“Answer him!” Yuri hissed.
“Yes, that’s how it works,” Bartholomew hissed. “This one is loose with the rules though. He probably already had his way with her and tossed her in the bay.”
“How many stories did I tell you about the Dom Nohzi growing up boy?” Yuri hissed.
“Too many,” Bartholomew said. “How do you think I found him?”
“Then you know, until he kills the promised target, he would not dare.”
“You’re sure she’s alive?” Whitney asked, eyes glinting.
“I’m sure that my son is an idiot. But they are as strict as they are exacting. The man will hunt you to the ends of the known world to fulfill the blood pact.”
“Can it be rescinded?” Torsten asked.
“Once the pact is made? I don’t know. You are among a very lucky few. The Dom Nohzi typically act swifter than a man can reconsider and are usually not interrupted by war.”
“Bartholomew?”
“I don’t know,” he grumbled.
“You will draft a writ immediately, informing them that the deal is annulled,” Torsten said. “You will offer to compensate them for time lost, and Whitney and his friend are to live.”
“After everything he’s done? I’d rather die.”
“This is not a debate!” Torsten thundered. “The Dom Nohzi are killers, but from what I’ve read, they are honorable. The blood pact is over by command of King Pi’s Royal Council, and they will obey it.”
“I knew I liked this guy,” Whitney remarked.
“I’m not finished. Burning the home of a noble and robbing him of his mother’s heirloom? Posing as a priest? When I had the Master of Rolls ennoble you, I was unaware of these unspeakable atrocities.”
“About that,” Whitney said with a sly grin. “Any chance the Master of Rolls can draft up a new one? Someone burned what was apparently the only copy.”
“I can’t say you didn’t deserve it,” Torsten said. “But no son of Iam deserves to die without fair trial. And so, as punishment, you will help us in our quest to end this war. You will lead us back through these tunnels and create a distraction like I know only you are capable of. Cover our ambush.”
Torsten looked to Yuri. “This is our best chance at Muskigo, and the more men drawn from his side, the more exposed he’ll be.”
“You expect me to go back in there?” Whitney asked.
“I do. Sora is still in there, and if you do this, I will ensure that when we retake the city, we search for her, and present the assassin with Bartholomew Darkings' resignation.”
“And if I say no?”
“Then you will be arrested for high crimes, nobleman or not. I’m growing tired of seeing you in a cell, but I will make sure the next is one you won’t escape from.”
“You can’t be serious,” Bartholomew groaned. “This man can’t be trusted! Father, it was my duty to lead them through these tunnels. I’ve played in them since I was a child, nobody knows them better than I.”
“Played?” Whitney said. “Did you push children in front of collapsing walls back then, too?”
“Enough Whitney,” Torsten said.
“I’m just saying. I’ve seen how this guy likes to pla—”
“I said, enough! If Lord Darkings agrees, that is how this is going to go. You’ve insulted the wrong family, Whitney, but here is a chance, once again, to show that you’re out for more than yourself.”
“I agree,” Yuri said. “Clearly I can’t let my son out of my sight for even a minute. If you think the thief can lead you back through and under the prefect's estate, then I won’t stand in the way.”
Torsten stared into Whitney’s eyes. They were full of terror no matter how hard he tried to mask it. Torsten wasn’t sure why he trusted Whitney wouldn’t lead them astray, yet he did. Reuniting with him like this, with everything in the balance… it really did feel like something—someone—greater was at work.
“Sure, I can,” Whitney said. “But are you really sure you want to go back in there? I’ve seen it Torsten. It’s a war zone.”
“I have no choice,” Torsten said. “But you do. If you won’t help to serve your kingdom, then at least do it for her. I’ve seen the way you look at her, Iam knows why. If we don’t retake Winde Port, there isn’t a soul in there that'll be safe.”
“You have to be kidding me,” Bartholomew said. “Father, you’re really going to leave this in the hands of this scoundrel?”
Yuri didn’t even bother to respond.
