Threat

by Drae Box

  “Aldora, do something!” It was Tomasso yelling at her. He stood across from the fight, in the mouth of one of the streets that fed the marketplace, his hand gripping the edge of a building. “Save him!”

  Yes! Save him. Aldora held the Dagger still pointed at Rivermud and the snake heads at the ends of the guard flexed, their jaws widening further before they belched small balls of fire. The fireballs twirled down the gold blade and crashed together at the end, slamming into Rivermud’s side. The criminal screamed as he fell sideways and Aldora jerked forwards, grabbing Haethowine’s jacket and dragging him away from Rivermud. The criminal rolled away from her, extinguishing the flames burrowing into his coat. He then fled, knocking Tomasso into the building he stood beside, before the apprentice rushed to Aldora.

  Kneeling beside Haethowine, Aldora watched Haethowine’s face going increasingly red. He was clawing at his throat, his nails beginning to leave red welts against his skin as his eyes bulged. “I’m sorry, Winnie, I’m sorry.” Her stomach prickled as if she had swallowed a thousand pins but she rolled him onto his hands and knees. “Cough it up. Cough it up.” Oh no, no, no, no, no!

  Tomasso slid on his knees beside her, grabbing a handful of the slime as it bulged from Haethowine’s mouth and nose like dangling snot from a child’s runny nose. He grimaced. “What is this stuff?”

  “I don’t know. Just try and ease it out or it’ll snap back in,” said Aldora. She patted Haethowine’s back with a cupped hand. “Come on, Winnie, cough it up.” Heat was rising in Aldora’s cheeks as the adults started to gather, stepping out from nearby buildings and congregating around them. She’d failed them. Failed Haethowine. There was no doubt about it. He was going to choke to death. “I’m so sorry, Haethowine.”

  Tomasso’s gunkless hand pressed against Aldora’s shoulder. “I’ll get Doctor Smith. Get the adults to carry him to the doc.” Tomasso ran off and for the first time that day, Aldora was grateful to find a villager that seemed to trust her as the Dagger Bearer.

  She looked up at the adults nearest her. “I need you to carry him!”

  Chapter Seven

  Raneth

  Unaware of Aldora’s struggle to get her village leader to her local doctor, Raneth stood, his blue eyes inspecting Thane Frey. I don’t see that I have another option, not if I want to live, and his aid will help me find Cray faster. Feeling how tense his body was, Raneth exhaled, letting his shoulders and arms relax. His legs were still primed to run, just in case. “Alright, Thane. I’ll accept your help.”

  “Excellent.” Thane smiled. Reluctantly used to the Master Frey’s smile, it didn’t send any involuntary reaction down Raneth’s body, but he did stiffen when Thane called for Drigoe. Raneth took a step back, growing the space purposefully between them, knowing Drigoe would use his gift to materialise right next to his master.

  The muscular beefcake’s gift gave no warning of his arrival. One second, nobody stood beside Thane, but with the next blink of Raneth’s eyes, Drigoe Brice stood in front of him, eyeing Raneth as he drew his sword. “Thane?”

  “Relax, Drigoe.” Thane gripped his wrist, preventing his draw. “It seems our little Bayre needs our help.”

  Raneth narrowed his eyes, but Drigoe looked back at him with his green-grey eyes curiously and with his eyebrows raised. “Really?” said Drigoe. “And we’re not gonna—”

  “No. We can’t harm him,” said Thane. “We’re combining forces for the moment.” The Master Frey let go of his servant’s wrist and Drigoe’s brows lowered to a wary frown. “The king has been taken.”

  Drigoe swore.

  “Yes, yes, Drigoe. Now, get the Followers canvassing the city and watch over them. Raneth and I are going to visit the Rat’s Nest.”

  The what? Raneth shook his head as Drigoe dematerialised, vanishing just as quickly as he had appeared. Thane stepped towards the gates, beckoning for Raneth to accompany him. “I’ve never heard of the Rat’s Nest.”

  “Really?” Thane’s grin was getting worse by the moment. “This many years into being a royal official?” He sucked his teeth, looking up at the night sky. “Then again, I suppose that’s the very reason you don’t know about it. It’s almost funny, considering it was built by one of your ancestors. One of the royal assassins back in the day.”

