The Fractured Heartstone

by Ian Thornburrow-Dobson

  “Fair enough. Tell me.”

  “You surmised correctly; I did work with another but they failed to meet their obligations. I will not tell you their name but…” the prisoner paused, gazing intently at the door for a moment as if an intruder were lurking at the lock. He motioned for Ydari to step closer. The Captain obliged his request before he too approached closer to the bars, his lips mere centimetres from Ydari as his voice dropped into a whisper. “The man you seek has a dagger I gave to him. Look for a blade with a hilt in the shape of a dragon. That was my co-conspirator.”

  “Thank you,” Ydari said simply. The Captain nodded to the prisoner and stepped back from the bars.

  “For what?” the prisoner asked knowingly as he retook his perch and turned to stare off into the dark recesses of his cell once more.

  Without another word Ydari turned and walked back toward the door and shoved it open. Vedile was stood next to the Sergeant and the two of them were yelling intently at one another. As Ydari drew near, the Sergeant threw up a hand and thrust it into Vedile’s face rudely, whose features turned a bright crimson as he turned his back on the approaching Captain. His officer ignored his presence as he stepped up to Ydari, looking hopeful.

  “Did you get anything useful from him?” the Sergeant asked.

  “Nothing of any use,” Ydari responded simply. The Sergeant’s face fell and he shook his head sadly. “I’ll take my leave now Sergeant. There’s nothing else for me here.”

  “I hope the hunt goes better for you,” the Sergeant said.

  “As do I.” Ydari nodded once, acknowledging the Sergeant’s sentiment as he turned to leave. Behind him the Captain was aware of the lingering presence of the loathsome Vedile and the putrid smell that followed. Ydari controlled his breathing to avoid having to inhale the scent as he began to make his way out of the dungeons. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” he snapped irritably at Vedile.

  “Why don’t you run back to that whore Queen?” Vedile guffawed maliciously, followed by the accompanying laughter of his gang.

  Anger roiled its head in an instant and instinct took over as the Watch Captain wheeled on the spot and his fist smashed into the repugnant creature’s cranium. The blow sent Vedile reeling to the floor with a dull thud but the contemptible man rocketed to his feet in an instant; his face a snarl. Hollering hoarsely, he lunged at his nemesis. Ydari side-stepped the clumsy attack before another fist smashed into Vedile’s solar plexus. Vedile dropped to one knee as a torrent of agony spread across his gut and he breathed deeply for a few moments. As he regained his composure, a hand went to the small sheath fastened to his belt, rising to his feet with a scream of defiance.

  By now the ruckus had roused the attention of the Guards and quickly the two men were thronged by a circle of them. One of the more enterprising stepped in to break up the fight but he was clasped by the Sergeant and pulled back, content to merely watch the outcome of the impromptu brawl. Vedile had extracted a small dagger and he pointed it at Ydari threateningly, all the while snorting like a caged animal. Ydari kept his distance and the two of them began circling one another slowly. They maintained this rhythm for a few seconds as both men tried to anticipate what the other might do and be in a position to counter it. Vedile was the first to lose patience and he stepped in swiftly as he thrust and slashed wildly. The Watch Captain weaved about the man’s feral assault, the blade whistling through the air as time and again he was able to avoid the undisciplined assault.

  Vedile stepped in again with a renewed frenzy but Ydari side-stepped effortlessly and his clenched fist surged upwards, viciously smacking his adversary square in the jaw. Vedile’s head swept backwards violently and a line of spittle was involuntarily spat on the floor as the creature clattered to the ground. The dagger fell from his grip and Ydari looked at it briefly. He hid his surprise expertly as he noticed the weapon’s design. It consisted of a thin blade while the hilt was a coiled serpent whose outstretched wings formed the guard. Vedile scrabbled to reach a vertical base once more, now more incensed than ever. Ydari took a single step before blasting a boot into the man’s face. A sickening crunch could be heard as Vedile slumped back and remained motionless whilst a thin line of crimson dribbled from his impacted nose. His eyes rolled back in his skull and the fight immediately left his body as he lay supine in defeat.

