Soldiers of Ruin

by Stephen L. Nowland

  “No dragon, no sceptre,” the official grunted with finality. “Even if we have it, why would we just hand over such a powerful weapon? I propose we conduct a thorough search of our records to locate the relic, and then use it ourselves against the dragon.”

  “And what army are ye going to send against it this time?” shouted another dwarf, sporting a red beard and a sour disposition. “Ye’ve already called in yer favours, and if ya think yer getting’ a single soldier from the MacLean’s, yer daft.” The surrounding counsellors all started shouting at once, mostly in the dwarven tongue.

  King Sulinus called for order, but was ignored by everyone. He sat back in his throne, watching helplessly as the bickering rivalries amongst his people took control. Pacian wasn’t an expert on leadership, but he was fairly certain that a king should be able to command some form of respect from his people.

  Nellise gave Pacian a knowing look, to which he just shook his head helplessly. Tosh seemed equally unimpressed, and his earlier hesitation regarding his support for the king now made sense. Sayana was trying to say something but couldn’t be heard over the shouting. Valennia saw this, and let out a hoarse shout that silenced the argument for a moment.

  “My sister has something to say, and you will listen to her words!” she roared at an impressive volume.

  “If you want the axe, you can have it,” Sayana said quietly. “I want no more part of this chaos.” The dwarves remained silent, looking to their king for his response.

  “Thank you,” he said respectfully. “You have no idea how important it is to me at this time. You have my leave to go and retrieve the weapon. Sergeant MacIntosh, see to her safety and that of the relic.”

  “Aye, yer Majesty,” Tosh replied stiffly, bowing low. He gestured to the door, and after Nellise had curtsied politely, they headed back down the hallway to the great doors, as the sounds of renewed discussion erupted from behind them.

  “Are you sure about this?” Pacian asked Sayana once they were out of earshot.

  “We need the sceptre, right?” she shrugged. “Besides, I may be new to civilisation, but even I can see that this place is going to fall apart without solid leadership. Better this king than another, I figure.”

  Pacian retrieved his knives from the suspicious guards outside the royal hall, and then they quickly made their way back to the inn. With luck, they could hand over Thanesedge and get some answers about the sceptre before the end of tomorrow, and then head back to Fairloch.

  By the time they entered the common room of the Rockslide, the place was bustling with the evening crowd. Pacian was looking forward to a lazy night by the fire and decided he wouldn’t bother going back to see Sayana hand the axe over to Sulinus. Unfortunately, fate had something else in store for him that night.

  “Where are our weapons?” Valennia demanded upon viewing their empty chamber. A feeling of dread welled up in Pacian’s stomach, and he quickly made his way across the room to shift the brick that would open the secret compartment. Although he was a little far away to see it, the gasps he heard from Nellise and Sayana told him all he needed to know.

  “I thought you said this place was safe, Tosh?” Pacian growled at the burly sergeant as he came inside to check it out. He spat a few choice curses, but even Nellise didn’t seem to care.

  “I told ya that we didn’t know the layout of this room,” he barked.

  “Well someone did,” Pacian shot back, outraged at the theft. “You left a man outside the door, and there’s no other way in — what the hell was he doing, counting sheep?”

  “Nobody came through, I swear it,” the guard said emphatically.

  “Assuming you weren’t paid off,” Pacian muttered. Tosh glared up at him, eye to eye. Despite the difference in height, the dwarf was not intimidated in the least.

  “Ya want to think twice before accusing me men of being traitors,” he growled threateningly. “We all owe ye our lives — do ya think any of us’d repay ya with treachery?”

  “Of course not,” Nellise chimed in, giving Pacian a meaningful look.

  “Alright, I’ll take your word for it,” he relented, taking a deep breath as he tried to focus. “If the axe hadn’t been safely hidden, we might have assumed it was an ordinary burglary. Whoever managed to get into the room undetected knew about the secret compartment, which suggests a professional thief, someone who has lived in the city for years.” An idea leaped unbidden into his mind.

