by Matthew Ward
I held up my hands. "Not all fallen are the same, and I'm unarmed. I've come for information, nothing more. I know that seems unlikely, but what isn't these days?"
"You have a point," Nierev allowed. Her hand left her sword. "What can do you need?"
"I need to know if you found Zorya."
Nierev laughed bitterly. "As if I've had time to look. The city's a mess. Lord Karov insisted I take personal charge of hunting out Hadari informers – the irony of that should not be lost on you. Worse, the criminal element seized the opportunity to turn a profit, so I've supplies going missing left, right and centre. Even the Sidarists are outraged. They're protesting almost daily, calling on the council to sue for peace." She laughed softly. "You know the world's gone mad when only the zealots are talking sense."
"I see," I said, trying and failing to hide the disappointment in my voice.
"I did dig around a little, before this all started," she conceded, "but I found no trace. I can't even be sure she's still in the city."
"She'll be here," I said. "She has to be."
"Why? What's so important about her?"
"It would take too long to explain," I replied. "I've exposed you to too much risk already. I'd better go."
Nierev sighed. "I'd help if I could, Edric, I just don't know how."
"Nor do I," I told her sadly. "Perhaps we should both think on that."
She nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps we should."
*******
"Well?" Elspeth asked.
"No, it did not go well," I told her crossly, pulling my hood back up. "Nierev doesn't know where Zorya can be found."
"Then we'll have to look for her ourselves."
"And where do we start?" I demanded. All my frustration and anger was boiling back to the surface. "I could search for a year and not find her, if she's even here at all."
"She'll be here," Elspeth assured me tautly. "This is her home."
"Perhaps, but I've no time to search. Give me my sword."
Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"Because I'm going to Skyhaven, and I'll need it."
"You're mad. You can't take on the serathi by yourself."
"Then I'll have to be clever, won't I?"
"Oh yes," she hissed. "That look in your eyes has everything to do with cleverness, and nothing at all to do with petulance."
"You're going to talk to me about petulance?" I snapped. "You, who's spent the last week and a half blaming your mother for the things you can't do?"
I knew even as I said the words that I'd crossed a line, but there was no taking them back now. It's all true anyway, whispered the voice. You don't need her help. She's a child playing at godhood.
Elspeth gritted her teeth and unbuckled the sword. In her anger, she fumbled several times as she unfastened the belt. "Fine. Take your damn sword."
It was a clumsy throw. I had to take my eyes off her to make the catch. When I looked back to Elspeth, all I saw was Arianwyn's cloak lying on the ground, and a white cat running to the end of the alleyway.
"Elspeth!"
The cat vanished into the crowds at the alley's end.
It doesn't matter. You've got the sword. Put it to use. Make them pay!
Yes. Better to get this done with, one way or another. I fastened the belt around my waist, but I missed my grip and the scabbard upended. The sword slid half out onto the cobbles, its hilt striking stone.
At that sound, my black mood dissipated like snow in sunshine. All I felt was shame. I wanted to blame the whispers in my head, but knew my frustration had given them power. Was my father watching? Were any of my ancestors watching? I was a fool. I'd come to the city with precisely one ally, and I'd driven her away. Worse, she'd been right. To go to Skyhaven alone was to commit suicide, but what else was I to do? I owed her an apology, and no small apology at that, but would she allow me the opportunity to make it?
I'd another problem. Elspeth had kept me hidden from the revenants' sight. Would she do so now I'd driven her away?
Without any clear idea of what to do next, but determined not to take precipitate action until my head was clear, I set out for the palace square. The journey was uneventful, which was just as well, because much of my attention was directed at ground level, fruitlessly seeking some trace of Elspeth. As I passed through the marketplace, I heard a crier spreading news of a Tressian victory at Orosk. More likely a serathi victory, I thought darkly, and redoubled my pace.
I reached the palace square to find it curiously empty. The stepping gate was guarded by six graces – and it seemed no Tressian wanted to draw too near to them. Other than the Sidarists blockading the palace steps, and the line of praetorians holding them back, there couldn't have been more than fifty souls present.
