Chapter Text
The thudding of the fireballs had not let off for hours, now. Etho could feel each blast, even as deep underground as he was, crouched in the guild tunnels. The tunnels were usually used for storage, a place for the guild to stash extra supplies and half-completed inventions. As the bombardment started, as the city milled in confusion at the sudden onslaught, Etho had made his way to these tunnels. He remembered them from his days as an apprentice, sneaking down to nick supplies or just for some peace and quiet. Now, a heavy door and dozens of feet of earth stood between Etho and battle raging outside.
Usually echoing and dark, The tunnels were crowded with people and their voices. Most of the guild seemed to have had the same idea as Etho, and had rushed to shelter in the tunnels at the fist sign of attack. The guild members were easily recognizable in their elegant red-cuffed robes. There were non-guild members here too, dressed in a vibrant array that indicated they were from every walk of life in the city. They must have sought the safety the guild usually promised, but rarely provided. Etho was happy, at least, that the guild had let them in, had shut and locked the door only after the tunnels were full to bursting with citizens seeking refuge.
With each fireball, the ground shook around them, knocking dust loose from the vaulted brick ceiling. Earlier in the night there had been screams of terror at each shockwave, but now there was only the occasional moan amidst the deepening feeling of despair. Etho could taste the desperation in the air, see it in people’s faces. Each blast meant their beautiful city, Timre, had lost something precious: a building, a friend, a family member.
Etho had been crouching long enough that he had lost feeling in his legs. He knew he should try to sit, try to rest as well as he could, but the tension was coiled inside him too tightly. He wanted to run, he wanted to scream. Instead, he focused on the gradually widening cracks in the tunnel wall across from him, tried to remember his training, tried to breathe.
There were two guild members at the end of the tunnel, calming people, handing out meager rations of bread and generous gulps of the cool water the guild pumped up from springs deep beneath the city. They had recognized Etho, but hadn’t asked him to help. For that Etho was grateful. He wanted to curl in the corner and will his mind blank, pretend this wasn’t happening and that in the morning he would be able to return to his laboratory and continue his work.
The sound of slapping footsteps interrupted Etho’s breathing exercise. “Master Etho” said a panting, red-faced apprentice. He did not yet wear the robes of a full-fledged guild member, but his shirt breast was embroidered with the red mark of the guild. “The masters are meeting in the next room. They’ve asked for you.”
Etho exhaled through his nose. So much for not helping. He nodded and stood, legs screaming at the change in position after being held in a crouch for so long. “Lead the way,” he said.
The apprentice escorted him through the halls, past knots of people, some praying, some talking, some sleeping. Some inclined their heads to Etho as he passed. Their deference made Etho itch.
They arrived at a storage room, the door firmly closed. This room held spare machinery parts: small gears, metal coils, levers and hinges. In his youth, Etho had spent a fair amount of time combing the barrels and boxes in this room for the perfectly-sized widget. Commissioning custom pieces from the nearby School of Metallurgy had been too expensive for Etho then. His apprentice stipend barely covered meals. Now, of course, Etho had access to guild funds for guild projects, and if he wished to do independent research, well—his own wealth had grown astronomically since he had been made master. He had to hire someone just to manage his account books. Custom pieces of metalwork were now well-within his reach.
The apprentice scratched at the door and it swung inwards. The guild masters stood inside, about twenty of the fifty that were appointed. They gathered around a cluster of barrels that had been pushed together to form a makeshift table. A city map was unrolled on the surface, its edges weighed down with stones. Markers lay on the map, things that must have come from the masters’ pockets. A watch lay atop the guild building, pebbles by the south gate. A thimble and a handful of quartz crystals were scattered around the city walls.
The apprentice led Etho in and shut the door behind him. “Master Etho,” he announced perfunctorily, grabbing up a sheaf of paper and a quill left by the door. He must have been taking notes.
“Excellent,” Guild Master Seth said. He was the currently elected guild leader, serving out his four-year term peaceably and without making too many waves. Until this current siege, Etho supposed. He was also the bane of Etho’s existence, always wanting Etho to show his face at functions, always asking Etho to take on more public duties. Seth didn’t, or couldn’t, understand that Etho just wanted to work, wanted to innovate and create without the distraction of a public life.
“The people love you,” Seth had tried to explain one night, after cornering Etho at a guild soirée. Etho had been standing alone at the balcony, patiently waiting for the evening to end when Seth found him. “They love you, and their faith in you inspires more faith in the guild.”
