The Wrath of the Orphans (The Kinless Trilogy Book 1)

by Chris Philbrook

  Malwynn slowed his walk very slightly to watch the undead worker. It gently lifted the kitten’s corpse up in its grey, bony fingers, and turned to place it in a small wheelbarrow another walking corpse stood behind. Just as the purple collared zombie was about to place the cat’s corpse down, it fumbled it, and the grey and white cat fell to the ground with a barely audible but still sickening crunch. Malwynn winced. With no emotion, the dead worker bent once more at the waist, scooped it up, and dropped it back in the wheelbarrow. Malwynn looked around at the complete ignorance of the Graben residents. A dozen people walked in both directions on the small dirt street and not one of them paid a single iota’s worth of attention to the two zombies picking up a dead cat’s body. It was revolting, and as he walked away he choked down the rising acidity creeping up in his throat.

  Graben was a horrible place, and he hated walking around in the city. In his best dreams since arriving in Graben he imagined the High City was far and away better than this wretched pit of filth the poor called the Low City. He could only imagine though. He had no way to gain access to the elevators that could take him to the clifftop district.

  It didn’t help that he’d been walking around far more than usual the past week as well. Their plan to possibly kidnap Drogal Clock required them to find a place that needed to be appropriate for interrogation, and likely for murder. Despite being a city founded on, and maintained by death, it was turning out to be remarkably hard to find a place that was going to work. He’d looked at warehouses near the rail yard, but they were all being used at nearly every point of the day and night. He’d looked for an outlying farm near the city, but there were none. He searched out abandoned homes, but every structure in Graben had someone either living in it, or keeping watch over it. Inns and taverns were out of the question. Malwynn’s last resort was the small amount of businesses that were settled on the side of the old dirt roads that made up the Low City.

  Malwynn kicked a loose stone away with the tip of his boot and watched as it skipped and tumbled, taking a strange turn to the side, and sliding into a dirty alley between two buildings. He looked up from the stone and caught the dead last moment of a man reaching up to the top of a door frame for no good reason as he headed into the building. The man was large, fat really, and wore a bloody red apron under a chain mail shirt. He was a butcher. Quickly Malwynn dropped to a knee and unlaced the top of a boot. He took his time retying it so he could examine the tight alley he’d just seen the man in.

  The front of the building was right at his side. Through the windows Malwynn could see the carcasses of butchered animals hanging from hooks in the ceiling. He couldn’t be sure what animals they had been in life. One might have been a goat. Above the door, written in Lish, was a modest sign that said “Quality Meats, Cheap.” There was a collection of large barrels running along one wall of the alley, and it stank enough to sicken the ancestors, were there any in this forsaken place. He quickly put it together; the door was the back exit to a butcher’s shop.

  Malwynn looked around the street quickly, ensuring that the purple clad soldier with the two undead had turned away. The armored soldier had, and with no one else paying even the slightest bit of attention to him, he bolted into the alley, and ran all the way to the door he’d just seen the man enter. Malwynn was tall, and when he reached up to the spot at the top of the thick doorframe where the butcher had just reached, he realized that the man must’ve been thoroughly short. Malwynn’s fingers searched the wooden ledge atop the door frantically as he kept his eyes glued on the street, fearful someone would catch him in the wrong place at the wrong time, doing something he had no business doing.

  Malwynn’s fingers felt something cold and metallic, and he snatched it up to look at it. It was a skeleton key, rusty and corroded. He looked down at the door and saw a keyhole that the key clearly was meant for. As fast as an Ebonvale mongoose he replaced the key and started walking away, escaping to the safety and anonymity of the street. As he took his final step into the street and turned to leave, he knew he’d found the place. The air all about the butcher’s shop had the faint smell of meat, and death, and there were no homes anywhere nearby. All he needed was a few more days of observation to learn the butcher’s habits, and they were in business.

  Captain Drogal Clock’s house of execution had been discovered.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Umaryn asked her brother late at night a few days later.