  Ydari eyed the dagger once more and then stepped away from the man. The rabble that had formed around them began to disperse as two of the guards reached down to help the fallen Vedile back to his feet, one of them retrieving the weapon. They struggled back to the table and hoisted the defeated man onto the stool where he came back to his senses and started howling. The Sergeant stepped up to Ydari and clapped him on the shoulder in congratulations; hiding a beaming grin as he did so. The Watch Captain returned the smile and returned to the door that would take him up to the entrance hall. Ydari had won the fight but he now knew he hadn’t yet finished with Vedile.

  ***

  The day began crisp and clear with the sun beating its warmth onto the gloomy city below. The spires of the Plateau District glinted in the early morning light and it resembled a forest of spears jutting into the sky sat atop monolithic towers of black basalt. At the centre of this sat the Dragon’s Roost, the ancient name for the seat of the Akanthiri throne. It was a large and brooding structure that had been erected from the ruins of a nearby extinct volcano and had given birth to the darkest building in the city. The contrast of a picture-perfect sky against this backdrop was stark, as if the storm clouds were somehow lingering below the luminescence of the morning sky.

  Adjoining the ancient keep the Temple of the Ancients soared into the heavens, as if in testament to the deities they held sacred. A smaller, almost nondescript, chapel lay overshadowed in the central courtyard that had separated the two enormous constructions. Thick vines twisted over the ancient stonework, giving it a derelict quality. Beyond the confines of the keep the buildings of government ringed a vast square that formed the upper terrace of the city. Those courtiers of money and influence had built their homes as close to this as possible and all had copied the architectural style that had been handed to them from generations before. The entire display lacked imagination and created a sea of black stone that seemed to suck the light out of the sky into this roiling mass of masonry.

  The Plateau District stood on a vast rocky outcrop that soared high above the poorer quarters of the informally named Sand, Blood and Stone Districts. Much of the city’s masons resided in the Stone District while the poorer and more cut-throat denizens dwelled in the Sand and Blood Districts respectfully. The forest of dank wooden hovels clustered together, creating intricate alleyways that twisted and turned and the sheer press of humanity had no choice but to traverse these choking paths to get around. The city walls towered above these dismal buildings and the soldiers of the King could often be seen patrolling. They sometimes looked down at the writhing mass below and some even opted to live in the towers that made up part of the fortifications. Life there seemed infinitely preferable.

  Trelech glowered out as the city swept away before him. He felt a pang of pride as his eyes hovered over the gothic spires. This was going to be his city; Mal Ithir would become his domain and he would sweep aside the dusty and stale rule of his father and create a dynasty of his own. The Prince smiled menacingly to himself, repeating this silent vow to himself. Visions of the future he would create for himself flickered in his mind’s eye and it was beautiful. Far beneath the arrogant Prince the activity of the morning was beginning in earnest as the servants emerged from their cocoons of poverty and set about their daily chores. Harassing them brought great entertainment and it was one of the few activities that he enjoyed sharing with his brothers. Their collective misery was music to the Princes of Akanthir.

  The Prince’s thoughts turned to the oaf Zyffhal and the words that he’d uttered. Just the thought of him incensed Trelech and he struck the ledge with his fists irritably as the ma
n’s words seared into his subconscious brain. It had been several days since that encounter but the man’s smug expression had Trelech fired up. Despite the hatred that coursed through him, Trelech also knew that he had to have the man on his side, at least for a time, if his own burning ambitions were ever going to come to fruition. Mutedly, he shrugged and turned his thoughts away from the poisonous memory and roused himself for the day ahead.

  Trelech worked his way toward the door and descended the winding staircase to the halls below. As he drifted between the various chambers, he could make out snatches of idle conversation. They were mostly of matters that he had little concern for but through the din he could make out the thunderous voice of his eldest brother, Tuirech. The twisted laughter of his other sibling, Barlech, rumbled over the tumult. Trelech decided quickly, ducking under an archway and hurrying to another part of the keep, not wishing to encounter them at this particular moment. He wormed his way through the servants until he entered the expansive kitchens. A large open fire crackled merrily against the far wall and the other three were lined with long shelves, filled to bursting with all manner of food from every corner of Efealtor.

