Gloomwalker

by Alex Lang

  The Whisperer. Kyris had been obsessed with gaining access to the famed broker of secrets ever since he’d learned of this person’s existence. “Yes, and I’m afraid she has yet to lay the final twist,” Jahna responded.

  “So what happens now?” Tasi asked

  “I meet with him tonight.” Kyris had turned to face them. “In the Halcyon district. That’s the Old City.”

  “What better way to disarm you than to let the watch do it for him?” Jahna offered.

  Kyris walked up and knelt next to her. “I can always escape if he tries anything. I’m rather elusive when I need to be.”

  Jahna could hear his smile. “Yes, if you call going from one dangerous situation into an even more dangerous situation escaping.”

  He chuckled and stood. “You have a point.” Kyris’ steps headed back to the middle of the room. “Caldir thinks he has the upper hand, that I have to go to him for protection, but if the keepers and the watch haven’t found me by now for my past… transgressions, I doubt adding two more highborn to the tally will change anything. I’ll meet with him because of what he can do for me, not the other way around. So, instead of Marlek, I’ll answer to Caldir. If he is as well-connected as I hope, I’ll soon be able to get what we need. If not, then I’ll earn more tals. Either way, not a bad outcome.”

  Jahna hated when Kyris got cocky, something that was happening more and more of late.

  “Come, let’s gather our things, and see what the Old City has in ways of accommodations.”

  Chapter Six

  Caldir saw to business affairs, both legitimate and otherwise, throughout the day. He visited two warehouses and a tavern he’d owned. He also met with other lieutenants within his organization, though unlike Marlek, they were not childhood friends but true subordinates who required a certain level of scrutiny.

  Nearing dusk, he and Ellse, his bodyguard and shadow, made their way to Evenfall district, where the pleasure houses and drinking halls lined every narrow street. Music echoed off the buildings, and though fifth bell had yet to toll, many had already started their revelry.

  Caldir came upon their destination, an unremarkable three-story building of wood and plaster identical to its fellows on either side. The only thing of note was the worn sign that hung over the entrance. The Garden of Bliss, it read, in faded yellow, flowery script, and to ensure the theme was utilized to its fullest, a large variety of floral embellishments had been painted along the border.

  Caldir and Ellse entered the dimly lit interior and, as always, the first inhale of musky perfume made his nose ache. He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust, then surveyed the large, furnished sitting room.

  Several women and men in various states of undress took note of their entrance. Like curious birds they tracked the pair’s progress across the room. Although, most eyes were on Ellse.

  Those that had worked at the Garden long enough recognized them and went back to their lounging and waiting. One girl, most likely new, decided to make her move, but the madam of the house approached and drove the girl away with a glare.

  “Ahh, Caldir, welcome, welcome.” Madam Krota, a plump woman in her fifties, greeted him.

  They exchanged the usual pleasantries before she informed him that Lahli was ready and waiting in her usual room.

  Caldir climbed the carpeted stairs to the second floor with Ellse trailing. Lahli’s room was the last one down a long hall.

  He knocked, and at a female voice’s prompting, entered.

  The girl’s face lit up at seeing him, or perhaps more accurately, the box of sweets he held in his hand. He had stopped off at a confectionery before arriving.

  Lahli was an attractive young woman of similar age to Ellse, in her budding twenties. She had on undergarments and sat in front of a mirror, brushing her long, brown hair. The room was small, consisting of a bed, a dressing table, and a cabinet in the corner.

  “Well, if it isn’t my favorite client. A second visit, so soon after the last?”

  Caldir gave a genial smile and a small shrug to convey he had little choice in the matter. He held out the box.

  She squealed in delight, taking the offering. Her eyes landed on Ellse. “Hey, sow.”

  “Hag,” Ellse replied.

  The two women broke into grins and embraced.

  Caldir moved towards the cabinet, and Lahli called out, “Here, let me do that. It’s my job, after all.”