Whitney started to let up on his grip of the man, his dagger sliding down to around his shoulder. “You promise you’ll help me look for Sora?”
“To any extent I can, after we handle Muskigo,” Torsten said.
“No, you have to swear on him. Swear to Iam, and I’ll give you the best yigging distraction anyone’s ever seen.”
“My word is my bond,” Torsten said.
“You bond needs to be stronger if I’m going back into that shoghole.”
“You’re not in a place to bargain, thief.”
Whitney slowly brought the dagger back to Bartholomew’s throat.
Torsten growled. “Forgive me, Iam.” He fell to a knee and traced his eyes with his fingers. “I swear to Iam, beneath the Vigilant Eye. Help me, and you have my word.”
Whitney’s gaze arced across the faces of all the King’s Shieldsmen, then to Yuri, and back to Torsten. His hand momentarily tensed, then he chuckled and pushed Bartholomew away.
“You son of a—” Bartholomew whipped around but was promptly seized by his father. Yuri took him by the ear like he was a petulant child and drove him to his knees.
“My son will draft the annulment at once,” Yuri said, twisting further.
Whitney watched gleefully as Bartholomew moaned in pain, slapping the ground.
“With my seal upon it,” he continued, “the Dom Nohzi are more likely to acquiesce. You’ve placed me in a precarious situation, boy. We can only hope they don’t ask anything of me in exchange, or for your worthless life.”
“Thank you, Lord Darkings,” Torsten said. “For everything.”
“I live to serve the Crown, my Wearer. Thank you for suffering through this family matter.”
Torsten strode forward and took Whitney by the arm. It almost felt a dream that the thief was back in his life until he touched him. The Webbed Woods, Bliss… it had only been a month, but it all seemed like eons ago considering how much had changed since then. Again, Torsten was placing the kingdom’s future in the hands of a thief, but he was never one to ignore the silent hand of Iam at work.
“Are you ready for another quest in the name of the Glass, Blisslayer?” Torsten asked. As the words left his lips, he couldn’t even believe how accepting he was of the notion.
Whitney shrugged. He was still busy marveling as Bartholomew received the punishment he so deserved. “Just let me enjoy this for a few more minutes,” he said, “then we can go be heroes again.”
XXII
THE THIEF
“So, this is what it feels like to lead an army,” Whitney said, glancing back at the line of King’s Shieldsmen. It was impossibly dark, but a few pricks of light filtering in through cracks above allowed him to see their gleaming armor. Torsten wore his white helm, face guard open, which meant things were serious.
“Feels good,” Whitney continued. “Maybe if you die up there…”
“You’re lucky to not be living out the rest of your days in a cell, thief,” Torsten replied. The word came out with extra venom as he stepped over a lumpy pile of something in the narrow passage. All that he could be sure of was it didn’t smell good.
“Oh, c’mon, we’ve got to be on a first name basis by now.”
Torsten gave him a grunt, nothing more. Whitney knew the big lug was glad to see him though. There was no reason the King’s Shield needed Whitney to lead them through these secret passages when a Darkings could do it, which meant Torsten must have trusted him more.
The thought had him grinning.
“Think you could get me on royal retainer?” he said. “You know, for whenever you need my special skills?”
Torsten scowled but didn’t answer.
Whitney led them further through the warren of smuggling tunnels, trying to remember the path he’d taken following Bartholomew. He was nearly at the point of praying he’d led them the right way through the stifling darkness when they reached a break.
Rock turned to carved stone, buried tunnels intended for sneaking horrible things became sewers intended for shipping shog. A false wall of stone blocks lay dislodged and around the corner. Whitney raised a hand. The troop stopped behind him. He craned his neck to hear better. Something was wheezing just on the other side.
“What is it?” Torsten asked.
“Wait here.”
