Blade of the North

by Jones, Heath

  But friends don’t matter, and neither do my feelings. Killing Tigranik is all that matters. I have to keep reminding myself of that.

  The Royal District, nestled as it is in the middle of Malikaran, seems smaller than it really is. Walking around its walls takes over half a day, and from whichever angle I look, those walls are always vigilantly guarded.

  Frustrated, I sit down at a table in the Square of Harmony and Unity and order a drink of water filled with slices of lemon. It refreshes my body, but not my spirit. There is no way over, under or through those walls. There is only one way into the Royal District, and I’ve avoided thinking about it until now.

  Karadik Mors.

  Or rather, what Karadik will accept in exchange for the permits. My stomach turns at the mere thought of the man, let alone what I am contemplating. But I haven’t come all this way, suffered the loss of my family and friends, to be thwarted by a corrupt official.

  Taking a deep breath, I steel myself, finish my drink, and head towards the prison.

  I will deal with Karadik myself.

  “I’m here to see Captain Karadik Mors,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

  The Peace Bringer standing guard outside Karadik’s office looks me up and down. Eventually, he knocks on the door and disappears inside. A minute later he reappears and tells me to wait. It is the same every time. Karadik makes everyone wait to see him, probably in the hope people will think that he is more important than they are. Thinking of Karadik like that surprises me - some of Vahla’s cynicism must be rubbing off on me.

  Pacing up and down in front of the door, I try to summon my courage for what I’m about to do. Twice I turn, on the verge of fleeing, before regathering my resolve. If Father was courageous enough to fight and die in a city he knew was doomed, I wouldn’t be his daughter if I can’t summon the courage to do this.

  Eventually, I hear the familiar boom of Karadik’s voice crying, “Come in.”

  My heart is thumping as the Peace Bringer opens the door and I’m escorted into Karadik’s office.

  “Sara Fairgrey to you see you, Captain,” the Peace Bringer intones.

  Karadik looks up from his desk, his eyebrows raised. “This certainly is a surprise,” he says, gesturing for the guard to leave. I sit opposite him and when the door is closed again, he asks, “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  How do I do this? I’ve never really tried to flirt before, let alone seduce someone. A lump in my throat prevents me from speaking. An awkward silence develops as I stare down at the table between us.

  “Yes?” Karadik prompts eventually. “I am very busy and I would like to get back to work.”

  “Of course,” I reply, my tongue finally working again. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Captain Mors - ”

  “Please, call me Karadik.”

  “But aren’t you a captain?”

  “Ah, purely titular, I assure you”

  Titular? What does that mean? Ignoring the digression, I press on. “I’d like to know about our permits,” I venture to say.

  “Ah yes, well, as I’ve mentioned, there is a queue of applicants in front of you. These things take time, but I can assure you, I will get to your applications in due order.”

  It’s the same answer he’s given every time. “Is there… is there anything I can do? To speed up the process?” I gaze at him in what I hope is an open, inviting manner.

  Karadik stares at me. “Speed up the process? Goodness no. I do things just as quickly as they can be done, but not with unseemly or reckless haste. I have a reputation to uphold.”

  Does he not see what I’m trying to offer? Or am I just not tempting enough? I decide to try a little harder. “Are you sure there is nothing I can do?” I say, reaching across the table to stroke his hand.

  Karadik withdraws his hand as though it’s been attacked by a viper. “My dear,” he says stiffly, “I’m afraid you mistake me.”

  Mistake him? How could anyone mistake him? My timidity flares into indignation. “What? Am I not pretty enough for you?”

  “As I said, you mistake me,” Karadik says. “I’m certainly not the type of official to take advantage of anyone, especially not a young, innocent traveller like yourself. No, certainly not. As for your being pretty… you are certainly pretty enough. Don’t worry,” he adds hastily, raising his hands, “I’m certainly not trying to hint at anything. You seem far too dangerous for my tastes.”

  “Dangerous?” I say, incredulous.

  “Oh yes,” Karadik says. “You have that look about you.”

