Gloomwalker

by Alex Lang

  A spy-hatch slid open, and after a set of eyes had inspected them, quickly closed. Bolts were pulled, latches unfastened, and the metal doors swung in.

  Two guardsmen, armored in chain and armed with swords and crossbows, stood on each side, their heads bowed. The group proceeded in without another glance at the two sentries. The interior was the same as the tunnel before, except all was lit by quartz wall-lamps, one of which blinked out as they passed.

  Velledon stopped and removed the torch from the sconce, inspecting the now inert crystal. He handed it to Gilvys. “Make sure to get this replaced… and check the other torches.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  “Now, what has been uncovered thus far?” Velledon resumed down the corridor.

  “According to the outcast from our initial questioning, there was a single infiltrator whose goal, apparently, was to free the Marland subject. However, once within, he was persuaded to free the rest.”

  “Just the Marlander?” Velledon asked.

  “Yes, my lord. Brogan was clear on this matter.”

  “Why would anyone go through all this for a slave? Was this a Marland subject acquired from the quarries?”

  There was a slight hesitation. “No, my lord. The subject came from Urkenol. A man by the name of…” Gilvys glanced down at the ledger he had in his hand, “Grunul.”

  “Why was he there?”

  Looking at his ledger again, Gilvys said, “He was imprisoned for assaulting a city watchman and for possessing contraband relics.”

  “A Marlander with relics? How very unusual. Find out all you can of this Grunul.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  Velledon gestured for Gilvys to continue. “And we are certain it was just the one intruder? He had no help from the inside?”

  “That is all that was witnessed and what we have gathered from our initial questioning, my lord.”

  “Bring in seers to question our guards. We must ensure that our security has not been compromised from the inside. And since we have involved them, now would be a good time to test out Seer Lyra’s project.”

  Gilvys made a note in his ledger. “Yes, my lord. I will make all the arrangements.”

  “What of you, Rexam?” Velledon asked of the Boneclad. “Do you have anything else to report?”

  “It was as Gilvys told it,” Rexam answered in his deep flat voice.

  The man was fully clad in steel, as always. Velledon had never seen him otherwise. From what he’d been told, the process of removing the armor was a long and arduous one. He imagined it would be like a beetle discarding its hard-shelled exterior.

  Rexam was a zealot, a member of a fanatical order of Loddan and Ormossan warriors called the Host of the Divine Flesh and Bone, but referred to as the Boneclad by most. The sect believed an ancient variant of the Path, in that Tesra was not only the divine city of their origin but also a god. And Loddsteel was the bones of the god. All the Tesrini godbloods had their part to play; the flesh, eyes, breath, soul, and blood. And there lay the crux of the matter, the blood. How does one account for the betrayal of one’s own blood? This belief was supposedly quite wide-spread in the early days of the empire, and among those keen to, the topic was still hotly debated. It was just that to Velledon, meaningless theological debates.

  Rexam again had his helmet in hand. Velledon had ordered that he stay bare-headed for their meetings, for he found it disconcerting always addressing an austere helm rather than a face. Though, there were times he regretted the command, as he considered the visage beneath far more severe.

  “I was in the scriptorium and came out to investigate when I heard the bells,” Rexam continued. “I saw the three prisoners engaged with the guards. The Kalaan tried to run when he saw me approach, and a guardsman ran him through. I confronted and dispatched the bullcor.”

  “Yes, did you have to kill him?” Velledon asked. “We were just starting to make progress with it.”

  “My apologies. The beast was dangerous. He did not intend on being captured again, or so he declared. I did not think we could subdue him without further loss of lives.”

  Guardsmen were plentiful, Velledon thought, but another bullcor for their experiments was not, especially with the archon’s new restrictions.

  “Ah, here we are,” Gilvys said, gesturing to a bar-covered opening that looked down upon a lowered chamber. Within the chamber, set against the far wall, were five beds, little more than wooden frames. Two of the beds were occupied, and a gray-robed man stood off to the side.

