Shepherd’s Awakening (Books 1-3)

by Pablo Andrés Wunderlich Padilla

  He took the two bags of crowns and shot out of the window.

  Mérdmerén leaned out and was astonished to see the boy’s movements. He moved like a wild cat.

  “I can’t believe you’ve given all our money to that bastard,” the sailor said.

  Mérdmerén laughed mirthlessly. “At least he left us this to warm our bellies.”

  Chapter XXXIII – Omnibus Disputandum

  It was midnight and Mérdmerén was finding it impossible to sleep. He could not forget that out there, the murderers of the Brotherhood of the Ravens were following his trail, asking about him everywhere. At least nobody knows I’m staying here except for Turi and Chauncy. That bastard! Everything I did for him, and this is how he repays me, he thought angrily. One person knowing where I am is all it takes. If they tortured him, he’d be sure to sell me out!

  He stood up suddenly, left the warmth of the sheets, and dressed as fast as he could. The sailor was snoring deeply; he felt envious. He left the room on tiptoe. The corridor was quiet, with the only sound being the snores of the other customers. He took a step, and the wood creaked.

  He went on, trusting that nobody suspected him in the inn. If anybody should come out, he would say he was on his way to the privy. He went down the stairs to the bar. Everything seemed quiet. He half-opened the door. A burst of light lit up the hall.

  Chauncy’s helper was asleep on a chair, slumped on the counter. He must be on duty in case a guest should need anything. Close by, an old man with withered skin was drinking beer that looked like cat’s piss. There was nobody else. Where could Chauncy be?

  He opened the door wide. There was vomit on the floor and blood on the tables. Had the fiends from the Brotherhood of the Ravens been here? Had they tortured the guests? The man who was drinking had a split lip. He showed no sign of having noticed the traveler’s entry; he simply drank and drank with such small sips that it looked as though he meant to make the beer last until dawn.

  Mérdmerén went up to the counter. From outside came the hubbub of horses. He paid no heed since many travelers, drunkards, and prostitutes were out in the streets at that hour. He squeezed the talisman, trusting that it would hide him from his enemies. On the counter was a dry, half-sucked piece of fruit.

  He picked it up and threw it at the face of Chauncy’s helper, who woke up at once. The boy’s eyes were red, streaked with a web of tiny blood vessels. Around them, the skin had begun to turn purple. At first, Mérdmerén had thought the boy was drunk or tired, but now it occurred to him that he might be stunned after a beating.

  “Hey, where’s Chauncy?”

  “Whaaaa’?” the helper replied blankly.

  “Chauncy,” he hissed.

  The boy pointed his thumb toward the back. There was a door. Mérdmerén leaped over the counter without caring what the boy thought. Dirty glasses were piled up in dark water there, and tiny bugs were running over the barrels.

  When he looked in front of him, he had a surprise: the waiter, who until a few moments before had appeared to be in a catatonic state, was holding a heavy shovel that he could have split his skull with.

  Mérdmerén went to the door and turned the knob slowly. It was not locked. The light of a candle allowed him to see the room. It was small, with a single bed. A curtain hid what might have been a latrine. Scattered on a shelf were objects brought from other countries. Time seemed to freeze. Something was happening.

  He grasped Stern’s dagger and unsheathed it with a pleasing sound. It was also an oppressive one. Someone came out from behind the door holding a large machete in both hands, screaming like a lunatic. From him emanated the drive and fear of those who are ready to self-destruct. Mérdmerén easily dodged Chauncy’s attack. At this point, the man recognized him. Astonishment, anger, and relief crossed his face in succession.

  “Holy saints! Blessed be Alac Arc Ángelo, it’s you!” Chauncy panted. “I thought it was those sons of the great putrid whore of the unspeakable underworlds. I can’t believe those shit-faces would come and demand things like that of me. Just a minute. It’s you! What d’you want? Get away from me!” Chauncy yelled.

  Mérdmerén put the dagger away and stretched out his hands, palms open. “My old mate, I’ve come to talk to you for a few minutes. I need to make sure you won’t hand me in. There’s a ferocious enemy after me, and I have an important message to deliver.”

