by Nefarious
The article that caused half of Orion’s hopes to dash was the taller-than-man halberd the guard held. It wore a worn spike and axe on its head, but it also had another spike midway down the shaft; halberds were sparsely used in the West of the Empire, where the House of Zakari and its lands were, but were valued and commonly used in the East, where Visgamar lay…
“Good sir,” Orion called as he stepped into the light, “May I ask a few questions?” He started off over-polite to show the guard he was less than a threat, and more of a rich lost lord.
The guard regarded Orion and his funny accent. Orion’s clothes looked of quality-make but were also dirty and creased. His pale skin and sharp and snappy accent showed he was a Westerner, which explained the journey-worn clothes. Overall, Orion looked too rich for the guard to kick off Hexham’s road, but not rich enough for the guard to kneel and lick the soles of his shoes.
“What’s it, Westerner? Are ye lost from yor family?” the guard replied. He stretched each word past what was sensible, but that was simply the weird way they spoke in the East. The evidence was stacking up against Orion’s hopes.
“Of the sort, sir. I’ve had a bit too much to drink the other day, and I must’ve passed out. My devilish sisters dumped me somewhere to that direction,” he said while pointing behind him, “to get revenge on me. I need to be back on the carriage as soon as possible, before my Papi gets too angry. Give me some joy and tell me this is Visgamar, at least,” he finished, hoping the guard wouldn’t give him that joy.
“Sounds like wretched bitches. Na worries, this is the glorious city of Visgamar.” He looked at Orion’s expression and continued. “Ah, I know that look. It’s the fifteenth today.”
“Of?” Orion sucked in his breath.
The guard looked at him strangely. “First month of Amadia.”
Orion felt a hammer to his stomach. Two months; it had been two whole months since the day… “What’s the way to the biggest Inn here?” he asked through clenched teeth, desperate to be alone with his thoughts.
“The Golden Goose. Maybe two miles that way, past the markets.”
“Thanks,” Orion said, before rushing away.
“And boy,” the guard called after him, “lay off the drink. Eating away yer brain,”
The words were like one of wind’s whispers as they brushed past, barely audible to Orion. Instead, his mind clattered about the fact he had heard the ringing accurately, and how his absurd ideas must be right then. He had been unconscious for two months, and someone had brought him here in that time, for whatever reason.
Engrossed in his thoughts, he walked absentmindedly, instead trying to fit three parts of a massive puzzle together from different directions just to call it complete. He soon found a river and followed its stream, ignoring the rising number of people on the streets.
It was minutes later that he stopped. There was a small stage next to the river where a crowd had gathered. From eavesdropping passing conversations, Orion identified the soldier walking up the stage to be one of the city’s many town criers who delivered the news hot and piping before the papers got a chance.
“HEAR ME,” the soldier roared, hushing the crowd. “TODAY, THE CAPITAL HAS SENT OUT SHOCKING REPORTS.”
This silenced the quiet crowd.
“THE HOUSE OF ZAKARI PLANNED TREASON AGAINST THE CROWN AND EMPIRE. THEY LOOKED TO CAUSE DESTRUCTION AND CHAOS, MASSACRE AND RAPE.”
Gasps, cries, panic.
The soldier stopped and watched the crowd, letting fear spread. After allowing the moment to mature, he spoke up to pluck the fruit.
“THE EMPIRE HAS RAZED DOWN THE HOUSE OF ZAKARI. THE EMPIRE HAS ERASED THEIR LINEAGE. THE EMPIRE IS SAFE.”
3. Web of Lies
* * *
Orion had known his family was dead, and potentially, the entire House. Still, it was salt to his fresh wound hearing it from another mouth, especially one which claimed his House harboured treason in their hearts. Outrageous: slandering his family, smearing dirt on their faces. Nonetheless, a glance around told him the crowd had slurped up the Soldier’s lies and his House’s miserable end.
