by CM Raymond
“We hunkered down in here. My forebears did what they could just to stay alive. Over a couple of generations, we turned it into a proper home. Once the Madness had been mostly cleared out, that’s when we started using the ore in the dirt to make all kinds of shit. They needed weapons and tools below, so we made it for em. Or at least gave them what they needed to make em themselves.”
The rearick went quiet and focused on the subpar weed in his pipe.
He took a slug from the wineskin and passed it to Parker who followed. “Can’t wait to get some of the Heights drink. This shit gives me the constant runs.”
Parker nearly spat out his mouthful. “Thanks for that enlightening information!”
Karl grinned and slapped Parker on the back. “Where we’re going, kid, ya better get used to that kind of talk. If that makes you uncomfortable, then our ladies will make you blush. This ain’t no damned noble ball we’re heading towards.”
****
Silence ruled the remainder of the climb into the Heights. For Parker, this was out of necessity. While his breathing had steadied, his head started to swim. Tales had been told about what altitude could do to a lowlander, but Parker had no frame of reference for climbing, as the highest he had ever been was the roof of Sully’s Tavern. Even when he visited Hannah at the abandoned tower outside of town, he never got off the ground floor.
As they pushed through the final stretch, Parker could hear Craigston before he could see it. The sounds of steel on rock echoed around him and occasionally a gruff shout—usually an obscenity—floated through the air. Cresting the last set of stairs, the little mountain town came into view.
Built into the ledge of the enormous mountain range, Craigston seemed to be an outgrowth of the mountain itself. Low hanging homes and businesses seemed to grow out of the rock, and Parker couldn’t help but wonder if they extended back into the old mines of the rearick as well.
Short, stout rearick hustled in every direction. Some carried tools and others pushed wheelbarrows full of dirt and rubble, but as far as he could tell, they were all working. While Karl critiqued his own people for falling into the lust for coin, their work ethic certainly couldn’t be called into question.
“Scheisse, Karl, ya bastard. Yer back. We thought you off an married one of dem skinny lowland bitches,” a rearick covered in mining dirt yelled to them. His accent was thicker than Karl’s—Parker could hardly understand him.
“Nah, Greely, I came back to sleep with yer ma. She’s better than anything down the mountain,” Karl retorted.
The men all laughed and slapped him on the back. Parker nodded as they left without introduction.
“Greely, that son of a bitch.” Karl smiled, shaking his head. “He’ll talk shit all day and night, but he’d tear off his own dick to save you if he had to. Good man… Let’s go get some food and ale.”
Karl led Parker through the bustling streets to Ophelia’s. Along the way, they came to an old mine, whose entrance was covered over with lengths of logs serving as a fence.
Parker slowed. “What’s this?”
“Aye, that’s where it happened, laddie.”
The lowlander’s brow twisted in confusion.
Karl grinned. “She didn’t tell you? Course she didn’t. That little lady of yers, when she was here, she saved the lives of a host of rearick. Company was pushing too hard, trying to get enough amphoralds to keep yer Arcadia happy. And then, the mountain tried to take something of its own. They were screwed.” He shook his head. “Yer girl zapped herself inside of the place and blasted em all out. Never seen anything like it before. For once, I was glad to have a magic user around.”
The story took Parker by surprise. He tried to imagine his friend doing what the rearick had described. Hannah was a badass when it came to protecting her friends and family. And could talk shit as well as most of the men in the Boulevard. But when it came down to it, she had a sense of humility that only a life of lack could shape. She’d risk her life to save people she didn’t know, and then never breath a word of it. At that moment, he knew the girl with the magic would never cease to surprise him. Though he thought he knew everything there was to her, there was much more bubbling below the surface.
“Of course, she did,” Parker said. “Let’s get some of that famous mountain ale you’ve been bragging about. That climb made me thirsty as hell.”
Most of the people they passed shouted a greeting to Karl—many of them were cruder than Greely. He just kept grinning and shouting back. While unorthodox, even by the Boulevard’s standard, Parker couldn’t help to enjoy the sense of comradery the rearick had in the little rock town.
Stepping into the dark pub, Parker’s eyes slowly adjusted to find the place packed midway through the afternoon. “Busy,” he quipped.
“Aye. They’re either getting off work and tying a few on or lubricating their bodies before going underground.”
They grabbed the only remaining stools at the bar.
A woman with cleavage deeper than the valleys they just scaled smiled and approached from behind the bar. “Karl, you ol’ rusty-cocked son of a bitch. We thought you weren’t coming home this time!”
“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away from your smiling company, ya bastard. My friend and me just made the climb, and we’re in desperate need of something thick to drink.”
“Coming right up,” she said with a wink. “He ain’t bad looking for a beanpole.”
As she left, Parker said to Karl, “This place is amazing.”
Karl’s eyes danced. “Aye. Good folk. Majestic views. Especially if ya been gone for a piece. Ophelia there is my second cousin or some shit. But since we all date back to the time of Madness, we’re all probably related in some way.”
