by Mark August
“If you bring your vengeance to the city, you will not bring Liane back to life. Even your powers cannot return the dead.”
“They imprisoned me, Sholeh.”
“I do not see how killing more people changes that.”
“They took everything.”
She could be right. The noble families would look for him, and the resources they could commit were staggering.
But the events of the prison couldn’t go unanswered. Wasted lives. Magi Cormac, Liane, and the prisoners suffered because of the callous rule of distant nobility. These people weren’t pawns in their plans. He wouldn’t bow to their power again.
“Not everything.” Sholeh’s eyes were downcast as her hands fidgeted with the loops on her belt. Unlike Magi Cormac or even his sister, Sholeh chose to fight with him. Maybe for him. Kincaid longed to scoop her into his arms and feel her warmth pressed against his chest. He stayed motionless.
“You don’t have to do this with me, Sholeh.”
“The last time you took up a quest on your own, you embarrassed yourself with a sword. Let you fight alone? I do not think so.”
“Then we’ll take the fight to them. I will get my revenge.”
Magic hovered at the edge of Kincaid’s conscious mind. Not even a thought, and his soul would pulse with power. The upcoming fight would be unfair to anyone who opposed him.
“You said you would deliver justice. Are you seeking revenge or justice? It is not the same, Kincaid.”
Kincaid needed to get into action before the city could muster its resources. Patience was slipping, and the nuances between revenge and justice were trivial.
“It is to me.”
“By all that is holy, Kincaid, it is not the same. Fight because you have no other choice. Justice is for those who remain. Revenge is for yourself. And you’ll die alone.”
“By your logic, does the City Council fight for revenge or justice?”
“They fight because they are afraid. Of you.”
Kincaid paced the room. Sholeh’s quarters were double the size of his prison cell, and he still felt trapped. He had this one chance to make a difference. Kincaid could change this city. He stopped and faced Sholeh.
“Then what should I do?”
“Decide, my friend. You must decide why you will fight. Nothing is more important than this decision before you start your war.”
“I want revenge.”
“You will be a corpse before the day is over. I will not help you pursue your death.”
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
Sholeh surged to her feet and stepped up to him. Their noses were inches apart. Her brown eyes squinted with her anger.
“You did. You came to me and put my life at risk.”
Kincaid couldn’t find a retort. She was right. He had something left to lose, and she was standing in front of him. This blacksmith was ready to turn away from her life and take up his crusade to the gates of the underworld. He couldn’t throw it away.
“Do you think we should head to the mainland and away from this fight, Sholeh?”
Sholeh leaned backward and rested her weight on her heels. Her eyes relaxed as she reached out to hold his hands.
“I did not say that. I know we will leave this city, but the escape will not be easy.”
“We can blunt the Council’s power and distract them. But we may not survive.”
“Then do not fight the Council.”
“The houses. One of them used my sister against me, and that sorceratti had orders to kill her. If they feel the cost of their decision, we can create an opportunity to escape.”
“Our plan is no longer revenge.” Sholeh’s tone wasn’t a question. She wanted to confirm a fact.
“Do you think we can find out who did the ordering and execution?”
“Guards like to drink, and drink makes guards talk. We can find out which was responsible.”
“Sholeh, we can change the city’s balance of power. What if we gave workers and merchants a chance to escape the clutches of power? Create their own destiny.”
Sholeh’s smile was the confirmation his heart needed. Revenge wasn’t enough to carry him through this fight. They could hit hard, make an impact, and escape.
“I will help you with this.”
He wouldn’t be fighting alone.
“We can hit them where it hurts. But I don’t want to take on their main forces.”
“Money.”
Kincaid nodded his approval.
“I think we can come up with a way to make them regret their choices. We can threaten the source of their power.”
“We will become instruments of change.”
“We should get something to eat and plot our path.”
As Sholeh put on her cloak to get some food, Kincaid embraced the sparks of confidence she inspired in him.
Sixty-Nine
Kincaid - Nights of Terror
Nights of Terror. Kincaid loved the name.
Sholeh slipped out every night to gather intelligence for their attacks on the noble houses. A direct confrontation wouldn’t work, so the pair conceived a plan to assault the families where they would hurt the most. Finances.
Each house held a monopoly on key industries within the city, and each family jealously protected these rights. Merchants and masters knew their allegiance lay with the sponsoring household. As a result, merchant districts for specific goods sprung up near the noble patrons.
Finding the houses with dead sorceratti became easier each night. Noble families couldn’t suppress the news. Kincaid and Sholeh then worked on plans to attack the affected houses.
Their plans weren’t perfect, and both shared the same doubts. If they went after the financial stability of specific industries, the people of the city could suffer. Masters and students would be pinched. Kincaid had spent enough time with Master Barnet’s books to know the weaknesses in finances. He imagined the results would be the same for most artisans and businesses in Caesea.
His plan counted on the right amount of pressure.