  She opened the cabinet, pushed aside her clothing, and pulled on a hook. A panel opened in the back, revealing stairs leading down. Her task complete, Lahli sat on the bed with Ellse, the two of them looking over the frosted treats.

  Caldir climbed through the hidden panel. The wooden stairs descended well past the first floor of the brothel, down into the earth. At the bottom, he entered a stone hallway, the width of which was barely wider than his shoulders, towards a light some fifty feet down.

  Caldir emerged out of the hallway into a circular domed chamber, perhaps ten paces in circumference. It was a junction for intersecting tunnels, paths of the Undercity, which now served as the latest audience chamber for the woman he’d come to see. The space was made more intimate by its decor of woven rugs and tasseled pillows arranged in mounds all around the room. Lanterns and censers hung by chains attached to the ceiling, and the air was heavy with the smell of incense.

  Sylmae sat upon a mound of pillows, which in turn sat on a raised dais. She wore her usual attire—her own version of the hooded Rumathilan seer robes, but instead of the simple gray, they were gilded with intricate designs like the glyphs upon relics, although Caldir had never had the opportunity to study hers up close.

  There was one other person within the chamber; Kelv, the ever-present and ever-silent, whom Caldir assumed was Sylmae’s bodyguard. He stood in the back, face wrapped in dark fabric.

  Besides the hallway Caldir had emerged from, there were three other tunnels. The one behind Sylmae, covered with a curtain,Caldir believed was her entrance, though he had never seen her arriving or leaving. She was always here waiting when he arrived.

  The other two tunnels flanked what he considered his own. Where did those lead? To more brothels, or some other businesses? Maybe a private residence.

  He knew she had others like him, pupils, if he was feeling kind towards himself. It was how she operated, how she combated the seers, and how she ensured only one piece of any given scheme could be jeopardized.

  Perhaps there was an agent for each tunnel, or perhaps a lot more… Could Lahli be gatekeeper to a dozen such agents as himself? He felt a pang of jealousy and almost chuckled out loud at the foolishness.

  Caldir knelt on the pillows across the way from the dais. Over her face, attached from the hood, draped a veil of thin gold coins that clinked together like chimes whenever she moved, which was seldom. This woman was his ally and mentor, without whom he would not have realized his true purpose, and yet he had never seen her face.

  A necessary precaution, given their enemies- Sylmae's own sisters within the Order of Seers. He often wondered if she was an outcast or if she still walked the halls of Rumathil temples, playing the devoted diviner.

  Caldir bow his head in acknowledgment. “Greetings, Sylmae.”

  “Greetings, Caldir. Apologies for calling you back so soon, but I have some unfortunate news. I’m afraid circumstances have changed. The gathered warriors will not be needed.”

  Caldir took a moment to contain both his surprise and irritation before speaking. A small band of Za’Tani fighters were hiding in the desolate hills north of the ruins of Tesra. In peril of discovery from Imperium patrols, they waited on instructions as to their objective. “They risked much to gather, on my word alone.” He wanted to ask why, to what purpose but instead said, “They may not do so again.” It had taken a lot of trust and good will for Caldir to convince Kulo to commit his warriors to this task without knowing all the details. They owed him much, but even that debt had its limits.

  “I understand,” Sylmae
said without further explanation, as was her way.

  “What went wrong? Perhaps if I told them what was planned, it would alleviate some resentment.”

  “Even the best laid plans still suffer the whims of the gods.”

  Caldir sniffed, for that was no true answer, and because he knew full well what they both thought of the gods, old and new. “I sincerely hope the gods have not taken an interest in our affairs.” He sighed, in no real mood to jest. “Sylmae, I understand the need for separation. But…”

  Sylmae titled her head, causing the coin veil to jingle, and he thought he might have seen a glimpse of a smile. “Caldir, you know it is not a matter of trust but rather one of prudence.”

  She was right, of course. Caldir operated the same with his own organization. With the seers, it didn’t take disloyalty to betray. Though, it irked him to know that he was just a cog.

