"No," Masha said, shaking her head fiercely. "There are other ways to test you. Ways that don't involve risking an open riot with some of the most capable Beletokans in Issamere."
"What about Zerik then?" Keevan continued, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. "Surely, an all-out riot would serve his plans."
Masha paused a moment, licking her lips and watching Keevan carefully. "Take a moment, son. Think it through. If Zerik were in play, would this morning have gone any differently?"
"No?" Keevan asked, confused. Masha let the question hang a moment, until Keevan slapped in forehead in frustrated realization. "Right, I get it. If Zerik were in on it, he'd only have needed to delay my arrival, and the Forger's District would have gone up in flames."
"So, someone else is at work in Issamere," Masha reported, sighing in frustration. "Someone who doesn't mind putting citizens at risk, but isn't pushing things to the point of all out violence. Someone who wanted to watch you correct an elemental threat against the Forger's District."
"Could it be one of the Etrendi? A guild perhaps?" Keevan pried.
"Not likely," Masha said, "The Etrendi are driven by profit, either in the forms of coin or political sway. These acts, some were quite expensive to arrange, but there's no pattern that I can see. No obvious benefactor to speak of."
Keevan took her hand. Perhaps that was part of the reason for her deep despair. Masha protected her family by understanding each powerhouse in Issamere, and using the Suadan Temple to keep them at odds with each other.
"We will figure this out, Mother," Keevan insisted, "Let me know if another comes up that I'm close to. Maybe I can find some clue others have overlooked."
Masha pursed her lips at that, hesitated.
"What?" Keevan asked.
"Whoever is behind this," Masha said carefully, "they have quite a bit of reach and an incredible amount of funds. The costs in bribes alone is staggering. Don't go after these people by yourself. Report it, step back and let the other Persuaders like Madol take the lead."
"I can handle myself," Keevan said uneasily.
Masha shot him a knowing look.
"Well, I'm getting better with the sword," Keevan corrected, with a sigh of relent, "Alright, I'll keep my distance if anything looks dangerous. Happy?"
"I'll be happy when this whole mess is behind us," Masha said, though this time, her smile actually reached her eyes. Warm and maternal. "Now, run along. I don't want you late for class, especially on my account."
"Yes, mother," Keevan said, licking the last remnants of honey from his fingers. He hurriedly grabbed a drink of water, hugged her farewell and reclaimed his bag of Persuader gear on his way out the door.
The Forger's District felt more like home now, with the artisans churning away at their work. Wagons of raw ore arrived from the eastern mines, loaded to the brim. At least the famine wasn't affecting business here. That would keep some coin coming into Issamere. A bell rang from a distant Suadan shrine, announcing the hour.
Biting back a curse, Keevan sprinted down a cross street, heading north toward the Etrendi District. Master Hadrian looked on tardiness with the most profound of distain, for a Persuader who arrived late to a real crisis was often met with the corpses of innocents he might have otherwise saved. The old soldier seemed to carry an infinite number of examples of such stories, which he'd tell while the entire class did twice the usual number of exercises, as punishment for one student's tardiness.
Sprinting around a corner, Keevan slammed into a panicked Rhetan boy, knocking them both to the ground. The world spun painfully as Keevan fought to catch his breath. The boy's small stature put his shoulder right in line with Keevan's diaphragm, he felt like Merkim had smacked him in the gut with a practice sword, again. The boy took one look at Keevan, specifically his Persuader's insignia, and sprinted from the scene with the same panicked speed as before.
With a groan, Keevan reclaimed his bag of books and leather pads, reclaiming his footing. He glanced back after the boy, who couldn't have been more than ten years old. The other passerby watched the exchange with disinterest, hurrying about their business.
That fact worried Keevan more than anything else. In his years with Bahjal, when she was posing as a Rhetan, he'd learned a few things. Starving Rhetan boys ran that hard and fast from very few things. Since there was a distinct lack of pursing guards or angry merchants in the street, that left one other source of trouble.
Half a block down the street, at the opening to the alley, Keevan found his answer. The heel of a leather boot stuck out from behind a pile of rubble, motionless. Keevan also glimpsed the edge of a hole, similar to the one Persuader Madol and Nariem used to enter their secluded chamber into the catacombs, hastily covered in broken shale tiles.
