Slamming the accelerator to the floor, he focused his thoughts on Salazar. How could anyone have kidnapped the prince? For sure, whoever had been able to accomplish such a feat was not a foe to be taken lightly. Only the king himself had more protection. To overcome the numerous security measures preventing such an abduction would have taken large measures of skill and daring, not to mention considerable resources. On the plus side, those same resources would be very difficult for the kidnappers to conceal. In a land starved for the basic necessities, to a trained eye they would stand out like a beacon in the dark.
It was easy to understand why the king would send for him. Who better for the task than a hawker possessing the power of the royal guard? And one with a personal interest in the prince’s safe return. He pushed Cal past one hundred and sixty, turning the landscape into a wretched blur. Frames of a picture he hated to see. But it had been his life for nine long years.
Are you not even the least bit curious about her? Xavier’s words plagued him. Of course he was. How could he not be? But it didn’t matter. By now he was nothing but a long-forgotten memory to her. He had to accept that. There were some hopes he could never allow to surface.
Some feelings would tear him apart, no matter how much time had passed.
Chapter Three
Drake touched the light switch to the cramped apartment and muttered a curse. No power again. Nothing unusual. When this far removed from anything resembling civilization, one had to expect a bit of inconvenience. He shuffled his way through the living room to the kitchen and rummaged around the junk drawer for some candles.
After lighting one of these and placing it inside the ashtray on the table, he retrieved a bottle of water from the cabinet. It was a long drive to Troi – three days if the weather held. He needed to pack for the road. Not that he had a great deal to take with him; most everything in the apartment belonged to the landlord. When you lived the life of a hawker, it didn’t pay to burden yourself down with too many possessions. He thought back to his apartment in Troi. At night, he would regularly walk out onto his balcony and stare at the mana streams crisscrossing the city. It was never dark up top, but at night the light was so different… almost spiritual, like rivers of pure magic bringing life to the entire world. And all of it spawned from the great power station of Troi.
In those days, he hadn’t been able to understand the protests. How could anyone be unhappy? Sure, life could be tough outside the city. But without Troi, the world would return to being a desolate wasteland. The ravages left over from the War of the Ancients would spread like a disease. If that happened, even the outer provinces as they were now would seem like paradise. To Drake, Troi had been a beacon of hope, a light to foretell what one day the future would bring. Sure, some people suffered. But it wouldn’t always be like that. How they couldn’t see it as he did had baffled him.
“Well, I sure as hell get it now,” he muttered, staring at the flickering candle.
There was a knock at the door. Drake groaned. Not now! The door opened and a thin waif of a girl danced in, twirling and humming as she crossed into the kitchen. Her blonde curls and freckled face made her look barely ten years old, when in reality she was actually fifteen. She plopped down in the chair opposite him and rested her chin in her palms. Sadie lived upstairs with her father and stepmother. Like most of the other tenants in the block, her father was a hawker, and her stepmother would often go with him to help out, leaving Sadie to fend for herself.
“Why are you always sitting in the dark?” she asked. “It’s creepy, you know?”
“I’m hiding from you. Besides, everyone is in the dark right now. Or didn’t you notice the lights are out?”
“Of course I noticed. But you still sit in the dark a lot. My dad says it’s because you’re depressed.”
“Your dad should know.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He has to put up with you, doesn’t he?”
Sadie frowned. “Don’t be mean.”
Drake shoved the water across the table, which she accepted with a smile. “Shouldn’t you be somewhere else, playing with your friends?” he asked.
“What friends? The only other kids around here are Hurley’s boys, and they’re too young.”
Drake had always felt a bit bad for Sadie. She was a bright girl. Had she been born in Troi, she would be close to graduating by now. But here, the only education she received was from the few tattered books her father occasionally brought home. Poul wasn’t a bad father, and he did his best to keep Sadie out of trouble. But the life of a hawker was unpredictable, and one thing Drake had learned was that children needed stability. The sad fact was that Sadie would likely end up working as a hawker herself, just like her old man.
“I need you to do me a favor,” he told her. “I’m leaving for a while, and I want you to clean out my apartment.”
Sadie crinkled her brow. “Leaving? Why?”
“You can sell whatever you find worth selling,” he told her, ignoring the question.
“You’re not coming back, are you?” She pushed the water across the table. “Don’t bother lying. I know you’re not. Everyone leaves eventually. Even Dad will leave one day.”
“Your father loves you. Whatever happens, I know he won’t leave you.”
“Why can’t you just stay here?” she persisted. “There’s plenty of work. Only a few hours ago, someone showed up here wanting to hire you.”
Drake sat up sharply. “Who was that?”
“Some guy. I don’t know. Said he needed to find you. I told him you’d be back later.”
“What did he look like?” His tone had become hard, clearly making Sadie nervous.
“I…he was in a black suit. Drove a green truck.”
“What exactly did he say?”
“I told you. He pulled up when I was taking out the trash and asked if you were home. I told him you’d gone to meet a client.”
“Nothing else?”
“No. He just looked up at your window and then drove off.”
“Are you sure that’s all?”
