Three Acts of Penance [01] Attrition: The First Act of Penance

by S. G. Night

  There he was, clear as day: a statue of Tayran, the Mnogo god of war. The idol’s face was a nearly perfect match to Monger. Notak cracked a smile — they’d found their target.

  ——

  Notak left the mansion quickly as he could. He paused on the lawn to look up at the side of the building.

  He saw the window that he’d noticed in the fifth-floor hallway, and nearby, the balcony emerging from Monger’s chambers. It looked like a nearly impossible climb up to the window, even for a Genshwin: the only serviceable handholds existed were few and very far between. And reaching the balcony would only be harder. Rachel could probably make the climb, but Notak doubted any of the others could. And the balcony, by the looks of it, protruded out directly over the main entrance — no way to climb directly up to it.

  Adding an image of the exterior of the mansion to his mind, he hastened back down to the shore near the shed. There, he released his illusions, and slipped back into the water.

  ——

  There was a splash and a thumping on the side of the sloop. Racath went to the edge and saw a man in the water, white-blond hair and pale skin soaked with the Bay. Notak, wearing his typical Human illusion again. Racath extended his hand and helped the Elf back into the boat.

  “How’d it go?” Racath asked.

  Notak nodded his head, wiping bay-water away from his eyes. “Well enough. I have it all up here.” He tapped his temple. “I will lay it out for you once we rejoin the others.”

  “Did anyone see you?”

  Notak shrugged. “Plenty of people saw me. But I do not think anyone knew I was there. Rodgers will be a bit confused when he wakes up and finds that he has already completed his inspection for the day, but other than that, I think we are in the clear.”

  Racath nodded. “Good. Find anything interesting?”

  “Plenty. We shall discuss it with the others,” Notak assured him, then glanced over Racath’s shoulder towards the water. “Look. What is that?”

  Racath turned his eyes out on the Bay. About three hundred yards off their bow, a small boat, full of Arkûl, bobbed up and down on the water, maneuvering towards the sloop.

  “I assume they want to see our fishing license,” said Racath as he leapt up to hoist the anchor.

  “It’s a scare tactic,” Brahn informed him. “They’re not looking to arrest you, just to frighten you off. The estates do it all the time with vessels they don’t recognize.”

  “So they will not pursue us?” Notak asked.

  Brahn looked mournfully at the approaching boat. “Probably not….”

  Racath scowled at the Human’s longing expression. “You sound disappointed.”

  Brahn didn’t answer, nor did he meet Racath’s eyes.

  “Sorry,” said Racath. “But you’re not being rescued today.”

  Their prisoner sighed and stared longingly into the water. Racath knew exactly what was thinking.

  “If you try and swim for it,” Racath warned. “I promise you, you won’t last ten seconds. I don’t need a crossbow to kill you from a distance. Understood?”

  Brahn mumbled. “Yeah. Sure. Understood.”

  “One last thing,” Notak interjected. “I discovered which of the Nineteen the Baron Monger is.”

  Racath raised his eyebrows as he adjusted the sail. “Oh yeah? Who?”

  “Tayran,” Notak said. “The god of war, aggression, and metallic ore.”

  “Excellent work,” Racath grinned at the Elf. “I’m impressed.”

  Brahn looked from Racath to the illusion-wrapped Notak. “What are you talking about? What do you mean, Tayran? Are you talking about…the Nineteen? Like, the Mnogo gods? What do they have to do with Monger?”

  Racath and Notak looked at each other. They said nothing, but they were both thinking the same thing: Brahn was quickly becoming a very, very loose end. Before this was all over, he’d have to be dealt with some way or another.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  The Price of Freedom

  Over the last few days, Alexis, Toren and Rachel had been busy repurposing the room into a makeshift Manji Tor, cannibalizing the contents of Brahn’s warehouse to create a comfortable living space, complete with wardrobes, food supplies, and a fully-furnished living area.

  When they returned from scouting out Territh Umbra, Racath had everyone — including Brahn — congregate at the table in the “kitchen area” that the others had constructed. There, they all listened eagerly to Notak’s report.