Hand on the hilt of his practice sword, Keevan crept down the alley. Though the weapon would be of little use in a real fight, feeling the leather bound handle in his hand offer some sense of security. There, tossed alongside the wall, lay a battered guard. A flood of relief washed over Keevan as he realized the man was indeed breathing.
"Sir, are you alright?" Keevan asked. The guard did not respond, even a gentle poke or a stern shove only yielded the most content of sighs. An empty cup on the ground lay next to him, suggesting a substance of some kind was to blame, for he slept soundly.
Then, he heard voices echoing up from the catacombs, they were distant, too far away to pick out the words. Keevan chewed his lower lip nervously, there may be room for him to slip in behind them and at least overhear their conversation. Rocks clattered faintly against the cavern floor. Whoever they were, they were heading deeper into the tunnels.
Keevan glanced at the busy street at the head of the alley. By the time he called over a guard, the opportunity would have passed. He knew those dark catacombs first hand, once the sound of their passage faded, there'd be no way to track the intruders. Then there was Master Hadrian to consider, for the Persuader instructor would surely forgive a tardy student if he brought with him news about the rebellion.
Peering into the dark, Keevan noticed the top of an iron ladder, welded into the rock itself. He grit his teeth in indecision, hearing the voices fading into the tunnels, a vanishing opportunity. He glanced at his practice sword, little more than a stick, not the preferred weapon for hunting rebels.
"They won't even know I'm there," Keevan muttered. "It won't come to a fight. I'll be fine." With a final glance to the busy, but oblivious passerby, he hopped down the ladder.
Chapter 9
He immediately noticed the difference between this section of the catacombs and the sealed off portion Persuader Madol insisted they trained in. A chilly gust of air pushed through Keevan's hair, as if the stone walls were whispering to him to flee. But the voices were fading fast, like the glow from their lit torches, urging him onward.
Scrambling down the ladder, Keevan missed the last rug and landed hard on his left side. Stifling a grunt, he listened, paranoid the distant tangle of Tri-Beings would instantly turn on him. Instead, they marched on into the black abyss, forcing Keevan to scramble to his feet, nursing his freshly bruised hip as he crept after them.
Even at their lazy pace, following them proved difficult. The faint torchlight illuminated the next turn in the tunnel, but left the rest of the path black as the grave. Keevan scrambled along on all fours, feeling ahead with his hands with each passing step. When his head bumped into a rocky outcropping, he bit back a curse and fought the temptation to use his elemental vision to light his path.
Through gritted teeth he chided himself for such a foolish thought. Not only would glowing blue light be easy for the Rhetans to see in the dark tunnel behind them, but they'd instantly identify Keevan by his eyes. No one in Issamere used blue lanterns.
Keevan followed the group of whispering Tri-Beings for about a half hour. Telling time was next to impossible underground. Keevan's legs and back groaned in discomfort from his strange posture, crawling from one stone to
the next like a cat. The catacombs were silent except for the words of the Tri-Beings Keevan tracked. Then the Rhetans reached the first split in the tunnel, turning right.
Keevan hesitated a moment. If he didn't mark each intersection somehow, his only means of escape would be tracking the Rhetans all the way to their exit, assuming they didn't double back anywhere along their route, walking right over Keevan in the process. With a grin of relief, he pulled one of Masha's biscuits from his pack, tossing a handful of crumbs onto the floor as he marked his way home. Once he learned all he could from them, he could break away from the group and use his elemental vision to light his way.
Finally, after more forks in the tunnel then Keevan could recall, the Tri-Beings stopped. Keevan crept up to the tunnel's edge, where the rocky path turned right, hanging just out of reach of the torchlight. His muscles sighed gratefully as he stood up and stretched. He steadied his breath, listening intently. A canal gurgled in the background, masking the voices somewhat.
"Where is he?" A gruff voice growled, "Did we miss him?"
"Miss him?" A young man countered, "He wouldn't cart those boxes all the way down these tunnels just to turn around and run back. He'd wait at least an hour. We must be early. Impossible to tell down here."