The whispers started again as I caught sight of the graces, but the thought of my ancestors serving witness to my actions gave me the strength to drown out the wrathful voice. Of course, it helped that six graces were so laughably far beyond my ability to fight that there could be no hope of victory. I needed Zorya, and I supposed if I had to search the whole city, then I'd do exactly that. So thinking, I left the square and headed in the direction of the Cathedral.
The streets were thinning as the good citizens of Tressia hurried home to midday meals, but they were far from deserted. Fewer people also meant that I stood out more. I hoped that the two constables Elspeth had set dreaming hadn't remembered enough to alert their fellows.
"Andrei! Andrei! Is that you?"
The greeting came from a large, unshaven man. He stared through me, at some fellow behind, or so I thought. Then he lumbered closer and threw his arms about mine in an oafish hug.
"My dear brother! You've been away too long." I struggled against the embrace, but went still as the man lowered his lips to my ear. "If I shout 'fallen', how far do you think you'll get?" he whispered. "So why don't you embrace your dear brother Tomas, and come quietly, my prince? My employer wishes to meet with you. Now."
Eight
Seeing little alternative, I walked with Tomas through the cobbled streets. It was impossible to say who he worked for – by this point it seemed that I'd far too many enemies to start splitting such hairs. On the other hand, the fact that Tomas knew who I was – to say nothing of his ability to find me in a crowded city – drastically narrowed the possibilities. The vanished Magorian seemed the obvious candidate, but he'd have left me unmasked and at the mercy of his fellow citizens, not 'invite' me to speak with him. That left only one credible alternative.
My suspicions grew deeper as Tomas led me down to the tangled dockside slums. The constabulary seldom patrolled those alleys and wharves, not for lack of need, but because the council objected to wasting valuable resource suppressing what they saw as incurable criminality. I knew Quintus had ignored that edict on several occasions – I'd seen him lead patrols there – but the law was a candle easily smothered in those shadowy streets. The wall between the dockside and the rest of the city – a wall that in times past had been a necessary defence against corsairs – was now employed more to keep ne'er-do-wells out of the city proper. It wasn't fair, but then little in Tressia was as fair as its rulers liked to pretend.
As we moved deep amongst the ramshackle dwellings, I became aware that Tomas and I were followed by several large, serious-looking men. "Friends of yours, dear 'brother'?"
"He said you were observant." Tomas didn't seem perturbed. Indeed, the words were spoken with wary respect. "They're here in case you make a break for it. My employer's looking forward to meeting with you, and hates to be disappointed. You won't disappoint him, will you?"
"I make no promises."
Tomas made a beckoning gesture above his head. "You won't mind us paying closer attention to you then, will you?"
I spent the rest of the journey at the centre of a living cage, surrounded by four of Tomas' associates. If nothing else, this made the journey faster, for the dock-dwellers moved aside from my enlarged escort with far greater willingness
and speed than they had for Tomas and I alone. Clearly they'd seen such arrangements before.
I was tempted to chance an escape, whatever the odds, but put this urge down to the fallen rage lurking at the back of my mind, and dismissed the idea. Tomas hadn't disarmed me, which spoke to either innocent motive or absolute confidence. The latter seemed more likely, but there was still the hue and cry to consider. If Tomas revealed me as a fallen, I stood no better chance on the dockside than in the more respectable streets.
At last, we arrived at our destination, a dilapidated and disreputable-looking tavern rejoicing in the name of The Golden Fortune. The three-storey building boasted a multitude of smashed and boarded-up windows on the outside. The inside was worse – an assemblage of grimy tables and grimier patrons, sitting in the bleak twilight of an unlit interior. The Golden Fortune was not a place men drowned their sorrows, but rather the shore upon which an ocean of misery gave up its dead.
Tomas took me through into the kitchen – a room from which I'd never want to be served a meal – down a creaking flight of wooden stairs and into a cellar. There was nothing there save for stacked hogsheads, or so I thought. One of my escorts reached along the flank of a barrel. There was a soft click, and an entire section of wall – and the hogsheads in front of it – swung back into darkness.
