Stolen Justice

by Shawn Wickersheim

  chapter 47

  The long, morning hours passed slowly for Lumist as he lay helplessly in bed and stared up at the arched ceiling. Theodora had not returned yet, and he was beginning to worry. There was something about her, something familiar, and it went beyond her appearance. He had never felt so instantly comfortable with a total stranger before, especially a Yordician woman. She must have been a pretty maiden in her teens when she had watched him fight at the coliseum, and if she had rooted for him, she would have been in the brave minority. A smile touched the corners of his mouth as he thought about her watching him fight. It was odd, imagining his past in that way, seeing it through someone else’s eyes.

  But as the slant of the sunlight shifted throughout the room, his smile faded. He hadn’t expected her to be gone for so long. He found himself missing her face, and her joyful presence, and he began to wonder if she had confronted some trouble finding Glavinas’s estate? Had the burly lord not been at home?

  Or, perhaps he had overindulged on alcohol again, and was passed out, unable to answer the door.

  Lumist had tried talking to Glavinas a few months earlier about his drinking problem, but the Yordician lord would not listen.

  “I’ve gone through this myself,” Lumist offered.

  “You were married?” Glavinas snapped, pointing at him with a half-empty bottle of wine. “And your wife died? I’m sorry for your loss, Lumist. Tell me, why was I not invited to either the wedding or the funeral?”

  “I mean, I used to drown myself in alcohol.” Lumist tried to wrestle the bottle away from Glavinas, but the burly lord shoved him away.

  “You?” Glavinas snorted.

  “I don’t drink now, but I used to. A lot. After my throat injury, I started drinking to sleep. A glass or two before bedtime would keep the nightmares from returning, but after a few months, I needed more than a couple.” Lumist paced around his empty dining hall. All the other guests had politely retired for the evening. “And then I started to drink to dull the pain, or to forget what I had lost, or sometimes I drank because I didn’t know what else to do with my life.”

  “I don’t have a problem!” Glavinas roared.

  “That’s what I used to say too. And then Ian intervened and showed me . . .”

  “Ni biswail.” Glavinas threw his arms in the air, sloshing wine over his head. “Don’t bring him into this!”

  “Why not?” Lumist pressed. “He is our friend.”

  Glavinas snorted again. “I don’t need friends like that!” He brought his bottle up to his lips and drank heartily.

  The conversation had spiraled further into drunken madness until Glavinas had finally passed out at the table. Lumist had his servants carry the burly lord upstairs to one of the guestrooms to sleep it off, but when he had checked on him the following morning, he had already left.

  And that was the last time Glavinas had come to his keep for dinner.

  “I told you to meet me at the Prancing Piper at dawn, sir knight.”

  The familiar accented voice pulled Lumist away from his thoughts and he turned to find Kylpin striding toward him. His dark eyes were hooded from lack of sleep and he moved as if he carried a heavy burden across his broad shoulders. Behind him, holding a floppy hat in his hands was Philson. The fat bartender hesitated at the door, his beady eyes blinking rapidly, and then he squeezed through and waddled toward him.

  “I got to the Prancing Piper a few hours early,” Lumist replied. “After being chased down by a group of Gyunwarian-haters.” He pointed at Philson. “And if it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be here at all.”

  Kylpin nodded. “That’s what he told me.”

  Philson’s wide moon-face reddened. “I couldn’t let them do that to you.” He shrugged and shoved his hands deep into his pockets, crumpling his hat in the process. “It just wasn’t . . . uh, uh . . . right.”

  Lumist extended his hand. “Thank you.”

  Philson mumbled something incoherent and briefly shook his hand.

  “Did you find Evie?” Lumist asked.

  Kylpin stood silent for a long moment. Finally, he nodded, and he swiped away some tears.

  “Did Lipscombe . . .”

  “No . . . I mean Lipscombe wasn’t there when I found her . . . but . . . there was a wind mage and . . .” Kylpin swallowed hard. “Evie’s dead.”

  “Oh . . .” Lumist closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Kylpin.”

  Kylpin nodded. “At least I got a chance to tell her how I felt . . .”

  “I’m sure that meant a lot to her . . .”

  Kylpin nodded again. He straightened and cleared his throat and shuffled his feet and took a deep breath. “I also found out more about Lord Ragget.”

