by C S Vass
“Every part of the city belongs to Lord Sylvester Shade,” the Bluecoat returned. “You’d do well to remember that, humanoid.”
“Humanoid is it?” the elf with the sword smirked. “You unduly compliment yourself. You think we want to share any characteristics with you scum.”
“Calm yourselves,” Yaura said. “There’s no need for bloodshed here.” She lifted her blade by its sheath and showed them its thrygta-pommel. “You see this. It means that you don’t want any part of us. Now go home.”
“I’m surprised to see a Shigata siding with the Demon of the South. I guess strange times make for strange bedfellows. No matter, Shigata. If you’re going to waste your talents by helping those bastards, then you can just go with them straight to hell!”
The elves attacked.
Yaura’s body reacted before her mind. The elf with the sword dove clumsily towards her. A fierce sideways blow sent the blade flying from his hands. Yaura was immediately surprised at how weak he was. Looking carefully at his body, the swollen belly and hollow eyes, she blinked and lowered her sword.
“For Lord Shade!”
A blade suddenly erupted through the elf’s stomach. With a cry he fell to the ground dead before his body hit the stone. Dark blood pooled underneath him in the gutter.
“Stop!” Yaura commanded. “What are you doing? Are you men or beasts to hack down starving folk?”
Whatever authority Yaura had commanded at the start of the evening had evaporated. The Bluecoats fell among the elves like wolves. It was cold slaughter. In less than thirty seconds the entire thing was over. Blood mixed with sewage in the gutter and glowed hauntingly by the light of the stars.
“The area is secure!” one of the Bluecoats yelled triumphantly. “Good work, soldiers. And you, Lady Yaura. A very impressive initial blow.”
Yaura stared at the soldier, hardly able to contemplate what had just happened. How could she have allowed herself to fall in line with this? How could she have joined this group of butchers? They weren’t a defensive unit, they were a death squad. What did it matter the elves attacked first? They might as well have been attacked by kittens.
“Excellently done,” the Bluecoat continued. “Now, shall we continue on? I have a feeling that tonight is going to be a good one for us. There’s bound to be plenty more of these humanoid scumbags running through the streets and…”
But Yaura completely lost track of what he was saying. The blood was pounding so furiously in her temples that she thought her head might pop. Hot rage bubbled in the pit of her stomach and surged through every muscle in her body.
The Bluecoat was still speaking as she marched towards him. Grinning like an idiot, he said something to her, but she had no idea what. All that she could see was the look on the elf’s face as he died. It was such a peaceful, satisfied look. The look of someone who had searched for death and finally found it. It reminded her of the look Godwin’s wore, back when he had fought Murtough.
Her fist smashed into the Bluecoat’s face like a sledgehammer smashing into tree bark.
Blood exploded from his nose as he stumbled back. She had punched it so hard that it was almost completely sideways. Stumbling back, he cried out as his blood-soaked hands tried to stop the bleeding. Yaura did not see the looks of surprised terror on the faces of the other stunned Bluecoats as they watched her strike him again, knocking him to the ground. She did not see the helpless fear in their eyes as she kicked him furiously in the ribs, groin, and head, each blow viciously breaking clusters of blood vessels. Nor did she see them turn and run back to Shade’s castle as she continued to attack like a crazed animal, pounding him over and over again long after his head had turned into an unrecognizable horror.
Yaura floated down towards the waterfront. Her mind was strangely serene. She had been so wrapped up in what decisions to make, and suddenly some beastly instinct had arisen from deep within and decided for her. There would certainly be no going back to Sylvester Shade’s castle after that episode. It was probably for the best. And even if it wasn’t, there was nothing to be done about it now.
Still, the episode frightened her. Yaura had seen Godwin go into those trancelike bouts of rage. She had always watched them with disdain. They were the actions of an animal, not a warrior. Such base brutality was beneath a member of the Shigata.
