The Redstar Rising Trilogy: (Buried Goddess Saga Box Set 1: Books 1-3)

by Rhett C. Bruno

  “I wouldn’t worry about that,” Torsten said. “The invasion is complete. As far as they or anyone else knows, the sewers are confined to the city limits and empty into the bay, which they control. They’ll be covering exits, but no longer the tunnels themselves.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Their focus is defense. They’re digging in to wait out the winter.”

  “Just be on the lookout.”

  Torsten regarded the King’s Shieldsmen at his back. “These are the finest warriors the Glass has to offer. If we see anyone, they won’t live long enough to bring word to a soul.”

  “It’s your funeral. We run into trouble, I’ll be swimming across the bay.”

  They continued, now wading through slosh. Whitney was more accustomed to the smell this time, but behind him, he heard a few of the King’s Shieldsmen gag. Torsten, however, was barely affected.

  Maybe he really did grow up in South Corner.

  “I just don’t understand, Whitney,” Torsten said after a while.

  “What’s that?”

  “You proved yourself worthy of a new name. You helped save so many people from Redstar and that beast. How could you so quickly return to your shystering ways?”

  “’Once a thief, always a thief.’ You know the saying.”

  “Enough of your foolish jokes. I am your Wearer, and I’m being serious.”

  “As am I, Shieldsman. You may have been born in the shog, but you’ve been living pretty for most of your life. I’m not ashamed of who I am. Made a name for myself and it’s my name to do what I want with.”

  “Do not presume to know a thing about how I’ve lived,” Torsten said.

  “All I’m saying is I’m going to do what’s right for me.”

  “All sin can be traced back to selfishness,” Torsten said.

  Whitney spread his arms and looked toward the ceiling. “Then Iam strike me down.”

  Torsten slapped his hands down. “He might. You posed as a priest. What greater sin could you commit?”

  “I could think of a few.” He sighed. “I do what I must to survive. You weren’t too concerned about my practices when it benefited you and the Crown back there in the Webbed Woods. And you don’t seem too concerned now, sneaking through hidden tunnels toward the prefect's estate, not even concerned about how I know my way there.”

  “I do what I must for my kingdom,” Torsten countered. “If that means placing my trust in you, then I can only walk the path Iam puts before me.”

  “I’ll tell you this, if there is an Iam, and I’m not saying I believe in any of that mumbo-jumbo, he’s got a great sense of humor because he keeps bringing us together.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I mean, here I thought I’d never get to see your dour face ever again, and there you are, right in front of me when I’m about to exact my vengeance on old Bart Darkings.”

  “There is no road back from murder, Whitney. If I stopped you from crossing that line, then I too am glad we had to be reunited.”

  “Aww, touching sentiment,” Whitney reached back and rubbed Torsten’s pauldron. He earned a glare that sent his stomach sinking into his ass. “Wouldn’t be my first time killing. I took a few of these gray men down back in Troborough. I’m not sure if your men told you the stories before they captured me.”

  “They left out the details.” What followed was a sound Whitney couldn’t quite place.

  “Is that a chuckle I hear?”

  “No,” he said, stern. “Besides, that’s not the same. That was battle. Kill or be killed. But to slit the throat of an unarmed man... it’s something you can’t undo.”

  Whitney looked back, met by Torsten’s thousand-meter stare.

  “You say that like you have experience,” Whitney said.

  “There are many things I’ve had to do in the name of king and Crown. Not all of them bring joy to think of. Not all of them make me proud. All I can hope is that when Iam receives me at the Gate of Light, he sees my intentions were pure.”

  “If you don’t wind up in Elsewhere,” Whitney offered.

  “If I do, I’ll spend the rest of eternity haunting you. And maybe one day, I’ll make you into a decent man.”

  “I don’t think eternity is long enough for that.”

  This time, Whitney was confident he heard a chuckle. He wasn’t sure why he felt so proud at that. Maybe because it’d never once happened during their quest to the Webbed Woods. Or perhaps it was that he knew, as well as Torsten, that beneath all their bickering, there was a bond. The kind only a team who had battled a giant spider goddess together could forge.