  “Me too.”

  The two quickly exchanged stories. Lumist told Kylpin about Ragget’s blackmail of Lord Arbassi and how the Yordician lord was also plotting against Ian’s friend Vincent Donner.

  “I really believe Cuci’s husband and Glavinas’s wife were murdered too,” Lumist added. “And if Ian is . . . removed . . . Vincent Donner loses all of his support.”

  “With Ragget’s ally Captain Straegar waiting in the wings to take over at the Academy,” Kylpin finished. “I wonder what else he’s planning.”

  “Riots probably,” Philson muttered.

  The two turned and looked at the fat bartender.

  “I just . . .” Philson shrugged. “After I dropped you off here, I . . . uh, uh . . . tried to go home. I live in Little Ryerton and hundreds of Yordicians were . . . uh, uh . . . wandering the streets, starting fires and attacking people. Gyunwarian people. I wondered why the wardens and the city patrol weren’t doing much to . . . uh, uh . . . stop them. But now that I’ve heard . . . uh, uh . . . some of the wardens are dirty, well maybe . . .”

  Lumist pointed a finger at Kylpin. “I told you there were Gyunwarian-haters!”

  Kylpin raised a hand and patted the air. “Not so loud, my friend, I don’t think the unconscious man in the next room heard you.”

  Lumist sighed. After all these years of trying to persuade people that such a cult of haters existed and now the proof was out for all to see. He would have been happy if not for the fact that his people were the ones being hurt. And it all came back to Lord Ragget. The pieces were starting to fall into place, but one question stood out. Why had Lord Ragget decided to focus his attention on Ian now?

  What had happened to trigger this series of events?

  Obviously, Ragget hadn’t decided to act on the spur of the moment. The outpost city had been taken almost five months earlier, which meant the ships carrying Ragget’s army had left Belyne in late summer or early fall . . .

  Around the time of Leorna Roth’s death, Lumist thought. And Captain Straegar’s alignment against Ian could not have started until after Sir Vincent Donner’s promotion last summer. Prior to that, Straegar may have hated Gyunwarians in general, but Ian had done nothing to him specifically . . .

  Except marry Princess Cecily and produce a male half-breed heir.

  Lumist had heard the purist argue against Tyran’s ascension to the throne ever since there was a whisper that Cecily’s marriage had been arranged to a foreigner. But with King Henrik now murdered, Tyran was only one step away from wearing the crown.

  But . . . this was nothing new. They had married years ago. Surely, Ragget hadn’t been planning this . . . scheme . . . for nearly fifteen years, could he?

  “Lumist?”

  He looked up. Kylpin was frowning down at him.

  “Are you feeling ill, my friend?”

  “I am sickened by what is being done to Ian,” Lumist replied. “And I can’t wrap my mind around the real reason. I suppose we can’t rule out something as simple as ‘pure hatred’ but I think there must be some other purpose.” He shook his head again. All this thinking was giving him such a headache. “Regardless the reason or reasons, I think we can all agree we must find a way to help Ian.”

  “You will have to find that way qu
ickly,” Theodora said as she joined the group gathered around Lumist’s bed. “Ian’s trial is this afternoon.”

  “So soon?” Lumist couldn’t believe his ears. Trials of this sort never happened so abruptly!

  “Apparently the new king wants this matter resolved immediately.”

  Lumist shook his head. The cynical, suspicious side of him wondered if the new king could be involved in this mess too. At the bell tower last night, it had been the king’s decision to reveal Ian’s name, not Sir Merriday’s. As much as he hated to admit it, Merriday had tried to do the decent thing. The king, he had to have known riots would break out!

  “What did Glavinas say?” Lumist asked. “Will he help?”

  “He claims he will.”

  “You don’t seem convinced.”

  She glanced at the other people around his bed. “I don’t know if I . . .”

  “Forgive my ill manners,” Lumist quickly introduced everyone. “You can speak freely in front of my friends.”

  Theodora nodded. “As I said, he claims he will help Ian, but there was something not right with him.”

  “He has been drinking a lot.”

  “No,” Theodora interjected, “it goes beyond drunkenness. When I first met him,” she shuddered, “I saw true madness in his eyes.” She looked down at her hands, and then shot Lumist a quick glance. “And then he told me the contents of your vault were found within Ian’s.”