  Raneth fell into step beside Thane. “The family journals aren’t always complete.”

  “Clearly.”

  Thane led Raneth away from Haletifah’s home and down winding pathways to the older buildings of the city, the ones that remained from the city’s first set of buildings, despite wars that had wrecked the city more than once over the past few centuries. When Thane stopped outside The Singing Swine Inn, Raneth frowned at the older man. “Here? This place isn’t—”

  It’s just a doorway,” explained Thane. “Now stick close or someone might stab you with a fork.”

  Stab me with a fork? Why’s that the first thing that comes into his mind? Raneth shrugged and followed Thane inside. Looks like an inn to me. He glanced at Thane.

  “Don’t give me that look.”

  Hearing the king’s words coming from Thane’s lips twisted Raneth’s gut. He swallowed a hard lump in his throat, forcing it down before he clenched his jaw. I’ll find him. I’ll find Cray and bring him home. Alive. He’s who I’m doing this for. He’s why I’m daring to trust a Frey. He could feel his heart’s beat in his neck, pulsing under his jaw, drumming a beat against his collarbone. So he looked around, inspecting the faces peering back at him. Two looked like they were vagrants, their clothes barely passable for anything other than rags. It wasn’t a common sight in Giften; most were scoped up and put to work on the larger farms for good wages, warm beds and free suppers. Other times, they were thrown in the younger legions such as the Twenty-Fifth. Turning his gaze away from the two dishevelled men, Raneth spotted two vaguely familiar faces looking back at him. They were hunched over their drinks, one meal shared between them. Why do I get a nagging feeling about those two?

  “This way. Move,” murmured Thane, his voice barely rising above the din of the heaving mass of men and women eating, drinking and chatting in the inn’s common room. The Bayre and the Frey weaved their way through the tables, and Raneth noticed that Thane kept them clear of the two that gave him the nagging sensation, for which he was quietly grateful. The Master Frey didn’t even slow as he pushed open the men’s toilets and stepped inside. Raneth grabbed the swinging door, glancing over his shoulder at the two men. They were still staring at him, and one lifted his knife to his neck and mimicked slicing his throat. Raneth turned around, spotting Thane’s grey eyes observing him. “I remember when you caught those two. Shame about the mistrial. The capture itself was almost a piece of art.”

  Mistrial? Capture? Raneth shrugged. “I don’t remember them.” He let the door swing shut behind him.

  “Really?” The squeak in Thane’s voice suggested he was genuinely surprised. “I would have thought…” He shook his head. “Nevermind. Follow me.”

  Follow him where? Raneth stood between the cubicles and the sinks, watching Thane as the elder man counted the stalls. Picking the third cubicle, he opened it then paused, looking for Raneth.

  “Oh for…” He stormed to Raneth and the Bayre flinched as Thane grabbed his jacket’s collar and yanked him inside the cubicle. “I don’t intend you any harm whilst we’re working together, Raneth.” He let go.

  Raneth sucked in a breath, feeling his heart pounding against his ribcage. His eyes felt heavy and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the growing lateness of the evening or the constant watching of Thane, expecting him to turn on him any moment despite knowing the Master Frey didn’t lie to Bayres. As soon as this is over, I’m sleeping for a day, he decided. As soon as Cray’s safe. Thane eased the cubicle door shut, sandwiching him and Raneth so close that Thane’s aftershave burned Raneth’s nose and made the Bayre hope never to be close enough to smell the lemon scent again. Thane turned and kicked a tile to the left of the
toilet, where a triple streak of brown marred the grey surface. Raneth grimaced but heard a clunk below them before the toilet drained. The bathroom door slammed open, making both men flinch. The toilet and four tiles it sat on swung down and out of view. Stone steps glistened below where the toilet had been, leading into the gloom below. A wide pipe dripped as it protruded from the side where it had connected to the toilet just moments before.

  “This way, before those dollopheads find us,” whispered Thane. He trotted down the stone steps awaiting them so Raneth followed, hearing as something clicked above him. He sped up, barely missing the slosh of water from the pipe as it swung back into place, and connected to the bottom of the toilet as it too went back to its original position, this time with a click.