  Malwynn took a deep breath in, and considered everything, “If it means we find out who killed Mom, Dad, and Rynne, then yes. I want to do this.”

  “What if he had nothing to do with it? What then Mal?” Umaryn asked, full of uncertainty.

  “What if he did Umaryn? What if he’s killed a hundred Varrlanders in the name of his ancestor forsaken Queen? What if he’s raped and pillaged? What then Umaryn? What then? One way or the other this man has done terrible things, I’m sure of it. Whether or not he is behind the death of our loved ones, he’s certainly not innocent.”

  Umaryn nodded in the dark, setting her mind to the task at hand.

  Despite the chill in the late evening Graben air, Malwynn was sweating horribly in the Amaranth armor they’d recovered from the small battle near New Picknell. He kept telling himself that the sweat was because the armor was hot, and that the heavy Amaranth two handed axe was wearing him down, but the truth was he was scared out of his mind, and anxious.

  Despite any plans he might have, Captain Drogal Clock was not heading home tonight.

  Malwynn and Umaryn had planned this out extensively the past two weeks. After Malwynn had taken a few nights to confirm that the butcher went home at a specific time, and even slipping inside the empty shop using the key atop the door late at night to draw a crude map for planning, they’d set their sights on the final plan to get Drogal there.

  Quality Meats, Cheap would be where Drogal died. There was no two ways about it. Once the brother and sister committed to this, as Umaryn said, it would be a one way trip for the young servant of the Queen. He could not be trusted to stay quiet about the questions they wanted to ask him. He could not be trusted to forgive, or forget. The only way he could be trusted was as a corpse.

  Malwynn stood in a dark alley three buildings down from the entrance to The Salon, where his sister was hard at work achieving two very different objectives. He wiped the sweat from his brow and kept both eyes fixed on the thick black door to the tavern. He was encased in dark shadows, benefitting from favorable, cloud making weather and moon phases that saw both Lune and Hestia shedding precious little light. If all was going to plan inside The Salon, Umaryn would be exiting with a very intoxicated Drogal Clock very shortly.

  Umaryn stood behind the bar and poured a large mug of ale out of a pitcher. She left the mug’s contents short of normal, only the thickness of her finger was missing. Looking around the tavern, completely packed with an army of men covered in various shades of the Queen’s purple, she set the pitcher down, and topped the mug off with a finger’s worth of grain alcohol. Drogal had downed three of these mugs already, and those on the heels of two normal mugs of ale. By the time he finished the mug Umaryn was bringing him, he wouldn’t be able to tell if he was coming or going. At that point, she’d walk him out of the bar, and into the waiting arms of her brother.

  She smiled and greeted the plethora of soldiers who stared and sent sexual advances her way. On a normal night, one not intended to end with murder, she’d be rolling in coins. The nights where The Salon was packed, and the liquor and ale flowed freely were the nights where coin purses were simply left on the table for her to help herself to. She’d take a few coins to pay for their drinks, and then a coin for herself. But not tonight. Tonight her sole focus was getting Drogal completely hammered in more ways than one.

  “Here you go Captain,” Umaryn said, sliding the mug across the empty booth to the young Captain. He had to lift his head off his folded arms to smile at her.

  “You are the best. Is
abel.”

  Umaryn smiled, “I know. I’m glad you stopped coming here with all your friends every night. It makes it much easier to talk privately with you.”

  Drogal nodded as he slurped a thick mouthful of the spiked ale. He swallowed it hard, oblivious to the power inside the tankard. “I know right? I feel like we’ve got some kind of a... Some sort of connection now. Can you feel it? I can feel it.”

  She put on her most sincere face and nodded. She wasn’t sure if she was being sexy or not, but the expression had worked on other drunks in the past, “There’s… something, yes.”

  “MMhm. Yep.” Drogal tipped the mug up and took another messy gulp, wearing almost as much as he managed to swallow.

  Umaryn assessed the man quickly. “How are you feeling Drogal? I was thinking… Oh I don’t know.” She turned away, feigning modesty.

