Traitors' Fate

by Andy Peloquin

  "Reason?" Graeme's brow furrowed. "A nobleman of Lord Damuria's standing has no need to give any reason. As long as his coin is good—and it certainly was—I have no reason to ask questions. Especially when he orders a dozen such masks, which cost him more than the average Voramian sees in a lifetime."

  A dozen! Ilanna's mind raced. What in the bloody hell does a nobleman need with so many disguises?

  "But, if I might offer a bit of advice for old time's sake, don't do anything to anger Lord Damuria. From what I hear, his private mercenaries rival those Arbitors your Duke Phonnis keeps on hand. He's wealthy enough to hire a thousand assassins to hunt you down." He leaned forward and dropped his voice to a whisper. "And, if the rumors are to be believed, he is in service to the Bloody Hand."

  No doubt he'd meant to frighten her, but his words only hardened her resolve. He'd just given her the connection between a nobleman of Voramis and the Bloody Hand's operations in Praamis.

  "What do you know of Bonedust?" she demanded.

  The alchemist raised a thick eyebrow. "I know the Bloody Hand makes a bloody fortune off the stuff." His eyes narrowed. "You didn't strike me as a user."

  Ilanna scowled. She'd never touched narcotics in her life. "Is there an antidote?"

  Both of Graeme's eyebrows rose toward the ceiling at this. "Antidote?"

  "For the degeneration, the other nasty effects."

  "Ahh." Graeme nodded. "Here's me thinking you were looking for something to counteract the hallucinations." He prodded his thick chin with a stubby finger. "I've heard rumors, but that's all."

  Hope surged within Ilanna. "So an antidote could exist?"

  Graeme shrugged. "A beer-producing cow that farts rainbows could exist. All I've got are whispers—you'll have to find the truth for yourself."

  For Ilanna, that was good enough. "Thank you, Graeme. Despite yourself, you've been quite helpful."

  "Let me guess," Graeme said with a heavy sigh, "you're going to ignore my warnings, aren't you? You're going to piss off all the wrong people by poking your nose somewhere you don't belong."

  Errik spoke for the first time since entering The Angry Goblin. "She has a tendency to do that."

  Ilanna glared up at him, and he returned her anger with impassive calm.

  Graeme shook his head and adjusted his spectacles on his nose. "Well, at least do me the kindness of forgetting we ever spoke. I'd rather avoid the notice of the Bloody Hand, thank you very much." He motioned around. "As you say, business has been brisk, and I'd like to keep it that way. I'd like to keep my fingers and toes intact as well."

  Ilanna inclined her head. "You have my word, Graeme, that if the Bloody Hand asks, I'll make sure they know who ratted them out."

  With a mock salute, she turned and strode from The Angry Goblin, leaving the balding alchemist with the sourest of looks on his pudgy face.

  Chapter Six

  Ilanna cursed as she counted another pair of steel-clad guards striding the expansive courtyard in front of Lord Damuria's mansion.

  That makes ten patrols in the last hour. The guards, part of a mercenary company that called itself the Steel Company, looked fresh, their eyes wary and postures alert as they marched. Their weapons and burnished steel armor gleamed in the light of the lamps and torches ringing the open space. No way we're getting past them easily.

  From the main gate in the high wall surrounding the Damuria mansion, a broad cobblestone avenue led toward the fortress-like mansion. The building was short and squat, clearly built for security. The architectural flair of the stone gargoyles, rooftop garden, and bay windows had been added as an afterthought.

  Above the four-story mansion, a tower rose into the darkness. The monolithic construction reminded Ilanna of the Black Spire, though far less daunting and built by human hands, not Serenii. According to Errik, the breathtakingly beautiful Lady Kerina Damuria made her home in the tower, where she could gaze out across the sprawling city from a vantage matched only by the Palace of Justice. Also according to Errik, the tower provided her a place away from prying eyes where she could cuckold her husband, a fact known to all but Lord Damuria.

