The Nesilia's War Trilogy: (Buried Goddess Saga Box Set: Books 4-6)

by Rhett C. Bruno

  “Then ye’ll come back another day,” she said, sounding heartbroken. “Horace will prepare his specialty pie, won’t you honey? I swear, the royal chef used to order it for feasts back when Liam was king. Didn’t he, dear?”

  “He did,” Horace said.

  “I look forward to it with all my heart,” Torsten said. “But feed others first. Whatever you’re able.”

  Lucas took Torsten’s arm and rushed him toward the exit like he was ashamed.

  “Lucas, say goodbye to your mother,” Horace said sternly.

  Lucas stopped and inhaled in through his teeth. Then he released Torsten to go and plant a kiss on his mother’s cheek. “Bye, mum,” he said. “Treat them well.”

  “Visit soon?” she asked.

  “Of course. Bye, dad.”

  “Get some meat on those bones, boy, or the Shield will toss you out!” Horace hollered.

  “I’ll have a talk with the barracks,” Torsten answered. Lucas had his arm again in seconds and led him back outside.

  “I thought you said no special treatment,” Lucas said once they were a few meters away.

  “These people need to know that it isn’t only Valin Tehr who looks after them,” Torsten replied.

  “Is that true though, my Lord? You can’t pay for every beggar in the district to eat like nobles. You can’t see, but they’re already gathering, wondering why that family is eating, and they starve. Only Valin Tehr has enough scraps for all of them.”

  Torsten stopped. He didn’t respond. He only faced the direction of Lucas’s voice and glowered.

  “Apologies for overstepping, my Lord,” Lucas said. “It’s just, growing up here, my father had a saying: ‘Beggars are like vultures. You feed one, they’ll come circling until they pick you dry.’”

  “That doesn’t seem to be affecting Valin Tehr,” Torsten grumbled. “Now come on; we don’t want to keep him waiting.”

  Lucas continued leading him through Yarrington’s poor district, explaining what he saw as they went—per Torsten’s instructions. His parent’s shop miraculously seemed like one of the few intact. People did love the sweeter things, however. Even if they couldn’t afford it, the smells made the world bright. And the deeper they delved into Dockside, the more the salty, fishy stench of the Torrential Sea overpowered everything.

  The coming of spring meant a lively harbor; traders arriving from all over the kingdom where war didn’t touch, fishermen returning and gutting their hauls. It provided plenty to do for Docksiders lucky enough to have the skills. The rash of repairs needed added work for others, though it would end soon enough, and Dockside would go back to how it was: overcrowded, rife with crime and starving people.

  Liam used to say that “even the healthiest body has sores” to describe the grime of Yarrington, that there was no way to avoid places like it in the cities throughout the Glass Kingdom. When Torsten joined the King’s Shield, he didn’t believe that, couldn’t. He’d wanted to turn South Corner into a prosperous, safe neighborhood unlike any other—then he dealt with Valin Tehr and grew up.

  War, trade, famine—these were issues that affected the entire Kingdom. One forgotten corner of it could never be his focus.

  “It’s strange, seeing the Grove Street Church like that,” Lucas said.

  “What did those monsters do to it?” Torsten asked.

  “Stone doesn’t burn easily, but all the glass is shattered. The artwork inside is sliced, the pews overturned. Parts of the roof are caved in from where they tried to pull down the Eye. The front doors, blown off their hinges.”

  Torsten’s hands balled into fists. “Animals.” He stopped, released Lucas, and tapped his way to the church stairs, whispering a solemn prayer.

  “Nobody will touch it until the High Priest is selected,” Lucas said. “Even monks and altar servers stay away rather than help.”

  “The people here must fear they speak only with the darkness.” Torsten took one step up, then heard something fall over inside and tiny feet scurrying across the wooden floor. He’d been blind long enough to know they belonged to children and not rats.

  “Perhaps not so useless after all,” Lucas said. “I’ve lived in worse places than a rundown church.”

  “Even in the darkest times, Iam’s light still shines,” Torsten said. “And to think, there was a time I nearly lost hope.” Torsten backed away from the church and continued along the street, Lucas rushing to his side.

