The cramped city hasnothingon this stout band of civilization squashed into the broad gully between the wall I’m standing on and another—running parallel with this larger one as far as I can see both ways. Like the bands of a rainbow, but far less pretty.
Small ramshackle dwellings appear to have been crudely constructed with all the broken bits the rest of Parith had no use for; patched roofs held haphazardly together with uneven planks of wood. Between some of the dwellings are strings draped with frayed material and ragged clothes ruffled by the slight breeze.
There’s an eerie, sad silence disturbed only by the bellowing roar of the flaming turrets and a forlorn wail coming from somewhere below …
Skin prickling, I cast my gaze along the outermost wall, following its path into the distance left and right—perhaps protecting its inhabitants from the outside world. From the Vruk attacks that will eventually make it this far south.
Thathavemade it this far south.
But the wall over there … it’s shorter, lined with stumpy turrets that cast it in weak, rusty light. From my perch I can see that it’s thin, crumbling in places, as though whoever is housed in those derelict dwellings are considered less than those inhabiting the city side.
Another keening wail echoes through the stagnant air, followed by a gurgling cough, and I frown.
Who are the people down there? Why are they isolated from the rest of the city?
I notice a pail and coiled rope tethered to another metal peg much closer to the northern edge. Lips pursed, I inch closer and peek inside the bucket, noting the oily sheen as I choke on the rank smell of rendered lard.
It must be what they use to haul up replacement oil—fuel for the blazing turrets.
I use my blade to slice the bucket free, then tuck the dagger away and give the rope a tug, checking it will hold my weight before I gather the length and toss it over the side. The endthwacksagainst the wall about four feet from the ground.
Heart pounding hard and fast, I grip hold of the rope and turn, blowing a shuddered breath as I edge backward down the wall one blind-footed shuffle at a time—dropping farther from the quenching sea breeze. Deeper into the stagnant stench of sour milk, dirt, and something foul that coats the back of my throat.
A faint drone gets louder …louder…
Drawing closer to the softthwapof the rope slapping against the wall with my descent, I glance over my shoulder, drag a breath, and drop.
A swarm of flies lifts off the ground as I land in a crouch, dirt blowing up my calves. I use my collar to barricade some of the rotten stench clogging my lungs, flies landing on my arms and face, tickling my skin. I slap them away, straighten, then spin and take in my surroundings.
Shadows spill off cramped shacks too small to house anything more than a whelping dog. I turn my attention down a crooked path that weaves between them, illuminated by the firelight pouring from above.
I frown, noticing what appears to be a child’s wooden rattle discarded in the dirt. Pausing, I crouch, reaching out to touch it—
Movement catches my eye.
I look to the right, squinting into the shadows.
Reeling back, my heart skips a beat at the murky outlines of people lumped on the ground, spilling from their crooked doorways.
Big people. Small people. Big peoplecradlingmuch smaller people.
They’re huddled together, perhaps seeking comfort from each other. And it’s silent … No wheezing exhales. No whispers. Even the tragic wailing has ceased.
Something latches onto my left hand and grips tight.
My breath snags, head swiveling, an itch flaring across my clavicle.
A man eases from the shadows, his face pocked with craters of decay riddled with maggots grubbing at his weeping flesh.
A scream lodges in my throat as eyes that might have been blue once wobble around sightlessly, his pupils blown so wide there’s only a frail ring of color left, fringed with dark dents to match his hollow cheeks. “Help m-me …” he rasps through pallid, cracked lips, flashing nubs of decaying teeth. “P-please …”
Blight.
He has theBlight.
He releases a gurgling cough, and I stumble back a step, another, gasping the stagnant air—tripping on cracks in the dirt while prying my hand free, gaze darting from him to the many people now groaning to consciousness. Lifting their heads. Easing from the shadows.
Looking in my direction with tragic, vacant stares.