  Lumist felt his breath catch in his throat. “That’s not possible!”

  Kylpin shook his head vehemently. “No. I don’t believe it. Ian could not be the burglar.” He thrust his hands deep into his pockets and paced around Lumist’s bed. “It must be more of Ragget’s trickery! It must!”

  Lumist nodded slowly. “I agree with Kylpin. Ian would never steal from us. He would never steal from anyone.”

  “This must be Ragget’s doing!” Kylpin said. “Somehow . . .”

  Lumist watched as the Seneician grew angrier with each passing moment, and he couldn’t blame him either. He was feeling a similar rage building inside, a pure rage he hadn’t felt for years. It was the kind of rage that stirred the blood and drove a man forward into action. In his youth, he had learned to harness that rage, to keep it boiling beneath the surface, so his mind still functioned.

  He struggled to find that control again.

  “We need to break him out of prison and take him and Tyran to Gyunwar,” Kylpin declared. “You and I both know he won’t get a fair trial. Ragget is already attempting to prejudice the panel. It’s the only way we can save them both.”

  Lumist stared up at Kylpin. He was probably right. Even if Glavinas had found a way to stop Ragget, Ian’s reputation was ruined. Some Gyunwarian-hater would eventually kill him once he was free; doing what he believed the courts had failed to do.

  And besides, how fair could the trial be? The new king, Edmund, would be the presiding judge.

  “You’re right,” Lumist agreed. “But, no one has to my knowledge ever escaped from the royal dungeons before.”

  “Do you think that is something the crown would divulge?”

  “No, but . . .”

  “And besides,” Kylpin smiled grimly. “No one has ever had our help, my friend! We’ll think of something.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know how much help I can be,” Lumist admitted. “But I’ll do whatever I can.”

  “Madam Healer,” an old woman dressed in robes shuffled up to Theodora’s side. “There are some men downstairs asking to see you.”

  “Men? What men?”

  The old woman struggled to catch her breath. “Royal wardens, Madam Healer. They are asking about you and Sir Lumist Tunney and another fellah by the name of Kylpin Caleachey.”

  “Izabella listen to me,” Theodora spoke rapidly. “Go back downstairs and show the men up. But stall, walk slowly, limp if you must. Give me a few minutes of time, understand?”

  Izabella nodded and shuffled away.

  “How do the wardens know we’re here, my friend?” Kylpin asked.

  Lumist shook his head in disgust. “Glavinas is the only other person who knows I’m here. He’s betrayed us! Dammit, that drunkard has betrayed us all!”

  chapter 48

  By late morning, Lipscombe had given up on confirming his final orders with Lord Ragget. If his damn useless wind mage couldn’t pass on such a simple request, then piss on them both. He had loaded the stone-treated Islanders, the frozen hybrids, the Soul-Receptacle, his seven whores and the extra virgins were chained securely in his cabin. All that with a malfunctioning sea crane too. It was obvious the gods-damned crown didn’t give a flea-bitten rat’s ass about replacing old equipment on the south docks, but their lack of consideration had cost him a last-minute screwing of Evie. She’d get to keep her fuck-hole after all. He snickered. Not that it would do her much good. The bitch was chained to the third-floor room and no one knew she was there.

  Eventually, someone would get a smelly surprise.

  Lipscombe scratched his crotch, rubbed his half ear and spat over the side of the ship. He wouldn’t have minded seeing that Hewes bitch one last time too before leaving port. She was by far the best-looking hole he’d ever bore into and he would’ve loved to’ve kept her chained up in his cabin too. At least the items he’d pilfered from her keep had fetched a hefty coin. Six bottles of fine whiskey were stashed in his cabin now thanks to her. Hell, he figured someday their paths would cross again . . .

  “All right, ye miserable bastards,” Lipscombe shouted to his men, “let’s get this bitch on her way.”

  A flurry of activity swelled around him as lines were cast off and the light air sails were raised. The heavier working sails would be used once they were past the lighthouse at the tip of the southern peninsula and away from the harbor. Though she sat a bit low in the water, Sharkbait glided smoothly away from the pier. Lipscombe stood at the stern railing and bid the royal city of Belyne goodbye with his usual salute. He turned around, dropped his trousers, bent over and slapped his naked ass.