  “As you can see, the bodies are placed upon the table,” Gilvys continued.

  A man and a woman, draped with wool blankets, were each laid out on a table. At a gesture from Gilvys, the robed man within the chamber pulled the blankets aside, revealing the bare bodies underneath. The man lay on his back, and across his chest and torso were rows upon rows of finely branded runes and symbols. The woman had the same but on her back. Their bodies appeared emaciated, but the robed man used leather straps to secure their withered arms and legs.

  “Such minor restraints?” Rexam asked.

  “What is wrong with their limbs?” Velledon asked at the same time.

  “Ah.” Gilvys brightened. “To your question Lord Rexam, even those are not required. The special concoctions brewed by our alchemist keep the, umm, boarders docile and pliable. They are in a perpetual state of lethargy, both mentally and physically. They are given the brew twice daily along with their meals.”

  Lord Rexam’s expression was neutral, unreadable.

  Gilvys continued, eager for praise. “As to your question, Lord Velledon, as an added security precaution I had the facility menders weaken their limbs. Atrophy the muscle, as it were. I daresay, even without the restraints and potion, our guests would scarcely be able to stand.”

  “And their overall health is unaffected?” Velledon questioned.

  “Absolutely not. The mender sees to that during their weekly administerings.”

  Velledon rewarded the man with a small nod of approval.

  “I had hoped, with your permission, my lord, to bring this up in the next meeting. To implement this as standard procedure.”

  “Very well, Gilvys. It is clever, although I fear the proposal will be be overshadowed by recent setbacks.”

  “Ah, yes. Of course,” Gilvys said. “If your lordships will follow me this way, I can show you the rest of the facility.”

  As they moved on, Velledon continued their earlier conversation. “Other than the outcast Allithoran and the two killed, the rest escaped?”

  “The other subjects, the Marlander and the Nollite, were witnessed to have escaped along with the infiltrator. There was no sign of the other beastkin, the rat, but his cell was opened like the rest.”

  Velledon sighed heavily. “If the archon finds out we were responsible for setting loose a beast in the city…”

  “I would imagine the beastkin would be long gone by now,” Gilvys said. “Even if he was found, perhaps he would be thought as an escapee from the recent campaign.”

  “Yes, except for the runes we have branded upon it and the disk of relic-ore implanted beneath its skin. Imbecile.”

  Gilvys bowed his head, chastised.

  “If it is found, we need to be informed immediately before someone who might know better discovers. Now, I do have one other concern. I find the timing of this attack to be highly suspect given your recent difficulties, Gilvys.”

  Gilvys’s face paled. “My lord, I assure you, that was a simple robbery. I swear, all of my journals and ledgers were destroyed in the river. All of Hawker’s Bridge can attest to that.”

  “Yes, well, this assault comes at a precarious time. It will shake the resolve of some amongst the board. They will fear this to be the work of my father, but I can assure you it was not.”

  “Does the archon suspect?” Gilvys asked.

  Velledon gave the question some thought. The halting of the shipments, the soon-to-be implemented oversigh
t by the Path, was all that a ruse? “No. The archon is not so subtle. If he knew how far we have gone… The Vigilant would have battered down the gates and we all would be at the bottom of the Ryles right now.” Velledon stopped walking and turned to the two men. “If we are to avoid a schism within the board, we need answers and a resolution to this matter. Who did this? Who are our enemies? How did they know about the test subjects? Do they seek the secret to the process? And… what about the vault?”

  “Untouched, my lord,” Gilvys answered. “Should I have the contents moved?”

  “No, they need to be accounted for when the Path auditor arrives. But have the current supply of the ingots moved here, quietly. In the meantime, Lord Rexam, increase security. Pull whatever resources you need. Between Lord Deligrix and myself, we will make sure the board understands. Increase the guards’ presence at all facilities.”

  “I will see to it,” Rexam answered.