  “Giant spider goddess,” Whitney said under his breath with a laugh.

  “What’s that?” Torsten asked.

  “Nothing.”

  Whitney stopped when they reached the widest tunnel yet. A flowing trough ran down its center, flanked by branching tunnels. If the Shesaitju were anywhere in the sewers, this was where they’d be. But there was nothing except scurrying rats hiding from the cold.

  Short bridges led over the stream of water and shog which emptied out through a porthole into Winde Port’s largest canal along Merchants Row. Whitney stared through the barred opening. He could see the many gray legs of an army marching by on the walkway above. It was only then he realized if a single soldier spotted them, they’d be slaughtered.

  “We’re in the heart of the city now,” Whitney said. He pointed to the porthole. “That’s the Merchants Canal. If you follow that, the prefect's estate should be up a ways, somewhere on the north side.”

  “You’re sure?” Torsten asked.

  “Chasing Darkings down here wasn’t my first run through the Winde Port sewers. I’ve been getting into trouble here since before you were Wearer.”

  “That’s only been a year.”

  “Then way before. See how experienced I am?”

  Torsten exhaled through his teeth. “How far up do we go?”

  “Without being able to pop my head through that grate? Beats me.”

  Torsten gave him an encouraging look and nodded his head toward the opening.

  “No way, not again,” Whitney said, shaking his head. “I got you here without a hitch. You can check all the offshoots until you’re under the courtyard. You’ve probably been there, so you’ll recognize it. Lowly thieves aren’t usually invited to meet prefects.”

  “Fine.”

  “Then this is where we split up. The wharf is down that way, and I have a plan that’ll get every eye in Winde Port on them.”

  “Just don’t destroy the city.”

  “When Whitney Blisslayer gets hired to make a distraction, he goes all out. You don’t get to hold me back now.” Whitney turned to walk away and felt a heavy gauntlet on his shoulder.

  “Iam willing, we will meet up after the fighting is through.” Torsten’s tone was solemn, heartfelt. Whitney was sure it was the first time he’d ever spoken to him that way. “Do not die, thief.”

  “Let me worry about dying. I have a great plan for when that day arrives, and it isn’t today. Just wait for my signal.”

  “How will I know?”

  Whitney sighed. “Haven’t you ever done this before? The answer is always, ‘you’ll just know.’ I take distractions seriously.”

  “I’m sure you do.” Torsten went to turn, and this time Whitney grabbed him.

  “But remember, I’m not doing this for free. Sora is up there somewhere, and you gave your word that you’ll help me find her after you end Muskigo.”

  “And I stand by it. I know you’re not doing this for the Crown, but maybe you’re not so selfish after all.”

  Whitney pulled away. “Don’t go getting soft on me.”

  “Just do me a favor? When we find her again, stop being a fool for once.”

  The lumbering Shieldsman turned to his men and raised his voice just above a heavy whisper. “All right, the prefect's estate is down this trough. I want a man on every grate. We know what we’re looki
ng for.”

  Whitney watched the Wearer of White get to work.

  Did he just tell me to make a move on a Panpingese blood mage?

  He thought he might have been dreaming considering the way he’d treated her on their last adventure.

  “Yep, he’s definitely gone soft.”

  Whitney sighed. It couldn’t be a dream because only the real world could smell so awful. He regarded the stubborn Shieldsman one more time, then turned to continue down the shog-covered sewers toward the wharf.

  He couldn’t tell Torsten what to look for because he honestly had no idea how he was supposed to distract an entire army. Genius usually struck for him in the heat of the moment, so he decided to turn off his brain and allow instinct to take over.

  Before long he was standing at a large, barred opening at the bay. The smell of salty air greeted him along with a freezing gust of wind. It smelled like freedom, but he knew it couldn’t be. Even if he’d decided to bail on Torsten and take his chances with Kazimir, Sora was still somewhere within the city, and he refused to leave without his apprentice.

  He took inventory of the area. From the opening, he could see the wharf, lined with trader’s ships. They swayed to and fro as a heady wind blew, battering the docks with small waves of water cold enough to stop a man’s heart. Lonely chunks of ice floated, broken by the churning bay.