  “Right there, Belyne, ye rusty old bitch,” Lipscombe sneered. “Ye can kiss it, right there . . .”

  Something sharp stung him right there on his ass!

  Lipscombe jerked upright and glanced over his shoulder. There was a fucking bolt lodged in his bony ass cheek!

  “Josephine!” He spat the name like a curse.

  He whirled around. Where the fuck was that tall, long-legged bitch? Another bolt whipped past his face so close he thought it left a scratch. His gaze raked the docks. Searching, searching! There she was, standing on a carriage bench with her damn crossbow, dressed like . . . dressed like a gods-damned royal warden . . .? What the fuck . . .?

  A bolt slammed into the top railing next to his hand. Seconds later another shattered a crossbeam beneath the railing. A third skipped across the deck between his boots. A fourth thudded into the hull just below the deck. A fifth a little lower. A sixth lower still.

  Lipscombe laughed. “I ain’t in range no more, ye bitch!”

  Josephine raised her crossbow and fired twice more. Lipscombe watched the bolts arc through the sky. The first struck the hull just above the waterline. The second plunged harmlessly into the water behind them.

  “Don’t cry!” Lipscombe shouted back to her. “Ye got me good in th’ ass. I’ll return th’ favor when I see ye next time.”

  Son of a fucking whore that bolt hurt!

  He limped over to the stairs. “Jabin! Where is tha’ drunken mudder? Jabin!”

  A red-nosed old sot lurched out of the shadows and staggered over to the bottom of the stairs. “Aye . . . Cap?”

  Lipscombe pointed to the bolt. “Get this damn thing out my ass ‘nd plug th’ hole!” Lipscombe considered his words. “Plug THIS hole . . . not th’ other one . . . ‘nd with yer gods-damned magic not yer cock!”

  It took Jabin a couple of tries to climb the steps, but once he got his hands warmed up, his previous training kicked in. He slurred a few wo
rds, grabbed the bolt and gave it a mighty tug.

  “Ye fuckin’ cocksucker!” Lipscombe howled.

  Jabin muttered a few more words and slapped his hand against the bloody hole. Lipscombe smelled rotting vegetation and moments later, vomit.

  Lipscombe glanced over his shoulder. A black plug patched his ass and his mudder was leaning over the rail puking.

  “Do tha’ down on yer own deck!” Lipscombe snarled.

  Green-faced, Jabin lurched toward the stairs. Lipscombe watched him go, and then with a snarl of disgust, he went to help him. The drunken mudder’d probably spill head-over-heals and break his fucking neck.

  His ass was screaming at him as he half-dragged, half-carried the man down the stairs. “Mister Townsand, see th’ mudder to his cabin ‘nd join me on th’ quarterdeck.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Lipscombe grimaced as he limped back up the stairs. A truly good mudder would’ve been able to take the pain away too, but Jabin was not that good. At least this time he’d plugged the right hole.

  A bolt slammed into the deck a few feet in front of him.

  “What th’ fuck . . .?”

  Lipscombe rushed to the railing. Behind them, Belyne was slipping away, growing smaller with every passing moment. There was no fucking way Josephine could . . .

  A line of bolts plunked into the quarterdeck and steadily made their way back toward him. Lipscombe dove to one side.

  The bitch was on the peninsula road!

  Sure enough, Lipscombe crawled over to the starboard railing and found Josephine’s carriage careening wildly along the high road connecting the city to the lighthouse. A young man was driving while the damn stubborn bitch crouched on the carriage’s roof, one hand holding a rope, the other her damn crossbow. Every time the road veered toward the harbor, Josephine would stand and unleash hell.

  “Bowmen t’ th’ starboard side!” Lipscombe cried.

  His command was echoed to the men below and soon thirty sailors lined the rail. He pointed toward the woman high overhead. “Fire at will!” he screamed.

  Volley after volley of black arrows soared from ship to shore. The first was wildly off target, the second drew closer, and the third started hitting home. Lipscombe laughed as he watched the driver bail leaving Josephine alone atop the out-of-control carriage less than half a mile from the lighthouse. Lipscombe knew that road. Before it reached the lighthouse, it swung to the left and hugged the cliff’s edge before veering sharply to the right again.