The Redstar Rising Trilogy

by Rhett C. Bruno

  “We should fortify the South first,” Torsten said. “I sent riders with news about the afhem gathering an army in the Fellwater. Did they reach you?”

  “Yes.” Wardric reached into a satchel and removed Torsten’s necklace. It was covered in grime, barely recognizable as the holy eye. He handed it over.

  Torsten exhaled as he took it and threw it back over his neck. He hadn’t realized how exposed he felt without it until it was back.

  “I worried they wouldn’t make it,” he said.

  “They’re safely locked up for spreading lies and fear-mongering.”

  “Lies? Fear-mongering? I saw the force with my own eyes, Wardric. It’s the largest army we’ve faced in a decade, I swear to you.”

  “It’s not me you must convince.”

  “Oleander,” Torsten muttered to himself, hanging his head. “Surely Rand—”

  “Is a spineless whelp,” he said, finishing Torsten’s sentence. “He stands guard outside her locked door while she sits with her son. Half the men whisper of a coup, the others lose faith in Iam and the White.”

  “How is the boy?”

  Wardric brought his horse close and leaned over to whisper. “He still has not woken. The physicians say nothing more can be done, and now the Queen Regent won’t allow anybody in. He could already be dead for all we know.”

  “Don’t speak like that!” Torsten snapped, less because he was angry, and more because if Pi was dead than his entire quest was in vain.

  “Hey, what’re you two whispering about?” Whitney hollered from behind.

  Torsten’s hands squeezed his reins so tight his knuckles went white as Brotlebir snow.

  “Well, you know her better than anyone left,” Wardric said. “If that really is her brother, sate her with revenge, and then, maybe, she’ll open her damned eyes. Otherwise, we’re doomed to wind up like the others.”

  “Others?” No sooner had the word left Torsten’s mouth than they reached the walls of the Glass Castle itself. Bodies hung by their necks from the parapets facing the street, some in robes, some stripped bare. At first, he hoped they were all cultists or traitors but then recognized one.

  “Deturo? What in the name of Iam?” Torsten traced his eyes.

  “He couldn’t heal Pi after she waited so long,” Wardric said. “Nor could the others.”

  Torsten didn’t know the royal physician well, but the old man had always been kind and as knowledgeable as his white beard was long. His left eye was missing. A raven sat upon his shoulder, blood on the tip of its beak.

  Others were more doctors, healers, or clerics of Iam. There were also soldiers. Not King’s Shieldsmen, but many of them wore the armor of castle-guards. All dead. He rode slowly, down the line, absentmindedly staring into all their bulging, blank eyes. Then, another stuck out; The Master of Rolls, Frederick Holgrass, the noose fresh around his neck. A member of Royal Council, hanged for all of Yarrington to see. Yet, it was not him which made Torsten’s throat go dry.

  Swinging beside him, directly beside the castle gates, was the body of Oleander’s favored handmaiden, Tessa. Her dress was torn, and her cheek bore a red mark with the distinctive shape of one of Oleander’s rings.

  “I must speak with her,” Torsten said, voice shaking.

  “You’re the only one who can,” Wardric replied.

  Wardric knocked on the iron gate, and it groaned. Torsten turned back to Whitney and Sora, who stared at the swinging bodies.

  “You two might want to stay out here,” Torsten said.

  “We should wait here,” Whitney said at the same time. “Smart. I’m beginning to think we should have stayed in the Woods.”

  “I’ll call for you when this business is concluded.” Torsten whipped back around and gave his horse a kick. He zoomed beneath Tessa’s limp legs through the malodorous stink of death.

  “I’ll be right out here!” Whitney called after him. “Waiting for what was promised!”

  XXXIV

  THE THIEF

  “How long are you planning to wait?” Sora asked.

  It had been only a few minutes but felt eons longer. The wind picked up after Torsten went inside, causing the many strung up bodies to batter the citadel walls like the drummers of a traveling troupe. If that wasn’t bad enough, there was the stench, and then still, the pair of King’s Shieldsmen who’d arrived to guard the gate.

