The man pushed off without warning. Torsten slashed blindly as he stumbled and caught Curry somewhere fleshy. The big guard came at Torsten, who stabbed out, but the man grabbed his arm and struggled to free the knife. He leveraged Torsten, shoving him against the wall and bending his elbow until the blade fell toward him. Torsten frantically stamped, trying to find the man’s ankles but missed.
You’re a Shieldsman, he told himself as his arm bent further. You are the shield of this kingdom. Sight is for the weak. Only Iam needs guide our path.
Torsten had always fought with honor, but he was in a place without any, where giants were slaves and women something far worse, where the only god was coin and whatever it took to fill your pockets with more.
He drove his knee up into the man’s nether regions just before his own arm gave out. The blow caused the knife to merely scrape Torsten’s ribs on the way by. The big one keeled over and Torsten spun around him. He somehow heard the third guard taking a swing at him with a club and ducked just in time. The club smashed into the big guard’s back, and before the third one could apologize, Torsten swept with his massive leg and knocked him off his feet.
He drove a fist square into the man’s forehead, knocking him unconscious, then rolled over his body as Curry took a swipe. Torsten found the floor and prepared to spring up. Something raced toward his head. He caught Curry’s foot and flipped him ass over teakettle, but a second foot caught him across the jaw as the man floundered.
Torsten recovered quicker and pounced, driving blow after blow toward Curry’s fat face. Curry had his guard up, so none landed, but Torsten was large and powerful. Curry’s forearms were likely broken and splintered inside.
A sudden bloodcurdling howl from back in the arena echoed loudly.
“Nooooo!” Uhlvark roared, making even the mightiest beasts of Pantego sound puny and pathetic.
The distraction broke Curry’s block, and Torsten’s fist drove through his face. As the man’s arms fell limp, the big guard grabbed Torsten from behind. Torsten’s arms were wrenched backward as he was heaved off his feet.
“Come after Mister Tehr, will you?” the bulky guard growled. “This is his city you fools let rot. His!”
Torsten pushed one of the guard’s arms away and got an elbow or two in, but his blows met a bulging stomach and accomplished nothing. The guard’s arm wrapped his throat. Torsten shoved off the wall with his feet, driving them both backward and into the other guard. Torsten thrashed like an angry zhulong, but it was no use. His throat started closing, his hearing muddled, he felt the energy draining from his limbs. Then, in an instant, the fat guard’s grip went loose, and he collapsed, dragging Torsten down with him.
Torsten lifted a weighty arm off himself and rolled free, gasping for air. He groped to find a wall, anything, with which to find balance. Instead, a familiar hand found his.
“Sir, you’re all right?” Lucas said.
“Lucas! I’m fine,” Torsten said.
“I don’t know what you did down here, but they left me with one man.”
“Easy enough to handle for a former brawler like you?” Torsten said, smiling but out of breath.
“I faired better than you. C’mon.” Lucas needed both hands to heave Torsten to his feet, groaning the entire way. Torsten couldn’t blame him. He’d put on a few pounds since he’d been unable to train in any sort of meaningful way.
Uhlvark yelled again, only this time it sounded like they were getting control of him. The floor rumbled louder than it had yet as if his entire body had fallen like a one-hundred-year-old oak in the Haskwood Thicket.
Lucas’s muscles tensed. “So that’s what you did,” he said.
“I had help,” Torsten said. “Valin doesn’t have his claws in everyone yet.”
“Keys.” Lucas released Torsten and lifted a key ring off the fat guard. Then he started trying them on the door.
“Hurry up, will you?” Torsten asked. One of the guards groaned, and Torsten kicked toward the sound, cracking him in the jaw.
“Shog.” Lucas dropped the key ring. He went to pick it up, but Torsten quickly clutched his wrist.
“Breathe, Lucas,” Torsten said. “We’ll be fine.”
Lucas retrieved the key ring and followed Torsten’s advice. A few seconds later, the door clicked open, and they entered. Torsten could picture it from over a decade ago. Walls adorned with riches no lowborn from Dockside should’ve ever even seen. Though underground, he had windows in the form of exquisite paintings from around Pantego. All bought with blood money, flesh money—sinful money.
