Chapter 2 – Evacuation
Heart pounding and entirely out of breath, Kasparian rushed into the open square of the Khur District. It was still dark, but on the opposite side of the open, paved area, the outline of his simple villa stood right next to Khur Cathedral. This was his domain. He was the authority – or had been. If that self-righteous winged bastard were right, soon the bishops would come with their holy warriors to take it all from him.
His gaze moved up to the four imperial palace towers, reaching taller than any other building in the grand city of Kanthos. The palace grounds took up more space than the Khur District, which housed almost two-thousand souls. A tower stood at each corner, and large blue crystals decorated the top, reflecting the little light from the stars.
As a child, the large shiny crystals had always enchanted him. He’d spent hours imagining how he would one day look out at the glory of Kanthos from one of the upper windows. He shook the foolish thought from his mind and pressed on.
When Kasparian reached his villa, he burst inside and slammed the main door behind him, his palms still on the timber as he tried to catch his breath.
Two women dressed in grey robes came into the hall. “Bishop Tellis? What’s going on?”
Kasparian moved to the heavy oak cabinet in the hall, attempting to push it towards the door. “The bishops are on their way. We have to get to the cave.”
The two women looked at each other before moving to Kasparian’s side, helping him with the cabinet. It made a terrible screeching sound as they forced it across the tiles.
With the front door blocked, he looked at his two loyal disciples with a satisfied smile. “Find the others. Tell them to pack quickly. We leave in five minutes.”
The two women rushed off. One ran up the squeaking staircase and the other into the adjourning rooms, rousing the people sleeping there.
Kasparian moved through the thick black door leading into his chambers. It was a simple place but still the best-furnished room in the house. A large mahogany desk stood in the centre, several bookcases spanned the breadth of the left wall, and further back was his bed. Only one painting hung on the wall, and Kasparian moved straight to it. He kissed his fingertips and placed them first on the woman, then the man and lastly on the two young girls. “I’m sorry, my dear sisters,” he whispered. “I’m afraid I still need more time.”
From the main desk, he took several books, his journal, ink and a handful of crystals and threw them all into a leather bag. He pulled off his shirt with a grimace and studied his shoulder in a round mirror. Purple marks had already appeared.
A noise from behind startled him, but he quickly calmed down, seeing a woman dressed in grey like the others. Her long red hair was bound behind her neck, and her white cheeks had dozens of freckles. “You startled me, Mura. I will be ready soon. I just need another shirt.”
Mura swallowed. “T-they are coming, my lord. I saw them from my window upstairs.”
Kasparian’s eyes widened. He pulled on the same dirtied shirt and moved to the window, carefully peeking out from behind the curtain.
Rows of holy warriors marched from the main road into Khur Square. Every step echoed off the stone walls, and the rattling sound of their shiny armour got louder and louder as more entered. He looked at them in frustration. Four, eight, twelve, sixteen fully armed warriors, tailed by two men on tall black horses. They expected a fight.
The robes of the bishops of Kanthos, embroidered with golden wings across their chests, gave the two men on the horses away. Rongart and Orenka were bishops of the two largest districts of Kanthos: Siruna District, named after the brightest star, and Ahil District, named after the founder of Kanthos.
“So, this is what it took for them to visit the Khur District,” Kasparian mumbled. “We need to get out of here before it’s too late. Get the horses ready. I will stall them,” he commanded Mura and handed her his bag.
The young woman gave him a brief but intense embrace that stunned him before she ran from the room.
It took him a few seconds to regain his posture. He pulled the curtains to the side and opened the window. “My lords. What a pleasant surprise. I never thought you would set foot in these whiffy parts of our fine city!” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
Bishop Orenka was not a tall man, but from atop his horse, he looked very intimidating. His dark skin was almost a match to the beast he sat on, and his voice was deep when proclaiming, “Kasparian, your crimes have been revealed to us. How could you fall this far? How can you believe yourself above the gods?”
The esteem he felt seeing his old mentor took Kasparian by surprise. Then again, he never hated the bishops. Most of them were trying to do good. But he did hate the fact that they believed in the false gods. The wisaris were holding them back. How could they not see? He flashed his teeth, shouting, “The gods are fake! Real gods would never allow the terrible things in these districts. You would know if you stopped smoking herbs and spending all your coin on fancy aromas.”
“The gods are the light – the only reason darkness didn’t triumph more than eight hundred years ago,” Orenka retorted.
“They don’t deserve our faith. Helping only those who offer their life in return is not god-like,” responded Kasparian.
Bishop Rongart had stayed in the background but now steered his horse forward. He was a big man, so big that he looked almost ridiculous in his robe. He would be a better match for the ranks of the holy warriors. “Keep your blasphemy to yourself! The gods aid the true believers, and you have lost their favour. Come out and receive your punishment,” he shouted.
“I’m the authority here! Khur District is my responsibility, and I have helped so many,” Kasparian retorted.
“You have murdered people, and your evil deeds end now. Break down the door!” Rongart commanded.
The first two rows of warriors drew swords in almost perfect synchronisation and moved towards the villa.
Kasparian knew he needed to buy more time for his disciples. He pulled a simple iron rod from his belt – a red crystal sat at its top. Pointing the rod out the window, he screamed, “Proiecto masa!”
Dozens of small fiery projectiles burst from the crystal and flew towards the group of warriors who had to throw themselves onto the sandstone tiles of the square to dodge the spell.
