When Khani balked, the guard commander drew out a small golden disk from his robes. If it weren’t for the material and lack of a printed numeral, it might have passed for the latest batch of clay tokens he’d handed Crim a few days earlier. He pressed the token and seal of his authority into the informant’s hands and met his terrified eyes with a gaze as stern as steel.
“If you want to survive this night you will do exactly as I say,” Guuhal said. “And do it quickly.”
Without waiting to see if he’d be obeyed, he strode away from the royal apartments and toward the eastern wing of the Citadel. A second later, he heard the rush of Khani’s feet running in the opposite direction.
Alborz waited with his men—and more besides—in an alley that opened to a view of the eastern wall of the Citadel.
He would have liked to spend time with a washbasin and a mirror after his release, but his men, the bold fools that they were, had been right. There was no better time to put an end to this madness.
“They are coming.” The whispered report came from a man at the mouth of the alley.
The informally reinstated Argbed nodded and rolled wrists that had not so very long ago worn shackles.
“Remember,” he said in a low voice that carried to every ear around him. “We need everyone alive, both the abducted and abductors. We do this quickly and cleanly and ensure that we have as many options as possible for interrogation. We’re pulling this all up by the root and that means we need to know everything.”
The guards around him nodded and every gaze he met showed him that they understood exactly what was at stake. They were all traitors now, and the only way they could emerge from this with any of their honor intact and their necks unstretched was if they could prove their case.
It seemed inopportune to mention the fact that he wasn’t yet sure what that case was. The word of the prince’s involvement had come with barely enough time for him to give instructions to his men in preparation for this moment, but from the time Guuahl had come with the entire Gold Quarter barracks at his back to the moment to when his men arrived to set him free, he hadn’t come up with a single plausible explanation for why the prince was the will driving this.
Of course, even while in chains, he’d heard mutterings that Tarkhind was becoming increasingly erratic, but at the beginning, at least, this hadn’t all been madness. It had started so small and so measured that the Argbed struggled to believe it was all the design of a mad aristocrat. If the prince had possessed the good sense to take such measures, why begin in the first place?
The creaking rumble of a wagon drew his attention back to the moment and with a slow, measured stride, he led the men toward the mouth of the alley.
“Quickly and cleanly,” he whispered. “Shepherd, hear my cry and know me. Quickly and cleanly tonight.”
The donkey-drawn wagon rolled into view and Alborz’s lips parted in a grim smile.
Crim sat at the front of the wagon next to the driver. He picked at his fingers, utterly confident and unconcerned. The Argbed hadn’t asked for this additional blessing but Shepherd knew he would take hold of it with both hands.
The wagon had turned toward the narrow causeway over the moat before it forked into one ramp to the eastern postern door and another that ran down to the under canals beneath parts of the Citadel.
“Move in!” he shouted as he broke into a jog. At his side, his men raised their voices and their metal-shod clubs.
Crim’s sharp face whipped around the side of the wagon and his eyes bulged in the moonlight when he saw the guards descending on him in force. Alborz could barely make out the abductor in chief shouting at the driver, and the wagon made a lurching acceleration toward the ramp to the under canals. The haste was short-lived as a knot of royal guards raised the portcullis to the lower portal and marched forward in close order. The draft beasts seemed to understand that there was no hope for escape before their frantic masters did and brayed in protest before they stopped a few yards short of the downward slope.
The guards were on the causeway and rushed forward when Crim hopped down from the wagon and walked toward them. The villain peered over the low wall which guarded the edges of the causeway and the Argbed wondered if he would choose a watery death over what was probably coming next. He hadn’t thought of the ruffian as one with the stomach for such an act, even in spite, but he had learned much about how much he didn’t know men’s hearts lately.
When Crim reached the back of the wagon and drew out a clay token, Alborz was glad to see that the abductor wasn’t yet ready to throw himself into the rolling water.
“Alborz, my good friend,” he said silkily as he leaned against the rear of the conveyance. “I’d heard you’d retired but I am glad to see that the Citadel is still under your watchful eye for the moment.”
This close, the Argbed could see the bound figures they hadn’t bothered to cover this time in the back of the wagon. In the poor light, he couldn't make features out but there were at least four poor souls and one of them looked small enough to be a youth of a dozen years or so.
“I told you this day was coming, Crim,” he reminded him coolly. “It didn’t come fast enough for my taste but Shepherd be praised, it’s come at last. You’re done.”
The man’s lips twitched as he fought to keep his smile and he cast his gaze at the force brought to bear against him. Like a fox with his tail in a snare, he smiled all the wider.
“Oh, maybe you should have retired, Alborz, my dear friend,” he responded pityingly as he brandished the clay disk for all to see. “You once again seem to forget all about this little token here.”
He looked at the graven seal and raised his eyes to meet Crim’s gaze.
“That won’t save you now, Crim.”
The corner of the abductor’s eye twitched but his smile held, however brittle it now seemed.
“Is it simply a matter of inflation?” he asked and slid a hand into his shirt to draw out two more seals. “Because there’s more where this comes from.”
Alborz didn’t waste his breath with an answer and instead, let the man see his collapsing world reflected in his relentless eyes.
