The Redstar Rising Trilogy

by Rhett C. Bruno

  ‘We will know the time to strike when the cold is driven away by wind and flame.’ The words Redstar had spoken before he left suddenly filled Torsten’s mind. That horn belonged to the Drav Cra, and suddenly, all around them, Torsten’s men were no longer the Shesaitju army’s target.

  Shouting echoed all over in common and Saitjuese. Torsten could make out the meaning of some, like ‘wall’ and ‘charging”—enough to know that Redstar was about to do whatever it took to be the hero while Torsten and his men failed, damned be to the innocent citizens being used to shield the city.

  Redstar would claim it was Nesilia who sparked the fire that took the walls even though Torsten knew it was Sora. He knew Iam was working through the girl though he knew not why. As a blood mage and descendant of mystics, she was everything Iam’s scripture preached against, but he knew it to be so.

  He crushed the throat of the man in his grip. His men cheered as the horns of reinforcement sounded and Shesaitju warriors flowed by to meet the army at the burning wall. Torsten’s heart, on the other hand, sank again. He looked back toward the estate and searched.

  Muskigo was being helped out of the crumbling building and led toward a zhulong. He shook one of his Serpent Guards off and hopped up. Half his chest was seared, his usually-gray skin bubbling, exposing the pink of muscle and sinew.

  “To the wall!” Torsten shouted. He helped Sir Nikserof take down a Shesaitju soldier, then pushed him in the direction of the walls. “Go!”

  He and the rest of his men rushed by. Torsten stayed put. He leveled his sword, its tip pointing down the street at Muskigo.

  “Muskigo!” he bellowed. The afhem’s dark eyes spotted him through the smoke and embers. “Will you cower from me again?”

  One of his Serpent Guards threaded a bow, but Muskigo raised a hand to stop him. He slid his scimitar out of his sheath and pointed it back at Torsten. “Defend the city,” he ordered. “The Wearer is mine!”

  XXV

  THE THIEF

  From his perch atop the tilted mast of the black galleon, the reality of Winde Port’s fate was all too clear. The hundreds of buildings and businesses lining Merchants Row were being destroyed. Fire raged along the road as the wind blew, hopping the city canals and burning both sides. The strong western wind fanned it along so it couldn’t spread to the wharf, but it rapidly pushed toward the city walls. It was as if the gods themselves were blowing upon it and Whitney thought he could hear eldritch chanting in the air.

  The Shesaitju army stormed toward the palisades to defend their captured city, vanishing in the smoke. War cries and battle drums were all Whitney needed to hear to know what was happening. The Glass Army was charging.

  “Torsten,” he said under his breath. The inferno spread fast, but Whitney was sure it began at the prefect's estate where Torsten was making his ambush.

  He ran down from the boat and onto the quay. The Shesaitju remaining were so distracted trying to saddle the dozens of zhulong roaming the streets, they didn’t even see Whitney as he bolted passed them.

  As he reached the place where Winder’s Dwarf used to stand, he thought about Tum Tum. The look on the dwarf’s face as they watched his livelihood be overrun would stay with Whitney forever. Tum Tum had always been a good friend. If Whitney believed in life after all this chaos, he’d hope to be wherever Tum Tum ended up—even if it meant the Great Hall of Meungor.

  “For you, good buddy.”

  He stopped at the turn onto Merchants Row. Fire licked at the streets from all sides, but the wind kept Whitney’s face free of smoke. That was when he realized he had no idea what to do next. He could barrel into the burning prefect's estate and find Torsten, his best chance at standing up to Kazimir. Or he could continue searching for Sora in the most logical places he could think of—the Panping Ghetto and the Darkings Mansion.

  Both were on the north side of the city, beyond where the fire was spreading. But the Darkings Mansion was atop a hill and mostly stone. The Ghetto was down at the base, and if a single ember reached those shoddy, wooden flats, the place would go up like a bonfire.

  Torsten can handle himself, he decided. If starting this fire was part of his plan to ambush Muskigo, he’d have a lot to answer for to Iam.