Etho wanted to snarl at him, wanted to decry, “I’m not your puppet!” but he had always hated confrontation. Especially when that confrontation meant less grants, being assigned to less projects, less chance to do what he really wanted to do. Instead he had nodded his head noncommittally. “I understand.”
Now Guild Master Seth beckoned Etho over. His dark hair and beard, usually pristinely ordered and oiled, looked mussed. His baggy under-eyes spoke to his exhaustion. They were all tired, Etho supposed. The watch on the center of the table indicated it was two in the morning. The tunnel door had been closed for around four hours, now.
A blast shook the ceiling above Etho as he crossed the room to take a position by the map, dust raining down. Some masters murmured a quick prayer, but the rest were silent.
“The worst has come to pass. The Vedran army stands at our gates,” Seth explained. “We’re discussing what we know, and how we can help. Master Impulse here,“ Impulse stood a little straighter as Seth mentioned his name, “has proposed the use of a new invention of his, a cannon with a wide blast radius—“
“It won’t work,” Etho interrupted. Impulse shot him a hurt look, which he ignored, and several of the masters began muttering to each other.
“Why won’t it work, Master Etho?” Seth asked crisply.
“Well, for one, we’re down here and the battle is up there. Secondly, I’m not sure mid-battle is the right time to be constructing and testing new inventions.”
“Etho’s right,” Master Doc said. “Why don’t we just employ the defenses we already have?” Doc stood a little away from the rest of the masters, crossing his arms stubbornly. He was usually Etho’s greatest ally in these discussions.
Seth shifted uncomfortably. “Unfortunately, the defense mechanisms have been rendered… inoperable… for the time being. They are undergoing routine maintenance.”
“Maintenance,” Etho said flatly. “All of them? At the same time?”
Seth exchanged glances with Impulse. “We do admit it was a bit of an oversight, to have all systems out of operation at the same time.”
“How did this even happen,” Etho asked “How did the Vedrans spring this attack without any forewarning? Aren’t we supposed to have outposts at the borders? Nether-riders?”
Doc clicked his tongue. “Someone has been missing meetings. I always tell you that you need to attend, Etho.”
Etho glared at Doc. “Catch me up.”
Seth cleared his throat, and shifted the pebbles by the south gate. “A week ago, we lost contact with the outposts. All of the outposts.”
Rage, white-hot, exploded inside Etho. He worked to keep his voice calm and measured. “And civilians were not informed? We’ve been sitting here, blind, for a week?”
Doc tapped his foot. “Civilians should have been told, and emergency plans scheduled, as I argued in the meeting. But nobody was there to second my opinion.” His gaze passed over Etho.
Etho’s throat closed up. “It’s not my fault,” he wanted to say, but that wasn’t true, was it? By accepting the master position and all it offered, care of the city had become his responsibility. And he had ignored it.
Doc shook his head. “So, in summary, we had no forewarning, and therefore we’re entirely unprepared. Defense systems are all undergoing maintenance— at an incredibly strange time, I would add. Guild Master Seth, there will have to be a formal investigation of your decisions if we make it through all this. So our only hope, then, is that the city militia is strong enough to hold the walls until reinforcements arrive.”
Reinforcements, Etho thought blankly. Who, the northern kingdoms? They were weeks away, and they likely wouldn’t hear of Timre’s troubles for weeks to come without the nether-riders in action. That meant any possible reinforcements were at least a month away, assuming they would be sent at all. The northern kingdoms were friendly, but with the Vedran Empire steadily conquering territory, they would likely prioritize their own defense over that of Timre’s.
No, Timre was doomed. There was no way around it. Another blast shook the room. This time some masters shouted in fear.
“I have to go,” Etho stuttered out, and fled the room.
———
Etho walked down the tunnels in a daze. He found a place to curl up and count breaths, a little nook sheltered by a rack of bottles. He crouched there, tried to clear his mind. There was usually a solution if he thought about it long enough. Maybe that would hold true here.
Across the hallway from Etho was a family, a mother and two young daughters. The daughters were sleeping, even with the blasts raining down around them. The mother was praying, clutching the carved red idol of Carmine, a god Etho did not worship, but studied. Etho did not pray at all. He clutched at his own totem, a small leather pouch of red dust hanging from his neck.
