Threat

by Drae Box

Winter’s Call? It had been years since Aldora had heard the nickname of the thunderstorm that always broke the kingdom’s last heatwave of the year. “We should go,” she said, adding strength to Raneth’s counter. If the storm was going to act as its predecessors, four to six hours was the norm, with small breaks between where it just rained hard. “Let’s go before it gets worse.” She hesitated, looking at Jenny and Richard. She wanted to spend time with them, them and Raneth. “Meet us in Buzzard’s Cafe,” she said. “Raneth and I will meet you there once we’ve got what we need.”

  “You will?” asked Jenny, her gaze on Raneth. She smiled. “Wonderful.” She nudged Richard. “Whoever’s wettest buys Raneth’s dinner.” She darted through the doors even as Richard complained, following behind her.

  “They know I have an allowance, right?” asked Raneth, a small but amused smile lingering on his lips. He looked her over, and for the first time, Aldora felt herself blush at his look. “Here,” he added, sliding off his royal official jacket and holding it out to her. “It won’t do you any good to get a cold with that wound.”

  She took it, flinging it over her shoulders and slipping her arms into the warm jacket. She zipped it up and Raneth stepped closer. He took a small dangling lapel from the right side of the rigid collar, and pressed a metal button there to the other side of the collar until it snapped into place. He smiled and held out his calloused hand. Gleefully, Aldora took it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Raneth

  Dinner was awkward, as was Richard’s refusal to leave when Raneth, Aldora and Jenny had left to do one more sweep of the village. As the three villagers talked and bickered amongst themselves, Raneth kept his focus on what little he could see further ahead, and on the cobblestones near his feet. Not that it would matter soon; if there was any evidence of Jules Rivermud on the ground, the rain would soon wash it away. If Jules was out on the streets — taking advantage of the way most people stayed indoors when Winter’s Call struck — then they could get within an arm’s length of one another before they’d recognise who they were seeing. “This is no good,” he said, speaking louder than normal to be heard over the clattering roar of the rain. Lighting brightened the street for a moment, letting Raneth catch sight of the library ahead of them. “The library. We’ll take shelter there for a bit.” He slipped his hand into Aldora’s and they led her friends to the library. He pushed open one of the heavy doors that stood higher than all of them, holding it ajar for the villagers as they rushed inside, their shoes squeaking on the flooring. He joined them, letting the heavy door boom loudly back into the doorframe. Rain rushed down his neck, weaving its way through his short black hair to follow the trail of those that had already made him grimace. It dripped from his ears and the end of his nose and chin, so he rubbed his face against his sleeve, not that it helped much. Mostly it just smeared the rain around his face. Raneth sniffed and ran a hand over his hair, encouraging the rain trapped there to go back instead of sliding down the sides and front of his face.

  “This used to be one of my favourite places in the village,” murmured Aldora. She was standing almost in the centre of the space in front of the doors, looking up at the ceiling. Some blue fabric crackled and flapped above their heads, temporarily patching parts of the roof that was still damaged. Whatever the material was, it was doing a relatively good job at keeping the rain out, but the royal official could hear dripping from deeper in the library. “Now look at it,” continued the Dagger Bearer.

  “Who’s that? Who’s there?” The voice that called out came from beyond bookshelves in front of them, and though male, sounded a little squeaky, rushed. As if the speaker was scared.

  “Mr Denlay, is that you?” called Aldora, stepping to the left of the row of books and vanishing beyond.

  Because that’s safe, thought Raneth sarcastically, hurriedly striding after her, a hand freeing a throwing dagger. He held it ready, but he relaxed as he watched Aldora looking at a man older than them. Her posture was relaxed and as he drew to her side, he spotted her smiling. He couldn’t help but smile back at her smile, even though it wasn’t directed at him. He slipped the throwing dagger back into his belt before Aldora could notice.

  “What are you doing here, Mr Denlay?” she asked the stranger. When the villager looked at Raneth with a frown, she introduced him and explained that Mr Denlay was the village’s librarian.

  “Moving books about; trying not to let them get ruined by the rain. I had hoped for some more time before the heat broke.”

  Richard joined Raneth’s side and jabbed his left side with an elbow. Grateful he had formed more than once since he’d been shot, the jab didn’t hurt Raneth, but it irritated him. He frowned at Richard. “What?” he growled, his voice low as Aldora strode closer to the librarian.