  “Sloane MacAliese,” Pacian said aloud. “She’s a pro so there’s a good chance she’d know about the secrets of this room. And I saw her talking with Old Hamish a few days ago, so she probably took the axe for him. The rest of our gear was just icing on the cake.” There was a crash as Valennia smashed a glass out of frustration and anger.

  “Thieving wretch!” she bellowed in her hoarse voice.

  “Bit of a stretch there, lad,” Tosh remarked, eyeing the towering akoran warily. “And that doesn’t explain how she got in and out of here in the first place.” Pacian ran a hand through his hair and tried to think of how he would do it.

  “Did anything odd happen while we were gone?” he asked of the guard who had watched over the door during their absence.

  “Odd? Not really,” he replied, tugging his short beard thoughtfully. “An older lady dropped her luggage as she was trying to open the door to her room just down the hall and I went to help…” Pacian stared at the soldier, who suddenly realised his mistake. “I was only away from the door for a few moments!” he exclaimed.

  “More than enough time for someone to get in or out,” Pacian groaned.

  “Ya daft bugger!” Tosh roared. “Was she a longshanks, or one of us?”

  “A dwarven lass,” the solider confirmed, his head hanging low.

  “And why would one of our kin be stayin’ at an inn made for humans?” Tosh yelled. “Did ya even think o’ that?” The solider didn’t reply, but stood to attention as his face flushed red.

  “Did this happen once, or twice?” Nellise asked as Pacian stared daggers at the guard.

  “Aye ma’am, just that one time, shortly after ya left.”

  “Then if that’s how the thief got in, how did she get out again?” Nellise wondered. Pacian blinked in sudden realisation.

  “Check the closets,” he ordered, immediately turning to check all possible places where someone could hide. Everyone began to search the room in a frenzy, turning over the beds and spilling the contents of all the cupboards and wardrobes onto the floor. After nearly ten minutes of fruitless searching, Pacian gave up and sat on the bed, despondent and tired from the long day.

  “I need a drink,” he sighed, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. “If you have any stunning revelations, you’ll know where to find me.”

  “I better go tell the king what’s happened,” Tosh grumbled as Pacian moved to the door. “They’ll be wonderin’ where we are, and it’s best not to keep ‘em waiting.” The two of them left the room, closing the door quietly as they headed towards the bustling noise of the common room. Just before they reached it, Tosh caught Pacian’s attention with a quick nudge to the ribs.

  “I’m sorry about the mess,” he mumbled. “After what ya did for me and mine, this is a poor way to repay you. I’ll have strong words with Private Lachlan later on, but for now, I want to give ya this.” The sergeant pulled a dagger out of his belt. It shined brightly, even in the dim light of the corridor, with flowing lines etched along the length of the blade, and a dark gemstone embedded in the pommel. Pacian had seen enough of Sayana’s axe to know that the dagger was made out of vythir, and was probably worth a small fortune.

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but are you sure you want to part with it?” Pacian breathed, taking the dagger and marvelling at its perfect balance.

  “Ye saved me life,” Tosh replied simply. “This dagger has been in me family for three centuries, and truth be told, it doesn’t get used much. I was to pass it to me son, but he’s an ungrateful bast
ard who’d just sell it and live like a king. I think you’d put it to good use mate and honestly, it’s the least I can do. Take it.”

  “You’re a scholar and a gentleman,” Pacian said with a grin as he accepted the blade, twirling it in his hand a couple of times to gain a feel for it before sliding it into his empty sheath. “I promise to use it in the cause of justice, always.”

  “Why do I get the feelin’ your version of justice is a bit bloodier than mine,” Tosh inquired with a squint.

  “Because, Tosh old friend, you’re not a complete idiot,” Pacian laughed, slapping him on the back as they went into the common room.

  “Alright, I’ll be back in an hour or so, depending on how badly they take the news,” Tosh advised, shaking Pacian’s hand. “Stay sober — ya might have to leave here first thing tomorrow, and quickly, if ya get my meaning.”

  “I’ll be discreet,” Pacian assured him as he headed to the bar. The room was still quite crowded, so Pacian pulled up a stool and ordered a local ale. He drank half the mug in one go and wiped the foam from around his mouth as warmth started to spread through his body. Feeling more relaxed, he turned to glance at the crowd, and almost instantly fixated on a familiar face.