"I hate these tunnels," another Tri-Being grumbled, a woman this time. "I feel like there's a Persuader ambush just lying in wait around every corner. I've never felt so trapped. At least on the surface we know the streets. Down here you make one wrong turn and you're lost, the guards will find your rat infested corpse a week later."
"It's worth the risk," The first man rumbled. "You can't get weapons like these anywhere else."
"We can't. The Etrendi can." The young man reminded them. "An Etrendi with one of these swords could incinerate us at will."
"The Etrendi are strong, but they can't take all of us," The first man insisted. Metal slid against leather in the darkness, and the tunnel momentarily flared with light. "With more blades like this, imagine what a hundred of us could do? Or one thousand? Even the palace guard wouldn't stand a chance, the Malik's best."
"Perhaps," The woman admitted, grudgingly. "Just remember why we're doing this. All we need is access to the palace granaries. This isn't about overthrowing the Malik."
"Why not?" The first man growled. "He serves the Etrendi, not us. He couldn't protect the Watcher, the Great Crystal, or the famine. He's brought nothing but hunger and pain to our people. The Etrendi will never take notice of our suffering. Not unless we make our case impossible to ignore."
"With blood?" The woman echoed ominously, "You know Zerik doesn't care about us any more than Malik Morgra does. We're just pawns."
"Pawns with real weapons," The young man cut in, flames crackling blood red against the tunnel wall. "Compared to leaving us as the starving whelps the Malik prefers, I'll take Zerik's plan any day. At least I get to die with a sword in my hands."
"Wait, here he comes!" The woman said excitedly. In the darkness, Keevan heard the scrape of metal on stone, along with a heavy thump as a container of some kind fell to the tunnel floor with a heavy thump.
"By Beletok, you're late. We feared the guards had captured you," The first man said, relieved.
The newcomer laughed, a thin, sharp sound, like a dagger chipping against stone. "You can't catch a shadow. But with the right tools, you can take on those guards you're so worried about. Here, have a look." Keevan's breath caught in his throat. The voice was Corvan's.
Keevan's mind raced with the implications. Surely, Corvan wouldn't side with the rebels. Granted, the current authority in Issamere was attempting to hunt him down, but even so. The Outlander would enjoy far more freedom and safety from capture if he ventured outside the city. Why stay so close to the people seeking to cage him once more?
A chill ran down Keevan's spine. What if he'd broken his promise to Keevan about not killing? A heavy, grating sound filled the tunnel, ending with a heavy boom as a stone lid hit the floor, interrupting Keevan's troubled thoughts.
"What are you, anyways?" The young boy asked, "How can you possibly move that box on your own?"
"This thing?" Corvan asked, chuckling darkly, "You've got to keep your strength up if you wish to be ready for whatever comes, boy. A sharpened sword may sit still for a week and stay sharp, but a man's body is not so fortunate. You've got to keep pushing your limits, or they'll always define you."
"A worthy lesson for all Rhets to learn," The first man grunted. The air hummed with the flourish of a dozen blades whistling through the air as they were drawn and tested for balance. A plethora of colors filled the tunnel, as if a rainbow had suddenly appeared underground.
"These are no ordinary Danica blades," the first man noted, awe evident in his voice, "These are ancient weapons. I've never heard of an artisan who could forge a blade that summoned blue fire, or green for that matter."
"Zerik suggests dispersing these among your leaders," Corvan suggested. Many of the colored fires extinguished as satisfied Rhetans sheathed their newfound blades. "Keep in mind, these have reinforced Danica. They're much less likely to explode upon contact with another's Danica weapon. Perfect for close quarters combat against the palace guards."
"Your boss is a wise man," The first man said, his voice heavy with gratitude, "and generous. Without his generosity, our people would be without hope. I still can't believe he'd part with such treasures, and at no charge. Has the largest weapon arrived yet?"
"All I know is the next shipment will come in tomorrow, through the east gate. Someone else was assigned to deliver it. The price of these blades, or I should say the lack of a price, is conditional on the agreement that you use them when Zerik calls," Corvan reiterated, a hollow tapping echoing through the chamber, like a heavy hand thumping against a metal container. "That is all the Zerik asks. Fight for food or the Malik's own head, he doesn't care. But, you must wait until the signal, don't use them until the time comes."