  The Shesaitju rowboats littered the sandy coast south of the wharf. And further down, massive galleons made of black wood, with bowing, triangular sails floated menacingly. Some still had catapults on their decks, stuck in launch position. A herd of zhulong traipsed around in the mud where they were moored under the watch of stablemen.

  Whitney squeezed through the bars and pulled his body up so he could see atop the wharf. He moved slowly, quietly, unable to escape the sinking feeling that the moment his head popped up he’d be target practice again. Only now, at least, he had the cover of night.

  Several Shesaitju warriors stood guard along the coast, but since none of the hiding Winde Port citizens would dare attempt an escape, they weren’t paying much attention. Many of them were engaged in some kind of game under the green light of a cluster of nigh’jel lanterns. It involved a large sheet of zhulong skin and throwing spears.

  Merchant ships and personal vessels lined the wharf, packed in tight like a deck of cards due to the grounding of ships. He watched them rock back and forth, the ropes holding them going loose and taut in rhythm with nature’s song. An idea popped into his head as he watched them. It was insane, but thinking twice was a thief’s worst enemy.

  He pulled himself up onto the wharf and slinked down the edge. The heavy winds coming from the west made such a racket of water and creaking wood that nobody would ever hear him. However, if any one of the hundred Shesaitju soldiers posted decided to look in his direction, they’d no doubt see a scruffy thief climbing aboard one of the ships under the light of the moons.

  He chose the largest vessel, a western galley big enough to transport a herd of cattle and with sails the size of the Darkings mansion. Tall deck walls kept Whitney mostly hidden as he crouched and ran toward the bow. His plan was as simple as it was crazy, but he hoped it would be effective.

  “Pssst.”

  Whitney whipped around, saw no one. He heard it again and spun in the direction it had come. A stout but muscular dwarf with a dark, patchy beard popped up from a corner behind a spool of rope.

  “Tum Tum!” Whitney nearly exclaimed before he caught himself. “What are you doing?”

  “Got stuck between a rock and a hard place, I did,” he replied. “Yiggin gray men have been keepin watch all afternoon. And after what they did to me bar, I ain’t for takin no chances.”

  “You mean the Winder’s Dwarf is...”

  “Infested.” Tum Tum pointed across the way to his bar. The front windows were bashed in, and Shesaitju were everywhere. They had full run of the place, but not one of them drank. The Black Sandsmen did so hate enjoying life.

  All that wasted ale...Whitney frowned. “These Black Sandsmen are intent on ruining everything, aren’t they?”

  “Aye. They barged in askin if the dwarf who owned the place would support the fall of the Glass. O’course, I told em to stop botherin me customers and blades started takin away all the Glassmen. What good be a tavern without downtrodden men to drink at em?”

  “Oh, Tum Tum, silly dwarf. You always say ‘yes.’ War makes even the best men drinkers and peacetime… well, that’s even worse.”

  “I know, I know. But I was drunk when they asked,” he chortled.

  “Of course, you were,” Whitney said. “Well, since you’re here, wanna help me win the war and get your place back?”

  “Me fightin days are long gone, me Lord,” Tum Tum replied. “Ain’t for sayin I can’t be tossin some fists round, but I’d be doubtin we could handle hunerds of them gray men.”

  “I’ve got a plan, and we shouldn’t even have to ball our fists.” He leaned in to whisper. “I’m working with the King’s Shield again.”

  “By the sharp axe of Meungor!”

  “Keep your voice down,” Whitney scolded. “Now, gather up all that rope and tie it around the mast.”

  “What’s the plan?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Whitney looked out over the rails at the city he used to love. Suppertime along the wharf was usually the most fun place one could be in all of Pantego. It wasn’t just Winder’s Wharf, but bar after bar, packed with people ready to spend. There were some of the finest restaurants, including the Winde Traders Guild at the end of the row. Now, anywhere that wasn’t swarming with Shesaitju invaders was empty. Not a drink being poured.