  Chauncy fell to his knees and began to weep. At that moment, Mérdmerén recognized the defeated man, the treacherous one, the ungrateful one. It was obvious that Chauncy had already sold him.

  “How much did they give you?” was all he asked.

  “Fifty crowns.”

  The deserter exploded. “What a piece of human scum! I’d have paid you double just to keep your mouth shut!”

  “Forgive me! I was t-t-terrified.” His teeth were chattering. “I’m sorry,” he whined.

  Mérdmerén looked at him in disgust. He had never felt such loathing for anybody. “I’m the one who’s sorry,” he murmured. “Who helped you find a way out of your poverty, you miserable beggar, you bloody cockroach, you unhinged rat? This is how you return the favor, is it? Handing me in to a bunch of murderers? You stab your savior in the back, the one who gave you a chance, a job when you had nothing? How dare you? How dare you!? You’re a worthless no-good! But I’m going to give you one warning: Everything has to be paid for in this life. It’s something I’ve learned pretty thoroughly lately. Time puts everything and everyone in their right place. And don’t you ever come near me again because I’ll kill you, and it won’t be quick. D’you understand me?”

  Chauncy was weeping. “My old mate, please, forgive me. Forgive me!”

  “At least have the decency to tell me everything you know about them.”

  “They’re waiting outside. It’ll be tonight, while everybody’s asleep.”

  A sudden worry stabbed through Mérdmerén’s chest. He ran out, went up the stairs with great strides. His bedroom door was open. Ahead of him, he heard a woman screaming and sounds of swords being unsheathed. He went into the room and found the window open and his friend’s bed empty. He ran back into the corridor. Turi was at the far end, signaling to him to hurry.

  Mérdmerén ran to him. The young man gestured him to be quiet. Mérdmerén screamed. A dart had hit him in the back.

  “Come on!” Turi urged him. Mérdmerén climbed onto the windowsill to jump out. Once on the other side, he fell to his knees but did not feel that particular pain. The dart was burning his skin. He heard the sound of horses’ hooves, Ságamas’ voice, and the hum of a shower of arrows. Two strong hands grabbed him and pulled him up onto a horse, and they shot off.

  Then, everything went black.

  ***

  “Aaah!” Mérdmerén screamed as he came to. He found himself lying facedown, about three feet off the floor on a stretcher. The walls of the room were made of brick eaten away by mold, the roof was half-collapsed, and the floor was made irregular by the dripping of dirty water. The smell of damp was penetrating.

  Beside him was a man with bandages and a bowl: a healer, he supposed, who was looking at him with satisfaction. At that moment, a door opened, and the man disappeared through it. At the same time, a familiar face came in.

  “Turi,” Mérdmerén said. “What are we doing here?” He shut his eyelids as if to get rid of an unpleasant dream.

  Ságamas came in too with a bandaged arm immobilized against his chest by a piece of cloth that hung from his neck.

  “Sailor! Are you all right?” He meant to sit up, but the pain returned, and he dropped back onto the stretcher. At the same time, he felt a cold draught on his back, which made the hair stand on end. “Aaaah, ye Gods. What’s happened to me?” Without his clothes and armor, he felt vulnerable.

  “You owe me one, Mérdmerén,” Turi said with a smile. “Or rather, Arbitrator. I’ve saved your skin, and it wasn’t easy. I lost two of my thieves in the attempt.”

  “Your thieves? Who are
you?”

  “I told you, I’m Turi the Crafty. The Baron has faith in my ability, and he let me lead the gang he sent yesterday to rescue you both.”

  “How did you know they were going to kill us?”

  “Nothing happens in this city without the Faceless Baron knowing about it. I told you that too. It was obvious that Chauncy would sell you.”

  “Hang on. So what’s happened to Chauncy?”

  “They’ve taken him hostage, but he’s not important any longer. Now, it’s you who’s the important one.”

  “Wha—? Wait a minute. First, explain to me what I’m doing here in this disgusting place.”

  “You’re welcome, my friend. It was a pleasure to save your life,” said the boy ironically. “Well then, you were hit by one of the murderers’ poisoned darts. It almost killed you. Luckily, your armor stopped the tip from going in any deeper. We’re in the sewers, the Faceless Baron’s headquarters, also known as the Dungeon of Thieves.”