  “See that corner there?” asked Richard, pointing at a corner to the back of the library where two shelving units created a hiding spot. “I made out with Aldora in that bit.”

  Raneth clenched his jaw as he glared at Richard. Does this guy have no nice qualities? Why are Aldora and Jenny friends with him?

  “Snogged her good too. She said it was the best kiss she’d ever had.”

  Don’t give him what he wants and don’t punch him. Raneth opted to smile at Richard instead, deploying the most sickly-sweet smile he had in his repertoire. “Good for you.” He had to remember, if he and Richard did fight, it wouldn’t end well for Richard. That in turn would mean getting into more trouble than Raneth already was for losing Cray. He was lucky the king was following protocol with the hearing, instead of giving him an immediate dishonourable discharge. He checked on Aldora. Jenny was whispering in her ear as both the girls looked back at him and Richard, and Aldora looked worried. He looked over their heads at the librarian, who was carrying a stack of books to a different shelf, dodging two buckets of water collecting the constant drip of rain from the damaged rafters above. “Have you seen Jules Rivermud?” he asked Mr Denlay.

  The ginger haired man looked back at Raneth, pausing in his rush to move the books cradled in his arms. “Yes. This morning. I told Haethowine.”

  Of course! That explained the lack of sightings today; the village leader had hijacked Aldora’s sighting sheets. “When? Where?” he asked. At least now he had something to work with instead of a stale timeline that kept suggesting the criminal had left the village, especially when he and the others had found no sign Jules was still here.

  “Behind Jaleel’s. The butchers. Maybe sometime after nine or ten. I don’t know for sure. I was too afraid to get close. I wasn’t there for what he did in Village Circle, but I helped clean it up. That gift of his is terrifying. So sticky.”

  “It’s snot,” stated Raneth. “And it’s a blood-gift. His whole family has it.” He looked to Aldora.

  “I’m sorry, Raneth. I didn’t even think about Haethowine taking over whilst I was helping you. I should have realised he had.”

  Raneth shook his head. “It’s fine, Aldora. At least now we have a place to start.”

  “Even with all this rain?” asked Jenny. She shook her head. “We can barely see past it.”

  Truthfully, any sensible royal official would be under shelter, waiting the thunderstorm out, but Jules’ kidnapping of Aldora made the Bayre reluctant to give up just yet. A few more hours of getting wet wouldn’t do him too much harm. A cold perhaps. He glanced at Aldora, remembering his words to her earlier. He didn’t want her getting a cold. She couldn’t form to heal like he could, even if forming didn’t heal illness or broken bones, and left a ghost pain from a wound until the second transformation. “I’m going to try for one more hour,” he said. “Anybody who wants to go home, should go home now.” He didn’t need to glance at Aldora to know she would refuse, and as much as he wanted to in this instance, he couldn’t tell her what to do. She was the Dagger Bearer; he wasn’t sure if she knew that whilst he was on Giften soil, she was technically his commanding officer under Cray, per the old rules of Giften back when the
six Weapons of Protection were in regular use. He had no problem taking orders from her, but he didn’t want her pushing back if he tried to tell her no; he didn’t want her trying to prove a point and getting herself sick from the rain and then an infection in the wound brought on by a cold or the flu.

  “I’m going home,” said Jenny. She hugged Aldora, the two girls’ hair dripping rainwater around them as the thunderstorm continued above them. “I’ll see you all tomorrow.” She paused at Raneth’s side, then clamped her arms around him in a hug. Raneth barely dared to move as her hands slipped from his back to his butt until she thankfully withdrew. “Bye, handsome.” He watched her go.

  Aldora sighed behind him. “You’ll have to forgive Jenny. She’s already dated all the boys acceptable for our age in the village. She’s a little.... Well, she’s Jenny.”

  Richard puffed out his chest when Raneth looked his way. “I’m staying with you. Rain doesn’t scare me.”

