“That explains it,” Jace said with a nod. “Anyway, these late, secret visits are common. Apparently, he tires of the clerics and seeks other partners who are more…adventurous.”
“What exactly is this about?”
Jerrell looked the man up and down. He was in his mid-twenties with thick shoulders, not exactly handsome but not unattractive, either.
Moving closer, Jerrell put his hand on the man’s arm and smiled as he caressed his bicep. “I can show you if you’d like…unless you prefer girls.”
The man’s eyes widened, and he stepped back as realization crossed his face. “No. I mean… I do prefer girls. Always.” He shook his head. “You don’t have to show me.”
Jerrell painted his face with disappointment. “Pity.” He sighed. “In that case, I had best visit Faldom before it gets late.” He allowed his expression to darken. “He punishes me when I’m late and, well… You don’t want to know.”
The guard shook his head. “No.” He backed away a step. “No, I don’t.”
“Very well,” Jerrell said as he walked toward the door. “I will see you shortly. Luckily, the man lacks the stamina of my younger clients.”
Stepping inside, Jerrell pulled the door closed and exhaled, releasing his mask. He had feared a physical confrontation might be required to gain entrance. Luck was with him for encountering a man who was new to Fastella, so spinning a rumor into something more extravagant had worked, as had the man’s aversion to Jerrell’s advances.
What if he had been interested? Jerrell thought to himself. How far would I go? He wasn’t sure but was relieved he had escaped without having to find out.
The corridor was quiet. Torchlight ahead was a guide in the gloom. He followed it to a stairwell and began his ascent, moving with care. Through years of thievery, he had learned that those with power sought higher ground. In this building, Faldom held the most power, so up was the way.
Padding with a stealthy step, Jerrell rose to the second level and paused before poking his head out. The corridor was empty, so he continued upward, doing the same after the third level. As he approached the fourth, he slowed and listened.
Footsteps, growing more distant.
He darted his head out and ducked back, recalling the image. A single guard walked the hallway, heading toward a distant torch. The only other light was the torch near the stairwell entrance.
Patience, Jerrell, he said to himself.
Backing away, he descended to the landing and hid around the corner, counting the entire time. He reached sixty by the time the guard’s boot scuffled in a turn at the top of the stairs. The footsteps began to recede, and Jerrell ascended.
The guard’s back was closer this time, no more than a dozen paces down the hall. Stepping on the balls of his feet, Jerrell crept behind the guard, matching his pace to the man’s heavier step. At the first door, Jerrell tried the knob and found it locked. He knelt and drew his picks from their slot in his coat sleeve, inserting the first pick. A glance down the corridor revealed the guard beyond halfway. The pick found resistance and he pushed slowly, tripping the tumbler. Inserting a second pick, he repeated the process, the tumbler clicking into place. The guard neared the far end, so he hurriedly inserted his dagger and twisted. Thankfully, the knob turned with it. He eased the door open, pulled the picks free, and closed it gently behind him, hoping the guard had not seen anything. With his back to the door, he listened as he examined his surroundings.
It was dark, but enough light came through the curtains to reveal the size of the room and the bed within. Both were too small to belong to the high priest. Someone slept in the bed, their breathing a slow, drawn-out rhythm. Jerrell swore silently and considered what to do. He noticed dim light coming from a crack beneath another door along the side wall and moved to it, gently twisting the knob and pulling it open a crack. Inside, a single candle burned on a stand beside a desk, revealing a much larger chamber with a four-poster bed at the far end. A snore arose, carrying over the distance.
Jerrell closed the door again and leaned against it, thinking. His hand went to the inside pocket of his coat and found the vial he had stored there. The drug was potent, requiring only a few drops to render someone unconscious. Even if woken, it would leave the victim’s wits muddled.
After pulling the stopper, he moved beside the bed and squatted for a closer look. Lying on his back was a man roughly fifteen years Jerrell’s senior. Jerrell recognized the man as Arch Cleric Delaunt. Holding the bottle to the man’s lips, Jerrell tipped it up. Drops slipped in. The man’s eyes opened. Hurriedly, Jerrell covered Delaunt’s mouth as he coughed, struggling. The drug kicked in and the man fell limp.