  “What look?” I ask, my eyes closing to slits.

  “The look,” Karadik elaborates, “that tells anyone who is considering approaching you that they do so at the risk of their own funeral.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. Really? I look dangerous? Vahla thinks so too. What exactly do they see in me? Nobody ever thought of me as dangerous before. Have I changed? And if so, how?

  I push those thoughts aside for later. Right now, all that matters are those permits!

  “I promise not to be dangerous,” I say softly, trying to make my voice breathy.

  Karadik sits back straighter in his chair as he examines me more closely. “Discretion is a priority in my work,” he says quietly.

  Finally! He is wavering. “I’ll be discreet,” I offer meekly.

  The corners of his mouth turn up slightly, and there is a new glimmer in his eye. “Of course, priority can always be given to… special cases.” Pushing his chair back, he stands up and walks slowly around the desk to stand beside me. He places his hand delicately on my shoulder, then moves it slowly down my arm. “Are you a special case?” he asks, staring intently into my eyes.

  I nod my head slightly and purse my lips, inviting his kiss. Smiling, he lowers his head and places his lips on mine. His hand moves behind my neck, pulling me into his kiss.

  I feel sick. I can’t believe I’m giving myself up to this… person. But we need the permits, and if this is the only way to get them…

  Suddenly I think of Father. He died fighting against this empire, this corruption. He wouldn’t want me to do this. And that’s when I realise - I’m not showing courage. I’m being weak.

  I can’t do this. No. I won’t do this!

  Pulling my head away, I quickly stand up and move out of his reach.

  “It’s alright,” he says, coming slowly towards me.

  “No, it’s not,” I reply, surprised at the breathlessness of my voice. “You… you misunderstand. I’m… I’m only here to ask about our permits.”

  “Of course, my dear, you’re only here for the permits,” he says softly, still advancing on me.

  I move away from him until my back hits the wall. What have I done? The gleam in his eye – he thinks I’m playing a game!

  “I can have those permits ready for you very quickly,” he breathes, standing almost on top of me. He lowers his head and kisses me again. I try to push him away, but he doesn’t move. I start to panic. What have I done!

  “Captain,” I say, or rather, I try to say, as his mouth muffles my words.

  He pushes his body against me, there’s nowhere for me to move. I don’t want this to happen! What will Jarryd think of me? I try to push Karadik away again, but he has me pinned against the wall, covering my mouth and my face with his kisses.

  Suddenly I hear raised voices outside. A loud thud draws Karadik’s attention and he momentarily turns his head towards the door. I take the brief reprieve and slip under his arms and across the room.

  A quick rap at the door, then it is opened by the Peace Bringer standing guard outside. “Sorry to disturb you, Captain,” he says. “A man out here insisted on coming in to see her,” the guard says, nodding towards me. “Didn’t understand when I told him you couldn’t be disturbed.”

  Someone wanted to come in and see me? Who is it, and where are they?

  Karadik looks at me, and the gleam that was in his eye turns wistful. “I’m sorry,” he says, sighing,
“there is really nothing you can do to speed up the process.” He looks me over once more before going back to his chair. “You’re always welcome here, of course. You or any of your friends. Aveline, Theolin, any of them.”

  I catch the look in his eye when he says Aveline and Theolin’s names. He hasn’t given up his game. But he’ll fare far worse with them than he did with me.

  “Thank you, Captain,” I say breathlessly, making my way to the door. And truly I am. He could easily have pressed his advantage over me, but he didn’t. Forcing himself must be against the rules of his game. It must be more fun for him if the women submit willingly. Or at least pretend to, for the sake of their permits.

  I quickly scurry away, feeling like the most complete of fools. Walking past the Peace Bringer outside the door, I see a body slumped on the ground.

  “Jarryd!” I shout, running over to him. Fear constricts my chest – is he dead? No! He can’t be. “Jarryd! Jarryd!” I cry out again, then thankfully see his chest rise and fall.

  “He’ll be alright,” the Peace Bringer says. “Just a knock on the head.”