  Pressed in by darkness on all sides, Raneth flinched again as the soft snick of a match against a matchbox caught his ears. Thane’s barely visible face loomed from the dark, his hand more clearly defined in the pitch black. “The lights should kick in. Just give it a second,” said the Master Frey.

  Raneth nodded, waiting before the hiss of gaslights made his ears tingle and the smell of gas clung to the back of his throat and nose, almost making his gag. “They’re leaking gas more than they’re lighting them.”

  Thane shook his match, extinguishing it. “Stop complaining, Bayre. Soak in your ancestor’s craftiness.” He strode down the brown stone steps below their feet with speed that suggested more than a little familiarity. “And be grateful those men probably don’t know this place exists. If that was your old assigned criminals that followed us, it wouldn’t have ended well.”

  Yeah but for who? All you’d have to do is call Drigoe and he’d flatten the two of them like eggs, thought Raneth. The gaslights that ran the length of the stairs were rectangular, revealing a detail Raneth hadn’t expected in an underground secret passageway. Although it looks like anything normal is out of the question with Thane leading me around. He paused under one of the lights, inspecting what looked to be a flat wooden surface attached to the stone wall. Fading paint peeled off the wood in some sections but the overall image was still easily identifiable, thanks to the chiseled manner in which somebody had drawn the image into the wood. A dragon-cat surrounded by men and women. He glanced at Thane. “My ancestor?” he asked, pointing at the carved image. Dragon-cats were not exactly a favourite of dragon types in Giften.

  Thane paused and looked where Raneth was pointing. “Yes. Before our time, of course.”

  Of course. They continued downwards until they came to a light wooden door with black metal hinges that were both decorative and functional, creeping away from the hinge edge to curl and twirl towards the black metal studs that ran up and down the wood panels that made the door.

  Thane paused and faced Raneth. “Stay close. There are men and women on the other side of this door that have all four of the Common Classed Gifts. They’re paid to keep this place a secret. Your uniform could make them uneasy. Let me go first. I’ll say the phrase, warn them you’re technically the owner and not looking for trouble, just information, and we get what we need and leave. No funny business.”

  Funny business? Raneth sighed. “OK. I’ll follow your lead,” he said. It’s gotten me this far.

  Thane nodded with a small smile before he turned the circular handle and stepped inside, leaving the door ajar. “Friends, friends,” he uttered, raising his hands as if he were telling an invisible crowd to settle down. “I have a wonderful guest for us today.”

  Best move the jacket so they don’t immediately freak out. Raneth shrugged off his iconic royal official jacket and knotted the sleeves around his waist. He couldn’t exactly leave it behind.

  “Hettle and Kettle. Like the play,” added Thane. “I have with me a royal official.”

  The screech of wooden legs against stone flooring warned more than one person had stood up somewhere beyond Raneth’s slim view of the hidden area.

  “The technical owner of Rat’s Nest, but he doesn’t care to spill the secrets of our home-from-home.” Thane’s grin was the largest Raneth had ever seen it as he gestured towards Raneth, before using the same hand to beckon him inside. Warily, Raneth did, joining the Master Frey’s side. He tried to ignore as the Bayre Talisman at his neck flashed a warning red in its diamond, giving him a mental tug in the centre of his mind — one of the ways the talisman and its sibling warned of danger. “The Bayre Heir, inheritor of Rat’s Nest.” Thane fell silent, his grey eyes twitching to look at the red pulse of light that was barely visible from under Raneth’s blue long-sleeved top, except to those looking for it. “Say something. Reassure them,” whispered Thane.