When Yaura reached the water she placed her hands in it and washed off the filth that she had soiled them with. So what, she suddenly decided, if I beat him to death? He was a dumb brute. A killer. A tool. Now he’s a broken tool. Why should I feel a thing for him? He certainly didn’t care for any of those elves he butchered. The bastards looked like they hadn’t eaten in days. But that didn’t stop him from removing their heads.
Crouching by herself, Yaura watched the stars swirl in the darkness. Despite what she thought, there was no denying the uncertainty and anxiety that she felt. She tried to let her mind drift away as she gazed upwards. The ever-increasing rate of movement in the heavens was growing faster still. Suddenly, a bright green star fell above two others that shimmered like diamonds. Below them, another line fell into place. Transfixed, Yaura continued to watch them shift until the Mage had formed.
An abrupt chill took the Shigata. She had just realized that she hadn’t witnessed a fully formed constellation since Unduyo was taken and the Serpent revealed itself. Would the Mage herald a night of equal misfortune?
“Leave the waters, child,” a croaking voice said from behind her.
Turning, Yaura saw something so frightening that she almost drew her blade. It was halfway from its sheath when she realized she was mistaken. She thought that it was Ashaela before her, but it was just another old woman with a similar build who also wore a cloak.
The woman’s silver eyes flashed from underneath her hood. “The Mage reveals himself. Would you like a reading?”
Feeling foolish, Yaura swallowed. “What kind of information will your reading reveal?”
“That we cannot know until it is underway. But the Mage kissed me at my birth. I don’t know how long he will sit in the heavens. It’s not an opportunity to pass lightly.”
“And how much is it going to cost me?” Yaura asked suspiciously.
The old woman laughed, a sound that reminded Yaura like a croaking toad. “If you’re so concerned about coin, then we can wave the price. It is a blasphemy to deny the power of the Mage when it has revealed itself.”
Without saying anything else, the old woman turned and walked below an open air undercroft where she had established a small stand with a crystal ball below a bridge dripping with slime. Feeling unsure of herself, Yaura followed the old woman and stood before her.
“Very well, grandmother,” she said, doing her best to ignore the smell of filth that surrounded them. “You can read me. What do you need me to do?”
“Stay very silent,” the old woman said. She peered into Yaura’s eyes with fierce intensity. The Shigata felt as if she stood before a great fire. Sweat pooled on her neck and fell down her back. Heaviness crept into her eyes, pulling her lids down as she struggled to keep them open. A sudden memory of the Tarsurian Empire flashed across her mind. Mountains and snowy fields. The coast of Tjeri Province. A farmhouse with a blood-splattered door. Cautiously, she pushed it open.
“What are you doing!” Yaura snapped, forcing herself back to consciousness as she leapt back from the old witch.
“No more than you asked, child,” the woman croaked. “If I’m to tell you what you want to know, then I must search every passage in the labyrinth of your mind.”
“Leave me be,” Yaura snapped. The Shigata was unnerved by how afraid she felt. She tried to hide her shaking hands determined not to let this witch get the best of her.
“You cannot hide from what’s inside that door,” the witch rasped. “But I see that it’s pointless to try to make you see that.”
Something deep inside of Yaura’s body seemed to give. She wanted to fight back. To say something. To scream. But the weight was
too great. She had no words. Her tongue felt swollen and her mouth was dry. It was that hellish city. She needed to get out of Valencia. It was going to consume her if she stayed. Just like Tjeri Province would have.
Am I losing it? Yaura wondered. I’m a Shigata. Why am I being rattled by a mere witch? I’ve faced much worse.
Anger and shame coiled inside her until she felt like she was going to burst. She ran back into the streets that she was supposed to have reclaimed in the name of Sylvester Shade. Sylvester Shade could claim them himself. There could be no going back. She had to find Faela and Tzuri-kai. She owed them that much. She would gather them up and head back to Black Wolf. They could come with her or go wherever they might. It made no difference as long as they were away from this hellish city.
Once Yaura had calmed down enough to properly take stock of her surroundings, the Mage was no longer in the sky. Feeling strangely lightheaded, she realized that there would be not be leaving Valencia before dawn. She would have to find somewhere to sleep. That would be no easy task in a neighborhood that had just had a minor rebellion.