Fear, both feral and petty, flashed across Crim’s face, but before he could give the order to seize the abductors and free the abducted, there was a commotion at the postern door overhead. The heavily fortified door swung inward and out strode Hazarbed Guuhal.
To say that the Argbed was surprised to see him would have been a gross understatement, but the fact that the guard commander emerged alone and strode confidently down the ramp was beyond credulity. If every man on the causeway wasn’t staring with him, he might have assumed he was seeing things.
All stood in rapt silence except for Crim, who spared a moment from staring to loose a particularly venomous smile at the castellan.
“It looks like your superior is here to remind you about the way the law works in Jehadim.”
Alborz didn’t answer but instead, attempted to steel himself for what might happen. Before the business of the snatchers, he would have willingly said he respected the Hazarbed and although they didn’t always see eye to eye, he would have said they were both true comrades in service of Jehadim. Now, though, they were men standing on opposite sides of a battlefield and he knew what that might require of him, no matter how much he disliked it.
“What is going on, Argbed Alborz?” Guuhal asked in a strong voice worthy of the parade-ground.
He paused for a moment, somewhat disconcerted by the guard commander using his supposedly stripped title. Alborz told himself it was probably a slip brought on by force of habit as he forced himself to reply.
“Arresting criminals, Hazarbed,” he answered in his field voice. “These men have been caught kidnapping those within the walls of Jehadim.”
Crim stepped toward them and held two clay disks up in one hand.
“See, that is where the good Argbed must be confused, oh wise Hazarbed,” the abductor stated smugly. “He see
ms to forget that because of these lovely things, there can be no arrest because there can be no crime.”
Guuhal looked at the tokens for a long moment and gave the man a small smile before his staff swept down. The clay disks along with a few of Crim’s fingers broke with a crack and the abductor screamed in shock and pain.
“Carry on, Argbed,” the Hazarbed instructed over the shrieks.
Alborz was taken aback but not willing to let the Shepherd’s good grace go to waste, he nodded and called to his men.
“You heard him, lads,” he shouted. “Bind these two and secure the victims.”
A hearty cheer went up from the assembled guards as they rushed to do the duty so long denied them. Before he could twist away, Crim was seized and forced to his knees where he was bound quickly, although he snarled and spat like a cornered animal.
The driver proved faster than expected and with the graceless speed of the mortally desperate, scrambled into the back of the wagon and seized the first bound victim at hand and produced a long-knife from inside his tunic.
“Get back!” he screamed and flashed the blade before he rested against the bound man’s neck. “Get back now.”
The royal guards halted but did not retreat, their gazes torn between watching the desperate driver and looking to their Argbed for guidance.
Overhead, the skies rumbled and the wind picked up as if all of nature was stirred by the drama of the evening.
“This will not end in any way you want it to,” Alborz said in a firm but gentle voice. “There is no reason to make thi—”
He halted in mid-word when he realized that he recognized the bound man with a knife to his throat.
“Vahrem?” the castellan muttered and the shock chased all sense of what he’d been saying out of his head.
“Ihfwamhsluuhcifhgfoohgoo,” the caravan master replied through the gag packed and bound over his mouth.
The driver seemed confused by what was happening, which was probably fair to say of most who were present. His gaze darted suspiciously from his hostage to the Argbed and back again.
“Stay back,” he said and a tremor of uncertainty threaded through his voice. “One step closer and I slice him open.”
“Oh, Shepherd, be merciful,” Alborz said and chuckled. “I’m merely going to tell you right now that you’d be much better off if you threw that knife away and quickly.”
“What?” The driver grunted and squinted at the castellan. “What are you talking about?”
“Dhiz!” Vahrem growled through the fabric as he twisted his whole body to drive his head into the side of his captor’s face.
The man dropped the knife with the force and shock of the sudden impact and before he could recover to defend himself, the bound merchant lurched forward and powered his head into him. Blood exploded from the driver’s crushed nose and he staggered back and tumbled over the side of the wagon into the waiting grasp of Alborz’s men.
“Told you.” The Argbed shrugged as he turned from watching the bloodied man being firmly bound to looking into his old friend’s battered face.
“Shepherd love you, brother.” He chuckled. “How does this keep happening to you?”
“Ifhwa—” was all Vahrem could manage before his bound feet lost their balance and he flopped into the wagon with a pained grunt.
Laughing, Alborz climbed up the back and began to untie his friend as other guards reached into the wagon to do likewise for the remaining three captives. The bindings were secure and not the easiest to loosen but within a few moments, all four were standing, stretching, and generally doing their best to get feeling back into their limbs.
“I was looking for you,” Vahrem explained as shook his legs out and flexed his fingers. “That’s what I was trying to say.”
Alborz chuckled again as he threw his arm around him and patted his broad shoulder.
“Well, you found me.”
Both men began to laugh but were interrupted by a sharp voice calling from the postern gate.
“What have you done?”
Every eye followed the voice up the ramp and there, flanked on either side by royal guards, was Prince Tarkhind. He looked as though he’d been dragged from his bed.
