Chapter 27: Shoulder Strike

Paene’s eyes narrowed as the priestess was pulled onto the scaffold. His blood boiled at the injustice of it, but he bottled his fury, uncommonly strong for him, in preparation for what was to come later. He had been bottling this fury for some time, and he prayed that the pressure would hold until Dane Wrickon returned to Caeledonia.

But they had not heard anything from Dane from any channel that Lito Laeth knew of in the city. Lito was growing increasingly agitated, and increasingly suspicious of Paene. She would refuse to give him helpful information—with good reason, Paene supposed. To her mind, Paene might be spinning an elaborate story, using Dane as an excuse to find out all of Lito’s remaining supports in the city and remove them.

That wasn’t the case, of course, but with the evidence available, how was the Sunset Knight supposed to judge between the two? Paene did everything in his power to keep Lito comfortable and well fed, comparatively, at least, and he prayed that his efforts were not noticed by the Carpenter. So far, it had appeared that he had been successful. Those consolations did wonders for Lito’s spirits, and she was always more cooperative after a hot meal.

It was too soon, too soon to make their move. They had, in all likelihood, no support inside the city, and Paene did not know when he would get some. Even worse, they had received word from the men that Paene had sent down the Rush, even though they themselves had not returned. Invercard was standing, and rebuilding what damage it had sustained in the attack. There was no trace of the King Enclosed’s soldiers in the city.

Paene knew that the window of opportunity was closing fast. He prayed daily that Dane Wrickon would return, and he suspected that Lito had done the same.

Thus far, the King in the Deep had neglected to answer their prayers.

The Carpenter was announcing to the assembled people about the contraption. Paene gritted his teeth. This was a spectacle that no one needed or wanted to see. The Carpenter had thought such a demonstration would seal his reputation for the members of the city—this is what happens if the Carpenter is crossed, regardless of position.

Paene expected a riot, and had taken nearly all available guards in the city—a scarce few—to try to keep order. No one would die needlessly anymore, if he could help it.

The priestess was beginning to make her way across. He looked elsewhere, trying to keep his mind from thinking about what his eyes and ears were perceiving. He told himself that this wasn’t his fault; that none of what had happened since the Carpenter’s revolution was his fault, but that wasn’t true. He hadn’t caused any of the death and destruction himself, but it was a near certainty that he had done little to prevent it.

What excuses could one give a god for not doing one’s duty? The gods were rumored to be able to see the future, traveling down the possibilities as one travels up the branching rivers and streams. Was there a possibility where Paene had ensured the safety of everyone? Where no one had been burned in their homes, but where people could do as they wanted?

Paene wanted to believe it; it was the sort of branch that he worked for, but he couldn’t see how to get there. But deep down, he wasn’t sure that it was even possible. Everything had gone wrong; everything was going wrong, and sometimes he wished that all of this responsibility didn’t have to be on him to make things right.

But just by standing there, he was assuming responsibility. He knew that. Paene was a remarkably able man—able to build things of beauty and intricacy, able to destroy things with care and precision. Dotean, the Master with his Forge, mandated that those who were able to work such wonders were to do so. Since Paene was able to play these games, he was mandated.

A cry brought him out of his thoughts. He looked up, expecting the priestess to have fallen—but she hadn’t, not yet.

He strained his neck, whipping it back and forth, straining for the source of the noise. Nothing. The crowd was silent—listening, perhaps, as he was.

Then it came again—and there were words in the cry.

“The Wall is breached! The Wall is breached!”

Paene took off at a run.

Was it the water? For a terrifying second, Paene considered that it was the water, breaking and surging through the Wall. How careful had the Carpenter been when he broke out from under the storage caverns? Had he caused structural damage, damage that would throw all of Olean under water?

As he ran, he dismissed the idea. If the Wall had breached, even a crack, he knew that the pressure would grow to terrible levels. The Wall wouldn’t crack, water slowly trickling from its sides. The Wall would break, and flood the island. People would die, almost instantly, from the force of the water or the oncoming wreckage. He was still running; the Wall must still be intact.

Which meant… what? Paene raced through the possibilities. As he did so, he roared to the onlookers to take up weapons and defend the Wall. He didn’t quite know what he meant by that, but it seemed like the best thing he could yell.

Had someone came over the Wall, invading the city? How? Who? He knew that wood could float in water, as well as metal tempered in a certain shape, but who had that quantity of wood? Who could have a launching point for such a quantity of metal?

Paene heard whoops and yells, and the clanging of metal on stone.

However these people had arrived and whoever these people were, they were getting into the city. Paene bared his teeth. It didn’t matter. Paene would kill them all the same.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

“Open the cells!” Paene roared.

He hadn’t stopped to see the Wall; he had yelled warning and tried to get the word out as best he could. The Carpenter’s men hadn’t returned from Invercard; Dane Wrickon and his force had disappeared—there was only one force of fighting men left, and they were locked up in the cells. They were weak, some had been tortured, and most were in terrible shape. But they were the only people Paene could use.