  “Is the factory badly damaged?” Velledon asked.

  “No, my lord. I have laborers on site, and the damage is being repaired as we speak.”

  “Good. All must appear in order for the Path. Now, Gilvys, let us continue with the tour.”

  Breaking from established practice, Caldir had requested a meeting with Sylmae and now walked the narrow tunnels to her audience chamber.

  Since agreeing to the arrangement with Kyris, even before the first task had been completed, Caldir had begun the search for the inquisitor, thinking the process might take some time. And he was not wrong. So far, none of his resources and connections had proved fruitful. It was as though the man had disappeared. And it wasn’t just Kathmor; others within the Path were unaccounted for, as well.

  If time were not an issue, Caldir was certain he could solve this mystery. But Kyris, the marvel that he was, had made short work of the first two tasks. Caldir had considered delaying the last task, but he was certain it was a transient opportunity.

  If he couldn’t discover Kathmor’s location, he would have to pass the lad off to the Whisperer, which would prove difficult since, to the best of his knowledge, no such person existed. A myth of the criminal underworld.

  Caldir’s only option was to entreat Sylmae for the information, or else he’d risk losing Kyris.

  He needed to keep Kyris close. What he had hoped would be another potential recruit had proved to be something much more. The lad could be invaluable to the cause, but not yet. Caldir had sensed the intensity, could see the obsession within Kyris, and knew there was no point in broaching any other subject until his desire for vengeance was sated. He just hoped there would be enough embers left afterward to stoke the fire again.

  Caldir still found it hard to believe that Kyris had rescued Grunul. His initial impulse upon finding out Grunul’s location was to storm the artificer’s compound with all the men he had at his disposal, but that would have been costly and too overt. It would have jeopardized everything and brought about Sylmae’s scrutiny. Giving the task to Kyris had been the right choice. He’d been riddled with doubt at the time thinking he’d put too much trust in an unknown, but the lad had done it. Kyris had returned Grunul to him.

  Caldir was overjoyed but had been also apprehensive of the reunion. Did Grunul hold him responsible? Did he blame him for taking too long? For the suffering he’d endured? Caldir had words prepared, lines rehearsed about his efforts, his long attempts to infiltrate Urkenol and how one of Kyris’ tasks would have been to break into the prison had the revelation not been made in Gilvys’ ledgers.

  Grunul hadn’t said much other than to confirm that he had been held at Urkenol until recently, when he was given over to the artificers. He did not speak of what occurred under the care of the tinkerers, but much was evident upon his flesh.

  Grunul had said he didn’t blame Caldir, and yet all was not the same. How could it be?

  Caldir once again knelt before Sylmae in the circular audience chamber.

  A bow of acknowledgment. “Greetings, Sylmae.”

  “Greetings, Caldir.” Their ritual complete, she said, “Such frequent meetings, people will think you’ve lost your heart to our lovely Lahli.”

  “Only those that don’t know me well.”

  A brief silence passed.

  “What may I do for you?” Sylmae asked. Simple words said with perhaps a hint of amusement, as though he was upsetting the balance of things with this odd break from the normal.

  Caldir settled back on his heels. “I need help locating someone. An Allithoran inquisitor.”

  The cascade of gold coins made their music, but Sylmae remained silent.

  Caldir pressed on. “I would not have approached you if it wasn’t urgent. My resources have proved lacking, and time is of the utmost importance in this matter. The man may be dead, but regardless, I need to learn of his fate.”

  “To what purpose?”

  Caldir had expected the question. He would keep his word and not divulge Kyris’ secret. He was sure Sylmae would not approve of his recent activities and of what he had planned. She had very strong opinions on the proper allocation of one’s resources and time, which was to say that anything that did not further their ultimate goal was a waste.

  Years ago when Grunul had first been captured, Caldir had come to her seeking help. He needed to know what happened, if Grunul had been killed or taken, and if so, where he was held.