The mother caught his assessing glance and did a double take. Etho winced and turned his attention to his hands, tried to keep counting his breaths. He saw her out of the corner of his eye, rifling through one of the bags she was sitting near and taking out a small package. She approached him with it in her hand.
“You are Master Etho, correct?” She asked, formally.
Etho looked up at her. “I am,” he replied. It was no use denying it, he was too recognizable with his shock of white hair, the scar dragging across his shining red eye. His mask did little to hide his identity.
“I saw you in the city square, once.” The woman said, eyes downcast. “They were celebrating the aqueduct project you oversaw. Here,” she pressed the package into his hands. “It’s a small offering, in return for all you’ve done for us.”
Etho wanted to argue with her, wanted to push the package back into her hands, because surely she and her daughters deserved it more than he. Etho had already received far more than he was due for his many projects. Fame, fortune, and all the unavoidable issues that came with the two. But it would be rude to refuse a gift given in good faith.
“Thank you,” he said, instead, and was relieved when she bowed and went back to her daughters without another word.
Etho sunk deeper into his crouch and unwrapped the package, tears coming unexpectedly to his eyes when he saw freshly-baked patouda, a treat native to the city. He took a bite of the flaky crust, his mouth watering at the flavor of dates and honey. When this nightmare was over, would any ovens that baked patouda be left? Hopefully the hands that made them would be.
He nodded his head at the mother, still praying over her god. She gave him a tired smile.
———
Eventually the morning came, or at least the blasts slowed, then stopped entirely. The conversations in the tunnels became more uneasy as the new silence spread above them. “Should we leave?” asked someone. “Are we safe?” asked another. Etho stood and wandered through the crowd, wondering if anyone had answers.
The two guild members that had been handing out food and water still sat at their post. The masters were nowhere to be seen. The guild members were speaking to each other quietly. One sat back and nodded.
The other guild member rose, holding his hands in the air to quiet the crowd. “Brother Zedaph will leave to apprise the situation. If he returns safely, he will be able to tell us our next steps.” The guild member that had spoken gestured to Zedaph. Together they made their way to the tunnel door, the only thing standing between them and the unknown. Etho trailed behind them, out of wary curiosity. Many members of the crowd followed as well. Together, the guild members laboriously undid the intricate lock on the door. Zedaph slipped through and the remaining guild member quickly locked the door behind him.
The crowd subsided into anxious murmurs. The tension winched in Etho even tighter and he decided to stretch his legs, walking up and down the passageways. He was careful to keep his steps slow, to not let the anxiety show on his face. He didn’t want his behavior to be the cause of concern.
“Etho,” a voice called. It was Doc, leaning against a shadowy doorway. “Any news?”
Etho scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “One of the guild members went out to investigate. Zedaph, I think?”
Doc nodded. “He’s a good man. Should have been made master instead of us.”
“Where are the masters, anyway? “ Etho scoffed. “Shouldn’t Seth be out here assuring the populace?”
Doc jerked his head down the hall. “Still holed up in that room. I had to get away. You had the right idea, running out when you did. There’s no way out of this mess, not one that redstone can fix.”
Etho hummed in thought, an idea popping into his head. “Do you remember that back tunnel we used to sneak out of, when we were apprentices?”
In the old days, Etho had snuck out of this particular back tunnel more than once. It emptied out into the sewer, which itself emptied out into the grimiest and most exciting part of town. Etho had tagged along with his fellow apprentices a few times, as they escaped the rigid guild rules for a night of drinking and gambling. Doc was a more regular user, he hated the guild rules even more than Etho. Funny they had both been made master.
“Genius,” Doc said, clapping his hands together. “You’ve always had a talent for wiggling out of situations.”
Etho elbowed Doc, hard, but Doc only chuckled. “Come on,” Etho said, and they started off down the hall together.
The back tunnel, during Etho’s apprentice days, was barely disguised by a crate that could be dragged across the entrance.
Doc and Etho reached a bare stretch of tunnel wall. “I could have sworn it was here,” Etho said.
“I think it was,” Doc said, frowning. “Look here, the mortar is lighter in this area. It must have been bricked up. I guess they wanted to prevent naughty apprentices like us from escaping.”
Etho wanted to scream but he bit the inside of his lip instead. “Is there a way to open it? There must be someone here who has a chisel and some muscle.”
Doc shrugged. “I don’t see why not. We can ask around. If we need an emergency exit, this is the only one we’re going to get.”
“I just hope we have enough time,” Etho said to himself.
