by Jason Jones
“Galus ouvre obscanus de nosari, novum touria!” One of the skeletal knights raised his voice over the marching, then all stopped, all at once.
“What did it say?” Shinayne peered out a crack in the stone wall, two hundred dead soldiers in rows not twenty feet from her.
“You cannot hide from us, we see you.” Gwenneth whispered back to Shinayne, then covered her mouth quick as to not scream.
Shinayne backed up next to James, Zen, and Saberrak as every skeletal face upon thousands of skulls, all turned right toward their building, all at once.
“Run!” Saberrak roared as he smashed through the wooden doors of the back entrance that led into the city, his four companions close behind.
Blades IV:I
Underground Sewer Tunnels
City of Harlaheim
“Should heroism be based on the sum of one’s failures, the world would have no hope. Men would then fear to stand, and darkness would take us. Heroes are made from their defeat, it is why we carry on when no one else would dare, into certain death.” ---words of Sir Foltaires the Pure, Holy Knight of Alden, last bearer of the Shield of Shanador. Spoken while Saint Tarumin knighted and blessed his forty three remaining men at the Battle of Arouland, one hour before they faced the last of the surrounding Altestan Armada, numbering over twenty thousand strong.
Circa 0 AD, day of the final receding of the great western flood.
“What do you mean he is gone, where did he go? Damn it all!” Balric D’Vrelle ran even faster through the unlit tunnels, seeing nothing besides the two men beside him.
“If I knew that, I would not be searching every tunnel by torchlight, now would I, Harlian? And no cursing.” Lord Rodreigo dell Amarr swished his torch to the left, nothing. He kept on ahead, curved and decorated shamshir in hand.
“Tracks, I see muddy tracks on the stairs there, to your left.” Sir Sebastian Caunerier, the recent Lord Knight Errant for a short span of weeks, sprinted ahead with these two wanted men. His fierce eyes spotted muddy bootprints, a recent sign of passing.
While ascending the lower steps to fetch their secretly passed meals and fresh clothes, Richmond the Second had slipped out from the tower of Kalzarius this morning, had made it through the ancient tombs, and found a secret passage into the sewers. It had been two months nearly, and still they lived, though all knew they were the most hunted and hated men in the kingdom of Harlaheim.
“I see more, hurry.”
Balric turned left and ran harder. He had stopped Richmond, the former king of Harlaheim, from slitting his wrists twice this past week alone. His misery at hearing of Phillip taking his throne, rumor of war with Willborne, and his drinking as result, had been exhausting for those that protected him in hiding to deal with.
Up the stairs they went, far from the safety of Kalzarius’ tower and the wizard Cilano. Covering their faces, following torchlight, they now all reeked of all the delights the sewers had to offer. The trail was easy to follow in the thick sludge, whether moist or hard, and after almost an hour they could hear footsteps ahead. Another three turns and climbs of stairs and there was a glimmer of torchlight not far off.
“Richmond!” Balric yelled down the corridor which was now leading up to central Harlaheim. He knew these tunnels well from his early days undercover in the White Spider.
“My king, stop!” Sebastian called out, still loyal despite all that he now knew of his sire.
Bright light blinded them, the light of a sunny day poured in as a sewer grate slid open to the city streets above. The tunnel crawled with roaches, rats, and things one would not notice without such light. For a moment, it was horrifying.
Smash!
Clank!
Darkness reigned once more as the three men reached the ladder, their feet crunching on broken glass from a tossed bottle of wine, empty for certain. Rodreigo climbed first, passing the torch back to Sebastian and drawing a curved dagger and placing it between his teeth. Sir Sebastian passed the light back to Balric and climbed next. The Harlian swordsman spy did not hesistate, dropped the torch as Sir Rodreigo slid open the metal grate, and rushed up the ladder. They all squinted a second time as daylight and fresh air hit them square in their faces.
Up onto Meudaives Street, the northern district of the city, the three scuddled into an alley behind the merchant bazaar. Jewelry and charms to their right, exotic furs to their left, and everywhere there were thousands perusing and huddling in and out of shops and carts.