  Drunk as he was, Drogal managed to catch her innuendo, “Wait what? What were you thinking Ishabell? Do you want to-?” Drogal dragged the pronunciation of her name out.

  She looked back, avoiding his eyes until the very last moment, “Well I was, you know… I can leave any time tonight, and I was hoping we could go for a walk, or maybe someplace quiet. I wasn’t sure if officers had private quarters or not, but-“

  “Yeah, yeah. Yeah! Let me finish this ale, and we can walk to my home. I live in the officer’s barracks at the base of the cliff. You’ll love it. I’ve got a full bed, and a nice stove, and-“ Umaryn cut him off.

  “Drogal finish your drink before you say something that makes me change my mind. I’m going to tell them I’m leaving so you can walk me home.”

  He nodded too fast, and tipped his mug up again to drain it as he was told. Umaryn spun and smiled as she walked away. Gulping that last mug down would help considerably. He’d be just about perfect by the time they reached the streets.

  Malwynn’s eyes flared up as he saw the door open and his sister walk out, arm in arm with that monster. His emotions cycled faster than a windmill spinning in a spring storm. He felt instant rage over watching the military man simply touching his sister. He wanted to sprint down the street and split the man’s head in half with the large axe he’d been holding all evening. But he knew that’d be a death sentence. There were people all about, even at this late hour, long after sunset. If any of them made the connection to him, or his sister, they’d be facing the wrath of the Inquisitors, which were a different level of problem than they were able to cope with. He squashed down the urge to vomit as the man’s hand drifted down to Umaryn’s ass and squeezed it.

  Keeping his breathing in check, he watched carefully from the shadows as Umaryn slipped her arm under his and supported him. Malwynn made note of how easy it was for her to heft his weight. She was still so very strong, benefitting from all her time in the forge aside Luther. She kept him on his feet and moving, despite his legs being rubbery. Mal watched as she steered him towards where he stood in the darkness, clearly away from the area of the city Drogal lived in. He wondered darkly what lie his sister needed to spin to get him to head the wrong way with her. Only a minute after exiting The Salon, his sister and the inebriated Captain passed the alley he stood in, and he heard them talk.

  “You’re so beautiful,” Drogal said through a slur.

  “Thank you Drogal, you’re quite handsome yourself,” she replied. Mal could hear her thick sarcasm. He must be completely oblivious for her to be using such language and tone. Other than grunts from physical exertion, the two were quiet for a hundred feet or so. Just as they were almost out of earshot, Malwynn stepped out into the street confidently, and began walking behind them. He carried his weapon openly, as if he were a guard on patrol. He hoped they didn’t run into any actual soldiers on patrol. To say the encounter would be awkward would be doing it no justice.

  “What’s your place like?” Drogal asked, looking up to Umaryn with puppy dog eyes.

  “It’s not as nice as yours I’m sure. You soldiers sure are taken care of nicely here. Must be nice to have all those hot meals, and a paying job.” Umaryn had moved on from sarcasm. She was fully into judgmental mode. Malwynn picked up his pace, fearful she’d tip their hat too soon, too far from the butcher’s shop.

  “It IS nice,” Drogal said, adjusting the belt his short sword hung on. Malwynn eyed the weapon enviously. He wanted to upgrade his giant axe into something more portable, something that he could practice with in their tight quarters. Drogal seemed to entirely miss the point of her accusation, and the two continued on quietly for a bit.

  “Tell me something,“ Drogal said, straightening up suddenly and stopping. Umaryn almost entirely let go of him, he stopped so quickly. “Would you kiss me right now? You should kiss me right now. Show me how you feel about me.” He leaned into her, causing the both of them to stumble backwards into the side of a building. Drogal pressed his chest against Umaryn’s, nearly pinning her against the side of a small cobbler’s shop. Mal began a run to get to her, to save her from this attack, but he caught sight of her hand low, subtly waving him off. She had it handled.