  Unable to bear the sight anymore, Whitney turned to look down the wharf. The ships were tightly packed between pilings and floating walkways ramping down from the wharf. From the vessel they were on, there were ten more docked down to the sandy shores where the zhulong and Shesaitju rowboats occupied. Enough to make a racket even the gods might hear.

  “Done yet?” Whitney asked after some time had passed.

  “Me legs ain’t as long as yers be,” Tum Tum groaned in response. “Hold yer saddle…” Then, a few minutes later, “There, done.”

  “Okay. You sit tight and stay low.”

  “Ain’t no other way I can be.” Tum Tum laughed, and his belly rolled.

  Whitney placed a finger against his lips to shush him.

  “When I give the signal, raise the sails, then get your ass to the sewers, or inside. Anywhere but the docks.”

  “Aye, aye, Cap’n.”

  Whitney sighed in relief. Tum Tum was no thief, but he’d helped Whitney try and woo a fair share of pretty women in the Winder’s Dwarf over the years. Enough time to know that when Whitney offered a signal, it was best to wait and see what that might be.

  Torsten could learn a thing or two.

  The spool Tum Tum had used for a hiding place was nearly all they would need for this ship. Whitney took the free end, tied it to a bucket, and threw it to the ship docked in the next slip. He winced, expecting to hear clanging metal that might alert the guards, but the wind was causing such a ruckus, even he couldn’t hear it.

  “Wish me luck,” Whitney said to the dwarf.

  “With what?”

  Whitney ignored him and leaped from deck to deck. He found the bucket, removed the rope, and tied the end around the ship’s mast. Then, he found another spare rope and affixed it to the mast as well before using the same bucket to fling it to the next ship. He continued on down the line of ten ships to the one nearest the southern coastline where the zhulong grazed.

  Just as Celeste and Loutis reached their climax in the night sky, he tied his last knot. Sweat poured down his forehead despite the cold. All that jumping and crouching... thieving was a younger man’s game. Not even three decades, he was already on the decline.

  He peered over the railing and saw a couple of gray-skins doing rounds down the length of the wharf. He waited for the
m to pass, then slung the end of the rope not affixed to the mast over the side of the ship. He slid down it onto a floating walkway and shimmied toward the wharf. Miraculously, the Shesaitju were still unaware of his presence, and he hoped to keep it that way. When his feet hit the wharf, they were already running.

  He hopped down to the muddy shores and toward the zhulong herd. In the darkness, the Shesaitju were easy to spot with their green, glowing nigh’jels. There were a few care-keepers scattered about, but Whitney made sure to steer clear of them.

  “All right,” he said out loud to no one. “They’re just big pigs. Nothing to worry about—just big pigs with spiked tails and massive tusks.”

  As he got closer, he realized they were far bigger than he remembered. He was actually quaking now, his knees weak. Sweat still poured off him, threatening to freeze on his face.

  “Shogging exile, Whitney,” he cursed. “Get a yigging grip.”

  He sidled up to an exceptionally large male—he could tell by the length of its tusks—and patted its side. Its head turned, eyeballs the size of Whitney’s fist, maybe bigger. It leaned down to sniff Whitney’s pants, shog-stained from the sewers.

  “Hey, boy, think you could help me with something?” Whitney stammered. “Yeah, attaboy.”

  Whitney grabbed the reins hanging from a bit in its mouth and gave them a soft tug. The beast thrashed its head in protest, causing Whitney to back away, arms in the air. The zhulong followed him, stuck out its short, coarse tongue, and licked his calf.

  “More pig than dragon, eh?” Whitney said.

  He strode a few meters, then turned and noticed the zhulong following him, its massive snout huffing.

  The patrolling warriors were on the opposite side of the wharf, so the time was right to get to work.

  “Stay,” he said to the zhulong. It didn’t listen. As he went to climb back up, it hooked him with a tusk to get at his pants.

  “How come only ugly beasts want to get in my pants?” he groaned. It made a deep rumbling noise. “Okay! You’re not ugly. I’m sorry.” He weaseled out of its clutches, then reached down and tore off a strip off his sodden pants. He tried to imagine they were only wet with water as he raised the cloth.