His eyes reddened with agitation and his hands itched for action, preferably the Soldier’s neck in between them. But he knew it was pointless; hurting the mouthpiece of the Empire wouldn’t avenge his dead family, nor would it bring them back. Despite this, Orion’s anger ballooned as he picked up on the blasphemous comments flung over his head.
He growled, then forced his mouth shut to stop, and shoved himself out of the crowd. He passed by countless faces on Hexham’s road with tears rolling down his cheeks. It was despair; he wanted to plunge into the chilly river and be done with it, and yet his House’s, his family’s demise loomed over him. If he didn’t avenge them, who would?
His anguish lasted minutes as he wandered aimlessly, solely walking for the sake of it. Regardless, as time passed, his hope grew and blossomed: he could do it, he was a Zakari, the greatest of the four great families. But this didn’t mean he could shoot blinded and hit bullseye- hope only came so far. He needed a plan, and for that, he needed paper: he had to see his thoughts and problems in full.
Rubbing the reeded edges of his gold coin, Orion decided against his previous thought – ink and paper would be a waste of what little he had. Instead, he needed sand. Remembering a large patch of it, albeit littered, in the slums, he retraced his steps and got there just as the sun had fully woken.
In little time, he found a forearm-sized stick and cleared out the foul-smelling garbage, revealing soiled sand. He scratched House into the sand and circled it: it was central to this injustice, it was the victim, it would be avenged. Drawing a line, he attached the House to Empire. No, the Empire was the entire civilised world; the Empire was not his enemy. Why hadn’t he seen this before? He slapped his face hard, leaving a red blur against his pale skin. He could not make mistakes like thinking anyone able to breathe with decency was against him.
Staring intensely at Empire, he drew a line leading to ? – Murderers. They were his enemies, and they were knotted up in the Empire’s highest echelons. His gut instinct told him it was the other Houses that had done it but thinking more on it, he couldn’t think of a reason why they would want to. With his family gone, the western front was lost, meaning the tribes would be invading the Empire in a short while. So, he still couldn’t put a name to the Murderers or cite their motives.
He had to start there.
Orion’s lips then stretched into an o as he stared at, but also past, his writing. The optimal place to dig for information was here, in Visgamar. The city was large enough to contain anything he’d require, and in turn, it contained nobody who could identify him as a Zakari, unlike in the capital. Shivers ran down his spine at this realisation as it hinted at another more insidious one. Was it really a coincidence he had been seemingly abandoned here, or had someone known exactly how he would think? In which case, what did they want?
His eyes drew back to the ?. Ultimately, it showed how little he understood of the game he had become a pawn in. He needed information. Yes, he needed information. Orion smiled in what felt like forever, a worm wriggling against the tautness of his face.
The rest of his thought-train came to him as if the ambiguous resolution had been the only missing track. He would only get the information he wanted from the powerful, but the Nobility would blanch and lock him up the second they realised his identity. Then, an idea struck his head so violently that no other options remained.
Orion wasn’t well-travelled, and those he knew would now want him captured, dead or alive. But not the Seeker Kasib. He was a friend of the House’s, and better still, an old friend of his dad’s. But the best was the power Seeker Kasib held – unused power at that. When he learned of the injustice that had occurred, the upper echelons would go from proud to fearful in an instant, scared for their lives and of their families’, just like Orion had been.
He just knew it.
Seeker Kasib ha
d stayed at their House four months before because he had been hunting down a monster in the North, and their home was the last civilised place before the North. The Seeker’s Summit was ongoing now, and although Seeker Kasib wouldn’t be at it, he would be at the next one: he had explicitly said so. Orion had to meet him there; he had to grow powerful enough in a year’s time to enter the Summit. There was no other way of meeting such an elusive figure like Kasib, and there was no better way of getting his revenge than through Kasib.
“Oi, what’s a dimwit lordling doin’ around ‘eres?” called a voice from behind him.
Orion brushed the written words away with his boots and genuinely smiled, shattering the webs on his face. He had a path to walk down, and a destination to get to.
“Did yers not ‘ear me?”
…
“Hullo, you listenin’, lordy?”
…
“How about this? Yer gimme yor clothies an’ I’ll let yer leave alive!”