  For what could have been any number of reasons—from his fanciful yet tattered outfit to her ears—their gazes never left Whitney and Sora. Or it could have been because they were the only two people foolish enough to be loitering on the street. Everyone else rushed by, going out of their way to pretend the public display of punishment wasn’t there.

  “Just a few minutes more,” Whitney said, rubbing his hands together. The cold of winter was settling in, and his thin, silk outfit didn’t help.

  “You really think he’ll give you what you wanted?” she said. “A noble like him will never give a shog about two criminals.”

  “You help steal one outfit, and you’re a criminal now?”

  “After meeting him, I’m starting to understand why Wetzel taught me underground.”

  “You’re learning. Thieves, mystics, and bastards—there's nothing in the Glass Kingdom hated more.”

  “What about knife-ears?” She smirked.

  “I have a feeling the Shesaitju are in the lead these days.”

  They laughed, then Sora shivered. “C’mon, Whit. He used you. Both of us. You’re really going to stand out here waiting for a name because of some decade-old feud with your dead father?”

  “Torsten will come through. Have you met the guy? He’s about the only person in Pantego pious enough to believe a promise is sacred.”

  “True, but that doesn’t mean we have to wait outside.” She nodded toward a tavern across the street called The Lofty Mare.

  Whitney had never been inside. On this side of town, it was where rich men went to get away at night. Stuffy folk.

  “Buy a girl a drink?” she said.

  “With what?” he said.

  She raised the small pouch filled with coins they’d lifted from Redstar’s unconscious follower in the ruins near Oxgate. It rattled around in her bandaged palm.

  “I thought I lost that back in Bridleton!” Whitney exclaimed.

  “You did lose it,” she winked and shook the bag again.

  “Wait, you made me waste that amulet getting us horses while you had that?”

  “That thing was worthless.”

  “It saved my life. It was lucky!”

  She drew herself in close, rubbing his arm with one hand while she placed the pouch in his palm and slowly closed his fingers over it. “Maybe I’m the good luck charm.”

  Whitney leaned forward until their faces were centimeters apart, then whispered, “No, you’re a pest.” He tossed the gold over her head and caught it on his way toward The Lofty Mare. A horse-drawn cart raced by and almost made him drop it, but he kept his balance and strode on as if nothing happened.

  “You coming?” he hollered back. “I’m thirsty.”

  Her groan was louder than the thumping of the swinging bodies against the castle walls. She caught up just in time to step into the tavern with him. The inside was as barren as the street. A few ragged drunks here and there, but mostly, the tavern was spotless. Never a good sign for a place of imbibing.

  Whitney strolled right up to the counter and slammed two autlas down in front of the bartender, a chubby fellow dressed far too extravagantly for the homely décor.

  “Two of your finest ales, my good sir!” he declared.

  The bartender didn’t acknowledge. He was too busy staring dumbfounded at Sora. Again, Whitney wasn’t sure if it was her ears, or how filthy they were.

  “We don’t serve their kind here,” he said.

  “What, women?” Whitney replied. He went on before the tender could answer. “Don’t worry, she can handle an ale good as any man. Besides, business seems slo
w what with the corpses staring at your door.”

  Whitney plopped onto a stool and pulled one out for Sora. She glared right back at the man, even as she sat and leaned over the bar.

  Whitney said, “Did I mention she also single-handedly defeated the most powerful Drav Cra warlock alive?”

  Finally, the bartender gave in and filled a mug for each of them. “It’ll be two autlas for hers.”

  “How about one for both?” Whitney took one of the coins away. “Thanks, friend. Money’s tight after all. Just got back from a special assignment from the Wearer of White himself.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “Look at my outfit. Storm on the way in mussed things up, but you’re speaking with Constable…” Whitney realized he did know the man’s first name and hoped it hadn’t spread this far north “… Phineas Darkings of Bridleton. Now I suggest you put those down before I lose my cheery disposition.”

  The bartender grimaced, then placed them down harder than necessary and went to go clean the other end of the bar.