  She had been reluctant to help from the start, but after seeing that this was not something he would soon, if ever, abandon, she had acquiesced. After some time, Sylmae had been the one to inform him that Grunul was being held at Urkenol.

  Caldir had made clear his intention to rescue Grunul, but Sylmae had refused to aid further and made clear her thoughts.

  They had argued.

  Sylmae spoke of war, how their underlings were soldiers and how sometimes, necessary sacrifices had to be made. Caldir spoke of responsibility, of loyalty, and how valuable assets should not be discarded. He’d eventually, perhaps hoping for some sympathy for even Sylmae must have known love in her life, revealed the true nature of his relationship with Grunul.

  She did not seem moved. She had said, “We have dedicated our lives to a great goal, to changing our world. This requires a sacrifice of a different sort, that of transcending beyond personal desires. You swore to me so many years ago that this commitment was unwavering. Do not be swayed now.”

  Thus chastised, they’d spoken no more of the matter. However, Caldir had made a personal vow that he would get Grunul back and that it would not interfere with his duties and obligation of smuggling slaves and relics out of the city.

  Meeting Kyris had brought about the fulfillment of that vow, and he was certain the same could hold true for the grander goal of overthrowing the Imperium.

  But what would he tell Sylmae now? That he had succeeded in rescuing Grunul, and was planning on needling the lord governor?

  Sylmae sighed. “There is much astir. Schemes years in the making are finally bearing fruit. Now is not the time for distractions. I need you focused—the need for your hidden army of free slaves could arise any moment.”

  Caldir was taken aback by Sylmae’s candidness. She’d never spoken of her other schemes, though even now, she gave no details.

  “This is not like last time. This is payment for a debt, one that would yield more relics than what we have seen in years.”

  “Truly?”

  “Truly.” It was only a slight twist of the truth, a shuffling of the order of events, but it was more than he had ever tried with her. Would she see through this with her seer’s eyes? Caldir stayed quiet, refusing the urge to say more.

  “The whereabouts of a single inquisitor is somehow tied to a trove of relics?”

  “Indirectly, yes.”

  “How enticingly vague.” A silence settled where he felt her scrutiny behind the curtain of gold disks. “Very well. Tell me what you know of this man, and I will endeavor to find him.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “I
s this your idea of a joke?” Kyris asked, incredulous.

  “Whatever do you mean?” Caldir replied, his feigned ignorance exasperating Kyris further.

  They were once again in the parlor above the tailor shop, discussing the last task. His payment for the second task, the names of five elders of great strength within the Mender Order, was tucked away in his coat pocket. Five individuals with the potential power to restore Jahna’s sight. He just needed to persuade one, and he had been contemplating how he could accomplish this when Caldir told him of the third task.

  “You can't possibly want me to go back.”

  “I most certainly do.”

  “But… I was just there! Couldn't you have asked me to get the relics then?”

  “Truly? Could you have freed Grunul and acquired the relics at the same time?”

  Kyris glared at Caldir, but he had to concede the point. “Perhaps that would have been too much to manage in one night.”

  Caldir smiled. “Perhaps. I may have suggested such an audacious attempt, but Grunul’s release was of the utmost importance, and I wished nothing to jeopardize that. But now that has been so nicely resolved, it seems the perfect time to go back.”

  “You are certain there are relics there?”

  “Yes, Grunul and Kohan confirmed as much, though I’d suspected beforehand.”

  Kyris shook his head slightly, not understanding. “What’s the connection?”

  “It seems relics were an integral part of whatever the artificers were trying to achieve during their… sessions with the captives.”

  Kyris frowned at the memory of the wooden contraption. “That room was more akin to a torture chamber than any craftsman’s shop.”

  “Indeed.” Caldir gazed out the window, seemingly lost in thought. Coming back to the conversation, he said, “Given Grunul and Kohan’s accounts, along with information gleaned from the ledger and what I know of the quartz torches, I believe there is a significant number of relics at the facility.”