“We will never find him here, impossible.” Sebastian muttered.
“I am more worried about someone finding us. There are likely five hundred men at arms throughout the northern markets on Solumtye morning. Everyone in Harlaheim knows the best prices are today, before the end of the week when the pubs overfill with lazy merchants spending their coin. Guards and people will be double normal. We need to blend in.” Balric looked to Rodreigo and eyed the Caberran man’s bracelets, chains of gold, jeweled earrings, and small but full coinpurse.
“Very well, as you noble Harlian men of the feathered cross are with less, Caberra will offer assistance, as we always seem to have more.” Lord Rodreigo crept out of the alley and skulked over the to carts with robes, furs, and everything made of cloth and exotic animal pelts.
Sebastian rubbed his shaved head and stroked his goatee. His king was getting further away by the moment. He pulled the tabard depicting the crowm and rose of Harlaheim off, drew his heavy rapier, and marched out of the alley. A firm hand on his arm stopped him. He looked up to the ominous shadows of the sky rising buildings, feeling smaller than ever under the immense construction of his ages old city. With a shrug of his shoulder, the once knight, now wanted vigilante, spun away from Balric.
Slam!
Balric anticipated the delayed maneuver and planted Sir Sebastian into the wall, forearm under his chin, held tight.
“You go out there, crown and rose or not, and you will be noticed.”
“I will not hide away forever while my king tries to take his life, or worse, to be found by those that will take it for him.”
“He is no longer king, and the three of us are all that remain loyal to keeping him alive. Kalzarius helps, but he is not going to fight for Richmond. If you are found, we are found, and the guillotine is the best offer we could hope for then, knight.”
“Then the blade and the basket it is, spy. I do not fear death, and the last shred of honor and chivalry I have left is with---“
“Do not try upon my conscience, I know what ideals you serve. I serve the same, just by different methods. I pray for forgiveness from Alden, I have loved, served, and lost all, same as you, Sebastian.”
“Then why do you hesitate, why am I the one that feels to run after him and to hell with the chances of capture?”
“Because that illusion, the dream of knowing you serve something better than any other, has left me. Long ago in fact. I sought to bring that corruption down, so that I may feel it again. You still search for it, in Richmond.” Balric lowered his fierce gaze from Sebastian’s eyes and breathed out. His clenched jaw relaxed, just a bit.
“I wish I felt as you did, unfortunately I have replaced hope with fact.”
“Then let me go after him.” Sebastian let his tension down a notch as well.
“We will all go after him, just wait. You have led half the men in Harlaheim in one form or another, your fame as a knight and as a wanted man will be our ends, should you be recognized.”
“Why? Why do you wish to save him? You and Rodreigo had missions to do just the opposite, one from the Aldane and one from Caberra.”
“I do not know why, but if either of us wished him dead, it would have been done. I know the alternative, I know Johnas Valhera, and I will be damned if I sit and let him rule my homeland, whether here on the throne, or the shadow behind it. You cannot do this alone. We wait for Kalzarius to return from his friend in the mountain, as agreed. No one needs die here, not yet.” Balric turned toward the street, a man in
brown monk robes lined with fur approached, hood covering his head in the heat, and a walking stick in his hand.
“What have I missed? Is this a Harlian idea of staying hidden and inconspicious?” Rodreigo spoke from behind the cowl, then tossed two more monk robes of similar make to Balric and Sebastian, who both looked ready to kill or kiss one another in the alley. He assumed the former was the more probable than the latter, yet Harlaheim was not Caberra.
Without more than a sideways glance for retorts, the two Harlian men donned the robes, took the sticks, and pulled the hoods up over their heads. The three wanted men, wanted for the false death of the man they had been hiding, stepped into the merchant streets of the capital in search for their missing king. Guards marched the streets in sets of four, soldiers of the Crossguard Legion of the Aldane were posted in platoons of one hundred, and the city seemed a militant state more than a mecca for trade and antiquity.
