by Kyle Prue
He landed with a thud that shook the whole bar. Lilly winced. “Let’s try not to cause an earthquake, shall we?” she said as she jumped through the hole and landed lightly on the balls of her feet.
Neil heard Darius reply, “Flesh of steel, kids. It’s not exactly known for being light.”
Laughing, Neil materialized down into the kitchen. He instantly regretted it; he’d grown accustomed to the darkness of the attic, and this new bright light blinded him. He threw his hands over his eyes and groaned. Behind him, he heard Lilly laughing. “Behold,” she said playfully, “Neil Vapros’s greatest enemy has appeared. Beware the light!”
“Shut up,” he said, opening his eyes gingerly. “We’re nocturnal now, remember?”
Rhys materialized next to his brother. He’d had the sense to keep his eyes closed. “Are we all here?” Neil glanced up at the trapdoor and saw Rebecca’s face looking back at him.
“Need help?” he called.
“I can jump,” she said, but she sounded less than enthusiastic.
Neil materialized back up to her, relishing the darkness. “I’ll help,” he insisted. “Don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
She smiled and put her arms around him in preparation for the materialization. “Thanks.”
“How’d you even make it up here?” Neil asked, focusing his energy. He made sure to close his eyes this time.
“Rhys helped me,” she said, then squealed as they materialized down to the floor. “He was the only one awake,” she continued, detangling herself from Neil. “Does he ever sleep?”
Neil shook his head.
“Why not?”
Neil lowered his voice. “It’s dark up there. Rhys has trouble falling asleep in totally dark places.”
“Oh.” Rebecca looked troubled. “Can’t he just. . . .”
Neil knew what she was trying to say and he shook his head. It was a travesty that Rhys’ advanced ability worked on everyone but himself. “He can put other people to sleep fine, but it doesn’t work on himself. He’s tried it.”
“Oh.” She glanced at Rhys, who was chiding Darius for stealing a loaf of bread from a basket on the counter. “Poor thing,” she murmured, then disappeared into the other room to find Josephine. Rebecca was Josephine’s manager of sorts: she waitressed and helped in the kitchen. According to Rebecca, the village where she’d been born, Abington, was under Imperial occupation. Her parents had been executed for “conspiring with the rebellion” when Rebecca was just a child. Josephine had found her wandering in the woods two weeks later, feasting on tree bark and berries to survive. Josephine had been fostering her ever since. Neil casually swiped some bread of his own from the basket and went to join the others.
“Ugh,” Neil said, wincing as he swallowed a bite of his bread. “Darius, is your loaf stale?”
Darius looked at his half-eaten loaf for a moment. “Yeah,” he decided as he bit off another mouthful. “It’s really stale.”
Lilly shook her head in disbelief. “Are you actually eating a stale loaf of bread?”
“Josephine could never serve this. It’s disgusting. She was just going to throw it away. I’m taking care of it before she does. This is charity.”
“I like that,” Rhys announced. “I always thought Taurlum were idiots. But you, my friend, always have an answer.”
Darius swallowed with difficulty. “When your siblings eat like elephants you learn to justify taking food,” he said as he ripped off a huge piece.
This was absolutely true for Darius. He loved to eat, more than almost anything. Occasionally Josephine would send them to go collect fruits from the nearby forest, and then she’d cook them in a mixture of alcohol and molasses. It was more delicious than any of the cakes Neil had ever had in Altryon, but he was never able to eat more than Darius, who scarfed down more than the rest of them combined. Rhys had once theorized that Darius liked the cakes so much because they had the aftertaste of liquor.
Rebecca poked her head back into the room. “She’s ready for you.” Darius pushed the rest of his loaf into his mouth and struggled to chew it as he led the way into the closed bar.
Neil couldn’t help but admire the mess. Whenever they went to sleep, the restaurant was spotless. Now the tables and chairs were strewn haphazardly around the room, and cups and specks of food littered the floor. “Looks like a busy day here at the Golden Mug,” he said to Josephine, who was wiping down a counter.