Darting out of his room, Kasparian heard Orenka shouting, “He’s one of them! A dualion. Burn the house down!”
Running through the hall, he passed through the door further back, ending up in the kitchen. Pots and pans were neatly placed on shelves, and everything was cleaned after last night’s supper. Rushing through the room, he banged his hip into the long table. A large stable of plates toppled and broke into hundreds of pieces as they hit the floor.
He staggered onwards as a loud banging sounded from the front of the house, followed by plates and cups breaking when the large cabinet crashed into the hall floor. Their attempt to block the main door had only delayed the warriors a few seconds.
Kasparian ripped the backdoor open and found his disciples packing up their five remaining mares. “Go to the others in the cave. The warriors are coming,” he warned and watched them jump onto the horses two and two.
Kasparian gripped Mura’s hand, and she pulled him up. As she kicked the horse into motion, he grabbed the red-haired woman’s waist tightly to avoid falling off.
The five fully loaded horses raced off just as one of the holy warriors came out the back door, sword ready. He swung the large blade, missing the rear of their horse only by a few centimetres. “They are escaping!” sounded his cry.
The stone buildings flew by in a blur, and the sound of hooves rang out as they rushed through the Khur District. The streets were lit up only by the occasional torch or lantern on the houses that could afford such.
The eastern gate wasn’t far away, but as soon as it came into sight, the horses up front suddenly slowed down and stopped.
Mura urged her horse on and rode past the others, joining the first rider. “Why are you stopping? We need to get out of here!”
A man with a grey beard sat on the front horse, nodding at the road ahead. Three guards were closing the big wooden gates, preventing their escape. Above the gateway, huge braziers lit up the area, and two more guards stood there, arrows nocked in their bows.
“Turn back! Go to the gate at the docks,” Kasparian shouted.
Having turned their horses around, they found themselves blocked by Bishop Orenka, his big black stallion breathing heavily. “Kasparian, stop this madness. Your life is over, but do not let these people suffer the same fate.”
Kasparian looked around at the faces of his trusted disciples, all of them nodding their allegiance to him.
“You saved us all, Lord Tellis. Without you, I would be dead. You gave us hope that it is possible to prevent others from experiencing the same loss we did,” said the grey-bearded man.
Kasparian smiled. He was lucky to have these people by his side now that he no longer had his family. “Go,” he whispered to Mura.
The young woman rushed the horse forward, prompting Orenka to pull his longsword from the gold scabbard. The bishop raised his sword at the sky while whispering a prayer. A dim white light appeared around the blade, and the bishop accelerated right at them.
Kasparian pointed his simple iron sceptre at his former mentor when less than ten metres were between them. “Conratu spinura.”
The bishop moved to throw the sword, but instead, he froze up, forced into a painful paralysis triggered by Kasparian’s curse.
They all rode right past the bishop, and Kasparian looked back, seeing Orenka fall from his horse. As soon as he hit the ground, Kasparian raised the curse.
The guards from the gate came rushing to Orenka’s aid. The bishop scrambled to get back up.
Mura turned left, down the wide street leading to the docks. Kanthos’ twenty-three districts of different sizes and layouts made it difficult even for the inhabitants to find their way around. Still, Kasparian knew the way, having sneaked out many times. The docks were the largest district, holding massive warehouses, ships from all of Elonia and several inns for visitors from the sea. It was always busy, which made it easier to blend in.
As they closed in on the gate between the Khur District and the docks, Mura pointed to the wall. “Archers!”
Four guards with bows ran on the wall towards the gate.
“Dammit. I should have seen this coming. We should have left long ago,” said Kasparian.
Mura didn’t reply but sped up the mare even further, overtaking two of the others in the race to the gate.
The first two horses made it through before the first arrows whistled by their heads, barely missing. Exiting on the other side of the wall, Kasparian looked back up.
All four bowmen were aiming at them and fired simultaneously.
Kasparian pulled Mura’s arm, making their horse turn left. One arrow missed them by just a few centimetres. The remaining arrows weren’t intended for them, but he hoped none was hit. He guided Mura again and turned left, racing down a narrow alley before reaching the open area by the ships.
A man in tattered clothes had to jump for his life. Kasparian had no time to worry about anyone other than himself and his disciples.
Exiting at the other end, they were now only a short distance from the gate and their freedom. Mura forced the horse around the tight corner and straight at the big gate built for carriages from the farms and plantations east of Kanthos.
The guards were already fighting to close the heavy doors, but as they heard the hoofbeats of the five horses approaching, they pulled their longswords, facing the riders.
Kasparian didn’t want his disciples to get hurt, but at this moment, it seemed inevitable. He thought so hard that his skull was about to crack. His flare trainer had shown him an incantation that could be of use, but he’d only tried it a few times a year earlier. With the sceptre in hand, he shouted, “Dasta matelli nunstra!”
Everything around them turned into a blur. It was like being inside a bubble obfuscating their view of the outside world. The mares became uneasy, and one almost threw both riders off.
The guards at the gate turned their heads from side to side, one shouting, “Where did they go? I can still hear them.”
“There! I see something,” yelled another.
Kasparian and his disciples rode right past the guards, their appearance blurred by his spell.
The effect of the mirage only lasted a few more seconds, but by then, it was too late for the guards to correct their mistake. They could only watch the five horses escape into the dawn.