Web of Eyes

by Jaime Castle

  Torsten turned back.

  “Wardric?” he addressed one of the other soldiers. The man handed him a stuffed pouch, and then Torsten dropped it in Whitney’s hand. The weight dragged his arm down. He swore he’d never seen so many autlas stuffed into a single purse. Even in dire straits, gold was like the water in the Torrential Sea to the Crown.

  “Is this enough, Sora?” Whitney asked.

  “This is not a market,” Torsten snapped. “This is more than fair compensation for a woman like her.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I have other things to do, and I don’t have any more time to waste with games.”

  Whitney was thinking of some witty retort when he saw the briefest break in the knight’s stern façade. He sighed. “I really am sorry we couldn’t do anything for him.”

  “I’m sure you are. Is that all?”

  Whitney bit his tongue, then performed an exaggerated bow as he backed away. “It has been an honor and a pleasure, Knight. I don’t look forward to it again.”

  “And I hope Iam sees it in his heart to show you two mercy. There is no soul beyond hope if you but open your hearts to the light.”

  “Mine’s plenty open and hers; you said it yourself, Iam worked through her.”

  Torsten grimaced.

  Whitney slapped the coin purse into Sora’s bandaged hand. “Here you are, milady.”

  “Can we please get out of here now?” she asked.

  “Not a moment too soon. Until the Crown calls on us great heroes again!” Whitney raised his arms as he shouted, voice echoing along the towering, stone walls and vaulted, glass ceiling. “I’ve always wanted to try that in one of these places,” he whispered in Sora’s ear as he turned.

  She held Torsten’s gaze for a few seconds longer, rage percolating behind her eyes, then finally turned. Torsten and his guards did the same. Whitney glanced back at the giant man’s back before he vanished behind the empty throne.

  I’ll miss him, was his first thought. He wasn’t exactly sure why, and he knew nothing good would ever come of seeing him again, but a part of him enjoyed traveling with someone who seldom agreed with a single thing out of his mouth. It was one of the greatest challenges he’d ever faced. And even more so, was getting the knight to give in. Torsten would never admit it, but Whitney knew it’d be a long time before he was forgotten, too.

  Guards led them out the front gates and across the castle grounds. A few others stood on ramparts, removing the corpses from the castle walls. Carts carried away piles of bodies that had already been removed.

  They reached the street and Whitney looked from side to side. “So, where to next?” he asked, breathing in deep and immediately regretting it. Just because the bodies were leaving didn’t mean the stench had yet.

  “What’s the furthest city away from this awful place? Away from the Shesaitju, and hateful knights, and murderous Queens.”

  “That depends. Above or below ground?”

  “Above.” Sora nodded her head repeatedly as if she’d initially doubted herself. She smiled. “Yeah, definitely above.”

  “Shog… I did love the Dragon’s Tail. Dwarves love to gamble.”

  “What about Panping?” she asked.

  “Bringing me to meet the parents already?” She shot a sidelong glare his way. “Sorry…”

  “How about it?” she asked. “I figure, the way Torsten looks at me, it must be the most fun place in the world. Any place he dislikes must be amazing.”

  “He does despise a good time, doesn’t he?” Whitney scratched his head. “It’s a fine city. A bit too many mystics for my taste though. They have a way of looking through you.”

  “Well, now you have me. C’mon. Don’t I deserve to see why they call us knife-ears?”

  “Look in the mirror.”

  She punched Whitney in the arm. He was getting a sore spot from how often she did so.

  “I’m serious.”

  “You just want to figure out how in Elsewhere you performed that spell in the Woods, don’t you?”

  She blushed.

  “Well, I’m not sure that sort of answer is something we can steal, but I’ve never been one to turn away from an impossible job.”

  “Like stealing that doll was really that hard?”

  “Please, that was a cinch compared to my last foray in Meiping. But first things first.”

  “What is it this time?”

  “Let’s get out of these rags.”

  Sora picked a few coins out of her new purse. “This should do it, and take us the whole way there.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” In one motion, he pulled his dagger and slit the bottom of the bag, the gold tumbling out into his hand. A few pieces clanged against the cobblestone street. Sora lunged at him, but he side-stepped and skipped backward.

  “Lesson number three, my young apprentice,” he said. “Never accept gold from the Crown.”

  “That’s lesson four,” she said.

  “So, you are paying attention! Alright, off we go.”

  He took a few coins and tossed them at a ragged man sleeping under an overhang, covered in mud from wagon wheels.

  “There is no better place to start then from the beginning.”

  XLIII

  The Knight

  TORSTEN STOOD before Uriah Davies’s likeness in the Shield Hall, overlooking the smooth, snow-covered slope of Mount Lister. Clora, the bright moon, was no where to be seen. A strange sight, Loutis, haggard and plain being the only faint light that could be seen that night.

  The Shield Hall wasn’t anywhere as glorious as the Royal Crypt, but it was where men like Torsten were buried under the watchful gaze of Iam. Men who’d dedicated their lives to the Crown.