  Sloane MacAliese sat at a small table across the room, by herself, gazing at Pacian with a blank expression. A cold rage fell over him, a silent promise of death in his eyes as he checked around the room in case she had brought friends with her. He didn’t sense that anyone here was an immediate threat, but Pacian was dealing with professional crooks and probably wouldn’t have been able to spot them if he tried.

  His curiosity getting the better of him, Pacian swaggered across the room and sat at the small table across from Sloane, who favoured him with a cold smile. Although he couldn’t see any weapons, he assumed she was well armed, and at least one of the nearby dwarves was an ally of hers. He had to play this smart.

  “Did you steal our bloody axe?” he blurted angrily.

  “Of course not,” Sloane replied, raising an eyebrow in surprise at his directness. “Ye can’t steal what’s already yers.”

  “I don’t recall seeing you in Ferrumgaard,” Pacian said with a healthy dose of sarcasm. “I’m sure I would have recognised you.”

  “Me father spent years trying to find that axe, and then one day ya show up with it, claiming to be his friends, and oh by the way, he happens to be dead!” Sloane accused. “Bloody convenient if ya ask me.”

  “I didn’t kill your father,” Pacian objected in a hushed voice, glancing around to make sure he didn’t have an audience. “He was eaten by a giant snake. He dropped the axe, and it would have been a shame to just leave it there.” Sloane leaned across the table and stared Pacian right in the eye.

  “How can I possibly know that?” she asked plainly, her dark eyes glinting. “Ye have nothing but yer word to back ye up, and I know what kind o’ man ya are.”

  “If you’ve got a problem with my story, go and have a word with the snake.”

  “I don’t need to anymore,” she answered with a shrug, leaning back in her seat. “What’s done is done. Father gave his life trying to recover it, and now the thing is truly where it belongs.” Pacian looked at her shrewdly for a long moment, trying to discern her meaning. He really was tired, and the ale wasn’t helping his thought processes either.

  “I’m guessing you didn’t give it to the king,” he drawled. “So, I reckon you’re supporting Old Hamish’s claim to the throne, since they’re the only two options.”

  “Ya know, I didna really care much for politics before a few days ago,” Sloane answered casually, sipping from a tall glass. “Hamish has always been a loud bugger, bleating on about how the MacTavish’s exploited people scared after the fall of Ferrumgaard, stealing the throne from the MacAlieses. He still reckons that Aielund gave us this place within their borders, just so we could do all their mining for them.”

  “Dad grew up hearing all that of course, and it went right to ‘is head. He badly wanted to knock Sulinus off the throne and he was obsessed with that axe… but now he’s dead, and for all I know, yer the one that killed him. Hell, the tall pretty one has his bloody crossbow! You might as well be parading around with his skull on your head, like a hat.”

  “I wish I could convince you otherwise, but I get the impression your mind is made up,” Pacian remarked ominously. “Are you going to give it back, or not?”

  “’Tisn’t my axe now,” Sloane shrugged, calming down again. “It belongs to the real king o’ the dwarves, so ye’ll have to take it up with ‘im.”

  “Fine, take me to him and I’ll we’ll have a nice chat, perhaps over tea and scones,” Pacian growled. Sloane laughed, and it wasn’t anything to do with the scone reference.

  “Ye’d best take your ladies and head back home,” Sloane advised, finishing her drink in one gulp and getting up to leave. “Yer in over yer head, Blondie, and things just get uglier from here on out. But thanks for bringing the axe with ya.” Pacian toyed with his mug idly, watching her depart with a sly smile on her full lips. He appeared to be defeated as he sat, sipping his drink waiting for her friends to leave. Within a few seconds, two burly dwarven men at the table across from him sidled into the crowd, leaving him to his misery.

  Or so they thought. The moment he was no longer under observation, Pacian immediately detached his cloak and exchanged it with one draped over the table behind him. Its owner was engaged in a conversation with an attractive dwarven woman, unaware of the switch. Pacian clasped it around his neck and left the table with the hood of the grey cloak covering his distinctive hair. He kept his knees bent so his height wouldn’t betray his presence, and moved to the door.