Above them, the storm flashed lighting that threw the prince’s face into stark contrast and each and every vein seemed to bulge against his skin. Despite this, Hazarbed Guuhal was the first to answer.
“It seems they are arresting criminals,” the guard commander declared, his shoulders square and head held high.
Another fork of lightning ripped across the sky and a second later, a blast of thunder seemed to make the causeway rock. Even after the last rumble died away, Alborz felt the structure beneath them shake.
“You idiots!” Prince Tarkhind ranted and spittle frothed out of his mouth as he turned a wild, baleful look at everyone in his presence. “This is your fault! You fools have ruined everything. You’ve killed Jehadim!”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“This will be utterly delicious.” Atlacothix hissed with pleasure as it shuffled closer to look over her shoulder while she studied the symbols carved into the begrimed stones of the altar.
“Do you have to be so close?” Ax-Wed asked and swallowed the urge to retch by force of will alone.
The fiend chuckled softly as its huge head nodded, inky ichor dripping from its fangs, but it made no move to shift its bulk back.
“I am sure the enormity of my woes is lost on you,” it continued and its slick, corpulent body shivered as it spoke. “But after the failed attempts to shelter the Gatehouse in the earth, I was wounded and weakened and unable to repair the Eye to return to the Kingdom. It took time and sustenance, which was…limited, but as the years passed, my strength returned but also ensnared me here even more within this crude physical existence.”
Ripples spread through the gelatinous mixture within the pool with each word, but the last one spoken was like a dire curse and the ripples grew to splashes. Despite the concentration needed to bind the incantation to her mind, she spared a second to check that Zoria was close at hand.
The girl seemed broken. She stood a stride away and her head hung and her entire body drooped.
I hope she’ll understand, the warrior woman thought before focused on the inscription on the altar again. At least before this is all over.
“By the time I had the strength to repair the Eye, that blasted bloodline was established above and my children below were no longer capable of sorcery.” Atlacothix hissed as he turned jet-black eyes to the ceiling. “Then that Cherubash was always hovering overhead and I could do nothing but sit here in this pit and wait for something to change before the end of the Long War.”
“Do you have to talk so much?” Ax-Wed grunted as she traced the curl of a sigil with one gloved finger. “This isn’t easy.”
“I would apologize but it’s not as though I’ve had much conversation in the past millennium,” the fiend explained and brushed her complaint aside with a toss of its wide head. “Before the prince finally found me, I hadn’t had anyone worth talking to for centuries and there was too much at stake with him to spend any time in idle chatter.”
She quieted her next protest at the mention of the prince and hoped that the chatty demon would find a reason to speak more on his connection to the ruler of Jehadim.
Fortunately, it continued with a deeply amused rumble that stirred deep inside its throat.
“I had hopes that my manipulation of him would result in the Cherubash finally forsaking its duty, but even with an accelerated timetable, the chasm between the mortal and his divine guard dog seemed to be crawling if it’s widening at all. True, the little vermin has been losing his mind as humans understand it, but it seems that was of little consequence to the cruel guardian. For a time, I thought I might despair. Yet, as the True King always says, ‘The victory of the Kingdom is assured,’ and lo, there do you come, my salvation from the days of old delivered by my ingenious efforts.”
And you almost had me killed several times, Ax-Wed thought as she surreptitiously finished her examination of the last sigil. But keep believing it was all meant to be.
“And now we’ll kill a whole city to kill one man,” she remarked dryly as she made a show of still examining the symbols.
“I know. Isn’t it thrilling?” the fiend said with an appreciative grin. “Although to be honest, this will hardly be the first time one of your race has done so or at least something of this magnitude. Truly, your people were perhaps the greatest accomplishment of our labors. A grand society of materialistic sorcerers with a dedication to reality and its subjugation that rivaled our own. While I grieve to see their grandeur so faded, I’m glad to see their spirit, however diminished, remains with your kind.”
Uncertain of how to respond to the backhanded compliment about her damnable people, she settled for a slow nod and turned to look into the ghastly face that hovered over her.
“All right, I think I understand,” she said as she shuffled a half-step from the altar. “The first incantation will gather the power for the spell and the second one will direct it.”
Atlacothix nodded so vigorously that strands of black slime were slung into the air.
“Yes, yes,” it agreed enthusiastically and rearranged its coils to look at her from across the altar. “But be very precise as the damage to the Eye makes it a mite touchy and I’m certain I won’t have to tell you that channeling such power will hurt a great deal.”
“I’m quite aware,” the Thulian replied before she turned for a soft word with Zoria. “Stay close to me. This will be scary.”
The girl nodded but gave no further response.
“Are we ready?” the fiend asked and its entire body shivered with anticipation.
Ax-Wed knew it was a distraction she could not afford, but she thought of Jehadim above, of its high walls and the proud Citadel, and the market squares and plazas teeming with people from across the East and beyond. She recalled the faces of some she had seen passing her when she entered the city—an old man with twinkling eyes and a young woman with braids like a waterfall of black gold. Then she remembered Julo and Jalen, their eyes huge and curious as they watched her by firelight and this opened a flood of faces—Numi, Durra, Iyshan, and Vahrem.
Circle In The Deep (The Outcast Royal Book 1) Page 27