Passing under the shadow of an arched bridge, she saw an old elf in tattered rags sleeping in the gutter. Approaching him, she tossed him a silver coin. “Father, is there anywhere safe I could find to lay my head tonight?”
The old elf looked at her with widened eyes. “Safe?” He asked as if it were first time he had ever heard the word. “Not quite safe, no. The red ghost haunts every street corner. But so do the Bluecoats. It depends which scares you more.”
Yaura sighed. “I care not about anything but a roof over my head. Is there anywhere like that I could go in the Skullgardens? An inn? A friendly house?”
“Hmm. No inns. No friendly houses. Too many strangers bring death. Death with the sword. Death with the red ghost.”
Yaura was about to thank him anyway and leave when he raised a gnarled finger and pointed it down the road. “The Temple of Ice and Shadow. Go there. They will take you. But I would not do it. I would beware the red ghost. Better to sleep on the road. Bluecoats kill fast. The red ghost kills slow.”
Frowning, Yaura thanked the elf. A temple was not her first choice, but then again she was not exactly in a situation to be turning away charity. She walked down the road as the wind hummed lightly at her back.
Chapter 10
Grey weather and grey moods combined as Benjiko, Brett, and Logun passed beyond the carefully guarded gates of Frost. Fortunately for them, Logun’s Shigata thrygta was enough to convince the guards to let them through so that Benjiko wouldn’t have to identify himself. They entered the city in mid-morning with empty stomachs and black dispositions. Their supplies had not stretched as long as they had expected, and the last few days of their journey they had nothing to eat but a few handfuls of winter berries.
“Tell me that Jeri Dantos is known for hospitality,” Brett said. “Especially when it comes to the dinner table.”
Benjiko’s own stomach not only rumbled with the pangs of hunger but also was still sore from the wound he received from Ashanimara’s werewolf. The cuts had healed cleanly and left behind no trace of the infected green flesh that would signal he was at risk for lycanthropy contraction, but that didn’t mean his muscles didn’t ache and burn with every step he took.
“Jeri Dantos will be more than hospitable when we reach him,” Benjiko said. “But we dare not approach his castle openly. We don’t know who may have pursued us, or what spies are waiting in Frost.” Just then, the prince’s own stomach rumbled loudly. “Still, food is what we need, and we have the coin to pay for it. Let’s find a place to rest and consider our next step.”
As the trio moved through the streets of Frost, Benjiko was struck by how normal the city seemed. Given the events in Iryllium and what he had heard about the rest of the West, he would have assumed every city would be in a state near to lockdown. But walking down the snowy streets of the South Shield’s city, it was just an ordinary day. Children ran through marketplaces lined with merchants selling wares, guards bearing the West’s silver paw strolled lazily down the roads, and women walked arm-in-arm throughout the city with smiles on their faces.
“I see the demons of the Southlands have yet to make their way here,” Brett said.
“Then there’s little point for a Shigata to be in the city,” Logun grumbled.
“You’re far more than just a Shigata now, Logun,” Benjiko told him. “Now come on. From the tone of your voices one might think that you’re disappointed that we’re not likely to encounter any demons.”
“So long as you have coin to pay for a meal, it’s all the same to me,” Logun responded.
They continued on down the orderly streets making their way to the center of the city. Benjiko, fearful that he might be recognized since his run-in with the Ashanimara cultists, had pulled his hair back into a tight bun at the base of his neck and hid his face below a low-hanging blue hood. In the winter months, it was far from suspicious attire, and when he looked carefully at the surrounding faces, nobody seemed to give him a second glance.
“Here,” Logun said at last as they approached a longhouse with an oversized tankard of frothing ale hanging above the doorway as an emblem. Several red-cheeked patrons lounged on the deck outside while the glass windows shook from the music of trumpets and balalaikas blasting within.
“A bit loud, isn’t it?” Brett asked.
“I’m sorry,” Logun grunted. “Should we go have a picnic on the castle doorstep where anyone can hear what we might have to say?”