“Check the desk,” Torsten said. “Look for a ledger, scrolls. Any gods-damned thing that might have Valin’s seal on it.”
“It won’t be in here,” Lucas said.
“What are you talking about?”
“This room, it’s all for show. He, uh… He brings the winners of every fight in here to congratulate them. Tells a story about one of these trinkets to make us think we can have this wealth.” Lucas lifted something heavy off a table then let it clank back down.
“He does like to flaunt,” Torsten agreed.
“That door, it’s always locked. I think it’s his private quarters.”
“Where?”
Lucas knocked to show Torsten where. He fumbled with the key ring and tried every key he could until Torsten stopped him.
“If that’s his real office, I guarantee nobody but the man himself gets in,” Torsten said. “Check the desk while I open it.”
He moved Lucas aside, then patted the area of the door. He found the handle, the hinges, then set his shoulder against it. For a long time, Glass soldiers had joked that Torsten had the blood of giants in his veins. He knew it wasn’t true. He came from as common of Glintish stock as there could be.
He reared back and rammed his shoulder against the door. Pain radiated across his side. Whatever wood the thing was made with, it was reinforced. But he found that without the hindrance of sight, he could drive his body forward with reckless abandon.
He stepped back and smashed against it again. This time, the slight crackle of wood splintering was obvious. So, too, was the burning sensation as Torsten’s shoulder popped from its socket.
“Nothing in here, Sir,” Lucas called over.
“Keep looking,” Torsten groaned.
“No, that’s just it. Every drawer is empty. Every single one.”
“Not a thing about this man is real.” Torsten grunted and threw himself against the door again. The crack deepened, and Torsten’s head flashed with agonizing pain. If his shoulder wasn’t dislocated before, it was now. He didn’t wait to let the shock settle. He ground his teeth and charged forward one last time.
The door blew off its hinges. Torsten burst through, hitting the floor hard and rolling over, clutching his shoulder.
“By Iam,” Lucas said. He rushed in and tried to help Torsten up.
“No,” Torsten shooed him away. “Find Valin’s records so we can get out of here.”
Torsten had sat idly by while too many wolves and snakes infested Yarrington. He knew he might not leave this place alive, but it no longer mattered.
Shouting from down in the arena had ceased echoing so loudly, which meant they didn’t have long before their mess was discovered. Torsten wasn’t sure what they might find, but he knew anything would help prove Valin wasn’t fit to serve the Crown. It had to. Iam hadn’t placed Abigail in Torsten’s path for no reason. Iam himself was serving as Torsten’s eyes, leading him toward justice.
“There are personal letters on his desk,” Lucas said. “Loads of them.”
“Take them too,” Torsten said. “But inside. Look inside for records.”
Lucas jammed something into the desk drawer and pried it open. He rifled through the contents. “Here we are!” He thumbed through pages. “There are amounts, dates. By Iam, this has to have something.”
“Well done. Now, help me up. I think it’s time we get out of here.”
“Right away—wha
t in the name of Iam?” Lucas’ tone went grim, like he’d found a skeleton. Valin probably had left plenty of those in his wake, but they wouldn’t fit in a desk drawer.
“What is it?”
The ledger dropped on top of the desk. Lucas unfolded something.
“Lucas?” Torsten said.
“’The Caleef still hasn’t reached me in Latiapur,’” Lucas read.
“What is this?”
“A letter dated yesterday,” Lucas said. “‘You made promises, Valin. You said the deserter Rand Langley wouldn’t fail after you took his sister. I expect results when I pay enough to make you the wealthiest man in Yarrington. I need the Caleef to develop a foothold here. The rogue afhem’s daughter alone isn’t enough. You may think you’re powerful, but the Darkings family has been around for centuries, and we will endure long after you’re dead. Get him here! Signed, Yuri Darkings.’”
No pain could keep Torsten from putting together the truth of what he’d just heard. “That was the price…”’ he muttered. It all made so much sense now. Rand Langley and Valin Tehr worked together to free Torsten from Redstar’s prison, and now Torsten knew the true cost. A cost that helped Valin earn enough gold to pay for all the help he’d been providing the Crown with ease.