  The twin moons were full. Clora shown brightly, illuminating the name inscribed on the plaque at Uriah’s stone feet.

  URIAH DAVIES, WEARER OF WHITE.

  Unlike the tombs of the other Wearers, there was no body buried within his. The statue was made, but he’d never returned but now he could be laid to rest.

  Torsten drew the longsword that had belonged to the old knight before Redstar stole his visage. He lay it across his palms, admiring the blacksmithing. The blade was elegant, cleft down the center, but sharp as a wolf’s fang.

  “I’m sorry I doubted you, old friend,” he said, placing the sword vertically between the hands of the statue.

  “There is no greater honor than to die in service to God and Crown. I pray you are at peace up there beside our great King. One day, by the grace of Iam, I might join you. But for now, guide me, as you once did Liam. Please…”

  A deep tremor suddenly shook the ground. He heard glass shattering in the castle as he was rocked from side to side. He had to grab onto the statue just to keep from being tossed. It didn’t last long, and the moment it ended, cries for help echoed all around.

  He jumped to his feet, searching the area. His gaze fell on Mount Lister, where a sliver of moonlight revealed a new gash running down the length of its side. It was like nothing he’d ever seen. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt compelled toward it, beckoned.

  He left the screams and the chaos of the castle at his back, descended the stairs leading outside and headed toward it. The closer he got to the base of the mountain, the louder the whispers in his head, the unflinching desire to head for the heart of the quake, grew.

  He climbed over a pile of fallen rocks and found himself standing before an opening in the earth. Where Mount Lister met the plain, the ground had caved, revealing the heart of the Royal Crypt within. The oculus cutting through the side of the mountain had been smashed to shards.

  Torsten crept to the edge and stared down. Too many caskets to count had been cracked open. Liam’s was broken. The remaining half of his GlassCrown lay straight below, glimmering under the moons glow until a shadow covered it.

  His eyes went wide.

  Bending to pick up the broken crown, was Pi. Breathing, moving, he stare
d at the circlet as if it were the first thing his young eyes had ever seen, and in the other hand, he clutched the bloody, ragged effigy Torsten had gone through so much to recover.

  Pi Nothhelm, first and only son of Liam the Conqueror and the Flower of the Drav Cra, had been buried, but he wasn’t dead.

  THE END

  Whitney, Torsten, and Sora’s stories continue in WINDS OF WAR.

  Coming March 2018.

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  “This is a stupid idea,” Sora said.

  “Just trust me for once?” Whitney groaned. ‘World’s Greatest Thief’ twice over, remember?”

  “That’s great, except I feel like I am doing all the real work.”

  “You’re right, looking pretty must be really difficult for you.”

  Sora punched Whitney in the arm. “No but acting helpless is. Why are we targeting these men again?”

  “Because they have a horse and a wagon, and I’d rather not walk the rest of the way to Winde Port. I’m tired from slaying monsters.” She punched him again, this time harder.

  “And what, we just leave them stranded in a gorge? I told you, we’re only going after people who deserve to lose what they’ve got. Like Darkings.”

  “But where’s the fun in that?”

  Whitney smirked. Every time Sora saw that look on his face she wanted to slap it right off, but every time saw it the next thing she knew she was knee deep into one of his asinine plans.

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Trust me, Sora. I’ve dealt with a million caravans like that.” Sora raised an eyebrow. He ignored her. “They stop in small towns like Troborough and swindle everyone with worthless ‘trinkets’. They can keep their wagon and trash, all we need is one horse. They have two. Would you rather steal one from some poor stableman?”

  “If you didn’t toss all our gold we could have just bought one.”

  Whitney crossed arms. “There’s no lesson in that! I promised to help you become the second best thief in Pantego, and that’s what I plan to do.”

  “I don’t remember that promise.”

  “It was something like that.”

  Sora sighed. “Fine, but this better be worth tearing my tunic. I liked this one.”

  Whitney clapped his hands then wrapped his arm around her. “There she is! Now, do you remember the plan.”

  “Of course. ‘Use my assets’, as you so eloquently put it.”

  That was lesson number who knows how many since she found him in that Dwarven Ruin. When she decided to go with him to steal the Prince’s lost doll, she didn’t think he’d treat it like a real apprenticeship. But his ‘lessons’ were endless. As if thieving were some great art.

  Back in Grambling, the last town they passed through, he swindled a drunken tailor out of boots. Played him in a game of Crowns even though he’d swiped all the good cards before and hid them up his sleeve. Sora asked what the lesson was in that and he might as well have shrugged when he said “Always check your stack before you deal.”

  It wasn’t that he had changed terribly since their time together as children in Troborough, but he had a one-track mind. In her experience, all young men had one track minds but Whitney’s was different. All he seemed to care about was stealing and making a name for himself. It was an obsession.

  And in the thrill of it she forgot herself, but afterwards she always asked herself if Wetzel had spent the final years of his life training her so she could become a thief. She’d grit her teeth and look up to the sky, then sigh and follow. She knew exactly one person in the world and he now stood right beside her.