  They ventured back outside, not bothering to speak as the rain sliced down around them, the thunderstorm still screaming. Aldora took Raneth’s hand and led him towards the butchers, and Richard brought up the rear. “We’re there,” said Aldora, before she led him through a doorway. Gaslight warmed his face as Raneth blinked, adjusting to the better light. Two faces looked back at him; one was a woman with long brown hair that stopped at her waist, with brown eyes and dark skin that suggested she was from the Barbaric East. If it wasn’t for the fact his own mother had been as dark as her, Raneth might have been surprised to see someone who wasn’t of the allied kingdoms in the village, but he knew not everyone appreciated the Eastern Barbaric or the Northern Barbaric Island culture. He smiled at her but she didn’t return it. He glanced at Aldora at his side. Once or twice growing up, he’d been made to feel shame for being part Eastern Barbarian but Carbantics — the term Giftens gave their fellow half Giftens — were more accepted these days. Turning his focus away from the kingdom’s mellowing, Raneth looked to the other present. Haethowine Sairnot. Raneth gave a polite smile and a dip of the head.

  “Royal Official Bayre. I was wondering if you were going to show up.”

  “Why?” asked Aldora before Raneth could. She folded her arms.

  “Jaleel was just terrorised by his criminal.”

  “Just?” asked Raneth. He observed the shop floor around them, noting the doorway that led to the private part of the butchers at the back, but there was no sign of the blood-gift substance anywhere. “How long ago?”

  “Not long,” admitted Haethowine, his muscular but aging frame resting against the counter. “Thirty minutes or so.”

  “He must have come back here then. He’s planning ahead,” said Raneth.

  Aldora pursed her lips. “Is that bad?”

  Raneth nodded. “It means he’s trying to be more careful. More careful means more difficult for me to capture him.”

  Haethowine sighed, shaking his head. “Surely after what he and his sons did, you’ll be doing more than just arresting him?”

  “My orders are to arrest,” said Raneth, bristling. “What he did here won’t go unanswered though, Mr Sairnot. The royal detectives and the law will make sure of it.” Why did a village leader think he was allowed to kill at will? Someone in his standing should know better.

  Jaleel flinched as a high-pitched scream caught their ears, before Haethowine’s name filtered through the slightly ajar window. Raneth darted outside, ignoring the commotion behind him and paused in the street, listening, trying to see further than the rain would let him. Haethowine’s name was screamed again. Right. Raneth raced down the road, drawing a throwing dagger and thinking of his gift at the same time. If he ran into Jules, he would be ready.

  “Raneth, wait!” It was Aldora’s voice following him behind, but Raneth ignored her. A scream nearby had to mean Jules. He spun to the side as someone almost ran into him. Not Jules — just another villager. Aldora and Haethowine came into view, Richard looking like a drowned rat behind them. The strong arms of the village leader wrapped around the panting woman.

  “You’re safe now,” he said. “What’s wrong, Najiba?”

  “My shop! That murderer’s in my shop.”

  Raneth looked to Aldora. “Where am I going?”

  “The tailor’s,” she said. “It’s up ahead.”

  Hesitating, Raneth glanced at Richard. “Stay with Haethowine,” he said, gaining a nod of approval from the village leader. Raneth strode ahead, aware of Aldora at his side, the Dagger of Protection already in her hand, shining as a flash of light burst over the village, the thunder’s call chasing it.

  “That one.” At his side, Aldora pointed two doors down, at a shop Raneth could barely see through the heavy rain. The front was lit brightly by plenty of gaslights, the large bay window jutted outwards, illuminating the cobblestones near it. Cautiously, Raneth drew closer, until he stood at the side of the bay window. He peered inside. Circular racks of clothing filled the shop floor, and a doorless doorway was in the back wall on the right. In front of the back door were two large tables, positioned in an L-shape — one held a till and the other had a half-finished green top with yellow flowers across its side, and a sewing machine. Meat and clothes. He’s planning on leaving the village in this weather. Idiot. Raneth looked at Aldora, noticing the reddening of her cheeks and nose from the cold rain and the growing wind beginning to snake and charm its way through the village streets. “Stay close.”

  She nodded, stepping slightly behind him, the Dagger still in her hand. Raneth strode past the large window, using it as an opportunity to get a better view of the innards of the shop before he stepped inside. There he is. Jules Rivermud was to the right of the shop, rushing through a selection of jackets. He stepped inside. “Jules,” he said, purposefully keep his voice calm. The Rivermud froze before he looked at the royal official. “Jules,” repeated Raneth. “You can’t keep running like this, not in this weather. You’ll get yourself killed.”