  “You, Sir?” he asked.

  “Rotting away while Nesilia’s pawns ran this kingdom into the ground has a way of doing that.”

  “How did you find it again? Hope,” Lucas asked meekly. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “It wasn’t easy growing up around here and still holding belief in anything.”

  Torsten snorted in agreement. “The Queen.”

  “Our Queen?”

  “The ‘Flower of Drav Cra’ herself. Rand Langley may have freed me from Redstar’s prison, but she showed me that Iam’s light shines in the most unexpected places. That we can, all of us, find redemption when we lose our way. That he is not law and order and bindings, but love. From a killer to the most potent mystic, Iam is forgiveness.”

  “Maybe you should be the High Priest.”

  Torsten laughed and patted Lucas on the back. “Maybe not that forgiving, boy. Besides, the King needs me.”

  “And what about them?” Lucas stopped, forcing Torsten to as well. It was normal for the lane leading to Valin Tehr’s brothel to be paved with beggars, but now it sounded as loud as the Yarrington markets. Only there was no spirited bartering, no shopkeeps barking about their wares. There was, however, coughing children, shivering mothers, and desperate fathers making promises to their children they could not keep.

  “Stay close to me, my Lord,” Lucas said.

  “How many?” Torsten asked.

  “That woman undersold it. Hundreds. Some look like they’ve been camped here for weeks.” Lucas led Torsten forward and shouted, “Move aside, by order of the King’s Shield!”

  Torsten felt hands patting at his arms and legs, and the tightness of Lucas’s grip as the boy pushed through the crowd. From every direction came pleas for food or spare autlas. Torsten had dealt with beggars plenty of times before, and though they usually gathered in the largest crowds by the churches, using children to earn more—like traveling troupes—this was on another level. Fingers pried at the edges of his armor as if they wanted to tear it from his flesh.

  “Back away!” Lucas ordered. A rasp sounded as he slipped his sword halfway from its sheath. His voice betrayed a quaver of fear, and Torsten knew the young man was out of his depth. He’d been a city guard, but it was clear Captain Henry hadn’t taught his men how to handle the worst parts of South Corner.

  They stopped moving.

  “I said, out of our way,” Lucas said, sliding his sword out a bit farther.

  “Why?” a gruff voice responded. “You gonna feed us like that wench down in South Corner, Lord Unger, or is my face not pretty enough?”

  “You will liste—”

  “Hey, I know you. You’re Lucas, Horace’s boy.” The man cackled. “Look at this, a new pet of the Crown.”

  “King’s Shield,” Torsten said. “And you will do as he asks, or you’ll suffer the consequences.”

  “What, because I don’t have a plump bosom I don’t get special treatment?” Torsten wasn’t sure how the man paraded around after that statement, but judging by the chorus of laughter around them he was sure it was lewd.

  Lucas released Torsten, and Torsten could hear the boy spin in place, facing the rabid horde of beggars, breathing heavy.

  “All of a sudden you lot care for us?” the man said.

  “Yeh,” a woman chimed in, sounding like she was missing a few teeth. “Wun’t enough to let them masked shogs burn our homes. Now ye gunno starve us?”

  “Just a pinch’o gold’ll do, lik
e ye just gave to the Danvels. Won’t tell nobody, will we?” It was the man’s voice again, and he was closer now.

  “You will back away as you are commanded!” Torsten said.

  “C’mon, lil Lucas,” the man said. “Yer Dockside through and through, not like this Glintish oaf. Got bread from yer mum and dad just the other day and their prices haven’t dropped a bronzer since before the Dawning.”

  “They need to eat too,” Lucas said.

  “Ye yigging liar. They’ve got the Crown’s support now, dun’t they? I might want to go back and get what I’m owed.”

  “Don’t you yigging touch them!” Lucas’s sword slid fully free. Torsten’s heart sank as, for a moment, he expected to hear the squelching of metal on flesh, but the young man didn’t strike. “You’re going to rot in the dungeon for that.”

  “Good. They probably serve better food there than we get here.”

  “Then you can starve, Murray,” a new voice said, smooth, distinguished. Torsten hadn’t even realized he’d been dealing with the same poor man who’d beseeched the king only a day earlier.