Valin was using Rand to escort the escaped Caleef back to his people. All in the name of protecting a sister Valin apparently also controlled. A sister that had murdered Oleander for the Dom Nohzi.
“T… Tor… Sir, what do we do?” Lucas stammered.
“Lucas, you need to get that back to the castle,” Torsten said. “I’ll only slow you down.”
“Sir, there’s something I need to—”
“King Pi needs to know before it’s too late,” Torsten interrupted. “Sir Nikserof needs to know. I know Rand. He’ll do the right thing and turn the Caleef over if we can get to him.”
“Sir—”
“Lucas, go!”
“Go where?” a familiar voice said. Armored men filed into Valin’s office, and judging by the clattering of their armor, they weren’t merely Valin’s thugs.
“Captain Henry?” Lucas said. “What are you doing here.”
“Heard a disturbance only to find men of the Crown, breaking into and robbing a lawful citizen of the Glass Kingdom?” Henry said. “Oh, this is too good.”
“Lawful?” Torsten said. He attempted to stand, but pushing against the floor with his injured shoulder had it burning. “You will let Lucas pass, Captain.”
“Not sure I can do that.”
“Whatever Valin is paying you to protect him, know that the Crown will have it stripped from you if you don’t heed my orders.”
“Who said anybody is paying me? I’m doin my job. Just protecting the rights of our citizens.”
“I am the Master of Warfare and a King’s Shieldsman. You will do so, or you will hang!”
“Are you? I don’t see any armor on them,” Henry said. “Do you, boys?” A few more guards agreed with him. “Could be anybody breaking in.”
“Captain, please,” Lucas said. “This changes everything.”
“What, you thought you could come down here, get Valin thrown away and then nobody would ever find out how you stood atop the gate that day and let Rand leave?” Captain Henry asked.
“I didn’t know who they had with them!” Lucas insisted.
“Oh please. You were supposed to keep the gate closed so we could work them over. You knew Bartholomew Darkings was in there. Did he ever tell you that, Sir Unger? Did he ever tell you the real reason he was stationed at the South Gate that awful day.”
“Lucas, what is he talking about?” Torsten asked.
“I had a feeling. You thought you were better than us, boy. But nothing comes from shog, except for shog.”
“You knew?” Torsten said, breathless.
“Sir, I swear, I only knew Rand left with Darkings,” Lucas said. “I figured that was the payment for saving you. I had no idea the Caleef was in there.”
“Letting a known fugitive like Darkings leave the city?” Henry said. “Tsk tsk.”
“I was following your orders!” Lucas shouted.
“Were you? And I suppose your parents’ shop wasn’t the first Valin helped repair after the riots. I suppose his men didn’t keep them safe, just like my wife and kids.”
“I didn’t ask for any of that.”
“You never had to,” Captain Henry said. “Now, I’m asking for you to hand that letter over, and they’ll continue living on in blissful ignorance.”
“If you touch them!”
“They’re fine, for now. Now, hand it over!”
“Don’t,” Torsten said. Pain no longer mattered. He forced himself up to his feet and stalked forward. Eyes or not, meager members of the city guard would have heard of his exploits in Liam’s war. A few of the guards even backed away a few steps.
“Captain, this is the last time I will ask,” Torsten snarled. “Step aside, or you will be punished as a traitor.”
“Sir, I swear I had no idea,” Lucas said. He sounded on the verge of crying. “I don’t even know why Valin would want the Caleef.”
“Because controlling kings is the true path to power,” Valin Tehr said. The guards silenced, and the clack of his cane as he limped into the room echoed. “Crowns are just heavy headwear. Well done, Captain.”
Captain Henry used the distraction to seize Lucas and rip the letter out of his hands. Then he threw Lucas against the wall. “Maybe now you’ll start trusting me,” he said, out of breath.
“I think that could be arranged,” Valin said.