  The King’s favourite chef bumbled away with the morning food preparations. She was a small woman who was twisted and misshapen. She had drooped shoulders and one arm was gnarled but she still had full use of the limb. Despite her unseemly appearance she was the best cook in Mal Ithir and had been a permanent fixture in the kitchen for generations. Wisps of grey hair clung determinedly to her head and she collected moles by the score. Her demeanour suited her environs; her wit being matched by an equally lashing tongue and a glower that could frighten the life out of even the most stalwart sovereign. Unlike the other servants that worked in the keep she had been given total authority over her domain and she ruled with an iron fist. The King had even given her the power to scold the young princes if their mischief found its way into her little kingdom. Trelech had forgotten the number of lashings this woman had handed out to himself and his brothers.

  “What are you doing here?” the woman asked, her biting tone sending a chill up Trelech’s spine. “Haven’t you got anywhere else to be?” Her tortured features contorted into a grimace as she surveyed Trelech’s countenance.

  “Shut your face Telvia. I’ll go wherever I please, old crone!” Trelech exclaimed.

  “As imaginative as always,” Telvia drawled through a cracked smile. “If you want breakfast you’ll have to come back later.”

  “Shut it woman, I’m not here for your swill,” Trelech spat venomously. He bared his teeth at her as if that would somehow intimidate her. The blank look he received caused a spasm of anger to well to the surface and he huffed past the chef. “You can take that look off your face too!”

  “If you are hungry, I could give you a little cheese with that whine,” Telvia quipped.

  Trelech ignored the woman’s joke as he slid past her. She paid him no heed as he looked about the kitchen, glancing here and there at the pots and bowls that lay strewn about the place in what resembled organised chaos. In the centre of the room sat a large work table which took up the majority of the space. Trelech spied what he was after; his brother’s favourite dish on the corner of the table. He turned his back to the chef as she continued her business and pulled a vial from a pocket inside his tunic. He held it up for a brief moment and a small amount of clear liquid swished about as he turned it this way and that. The old woman almost bumped into him and she grumbled in irritation after Trelech refused to move out of her way. He hid the vial in his hand as she moved past and he thought he could feel the accusing eyes of Telvia probing into his soul.

  Telvia elbowed the young Prince out of her way and the two of them delicately danced around one another for a few moments. Her hands were a blur as they transferred ingredients from one container to another before she began whisking something else entirely. Trelech couldn’t help but be impressed, but he always was whenever he watched her work. The minutes dragged by and Telvia remained focussed on her work, completely ignoring the Prince's presence as he hovered over her, uncertainly. Eventually she returned to the other end of the table and worked on some other errant task. Trelech stepped up to the bowl he knew was being prepared for his brother and eyed it suspiciously. In one smooth motion he extracted the vial and uncorked the stopper. His hand hovered a moment as another servant entered.

  Telvia turned and began conversing idly with the newcomer. Trelech seized his moment and emptied the contents of the vial into the bowl before concealing the evidence of his misdeeds in his tunic. Telvia was still chatting away with the servant girl as Trelech cockily picked a fleshy green apple off the counter and raised it to his mouth. Telvia’s attention immediately turned to him and she tried to grab the fruit from his grasp but the young man backed away and, before she could make another reach for it, crunched into the sweet flesh with a noisy bite. The cook slapped him in the ribs and Trelech staggered backwards a step before he flashed her a grin with half-eaten apple clinging to his teeth.

  “Don’t you have anywhere else to be?” Telvia asked. “I can do without you skulking about here all day. Go and be a pain in someone else’s neck,” she barked at him.

  “If I did that, I’d miss your bright and smiling face,” Trelech joked humourlessly.

  “Your tone has changed,” the cook observed.