  The ground suddenly shook so hard Torsten swayed, then again, like it was the footsteps of a… giant. The crowd surged in the other direction, filled with nervous chatter. Chain’s rattled loudly, links stretched, then dragged along the cobblestone street. The grating sound made Torsten cringe.

  “Baaaad maaaan,” the deep, cavernous voice of what was unmistakably a giant filled the air. Then came a stench like Torsten had barely even experienced in the Winde Port tunnels—rotting fish, meat, and worse. The troublemaker Murray yelped and then his protests grew distant. By the time he had his wits about him enough to curse Lucas, he was far-off, voice drowned out by more thunderous footsteps.

  “Thank you, Uhlvark,” said Valin Tehr, approaching through the now parted crowd, his own cane clacking. “You may sit again.”

  “Eaaaat?” the giant replied.

  “Not until later. Now sit.”

  The giant’s sigh felt like a sudden gale. Then he lumbered away, and more chains rattled behind him as if he were a dog leashed to the Vineyard.

  “I do apologize for that,” Valin said, drawing nearer. “Always helps to have a giant to keep the order when the guards are so busy elsewhere.”

  “Added to your collection, have you, Valin?” Torsten said.

  “I assure you, I have all the proper documents. Poor Uhlvark is slower than most, wouldn’t do any good with a hammer. And he’s allergic to dust, if you can believe it. No dwarven tunnelers will take him. Imagine what his sneezes might do.”

  “Lucas Danvels, my boy,” Valin said. “It’s good to see you again. How are your parents?”

  “Doing well, all things considered,” Lucas replied.

  “Of course. I miss the simple times.”

  “What?” Torsten said. “When the only monsters we had to worry about were men like you?”

  “By Iam, your Lord can hold a grudge,” Valin said. “I received your message that you wanted to talk, Sir Unger. It’s been some time coming. Follow me inside, and we can do just that.”

  “Where you can ply me with your ungodly pleasures?”

  “No. Where it’s quiet. The Vineyard is a haven for the weary and the hungry until Dockside is healed.”

  “Forgiveness, my Lord,” Lucas whispered in Torsten’s ear. “If the Queen can earn it…”

  Torsten ran his hand over his bald head, stopped to itch the shriveling skin beneath his brow, then sighed and urged them along. Not a single beggar dared even to extend their hands for autlas now with Valin present.

  Lucas told Torsten to watch his step when they reached the entry, but now he was set on making his own way. His cane got stuck in a knot in the wood once, but he yanked it free and made it to the landing. That was where he smelled porridge. Valin’s men, gangers and cutthroats, were on the porch handing out bowls one at a time to the poor. Valin’s giant had returned, apparently stirring the massive pot, his chains constantly chattering.

  “Weapons,” requested a man with a thick, Breklian accent. No doubt Valin’s right-hand man Codar, who’d saved Torsten twice now. Torsten knew next to nothing about the foreigner, who’d likely been too young back when Torsten was a low enough rank to have dealt with lowlifes like Valin.

  Torsten heard Lucas start to untie his sheath but grabbed his arm. Silence passed between everyone until Torsten’s skin began to itch again.

  “Yes, of course,” Valin said. “Apologies, Codar still has trouble with our culture. These are men of the Crown. Of course, they may retain their weapons.”

  “As you wish, Mr. Tehr,” Codar replied.

  Lucas went forward first, and Torsten followed close behind. He heard Codar at his back, his footsteps quiet as a mouse. The Breklians were known for their assassins, among other things such as their high fashion and ability to barter a man’s last fish for a bronzer. Torsten had dealt with a member of their famed assassins guild, the Dom Nohzi, not too long ago in Winde Port. Operating so far south meant their boldness was growing with Liam out of the picture and Torsten didn’t like it.

  “My office is just downstairs,” Valin said.

  “If it’s all right with you, I’d rather speak up here,” Torsten said.

  “Are you sure? It’s still so noisy,” Valin replied, no doubt referring to the same din of coughing and suffering as outside. Torsten had been to the Vineyard a few times before, with the air rank with sex, sweat, and ungodly things. Now it was stale with a tinge of iron, like a medical tent after a battle.