  Whitney went to cross the canal when, from the direction of the prefect’s estate, a mob of Panpingese men and women raced toward him through the smoke.

  Whitney turned and pushed through into the heat and smoke. “Sora?” he questioned. In all the smog, half the women looked just like her. He coughed and called for her again. His eyes were burning now, tears streaming down his face.

  “Sora!” He stopped, placed his hands on his knees, and tried to take a breath as the crowd fully passed him by. Instead, he just made himself cough even more. He watched them, unsure what to make of the exodus. He wasn’t even sure why he imagined Sora might be with them. He’d spent the whole trip trying to prove to her that it didn’t matter what she looked like, that the only people she had were the ones she chose to stand with.

  Wetzel and himself, namely. Half the reason Whitney was so okay with taking her to her ancestral homeland was so she could see that it had nothing to do with her. It was just a place with a name and similar looking people. It also had a great deal of strange and magical treasure to steal, especially if they stumbled upon any underground mystic covens. But that was beside the point.

  He sighed, pulled his shirt up over his mouth, and backed up out of the smoke.

  Focus Whitney. You’ll find her.

  He went to turn and continue back on his path across the canal when he heard a low growl.

  “Aquira?” he said. The little wyvern stood on the ash-and-snow-covered street blinking its big, yellow eyes at him. Whitney fell to his knees in front of her.

  “Aquira!” He went to pick her up but she growled even louder, and he wisely redrew his hand. “Aquira? Where is Sora? So-ra.” He pronounced both syllables. “You remember her, right?”

  He patted himself down, searching for anything he had that might contain her scent. There was nothing. A month together and he realized he had nothing of hers. If she died in the city or was already dead, he’d have nothing to…

  A woman burst through the gathering smoke and fell to the ground. She hacked and coughed, sounds that would have made Whitney vomit if not for realizing the mouth they came out of.

  “Sora?” he said softly. His eyes went wide. He scrambled over and pulled her further out of the smoke so she could catch her breath.

  “Whit,” she rasped. She threw her arms around him and he her. They held each other there in the middle of the street as the city came undone around them. Whitney went to pull away so they could get moving, but she squeezed tighter.

  “We need to move,” he said.

  A group of Shesaitju warriors rumbled by, half of which were mounted on zhulong. They must not have seen Whitney or Sora as enough of a threat to stop.

  “C’mon, Sora.” Whitney forced them apart, took her hand and led her over the canal to the side where the fire was less rampant. Aquira flew up and dashed along the railing in pursuit.

  Whitney leaned Sora against the side of one of the few buildings still standing in that district. He coughed and breathed, and then, again.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. Now that she was in front of him, he realized tears were streaming down her face. And not just from the heat of the fire. Her shoulders bobbed like she was trying not to weep.

  “Me?” She wiped her eyes. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, just breathed in too much smoke. Wasn’t my first time. There was that time with the dragon—wait a second.”

  “What now?”

  “Why were you coming from the prefect's estate?”

  One corner of her lips pulled slightly into a smirk. It was a half-hearted attempt, one that couldn’t mask a deeper layer of sorrow, but it was there. Whitney looked up at the flame devouring all the buildings up Merchants Row ahead of them.

  You
fool, Whitney!

  He wasn’t sure how he missed it. There was no mistaking her distinct brand. It wasn’t like an ordinary flame that billowed and grew gradually. Hers was like a tsunami, chewing through wood and stone like parchment.

  “This was you, wasn’t it?”

  She glanced at Aquira. “I had some help. We found the man who destroyed Troborough. Who killed Wetzel.”

  “Iam's light, Sora. Did you forget that this isn’t his home to get revenge on?”

  “I… I lost control.” She hung her head.

  Whitney took her by the shoulders and smiled. “Merchants Row needed remodeling anyway. Oldest part of Winde Port and it shows.”

  Sora looked up with only her eyes.

  “So, is he dead?” Whitney asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, Torsten will finish the job. He was headed there too.”