Jerrell stood and mumbled, “At least I don’t have to worry about him.” However, the vial had fallen in the struggle. Jerrell felt around and found it upside down on the covers, empty.
“Great,” he muttered.
Leaving the unconscious man behind, he went to the door again and opened it. When he approached the desk, he spotted a sealed missive near the candle. Across the room, the old man continued to snore.
Jerrell took his knife and gently scraped between the wax and the parchment. He then opened it and found the instructions. The occupants of 18 Harper Street would unwittingly become the guests of honor at the upcoming Immolation ceremony. Reading it, Jerrell wondered how they determined the city, street, and number that would be chosen. It had been years since someone in Fastella had been selected. With a shake of his head, he discarded the distracting thoughts, recalling the six gold pieces he was to earn for this contract.
He lifted the pen from the desk and dipped it into the fountain. With a deft hand, he did his best to emulate the smooth, flowing script on the paper. It now read 618 Harper Street.
Done, he thought as he set the pen aside.
After folding the paper, he lifted the candle and dripped wax onto the parchment. He then pressed the seal back into it, reconnecting the two ends.
A particularly loud snore came from the sleeping high priest, stirring an idea. Here he was, alone with one of the most influential men in Ghealdor in the dead of night with nobody the wiser. The opportunity seemed too good to ignore.
He returned to the neighboring room and stopped beside the bed. After sitting Delaunt upright, he draped the drugged man over his shoulder. Jerrell was strong for his size, but he was not a big man. Thankfully, neither was Delaunt.
He carried Delaunt into Faldom’s room and carefully sat him on the edge of the high priest’s bed. He then pulled Delaunt’s pajama shirt over his head, leaving him wearing nothing but his smallclothes. With care, he lowered Delaunt into a sleeping position, mere inches from the snoring high priest.
A grin appeared, Jerrell unable to restrain it. I wish I could see their faces when they wake.
Noise from the corridor outside the room caused his head to snap toward the door, his heart leaping in his chest.
“Where is the high priest?” a man said, his voice muffled.
“Sleeping,” someone replied from the corridor.
“Open the door. We have an intruder.”
Jerrell hurried across the room, toward the door he had left open.
“What? You can’t be serious,” the guard in the corridor said. “I have been patrolling the corridor the entire time. The man is safe. Besides, I have strict orders to never bother him.”
“Give me your key.”
Jerrell closed the door to Delaunt’s room, while someone fumbled with the lock to Faldom’s door. Just as one door clicked shut, the other burst open. A flurry of footsteps followed as guards stormed Faldom’s room.
“High Priest,” one man said. “Are you safe?”
Jerrell crept to the exit of Delaunt’s room. He opened the door a crack and saw the guard he had spoken with outside standing beside the one who had been patrolling the corridor. Both leaned into Faldom’s room.
“What is happening?” an old man said. Jerrell recognized it as Faldom. “Why are you
disturbing me?”
“There was an intruder,” someone said. “Who is beside you?”
“Who? What? Delaunt?” Faldom exclaimed. “Why are you back in here? I sent you off to bed.”
Through the crack in the door, Jerrell saw both guards step into Faldom’s room, likely out of curiosity.
Sensing the opening, Jerrell slipped out and hurried down the corridor as quietly as possible. More shouts and commotion came from Faldom’s room as he ducked into the stairwell. His descent grew faster, the need for stealth fading. By the time he reached the bottom, he was in a full run, darting out the door at a sprint and continuing until the temple was far behind him.
32
Revelation
Rawk’s tour through Fastella was memorable, yet overwhelming. His head spun with the wonder of the massive city. He marveled at the sheer number of humans he saw, but was saddened by their treatment of one another. Forlorn people in rags begged at corners and slept in alleys. One crippled man stumbled and fell, only to be pushed aside and kicked by a cluster of sailors who laughed at his misfortune.