"Come along," said Tomas. "Can't keep him waiting." He stepped into the darkness, and retrieved a small firestone lamp. A nudge from behind propelled me forward. With one last temptation to escape quashed, I entered the passageway.
The sides of the tunnel were not bare rock, as I'd expected, but dressed and finished stone. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble and expense. The passageway was also quite broad, easily wide enough for two men to hoist a heavy cargo along. We passed several openings on the right and left, other tunnels that led who knew where.
"These are nicely appointed for smugglers' warrens," I said.
"You've a good eye," Tomas replied, with a hint of amusement.
"These must run under the whole city."
"They cover enough for my employer's needs."
"And who is your employer?" I didn't much care for where my thoughts were leading me. Things were already difficult enough.
"You'll find out."
We reached a junction and headed down a long flight of stairs. Soon we were in a vast cavern. It was hard to judge the size of the place with any precision, for it was clogged with all manner of detritus. There were barrels, crates and trunks, some rotted, others hale. There was even what appeared to be the skeletal remnants of a caravel's prow – though how it had arrived in there, I couldn't hazard a guess – its figurehead of a blindfolded warrior woman in far better shape than the rest of the worm-eaten wreck.
Even with all that clutter, there was still room for half a dozen banqueting tables in the centre of the cavern – all unoccupied, at present – and a series of iron cages.
I steeled myself for a belated attempt at escape. I wouldn't be caged again, I swore. I'd been locked up too many times of late. Tomas smiled at the reaction I thought I'd concealed. "Don't concern yourself, your majesty. Those are for other guests, ones with paying relatives. I doubt we'd get a great deal for you, now would we? This way."
Tomas led me across the cavern floor, past the forlorn figurehead and to the rear of the cavern. His accomplices, plainly of the mind I'd make a break for it, took it upon themselves to move closer in on me.
We came to a large iron-bound door at the rear of the chamber. Tomas rapped smartly on the door three times, opened it without waiting for an answer, and politely directed me inside. I did as I was bidden, somewhat surprised to find that neither Tomas, nor his associates, joined me. The door swung back on oiled hinges, and closed with an almost imperceptible click.
The room in which I stood was modest in size, but outrageous in its furnishings. The walls were wood-panelled, the floor thickly carpeted; the shelves, armchairs and desk all fashioned of rich, dark timber. There was even daylight. A small circular window was set high in the back wall, and let a column of light down onto the centre of the desk. Another door lay to my right. And in front of me, seated at the desk, watching me with a coolly appraising gaze, was Tomas' employer.
"You can let down your hood, I think." He offered a thin smile. "You've no secrets from me. I apologise for the roughness of the surroundings, but I am a man humbled in stature, if not ambition."
The voice was measured, almost fussy. Mannered, but with a hint of malice lurking about the edge. How well the voice reflected the man; the politeness to hide the threat behind, the smile to conceal the malevolence in his heart. He peered at me for a moment through his silver-rimmed spectacles, and steepled his fingers. He was a thin man, with elegant fingers and a receding hairline that suggested a noble or priestly bearing. He'd have ordered my death as calmly as he would have ordered breakfast, and with no more stain on his conscience – if he had one at all – than if he'd had put down a rabid dog. Power was the only god this man worshipped. He was a master manipulator, a spider in a vile web of influence, corruption and lies. He might have been disgraced and driven underground, but he was no less dangerous for that.
"Solomon." I pushed my hood back. I'd guessed right, but that was little consolation.
I'd the point of my sword at his throat before he could so much as move. I heard the whispers in my mind again, but this time they were urging me to do nothing I didn't already desire. Some time ago, I'd promised Arianwyn I'd end this man's life, but between the ongoing war against the fallen, and my renewed responsibilities as ambassador, it had never come to pass. Now, I'd an opportunity to correct that oversight.
"I owe you a great deal, for myself and Arianwyn both. Can you think of a reason why I shouldn't settle the debt?"