"We shall," The elderly woman said. "Thank your master for us."
"Employer," Corvan corrected her, "I'm one of the few in this city who truly has no master."
"As you say," The young boy said.
"Now, you'd best disperse these amongst your fellows," Corvan said, clapping his hands. "The Malik has patrols roaming these tunnels every so often. It would be a shame if so many valuable weapons went to the Malik's troops instead of yours."
"Quite right, grab as much as you can hold," The first man ordered. Leather ruffled through the air as they pulled burlap bags free. Fabric scuffed against metal as they loaded up their treasures. "Then head to the second exit."
"Where was that?"
"This way," The first man insisted, lighting the tunnel with yellow flame.
Keevan scrambled backward, biting back a curse. They were coming toward him. He turned, banging his shin on a rocky outcropping as he scrambled down the tunnel. The advancing torchlight did little to light his way, on extending from the bearer to the tunnel's first turn. This left Keevan to scramble ahead against the shadows, desperately trying to outmatch their pace. On open ground such challenges would have been easy, weighed down was the Rhetans were. As he stumbled through the shadows, however, Keevan could hear their voices and footfalls approaching.
Heart racing in desperation, he hurried along the wall, hoping to find an outcropping large enough to fit behind. Not only did his search end in failure, but the moment he stepped forward without looking at his feet, he stumbled over a pile of small stones. Keevan bit back a yelp of pain for his bruised toes, praying the disturbance would go unnoticed. They only clattered a few short feet down the rocky tunnel, a subtle disturbance, but enough to attract the wrong kind of attention.
"Who's there?!" A panicked voice shouted, colorful hues of flame covering the walls of the tunnel, and getting brighter by the second.
Keevan cursed his luck, scampering ahead. If he had to get caught and chased, he'd much rather have done so earlier in the afternoon, when he only had Rheta
ns to worry about. Now he had to worry about armed Rhetans, wielding powerful relics they barely understood. The one blissful silver lining to Keevan's situation was the moment they rounded the bend twenty yards behind him, the Rhetans' flaming blades illuminated the rest of the tunnel, putting Keevan and his pursuers on even footing.
"It's a Persuader!" One of them yelled, his booming voice filling the chamber. "Get him!"
So much for silver linings.
Keevan's heart raced in his chest, as if in time with his panicked boots thudding down against the unyielding floor, laced with broken rock and upturned cobblestones. The Rhetans behind him howled in pursuit and for a brief moment, as their combined heat grew and closed on him, Keevan felt like he was once again trapped in the Watcher's grasp, sprinting for his life from a blast of subterranean fire.
At the next intersection, Keevan clutched the stich tearing into his side, desperately searching for the bread crumbs marking the proper direction. Instead, he found a pair of rats bolting for cover, the last vestiges of his way home hanging in their teeth. Without guidance, all Keevan could do was hug the flattest path he could and barrel ahead in a desperate race. The Rhetans still thundered after him, but there weren't as many voices as before, perhaps some of them were in worse shape than he'd anticipated.
As he gasped for air, his feet thundering down one passage and the next, he scraped his brain for some other option. Another means of escape. Even the danica powder at his belt would be useless against so many, not to mention, Rhetans weren't as connected to the elements as Etrendi. The powder might not work on them at all.
Keevan hurriedly glanced over his shoulder, grimly considering another aspect he'd overlooked. Etrendi, while powerful, weren't prone to running for their lives. As such, they could be outrun. Rhetans though, lived by the strength of their backs and the speed of their feet. With a sour grunt he realized that many of his pursuers were as fit as he.
That thought sent a chill through him, briefly picturing a mob of a thousand Rhetans, armed with Danica weapons. He pushed on. The Malik had to be warned. There were only a handful of Rhetans, less now than Keevan remembered. Odd, why would the others give up the chase so easily? Armed as they were, their numbers made little difference. Keevan's training sword was beyond useless for this task.
Splintered Loyalties Page 10