  The Elf drew out diagrams on several sheets of paper: one for each floor, one for the grounds, and one for the mansion’s exterior. As he etched the pictures, he explained to them the details of his discoveries. He even provided a detailed sketch of the building’s exterior, highlighting the top floor balcony and windows.

  “Okay…” Racath muttered to himself when Notak was finished. “Let’s see…Brahn? You said you’ve been to these parties before?”

  The Human, nodded. “Once or twice.”

  “How do they usually play out?”

  Brahn leaned over and pointed to the northern docks on Notak’s drawing. “Monger has all of his guests enter through here at about five-o’-clock in the evening. If necessary, they can dock their vessel there for the duration of the party. There’s a checkpoint at the end of the pier — Arkûl guards to make sure you’re on the guest list.” His expression grew dark. “And to search the guests for uh…dangerous items.”

  Racath’s eyes narrowed. “How thoroughly do they search?”

  “Thoroughly enough that she wouldn’t have a chance of getting a weapon through,” Brahn said, jerking his chin at Nelle.

  Racath frowned. “Noted. Go on.”

  “Once through the checkpoint, the guests proceed to the house, where they are shown in. The guests take some time to socialize and drink in the antechamber while they await their host. At about five-thirty, the Baron makes his entrance on the stairs, welcomes his guests, and invites everyone up to the banquet hall.”

  “And that’s when you’d hand her off to Monger,” Racath assumed, gesturing at Nelle.

  “Probably,” Brahn affirmed. “Dinner and the accompanying entertainment last until half-past-six. Then, dancing in the ballroom. And once that’s over, Monger takes everyone to the common rooms on the third floor for some of my…uh…”

  “Drugs.”

  Brahn shrugged. “Call them what you will. That lasts for hours and hours. Eventually, things settle down and everyone trickles out.”

  “And the Baron,” Racath asked. “Does he usually have an escort?”

  Brahn nodded. “Yes. Usually it’ll be a wench he snagged on his own. He’s only ever bought my produ—”

  Rachel glared daggers at the Human. Brahn flinched noticeably; while he’d grown accustomed to his predicament as the Scorpions’ prisoner (and while he exhibited a profound lack of fear toward most of them), Rachel’s presence struck visible terror into the merchant’s demeanor.

  “Sorry,” he gulped. “Girls. He’s only ever bought one of my girls for use on his own time, never for a banquet like this before.”

  Racath pressed further. “And how does typically that go? Him and his escort, I mean. What’s the interaction like?”

  Another shrug. “Well, from observation…he usually has her sit with him at the banquet, dance with him in the ballroom, and then join him and the others for the contraband.” He made a knowing grin. “But they usually don’t stick around much longer than that. Propriety only demands that the Baron stay until after the dancing. Once that’s over, he usually takes her upstairs and…retires.”

  Nelle shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Racath gave her a reassuring glance.

  “That’s pretty much it,” Brahn sighed, sitting back in his chair. “Anything else you want to know?”

  “Only one thing,” Racath said. “How do you get to Territh Umbra?”

  “Me personally?” Brahn asked. “I have my own vessel. She’s a modest thing, barely twenty feet stem-to-stern
. Single sail. But it’s got a three man crew and a good sized cabin.”

  Racath pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Alright then.” He looked at Toren. “Take our guest back to his cell. We need to confer in private.”

  ——

  While the others made miscellaneous preparations, Racath spent the next day and a half going over Notak’s detailed drawings, ironing out the details of the plan. It was a massive headache. He drew up dozens of potential ideas, comprehensive, elaborate, and masterful — all of which were filled with too many holes to float.

  There were just too many weak points, loopholes, and factors he had to consider, liabilities that had to be dealt with. Then there was the issue of dividing up and synchronizing the tasks amongst the six of them to consider.

  After thirty hours straight with no sleep, Racath’s eyes were bloodshot and raw. His pulse was beating a tattoo into his forehead, and his mouth tasted like cotton no matter how much he drank.