  From here, he controls the whole city. Mérdmerén began to laugh like a lunatic. Turi and Ságamas turned to look at him in puzzlement.

  “This all-powerful Baron of yours lives in the shit?” He went on laughing, holding his sides.

  Turi shut him up with a slap that left a red mark on his cheek.

  “Don’t insult the Baron! It’s because of him that you’re alive, you moron. I’m warning you: don’t step over the line. You’re not at home any longer, and you’re not under the government of the Empire. Here it’s the Baron’s laws that operate, and he could execute you without batting an eyelid.”

  “There are a few comforts,” Ságamas put in. “And I feel safe, more so than in the city.”

  Turi was red with fury. He seemed to be on the point of throwing another punch at Mérdmerén.

  The ex-bandit yielded. “My apologies, Turi. Thanks for everything; I mean it. Tell the Faceless Baron I’m very grateful to him for—for… Wait a minute! Why did he want to help us?”

  Turi smiled. “Get dressed. I’ll explain in a while. Turi the Crafty has admitted you to the exclusive circle of the Faceless Baron, Leader of the Dungeon of Thieves, a professional organization of thieves like myself. Welcome to our humble abode.”

  Mérdmerén dressed as quickly as he could. He still had the talisman; perhaps they had guessed what would happen if they took it away from him.

  ***

  “The Faceless Baron was going to leave you at the mercy of those murderers. Frankly, he didn’t give a damn. But then I mentioned your audience with the king, and he was interested straight away.”

  “But why? What does it matter to him?”

  “You’d have to ask him that question yourself, except that you’ll never get to know him. Nobody does, except his closest followers, and nobody knows who those are. Anyway, what I can tell you is that now, the Baron is interested in you. He’s entrusted me with being your guard.”

  “You?” Mérdmerén cried scornfully.

  “Hey! I saved your life! I’m not just any boy; I’ve proved myself to you. From now on, and even though I’m watching your back, you need to tread carefully. Our contact in the council is already preparing the audience with the king.”

  “Hell, you’re everywhere! You’re like termites colonizing wood.”

  “Hah! Much better than that, Deserter, we’re like a perfectly organized beehive. Anyway, before the audience is set up, there’s one major obstacle to overcome: the council has to approve it.”

  “What? I thought it was a done deal. I’ve already paid you!”

  “Easy, man, we’ll sort it out. There are thirty counselors. The Faceless Baron controls some, but others answer to different Heads.”

  “Bloody politics,” Mérdmerén grumbled. He had not imagined he would have to go through so many filters. The king must be fed up with so much coercion. Back in the time when he was a counselor, this sort of thing had been a daily nuisance too.

  “And has the Baron tried to change the members of the council?”

  “Of course,” Turi said, “many times. But those politicians have been in the game for a long time. They have a lot of interests, and they wouldn’t leave their posts just like that. There are a lot of benefits that come with being a counselor to the king, particularly impunity. Anyway, the Baron hopes to disband the council someday. It affects his business and the city itself.”

  “So when will I get my audience with the king?”

  Ságamas beside him frowned and grumbled. It was obvious that he no longer wanted to be part of this adventure.

  “Hopefully, tomorrow afternoon,” Turi said. “Then, you’ll be able to tell him what you’ve seen.”

  “What do you know about it?” Mérdmerén asked warily.

  “Come on, Deserter. I’ve listened to your conversations, I know what you’ve seen. We already knew.”

  “You know too?” Ságamas asked.

  “That’s right. The Faceless Baron wants something done about it. Otherwise, we’ll soon be invaded.”

  “What are you talking about, Turi?” Mérdmerén asked in alarm.

  “We’ve had news of the sáffurtans and the villages and towns that have been massacred. We know that a being who’s very important to Némaldon was brought back to life in San San-Tera three years ago. The Faceless Baron wants the Empire to do well and prosper. It’s his future, d’you see?”

  Mérdmerén cursed under his breath.