  “Oh Drogal. You silly soldier,” she said softly, full of forced passion. Umaryn reached up with a hand and gently caressed his neck and ear. Malwynn watched as she traced her fingertips across his cheek, sliding them back around his neck and burying them in the scruff of his hair. She leaned forward, pulling Drogal into her, pulling him into a deep kiss.

  Malwynn’s stomach felt as if a dagger had been rammed into it. Something worse than bile crept into his throat, coating it like an Artificer’s machine oil, stinging, burning, and urging him even more strongly to vomit. He’d stopped moving entirely, standing in the street watching his sister and the man they planned on killing deep in what appeared to be an affectionate embrace. Malwynn felt betrayed by his sister as he watched her run her hands up and down the arms of the drunk Captain.

  After what felt like an eternity to Malwynn, she finally pushed him away, and whispered with a sly smile, “We need to keep moving. We’ll never get to a warm place if this happens again.”

  Drogal nodded eagerly, pressing his nose and face into Umaryn’s neck. Malwynn could tell as they started to walk further that Drogal was fighting a growing erection in his trousers. He knew because he too had walked that way before, often right after Marissa had done something similar to him. Thinking of Marissa made him heft the axe more. It made him angry, and highlighted the hollow feeling he tried so hard to ignore all day, every day.

  A hundred yards and they’d turn left. Malwynn hoped they could make it that far before Drogal demanded another kiss. He wasn’t sure if the axe could be kept out of the Captain’s head if another kiss happened.

  They made the left hand turn, and avoided another kiss. Everything was going according to plan. The butcher’s shop was but another hundred yards distant, and so long as Umaryn’s strength held, they’d make it. Drogal’s level of intoxication must have been truly epic. How Umaryn got the man to drink so heavily was beyond Malwynn. He staggered to and fro constantly, only staying upright because of the pillar that was Umaryn. He was thankful his sister spent so many hours working iron in the coals of the forge. He told himself he’d forgive his sister for all the time she spent away from him there during their childhood.

  Quality Meats, Cheap was only thirty feet away. Umaryn had crossed the street to get closer to the alley where they’d planned on entering the business. Masterfully, she got Drogal all the way up to the steps that led into the front entrance of the shop itself. Malwynn had allowed more space between he and the pair, and he watched as she got him seated on the dirty stone blocks. Directly according to their script, she told Malwynn to come by adjusting her boots. He took a few jogging steps, noticing his breath in the air against the light shed by the oil lamp post distant on the far street corner.

  Malwynn carried his walk as much like a soldier of the Amaranth Empire as he could, and approached his sister, and the Captain. He scraped down into his memory, and dredged up the conversation he and his s
ister had practiced.

  “Evening ma’am. Good evening Captain,” Malwynn said sternly, trying to remove any semblance of personality from the words.

  “Good evening soldier,” Umaryn said back.

  “Hey… you. What’s your rank soldier? Who am I addressing?” Drogal said as he attempted to stand. His attempt failed, and he sat back down hard.

  Malwynn had no idea what rank titles the Amaranth Empire used. He cursed the oversight. They were two sentences into their ‘script,’ and they were already off track. He rolled the dice and made something up, “Sir my name is Footman Hazel. Whom am I addressing?”

  Drogal soaked the name and rank in, seemingly approving of both, “Very good Footman, you may go your way. This pretty lady and I are heading to a private place for private times.” Drogal grinned and Malwynn fought the urge to smash his teeth in.

  Malwynn tried to think of what to say, how to adapt what they practiced, but Umaryn beat him to the punch, “Drogal, I’m very tired, and he seems very strong. Do you think it would be okay if we asked him to help us to my place? It’s only a few more buildings away.”

  “I’d love to help a fine officer of the Queen’s army,” Mal threw in, straight from the script he and Umaryn had written.

  Drogal stood up, wavering to and fro. He rested a hand on the building the twins wanted to question him in, and suddenly became very serious, “Wait. Which one of you said what just then?”

  Umaryn and Malwynn both stifled a laugh. He was so drunk. Umaryn spoke first, “Drogal baby, the soldier offered to help.”