She looked up at him tiredly and retied her frizzy ponytail. “I wish I could hire you during working hours,” she said. “It would be nice to have a Taurlum lifting the heavier orders.” She looked Darius up and down.
Rebecca grabbed a rag and began to help clean off the counter. “I can lift the heavy orders,” she said, scrubbing hard at a sticky stain left by someone’s spilled drink.
Josephine smiled and ruffled her adopted daughter’s hair. “You’re quite the waitress,” she said, wringing out her damp cloth in the sink. “But you can’t claim to be as strong as our blonde giant!”
Darius laughed and slid a table back into its proper position. Talking to Josephine had an odd effect on him. Something about her turned him into a helpful, obedient child. “People inside the walls used to call me Golden Boy,” he remarked fondly. “I think I like blonde giant even more though.”
Josephine yanked open a cabinet and pulled out a long pair of scissors. “It’s probably because you’ve never met anyone as creative as the women in this house.” She set the scissors on the counter and dragged a chair into the middle of the room. “Okay, the barber is in business,” she announced, retrieving her scissors and opening and closing them rapidly. “Who’s first?”
Darius’s eyes grew large. The group shifted uncomfortably, trying to avoid Josephine’s eyes. She noticed. “Oh, come on,” she said, grabbing Lilly’s arm and pulling her toward the chair. “It’s a haircut, not a death sentence!”
Lilly shifted anxiously in her chair. “I’d rather not let anyone touch my hair,” she said stiffly.
Josephine gently stroked Lilly’s silky locks. “I’m not going to butcher it,” she promised softly. “You’ll still look as noble as ever.” Lilly didn’t seem convinced. “If you don’t like it, there’s a money back guarantee,” she joked.
No one said anything. “Look,” Josephine said. “Every soldier in Volteria is carrying around your wanted posters in their back pockets. If you’re spotted for some reason, it might be a good idea to not look exactly like they remember you.” She pointed at Lilly with the scissors. “Survival takes precedence over what’s fashionable.”
Neil came to Lilly’s rescue. “I’ll go first,” he offered, and Lilly jumped from the chair as if it had burned her. He took her seat. “Just don’t make me bald.”
Josephine snapped her scissors a few more times. “No promises,” she said and began to cut.
Chapter Three
IMPERIAL PALACE
VIRGIL SERVATUS
Virgil raised the glass of wine to his lips and drank deeply just to give himself something to do. He’d been waiting here all day for someone, anyone, to return with news. The war room was unlit, but Virgil had memorized the location of every weapon in the room. If anyone tried to attack him, he could easily reach for a sword and slice the enemy in half. Not that anyone was going to attack, he reminded himself, taking another swig from the glass. As second in command of the Imperial army, he had every right to wait here.
He swallowed the wine without tasting it. In spite of everything he kept telling himself, Virgil felt uneasy about being alone in this room, especially since he knew one of his greatest comrades, Anthony Celerius, had been stabbed to death in this very chair a year ago. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was somehow trespassing, that he was being watched. . . .
The war room was flooded with light as the door burst open. Virgil’s hand twitched toward a sword, then relaxed as his ally General Carlin, marched into the room. “Drinking alone?” the General observed, taking a sea
t next to Virgil.
“Waiting for news,” he replied. “How was your journey?”
Carlin dropped his sword on the table and put his face in his gloved hands. “We certainly have our work cut out for us. Why did we ever exile anyone? Why didn’t we just lop our enemies’ heads off?”
“It seemed cleaner to just send troublemakers into the wilderness,” Virgil suggested.
“Lot of good it did.” Virgil noticed that Carlin had accumulated plenty of grey hair in the last month alone. “Now he has us running around the wilderness trying to track them down. We’re never exiling anyone ever again. We had the Wolf in our clutches and we just…” Carlin waved his hand through the air. “let him go.”
Virgil swirled his glass around idly. “It could be worse,” he offered. “We could be spending our time crawling in the sewers looking for old, dying assassins.”