  But Ilanna had no interest in the fortune in gemstones and jewelry Lady Damuria was rumored to store in her towertop. Well, not much interest—once a Hawk, always a Hawk.

  No, her true interest was in finding out why Lord Damuria had purchased the alchemical masks, and how Lord Torath, as she'd come to think of the man, had gotten his hands on them. Was Lord Damuria truly working for the Bloody Hand? If so, she would be making a powerful enemy by shutting down the trafficking operations in Praamis.

  Without access to Lord Damuria's home, she'd never find answers. Unfortunately, eighty-five highly-trained, well-paid mercenaries stood between her and Lord Damuria.

  Back in Praamis, she would have called on the Pathfinders—the members of House Hawk responsible for maintaining and expanding the Hawk's Highway—for a way to gain access. Their ingenuity and the vast resources at their disposal would have helped her solve the problem of how to get in. She would simply go over the mercenaries' heads, sneaking in via a rope traverse or some other cleverly designed bridge.

  But this was Voramis, and she had no Pathfinders to help her. Worse, the buildings of Voramis weren't as tightly packed together as Praamis. Her attempts to traverse the rooftops had quickly ended when she reached an avenue too broad to leap across.

  The Damuria mansion also rose two stories above its nearest neighbors, and the high wall that ringed the estate gave the Steel Company mercenaries ample view of its surroundings. A grappling hook and rope could get her over the wall, but she hadn't found a way to reach the mansion once inside. She could only hope Errik found a way in around the rear of the property.

  Then there was the matter of the Heresiarch patrols. The red-robed city guards seemed to pass at unpredictable intervals. Though few of them could match the alertness and professionalism of the Steel Company, they were the only ones allowed to openly carry swords in the city streets. Their piercing whistles could summon reinforcements from every street corner. Here in Upper Voramis, the affluent section of the city, there seemed to be an abundance of Heresiarchs.

  She pressed herself flat against the rooftop as another Heresiarch patrol passed below her. Once the tromp, tromp of booted feet had passed, she poked her head over the ridge. Within the Damuria mansion, a pair of mercenaries marched around the side of the building and crossed the courtyard.

  No, there's no way we're getting in there. Muttering a quiet curse, she slipped down the angled roof and dropped onto a darkened balcony. She tested her rope's knot and, finding it secure, slid the two stories to the alleyway.

  Errik was waiting for her there. The pale moonlight added a grimness to his somber expression.

  "That bad?" she asked in a whisper.

  He nodded. "Couldn't find any way in the back. Those Steel Company bastards know their job well."

  "Damn!" She coiled the thin black rope around her waist, using the time to ponder their next move. They'd have to keep working at the Lord Damuria problem, but that wasn't the only thing to bring them to Voramis. "We've got an hour or so until midnight. Let's get back to the inn and see what the others have come up with."

  Errik inclined his head. "Precisely what I was going to suggest."

  "Good to see I still think faster than you, eh?" She grinned at him.

  "Damn straight! The last thing we need is an idiot for a Guild Mas—Ow!" He rubbed his shoulder where she'd punched him.

  "Watch your tongue, Serpent!" Her face contorted in mock anger. "I'd hate to remind you what happens to those who fail to show respect to their superiors. I've got an entire House of assassins just waiting to do my bidding. Scrawny runt like you wouldn't put up much of a fight."

  He held up his hands. "Keeper's teeth, had I known you were so sensitive, I'd have—Ow!"

  She grinned and cracked her knuckles. "One more wisecrack out of you, and I'll set you to babysitting Keltor."
/>   Errik rolled his eyes but said nothing.

  "Smart man." Ilanna pulled up the hood of her cloak and peered out of the alley. "Now, let's see if you can make it back to the inn without getting us caught."

  Ignoring his muttered "pig-headed, jumped-up Hawkling", she slipped into the main street and hurried toward Lower Voramis.

