“The calumnies of a thief,” said Cyprian. She had seen Hadrian’s humiliation? “But if Accolon is not killed or removed soon, he will likely dissolve the Regency Council and take control of the city himself. He has that right as Prince Tywall’s overlord. Or, rather, the High King has that right, and Accolon is his emissary and can invoke that power.” He tapped his fingers against his desk, realized that showed his inner agitation and took a sip of his remaining whiskey instead. “Better that the Red Family remove him first.”
“If you trust them,” said Aeliana with a derisive snort.
Cyprian smiled. “I fear, my lady, that your animus towards the Matriarch and the Family may cloud your judgment on this matter.”
“Has it occurred to you,” said Aeliana, “that if you were to die unexpectedly, the Matriarch would consider the Family’s contract with you broken? And since you had already paid them, why not keep the money without the bothersome risk of actually assassinating Accolon Pendragon?”
Cyprian had not considered that.
“Obviously, I considered that,” said Cyprian. “And I shall keep guards around me at all time.”
“Wise of you,” said Aeliana.
“And what will you do?” said Cyprian. “You said you would find another Dwyrstone and open a rift way. An attack of goblins or even a few dragons would go a long way right now. My men are very close to finding the path to the inner sanctum of the elven ruins.”
“Soon,” murmured Aeliana. “No, I think we shall follow your plan for now, Master Cyprian.”
She smiled at him. Aeliana was a beautiful woman, but he knew just how dangerous she really was and felt no desire for her. Still, despite his fear and dislike, Cyprian was willing to follow her instructions.
The rewards of serving the Theophract, immortality and power, were too great to ignore.
“As you wish, Herald of Ruin,” said Cyprian.
“Be ready,” said Aeliana. “There will soon be chaos throughout Cintarra.”
With that, she stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind her. Cyprian wondered how the hell she would get past his guards, and then remembered he had sent his men away so Gregor could arrive unseen. She would stroll right out of the Bank.
Yes, Cyprian would have to take care.
It seemed likely Cintarra would be reduced to ashes soon, but whatever happened, Cyprian intended to come out with the power of a god.
###
Aeliana Carhaine left the Scepter Bank with ease.
The Mark of the Herald on her right forearm gave her numerous powers, and one of them was the ability to see in perfect darkness. She had no problem moving through the darkened areas of the Bank, avoiding the guards, and walking into the streets.
She had a great deal to think about.
The Theophract’s warning ensured that.
The dark elven sorcerer spoke with the voice of the Warden, and he could communicate with any of the five Heralds across any distance. The Theophract’s powers let him move between the world of Andomhaim and the world of the Frankish Empire at will. Aeliana had not expected to hear from him so soon, but the message had come, appearing in her mind like a dark whisper.
The red orcs were coming.
And in force.
Rumors of the mysterious red orcs had been whispered among the commoners of Cintarra and the surrounding regions for the last year, but Aeliana knew those had only been scouting attacks, brief raids to test the defenses of Andomhaim before the red orcs attacked in strength. The goddesses the red orcs served were hungry and required an endless supply of fresh lives upon which to feed. Andomhaim, from their perspective, was like a field of grain waiting for the harvest.
Aeliana did not know exactly when the red orcs would attack. A Herald of Ruin traveled with them, but that Herald could not entirely control the red orcs and their mistresses. Pointing them in the direction of Andomhaim had been enough. When the attack came, the nobles of Cintarra would be taken completely off guard. In all its history, Andomhaim had never suffered a serious attack from the sea. The thirteen moons and the tangled maze of erratic ocean currents, a lingering result of the dark elves’ war with the high elves, made ocean crossings all but impossible. At various time rebel lords had taken refuge on the Isle of Kordain to the south, but they had never been more than an irritant to the High Kings. It was impossible to cross the ocean. Connmar Pendragon had done it to found the realm of Owyllain five centuries ago, but that had been an accident.
At least, the men of Andomhaim had thought it impossible.
What they did not know, but what the Warden and the red orcs’ goddesses did, was that crossing the ocean required a very specific kind of magical compass. One capable of following not the north pole, but the direction the ocean currents happened to flow at any given day.