  As if in confirmation, Jarryd groans. I cradle his head as he slowly sits up.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  He looks up at me with a rueful smile. “I’ve been worried about you.” His gaze flickers to the Peace Bringer behind us. “Come on,” he says, leaning on me as he gets to his feet.

  The shock and fear of seeing Jarryd lying on the ground is slowly giving way to confusion as to why he’s here. Once we’re outside the prison I ask him again, “What are you doing here?”

  “You’ve avoided everyone for the past few days,” he replies. “I wanted to make sure you were okay. So I followed you this morning - ”

  “You followed me?” I interrupt, barely managing not to shout. “Why? Don’t you think I can look after myself?”

  “Is it wrong that I wanted to look out for you?” he asks with a pained expression.

  “I don’t need you to look out for me!” My fury is palpable.

  “I’m sorry,” he replies, “I can’t help it. It’s my - ”

  “Don’t say it,” I cut him off icily. If it’s only his role to look out for me, that makes it even worse.

  I glare daggers at him before spinning around and stalking off in the opposite direction.

  Back in The Den, I ignore the steely glances and mumbled curses. I’m here to sweep, and that’s what I’m doing. What do I care if a careless foot gets in my way, or someone stands too close behind me and the top of the broom whacks them in their kidneys? I may not be good at anything else, but at least I can sweep!

  “Sara.”

  I turn to see Vahla standing behind me. He winces and backs away slightly. “Get that look off your face, you’re scaring my patrons. Not to mention injuring a few of them.”

  What look do I have on my face?

  My confusion must show as his face softens. “Come with me,” he says, leading me out into the kitchen. He continues through the kitchen to a door at the far end that I’ve never been through before. Pulling out a key from his pocket, he unlocks the door and beckons me inside, closing the door behind us. The room is small with an oak desk facing the door, and the walls are covered in paintings of mountains, rivers, and other landscapes.

  “What is this room?” I ask.

  “It’s my office,” he replies, “and if you mention anything about the paintings to anyone, I’ll have your tongue cut out.”

  Curious, I take a closer look at the paintings. Nothing stands out about them that I can see. They are all good, without being brilliant. They do seem to be very similar in the way they have been painted and… I turn to stare at Vahla, my mouth open in surprise.

  “That’s right, they’re all mine,” he says. “It’s a hobby that nobody knows I have. Well, almost nobody.”

  “They’re good,” I say, genuinely meaning it.

  “Sit down,” he says gruffly, doing the same. I obey, sitting opposite him at the desk in a high, leather back chair. “What’s wrong?” he asks, pouring himself a cup of wine.

  I smile inwardly, noting the way he has ignored talking any more about the paintings. Then my melancholy returns. “I went to see Karadik,” I say meaningfully.

  He waits for me to continue, but I stare at him, silent. Eventually, he raises his eyebrows. “You have the permits then?” he asks.

  “No,” I reply, thankful that he understood me. “I couldn’t bring myself to give him what he wanted. But he still tried to…” I stop, not wanting to relive that memory. “There was a disturbance and he finally realised I wasn’t going to be compliant.” I can’t bring myself to tell him the disturbance was Jarryd.

  “Is that why you’re trying to break the legs of everyone out there?” he asks. “If you’re as dangerous with a knife as you are with that broom…”

  “Sure, I’m dangerous,” I say morosely, remembering my helplessness in Karadik’s office.

  “It’s not always easy,” Vahla says slowly, “to know what’s right or wrong. There’s more grey in this world than in the old emperor’s beard.”

  Despite my mood, that makes me chuckle. I’ve never thought of the emperor as old before.

  “Sometimes,” he continues, “all you can do is listen to your conscience and do the best you can. You’ll be right more often than you’re wrong.”

  “Is that the best I can hope for?” I ask. “What if I needed to be right but ended up being wrong?”