  “We have been at this a long time,” she said. “Keeping secrets has become as innate as breathing.” She tilted her head up, as if gazing through the ceiling. “It’s necessary, for we scheme beneath their very feet. But perhaps, you are also right. For this task, what is done is done. Next time, I will attempt to be more inclusive.”

  “Thank you, Sylmae. You honor me. I will send word immediately for the men to disband and depart.”

  They talked a bit more of other matters, of the few escapees from the quarries smuggled out and the continued difficulties of obtaining relics.

  After their meeting was concluded, Caldir emerged from the staircase to the laughing of Ellse and Lahli, and an empty box.

  The two young women hugged again and said their goodbyes. On their way out, Lahli called, “Do visit again soon.”

  Chapter Seven

  Kyris had time before his meeting, and so he wandered the districts that straddled the Ryles. At present, he strolled through a market of colorful tents set up on the west end of Forger’s Bridge. The stock of the merchants here was food, a wide array, from fried sweet dough to hearty root stews to skewered meats cooked over charcoal. The aroma of the last compelled him to purchase three sticks. Kyris had thought to get ahead of the crowd. The vendors would soon be doing a brisk business as fifth bell would ring soon, signifying the end of the day’s labor for most.

  He found a spot overlooking the river and ate his meal, watching the flow of water, people, and commerce.

  Four months in the city, and though he’d grown comfortable navigating the streets, at times the sights and sounds still awed him, especially during the bustle of day. There were just so many people of so many varieties. He had seen more shades of skin, hair, and fabric than he’d known possible. It seemed every day his eyes feasted upon something new. Before arriving in Vigil, Kyris had understood conceptually that the Tesrin Imperium was an empire that spanned all the known world, but here, watching the myriad of its populace stream pass, it was clearly illustrated. It was a marvel, he decided.

  Did all these people come to Vigil to live under the protection of Allithor’s Light? Or was this merely a parade of the conquered, he wondered wryly.

  Tearing the last piece of meat off the last skewer, he headed towards Forger’s gate, one of the seven large, public gates set within the massive series of walls known collectively as Casrinndar’s Wall. This portion of the Wall sat not far from the west banks of the Ryles and towered nearly fifteen stories, by Kyris’ estimation. People streamed through the open gate, coming and going, and after a moment of gazing up at the imposing structure, he joined them.

  A gate guardsman, one of many that regulated the flow of traffic, gave him a quick appraisal, then waved him through without a word. Kyris was wearing the clothing he’d had on earlier in the day, and though a bit shabby, there were no laws prohibiting his entry, unlike at the gates further up the bluff. The guardsmen were mainly there to ensure that none carried a long blade or other prohibited weapons into the Old City.

  As he entered the high and wide tunnel passageway, he counted his steps out of curiosity. His awkward stride drew some dark stares from passersby, no doubt assuming him a bumpkin from the Imperium’s outer regions, which he was. It had been four months since they’d arrived in Vigil from Yond, and though Kyris had traversed much while working for Marlek, it still amounted to only a fraction of the sprawling city, and most of it on the other side of the river. Early on, prior to Marlek, he had gone up the Bluff a few times. He’d gone to the highborn districts, scouting, searching, and eventually infiltrating the keeper’s archives for the information he needed. That hadn’t gone well, hence his current plan.

  Twenty-four paces and he was through that portion of the Wall. Some said the largest wall in all the world. He noted with interest that the Forger’s gate was thinner by a few paces than that of the Mender’s, which he had passed through earlier in the day with his sisters.

  In an act of uncharacteristic indulgence, Kyris had gotten them lodgings in an affluent Old City district north of Halcyon. He’d wanted to treat his sisters to some fine food and comfortable beds for once. It wasn’t that he was a miser by nature, he reasoned, but all excess funds needed to be saved for his eventual meeting with the Whisperer. If half of what he’d been told was true, the services of the famed seller of secrets didn’t come within leagues of being cheap. And that was only half the difficulty. The only way to gain an audience with the Whisperer was to be vouched for and introduced by a current client, said to be only the most powerful and influential within the criminal underground. Kyris had high hopes that Caldir would be such an individual, or could lead him to one.