  “I know.” A genuine grin finally broke out on her face. “I saved his life,” she said, and then a second later, “again.”

  “Oh, he won’t like that at all.”

  “No, I wouldn’t think so,” she said.

  “If Muskigo is still around—”

  “Don’t forget the assassin after us.”

  “Ah, yes, how could I?” He laughed. “Shogging exile, I think it’s time we get the yig out of here.”

  “Remember when you said I’d love it here?”

  Whitney rolled his eyes. “Well, the gates are burning, thanks to you. So now both armies are killing each other. I’d rather avoid that, so, same plan as ever?”

  “Which is?”

  “Steal a ship,” Whitney said, matter of factly. “There are a few smaller ones docked on the northern wharf that I didn’t knock over. Just gotta get our papers and we can be on our way.”

  “Papers? Seriously? You think anyone is going to be concerned with papers at a time like this?”

  “The law is the law, Sora.” He winked.

  “Everyone’s a bit preoccupied right now. I doubt anyone is going to be stopping us to see our papers.”

  “It’s not for here. We’ll be crossing Shesaitju waters, and if you haven’t noticed, they’re in the middle of a rebellion. The Winde Traders Guild isn’t going anywhere, however much their home city is hurting. They have pull.”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “We are in this mess over those stupid papers.”

  “Did I mention pirates? Only the worst ones will hit a member of the Guild. Which reminds me, do you still have our gold?”

  “I… uh.” Her gaze flitted toward the burning cinder that was the prefect’s mansion lost in a cloud of smoke across the canal. “Lost it while uh… running from Kazimir.”

  “Shog in a barrel,” he said. Then, he clapped his hands together, smiled and said, “Then we really need those papers. Give a pirate enough gold, and they’ll leave you alone. Give them nothing, they’ll take your ship and leave you for sharks.”

  “They can do that even if we have papers.”

  “But they’re less likely to. Trust me, they are in a safe place. We’ll be in and out.”

  “Where?”

  “Tayvada’s house.”

  Whitney saw a wave of fear wash over her face.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “It’s nothing…”

  “Sure, doesn’t look like nothing,” he said. “What’s going on? Oh, him.”

  He was ashamed he’d so quickly forgotten their last experience at the guild member’s home. He could only imagine what horrors she’d suffered at Kazimir’s hand.

  “It’s fine,” Sora said. “Let’s go get some yigging papers.”

  “There’s my girl!” Whitney took her hand again, and they took off.

  The further from Merchants Row they got, the less forgiving the chill in the air became. Lucky for the city, the fire seemed contained to that avenue, the strong wind keeping it focused. Merchant fronts and governmental buildings, the places the owners could afford to rebuild.

  The more residential districts were left mostly untouched, baring the arrows and spears stuck in their walls—and the haphazardly discarded corpses littering the ground from the fighting. Smoke, fog, and snow mixed to create a thick haze at street level. It was like a ghost town.

  “How did you escape Kazimir?” Whitney asked as they ran.

  “He went to watch you be executed,” she answered.

  “As if that were possible.”

  “Then, Aquira showed up and freed me.” The wyvern screeched from her perch on Sora’s shoulder. “Kazimir chased me until I found Muskigo.”

  “And you decided to go after revenge instead of finding me?”

  “I…I…”

  Whitney laughed, then stopped walking and looked her in the eyes. They stood on the opposite side of the canal leading into the Panping Ghetto now.

  “I’m kidding. You were trying to survive, and you did, which means my lessons really are working.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “I am glad you didn’t kill Muskigo though. I had the chance to take down Darkings too, but embarrassing him was way better. Torsten told me there’s no coming back from murder, and for once, I think he might be right.”

  “That self-righteous oaf?”

  “I know, right?”

  “He’ll take care of Muskigo,” she said. “They’ll all hang for what they did. The ones who deserve it.”

  “Your mouth to Iam’s ears.” Whitney bowed with a flourish and beckoned Sora over the canal toward the run-down church on the edge of the ghetto. “My lady.”