As a result, Cintarra was going to come under attack very soon.
How best to exploit this?
Aeliana didn’t care about Cintarra, the red orcs, or their precious goddesses. All would bow before the Warden when he opened the door below Cathair Kaldran and reordered the cosmos, and Aeliana would have her revenge on those who had wronged her. She cared about that very much, but to make it happen, the Great Eye had to open.
And that meant Cintarra had to be in enough chaos that it could neither fend off the red orcs nor stop Cyprian and the Drakocenti from finding the Great Eye.
Chaos. Aeliana needed chaos.
Her hand strayed to the hilt of her sword, the dark soulblade the Warden had forged for her.
It wasn’t as powerful as a high elven soulblade, not yet.
It needed to feed first. Aeliana felt her bond with the dark soulblade, felt its ferocious, burning hunger in its mind.
Soon, she told the sword. Very soon.
She thought about following Gregor and killing him. All the Red Family was her enemy, especially the Matriarch herself, but Aeliana had a particular loathing for Gregor. To humiliate Aeliana, the Matriarch had ordered her to strip naked in front of a dinner of the assassins and allow Gregor to do whatever he wished to her. Gregor had, with enthusiasm, and she remembered lying on her back atop the table, Gregor smirking down at her and the other assassins cheering and taunting as he thrust away.
He was going to regret that. So was the Matriarch. The dark soulblade wanted lives…and Aeliana would be more than happy to provide them.
But before Aeliana could indulge herself, she needed chaos. Killing the Red Family would not bring chaos. If anything, it would reduce the tensions in the city.
No, Aeliana needed to pick her deaths with care.
She remembered Hadrian Vindon lying like a roast pig on that platter, the apple in his mouth, the Wraith shouting his accusations.
Lord Hadrian had ceased to be useful.
“Yes,” whispered Aeliana, touching the dark soulblade’s hilt. “Soon.”
She felt the weapon’s keen hunger fill her mind.
***
Chapter 9: Another Method Of Negotiation
“All right,” said Jager, pointing at the iron trapdoor in the floor of the warehouse. “Here we are.”
“That’s the door to the Shadow Ways?” said Ridmark.
Jager shrugged. “Well, one of them, anyway.”
Ridmark stood with Calliande and Third facing Jager and four of the Anathgrimm. They were in a warehouse overlooking the river harbor in the Western City. Jager owned several warehouses along the river harbor, and the Anathgrimm conducted trade up and down the River Cintarra to Coldinium and the towns along the southern shore of the Lake of Battles. Anathgrimm soldiers manned barges traveling up and down the river, and Anathgrimm mercenaries guarded the caravans of other merchants. Ever since Jager had managed to convince the Anathgrimm that trading was another, more efficient method of warfare, the Anathgrimm had taken to commerce with zeal. Anathgrimm merchants made deals (and were feared) across Andomhaim and Owyllain, and Anathgrimm mercenaries were in demand (and likewise feared) across the two kingdoms.<
br />
Jager and the Anathgrimm needed a place to store their goods, and so the Prince Consort had bought numerous warehouses. This particular warehouse held crates of pottery and casks of wine and was only about half-full. The disruptions in Cintarra had not done all that much to hinder trade with the rest of Andomhaim.
“You own a warehouse with an entrance to the Shadow Ways?” said Calliande.
“Of course,” said Jager. He seemed surprised. “Why wouldn’t I? If I am ever cornered here, it makes a convenient escape route. For that matter, half the buildings in Cintarra have entrances to the Shadow Ways.” He grinned. “And I am…reasonably familiar with the Shadow Ways. At least the upper levels, the ones built by the men of Andomhaim. I didn’t venture down to the dwarven levels, or the dvargir ones. Or the elven ruins that are supposed to be down there, though I never saw those with my own eyes, nor met anyone who convincingly claimed to have been down there.”
“Convincingly?” said Calliande. She had changed back to her traveling clothes, her blond hair bound back, her green cloak hanging from her shoulders. She was also wearing the elven armor they had taken from the ruins of Cathair Selenias in the southern reaches of Owyllain, overlapping plates of golden metal covering her torso and upper legs. For once, Ridmark had not had to convince her to wear it. The armor was uncomfortable, but it had saved her from wounds or death several times.