House Ortner owned the fabric and clothing sector. They relied on demand for exotic materials from across the realms to create their profits. Going after the finished goods would assault the Ortner finances. If they paid the commissions to the shops, Kincaid reasoned the noble houses would cover the losses with the moneylenders.
The warehouse was a three-story stone and wood structure looming over the docks on a separate island from Atros territory. Where the Atros’ paid for elegant fronts and elaborate art in their district, the Ortners kept a functional port for the efficient movement of fine goods.
Cranes hung against the night sky in a manmade forest of machinery and wealth. The incoming tide slapped against the pier’s pylons, and the brine in the air mixed with the open sewers of the dock area. Gulls floated against the lapping waves as they settled in for the evening.
Kincaid and Sholeh waited to see if a city watch would make a patrol past their position. The damp air rolling off the bay encouraged warm cloaks to push back the chill. In the dark and wearing heavy clothes, the pair would not be recognizable.
“Are you sure about this, Kincaid?” Each breath turned to a fog of cold vapor. Frost would paint the city soon.
“In and out before the guard can mount an investigation. We can hurt them.”
“How hard do you think they will hit back?”
“We can leave.”
“Is that what you wish to do?”
“No. Change has to start somewhere. How about right here.”
Kincaid peered out of the lengthening shadows. No movement near the warehouse. He strained his hearing for the scrape of leather or the pattern of marching boots. Silence.
The young magi summoned a trickle of power. His heart slammed with each beat even before the surge of power ignited his soul. He pushed his senses to their limit and hunted for the glow of nearby magic. The area around the warehouse was empty of life.
Squeezing Sh
oleh’s hand, Kincaid stumbled from the shadows. The pair moved with arms around each other’s waist as the last part of their disguise. They meandered to the corner of the warehouse and leaned against the wall. No shouts or running footsteps confronted their pause.
Sholeh moved toward the door and examined the padlock securing the front entry. As they rehearsed, the young blacksmith took her hardened steel chisel and placed it at the lock shaft. Kincaid moved closer as she raised her hammer up and swung. Sparks flew from the contact, and the mainland heard the clash of metal on metal.
She muttered something under her breath. The first blow wasn’t enough to shatter the lock.
Arcane power pushed against his tight control. A flick of magic would be enough to melt the lock or burn the chain. But then the chance of discovery grew, and they may not have enough time to finish their task.
The second blow rang from contact and then followed with a metal thud as the lock blasted apart.
Kincaid was in motion, releasing the chain. The front door was designed to facilitate cargo movement near the docks. Two halves of the door hung on tracks to slide open. Each door was wide enough for a single cart to pass, and the height was enough for a mountain of goods to be pulled in or out. They only needed a crack for their slight forms to slip inside.
The Ortners organized the warehouse with precision and efficiency. Steel rails hung along the ceiling and allowed pulley systems to move along the rows of boxes and goods. Stacks stood over ten feet tall, and they stenciled each box with contents and destination.
The gathered goods stole their breath. With this much wealth, how could they hope to fight a single ruling house?
Committed to their course of action, Kincaid and Sholeh split to each side of the main corridor. Kincaid found an open box waiting for inventory. His fingers ran across the watery surface of the clothing material folded within. The expensive cloth swooshed as it shifted under his probing touch.
Kincaid let the magic flow to his hands and ignited his fingertips. The material pulled away from the growing heat and shrunk in response. Holes appeared, but Kincaid needed more power to turn the melting mess into a sustainable fire.
Behind him, Sholeh used her hammer and chisel with efficiency. Three cracks and a pull, and the first box spilled its contents to the floor. Her footsteps moved her down the aisle.
Kincaid added heat to his fingertips until the flickers changed color from red to blue. Orange flames licked the material and spread with an aching hunger. Acrid smoke burned his lungs as he stepped away. The fire attacked the wood of the restraining boxes.
As he turned toward the damaged boxes and piles of clothes Sholeh left in her wake, he caught her gaze on him. The flickering light was enough to dance across her pupils. His heart fell as he wondered if she would ever get used to his power.
He started another fire with his touch on Sholeh’s side of the aisle. These clothes were different. Fine cotton burst into flames with the hint of his glowing hands. He used pieces of the smashed boxes to create torches for them. With the fires started, they didn’t need to use magic.
Kincaid offered one of the flaming brands to Sholeh and matched it with a reassuring smile.
“We should set a few more fires to keep the family from putting this one out.”
She accepted and thrust the light over her head. Her eyes roamed the warehouse’s expanse. With her hammer clutched in her fist, she gestured at the boxes, walked down the aisle several steps, and kept her eyes moving from side to side.
“What do you think it is worth?”
“Enough to hurt.”
They started another pair of fires with their torches.
“You two, stay right where you are.”
The heat flung the smoke to the towering ceiling, and the flickering bonfires of their arson cast wild shadows around the room. Kincaid tracked the voice to the gloom in front of them.
“We need to alert the fire watch. Hurry.” Kincaid needed to know how many opponents were in the warehouse.
“Don’t move, or we will fire.”