  He emerged into a circular plaza, at the center of which was an arrangement of bronze life-sized statues of smiths in various stages of labor; forging, hammering, and grinding. One statue stood out from the rest, as the smith had no shaping tools. Instead, only a hand was held over a rough shape, the beginning of a sword. A certain respect and distance was given to the bronze laborers by all passersby, but none gave them a second glance, and Kyris didn’t want to stand out by gawking. He wasn’t comfortable being in the Old City, especially during the day. He half-expected to be seized for the thoughts he harbored in his head.

  The Halcyon district didn’t appear that much different from its counterpart district on the other side of the Ryles, except for the increased presence of the watch.

  Fifth bell rang throughout the city. The first clang had issued farther up the hill, but a split instant later, all the other bell-towers had joined in.

  There were three enclosed carriages halted at the far side of the plaza. A pair of yaras, the special breed of black and brown-striped horses of the highborn, larger and said to be smarter than their mundane cousins, pulled the lead carriage. Kyris wouldn’t know from experience as he kept away from horses of all sorts whenever possible. He didn’t like them, nor they him. He spotted a green flag on the last carriage and approached.

  “I’m here to see Caldir,” he said to the coachman sitting up top. “My name is Kyris,” he added as the man looked at him.

  After a long pause, the coachman said, “Right, get in then.”

  Kyris opened the door, climbed in, and settled on the cushioned seat as the carriage began to move. They hadn’t gone half a street, and he was still inspecting the interior when the carriage stopped, a door opened, and Caldir entered.

  “Ah, Kyris. I do appreciate punctuality. Welcome.”

  The carriage shifted somewhat with the addition of Caldir, but Kyris thought he felt something behind him, as though someone else had climbed on the rear.

  Caldir thumped the ceiling with his cane and they lurched forward. He then drew the curtains on the doors, dropping the coach into darkness.

  Kyris’ hand dropped near his knife.

  A moment later, a light blossomed.

  His eyes adjusted and saw that the handle on Caldir’s cane had flipped opened, revealing a small quartz torch within.

  “Ah, have you seen one of these new marvels?” Caldir asked.

  “Yes, I have encountered
a few before,” he said, keeping the smirk from his face. Given how many LordRhistell had on his estate, Caldir had far to go if he thought to impress with that small stone.

  “Now then, down to the matter at hand. Do you know why you are here?” Caldir asked.

  Kyris gave the man a blank stare, wondering what game he was playing at. “You asked me to come, earlier this morning. I'm to answer to you now,” Kyris said, unable to keep a note of impatience from his voice.

  “Yes. You are no longer part of Marlek’s segment of the organization. You are now under my… supervision. But do you know why?

  Kyris shook his head. Of course, he had some ideas but did not want to reveal anything if he didn’t have to.

  “Well, there are a few reasons. I will share one of them with you now. You, Kyris of Yond, are in my debt.”

  “How so?” Kyris asked, furrowing his brow in confusion.

  “You killed an Imperium lord and a windstrider of the Auric Order. The Curunirs, though not the most well-respected house within the Sartis merchant league, are nevertheless very wealthy, which means very powerful. This kind of thing has repercussions. Ripples that spread out, drawing unwanted attention. If I had not been visiting Marlek this exact morning, had I not been present when he received word of your complications, Marlek could have had you chained and delivered to the Curunir estates as an appeasement. Alternatively, he could have simply made you disappear and hope no one could trace the murders back to him. I think he would have gone with the latter. And can you blame him?”

  Kyris understood, but he still couldn’t help taking it personally. He was rather fond of Marlek, despite the man’s gruff manner, and he’d thought the feeling mutual. Business was business, he supposed. “So, I'm here because…” Kyris started, prompting Caldir to explain further.