For a long moment, Solomon stared at me over my sword, one eyebrow arched in sardonic amusement. "Perhaps because all you can hope to do with that blade is anger me? We eternals do not pass away as easily as all that."
"With an ordinary weapon, perhaps. But this sword has cut the hide of a god – I think it will suffice."
Kill him! raged the voice. The tip of my blade broke Solomon's skin. Had he been mortal, he'd have bled.
"You might consider the fact that I can summon a score of men with but a tug on this cord." Solomon spoke with no more concern than a man discussing a distant and theoretical peril. "You'll be dead – or whatever it is happens to fallen – within seconds."
I looked to where his left hand now rested. There was indeed a cord, snaking across the desk and into a hole in the panelling. Whether or not it led to a bell, I couldn't say.
It doesn't matter. He'll be dead, and you'll be free of him.
Yes. A world without Solomon would be one transformed for the better. I shifted my grip on my sword, readied myself to thrust...
"I can help you save Arianwyn," said Solomon.
The whispers cleared from my head. I checked my thrust, but left the blade at Solomon's throat. "Why?" I demanded. "You've spent decades wiping out the Trelan family. Why save her now?"
Solomon's eyes gleamed. "So you know about that. Who told you?"
I hesitated, but he probably already knew, and the information could no longer harm anyone living. "Quintus. It was Quintus."
"Interesting. But then I always underestimated him. I'll wager you haven't spoken to Arianwyn of this?"
I jabbed the sword forward just a little. Solomon winced in pain.
"We needed you alive at the time. I doubt Arianwyn would have been content to allow it, had she known."
"Ah, how easily we deceive those we love."
"All the more reason to atone now."
But my threat was hollow, and Solomon knew it. I wanted this monster dead, but something held me back. He wasn't foolish enough to drag me down here and then leave himself at my mercy. Either he had a contingency in place to prevent his murder, or he wanted – perhaps even needed – to help.
"Tell me," said Solomon. "Did Q
uintus suggest why I was pruning the Trelan family tree?"
"Why else? The Trelans were an important family, maybe the most important family in Tressia. They were an obstacle to your control."
"Do you really think me so shallow? So lacking in subtlety? Murder is such a vulgar weapon..."
"And one you wield well."
"When I must," Solomon allowed. "Would you please lower your sword? It's most distracting."
He didn't look at all distracted. I left my sword where it was. "Get to the point."
Solomon sighed. "You're correct. I'm a patriot, I suppose, though I doubt you'll believe it, and a true patriot knows that a realm must be defended from those that would bring it ruin through ignorance and kindness."
"And how would the Trelans have brought ruin?"
"Oh, not deliberately, I'm sure, but they were weak, given to vulgar displays of honour, justice and all those other things that weaken good governance. But, I did not kill them for that. Minds are malleable, and I'm sure I could have bent the family to my will had I tried."
"Then why bother?"
"Come, Edric, you know me as a man of vision, of a man who looks always to the future. Perhaps even a man who can see the cycles of the world turning. It has been my life's work to see Tressia blossom. In the Trelans I saw a thorn amongst the blooms and – if you'll forgive the shift in metaphors – one whose poison would destroy not only my beautiful garden, but the whole world."
I snorted. "And the Trelans could have done that? Even with Sidara's magic coursing through their veins, I have difficulty believing they could have achieved such a thing."
"Really?" Solomon, arched an eyebrow. "You've seen what Arianwyn is capable of. Now imagine a whole family – an entire dynasty – of such creatures. What could they not achieve if they put their minds to it? But was not the Trelans I feared. It was Lumestra."
The name sounded familiar. After a moment of wracking my brains, I had it. "The Radiant."
He nodded. "The Radiant."
"You knew this was coming?"
"Let us say instead I thought it likely. At least, too likely to permit squeamish foibles to stay my hand." He peered meaningfully at my sword. "I'm finding it very hard to keep my mind on the topic whilst seven inches from decapitation. Put down the weapon."