Carlin didn’t acknowledge the joke, or maybe he just didn’t like it when his grandfather’s killer, Nikolai Taurlum, was referenced. Virgil had a complicated relationship with Carlin. Carlin had killed Anthony, and Virgil wanted to hate him for it, but Virgil had only ever had two friends: Anthony and Carlin. If the General ever died, Virgil would be completely alone in this world. Carlin was the only man who knew him personally and not just his methodical way of following orders. Virgil had escaped from an abusive father as a child, and he remembered how terrible it felt to be on his own, solitary. Losing Carlin would put him right back in that position. It didn’t help that he was also taunted for being a “savage.” At least the General defended his lieutenant’s honor whenever the circumstances of his birthplace arose.
“I don’t think the Lightborns will be a problem for much longer,” Carlin said. “Not now that we have the assassin contractor on it.”
Virgil shuddered. “Your guy seems like a little bit of a maniac.”
“I don’t like it, either, but the Doctor’s our best option. He’s the best equipped to take care of the fugitives.” Carlin said, reaching up to massage his temples. “We have too much on our plate. We’re spread between tracking the four kids who escaped last year, plus we’re fighting the Wolf and his rebels, not to mention the Tridenti are getting more aggressive. It’s best if I take care of the Wolf while the Doctor takes care of the fugitives.”
Virgil put a hand on Carlin’s shoulder sympathetically. He started to say something but he was cut off.
“Carlin.” The voice came from a large figure standing at the door. “How was your little trip?” In the Emperor’s tone, Carlin’s military occupation sounded more like a play-date.
Carlin’s posture stiffened and he muttered something under his breath as he stood. “We didn’t find them, The Lightborns, or the Wolf,” he said stiffly to the Emperor. “We checked two villages. We couldn’t make it to the other three. The Wolf’s men are attacking our convoys. I’m back until we can regroup.”
The Emperor’s eyes were duller than usual, as if he had missed countless nights of rest. They seemed to lack the spark of life. “Just remember,” he said calmly, “I want results, Carlin. What is the objective?”
“To win the war.” Carlin said.
“No.” the Emperor snapped. “What’s the objective?”
Carlin clenched his jaw. “Eliminate the Lightborns.”
“Without their precious heroes, the rebellion will dissolve. That’s how you win the war Carlin.”
Finally there was something they agreed on. “No problem. The Wolf is growing tired. And we’ll have the fugitives any day now.”
“You can have all but one,” the Emperor said.
“I know,” Carlin said, glancing at Virgil. “We all know.”
The Emperor blinked his eyes a few times. Carlin had responded a little too quickly and a little too forcefully. “Let me reiterate, then, General, because sometimes you don’t get it right on the first try.” He licked his lips and stared into Carlin’s eyes. “I want Neil Vapros. I want him dropped at my feet. Nothing would make me happier. And I do like to be happy. Is that all clear?”
Carlin inched away from the Emperor and bowed slightly in his chair. “Understood, sir,” he said, reaching for the bottle Virgil had been drinking from and pouring himself a glass. “I won’t pretend I know what’s going on with your rule, sir. But you’ve seemed drained since the psychic was...” he struggled to find the right phrase, “since Saewulf was removed from your service.” Removed from his service was the polite way of saying, ‘was killed by a servant with a grenade.’ Is there anything you need from me?” Carlin continued.
The Emperor smirked, then laughed out loud. Carlin had to stop himself from jumping out of his armor. “You think you can help me, boy?” he said almost gleefully, life dripping back into his expression for an instant. “The things that you don’t know could fill a library, General.” He shook his head as if disappointed. “I don’t care who finds them, Carlin. I just want to see their heads on the pikes in front of the palace. Until then, I want to know where they are. Search every village. Every village, Carlin! Slaughter everyone who opposes you. This is not war,” he added as he approached the door and threw it open with a hard push, “we’re hunting rats. I will not rest until every remaining Lightborn has been killed or imprisoned.”
Carlin watched until the Emperor was out of sight, then sank into his chair. “Your father seems to drift in and out of our world,” Virgil whispered.