Him and Doc split up, walking through the tunnels separately and asking whether there was a mason present. Etho tried to keep his questions innocuous, his tone calm. He didn’t want to incite panic.
“I’m a mason,” a woman answered Etho, finally. He felt like he had spoken to half the people taking refuge in the tunnels. She looked the part, with strong arms and a mulish expression.
“Could you come with me, please?” Etho asked.
“Of course,” said the woman, and she fell into step alongside Etho.
Etho led her to the bricked-up tunnel entrance. “How long do you think it would take to break through? Along these new mortar lines, here.”
The woman eyed the wall. “It depends. If it’s just one layer of brick and hollow behind, maybe only an hour or so?”
“It’s one layer, and hollow,” Etho said, although he wasn’t sure. “And you don’t have to worry about clean lines, anything like that. Speed is essential.”
“Well, in that case— with a few strong helpers, we could have it done in half the time.”
Etho gestured to the crowded tunnels. “You can have your pick.”
“Master Etho,” the woman said, “can I ask… do you know anything? Are we going to be alright?”
Etho’s stomach dropped. He didn’t want to lie to the woman, but he didn’t want to admit how much he had failed her. He focused his gaze on her shoulder. Maybe if he didn’t have to look at her face. “The attack came as a surprise,” he said, his voice low. “We weren’t prepared. I think…” He paused, searching for the right words. “I think we should be ready for the worst. Behind that wall is a passage out of here. It leads to the sewer, not out of the city walls, but it will buy people time. It might be an exit in case— in case we’re discovered, here.”
“In case the city has fallen,” the woman said. She sounded calm. “Very well, I’ll get to work on this immediately. And when the way is clear, I will direct people through.”
Etho closed his eyes, almost overcome with gratitude. The guild did not deserve this city and its people. “Thank you,” he said. “I should go—the front door needs a guard.” The woman nodded and let him leave without a word.
Etho walked back through the tunnels, finding Doc still asking around for a mason. He caught Doc’s eyes from across the hall and nodded. Doc abruptly ended the conversation he was in and jogged over to Etho, leaving people frowning.
“How long?” Doc asked, following Etho as he continued his walk to the entrance door.
“She said half an hour, but it may be less. She’s going to work as fast as she can.”
“Maybe we will have a way out of here, Carmine be merciful,” Doc muttered.
“The masters?”
“Still locked away, as far as I can tell. They may have barricaded the door.”
Etho snorted. “So it’s just us out here, then. We should gather the other guild members for defense. Surely some of us remember our combat training.”
Doc grimaced. “Not me, but it’s a good idea. I’ll ask around.” Doc disappeared from his side and Etho continued on to the entrance. The other guild member, the one that had sent off Zedaph, still waited there, perched on a small table sitting against the wall. Etho tried to remember his name.
“Any word, Brother?” Etho asked.
The man shook his head. “It’s all been silent.” The man’s voice had a particular lilt. He was from the northern kingdoms, then. Etho suddenly recalled his identity. He had begun his apprenticeship the year Etho graduated to journeyman. His name was Iskall.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll wait here with you,” Etho said, pulling himself atop the table beside Iskall.
“I appreciate the company,” Iskall said. “You don’t happen to have a sword, do you?”
Etho laughed, a little darkly. No, his sword lay safely at home. He had gotten out of the habit of carrying it, after so many years of peace. “Just my hands,” Etho said.
Iskall smiled. “I heard you were at the top of your combat class as an apprentice. So I appreciate just having your hands.”
It was true, Etho had worked hard to master his combat skills. It had helped with the bullying, a bit. Once people were scared of him they started leaving him alone. But that was a long time ago, and he hadn’t so much as held a sword in months.
Etho cleared his throat awkwardly. “Should we run through a strategy? It may be helpful.”
“To ease my nerves, if nothing else,” Iskall agreed.
They eyed the space around them.
“The door will probably fall inward,” Iskall ventured. “So we shouldn’t stand there.”
“No,” Etho said.
“There’s a natural chokepoint where the hallway narrows there. It’s narrow enough that three men would be able to defend it easily.”
“You’re right.”
Iskall glanced at Etho. “Is a third person coming?”
“Hopefully more. And there’s an exit, in the back. Or at least, it’s being worked on.”
Iskall’s shoulder’s straightened a little. “Good, so we’ll have something to defend.”