  “City folk,” Whitney shook his head.

  “Phineas?” Sora whispered.

  He shrugged, grabbed his mug and guzzled half in a single gulp. He missed the froth and the bitter taste. Ever since he’d left the farm, he had a tradition to enjoy a drink—or six—after a successful job.

  Sora wasted no time either. She grabbed her mug and winced. With the dozens of little cuts littering her palms, Whitney wasn’t surprised. She bit past the pain and drank, though she glowered at the bartender over the rim of her mug the entire time.

  A large man with a broom bumped Whitney’s stool.

  “Excuse me, my Lord,” he said, then the chubby man’s eyes went wide. “Sora?”

  “Hamm, what in the world are you doing here?” Sora asked.

  “Everything okay over there?” the bartender asked.

  Hamm gave the man a thumbs up and turned back to them.

  “Just trying to earn a bit of coin to rebuild the Manor. It’s little more than ash now, but the people are working hard to restore the whole town.”

  Whitney struggled not to ask why they’d waste the time. They’d all be far better off in Yarrington. But he knew it’d earn him a punch and a glower.

  “That’s great to hear, Hamm,” he said instead.

  “Do I know you?”

  “Wait.” Sora snickered. “You really don’t remember him?”

  “Should I? Oh right, you’re that adventurer? Yeah, that’s it. The one who got into a pissing match with Grint Strongiron.”

  “His name you remember?” Whitney snorted.

  “Well, I’m glad to see you made it out of that raid alive too and are keeping our fair Sora company.”

  “She’s my apprentice now.”

  “Oh?” Hamm asked.

  “I was Wetzel’s apprentice, my lord. But there’s always work to find for those practiced in the healing arts.”

  “Whatever you say,” Whitney grumbled.

  “I was sorry to hear Wetzel didn’t survive the attack.” Hamm laid a hand on Sora’s shoulder. Even dressed like a noble and posing as a constable, he moved right on from Whitney like he wasn’t there.

  “He was an odd one,” Hamm went on, “but he patched up more than his fair share of drunkards. And it was a good thing he did, taking in a girl without a home.”

  “It was,” Sora said softly.

  “Well, he had a good long life. I only wish he’d come in a few more times and told more about it. A man doesn’t live that long without a tale or two to tell.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he could have taught you some magical things.” Whitney was expecting the nudge he earned from Sora, and he didn’t mind it. The sight of Hamm had first made her look like she was seeing ghosts, but his words about Wetzel seemed to calm her.

  “I’m sure. Well,” Hamm tapped his bloom on the floor, “if your new friend isn’t keeping you too busy, we could always use a healer in Troborough. Though, right now, I fear the people need someone who could mend their souls, not their bruises.”

  “I’ll see what we can do,” Sora said, cutting Whitney off right as he opened his mouth. “It’s good to see you, Hamm.”

  “And you.” Haam turned to continue sweeping, but Whitney called for him.

  “Haam, do you remember a boy named Whitney Fierstown by any chance?” Whitney asked.

  He stopped and scratched his chin. “Old Rocco’s boy right, Iam bless his soul? Ran off, I’d say, well I can’t remember. A long time ago.”

  “What are you doing?” Sora whispered.

  Whitney ignored her. “I see. Sora here keeps talking about him, so I wanted to know if I should be worried.”

  “Whitney and Sora…” He laughed to himself. “I remember you those trying to break into my stores when you were young.”

  Whitney feigned shock. “Sora? Of all people?”

  “They were quite the troublemakers back in the day. Sora here turned into a fine lass though. Wherever young Whitney is, I hope he found whatever it is he was looking for.” He stared at Whitney for a few seconds, as if he was about to realize who he was, then turned and nodded toward Sora. “I hope Iam’s light brings us together again.”

  Sora stifled a laugh as he walked away. “How does it feel to be completely forgotten?”

  “Forgotten? Didn’t you hear him? He remembers some of my early work.” Whitney wiped his mouth.

  “Then maybe you need a more memorable face, not name.”