  Raneth eyed their surroundings. It looked like a much older version of the inn upstairs. The walls were made of mismatched bricks both in colour and size, and the men and women were stacked around equally mismatched wooden tables, the chairs accompanying them of various shapes and styles, some even boasting velvet cushions. Most of the people looking at him didn’t look like they were strangers to violence. Almost all of them had a scar visible, even if it was just on their knuckles. Turning his gaze to the bar, Raneth noticed it was the scruffiest wooden bar he’d ever seen, with large wooden barrels tucked behind it on show, taps jutting out of them like a fat cat’s tail. A wonky sign to the right of the bar said toilets but in Old Giften, which had been an abandoned language ever since the Giften Kingdom and their cousins in the Southern Kingdom had become official allies. As it was similar to Common Tongue, the sign was still readable. Raneth gave an awkward smile as one of the men — a man that had lost his left eye at some point and had stuck a red orb in its place — stood up, gritting his wonky teeth visibly at the two intruders. “Hey,” uttered Raneth. “Like he says, I’m not here to cause any trouble. I don’t have any interest in what you guys are doing, but I could do with some help.”

  Raneth frowned, mulling over his next words carefully and spotted as the barman ceased drying a glass to watch him more closely. “This stays between us. The king was kidnapped.” Raneth paused, smiling, putting on a show just as Thane had. “And you know what that means.” He turned, making a show of looking at each likely criminal’s face. Firstly, to let them know he saw them. Secondly, so if he encountered them away from Rat’s Nest, he would have a chance to realise they might bear him ill will before they could get too close. “A new royal taking the seat means a crack-down on crime. Crack-downs aren’t good for anybody and the fences will be the first to go. Murderers won’t get trials, just execution by royal official, and thieves will be made an example of, the old law coming back into play and your feet or hands being cut to make thieving a much more difficult endeavour. So, I’m looking for Cray because I don’t know about you, but I’d rather find my king and bring him home than have that hassle.”

  Murmurs started to ripple through the criminals looking back at him and Thane. “Nicely put,” said Thane, his mouth barely moving. “Try the barman.”

  Raneth strode over to the bar and smiled at the man. He wore a dirty white shirt that gaped open, revealing the Eighth Legion’s tattoo at his neck, something the Royal Giften Army actively tried to discourage. The barman set the glass down. “Heard any rumours? Or seen anything?” asked Raneth.

  The barman glanced at Thane. “Master Frey?”

  Thane smiled, joining them at the bar before taking the glass and eyeing the bottom. He jiggled it in front of the barman’s face and the barman snatched it. He poured from one of the barrels into the tankard and shoved it into Thane’s waiting hand. “He’s a good lad. If he says he has no interest in this place, he doesn’t,” said Thane.

  “I never said I don’t have an interest in the place, just what everyone’s doing. You said this is part of my family history, this place.”

  Thane nodded.

  “Which makes me curious.” Raneth noticed the deepening frown of the barman. “For another day though. Don’t worry, I’m not going to seize it off you.” Although I might in the future. This could help rebuild the
family’s treasury quite nicely, especially with my father gambling so much of it. Raneth resisted the urge to lean against the counter as he would if this were a normal inn, hotel or pub. He didn’t know the exits to this place, or if there even was another exit besides the one he and Thane had used to get inside. It paid to stay more able to flee, with less movements required. “Please. Do you know anything that could help me?” pressed Raneth.

  The barman’s hazel eyes inspected the men and women around the bar before he shrugged and watched Thane down the drink. “Like you two, they had Haletifah’s passphrase so we let them through.”

  So he knows something. “I know that’s business as usual,” admitted Raneth. “What makes you think I need to know about them?”

  “His Majesty was with them.”

  Yes! Raneth smiled despite himself. “How was he?”

  “Alive but a little miffed. And tired-looking. But there was something odd that I’ve not seen before,” said the barman.

  “What?” asked Raneth, ignoring as Thane turned around and paid more attention to the room.

  “The people that had the king had put something on his hands. It went up to the wrists. It looked like a… a metal ball.”

  Raneth frowned. That’s odd. He checked on Thane, but the Master Frey was still watching the room. No doubt making sure that nobody gets any ideas about hurting me or his ‘privilege’ to be the one to hurt me. “That’s an outdated piece of Giften technology. From when we hunted down our sorcerers.”

  “What’s that?” murmured Thane, turning around again. “What are we talking about?”

  “Somebody put a sorcerer’s sphere on Cray. When sorcerers were being a bit of a problem, we used to arrest them and shove a metal sphere onto their bound wrists. For some reason, the metal sphere would dispel magic the sorcerers did, who at the time, used their hands to manipulate and create the magic they wanted to wield.”