  Valin Tehr, purveyor of whores and bloodsport, now played caretaker of refugees. Torsten could hear moans of starving men and women through the tarps of the rooms along the second-floor balcony, where women used to take lustful men. A few had tried to tempt Torsten when he was a younger man.

  “I was fortunate,” Valin said, then took a long breath as he sat. “Having Uhlvark outside kept the cultists away. Only a few broken windows.”

  “Business must be hurting,” Torsten replied. Lucas took his hand and led him to a couch where he slowly took his place on the very edge, refusing to get comfortable.

  “The girls are happy for the break,” Valin said. “What happened here shook us all, and they’re doing well helping those in the worst shape. They’re naturally generous, you see.”

  “I can only imagine.”

  “Where are my manners.” Valin clapped his hands. “Codar, would you mind having Abigail fetch us wine. She can choose the vintage.”

  “I don’t imbibe,” Torsten said.

  “Are you sure? Abigail is new here, but she has a palette unlike any other.”

  “Not me.”

  “Of course,” Valin said, sounding only a little perturbed. “Well, if you don’t mind, I find it easier to converse if I indulge a little. This place earned its name for a reason. Finest wine collection this side of the gorge.”

  “Enough pleasantries, Valin. In all my time in the Shield, I rarely saw you venture to Old Yarrington but to improve your control over the Southeastern docks, let alone twice in two days.”

  “I carry the plight of the Greater South Corner district with me.”

  “Save it. You’re making yourself visible at just the right time. I may no longer be able to see, but I can see through you, Valin. The city is in shambles after all the horrors. The kingdom is scrambling to keep up with too many concerns to count. Dockside isn’t enough for you? You want all of South Corner too?”

  “If we’re being frank, Sir Unger. Your sight must have failed you earlier because South Corner has been mine for a while now. Perhaps the people didn’t realize, but they do now.”

  “Have you been reduced to a braggart?”

  “I speak only truths,” Valin said. Torsten heard him shift in his chair. “That’s why I always liked you in our past dealings. We’re the same that way.”

  “We’re nothing alike. I don’t kill innocent women.”

  “Iam’s light, Torsten, neither
do I. Don’t let one misunderstanding long ago cloud your judgment.”

  “Trust me, my judgment is clear as ever.”

  “Then you sit there and tell me that I’m not what’s best for South Corner?” Valin asked. “That I don’t keep the peace, your peace, in exchange for what? I keep the public docks humming, and ask very little of the Crown.”

  “Except for us to look away,” Torsten said.

  “I never asked.”

  “A threat is enough!” Torsten slammed on the table sending silverware clattering to the floor.

  Valin sighed. “Will our dealings with the Shield ever go civilly, my dear Codar?”

  “Manners are a lost art in the west, it seems,” Codar said, voice as cold as Breklian ice. “Sir Unger should be thanking you for helping free him from the castle dungeons.”

  Lucas released a sound, whether of shock or disgust Torsten wasn’t sure.

  “That is the only reason I’m being so civil in coming here now,” Torsten said.

  “How does this bottle look, Mr. Tehr?” a young woman asked.

  “Ah, what a year,” Valin replied. “I believe that was when the great Liam took Crowfall from his brother and ended the last of the extended Nothhelm line.”

  “You forgot the part where his brother tried to usurp the throne,” Torsten said.

  Valin scoffed. “Nobles.”

  “Sir Unger?” the young woman who’d brought the wine asked. “Sir Unger, is that you?”

  He turned toward her, showing his lack of working eyes. “I apologize, who is that?”

  “By Iam, the rumors about what happened to you are true. I’m so sorry, my Lord. It’s me, Abigail Crane. Remember, from Fellwater Swamp. You saved me… twice.”

  “Abigail…” Torsten could hardly get the name out. He remembered her now, the girl he found shoveling shog for Muskigo’s army with other enslaved Glassmen. He’d freed her from there and sent her to warn Oleander about the Black Sands’ threat, only to return and find her slammed behind dungeon bars, where he freed her again.

  “Abigail, stop bothering our guests and hurry back up here!” one of Valin’s men called down.