He hurried through the opening. What sounded like wind weeping through cracks was really Fenton on his hands and knees trying to gather his bearings. A few thin lines of light seeped in through a ruptured portion of the ceiling above. He saw the wet spot of blood where Ton’kai nearly died. Whitney couldn’t help but hope Kazimir would decide to end that fat slob Bartholomew when he caught wind of the proposed annulment.
He patted his pocket to make sure the papers hadn’t fallen out into the muck below.
Fenton looked up at him, eye lulling, blood coating the side of his head. “You… it’s—”
Whitney kicked him hard in the head. His body flopped over onto the collapsed rock, unconscious again.
“The first one was for them,” Whitney said, shaking out his foot, “but that was for me.”
“Who was that?” Torsten questioned. He appeared behind Whitney, sword in hand.
“Nobody now.”
“Whitney.”
“Just one of Darkings' boys who deserved way worse.”
Torsten grabbed Whitney by the arm and forced him back to the front of the line. “No more games, Whitney. I want you in front at all times. Is that clear?”
“Fine, fine. I got it out of my system anyway.” He pointed to the right, into the sewer tunnels, toward where the air smelled fouler. “This way is the city sewer system. I don’t think any gray skins saw me go down here but we should be on the lookout.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Torsten said. “The invasion is complete. As far as they or anyone else knows, the sewers are confined to the city limits and empty into the bay, which they control. They’ll be covering exits, but no longer the tunnels themselves.”
“How do you know that?”
“Their focus is defense. They’re digging in to wait out the winter.”
“Just be on the lookout.”
Torsten regarded the King’s Shieldsmen at his back. “These are the finest warriors the Glass has to offer. If we see anyone, they won’t live long enough to bring word to a soul.”
“It’s your funeral. We run into trouble, I’ll be swimming across the bay.”
They continued, now wading through slosh. Whitney was more accustomed to the smell this time, but behind him, he heard a few of the King’s Shieldsmen gag. Torsten, however, was barely affected.
Maybe he really did grow up in South Corner.
“I just don’t understand, Whitney,” Torsten said after a while.
“What’s that?”
“You proved yourself worthy of a new name. You helped save so many people from Redstar and that beast. How could you so quickly return to your shystering ways?”
“’Once a thief, always a thief.’ You know the saying.”
“Enough of your foolish jokes. I am your Wearer, and I’m being serious.”
“As am I, Shieldsman. You may have been born in the shog, but you’ve been living pretty for most of your life. I’m not ashamed of who I am. Made a name for myself and it’s my name to do what I want with.”
“Do not presume to know a thing about how I’ve lived,” Torsten said.
“All I’m saying is I’m going to do what’s right for me.”
“All sin can be traced back to selfishness,” Torsten said.
Whitney spread his arms and looked toward the ceiling. “Then Iam strike me down.”
Torsten slapped his hands down. “He might. You posed as a priest. What greater sin could you commit?”
“I could think of a few.” He sighed. “I do what I must to survive. You weren’t too concerned about my practices when it benefited you and the Crown back there in the Webbed Woods. And you don’t seem too concerned now, sneaking through hidden tunnels toward the prefect's estate, not even concerned about how I know my way there.”
“I do what I must for my kingdom,” Torsten countered. “If that means placing my trust in you, then I can only walk the path Iam puts before me.”
“I’ll tell you this, if there is an Iam, and I’m not saying I believe in any of that mumbo-jumbo, he’s got a great sense of humor because he keeps bringing us together.”
“Indeed.”
“I mean, here I thought I’d never get to see your dour face ever again, and there you are, right in front of me when I’m about to exact my vengeance on old Bart Darkings.”
“There is no road back from murder, Whitney. If I stopped you from crossing that line, then I too am glad we had to be reunited.”
“Aww, touching sentiment,” Whitney reached back and rubbed Torsten’s pauldron. He earned a glare that sent his stomach sinking into his ass. “Wouldn’t be my first time killing. I took a few of these gray men down back in Troborough. I’m not sure if your men told you the stories before they captured me.”
“They left out the details.” What followed was a sound Whitney couldn’t quite place.