“Even dogs deserve better,” Rawk commented to Salvon, who then informed him that dogs were sacred to Ghealdans and were always treated well. Anyone caught abusing a dog would find themselves arrested. Repeat offenses yielded execution, and the guilty would then be fed to Lord Taladain’s private pack.
The city was broken into sectors with the poorest area called the Dregs. Farthest from the sea, it was also the hottest, often lacking the prevalent ocean breeze that soothed the rest of the city. Although Maker-built, the buildings in the Dregs showed age not found elsewhere in Fastella. The streets were dirty, the alleys filled with refuse. The citizens did not appear happy, the populace consisting of the poor, homeless, and criminals.
As the two men walked past, Salvon pointed out a building called a brothel. When Rawk inquired about it, he was aghast to discover what transpired there. He couldn’t imagine a Maker woman selling her body in such a manner.
Deeper into the city was the business district, also known as the Merch. The Thirsty Goat was located in the Merch, along with an array of shops with food and fine goods. The Merch ran right up against the expansive square at the heart of the city. Within the square were two impressive structures, connected to create a single, sprawling complex.
The Temple of Gheald was a dome-shaped building large enough to house thousands. Just to the northeast of the temple was the palace. Salvon informed Rawk that Lord Taladain lived there. Rawk recalled Rhoa and Jace talking about the man and what they had planned. The size of the building, the guards posted outside, and the height of the surrounding walls had him worrying for Rhoa’s welfare, feeling the weight of the risk to her plans to assassinate Taladain. After asking Salvon a few discreet questions about the wizard lord, his concern increased thrice-fold.
Between the palace and the sea were sprawling estates large enough to house dozens in comfort. That area of the city was known as Wizard Hills, a name derived from the people who lived among the green, rolling hills. After passing a number of impressive mansions, they reached the last section of the city.
Dockside was the smallest sector, consisting of no more than fifty buildings. Here, inns and shops waited for sailors and travelers who journeyed to and from Fastella. It only took a few minutes before Rawk and Salvon passed through the north gate and gazed upon the sea.
Again, Rawk gaped at the sight. As far as he could see, aqua-streaked blue water stretched from horizon to horizon. He had discounted stories of endless seas as nothing more than embellished tales. Similar to how the distant sky had struck terror in his heart when he had first seen it, Rawk felt small and insignificant compared to the grandeur of the sea. The sight of ships sailing in from somewhere distant made him squirm. Dread filled him as he imagined being far out at sea, unable to see land.
Salvon pointed west and described the beauty of the approaching sunset, eager to share the moment. But when the old man looked at Rawk, his demeanor changed. Rather than wait for the sunset, he suggested they return to the inn.
Relieved, he agreed, silently thanking Salvon. He longed to return to the safe interior of The Thirsty Goat. The thought replayed in his head until they reached the building, Salvon opening the door to lead him inside.
A quarter of the tables were occupied, and an odd aroma filled the air.
Salvon raised his nose and sniffed. “Mmm… Boiled lobster. I am starved.”
The old man turned to Rawk, who shrugged. He had never eaten lobster and, based on the smell, was unsure if he wanted to.
“Let’s head up and see if Rhoa and Jace have returned.”
Upon reaching the third floor, Salvon paused, tilting his head. Rhoa’s muffled voice came from down the corridor, her words unintelligible but clearly heated. The old man snuck down the hallway and put his ear to Rhoa’s door.
Rawk watched for a moment before asking, “What are you doing?”
The man held a finger to his lips and waved him over. As Rawk drew near the door, Rhoa’s angry voice arose. Like the old man, he put his ear to the wood surface.
“…can do it?” Rhoa asked.
“You don’t understand. These things require commitment to the character. You must pay attention to the subtleties that make your portrayal believable,” Jace replied. “Unlike you, I have experience pretending to be other people. I can drop into a character at will and have done it many times with much success.”
