The Hunter wrestled with the puzzle of the Order of Midas, and the voices of the dead fell silent. So engrossed was he by the problem that he failed to notice when sleep finally overtook him.
* * *
His eye jerked open.
His dreams—no, memories—still filled his vision, starkly clear in the darkness surrounding him.
One thought stood out in his mind. I must find Her.
He was desperate to see Her face again, to return to the sight of Her from his dream. He squeezed his eye shut in an attempt to sleep. But when slumber returned, it was deep and dreamless.
Chapter Twelve
The Hunter hated everything. The sounds around him, the smells of refuse, the pinpricks of light streaming through the ragged canvas. Everything. A legion of steel-booted soldiers marched in his head, filling it with a dull ache. His mouth felt drier than the Windy Plains of Praamis. His throat burned, and he could do little more than bark out a hoarse protest when Bardin pressed food into his hands.
He choked down the dry bread, his stomach twisting. The crust helped, but not much.
Never again. Never again will I drink that much.
The Hunter huddled in his cloak, miserable, trying to block out everything around him. He allowed his mind to drift. Perhaps if he didn't pay attention to the world, the aching in his head would leave him alone.
He replayed the events of the last few days. Arriving in Malandria, meeting Bardin, entering the Beggar Temple, the Forgotten Ward. What little of last night he could recall. What had he said? How much had he told Bardin?
Something nagged at the back of his mind. Something he had heard in the Beggar Temple…
"Bardin, do you know of a Lord Apus?"
Bardin's eyes widened. "Lord Apus? I've heard of him—one of the merchant lords of the city. Why do you ask?"
With a grimace, the Hunter wiped the sprayed crumbs from his face. "I have heard that he is hiring men as caravan guards. I thought I might find employment—"
Bardin's snorting laughter filled the tent. "Looking like that?" He waved at the Hunter's eyepatch and pale face. "A fearsome guard you would make, Rell. Can you even fight with one eye?"
The Hunter was too miserable to do more than glare. The bald man's laughter stung worse than the wounds from his encounter with Grinder and Orrin. Under normal circumstances, the thugs would never have laid a finger on him. But now…
I have to recover Soulhunger, and soon.
He couldn't live like this for long. If the wizards tried to carry out their threat, he could be in serious trouble. With one eye, no weapons beyond a pitiful gutting knife, and a body that refused to heal, the outcome of any confrontation would not be in his favor.
"It's worth a try, Bardin." He grimaced. "I don't have much I can lose just by asking."
This seemed to placate the bald man. "Well, there's his mansion in Nightingale Grove."
"Nightingale Grove?" The Hunter winced at the sound of the carrot crunching between Bardin's teeth.
Bardin's expression held shocked surprise. "You've never—? Ahh, of course. I forget that you are freshly arrived to Malandria, my friend." He patted the Hunter's shoulder. "Plenty of things to see and do here. In fact, I was just going to visit the—"
"Bardin. Nightingale Grove." The Hunter had little patience for Bardin's wandering mind this morning. "You said Lord Apus has a mansion there?"
"Yes, of course he does! Every one of the merchant lords of Malandria lives within Nightingale Grove. And Lord Apus, his is the largest mansion of all. Why, the spires of his home are said to reach the very clouds themselves!" Bardin's voice filled with wonderment. "I wonder what it looks like above the clouds. White and fluffy, like a mug of ale. What I wouldn't give for ale after a long day of—"
"Lord Apus' mansion, Bardin!" The Hunter clenched his fist to stop himself from slapping the man.
"You can't miss it, Rell. Tallest building in the city, they say." Bardin stared at the Hunter through glazed eyes. He spoke in a slow, heavy voice, as if to himself. "I wonder if he'll have a hard time climbing over the wall, what with one eye and all. Makes it damn hard to see anything. If he wasn't blind, I'd give…"
Patience exhausted, the Hunter stopped listening to Bardin's rambling. Off he goes, lost in the twisting corridors of his own thoughts. I'll have to find my answers somewhere else.