Sadie looked frightened. “I’m sure. Look, I’m sorry. I just thought…I mean, it had to be a client, right?”
Drake forced a smile. “I’m sure it was. Don’t worry about it.”
Only a very few people knew where he lived – and he would never share such personal information with a client. They might do something stupid like try to steal their money back. Whoever it had been, it sure as hell wasn’t good news.
Drake stood and retrieved a small silver box from the counter. “Here. Take this.”
Sadie’s eyes lit up. “You mean it?” She reached out and cradled the box in her hands as if it were crafted from the most delicate of glass. Smiling, she lifted the lid. After a brief moment, a soft melody began playing. Sadie’s smile developed into a wide beam of delight. She had coveted the music box since the first time she’d seen it.
Realization then dawned. She looked up at Drake and her smile faded. “You really are leaving for good.”
“Probably.” He wanted to be honest with her. The last thing she needed was the people she cared about filling her head with lies. “I might be back one day, though. You never know.”
With the greatest of care, she placed the box on the table. The tune was still playing. If the man who had sold it to him years ago was to be believed, it was a love song from the ancient world...a time long before Vale. She crossed over and gave him a tight hug.
“I’ll miss you.”
Drake returned the embrace. “I’ll miss you too.”
With fresh tears forming, Sadie wiped at her eyes and then picked up the box again. “Just promise not to sit in the dark too much,” she told him. “It’s bad for you.”
Drake smiled. “I promise.”
Once she was gone, he began packing what few things he needed for the road. Everything else he would leave behind for her to sell. Better that Sadie profit from it than the landlord. Not that
there was very much of any great value. His thoughts drifted to the man she had told him about. It was probably someone sent by his most recent client to finish off what the mage assassin had failed to do. All the more reason to leave quickly. He didn’t have time to deal with any of this now.
It took him less than an hour to get ready. The wound on his leg and the burns on his back were already starting to heal. Only a red spot where the spell had actually struck him remained. But it was a different story with his clothes. They were ruined. He stared at the burn holes in his favorite coat and spat a curse. Finding another one of this quality that fit his broad frame would be hard, if not impossible.
He had originally planned to get a good night’s sleep and head out at dawn, but now he didn’t want to hang around in case the man in the green truck returned. He’d already had more than enough trouble for one day. Tossing his packed duffle bag over in the direction of the door, he pulled down a picture from the living room wall that had been left behind by a previous tenant. He then drew in a small portion of mana and touched the cracking plaster with the tip of his finger. The surface shimmered for a brief moment before allowing a long yet narrow recess to appear. Inside this was the only thing he valued as much as his P37.
Lifting the black scabbard from its hiding place, he ran his hand over the flawless surface, briefly allowing himself time to appreciate the perfection of the craftsmanship. He slid the sword’s blade out a few inches. The mana infused into the steel glowed faintly, casting a blue aura. Royal guards were not the only people whose flesh was protected by magic. Where bullets failed, this weapon would not. And if he was to go after people dangerous enough to abduct the prince, he would more than likely be needing the power it provided.
Dousing the candle, he slung the duffle over his shoulder. Just as he reached for the door handle, the lights flickered back on. That figures, he thought dryly. After pausing for one final ironic glance at what had been his most recent home, he headed downstairs to the garage.
Only a few cars were down there. Most of the hawkers were out on jobs, and everyone else worked too far away to be home every night. He tossed his bag and sword into the trunk and walked over to press the door release button next to the garage entrance. With much clanking of gears, the door gradually lifted.
The sound of the shot came at the very same instant he felt a sharp stab of pain in his shoulder. The force of the impact threw him off balance and spun him almost completely around. Sliding down the wall, he dropped to one knee and reached for his weapon, his eyes scanning the garage for any sign of his attacker. Despite the pain, there was no penetration; the caliber being used was too small for that. Movement behind a red car on the other side of the 100-foot-long garage warned him just before another shot was fired. The bullet pinged off the wall above his head. This was no pro; that much was obvious.
Drake fired a series of shots, forcing his attacker to duck down out of sight, and grinned at the man’s ignorance. This guy had no clue whatsoever who he was dealing with. The heat in his chest was pulsing as he let loose another round, this one aimed just above and beyond the red car. A green ball of light hovered for a second before splitting into three long strands of mana that fell directly on top of his would-be killer. His yelps of pain as the bindings wrapped themselves around him carried clearly to Drake. Leaping to his feet, he burst into a dead run. The grunts of his opponent struggling to free himself ceased just as he rounded the car.
Lying on the ground was a thin man wearing a pair of brown work pants and a blue plaid button-down shirt. Drake kicked a chrome revolver out of his reach and holstered his own weapon. Instantly, the bindings blinked out of existence.
“Who sent you?” he demanded.
The man simply glared back up at him. Drake was on the point of repeating the question when the assassin’s eyes suddenly rolled back into his skull and dark foam began oozing from his mouth. A death charm, Drake realized. Damn it!