  “Learn to live with it,” he replies flatly. “No one makes the right choice all of the time – not you, not me, not anyone. Don’t expect that of yourself, and don’t expect it from others. You’ll drive yourself mad if you do.” He watches me intently until finally, I nod. “Karadik’s not a bad man – this city’s full of far worse - he’s just a broke fool with insatiable… appetites. You made the right decision.”

  I know his words are meant to encourage, but they only serve to remind me of my failure. Despairingly, I throw my head back. “But there’s no other way into the Royal District,” I say, barely containing myself from screaming. “How are we going to - ”

  “Stop,” Vahla interrupts, holding up his hand. “I don’t know what you’re planning on doing, remember?”

  I take a deep breath and look at the man sitting across the desk. It’s true, he doesn’t know what we are planning, but he does know where we came from. He’s never queried us about our past, or our plans for once we get inside the Royal District. He’s simply taken us under his wing and looked after us.

  Who is Vahla Jyn, and why did Storm send us to him? “How do you know Storm?” I ask.

  Vahla fixes me with a penetrating gaze and I struggle not to squirm under his attention. Finally, he sighs, leans back in his chair.

  “You might have noticed that The Den is, shall we say, an underground establishment,” Vahla says.

  “It’s not very underground,” I reply. “Anyone can walk in off the street.”

  “No, they can’t,” Vahla counters. “And besides, people are always willing to look the other way if you ask them nicely enough – or if it’s in their interests to. And it’s in nobody’s interests to bring attention to The Den.”

  “What has this got to do with Storm?” I ask.

  “Patience is a sorely lacking virtue these days,” Vahla mumbles. “Which is why I was surprised to find,” he continues, “a petite young woman constantly drinking in a corner of my establishment. One of the men I had watching over the place back then was big. Really big. Whenever he folded his massive arms in front of his chest, everyone got nervous - he could scare anyone into behaving nicely. Only problem with him was that he was totally useless in a scrap – thankfully, no one ever learned that. But he knew people. I don’t how, but he did. And he warned me about this woman, said he didn’t like the look of her, that she looked dangerous. Karam being Karam - ”

  “Wait,” I interrupt, “the man was Karam?”

  Vahla bristles at the
interruption. “Yes. The same Karam I take it you’ve met in the Daishen Forest. And to save you the trouble of interrupting again, yes, the woman was Storm.” He glowers at me then sips his wine. “But as I was saying, Karam thought this woman was dangerous. So I asked him to follow her.”

  “If you knew he couldn’t take care of himself, why ask him to follow someone he thought was dangerous?” I ask, interrupting once more. The murderous look Vahla gives me causes me to cower back, sinking lower in the chair. “Sorry,” I say meekly.

  “Karam knew how to keep himself safe,” Vahla explains. “And other people for that matter. Following someone, dangerous or not wasn’t a concern for him.” His eyes narrow as he seems to be staring deep into the past. “He followed her and watched, disbelieving, as she scaled the walls of the Royal District, unseen. He waited half the night to see what would happen. Eventually, he saw her again, trying to climb back down the walls. She was covered in sword wounds, and Peace Bringers were rushing about, searching for her. So Karam saved her. He brought her back here – much to my irritation – and closeted her away. He nursed her back to health, and they grew close. Very close. They fell in love, and Karam chose to go with her when she left.

  “Storm always maintained that she owed me a debt for sending Karam to follow her, which saved her life.” He pauses, takes a sip of wine. “If she wants to look at it that way, I’m happy to have someone who owes me. Especially someone like her. We’ve remained in contact and done the odd favour for each other. It’s dangerous to trust too many people, but I trust Storm.”

  “Why did Storm want to get into the Royal District?” I ask, amazed that she never told me any of this. “And why… why was she leaving, covered in blood?”

  “She never said much more than that,” Vahla answers, “at least not to me. Karam knows the full story. All she would ever say to me was that she was re-evaluating her choices. I challenged her: ‘re-evaluating doesn’t usually end up with a sword through your side,’ I said. She just looked at me calmly, and said, ‘Sometimes it does.’ I’ve got my own suspicions, but I wisely keep them to myself.”