“By all that is holy, please help us. The flames…”
A steel bolt resting in the wooden groove of a crossbow emerged from the smoke and shadows. A man protected by a mail shirt stood with the weapon at the ready position. At this range, Kincaid doubted the man could miss.
Kincaid changed the grip on his blackwood cane to hold it like a sword. He raised his hands in surrender and took a step away from the guard.
“Put the cane down.”
“Please, sir. The flames—”
The guard applied pressure to the wooden trigger. Not a jerk on the release, but a simple squeeze. The catch groaned against the steel string as the pressure longed for release. The wooden limbs groaned as the steel string slammed forward. The bolt scraped across the wooden groove as it launched into the air.
Life moved in fractions of moments as Kincaid’s mind captured each nuance of the crossbow firing. He couldn’t miss at this range.
The blackwood cane snapped with magical power. Kincaid willed his legs into motion and turned his chest away from the whispering death. The bolt skittered down the hallway in a trail of sparks as the steel head hit the floor.
The man looked down at his crossbow in disbelief. He dropped the end to the floor in a trained motion and slid his foot into the steel stirrup designed for reloading. Fingers gripped the string and pulled.
Trained, but foolish. At five paces, Kincaid could have run up and kicked the weapon out of his hands before he loaded the next bolt.
His mind was already in motion. Magic surged through his arms as he drew in the heat from the flames. Pointing with his cane, he released a bolt of fire like the blast of a cannon. Metal melted at its touch, and the man’s chest disappeared from the arcane fury. The cooked pieces of flesh collapsed to the floor.
Kincaid was stunned at his instinctive response. With a thought, he ended the man’s life.
Metal slammed against metal, shattering his introspection. Sholeh was fighting another guard.
Kincaid sprinted toward the sound. Heavy breaths and grunting blows fought in the smoke. One was Sholeh.
Her hammers left a wake of heavy steel. A solid blow would end the fight, but her opponent was skilled and patient. The guard deflected the dangerous blows with a flick of the blade. The experienced warrior patiently waited for an opening in her hail of blows. Finding a hole, the blade snapped forward.
The clothes on her pants tore, her cloak flapped, and her step stumbled. The blade came back for the finishing blow.
Two lives in his hands. He’d take one of them.
The guard slipped her offhand onto the pommel of the blade as Kincaid reached forward with his blackwood cane. The guard shifted to bring the sword down in an overhand chop. Boxes collapsed from ten feet up and became lethal projectiles on the would-be executioner.
Magic raged in Kincaid’s soul as he slammed the heavy boxes around the woman while protecting the fallen Sholeh from the smallest splinter.
Blood oozed from underneath the pile of boxes.
Kincaid slipped his arm around Sholeh’s waist and helped her to her feet. Blood stained her pant leg with dark wetness dripping below her knee. He grabbed nearby clothing and made a makeshift bandage to stem the flow of blood from the gash.
“Thank you, Kincaid.”
“You’re welcome. We need to end our night.”
“Please?”
“Your wish is my command.”
The flames lit the interior of the warehouse as shouts mounted with signs of fire. With a small bubble of magic, Kincaid kept the air around them clear. No one noticed the couple stumbling away from the warehouse.
Seventy
Attius - Weakness
“I recommend the institution of emergency powers.”
The range of reactions from the Council members varied from resignation, fear, and hatred. All carried the fatigue of late-night war councils and strategy sessions. The attacks h
it close to home, and casualties mounted. With a firm hand, Attius knew he could drive unity on his proposal.
The Duchess spoke with a low and solemn voice. She hadn’t finished the funeral arrangements for her daughter. “I’m sure you feel this is an important Council item, Lord Atros, but—”
“You know he’s right, Duchess,” Zonara said. “We’ve lost the initiative against this wizard.”
“We must consider this event in the warehouse is not related to the wizard,” Taurus said.
“Even I have to agree with Atros on this one. The fires are magical.” Enna would be ready for action and revenge as her brother was among the sorceratti casualties.
“I’m not sure I can believe this.” It would take a smoldering corpse for Taurus to believe a wizard assaulted their finances.
Attius slid backward in his seat and let the conversation play out.
“Should I bring the body in for your inspection? Something cut him in half. Fires don’t do that,” Gordio said. He would join the fight.
“But that could happen in a battle against a skilled blademaster, and the fires could’ve finished the job.”
“The Council should assume the wizard is waging a vendetta against us,” Enna said. Her reluctance throughout the Council deliberations made Attius uncomfortable. Diplomacy between their houses was adversarial on most issues, and they’d been silent on the proposal to go to emergency powers until now.
“How can you be so sure that it was the wizard?” the Duchess asked.
“Because I interviewed the survivor.” Lady Enna looked at her hands as they rested on the table.
The Duchess reached for the gavel to regain control of the conversation. Rumbles of outrage and whispered disbelief echoed from the uncaring walls.
“Enna, you haven’t said a word. How can this be true?” Gordio asked.
“There is a survivor. One who is loyal to my house was patrolling the streets with the city guard. She survived the attack.” Enna’s voice hovered above a whisper.