  Sora didn’t move. She stared in the direction of the church and the dilapidated homes of her people, and Whitney thought he noticed her legs start to tremble.

  “You want to wait here?” he asked.

  “Shogging exile, no.”

  “Don’t worry about Muskigo.” He patted his pocket, feeling the writ issued to Kazimir and the Dom Nohzi requesting they rescind the blood pact in the name of Yuri Darkings. “Darkings' father called them off, so I think old Barty is in more danger from Kazimir than us.”

  “Bartholomew?”

  “Right? That’s his name. I know, ridiculous. Anyway, I’ve got the papers right here. If Kazimir shows up, we flash them, and we’ll be fine.”

  “More papers?”

  He stuck out his chest. “It’s the way of greater men.”

  “Well, let’s be quick anyway.”

  The Ghetto was nearly untouched by battle but for a couple of homes near the front, across from the church. Their roofs were caved in, probably just due to shoddy craftsmanship. For once, the streets were empty of the homeless. There wasn’t a lighted candle or even a sound.

  The door to Tayvada’s remained ajar, so they pushed their way in. Whitney’s own memories flooded back so he could only imagine what Sora would be thinking. Tayvada swinging, dripping blood. Kazimir’s nightmarish grin as he emerged from the shadows and made their lives living exile.

  “I hid it over there,” he said, pointing to the chimney.

  He reached up and pulled down the makeshift package—the crown wrapped in the trading papers. Opening it, his eyes gleamed like he’d won the pot in a game of gems. In a way, he sort of had.

  He felt a hard fist against his shoulder.

  “Are you kidding me?” Sora shouted. “That’s what this is really about!”

  He heard a hiss and nearly toppled over when Aquira popped up over Sora’s shoulder, a flicker of fire in her open mouth.

  “Call off your dragon!” He smiled.

  “This isn’t a joke, Whitney Fierstown. You dragged us back here to this… place… just so you could get your beloved crown?”

  “No, it’s not like that. I swear. Happy accident. We just needed the papers and I happened to leave them with the crown.”

  Sora folded her arms and huffed. Whitney went to place his hand on her shoulder, but Aquira hissed again.

  “I promise, Sora,” Whitney said. He extended his hand wi
th the crown. “You can trash the crown if that’ll prove it to you.”

  “Okay,” she reached for the crown, but he swiftly reeled it back.

  “Come on, is that necessary?”

  “You just said—”

  “Fine, it was a little about the crown, but it was more than that. We have no autlas now, and we’re sailing war-ravaged waters. We need a bargaining chip in case of—”

  “Shesaitju ships, I know.”

  “Or pirates.” He sighed. “And I wanted you to come back here. Look.” He took her by the hand and led her outside. To his surprise, she let him. He pointed to all the dilapidated buildings. “I think you should burn it to the ground. The whole place. Make sure no one ever has to live under these conditions ever again.”

  Sora just stared.

  “You said it yourself,” he continued “‘No one should have to live like this.’”

  He could see wheels turning in Sora’s mind.

  “No,” she said, finally. “Let’s just go get a ship.”

  “Wait, what do you mean? Yesterday you were ready to do whatever it took to make sure these people didn’t live this way. I thought…”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said and started walking.

  “Sora.”

  She spun around. “Fine, if you need to know. I followed every one of your dumb lessons. I used my ‘assets’ to get into Muskigo’s inner circle. I pretended to be Tayvada’s wife, and he bought it.”

  It was now Whitney’s turn to stare.

  “While I was with him,” she continued, “I saw so many of my people being treated with far more respect by them than I ever have by the Glass. But even so…it was just a ploy by Muskigo to get more allies so more can die in this war.”

  “War is what forced my kind here,” she said. “This isn’t their realm. This is foreign territory. Same as when I came to Troborough. I lived in a basement below a shack, Whit. But you know what? That was leagues better than not having any home at all. What if I burned this place down and the Glass didn’t care? Actually, they won’t care. This isn’t Merchants Row.”