Head aching, he ducked under the flap of the tent and stepped out into the alleyway. The bright morning light set his head pounding, but it felt good to stand upright. He reached for his weapons—the blunt-headed arrow and the gutting knife—tucked into the cloak's secret pocket.
"Where are you going, Rell?" Bardin's voice warbled from within the tent.
"For a walk. What will you do today?"
"My work calls, lad. Much to be done before the Imperial ceremony next week. The High Cleric himself has asked me to…"
Bardin's muttering faded into the background. The smells filling the alley turned the Hunter's already upset stomach. He breathed easier when he finally stepped into the main avenue, the ache in his head fading slightly.
A quiet throbbing in the back of his mind pulled him east—toward the House of Need. The voice of his inner demon remained silent, but he had little hope that the peace would last. The thing never remained silent for long.
Without hesitation, he turned his steps north, toward the road that led to the heart of Malandria.
* * *
The Hunter had to congratulate whatever architect had designed the layout of Malandria. He also cursed the man for making him walk so much in his condition. The trek from the forth to third tier had taken the better part of an hour, primarily on an incline. He pictured an invading army huffing and puffing their way up the steep hill. The city had clearly been planned to defend the inner tiers.
He sat on the lip of a fountain, splashing water on his face and catching his breath after the arduous ascent. His legs ached, sweat soaked through his heavy cloak, and his back protested with every movement. A welcome breeze wafted through the third tier.
Watcher's taint! How have I been reduced to this?
Midway through his ascent, he had been forced to stop for a rest. A tavern had provided a place to sit and learn more about Malandria. A single piece of silver had purchased a frothing tankard of heavy ale—highly recommended by the pub landlord for anyone in the Hunter's condition—along with information.
"The lower levels are for the lesser citizens. The fifth tier, running along the city wall, that's for the commoners. The fourth level, that's for the tradesmen, livery yards, warehouses, markets, and all the rest of the low-level commerce." He spat to the side and continued wiping the bar with a cloth that smelled of stale beer and vomit. "That and the filth of the Wretch Hole. Bastards are a stain on our clean city."
The ale had helped clear the aching from the Hunter's head, but it did little for his temper. He had been forced to release his grip on the pewter mug when it crunched beneath his fingers.
The innkeeper puffed out his chest. "For those of us who can afford it, artisans, merchants, and the like, we have the Immoderata, the third level." He pointed up the hill. "The more you can afford, the higher up you live. I've got a brother-in-law who lives in the very shadow of the Enclosure!"
"The Enclosure?"
The taverner raised an eyebrow. "That big wall, the one surrounding Nightingale Grove. Never heard of it?"
"New to the city."
"Well then, you've come to the right place!" The man's smile revealed teeth stained bright yellow. "If you need a room, I happen to have one free. A great view of the city, it has!"
"I'll think on it." The Hunter motioned for the man to continue. "Tell me about Nightingale Grove."
"What's to tell? Only the very wealthy—and I mean filthy, stinking rich, mind you—can afford to live there."
"And how does one get in?"
The proprietor snorted. "Get in? You don't, not unless you work for one of the merchants, have a written
invitation, or are shaped just right." He outlined an hourglass figure with his hands, then leaned closer with meaningful look for the Hunter. "Let's just say the guards are very particular about who they let in."
One glance at the serious-looking men at the gate of the Enclosure, and the Hunter knew the innkeeper had spoken the truth.
The guards stood at ease despite their half-plate armor. They moved with the confident grace of well-trained fighting men, their hands never far from their swords, eyes ever vigilant as they watched passing traffic. Bright red tunics displayed a long-armed balance—the insignia of some merchant-noble, no doubt.
Made of a pale red stone, the Enclosure rose dozens of paces into the air, an impressive barrier that loomed over the houses of the Immoderata and blocked the houses of Nightingale Grove from view. Only the tallest towers and spires could be seen over the top of the massive wall.
