling to the wall with ease and likely help Varra get a good starting grip.

  The moment his paws touched the glass-like barrier, Estin began sliding uncontrollably, gaining speed quickly as he raced across the gap towards the keep’s wall. His stomach lurched, and panic overtook him as he lost his balance, tumbling forward and slamming his muzzle into the very surface that was hurtling him towards the stones ahead.