Doc appeared at the end of the hallway, about ten guild members behind him. “Look what I found!” he hailed.
“Reinforcements,” Etho grinned at Iskall, and hopped off the table. “Does anyone here have a weapon?”
A sullen-looking youth patted her side. “I have a knife?”
“Anyone else?” Etho asked.
The group was silent.
Doc edged closer to Etho, “I talked to some apprentices on the way. They’re helping open up the tunnel, and they’ll help get people through.”
“Good,” Etho said. He turned to the rest of the group. “Did you hear that? There’s a tunnel in the back people can evacuate through. All we have to do is stand here, three abreast, and defend people as they escape.”
“Who’s to say we’ll need to defend anyone at all?” the sullen youth asked.
Etho pressed his lips together and tried for patience.
“You’re right,” Doc answered for him. “The city may have held through the night, or we may never be found. But we’re still trapped like rats down here, and it’s the Vedran that are coming. You know they will be looking for us.”
The youth looked down, properly mollified. Doc was right. The Vedrans had a particular animosity towards the guild, which they had made clear through years of failed trade negotiations and antagonizing rhetoric. If they invaded the city, they would be searching for guild members specifically.
“So, it’s a plan?” Etho asked. “We stand here, we fight. If you can’t fight, you go to the back and help with the evacuation.”
“That’s my cue!” Doc said. He clasped Etho’s arm. “Good luck, brother.”
Etho waved him off. “He’s an abysmal fighter,” Etho explained to the remaining guild members, some of whom looked like they were panicking. “But I’ll stand with you.”
They didn’t have to wait long before the tunnel door started rattling.
“Brother Zedaph?” Iskall asked. “Is that you?”
Only silence answered him. They shifted uncomfortably as the silence stretched on. Then, suddenly, there was a loud boom, the door shaking on its hinges. Someone on the other side was trying to force their way in.
Etho took a steadying breath as he apprised the door. It was of expert guild craftsmanship, solidly smelted iron built to last decades, with an intricate locking mechanism that Etho himself had designed back in the old days. In recent years, years of glut and peace, maintenance must have fallen off. The door did not gleam as it should have, and the hinges looked worn. Etho sucked in air through his teeth. It did not matter how advanced the locking mechanism was if the hinges came loose.
The door shook with another resounding boom. “Positions,” Etho commanded. His voice was hoarse.
They lined up, Etho, Iskall, and the shaking youth standing across the narrow throat of the hall, the rest of the guild members behind them in reserve. Etho wished he knew whether the back tunnel had been cleared, whether people were already making their way out.
Another boom and the door shuddered, the stone wall crumbling where the hinges were driven into place. There were screams from deeper in the tunnels, people must have heard the sound.
Boom and one pair of hinges snapped, rocketing apart with a dangerous velocity.
“Hold!” Etho yelled, strained. He grasped at the empty air at his side, wished he had his bow, his sword, anything. Instead all he had was the pouch of red dust, useless now. It had been so long since he’d had to fight.
The door hung crooked now, the remaining hinges straining. He heard shouts behind him now, screams. The muffled chants of prayer.
Iskall stood beside him. They exchanged glances.
Boom, the remaining hinges snapped. The door, metal groaning, fell inwards, just as Iskall had predicted.
The thwump of the door hitting the ground kicked up a cloud of dust. Etho peered through the haze. He could see silhouettes of many bodies but not much else. One figure advanced through the doorway, posture straight. The rest followed. As the figures grew closer Etho’s heart chilled. He recognized the dark glow of their armor and weapons, it was netherite. Vedra only outfitted their finest soldiers with the stuff.
The air cleared as the Vedrans drew closer. The leader of the soldiers swept his gaze over the assembled guild members, cool and assessing. His eyes were pale. “Arrest the heretics,” he directed, tone mild.
Three soldiers started towards Etho and the assembled guild members. They clearly didn’t expect much of a fight, they held their swords comfortably at their sides.
“You’ll come with us quietly now, right, sorcerers?” one of the soldiers asked
Etho’s heart rate was spiking. He nodded, tried to appear tractable.
“Let’s get these bounds on, then. Put your hands behind your back and turn around.”
Iskall was looking at Etho, eyes wide with panic, but Etho avoided his gaze. It was all about the timing now.