One tower in particular drew the Hunter's eye. A dazzling white obelisk thrust toward the clouds, scraping the underbelly of the heavens. One low-drifting puff blocked the top of the tower from view. The structure rivaled the House of Need in sheer height, though perhaps not in girth.
Keeper's teeth! Imagine the view from up there.
It had to be Lord Apus' mansion.
Time to see if my lie will work. Bardin had believed his tale of trying to find work. Perhaps the guards would as well.
Groaning, he climbed to his feet. His back complained and his legs ached, but he ignored the pain. He combed his fingers through his beard and splashed water into his hair, smoothing back the dark locks. He eyed his stolen clothing. Bedraggled and stained with mud, they were a poor sight.
Have to give it a try. Straightening his tunic and cloak, he strode toward the gate with a confident step.
The guards studied him with wary eyes. Before he came within a dozen paces, one stepped forward with a raised hand. His other hand hovered near his sword.
"Don't even think about it," the guard growled. "Nightingale Grove is no place for a wretch like you."
"But—" the Hunter protested.
"I said, off with you." The guard's fingers closed around the hilt of his sword.
A momentary flash of anger seized the Hunter. He envisioned himself snatching the guard's blade and running the man through. He could almost feel warm blood spilling over his hands, hear the man's choking cries.
With difficulty, he fought back the urge. No, not yet. I cannot afford to have anyone else trying to kill me, not in my current state.
"Of course, sir." He forced his voice to sound contrite. "I was just—"
"I don't care what you 'were just'," the guard snarled, half-drawing his blade. "We'll have none of your kind here. Back to the Wretch Hole where you belong."
"Apologies, sir." Bowing deeply, the Hunter retreated.
A few streets from the gate, he ducked into a small alley. A drainpipe ran up the brick wall of one of the houses, and the Hunter shimmied up the side of the mansion. Within minutes, he lay atop the roof of the three-story house, peeking over its tiled ridge.
Hood pulled forward, he studied the guards' movement for any opening or momentary lapse of attention, anything he could exploit. For over an hour he lay unmoving, and never once did the sentinels' vigilance wane.
Keeper's own luck! The one time I needed guards lax in their duties. This may be a bit harder than I had expected.
His gaze moved from the gate to the Enclosure itself. No guards strode the parapets along the top of the wall. The towering wall presented a difficult obstacle, though not impenetrable.
If I can get up there, I'll be able to find a way down.
He slipped along the rooftop, hugging the tiles to stay out of sight of the guards below. He managed to get within a dozen paces of the wall before the roof dropped away.
He eyed the finely-dressed stone of the walls. Cracks dotted the wall at random, and he could see grooves and indents that could serve as hand and foot-holds. Scaling the smooth stone of the Enclosure would prove challenging for him, even in peak condition. In his current state…
Still, no matter how hard it is, I have to get in there. He had to find Lord Apus' mansion. The man's library held a recorded history of the Bucelarii—his history. Even if it takes weeks to search the damned mansion, I will find that book!
The Hunter retraced his steps along the rooftop and tucked himself beneath the overhanging awning of the neighboring building. It hid him from view and offered shade from the bright sun.
He drew out the skin of water and grimaced at the tepid liquid within. Shading his eye, he studied the sun.
Barely noon! He groaned and tried to find a comfortable position. This is going to be a long day.
Perhaps he would have a chance to watch the sun set over the rooftops of Malandria…
Chapter Thirteen
Stars twinkled high overhead, but their faint light did little to break the darkness surrounding the Enclosure. Shadow swallowed the Hunter as he pulled himself over the crenellation and slipped onto the empty, silent parapet barely illuminated by torches flickering in the gentle evening breeze.
The guard wouldn't return for a few minutes, more than enough time for the Hunter to catch his breath and move on. Hours of watching the guards' patrols had revealed their lax attitudes once the sun had set and the gates were shut. It was a simple matter to time it just right so he could slip along the wall unseen.
The climb had proven more difficult than expected. Darkness hid him from the view of the guards, but made it impossible to see his way. He had been forced to climb slowly, feeling with his fingers and toes to find solid grip. His forearms, shoulders, and toes ached from exertion.