  The criminal turned to fully face Raneth, his hands empty. He lifted them to shoulder level but he glared at Raneth. “I have to find my sons!”

  “They’re in Silmachare,” said Aldora, her voice wavering. Raneth had barely given her room to enter. He’d only just cleared the front door himself.

  “I’m not going to prison!”

  Raneth flung his right hand up, throwing white mist towards the criminal as a stream of mucus flew at his face. He stepped back, bumping into Aldora as he felt the force of Jules’ blood-gift against his gift. He slipped his throwing dagger back to his belt and held up his other hand, grunting, turning his head to the side as he pushed back, white mist spewing from both his hands now. As an added precaution, Raneth imagined it seeping out from his forearms too, adding strength to the surge of his Common Gift of Ice. He grunted, bracing his legs. Rivermud had taken a step closer to him. He couldn’t see him. Couldn’t see anything past his white mist, but the push back from the Rivermud’s gift-substance was like bracing a shield against a raging sea monster, one that had enough arms to give a continuous barrage, making the Bayre’s arms ache and sweat glisten across his face, sinking into his already soaked clothes.

  Then it stopped. Raneth parted the white mist in front of his palms and stopped summoning it. If needed, he could sweep it between him and Rivermud at a moment’s thought, or turn it to icicles and jab the Rivermud in the leg or arm, whatever it took to stop the disgusting onslaught of his blood-gift. “He’s gone,” murmured Aldora, as they both took in the slime glistening on the floor.

  “He’s fleeing,” said Raneth. He whipped some of his white mist to the mucus-like substance on the floor and sunk the tiny shards of ice that made the mist into the Rivermud’s slime. It nullified the blood-gift’s stickiness, so Raneth strode towards the doorway that led to the back of the shop. He peeked into the back room as he pulled what was left of his white mist closer to him. He shoved some of it through the door but didn’t use it to mask his entrance. Doing so would make it impossible for hi
m to see Jules — and if Jules was waiting with a projectile or his blood-gift to attack, Raneth might not have time to react with his gift. The room here was small. A staircase led upstairs with a lone gaslamp halfway up it, and to Raneth’s left were three empty changing rooms with their curtains pulled back. Nestled beside the staircase was a door with rain hammering down behind it. The royal official stepped outside and listened, the rain cloaking where Jules had gone. From what little he could see, it looked as if they were in a tight alleyway. He looked to Aldora, standing in the doorway behind him. “Where does this lead?” he asked.

  “Right goes to Doctor Smith’s. Left eventually takes you to the north of the village and houses.”

  Raneth charged right, all thought of precaution gone; if he comes across Haethowine and the others, he won’t hesitate to use them to slow me down. Why some murderers thought killing more civilians would slow or deter a royal official had never made sense to Raneth, and it frustrated him each time it happened. He couldn’t let the village suffer anymore. Not because of Jules. Not because of him. In almost no time at all, he braced a hand in front of him as he almost careened into a wall. He looked right, spotting where the alleyway continued and so he moved on.

  The evening sky above quietened and the raindrops lessened in might, allowing Raneth to see further ahead. There. He could see Jules. He was almost at the end of the short alleyway. “By order of the king, stop and be arrested for murder!” yelled Raneth. There was several legal ways to tell a criminal they were under arrest, but none seemed short enough when a criminal was already running. The royal official burst free of the alleyway and looked around, almost immediately catching sight of Haethowine and the tailor. They were huddled under the awning of a building further down and to the right. Where’s Richard? He caught the eyes of the village leader. “Where did Jules go? Did you see him?” The village leader pointed to Raneth’s left, so the Bayre ran. Where are you, Jules? He couldn’t see him. Wherever Jules had gone, he was running faster than he’d been behind the shops, or he’d already got off the road. Drawing alongside High Street, Raneth looked down it. Jules wasn’t there. He looked out of the black gate. The grasslands beyond were clear. Giften’s sodding soil. Raneth ran on, passing two more roads that were unoccupied until he finally caught sight of Jules gasping, bending over and holding his knees as he sucked in breath after breath. “Oi!” yelled Raneth, spotting Richard running towards Jules.