“Is that a chuckle I hear?”
“No,” he said, stern. “Besides, that’s not the same. That was battle. Kill or be killed. But to slit the throat of an unarmed man... it’s something you can’t undo.”
Whitney looked back, met by Torsten’s thousand-meter stare.
“You say that like you have experience,” Whitney said.
“There are many things I’ve had to do in the name of king and Crown. Not all of them bring joy to think of. Not all of them make me proud. All I can hope is that when Iam receives me at the Gate of Light, he sees my intentions were pure.”
“If you don’t wind up in Elsewhere,” Whitney offered.
“If I do, I’ll spend the rest of eternity haunting you. And maybe one day, I’ll make you into a decent man.”
“I don’t think eternity is long enough for that.”
This time, Whitney was confident he heard a chuckle. He wasn’t sure why he felt so proud at that. Maybe because it’d never once happened during their quest to the Webbed Woods. Or perhaps it was that he knew, as well as Torsten, that beneath all their bickering, there was a bond. The kind only a team who had battled a giant spider goddess together could forge.
“Giant spider goddess,” Whitney said under his breath with a laugh.
“What’s that?” Torsten asked.
“Nothing.”
Whitney stopped when they reached the widest tunnel yet. A flowing trough ran down its center, flanked by branching tunnels. If the Shesaitju were anywhere in the sewers, this was where they’d be. But there was nothing except scurrying rats hiding from the cold.
Short bridges led over the stream of water and shog which emptied out through a porthole into Winde Port’s largest canal along Merchants Row. Whitney stared through the barred opening. He could see the many gray legs of an army marching by on the walkway above. It was only then he realized if a single soldier spotted them, they’d be slaughtered.
“We’re in the heart of the city now,” Whitney said. He pointed to the porthole. “That’s the Merchants Canal. If you follow that, the prefect's estate should be up a ways, somewhere on the north side.”
“You’re sure?” Torsten asked.
“Chasing Darkings down here wasn’t my first run through the Winde Port sewers. I’ve been getting into trouble
here since before you were Wearer.”
“That’s only been a year.”
“Then way before. See how experienced I am?”
Torsten exhaled through his teeth. “How far up do we go?”
“Without being able to pop my head through that grate? Beats me.”
Torsten gave him an encouraging look and nodded his head toward the opening.
“No way, not again,” Whitney said, shaking his head. “I got you here without a hitch. You can check all the offshoots until you’re under the courtyard. You’ve probably been there, so you’ll recognize it. Lowly thieves aren’t usually invited to meet prefects.”
“Fine.”
“Then this is where we split up. The wharf is down that way, and I have a plan that’ll get every eye in Winde Port on them.”
“Just don’t destroy the city.”
“When Whitney Blisslayer gets hired to make a distraction, he goes all out. You don’t get to hold me back now.” Whitney turned to walk away and felt a heavy gauntlet on his shoulder.
“Iam willing, we will meet up after the fighting is through.” Torsten’s tone was solemn, heartfelt. Whitney was sure it was the first time he’d ever spoken to him that way. “Do not die, thief.”
“Let me worry about dying. I have a great plan for when that day arrives, and it isn’t today. Just wait for my signal.”
“How will I know?”
Whitney sighed. “Haven’t you ever done this before? The answer is always, ‘you’ll just know.’ I take distractions seriously.”
“I’m sure you do.” Torsten went to turn, and this time Whitney grabbed him.
“But remember, I’m not doing this for free. Sora is up there somewhere, and you gave your word that you’ll help me find her after you end Muskigo.”
“And I stand by it. I know you’re not doing this for the Crown, but maybe you’re not so selfish after all.”
Whitney pulled away. “Don’t go getting soft on me.”
“Just do me a favor? When we find her again, stop being a fool for once.”
The lumbering Shieldsman turned to his men and raised his voice just above a heavy whisper. “All right, the prefect's estate is down this trough. I want a man on every grate. We know what we’re looking for.”
Winds of War Page 25