Better get down to ground level and find someplace dark to hide before the guard returns.
He slithered from shadow to shadow, hugging the walkway wall. Voices sounded from the courtyard below. A fire blazed bright in front of the gatehouse, and the murmur of talking guards drifted up to him. Four guards. With luck, they would be the only ones on duty tonight.
They must not get many people climbing over the Enclosure. Thankfully, that makes my task a bit easier.
The Hunter peered down the staircase, hands trembling, heart pounding with excitement. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief to find it dark and deserted. With silent, cautious steps, he hastened down the stairs as quickly as he dared.
Reaching ground level, he slipped into the shadows of an overhanging tree, flitting through the darkness like a wraith. After weeks of traveling in broad daylight, the shrouding night felt familiar, safe.
The sound of leaves rustled by the evening breeze obscured his passage. The guards paid little heed to their surroundings, but huddled closer to the fire, complaining about the cold and dark. Their unkempt, rumpled tunics bore little resemblance to crisp, stiff uniforms of those guarding the gate during the day. Their faces were unshaven, their hair overgrown and disheveled, their scabbards shoddy and unkempt.
Definitely not the same quality as the daytime watch, but it seems not to matter. After all, everyone is so afraid of the wizards that the streets are empty after dark.
A memory from the previous night sent a twitch of fear through his stomach.
Those wolves are a terror in their own right. It's no surprise everyone hides indoor!
He would use the empty silence of the city to his advantage.
The Hunter slipped through the gardens of Nightingale Grove, a looming mass of trees, shrubs, and bushes. The sweet scent of winter flowers filled the darkness around him. It reminded him of the Maiden's Fields of Upper Voramis. A flash of sorrow and longing accompanied the memory, as it always did when he thought of the city he had called home for so long.
Torches approached, accompanied by the clatter of weapons. Thick tree trunks provided him with cover until the patrol had passed. Only the soft rustle of his boots on grass and fallen leaves marked his presence. The shadows of the gardens hid him from sight of the street, allowing him to move quickly.
&nb
sp; A dark shape loomed before him, blotting out the stars like an obsidian dagger thrust into the heart of the night. It had to be Lord Apus's mansion. Even in the dim starlight, the Hunter could distinguish the obelisk dwarfing the surrounding estates. He found it hard to believe such a massive construction could exist. Not even the Palace of Justice in Voramis had approached the sheer size of this manor.
I wonder how Lord Apus can afford such an extravagant mansion. His fortunes must be vast, indeed, to have built something so impressive.
He approached with caution, skirting the outer wall, taking care to avoid the guards at the mansion's main entrance. The wall rose at least five times the Hunter's height, but the stones' rough edges provided the Hunter with easy holds. Within minutes, he stood on the other side.
Lush greenery surrounded him. Thick branches slapped his face and tugged at his cloak. His hand caught on a thorny vine, which laid open a thin line along his palm. The resin of a nearby tree only increased the sting of the laceration.
The insect population increased with every step he took. The Hunter swatted at the swarming mosquitoes and buzzing flies, resisting the urge to sprint his way free of the greenery.
Clearly this Apus has no desire for unwanted guests, and his primary defense is these Keeper-damned bugs!
It was with great relief that the Hunter finally stumbled clear of the thicket. He cursed under his breath and batted at the last pursuing insects.
Give me Lord Daavros' monstrous dogs or the wizards' pets any day.
The gardens gave way to a courtyard, where flickering torches stood at intervals around the open space. Another obstacle to avoid if he wanted to reach the mansion unseen.
He slipped through the encircling shadows, studying the mansion as he went. A window stood open on a second-floor balcony. A quick examination of the villa's façade revealed plenty of cracks he could use to climb.
It's almost too easy.
The Hunter slipped over the balustrade, relieved to find the rooms beyond were dark. A memory hit him—he had done this in Voramis not long ago.
The Last Bucelarii Book 2: Lament of the Fallen Page 18