  “I think the day is looking much better already,” Trelech replied mysteriously. The blank expression he got in return was enough of a response. The machinations of his plan swirled in his cranium as he walked with a cocky swagger to the corridor. He bowed mockingly at the aged woman. “We’ll just have to see what the day brings,” Trelech finished. He turned on his heel and nonchalantly went about his day, nervous anticipation building up within him.

  ***

  Ydari’s head was spinning as he walked through the bustling streets of Maleardhus. He had only gone a few yards from the White Tower but he instantly felt better. Partly it was due to the information he had been given by the prisoner but, for the most part, it was the ongoing rage he felt toward Vedile. The manmade his skin crawl and the thought that he had played a hand in the attempt caused his stomach to twist in a knot. It was in this state that Ydari found himself when Teobrin joined his commander, falling in beside him wordlessly and wearing that vacant expression that had become his trademark. Ydari was envious of the young man sometimes. The world must have looked a lot simpler from his standpoint.

  The two men walked along for a moment as Ydari flipped the events of the last few hours over and over again in his mind. It was a guess as to how to proceed but he knew he had to act quickly. Even someone with such a lack of imagination as Vedile knew better than to think Ydari had only come for a quick visit to the dungeon. His interrogation of the prisoner along with the fight would scream a warning to him and he had to be watched carefully. Teobrin remained cheerfully ignorant as he walked, uncharacteristically content to walk in silence instead of his usual inane running commentary on the world around him. He was always fascinated about the smallest details, even if he didn’t understand a word of the answers he was given.

  After another ten minutes of walking back toward the Watch House, Ydari’s initial expectations had been met as the silence between the two men almost begged to be filled. Teobrin had been more than happy to do just this. The one-sided conversation ranged from the different types of birds Teobrin had seen about the city that day to the extremely helpful beggar that had told him of a recent crime wave, and then, inexplicably, he had misplaced his coin pouch somewhere. In the midst of this Ydari had, for the briefest of moments, considered Teobrin to keep an eye on Vedile but his recounting of the beggar mishap drove that idea from his mind. Teobrin was loyal and dependable but far from one of the great intellects of the age.

  The two men rounded a corner and, in the distance, Ydari spied the familiar armour that all the city watchman wore. Even from this range the Watch Captain could tell who wore the armour and he s
ilently thanked the deities once more as it immediately gave him an answer to his more pressing problem. He raised a finger to his lips to signal silence, the gesture finally ceasing Teobrin’s verbal cascade. He signalled for the young man to follow him and he almost skipped in excitement as the two of them approached the figure Ydari had glimpsed. As they got closer Ydari could see his suspicions were now proven correct.

  In front of them another Watchman was going about her business; chatting idly with one of the many stall owners that lined this particular street. She was half a foot shorter than Teobrin and she had long flowing jet-black hair. She possessed an angular nose underneath pools of deep brown eyes and a small mouth that proved to be a pleasing combination to look at. But she was far from just a pretty face. Idrahil was one of the most competent officers under his command and would often take charge of the night shift when required, which was often. Alongside this she was a brilliant fighter, possessing great skill in both hand to hand and armed combat. She had taught half the watch how to use a sword to great effect, her skill even surpassing that of Ydari himself. The young woman stood proudly in her armour, every inch of her the consummate professional. She turned her head as the two men approached and instantly recognised Ydari. She saluted smartly and stood to attention.

  “Sir,” Idrahil bellowed. “I was just conducting a patrol along Market Street. Do you have orders for me?” the young woman asked, standing implacably like a statue.

  “Very good Commander. In fact, I do have an assignment for you but it’s something a little different from your usual duties.”

  “Yes sir,” Idrahil replied professionally, though she did raise an eyebrow in curiosity.

  “This way,” Ydari said mysteriously. He motioned for the young woman to walk down the street with him. “Could you resume Idrahil’s patrol for a moment?” Ydari asked, turning back to Teobrin. His answering nod and manic smile was all the affirmation he needed and the two watchmen walked some distance away before Ydari felt comfortable to speak candidly. “I have been given a task that is highly sensitive and I need the best people to act for me.”