“I do have experience pretending to be someone else. I did it the night I stole the amulet. The night you failed to do the same.”
Jace snorted. “You got lucky and beat me to it by mere minutes.”
“Claiming it as luck rather than skill is a weak argument.”
A long pause followed before Jace said, “It doesn’t matter. The wheels are in motion. A palace servant will die, and I will go apply for his position.”
“I’m not giving you the amulet.”
Jace sighed. “Rhoa…”
Salvon stepped back from the door, pulling Rawk with him. He then knocked. A moment later, Rhoa opened it.
“We need to talk,” Salvon said, spinning on his heel.
Rhoa turned to Rawk, who shrugged.
Salvon stopped outside the door to his room. “Aren’t you three coming? Rhoa’s room is too small to fit all of us.”
Rawk walked to the room, followed by Jace, while Rhoa locked her door. When all three were inside, Salvon closed the door and gestured toward the beds.
“Sit, please.”
Rhoa and Jace sat on separate beds, her with jaw set and arms crossed, him glaring back with narrowed eyes. Rawk took the third bed as the old man began to pace.
Salvon began. “You clearly have been harboring a secret as to why you have come to Fastella. I suspect you are trying to protect me. While thoughtful, it is unfair. You need to tell me what is going on and allow me to choose my own path.”
Rhoa looked at Rawk, a question in her eyes. He shook his head. “I said nothing.”
She then turned toward Jace, whose glare had shifted to Salvon.
Finally, she sighed. “All right.”
“Wait,” Jace said. “How do you know you can trust him?”
Rhoa snapped, “You are a thief, yet you want me to trust you.” She pointed toward Salvon. “Salvon is a storyteller, a good and honest vocation. He saved my life years ago, and since we have crossed paths, he has shown the three of us nothing but kindness, offering transportation, meals, and a place to sleep out of the goodness of his heart. Until now, he has asked for nothing in return. The truth is the least we can do to repay him.” Her voice quieted, anger simmering. “Besides, his association with us puts his life at risk. Allowing him to decide to leave or stay is only right.”
Jace threw his hands into the air. “Fine. Why not tell everyone? Why not just shout it out the window?”
Rhoa pointed a finger in his face. “Enough. This is happening.”
She then began e
xplaining her mission to Salvon, while Rawk listened intently. Her story exposed a sorrow she had buried deep inside herself – scars from losing her parents years earlier. Rawk finally began to understand why Rhoa had chosen such a dark path. He sensed her passion to right wrongs done to her family and countless others over centuries. Since his exile from Ghen Aeldor, he had meandered aimlessly, allowing the winds of fate to blow him as they saw fit. His people were gone from his life forever. He had lost his job, his home, everything that had meant anything to him. In Rhoa, he had found a friend. In her story, he now discovered purpose. He would help her kill the Lord of Ghealdor.
Jace stewed internally while Rhoa told her story to Salvon. He liked the old man and could see why Rhoa was so fond of him. However, experience had proven that the more people who knew of a heist, the greater the risk of someone slipping up. When the subject was as risky as what they planned with the penalty of execution should they be caught, he was hesitant to even speak of it lest someone overhear.
He watched Rhoa closely, admitting she didn’t lack for passion. The girl’s determination was evident, forged by the loss of her family after Jace had unwittingly sentenced them to death. Gritting his teeth, he banished the guilt stirring inside him, burying it deep while focusing on the situation.
Rhoa’s refusal to hand over the amulet frustrated him, but he had put a plan in motion to address the issue. I hope the man finishes it soon.
After the girl finished her story, Salvon sat beside her, staring into space as the room fell silent. Jace noticed Rhoa staring at Salvon. He then glanced at Rawk, who had his jaw firmly set.
He has decided something, Jace thought.
“Well,” Salvon said, breaking the stillness. “That is a substantial secret to carry. I can see why you were reluctant to tell me.”
“Don’t try to stop me, Salvon,” Rhoa said firmly. “I must do this. I promised myself I would do this one thing…even if I die. It is the only thing I can do.”
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