Bright blue banners with red feathered crosses fluttered over tightly formed legionaires marching in steel plate armor. The purple and black tabards over chainmail with the golden crown and rose were everywhere. Yet, three old monks, hunched over with walking sticks to guide them, made through the streets at a quick pace. Wine merchants yelled to the passersby, just as wealthy vineyard owners, each selling their recent released vintages, or ones long past due to drink. Harvest month meant crushing grapes and drinking wine, all month long, in both Caberra and Harlaheim.
Each monk waved his hand several times to the no, as many tried to offer the men wearing the vowed and impoverished browns some free bottles of northern reds and eastern golds. Rodreigo accepted one finally, blessed the man, then passed the bottle to an actual monk that was heading opposite them on the road.
They heard it before they saw it, everyone within three blocks likely did. Hands now under their suffocating garments, blades gripped unnoticed, they made through the thickening crowds to the voice they knew too well.
“I am Richmond the Second, your king lives! Charge the castle with me and end---“ His rallying lecture, atop a fruit cart next to his own statue, received overwhelming laughter and ridicule. Then it received old vegetables, rotted fruits, and even horse dung through airborn retort. He deflected some hardened dung with a rather full and fresh bottle of wine, yet the softer projectiles impacted all over his purple velvets and regal attire. It matched the sewer stains rather well.
Richmond, curly hair full of filth, unshaven for weeks, stared down his long nose and drew a golden rapier. Heads turned, not toward this drunken fools’ rhetoric, but the glint of gold caught many eyes.
“Your king Phillip is an imposter, he was the seneschal only, and supplanted me with shapeshifting creatures that mimicked my own demise! I am here, my people, and I will never leave you---“
“Richmond was a fool, he’s dead man, give it up!” A brown head of lettuce launched from the crowd and splattered over Richmonds back.
“I say to you now, to all that you hold in your Harlian hearts, let---“
“He be lookin’ for coin is all, throw him a copper bit to shut him up then!” Bits of coin, small rocks, and foreign objects descended toward the dirty man with filthy velvet.
“You insolent fools, you wretched disloyal peasants! Do you not know your king when he speaks?! You owe me fealty and my rule to be---“ Richmond suddenly heard applause arise from the crowd, clapping, cheers and laughter. He smiled and began to bow, then felt the tip of a blade at his back, then another, and then a strong hand grabbed his arm with the rapier.
“Finally, the church sends aid to the drunkards that pose as our lost kings! Hurry priests, there are two more at the south end!” More laughter erupted as three robed men drug the drunken man pretending to be the late Richmond the Second off of the fruit cart.
“Let me go, I am no false---“ A hand covered his mouth, a hand with rings and finely manicured nails, and golden bracelets. Richmond looked up to the cowls three, seeing the face of Rodreigo first, then Balric, and then Sebastian.
“My liege, this is folly. Would you care to live and see justice done, this is not the path.” Rodreigo took the rapier, scabbard, and sheathed it under his robes.
“I spit on Caberra! You and yours likely had a hand in this, through Rosana, something. Take your shining trident and shove it where---“
“My king! Please, if you continue this, we are dead men. Show me that I serve something better, that you want something more than this." Sebastian lifted the bottle from his hand and tried to wipe some of the food from his clothes.
“There is nothing, nothing to gain. I have no castle, no army, no crown…and Saint Erinsburg is empty. The people are gone, no sign of Cristoff or Rosana, and I made that happen, I ordered it burned. I wish only to die on my throne, in my castle, like my noble forefathers.” Richmond was drunk, tearing, and smelled of rotten food and sewage.
“You are released from your service to me, Sebastian Caunrenier.”
“My king?” Sebastian looked angry, shocked, even hurt at the comment.
“I am afraid you no longer have any power to order or release anything, Richmond. Yet, I have never been one to give up easily. So, if you wish to see these things undone, to see some form of honor restored, you need to fight, and you will need to be forgiven.” Balric surveyed the area. Merchants were talking to Harlaheim guards, pointing toward them as they held the former king to the ground behind the carts.
“Forgiven? I doubt that anyone will allow that, perhaps in hell they will.” Richmond wiped his brow and eyes as he chuckled.