“Well,” said Jager. “You know how it is. A man wants to get someone else to pay for his drinks, he’ll tell a tall tale or two. Stories about the dangers of the Shadow Ways can be good for a drink if you tell them well enough.”
“And you never did this?” said Calliande.
“Never,” said Jager. “Well, hardly ever.” He handed Ridmark a rolled-up paper. “I brought this for you.”
Ridmark unrolled it. It was a diagram of underground tunnels, annotated in several places with a neat hand.
“The best map of the Shadow Ways I ever found,” said Jager. “I had a copy made for you. But I should warn you that it’s incomplete. I don’t think anyone has ever completely mapped the Shadow Ways, not even the Red Family.”
“That makes sense,” said Ridmark. “Otherwise the Drakocenti would not have to send men into the tunnels to search.” He scrutinized the map, nodded, and tapped one of the tunnels. “We’re here, I believe.”
“Good eye,” said Jager. “Yes, that’s the entrance. I’m not sure how you want to proceed, but…”
“I am,” said Calliande. “When Antenora and I put the Dwyrstone in Castarium back into hibernation, I saw that it had a link with something beneath Cintarra. Some source of magical power, old and potent. That source of magical force empowered the Dwyrstone and let it open those rifts.” Calliande drew in a long breath. “I can use the Sight to find it.”
Ridmark frowned. “Do you think it’s another world gate? Like we found beneath Urd Maelwyn?”
“Maybe,” said Calliande. “The magic is similar, but I’m not sure. I’ve never heard of a world gate that opened in the fashion of the Dwyrstone’s rifts. Maybe the source of power is something else entirely.”
“Oh, well, that’s easy,” said Jager. “Just follow the Sight.”
Calliande shook her head. “I wish it were that simple. There are a lot of old magical auras beneath Cintarra – dwarven, dvargir, and I think the work of orcish shamans or warlocks. It’s hard to pick out anything through them all. But there is unquestionably a strong source of magical power beneath the city.”
“Did you sense it on previous visits to Cintarra?” said Third.
“No,” said Calliande. “Whatever Aeliana did in Castarium, I think it woke the thing beneath the city.”
Ridmark still could not place why he recognized Aeliana from somewhere, which bothered him a great deal. He had traveled to many places and met many people, but his memory was usually not that bad. Perhaps she reminded him of someone.
And maybe she was lurking in the darkness of the Shadow Ways.
“Let’s get on with it,” said Ridmark. Standing here indulging in speculation would accomplish nothing.
Jager nodded, unlocked the trapdoor, and swung it open. Beyond was an iron ladder that descended into the gloom of a brickwork tunnel. Ridmark went first, his staff Aegisikon ready in his right hand, his eyes sweeping the shadows of the tunnel for any foes. His boots scraped against a sandy floor, and Ridmark lifted his staff and sent a mental command to the weapon.
The staff Aegisikon was a gift from the gray elves of Cathair Caedyn, and the staff could change its form to that of a bow or an impenetrable shield, and Ridmark could recall it back to his hand at will. About a year ago, he had discovered the staff had another power, and he activated that power now. The end of the staff gave off a bright blue glow, bathing the tunnel in light. Ridmark saw that he stood in a round tunnel that looked like a sewer or perhaps a storm drain, though the floor was dry and there was only a faint smell of excrement. He swept the light from Aegisikon back and forth, but nothing moved.
Calliande and Third descended the ladder. Third reached over her shoulder and drew one of her golden swords. Storm, Ridmark thought, though he had a hard time telling the two swords apart unless she drew on their elemental powers.
“It seems that we are alone,” said Third.
“For now, anyway,” said Ridmark, looking at his wife. “Which way?”
Calliande pointed. “That will lead us closer to the source of power.”
Ridmark consulted the map. If it was accurate, the tunnel would lead from the sewers to the catacombs where Cintarra’s dead had been interred for centuries. Beyond that were several entrances to the dwarven ruins. Ridmark suspected that the Shadow Ways were layered like a cake. On the top level were the sewers and catacombs the humans of Cintarra had built as the city had grown. Below were the dwarven and dvargir ruins, and possibly orcish and kobold, and beneath them the largely unexplored elven chambers.