  She had nowhere else to go. Nobody to be with, No home.

  “Sora.” Whitney snapped his fingers in front of her face to get her attention.

  “What?” She asked.

  “I’m going to be just over there.” He pointed to a large boulder dotting the side of the dirt trail. The path fell off on the other side it, down a sharp slope in to Jarein Gorge. The rift in the land was massive and deep, a canvas of red and russet rock. At sunset it was as if they were surrounded by a great fire. At the far bottom was the rushing river which connected Windeport with the Walled Lake and eventually Yarrington awaited careless travelers.

  “If they try anything—”“I won’t be far.”

  “I was going to say I’m going to roast you alive.” She smiled. She couldn’t help it around him, even when he was being a pest.

  “I’d expect nothing less from the great and mighty Sora. It’s a merchant caravan with a guard or two. No way they’re going to try anything too nefarious.”

  “Easy for you to think while hiding behind a rock.”

  “You’ll be fne. When the time is right, you know the plan.”

  She did, and as she stepped out into the center of the path alone she realized how much a gamble it wasthis far out into the middle of nowhere. The Jarein Gorge wasn’t exactly safe territory for anyone let alone a young lady. It was the quickest route to Winde Port by land and Sora remembered the townsfolk back in Grambling talk about bandits who nestled up in caverns along the bluff.

  Sora took a deep breath. She could take care of herself.

  She’d already drawn a thin line of blood along her arm with one of her daggers. Not only would it help with the illusion of being a damsel in distress, but it provided ready access to a font of sacrifice that would allow her to tap into the magic of Elsewhere.

  Blood drawn is never wasted, she told herself. Power from sacrifice. That was the lesson of her late teacher Wetzel. The image of him crushed and charred under the roof of his shack after the Shesaitju raided Troborough flashed through her mind. She did her best to force it out.

  A lot of good that did him.

  She stared down the Glass Road that connected Yarrington, the capital of The Glass Kingdom and Meiping in the eastern region. The further from the capital they got, the less impressive the road grew. Until now it was a narrow string of dirt skirting the cliffs and a peppering of gravel for footing. .

  She lay down across the road as if she’d been beaten and left for dead. She tore the shoulder of her tunic a bit more after she got comfortable, just in case. Then she closed her eyes.

  A few minutes later she heard the creaking of wagon wheels and the hooves of the leading horses sound like rolling thunder.

  A harsh voice cried out. “Whoa!”

  The wagon rumbled to a stop. The horses snorted in protest of being forced to slow. Metal clanked, and footsteps approached.

  “She dead?” one of their owner’s asked.

  “She’s a pretty little thing,” said another, then added, “for a knife-ear.”

  “Knife-ears shog as well as the next, I say,” said a third.

  She could imagine the disgusting lman’s grin as he spoke, but she held her tongue. Although she’d only been outside of Troborough a few times, she wasn’t naive. Her small village had its fair share of traveling bands and troupes passing through the Twilight Manor over the years. The kind of people who thought they were better because they’d seen things. Who thought every woman in town was theirs, ripe for the plucking.

  Sora much preferred stealing herself away in the hollow below Wetzel’s shack, reading the dusty old tomes on magic
he’d gathered over the years..

  “She dead?” repeated the first one.

  “Dun’t think so. She’s breathing.”

  Sora moaned, putting as much desperation into it as she could muster.

  “Well, don’t just stand there, help her into the wagon!” The one speaking was clearly their leader. His accent reeked of arrogance as annunciated each syllable of every world.

  Hands fell upon her, sliding and groping around methodically. Her muscles tensed involuntarily but she relaxed them and stuck to the plan.

  She cried out in mock pain.

  The men backed off.

  Barely opening her eyes, she said, “Don’t move me, p-please. I-I think I’ve broken s-som-something.”

  She made believe the noon sun was blinding her, as if it’d been ages since she’d opened her eyes.

  “What happened, my dear?” asked a portly fellow in orange silks. He had the look of a trader. Combed gray hair under a feathered cap and a calming smile.

  Two hunks of muscle and armor stood off to the side whispering and grinning with one another. They were nearly identical. One made crude gestures toward her, the other snickers. Another man with ash-colored skin knelt beside her. A Shesaitju. A Black Sandsmen like the ones that had ravaged her hometown.

  The sight of him made her loose her train of thought. She could feel the cut on her arm burning, as if Elsewhere were begging her to draw on it and burn the man to a crisp like his kind had done to Troborough.

  Stick to the plan, she told herself. She’d felt bad about robbing a group she knew nothing about, but now she considered how nice it would be to ride south on two horses instead of one.

  “My wa-gons h-horse got sp-spooked,” she said. “Drove off the edge. I-I barely… I barely j-jumped in time.” She eyed each one in turn, looking for signs of suspicion but found none.

  “Over there?” asked the man in silks, pointing toward the ledge which emptied into the gorge.