He turned around and faced the approaching owner of the voice. The loudmouth was a child around his size, but much dirtier and uglier, surrounded by a scramble of similar breed. Orion considered beating up a few and escaping the rest, when suddenly, he sucked in his breath and slapped himself in full show of the curious gang.
He was no longer the lofty lord of a great house- he was the hunted exile of a disgraced house; these were the sorts of people he would be spending time with. All the more, he remembered a quote from a book he’d glanced at years ago- “Who knows the streets of their cities better than the street urchins who live on them?”
“Yuh’right, lordy? Look, jus’ give us yor clothies while they’re still clean, an’ we’ll beat yer up if that’s what yor want.” the loudmouth said while nudging up his eyebrows. His friends laughed while Orion cringed at the uncouth humour exclusive to streeties.
The streeties ranged from age to size, but the oldest looked to be 17, similar to Orion, while the biggest were as tall as him but carrying more weight. They wore thatched and ripped clothes crusted with dirt, and their skin was similar being cut, bruised, and dirty. The loudmouth had messy maroon hair, two scars along his cheeks from the eyes to the lips, and golden-brown skin.
Orion took a sideward glance and sighed with relief at seeing no one else around. His eyes paled and snow whirled down his right arm, rapidly liquefying into menacing streams revolving his hand.
“Uhh! Lord Magy, I truli didn’t know yer a Magy,” the loudmouth said, now aware of who he’d taunted. The younger urchins began to shift and edge away, while the older ones stood in fear, aware of how fast Orion could strike them down.
Throughout this, the feared mage in question stared at the group through slitted and downcast eyes, trying his best to hide the colour. Fortunately, sunlight now flooded Visgamar and his eyes warranted no second looks from those who knew no better. And while he was never much of a gambler, he was betting against high risks simply because the opportunity had served itself to him.
“No worries,” Orion responded, to the loudmouth’s relief, “All of you can go except the loudmouth,”.
And so they did. Within ten seconds, only settling dust clouds suggested a whole gang had been there instead of the sole, distressed street-urchin. Orion’s eyes darkened back to black but he didn’t collapse the spell, instead clenching his teeth to withstand the full-body pain.
“Whatevah yer need done, I’ll do it,” the loudmouth pleaded, nay, begged.
“Good,” Orion said while releasing the spell, ice tendrils cracking against the sand. His hand was immediately in his trouser pocket, not showing the knife but posing so the loudmouth noticed he had one. “I’m new to the city, you see. I want a guide to show me around. Do you understand?”
“Of course, Lordy. No one’s betah at the city than Thimble,” the loudmouth said, flashing a nervous grin.
4. Visgamar
* * *
Silence pervaded their conversation, and Thimble fidgeted and shuffled his feet. He was obviously nervous, and eager to be free of Orion. Without a link between them, he would escape at first given opportunity, which explained the shuffling feet. Orion eased his hand and moved it away from his hidden knife – the maroon-haired urchin didn’t react.
“Don’t worry, Thimble. I wouldn’t force you to do this for free. How much?”
Thimble gulped. He wanted to cheat Orion but the fact he was a Mage frightened him to the point he shivered whenever Orion spoke. Nevertheless, he was a child of the streets: the scars along his cheeks hadn’t just appeared there. Losing his edge in tense situations would have starved him to death years ago, graveless and unmourned. The trick was to not push the price too far as to bud suspicions, but not low enough to be a fair price for his services.
“A single silvah, Lord Magy.” he said after deliberation.
Orion’s eyes widened and his eyebrows rose. What a bargain. Wait, had he undervalued his wealth? A gold coin was equal to 100 silvers, and a silver was equal to 100 coppers. Orion had never been involved with logistics at the House, but he was sure a meal was around 5 silvers.
“I beg yor sorries, Lord Magy. I’ll show yer around for 20 coppahs.” Thimble hastily added, his shaky legs betraying his emotions.