“Explains some things,” Parker quipped.
“Ha, you’d better shut your damned trap,” the rearick snorted while taking his beer from Ophelia with a nod of thanks.
“Now, listen,” Karl said after he chugged half a pint of ale. “You’d better let me do the talking. Lots of folks around here make their living off trade with the Chancellor. We can’t exactly jump up on a soapbox and start preaching about how he’s the damn devil or whatever shit you pull down in the valley. We’d more than likely get thrown out of town. And we’d risk Adrien finding out about our little rebellion. So, just follow my lead, and let’s play this one smooth, alright?”
Before Parker got a chance to respond, Karl turned up his glass and finished his pint. He slammed it back down on the bar and let out an earth-shaking belch.
“Aye aye,” Parker laughed. “You’re the king of smooth.”
After two rounds of the mystics’ ale, Karl and Parker headed to a table in the back corner of Ophelia’s with plates piled high with generous proportions of meat and potatoes. They ate mostly in silence—each washing down two more ales. Parker could feel the gentle buzz of the brew wash over him, and he couldn’t help but sit, smile, and take in his surroundings.
The rearick came and went. All of them knew all the others. Most gave a glance over toward the corner, giving Parker the eye while hurtling playful insults at Karl. Parker could tell that they were, overall, good folks. They cared for each other and loved their food, wine, and smoke.
By the time that Ophelia had cleared their plates, a small group had gathered around them. They made their introductions and chatted playfully with Parker, but it was clear they were all waiting for Karl to settle into conversation. Garrett was young and broad, with a swagger that Parker knew well. Mortimer sat next to him. He was old compared to the others but carried a strength with him as well. Parker eyed the brace on his leg and assumed it must have been from a mining accident. And there was a Fletcher, a surly guy about Karl’s age, who drank faster than the rest and cursed more often than he blinked.
“So, where the hell you been, Karl?” Mortimer asked, shifting in his chair to find a comfortable spot.
Karl pulled out his pipe and waited for one of them to pass along some o
f the rearick weed. Garrett complied. Karl nodded, filled his pipe, tamped it down, and lit it up into a cherry red ember. Sucking deep, he exhaled, and said, “Been someplace where they don’t grow weed this good.”
The men laughed. “That could be anywhere in all of Irth,” Garrett quipped.
Karl nodded. “Damn straight, kid. On the last trip I made to Arcadia, I was taking in some drinks, waiting for my party to enjoy the city when I was approached by a nobleman. Real dickstain of a guy—but a dickstain with deep pockets. Said he was looking for a personal handler—you know, some muscle.”
The men nodded and Parker watched them, looking to see if they were buying the tale.
“Easiest money I’ve ever made down there. Until I was given this bastard.” Karl nodded at Parker, who tried to grin. Karl snorted. “I’m shitting with ya, kid. Parker here is one of Sir Dickstain’s crew. He asked me to train em up. Thought a trip up to the Heights would do em well. And… I was out of the weed.”
“What do you do for Sir Dicksalot down—” Fletcher started.
“Stain,” Karl interrupted. “It’s Dickstain. The noblemen are very particular.”
The rearick all laughed.
“Anyway, what exactly do you do for the nobleman, and how long does it keep you on yer knees?” Fletcher asked with a sneer.
“Nah. It’s easy. Easier than mining anyway. I mostly hang around his house. Follow him around the market. Dem nobles are more into appearances than anything. Like I said, easy money.”
Mortimer pulled on his pint and wiped his bearded mouth with the back of his hand. “Hell, I’d rather be ten miles underground than spend one day in Arcadia. That world isn’t made for rearick. Especially the nobles. Thought you hated it there, Karl.”
“Aye. With a passion. That’s why I’m back. Recharge for a few days. But as far as the coin goes, it’s hard to beat, and things are getting interesting down there. Might wait to see what plays out.”
“Interesting?” Fletcher asked with raised brows.
Karl scanned the room, making sure no one else was paying attention—though it was more for show than anything. “Aye. Arcadia is a hell of a shithole, but now that I’m working for the nobleman—and spending a few more weeks there—I am starting to understand why. It’s not the common bastards that make trouble, it’s the ones at the top.”
Garrett nodded. “The Governor.”
Karl laughed. “Governor’s nothing but a whiny bitch. Has nothing to do with it, not really. Adrien—he runs the place. Runs the Governor, too.”
The other rearick looked around the table, suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation. Professional distance from the rest of the broader affairs of Arcadia was a hallmark of the rearick community. The life of mining and drinking brought contentment and nothing pleased them more. They’d happily trade with whoever had the coin, but they usually kept their nose out of other people’s businesses, and they expected the same privacy for their lives, too.
Fletcher finally said what the rest were thinking. “Stay out of the business of the shit mongers. I got no use for them—except for the fact they buy my amphoralds. Paying invoices is all they’re good for if you ask me. Otherwise, we need to just keep our noses clean.” He looked straight at Garrett. “That goes for you, too, ya little shit. Yer already getting the travel bug, and yer poor mammy would roll in her grave if she knew what you were doing.”