  “Very funny. But enough playing around. It’s time to evaluate your first job. See if you’ll be a worthy apprentice.”

  “Me?” Sora said, the ale seemingly taking off her usual edge. “I’m not so certain you’re a worthy teacher after all I’ve seen.”

  “Then you had your eyes closed. C’mon. Whitney Fierstown worked alone, but Whitney Blisslayer doesn’t have to. I’ll be the greatest thief ever born twice over!”

  The bartender glanced over. Whitney smiled and raised his mug to him.

  “Blisslayer?” Sora asked.

  “Has a nice ring, doesn’t it?”

  Sora rolled her eyes. “Is that really what this is all about?”

  “Of course. How many people get to compete with themselves. I was getting tired of the same old thing, but then I had this brilliant idea. Now, will you come along for the ride or not?” He wrapped his arm around her and stared into the distance, waving his glass in an arch over an imagined horizon. Some ale spilled over on his sleeve.

  “We can be legends,” he said. “Thieves that even the Crown calls upon for help when all hope is lost.”

  “Only if you tell me one thing first,” she said.

  “Anything.”

  “Why did you really leave Troborough? No yig and shog this time.”

  Whitney reeled his arm back and lowered his mug. He’d hoped Sora had moved on from that, that over the course of their adventure she’d forgotten how mad she was at him for abandoning their childhood friendship.

  Whitney closed his eyes. “‘I don’t want you hanging around with that knife-ear runt,’” he said, adding a rasp to his voice.

  “What?”

  “My father said that to me once after I was late to supper. My mother silently agreed.”

  “You never told me they didn’t like me.”

  “They didn’t like anybody,” he muttered. “You were just an easy target.”

  “That’s why you left?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.” He grinned. “That was just one of a million little things. It’s like I said, my father spent a lifetime grousing about everyone from better places and never once left his farm. Every trader that came through was a crook. Every knight, a noble born into his armor, when I know now that’s not true. He always did just enough, barely enough to live, until they died of what, water poisoning in their own shoghole home? I’ll be damned if I’m gonna live the same way.”

  “So, why didn’t you invite me in the first place? After all ou
r talks about seeing the world together, getting out of Wetzel’s smelly shack and off the farm.”

  Whitney peered up at her over the rim of his mug. She didn’t look angry like when they’d first reunited, just confused. Her brow furrowed in that particular way that made the tip of her nose wrinkle along with it. Her pointed ears twitched, and he wondered if she knew they did that.

  “Honestly… I don’t know,” he admitted. “I think I just had to give life a go on my own. Prove to my dad that the world doesn’t owe us a yigging thing; we have to go and take it. Didn’t seem right to ask you to come on such a foolhardy quest with me, because I knew you would’ve followed without thinking.”

  “I guess… that’s fair.”

  Whitney released an exaggerated mouthful of air. “Thank Iam.”

  “You’re not completely off the hook. You still should have told me.”

  “You’re right. I tend not to think about things until after I do them, but I swear, Sora, I never wanted to hurt you. I just wanted to be gone without ever looking back. I—”

  “It’s okay, Whit,” she said, laying her hand over his. “We found each other again.”

  “Even the gods themselves couldn’t keep the team of Whitney and Sora apart!” Whitney proclaimed, earning a laugh from Sora. Whitney went to raise his mug, then paused. “While we’re in the honest spirit I have a question too.”

  “Here we go...”

  “You’ve never been to Yarrington, have you?”

  “What?”

  “I could see it written all over your face when you came in,. the wonder of a place where you can’t see hills through all the buildings. You said you were on your way back when the Shesaitju attacked, but it’s not true is it?”

  Sora’s features went pale. She stared longingly over Whitney’s shoulder as if she were expecting something to be there. “The truth?”

  “Unless the lie is better.” Whitney smiled. She laughed nervously.

  “It was the truth… sort of,” she looked sideways at Hamm who was sweeping nearby. The man nodded. “I really did hear there was a legendary thief for hire in town who wouldn't shut up about every amazing thing he’d ever done. Sounded like you, but aren't all thieves arrogant bastards?”