Etho turned, placed his hands behind his back. He heard the snick of the solider sheathing his sword. One, two…
Etho whipped around, bringing his leg up and kicking the soldier straight in the gut, his motions so fast they were a blur. The soldier doubled over and Etho brought his opposite elbow down on the man’s shoulders, forcing him lower. The man stumbled forwards, trying to grapple at Etho’s legs to pull him down, but Etho was prepared. He jerked his knee upwards, catching the man in his face. There was a satisfying crunch, and then the man was falling forwards in earnest. Etho stepped aside to let him fall, easily pulling the man’s sword out of his sheath as he did so.
The remaining soldiers gaped at him and looked to their commander, unsure of their next move. The officer studied Etho cooly. “You may use force if necessary,” he informed his soldiers.
Etho grimaced and weighed the sword in his hand, testing its balance. It was heavier than the diamond rapier that Etho favored, but netherite was deadly sharp. It would have to do. Etho didn’t really have any other option.
The remaining two soldiers darted at him as one, they were well trained.
Etho fended them off as best he could, meeting sword blow after sword blow. He backed closer against the tunnel wall, trying to protect his flank, but sacrificing maneuvering room in the process. Iskall was watching the fight, unmoving and wide-eyed.
“Iskall,” Etho gritted out, blocking a forceful strike, jarring his shoulder in the process.
That seemed to wake the man up. He roared and leapt on one of the advancing soldiers with his full weight, grabbing at his neck.
Iskall was fierce, but the soldier was strong. They wrestled together, and Etho took advantage of the distraction to focus his attacks on the single remaining soldier. The man was strong and well-balanced, but his moves were sluggish. He must have been fighting as part of the invading force, and was now tired. Etho, however, was fresh.
Etho nimbly avoided the soldier’s blows, his sword moving like a flash. He has always loved the intricacies of swordplay, the battle as much a battle of minds as of the flesh. Etho feinted to the right and the man, tired, countered and overbalanced. Etho easily slid his sword past the man’s guard and with a slice parted the skin of the man’s neck. He crumpled to the ground, blood spreading beneath him.
Etho took a shaky breath. It had been a long time since he had killed someone.
The officer was sneering at him now, he signaled for more men. Iskall’s struggle was going poorly. Etho watched the soldier sweep Iskall’s feet out from under him and press his sword to Iskall’s neck.
More and more soldiers pressed into the tunnel. It was impossible odds, but Etho would fight as long as he could. He had to defend the people in the tunnel: the mason, the guild apprentices, the mother and her two daughters. He threw himself into the fray.
The narrowness of the tunnel meant only a few soldiers could approach at a time. But as each one fell, another soldier came to take his place. Etho backed up, the guild members flanking him, fighting fiercely until they fell. Etho was tiring quickly hefting the netherite sword, his swordsmanship becoming sloppy and desperate. He blocked blow after blow but finally faltered, one small misstep. His opponent took quick advantage and expertly disarmed Etho’s blade with a twist of his own.
Etho growled like a cornered animal and swung his fists at the man but missed. There was a sudden pain exploding in his side. Another soldier had taken the opening and slashed Etho’s abdomen. The pain made it hard to think. Etho threw himself at his opponent. The man stopped the assault with a heavy mailed fist to Etho’s face and a knee to Etho’s stomach. Etho fell to the ground heavily. There was weight on top of him, a foot holding him down. Etho struggled, but he was so weak.
“Brother,” Iskall said. He was lying across from Etho, lip split and already swelling. A soldier was busily tying his hands back. “Have faith.”
Faith. Etho wanted to spit.
“Bring the heretics to the keep,” the officer said. “The rest do with as you will.”
“No,” Etho pled, voice thin. “Leave them be.”
“Quiet, sorcerer,” the officer chided.
Soldiers were marching over and around Etho and Iskall’s prone bodies, past the bodies of the other fallen guild members, grabbing at the populace huddled in the tunnels.
“Leave them be,” Etho begged. His hands were firmly tied and he was lifted between two soldiers. He struggled against their grip in vain. Iskall was beside him, head lolling. Did they knock him unconscious? The Vedrans were dragging people out of the tunnels, carting them out past him. He saw the mother and her daughters being pulled out. The mother was screaming, clutching at her daughters as the soldiers tried to tear them apart. “Don’t touch them!” Etho screamed.
The soldiers finally ripped away the daughters, then grabbed the mother roughly by her hair. The carmine idol she had clutched all night fell out of her hands, landing forgotten in the dust.
Etho closed his eyes. The god she had prayed for would not intervene.