“The Wall has been breached! We are being attacked! Open the cells!”

The jailors jumped to the task. Paene instructed a few to bring weapon’s from the cache to give to the soldiers, and to have them all assemble just outside Raven’s Run. He stopped to take the keys to Lito’s cell from the jailor, as well as some of her personal items—including a pair of deadly looking swords. Well, Paene knew from firsthand experience how deadly they could be.

He ran through the passages, keys in one hand, Lito’s butterfly swords in the other.

Lito was there waiting, chained up as usual. Paene fumbled with the keys and opened the cell, and undid her chains with the same desperate haste.

He caught her has she collapsed into his arms.

“Are we making our move?” she asked, wearily. “Or are you here to kill me? I don’t much care, anymore.”

“Snap out of it,” Paene growled. “It’s neither. We’re being attacked. Some crazies somehow got over the Wall from the Ocean side, and are currently laying waste to the city. We need you. We need your men. It’s the only fighting group that we have left.”

“We’re weak,” Lito whispered. “We can’t.”

“You must,” said Paene. “We have no one else. Caeledonia will burn.” He handed her the swords. “Your men will be waiting for you in the courtyard outside the Run. I trust that you can lead them still.”

He got up, shaking out his legs for his next run.

“Where are you going?” Lito had pulled herself to her feet, and was leaning against the wall of her cell.

“I’m going to kill the Carpenter,” Paene said. He wiped his hair, slick with sweat, out of his eyes, and ran out of the cell.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

As Paene hurried across the bridge, he watched the smoke rise from the city. The stone houses and structures wouldn’t burn… but everything and everyone inside them would.

Paene had been struggling with the moral calculus during his run. Seeking out the Carpenter and murdering him would take time and effort— resources that could be used defending the city and saving her people.

But… Sunken Hells, the Carpenter had no stomach for a full-scale fight, and it was unlikely that he had been killed in the initial melee. If the city survived, the Carpenter’s men would be returning soon, and the Carpenter would regain his stranglehold. An uprising thereafter would be costly and uncertain. If the Carpenter was going to fall, he was going to fall in this attack.

And Paene Umber was probably the only person who could get close enough to do the deed.

He reached the courtyard on the other side of bridge, the entrance to Cael Proper. The contraption was still standing there, and the priestess swung slowly in the wind. He paused in his haste next to her.

“King in the Deep… I’m not a priest, but please keep the horrible circumstances in mind for her come the Solemn Vigil. She was in an impossible situation, and I don’t grudge her for what she did. Dotean, if you could provide some support on that, I would sure be grateful.”

The courtyard was empty. Where was everyone?

The fighting had probably devolved into the alleys and homes. The Carpenter had probably retreated to his caverns under the Wall. He hurried in that direction, leaving the priestess behind him.

There were three men near the checkpoint. They weren’t anyone he recognized. They saw him, and rushed forward, swords drawn. They may have been shouting; Paene couldn’t register sounds outside of the screaming, roaring cacophony about the city.

Paene ducked under the sword of the first man—it had been a sloppy attack, and the result of a frantic rush. He drove his knife into the man’s unprotected knife, and whipped it across.

The other two were more cautious and moved towards him on either side as if to flank.

Paene backed up towards the side of the mountain that ran down from the Wall towards the city. It was one less direction to protect from. As he did so, he fumbled in his pouch for a handful of powder.

The first man lunged forward. Paene slapped the mountain behind him with the fistful of dust, and threw himself at the ground below and to the left. The rock exploded behind him, showering him with debris. The first man’s chest was a ruin. His momentum had carried him straight into the blast.

The second man was running towards Paene too. Paene rose swiftly, hand raised in a fist.

“You want the same as him?” he growled.

That stopped his attacker. That hesitation was enough. Paene rushed forward, hand still clenched, and the man swung his weapon to strike the hand. Paene opened it, empty, and brought his other hand with the sword in an upward strike, sticking his blade in the man’s armpit.

The man brought his sword back and caught Paene on his ribs. The leather armor held, but Paene suspected he would have nasty bruises there later. Paene caught his enemy’s sword hand and stepped forward, closing the distance.

The resulting struggle was nasty and short.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Paene entered the caverns, panting with exertions. His hands were bloody and his side ached. He ran away from the Wall, towards the halls below the Rush.

“Crick!”

There was no response. He went further into the storage areas. If the Carpenter wasn’t here, he was going to feel horrible.

At last, his shouting merited a response.

“Parish! Over here!”

Paene found the Carpenter, hidden in the halls, an alchemical light glowing by him. He did not look pleased.

“Where in the Sunken Hells were you?” Crick Hasting roared.

“I was busy,” Paene said. “Defending the city.”

“No chance,” Crick said. “We have no soldiers because you sent them down the Rush. Those men are burning and sacking and— ”

Paene drove his sword through the Carpenter’s throat.

He wiped it clean as he walked out of the caverns, expressionless.

Step one was complete. He prayed that Lito was having success defending the city. Paene ran out of the storage areas to find and assist her.

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