“I do not think they forgive there, sire.” Sebastian was still wiping food and shit from his king with a now filthy rag.
“I am well aware, Sebastian. That was the point.”
“We have attracted eyes, my Harlian friends.” Rodreigo spoke low, eyeing the guards.
“Cut off from the sewers, they would see us descend, then know our routes below. What move? And make it quick.” Sebastian looked to Balric, then to the crowd parting for more soldiers.
“We need to get to a warehouse, south of here, near L’Herrim Square. I have contacts there, an underground cathedral to the Broken Wing of the Aldane. Their assistance to the church is unmatched, they will be helpful in hiding us.” Balric looked again, more guards were arriving.
“They will help us? With him?” Rodreigo nodded toward Richmond. “Why have we not tried this before now?”
“I have not been able to find anyone, none of my contacts are out in the city. They must be in hiding. As for Richmond, I would think so, they are not allied with Harlaheim directly, or the Legion. They will have answers, that is certain.”
“Oh yes, the great spy speaks. Tell me, D’Vrelle, what could you possibly do to assist me?” Richmond spat to the ground.
“For now, getting you out of here, alive. We can’t cut back to the tower, soldiers coming. Rodreigo, Sebastian, to our right. Harlaheim guard approaches, let us move. Come, king of velvet stench, time to save you from yourself.” Balric, assisted by his cohorts, pulled the former ruler of Harlaheim to his feet.
Arms around their quarry, the spy, the knight, and the Caberran lord took Richmond fast through streets and alleys leading south. Past the Library Fastine, under the Valacanal Bridge, and even crossing the Saint Chatephes Garden out of the northern merchant center they went. Sweat poured from the three men in heavy brown robes, the sun was gloriously bright, and the wind spared them nothing. Turning right down an alley between the Saint Gavriel Cathedral and the Wynnegarde Museum, the four headed now for the western edge of the port district. Gargoyles loomed from corners, this part of the city was old and tarnished, and most buildings were downtrodden and empty.
“You there!” It echoed behind them.
“Run men, they decided to follow.” Balric whispered. He knew if they were caught with Richmond the Second, their deaths would be long, public, and painful.
“Stop in the name of Harlaheim and King Phillip!” In front now, they had two squads, then
they heard more. A third squad from the south yelled as they heard their brethren in pursuit, boredom on dock patrol, more than anything else, drove them to get involved.
“You priests are ordered to halt!”
“Now what, are we close?” Lord Rodreigo dell Amarr followed, one arm on his shamshir under the heavy garments, the other on the former king.
“Surrounded, no use.” Sir Sebastian held his king while he looked back, then forward, then to his right. Twelve men of the Harlaheim guard had them cornered with nowhere to go but north toward L’Herrim Castle, the last place they would find sanctuary.
“Two blocks ahead in the dead end alley, on the left, knock twice on the unmarked wooden door, then enter. It is a safehouse of the Broken Wing, go!”
Balric took the robes off over his head and tossed them to Sebastian. He drew his saber and shortblade, the guards picked up their pace, and he resolved that they would have to be held here, otherwise they would be led to the underground cathedral.
Another set of robes were slung over Sebastians shoulder, those of Lord Rodreigo. He twirled his engraved and bejeweled curved shamshir in his left, matching dagger in his right.
“What are you doing, dell Amarr?” Balric glanced and whispered.
“Caberran honor will not abide letting one Harlian stand alone against twelve. Besides, my blades have been idle for far too long.”
“Make that three on twelve.” Sir Sebastian drew his rapier a moment after the three sets of monk’s robes hit the cobblestone.
The drawing of twelve rapiers was nearly simultaneous, Richmond put his back to the wall, and his three protectors took stances around him and glared at the Harlian guard.
“Priests do not often carry blades, nor smuggle drunkards to the docks. Stand down, drop your---“ The sergeant was cut off by another guard from the other detail.
“By Alden, that is Sir Sebastian, and the bishop from Chazzrynn!” All eyes went wide as he spoke it.