  “So how’s it going?” Nelle asked on the morning of the 13th, just two days before the banquet.

  Racath shrugged bitterly. “Stuck.”

  Nelle sat beside him at the table, leaning over to look at the mess of diagrams in front of him. “What’s the problem?”

  “There’s just too much,” Racath complained. “I mean, look at this. Just to start with, we need to get to the island on Brahn’s boat, and get you and him through the checkpoint without anyone discovering we aren’t Human. Then you need to get Tayran alone — the only place that will really work is his chambers on the top floor.”

  Nelle bobbed her shoulders. “I can do that much. It’ll be hard, but I think I can do it.”

  “That’s the easy part,” Racath grumbled. “The problem is that you won’t be able to kill him. You can’t get a weapon inside — the best we could hope for is for you to find some kind of weapon inside the house, but that’s too chancy for my taste. As for using magic…you’re the only one of us who fits the bill for his escort, but…the sad truth is that you won’t have magic on your side.”

  Nelle frowned and quickly moved away from the subject. “What about collateral damage? We have to worry about that too.”

  Racath stiffened. He hadn’t even thought about that yet. It reminded him of something else, something he had heard all those months ago in Milonok. He pushed it out of his mind for now — his conscience could have its say later, once he’d gotten the plan solidified.

  “Couldn’t you have Notak cast an illusion on Rachel or Alexis?” Nelle offered when he didn’t answer. “That’d solve the magic problem.”

  “I thought of that,” Racath said, glad for the distraction. “But it wouldn’t work. You’re going to be in close proximity to Tayran for an extended period of time. He’d notice the energy from the magic eventually. It has to be you, no illusions — you'll have to keep your gloves on at all times and avoid prolonged eye-contact.

  “Worse still, you can’t depend on strength to kill him, either. Notak says this Demon’s enormous. So we’ll need at least one of us to somehow get inside the house with gear — which will mean infiltration, not disguise — and then somehow get into his room to wait for you.”

  “And what’s the trouble with that?”

  Racath sighed and rubbed his face. “There are only two points of access to Tayran’s room. The balcony, and the hallway. The hallway is guarded by Arkûl, and Tayran’s door has an unbreakable alarm-lock ward on it.”

  Nelle furrowed her eyebrows. “What’s wrong with the balcony?”

  Sighing bitterly, Racath dug through the papers and found Notak’s drawing of the mansion’s exterior. “The balcony is situated directly above the front door,” he pointed out. “The guarded front door. Even if one of us could make that climb, we’d have to deal with the Arkûl at the entrance in order to get onto the wall.”

  “And that’ll raise an alarm for sure,” Nelle guessed.

  “Right,” Racath said. “And even after we’ve worked that out, we still have to figure out a way to get you out. Out, without being seen, back to Brahn’s boat, and sail away before the alarm goes up. And if we’re moving slow enough to avoid being seen by the Arkûl patrols, someone might find Tayran’s body before we get away. Then we’ll have the corvettes to deal with.”

  “What about the roof?” Nelle asked, pointing at another diagram. “If we get someone onto the roof, they could just hop down onto the balcony from there.”

  “There’s no way onto the roof,” Racath told her. “Even for us, the climb’s impossible. We’re not getting up there, not unless Rachel can — .” He stopped midsentence, frowning at the paper. “Huh….”

  “What?”

  Instead of answering, Racath turned in his chair to look at the other Scorpions sitting on the sofa in the improvised sitting room nearby. “Hey, Kinetomancer?”

  Rachel lifted her head from the sofa. “That’s me.”

  “Can you fly?”

  The she-Majiski blew air out through her teeth. “Well…that’s complicated. In a way, yeah, I can. But it’s not really convenient.”

  Racath made a face. “Why not?”

  “Markara,” Rachel said simply. “Because of the way they work, I can’t just grab onto myself with magic and lift myself upward. I have to project force downward out of my hands in order to achieve lift. And that's difficult, slow, unreliable, and loud.”

  Racath swore. “Well, there goes that idea.”