“Valin,” Torsten spat. “You dare sit with our king after what you’ve done! I’ll have your head.” Torsten didn’t think twice. He charged in Valin’s direction but didn’t make it two steps before someone smashed him in the side of the head with the blunt end of a weapon.
“No!” Lucas shouted. He threw himself over Torsten. “Don’t hurt him!”
Captain Henry laughed. “All this for some paper. Whoops.” The letter tore once, then again, and again, before Henry sprinkled the shreds on top of Torsten and Lucas.
“Think about your family, Lucas,” Valin said. “You will face justice for this insolence after all I did to help them for you, but they don’t need to.”
“I… I…”
Torsten was too dazed to respond, but he felt Lucas being peeled off him. Torsten struggled to his hands and knees and grasped at wherever Valin was. Captain Henry’s boot slammed down on his arm.
Torsten groaned.
“You Shieldsmen are all the same,” he whispered in Torsten’s ear. “You forget where you come from.”
Torsten spit up a gob of blood while Henry cackled. He had no vision to become fuzzy, but that didn’t stop his brain from experiencing fuzziness in every other conceivable way. All he could picture was being back in Winde Port the last time he’d failed his kingdom when Sir Mulliner had to put him down like a crazed boar. Only, that time the men were confused and deceived by a heathen. This time, they were betrayed by men of the Glass who’d turned their backs on their own people.
A fist rushed toward his head, but Torsten heard the movement and snapped into action, catching it. His injured shoulder burst with sharp pain, but he ignored it. He grasped, and his hand fell upon one of the soldier’s belts where he seized hold of a knife. With swift movement, he sliced upward at the place he knew Captain Henry to be.
All he heard before a mass of fists and boots beat him unconscious was gurgling. All he tasted was blood, his own, and that of a traitor.
XXXII
THE THIEF
Whitney’s cheeks went hot. His head rolled back on his shoulders, then slipped by Rand on his hands and knees and punched the Caleef straight in the nose. Blood poured down, people gasped, and the Caleef grabbed his face, but he didn’t protest. He couldn’t protest. Whitney shook out his hand.
“What the yig are you doing!” Rand demanded. He grabbed Whitney and threw him back agains
t the bars.
“That gray bastard was responsible for the murdering of hundreds, including my own hometown,” Whitney said. Hometown. Before Elsewhere, Whitney barely cared, but after building a new life there, the thought of it hit harder. It was like his timeline had been reversed. All thanks to Bartholomew Darkings, the Caleef, Grint, the list went on.
“He had nothing to do with that,” Rand said. “This is not the Caleef.”
“Tell yourself whatever you need. I know what I see. Swear it. Swear to Iam on your sister’s life it isn’t him.”
“I wouldn’t dare use our Lord’s name in vain,” Rand said softly, unsure.
“Because it’s him!”
“You’ve really done it this time. Langley,” Barty groaned.
“The Caleef,” someone said. “Here?”
“Trying to sneak through these lands,” spoke someone else.
“You monster!” The man who shouted that had a foreign look to him, like a mix between Sora and Torsten. He lunged at the Caleef and clasped his hands around the skinny man’s throat. “My brother died at Winde Port!”
“Get off him!” Rand delivered a blow to the attacker’s gut and sent him reeling.
Chaos erupted. There were nearly twenty terrified people stuffed into the low cage, and all of them smelled blood. Fists and legs thrashed. The Caleef shuffled into the corner, cowering. There were no more god powers in him than the bars at his back. He was a lie.
Darkings shoved a woman in front of himself for protection and joined the Caleef in being a weakling. Whitney felt his blood boiling. He’d spent a lifetime never getting close to anyone or anything, even enemies. Now, he was surrounded by people he hated or wanted to hurt. Rand, who robbed him of his greatest triumph, the Caleef, his childhood home, and innocence—until that day in Troborough, Whitney had stolen from many, but that was the first time he’d ever killed. And Darkings… oh, Darkings. That man’s transgressions were too many to count.
While Rand was occupied holding back the wave of angry, confused Fettingboroughites, Whitney sprung for Darkings. He got a few licks in on the man’s pudgy face before the entire cage rattled.
Way of Gods Page 43