Brett began to say something back when Benjiko raised his hand. The prince was dead-tired of hearing them squabble like school girls. “Enough,” he said in a commanding voice. “I have no desire to hear you two argue. No more talking until there’s hot food in front of us.”
Inside the tavern the group found themselves seated fireside in plush lounge chairs shuffled off into a comfortable corner of the room. To Benjiko’s surprise, nobody seemed to care about Logun’s heavy armor or intimidating war hammer. The people of Frost seemed to be in a merry world of their own making, without the slightest suspicion or fear.
With coin to spare, Benjiko paid for a feast. They ate venison steaks smothered with meat gravy, fresh trout stuffed with garlic and onions, and blackberries dipped in cream and bursting with juices. When that was all done they ordered a jug of wine, and then another, slowly slipping into the hedonistic pleasure that Frost had to offer after so many uncomfortable days and unbearable nights in the wilderness.
It wasn’t long before Brett and Logun had each slipped into a semi-consciousness, resting happily with smiles on their faces. They deserve it, Benjiko thought as he watched his two guards. I owe them both so much for what they’ve done already. And there is so much more that they will be asked to do before it is all over.
“I suppose the great Lord Dantos will have an answer for that as well,” a shrieking voice said from behind. Immediately straining his ears, Benjiko listened to what was being said.
“He’s just young,” an older, gruffer voice replied. “Look at his father, the clown. Is it any wonder that our young lord wants to prove himself? Give him time. The Hand will set him right before long if his own advisors don’t.”
The Hand? Mind racing, Benjiko realized that the man must be referring to the Golden Hand, the elite group of bankers that ran the Hall of Copper which was located in Frost.
“Advisors,” the younger voice scoffed. “From what I’ve heard, Jeri Dantos only has one advisor. And it’s not matters of state he opines on, but things closer to the affairs of home.”
“Careful now,” the elder replied. “You stray close to scandal and hearsay. I’ve heard the same as you about Jeri Dantos and Arjun, but that filth is not to be repeated unless you have some definitive proof.”
“Definitive proof, you say,” the younger said. Benjiko found himself twisting his own neck trying to hear them without his head rising over the back of his chair. “Come on now, Garrow, I kn
ow that you’re not as naïve as all that. Enough respectable folk have said—”
But what respectable folk said Benjiko did not hear. Another wave of music erupted from the center of the room and washed away any hope he had of hearing what these men were talking about.
Benjiko waited impatiently for the song to end. He didn’t want to make a mountain out of mouse-droppings. Nicolai made sure that he was aware of the kind of rumors commoners liked to swap at beer-halls and elsewhere. He knew very well that as prince, every kind of deplorable slander imaginable would be uttered about him sooner or later. The Lord of Frost Jeri Dantos would be used to it too. But all the same, Jeri was a good friend and an extremely important ally. He could not pretend the subject at hand was of no interest.
Sipping on his wine, Benjiko again strained his ears as the music receded and the performers took another break. The two men behind him were still speaking.
“What do you think will happen?” the younger man asked.
Silence.
“I don’t know,” the elder said. “I suppose it’s up to them. I wouldn’t envy the man. That much I can tell you.”
“If it’s even true,” the younger said.
“If it’s even true,” the elder agreed. “But who can deny their suspicions? Matilda is his senior by nearly twenty years. What kind of man would agree to take that into his bed?”
Matilda? Benjiko wondered. What in Gaellos are they talking about? Are they still going on about Jeri, or are they talking about something else entirely?
“Ah well,” the younger said with a laugh. “Let the lady have her fun. A spry young lover and a view of Frost from the highest seat possible. Perhaps it will work out well for our cradle-robber.”
“I’m inclined to think so,” the elder said. “Married to Lord Dantos. A father like the one she has. You’d be a fool not to see who’s really running this city.”
Married? Benjiko almost spit out his wine. He had heard nothing of Jeri Dantos being engaged, let alone married. Were the men confused or drunk? Such an arrangement would surely need permission from the crown. Unless… had his father kept that a secret too? No. It didn’t make sense. He would have heard somehow or another.