At this, Orion’s heart pounded and his face flushed. He had almost been cheated by an uneducated street-urchin, and he had genuinely believed it a bargain. Instead of anger, however, he suffered an attack to his ego; how could he avenge his family when he couldn’t even see through a frightened child’s tricks? He was inadequate for this, he should’ve died at the ambush instead of his brothers and sisters. In fact, he remembered he had a cousin he had never met in the Imperial Army. He didn’t know her rank or station, but she had been lauded by the entire House – even if she was chained up now, he knew such a character would escape and take vengeance. He wouldn’t be any more helpful to the process than his dead relatives.
Suddenly, Orion whispered, “Calm down,” to himself, putting the maroon-haired urchin further on edge.
What if his cousin couldn’t escape, or what if she had been the first to die? He knew there were techniques for scouring memories from corpses; that would explain how they had known of his family’s secrets and how they had mounted such a deadly ambush. No, he had to be the one to do his own chores, instead of continuing to be a weeping burden.
Orion focused on Thimble, certain his own face was as red as a beet and his threats as laughable as jokes. “No, I won’t cheat you. A full silver, as long as you go above and beyond with your tour,”
Thimble visibly relaxed, his jaw slack and eyes relieved. “Yes sur, Lord Magy,” he shouted.
“That’s Orion, no, … Jax, Lord Jax to you,” Orion said, picking a name from a children’s tale.
“Should we go now, Lord Jax?”
“Yes… no,” Orion said, sensing greed born out of comfort inside Thimble. There were many stories of Heroes being robbed clean by Scoundrels in cities. He was too naïve; he needed to be more vigilant.
“Watch,” he said. His eyes didn’t lighten, but on the ground appeared a glowing blue spot. Orion clenched his left hand and the finger-sized spot exploded, launching a ray of dust into the air. He then took out the gold coin, and making sure Thimble could see, tapped blue spots onto it, before putting it back into his pocket.
“Understand?”
Thimble gulped and nodded, his ambitious plans crumbling away.
“Alright then. Let’s go,”
* * *
Thimble first took him to the main road.
“This ‘eres the Hexham’s road. Leads from the market to the palace, to the, umm, slums, an’ docks. It connects the whole city.”
Despite his self-admitted naivety, even Orion could tell his companion had a rock in his throat. “Out with it, or I’ll find another guide,”
“No, no, please Lord Jax. What I gonna say ain’t good, if yer gets me. It’s what I learnt through practiss, stuff I’m sure yer have no use for,” Thimble said.
Orion tried his best to give an easy smile although it still came out strained. “Why do you think I asked you for a tour?”
The maroon-haired urchin thought and nodded. “It’s bettah if yer don’t mess with the guards. But if yer are gonna, do it when it’s light. Thataway, yer can run into the crowds. In the dark, more patrols, more alert, an’ more violent. Sometimes they’ll clash with Rats’s men, an’ it’s always messy, but most of the time they avoid each other.”
“Who’s Rats?”
“Rats? He’s the nastiest Underking. If yer love yor life, avoid ‘im at all costs.”
Orion thought there had been a lot of Soldiers guarding Hexham’s road at night, and now it made sense why. There seemed to be a conflict, but also a balance, between the city’s council and the underground.
The two of them walked along the road for a bit but mostly used alleyways and dirty paths. At first, Orion had been suspicious why and where Thimble was leading him, but he soon realised that Thimble was avoiding the guards.
“Why are you running from every guard?” he asked.
“Haha. Sorri, Lord Jax, but that’s just a dumb question. Do yer think they want my kind on this road? They wanna show the outsiders the good city, not the real city. An’ for that, they’ll beat up me nasty if they catch me.”
A few minutes later, they entered a market square.
“These are the markets. It’s got everything yer need, from food to weapons, although overpriced. But for yer, Lord Magy, these places ain’t good enough. See that street there,” Thimble said while pointing towards a dark-stone laden road heading up a hill,” That’s the real place for quality, but they’re even worse for yor moneybags. Though, I ain’t ever been there since yer gotta get through the guards to enter. Yer hungry, Lord Jax?”