  Carefully checking the stairwell, Pacian descended silently, using all the strength in his legs to soften his steps. At the bottom, he inched forward carefully, uncertain if anyone would be watching the street entrance.

  The thoroughfare was all but deserted now, with only a few lanterns providing dim light for the vast hall. A flicker of movement down the street caught Pacian’s eye, and he recognised Sloane from the subtle sway of her dress as she walked. Of her two companions there was no sign, though Pacian knew they were here somewhere.

  Needing an edge in the dark conditions, he reached into a pouch and withdrew a pair of magical goggles Aiden had given him. As soon as he put them on, the street became visible to him in shades of grey. The columns and balconies lining the main street were obvious to him now, and he moved forward with confidence.

  Pacian had more than his eyes working in his favour however, for his ears pricked up as he heard the shifting of feet on stone from close by. Freezing in place, he slowly reached into a pouch and pulled out a small stone. Aiming carefully, he threw it further along the street. It skittered across the stone with a sharp clacking noise that to Pacian’s sharpened senses sounded like an avalanche in the cold, empty street.

  All feelings of fatigue fled from his body as his heartbeat raced, thudding loudly in his ears. Pacian controlled the adrenaline surging within and held still, waiting for his mysterious opponent to make a mistake. A stout, heavily-cloaked figure emerged only a few yards ahead. He held a dagger in one hand as he crept forward. Creeping up behind him, Pacian placed a hand over the dwarf’s mouth and ran Tosh’s vythiric dagger across his throat.

  The dwarf thrashed around a little, but Pacian's hands clamped down tightly, preventing a single noise escaping. After the body went limp, he dragged it into a small alcove and placed it quietly onto the ground. A heavy hand suddenly clamped over his mouth, and Pacian knew instantly that the other of Sloane’s associates had spotted him.

  The dwarf’s hands were strong, and Pacian futilely struggled against his iron grip for a long moment. Unable to get the thick fingers away from his face, he changed tactics and brought his heel up between his opponent’s legs with all the strength he could muster. A wheezing sound signalled a direct hit, and the hands released their grip.

  Pacian whirled around, sm
ashing his elbow into the side of the dwarf’s head and then slashing across his back with Tosh’s dagger. As the thug staggered on his feet, Pacian stayed on the attack, slamming his knee up into the dwarf’s concealed face, shattering his nose.

  Needing to finish this quickly, Pacian stabbed the thug in the back again and again, dropping the stout bastard in a pool of his own blood. Pacian paused for a moment to catch his breath before dragging the body over to his fallen friend. If this was the quality of their enforcers, Pacian didn’t have much to worry about.

  Realising the delay might cause him to lose track of Sloane, he set stealth aside and rushed down the street, searching left and right for signs of her passing. Although it was possible for her to have entered any of the closed shops along the thoroughfare, his instincts told him she had gone deeper — thieves and scoundrels did not exist close to the surface of any city, even an underground one.

  As Pacian headed to the great staircase leading down to the lower level, he instinctively avoided a pair of patrolling guardsmen. Hiding behind a column until they disappeared from sight, he then hurried down the stairs to continue his pursuit. When he reached the bottom, he spied a figure at the very edge of his vision, stepping through a door down the street. Hoping he’d managed to catch a glimpse of Sloane in the nick of time, Pacian made his way there as quickly as possible.

  The low ceiling wasn’t a problem as he crept along, keeping to the more covered areas near the shopfronts. Another pair of passing guards froze him in place for the better part of a minute and, he silently chafed at the delay. After they finally sauntered past, Pacian made a quick dash for the door and was not surprised to find it locked. Nearby lanterns shed enough light to read the sign, even without his goggles — the small board nailed to the front door declared this to be a candle-maker’s shop.

  Certain that it was the one he had seen Sloane use, he took out his lock-picks and set to work. It was unusual to do this in the grey half-light the enchanted lenses provided, but Pacian was nothing if not adaptable. Within moments, the lock was open and he crept inside, pleased that the well-oiled hinge made no sound on his way through.