Almost certainly this mysterious source of power would be in the elven ruins. The Dwyrstone had been of elven magic.
“Then let’s go,” said Ridmark, and he led the way down the tunnel, old memories of Khald Azalar and Cathair Avamyr and other ruins flickering through his mind.
Almost all those memories ended in a fight, and Ridmark kept his hand near Oathshield’s hilt.
###
Niall prepared himself for another day of guard duty.
But after the events at the banquet, he suspected that guard duty would prove just as eventful as it had last night.
He stood near the dais in the great hall of the Prince’s Palace. Lord Ridmark, Vegetius, and Sir Peter had chosen a deputation of men-at-arms to guard Prince Accolon during the day’s court. Sir Owain Redshield had offered to lend some of his own men-at-arms to protect the Crown Prince, but Ridmark had suggested they would be put to better use guarding the Palace itself.
The reason for that, Vegetius had explained to Niall in a low voice, was that the Constable of Cintarra’s men might have spies for the Regency Council among their number. It was also possible that assassins of the Red Family lurked among the Constable’s men-at-arms, and the Regency Council could have hired the Family to kill the Prince. Niall knew all about the Red Family, or at least he had heard numerous stories about it. Tales of the Family were common among the villages near Cintarra, and Niall had heard how the deadly assassins could infiltrate any stronghold or kill any man, no matter how powerful and protected. It was said the assassins could strike like ghosts and fade away just as the Wraith had last night.
Lord Ridmark had fought several assassins of the Red Family, and he said they were men of flesh and blood like any other. Nevertheless, Niall had seen the Wraith become immaterial and flee last night, so maybe the stories of the Red Family were true. Until a few weeks ago, Niall would have said there were no such things as dragons, and he had now seen several of them. Who could say what tales were true?
“I wish there weren’t so many people in here,” said Niall.
&n
bsp; The Palace was often open to the public, and apparently, the people of Cintarra wanted to see the judgments of Accolon Pendragon. The commoners of the city were permitted to stand in the aisles between the pillars and the wall, or upon the balconies overlooking the great hall. The aisle leading to the dais was reserved for petitioners or those summoned by the Prince, and the job of the men-at-arms was to keep order in the hall and to prevent disgruntled petitioners or witnesses from rushing the dais.
“Tradition,” grunted Vegetius, watching the crowds with the same wary expression he had worn before the battle against the Signifier’s forces. The decurion, Niall had noted, often used the word “tradition” as a catch-all to explain things that did not make a great deal of sense. “It’s always been the tradition in Cintarra that the commoners can watch the Prince’s court. Supposed to show that the Prince of Cintarra is just and noble and all that. Now they’ll have the chance to …you lot!” He pointed at some men who had taken position against the wall. “Behind the pillars! I said behind the pillars!” He walked closer, and Niall followed. “You can watch the court, but from behind the pillars, or by God I’ll throw you out on your ear.”
The men, who looked like ragged, displaced villagers, scowled at Vegetius but obeyed without complaint. Vegetius watched them take several steps back and then nodded. Niall rolled his shoulders, trying to get his chain mail settled comfortably. He wore a padded gambeson beneath it, which eased the weight, but his shoulders and knees still ached from carrying it. Not as badly as they had earlier, so he supposed he was getting used to it. Just as well they hadn’t had to walk all the way to Cintarra from Castarium.
“As I was saying,” said Vegetius. “Tradition.”
“Do you think there will be a riot?” said Niall, looking at the growing crowds.
“Nah,” said Vegetius. “Not today, anyway. They’re curious, that’s all. By now everyone in the city has heard Prince Accolon is furious with the Regency Council.” He smirked briefly. “They’ll also have heard how Lord Hadrian was trussed up like a prime hog for the dinner. Now there’s a tale that won’t be forgotten for quite some time. Or ever. It wouldn’t surprise me if in a hundred years men are singing about Lord Hog, even if they’ve forgotten what really happened.”
Dragontiarna: Thieves Page 17
