Tales of the Vangen: The Siege of Middengard (Book 2)

Chapter 29: Anarchy

{The Gods have no part in our way of life and yet are always present. Their lives parallel our own, kingdoms rising and falling, new gods born from the divine spark to take up the mantles of the old. How many times has the title of Nido exchanged hands? How many more until a new god takes her place? In the beginning the Vangen worshipped seven and now there is only one. Even the seemingly immortal are subject to time's torturous embrace.}

-Chronicler Biblia, an excerpt from "The Goddess Complex"

"Sorry about clapping you across the mouth like that. Wasn't trying to be rough with you, but you know,  what with the Clankers and all, I couldn't take any chances." Zeek smiled apologetically as he checked over the ropes binding Elba's hands behind her back.

"It really isn't a worry," she said sincerely, although the pink ring around her lips still stung quite fiercely. "I would have done the same if I were in your boots."

"At least your being practical about it. That's something I can appreciate. Here, hold on a second." Without provocation, the man fiddled with the knot and Elba felt the strain around her wrists lessen. "Not trying to give you rope burns or nothing."

"Such a gentleman." Up ahead, Elba's two other captors were busy muttering something to Libro. The one with the scar on his cheek had the young Captain by the crook of his arm, supporting him off his crippled leg. A kind gesture, given that they were currently being kidnapped. The other, possessing a face that was neither feminine nor masculine, had their back pressed against a nearby wall, eyes periodically darting over the corner in between words.

Elba was just able to hear a few snippets of their conversation. "Vangen, you say? Those soldiers causing mischief outside the city?"

"Maybe he's worth something after all." The man with the scar smiled.

Poor Libro. The young Captain was trying his best to act valiant, what with those furrowed brows and tightly pressed lips he was so well known for, but even she could tell his courage was starting to waver. While their captors had not been the rough and violent kind Elba had been expecting, Zeek being the prime example, the one with the epicene face still had their crossbow trained on him. One wrong move, and he'd be pissing from a new hole.

"Coast looks clear. Let's keep moving." The leader, or at least the one whom Elba expected was the leader, waved the rest of them on. Zeek gave her a gentle push and they crept down a narrow alleyway. Even with the sun at its zenith the tiny, slinking shadows along the cracks and crevices filled her with dread. She still remembered the feeling of gravity taking hold as her horse died. That horrible sinking feeling in her guts, sky and stone flashing in her vision, the body breaking impact as she hit the ground. And after all that, Libro still had the gaul to rescue her. He'd had his horse then. Where it had gone too in all the confusion she did not know. Likely killed, no doubt. Even then, he'd dragged her limp body into some random shanty, hiding and holding her, trying to act the hero as he was now. The thought alone infuriated her, and yet deep down she couldn't help but feel grateful. He could have abandoned her at any time. Hells, she would have done the same if she was in his place.

But he hadn't.

"Over here," The captor with the crossbow said, pointing at a narrow tunnel carved into a stone wall. The flagstones leading down held a greasy shimmer in the light, the vile miasma emanating from within smelling like rotten food mixed with horse crap.

"Oh gods, I think I'm going to be sick." Elba muttered disparagingly, trying desperately not to gag from the smell. "Please don't tell me we're going down there."

"It's not half bad," Zeek remarked, smiling despite the stink. "You get used to it after a while."

"Easy for you to say."