  “I haven’t been told much, but the way they’re talking about it in the gang, I’m sure that there’s a very serious problem on its way. And the council’s full of makeweights. They’ve vetoed any military preparation of the army, for instance. That’s why you need to talk to the king. You’re the key for strengthening the armed wing of the Empire and keeping it united in the face of the threat of disaster.”

  “The Faceless Baron needs me?”

  “That’s what they’re saying. If you’re worthy, Mérdmerén, only time will tell.”

  Mérdmerén understood. The Némaldines knew that if he spoke to the king, the latter would put his army on alert, supply his people, prepare everything for the attack. I’m Ehréledán, he told himself. I’m the messenger who’s going to convince the king, and that’s why they want to kill me. What a mess I’ve got myself into!

  “The Baron says that afterward, he’ll help you get your revenge and find Maria and Ajedrea,” Turi added.

  “What?” Mérdmerén cried. “He knows about that too?”

  “He knows more than you think, Deserter. It doesn’t matter. Now, we have to prepare you for the mission we’re going to entrust you with.” Turi spoke with the immature, erratic voice of his teenage throat, but with the certainty of a judge.

  “What mission?”

  “A handful of thieves and I are going to help you understand what you’re going to come up against and who you’re going to have to talk to. The agents we’ve infiltrated into the palace will protect you, but they’re not infallible so if any trouble comes up, we won’t be able to do much for you.”

  “And what about me, what am I going to do?” the sailor asked. He looked more like a grandfather ready to go to bed than an adventurer.

  “The Faceless Baron wants you to wait with us while Mérdmerén’s with the king.”

  Chapter XXXIV – The Future

  After two weeks, Argbralius had already mastered the daily routine that had been imposed on him and was proving to be more than skillful in the charming of the Emanating Rose. What nobody guessed was that he had also mastered some of the most important spells from the book by Rummbold Fagraz, and he needed to keep his abilities secret since learning them without oversight or permission would land him in a dungeon for many long years.

  One afternoon, Damasio interviewed his pupil. “You’ve progressed a lot, and the Perfect Pontiff is very pleased with you. You’re the best student he can remember. It’s said that you are at the same level as Aryan Vetala. If it were up to me, you’d already be in San San-Tera, Argbralius. But, we
still need to go through the stages of the procedure and wait for the month to finish.

  “Anyway, you’re going to have a visitor before long. We’ll have snacks and non-alcoholic drinks brought to you. You can have the afternoon free; you’ve earned it.”

  Damasio left the alcove, and Argbralius sighed with relief. Behind him, he was holding the book on the Conjuring Arts, which he had been consulting when the pontiff came in. Luckily, he had not dropped it during the conversation. A visitor? Who would be considerate enough to come and see him? He hid the book and sat down on the edge of the bed.

  He did not have long to wait, for shortly afterward, he heard footsteps and voices. It was Joermo, Ánomnos, Kurlos, and Délegas. They had brought him a basket full of bread, cheese, and cured meats, together with three bottles of wine—despite Damasio’s prohibition on alcohol.

  Délegas had also brought a flute. “Not many people know, but I like music,” he said rather bashfully. “Having to be in this miserable place has forced me to find other sources of pleasure, and I resorted to music. I’d like to be a troubadour, although my father wouldn’t like the idea at all.” Délegas’ smile faded, but then his eyes lit up. “If studying religion has helped me in any way, it’s been to find my passion.”

  “Music,” Joermo pondered. “I’d never have imagined it.”

  Délegas smiled at him. “I want to wander and gladden other people’s journeys. I want my songs to awaken memories in them. Although for that, I’ll have to get rid of my surname and my father’s control.”

  “Hey, it’s good to see you well, Arg,” said Joermo warmly. He made himself comfortable, and the others followed his example. When they began to uncork the bottles, Argbralius felt uneasy.

  “Damasio said he didn’t want—”

  “Bah, don’t worry,” said Ánomnos. “We’ll deal with it.”

  “Where on earth did you get your hands on so much wine?” Argbralius asked in surprise.

  “Relax,” Kurlos said. He indicated towards Délegas. “My good friend here did us the favor. He’s the only one who doesn’t care if he’s expelled from here.”