“It’s curious business,” Carlin said dully.
Virgil raked his hand through his hair. “The next time you go on a mission outside the walls, I’m joining you.”
Carlin laughed a little and shook his head. “I need you in the city.”
“You need me with you. You’re exhausted. You can’t keep up with all the emperor’s missions. Let me come with you. Let me help you.”
Carlin looked at his friend in silence for a moment. “I need someone in the city,” he repeated.
Virgil rose and marched for the door. “I’m going with you,” he announced without looking back. “Don’t worry about the fugitives, sir. The Imperial Doctor is coming for them. And I’m sure he’ll bring the full force of with him.”
Chapter Four
THE CLIFF
THE PACK
At one point in her life Anastasia had committed her assassinations barefoot. It was an odd strategy, but high profile targets were skittish and paranoid. Announcing your presence was a good way to end up dead. Her expert acrobatic ability, partnered with the element of surprise, made for quick, clean kills. She always kept her chain spike tight, without any slack. Otherwise the links in the chain would rattle.
Now she was older and wore thin silk slippers. They slid across surfaces like a water droplet along a blade of grass. She almost felt freer than she did when she went barefoot. Of course, it didn’t matter today. There was no sneaking up on the Imperial Doctor. She’d tried a few times, but he always knew when she was coming. He heard everything. Knew everything. Anticipated everything.
If she were trying to sneak into The Cliff, his fortress, she’d take out the guards on the roof and climb down the mineshaft into his workshop. She was almost certain she was the only one small enough and acrobatic enough to accomplish it, but she didn’t try. Today she was fulfilling a contract. She carried Donovan through the giant double doors and dragged him through the workshop.
The Doctor was leaning over one of his tables. From behind he almost looked normal, but Anastasia knew his deformities well. She saw them in every nightmare. He turned around and his copper jaw glinted in the light. According to him, his lower jaw had been removed due to an infection, a complication from being tortured as a child. Every finger on the doctor’s hand was a different length, some were missing entirely. One arm vibrated sporadically, as if a current constantly ran through it. His lower jaw lifted and she thought he might be smiling. “You brought him in alive,” the Doctor slurred. “Lester also brought in his contract alive. We get to play a game.”
“The Hyena brought o
ne in alive?” Anastasia tried not to sound too surprised. The Doctor was very partial to his adopted son, and critiques weren’t taken lightly.
“Indeed,” the Doctor said as he turned back to fiddle with something on his desk.
Anastasia could hear snickering toward the window. “I caught him right after breakfast, so I wasn’t hungry.” The Hyena trotted into view. He was grinning ear to ear and his metal veneers were in full view.
Lester, better known as The Hyena, was just over four and a half feet tall and was heavily muscled. Under any kind of clothing, he looked like a child, or a dwarf. Currently he was shirtless, though, and his rock hard frame was visible. His arms were unusually long so when he walked he trotted on all fours. “Hi, Anastasia.” He laughed her name out of his lips.
She smiled and tried not to look queasy. “Hi, Lester.”
The Doctor brushed past them. “Can we get our injections?” Anastasia’s hands were already quivering and she’d been coughing and short of breath for days. She wasn’t used to cutting it this close.
“After we play,” the Doctor hissed.
Anastasia lugged Donovan after the Doctor. Donovan groaned. He was finally awakening. She’d drugged him into sleep with a mixture of some berries and roots that she’d found. She wondered if he’d hallucinate when he woke. She didn’t always get the dosage right.
The Hyena’s target looked familiar. The poor soul was bound to a large rusty hook, and dangling with his feet a few inches off the ground, his arms fully extended. His shirt flapped open, exposing a message written on his chest in blood. To: Dad. Love: Lester. The Hyena loved to entertain himself. The captive must have been drugged; no one could sleep in that position.
The other hook was lowered and they tied Donovan’s hands to it. They hoisted him up so that he hung next to the Hyena’s target. Donovan blinked the sleep from his eyes and started kicking in panic when he saw the Doctor.