He had no skill with healing magic, though even if he did, from the speed with which the poison had taken effect, he doubted that it would have helped anyway. Even in the brief time it had taken for him to kneel down, the man had stopped breathing and his body had gone limp. Drake checked for a pulse, just to be certain. He was dead, sure enough.
Drake scanned the entire garage, just to be sure he was now alone. Satisfied that he was, he searched the assassin’s pockets. Nothing. Not even a scrap of paper.
This made no sense. If the client was willing to spend money on a mage, why would he send someone with virtually no chance of succeeding?
The rush of wind from a car passing by on the road outside snapped him back into the moment. Time to go. He had no intention of dealing with Barnaby again, and a dead body would definitely bring the sheriff running. Until he could get a handle on whatever his double-crossing client was planning, he had better get moving.
He jumped inside Cal and pulled out of the garage, pausing just long enough to make sure he wasn’t being watched by anyone on the street. One thing was certain: his client had a lot to answer for. One way or another, Drake swore to collect what he was owed… with interest.
Slamming Cal into gear, he peeled away from the lot. Three days to Troi. He pressed down on the accelerator. Better make that two.
Chapter Four
The gradually intensifying glow of the mana streams brought memories flooding back, memories he had not thought about in years. Here in the inner provinces like Jericho, people were far more civilized than those found in areas like Aurora. The closer one came to Troi, the better life was. Better…but a whole lot more expensive. So much so, the odds were that unless you were born here, you had little or no hope of aspiring to it. The buildings were far cleaner, power outages were rare, and food was a lot easier to come by. Some people here lived almost as well as those dwelling in lower Troi itself.
Most commonly used goods were manufactured in the inner provinces, a surprising number of them even finding their way into the homes of the high mages and the nobility within the upper city. It was also here in Jericho that Drake had trained during his first year as a royal guard – time spent mostly patrolling the streets and arresting protesters.
For all that, life in Jericho wasn’t exactly easy. Most people worked twelve or more hours a day, often without so much as a short break. And if you couldn’t keep up with the pace, you would quickly find yourself replaced by someone who could. Many people died far too young from sheer exhaustion. Even so, it was better than starving to death. Your job was literally your life. Losing it meant being forced to the outer provinces. And once you ended up there, you would never get back again.
Drake continued driving until he reached the northern checkpoint. Beyond this was the main highway into Troi. Vehicles were lined up for more than a mile, but he had no intention of waiting amongst them. Pulling into the emergency lane, he drove up to the gatehouse, where two men armed with heavy rifles waved for him to stop. Their grim expressions and aggressive postures were well rehearsed, designed entirely to intimidate anyone who might try to enter the city without authorization. Border sentries had a well-earned reputation for brutality; someone was shot at least once every week while trying to sneak in. The guards were also infamous for the casual beatings they delivered to anyone they considered not servile enough to their demands.
Drake rolled down his window and placed his hands on the dash.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” demanded the lead sentry, a hulking figure with a square jaw and crooked nose. “This lane is for emergency and government vehicles only. And this damn sure doesn’t look like either one of those to me.”
“I’m here to see the magistrate,” Drake explained.
“So? Get your ass back in line or you’ll be seeing her without your teeth.”
“I was summoned by the royal court. King Nedar himself sent the message. I don’t think he’d want me to be delayed.”
The sentry snorted. “Is that right?” He looked ove
r his shoulder to his companion. “Hey! This idiot says the king sent for him.”
The other sentry huffed a laugh. “Well, then, I reckon we had better wave him right on through.”
“That would be the best idea,” said Drake.
The sentry reached in to grab Drake by the collar. “Watch your mouth, smartass.”
Drake held up his hands. “Hey, take it easy. Call it in if you don’t believe me. The name’s Drake…Drake Sharazi.”
The mere sound of his name had an electrifying effect. The sentry’s eyes popped wide and he immediately took several paces back, at the same time training his rifle directly at Drake’s head. It seemed like Xavier had thought to have a bit of fun and not leave word of his arrival.
“Don’t move, exile!” the sentry shouted.
“It’s good to see I’m remembered,” remarked Drake. “But there’s really no need for this. If you check it out, you’ll see that I’m telling the truth.”
The man waved his partner over. “If he moves, shoot him,” he instructed, and took off at a dead run toward the gatehouse. By now, the commotion had attracted the attention of nearly all the nearby motorists, not to mention several other border sentries.
A minute later the first sentry returned, his face contorted into a furious scowl. “He’s cleared to pass,” he growled, almost choking on the words.
Drake could not resist giving the man an elaborate wink as he pulled away. I guess I’m still famous, he thought, grinning. Even if it is for something I didn’t do.
The city of Troi towered before him. Thousands of spires climbed well above the clouds, each one a work of sheer genius and beauty. It was breathtaking, even though most of the more intricate features were blurred by the glow of mana. Countless streams of magical energy flowed everywhere, carrying transport cars along their lines and conveying the rich and powerful to almost anywhere in the upper city they wanted to go. He could see the dots of moving light from the windows, provoking the memory of the first time he had ridden in one. It had been with Prince Salazar, when they’d both been only ten years old.
The Vale: Behind The Vale Page 3