  “I can levitate other people though,” Rachel said as she put her head back down. The way she said the last made it sound like she was trying to defend her reputation rather than offer help, so Racath almost ignored it. But then something struck him.

  “Wait,” he said. “Say that again.”

  Rachel wrinkled her forehead at him. “I can levitate other people. Upwards, downwards, any way I want.”

  “At how great a range?”

  She made a vacillating motion with her hand. “I dunno, a hundred feet?”

  “How much without line of sight?”

  “That’s harder,” she said. “I could only promise you…” she thought for a moment. “Forty feet. At the most. Thirty, just to be safe. Why?”

  A flash of inspiration flooded through Racath’s head. He looked back down at the notes on the table and waved her over. “Come here for a sec.”

  She got up and shambled over. “What?”

  He pointed to Notak’s drawing of the house. “See the windows?” Racath asked. “There are plenty of them on the first three floors, and any of us could easily climb up to them.”

  “Sure,” Rachel shrugged.

  “But the window on the top floor,” Racath indicated. “The one that opens into the hallway outside Tayran’s room — behind the guards. It’s separated from the lower windows by a sizable gap with very few handholds. I know that I couldn’t make that climb.”

  “So?”

  “Could you?”

  Rachel pursed her lips and picked up the picture, examining it closely. “Probably. I’ve climbed worse.”

  Racath’s looked at Nelle, an irrepressible grin blossoming on his face. “Alexis?” he called to the sofa. “How much do you know about boats?”

  “Uh…plenty?” she responded uncertainly.

  “Notak,” Racath continued. “How far can you project the Shroud?”

  The Elf answered without a second’s thought. “Three hundred feet.”

  Racath stood and nodded enthusiastically to himself. “I think I’ve got an idea. The timing will be tricky. But it’ll work.”

  ——

  After they had all agreed to Racath’s plan, he caught some well deserved sleep. Notak, Toren, and Alexis went with Brahn down to the docks where he showed them the mid-sized boat that he owned. Nelle picked up her dress from the tailor’s. Rachel stayed in the warehouse, practicing her telekinesis on crates while wearing a blindfold.

  The day passed them by, and the night of the 14th, the eve of their operation, arrived. Racath made sure that Brahn wa
s clear on his part — and also the consequences should he fail to follow instructions — then locked him back in his cell. The Scorpions made themselves a hardy meal and took the evening to relax and prepare.

  Toren sharpened his claymore, his whetstone scraping rhythmically over and over again. Alexis sorted dozens of small engineering tools, counting them tenderly out into rows, caressing them tenderly before fitting them into separate pouches. Rachel assembled and reassembled her Shadow, her customary stream of frustrated curses mingling with Toren’s sharpening as she tried to find the best way to configure her gear. Notak sat in silent meditation.

  Nelle tried on her dress and showed it off to Racath. She was stunning. Marvelous. It almost hurt him to think that such magnificence was being wasted on a Demon.

  Night fell, and everyone went to their separate beds. Everyone except for Racath.

  ——

  Racath sat in the dark amidst the crates of the warehouse’s main room. His gauntlets lay stone floor, leaving his markara bare. In his hands he held Daragoian — he was running a thumb over the dragon carving in the silver blade. His eyes stared unseeingly into the night.

  Nelle poked her head around the corner and saw him on the floor of the sitting room. Blinking bleary sleep away, she hobbled over in her nightshirt to crouch down beside him. “Hey,” she whispered. “What’re you doing out here?”

  Racath shrugged noncommittally. “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Yeah?” Nelle crossed her legs over each other, her bright blue eyes glittering like diamonds in the dark. “What’s wrong?”

  Racath sighed and stared down at the sword in his lap. “I’ve been thinking,” he said slowly.

  “About tomorrow?” Nelle asked. “Racath, you shouldn’t worry. You’ve planned everything out perfectly.”

  He shook his head. “Not tomorrow. I’m worried about the day after.”

  Nelle looked perplexed. “What do you mean? What’s bugging you?”