Garrett’s face wrinkled in confusion. “My ma’s living and quite proud of her traveling soldier.”
Fletcher cocked his head. “Really, the old girl looked dead to me last time I saw her at the bar.”
Mortimer laughed, and Garrett’s face burned red. He looked ready for a fight. Parker guessed that moms were off limits when it came to common banter.
“Cool it, kid,” Karl said with a hand on his shoulder. “Fletch here always has something up his arse sideways.” He turned to the rest of them. “Sure, you can try to mind your own business, keep yer ugly noses out of their business, until Adrien decides to bring his business to you, then what?”
The old rearick slammed his pint glass on the table. “No way. Won’t happen.”
Karl laughed. “You’re as naive as you are old, Mort.” He glanced over his shoulder again. Lowering his voice, he said, “In fact, I think them bastards have a mind to do just that. Come up here. Take their money back by force.”
“Let em come,” Fletcher said. “They couldn’t advance on the Heights, we’d tear the shit out of em. Magic or no magic. We’re a bunch of rock hounds. They’d be bent over breathless before they finished the climb.”
Parker finally broke his silence, and all eyes turned to him. “What if they won’t need to make the climb? If you all can fight half as well as Karl, then you’re right. An Arcadian army couldn’t stand a chance against you—in a fair fight. But it won’t be fair. They have magitech on their side, and it’ll be the magitech that takes you down. They’re building machines, big enough to take on the Heights. And the irony is, you’ve been giving them exactly what they need to do it.”
“Horseshit,” Fletcher said, though the look in his eyes said that maybe he saw some truth in it.
Parker laughed. “What the hell you think they’re doing with all the amphoralds you keep sending down there? Building magical torches? He’s building a war machine like nothing Irth has seen since before the days of magic. And I’ve seen it with my own two eyes.”
They all stared at Parker differently, trying to assess the young Arcadian. There was nothing but conviction in his eyes.
“The supply to Arcadia is slowing, though,” Garret said with apprehension.
“Exactly,” Karl spat. “Which means it’s almost finished. And when it is, he’ll bring the fight to us, to the mystics, to wherever he damn well pleases. And you’ll be pissing in yer britches as you scramble into whatever hole you can find. Then, he and his will take what they want and burn the rest.”
Fletcher narrowed his eyes and said, “If you’re so damned smart, Karl, what do you suggest?” There was fire in his question, and Parker wondered how far this rearick could be pushed before he snapped.
“Gents, there’s a rebellion forming,” Karl said. “I’ve met a handful of Arcadians willing to fight him. It’s a worthy cause, something honorable you can get behind. They’re tough, but they’re few in numbers. If some red-blooded rearick joined the cause, we could take down that prick before he comes for us. And help set that city straight in the meantime. Any of you boys interested?”
Mortimer stared down at his busted leg as Garrett looked to Fletcher for a response. The foul rearick only stared at the bottom of his glass. Too many years had passed since the days when the rearick hunted the remnant in the Madlands and scalped them with glee. They had all grown fat and greedy. Karl, for the first time, truly doubted that he could sway his people to join the fight.
Fletcher finally looked up. “How much does it pay?”
A scowl developed under Karl’s beard. “You are a greedy-ass son of a bitch, aren’t you Fletcher? I’m not surprised. You probably expect your wife to lay some coin on the table after you give her a shaggin’, don’t ya? Well, this job ain’t for you. Pays in honor, but I know that’s a currency you put very little stock in.”
In one move, Fletcher stood and dropped a right hook across Karl’s cheekbone. Parker stared in shock as Karl just took it. The old rearick smiled. Drank deep from his mug of ale, then wiped the foam from his beard.
“Fletcher, old friend,” Karl said. “I’m gonna knock your teeth in.”
Before Parker could react, Karl flipped the table on top of Fletcher. Glasses smashed to the ground, and everyone was on their feet screaming.
****
Gregory waltzed around the open dance floor, and Hannah followed flawlessly, her crimson dress twirling as she spun in perfect rhythm with the music. All eyes were on them and their near flawless dance. It was as though they had been partners all their lives, waiting until just this moment to show th
e world their skills.
Hannah smiled, wider than she had for months. And it had nothing to do with her disguise. The dance felt so natural, and their movements bordered on intoxicating.
She had spent days worrying about this moment, worried that she would screw it all up. Now, it was Gregory struggling to lead as fluidly as his partner followed. Hannah couldn’t tell if her body instinctively remembered the moves that Ezekiel had walked her through with his mental magic, or if the magician was somewhere in the house, still directing her limbs.
It didn’t matter. Either way, she was damn beautiful, and she danced the hell out of the Noble Quarter.
The song slowed, and Gregory pulled her close for the Arcadian Waltz.
“You’re doing amazing,” he whispered in her ear.
“Thanks. I am a classy-ass dancer, ain’t I?” she asked with a grin. “You’re a damn fine partner yourself.”