  Their room was dark and silent as Ilanna clambered in the open window. Though Errik preferred to use the back entrance into The Sour Mash Inn, Ilanna found herself drawn to the rope ladder and rooftop access. It reminded her of coming and going from the Aerie, the days she spent training in House Hawk. Simpler days. Happier, too, in some ways.

  She tensed at the creak of the floorboard outside the door. Her hand darted to her knife, but she made no move to draw. The handle turned and the door swung open to reveal Errik.

  "The common room is almost empty, save for a few career drunks, as Goodman Haldrin calls them. He says no one's asked about us. No one seems to know we're here."

  Ilanna nodded. "Let's hope we can keep it that way." If the Bloody Hand even suspected she was in Voramis, they would flood the streets looking for her. "Any sign of Sys or Laken?"

  "Not yet, but they've still got time until—"

  The tolling of a bell echoed across the city, ringing out the hour. Voramis had just a single bell, whereas Praamis had four—one for each quarter of the clock.

  Once the midnight chimes had fallen silent, Ilanna said, "Now we wait."

  Errik handed her a cloth-wrapped bundle. "Compliments of Goodman Haldrin."

  The package contained a fist-sized loaf of fresh-baked bread, a wheel of gooey washed-rind cheese, a handful of nuts and dates, and a respectable chunk of ham. The grumbling of her stomach reminded her she hadn't eaten since mid-morning. Even then, the meager meal had been little more than a cup of watery stew with over-sized veggies and chunks of fat floating around. After eight days of trail rations, this seemed like a feast fit for King Ohilmos himself.

  The food disappeared all too quickly, and Ilanna licked her fingers to clean up the last crumbs. Errik produced a small wineskin, which they emptied in silence. The fleeting distraction of food and drink did little to dissipate the tension of waiting for the others to return.

  The creaking floorboards set them on high alert, but the opening door revealed the grizzled face of Sys. The stink of cheap ale, sweat, body odor, and the heady floral perfumes worn by strumpets drifted in with the Serpent.

  "Watcher's beard, Sys!" Ilanna crinkled her nose. "You reek!"

  Errik grunted. "You smell like you've cleaned every taproom in Voramis with your clothing."

  Sys gave a loud hiccup. "Well, then…" He belched, filling the room with a noxious gas. "Sheemsh like I've done my-my job jusht right."

  He staggered into the room and shut the door behind him, then straightened. "It's been a long time since I've drunk like that." He'd dropped the pretense of slurring his words, but he still spoke in a voice of someone concentrating on enunciating clearly. "Now I remember why."

  "Here." Errik produced a phial from within his cloak and held it out to the older man. "This'll set you right."

  "Cheers," Sys said and emptied the contents down his throat.

  Ilanna shot Errik a quizzical look.

  The Serpent grinned. "Let's just say I know a Scorpion who brews a mean potion that neutralizes the effects of alcohol."

  Ilanna's eyes widened. "Remind me to ask you about that when we get back to Praamis. We could make a fortune off that particular invention." She turned back to Sys. "Now, tell me what you've learned."

  The grizzled Serpent rubbed his stubble with a calloused hand. "A great deal, but a whole lot of nothin’, if you catch my meanin’."

  Ilanna crossed her arms, her lips pressing in a tight line.

  "Lower Voramis is a goldmine of gossip on just about everythin' from the color of King Gavian's underclothes to which nobles are knockin' boots. But when it comes to real, valuable information, there ain't much to get."

  "What did you find out?"

  Sys' brow furrowed. "Well, whenever I steered talk in the direction of Lord Torath, people were more'n happy to spew tall tales of Torath Blood-hand, as they call him. The more they drink, the wilder the tales of the Eirdkilr Wars got. Seems like everyone's got a version to tell." He shook his head. "But when I asked about a new Lord Torath, their mouths shut tighter'n a maiden's pucker."

  Ilanna frowned, more at the news than his vulgarity. "Any idea why?"

  "Well," Sys mused, "judgin' by the way everyone's eyes got all shifty-like, might be it has somethin' to do with their utter fear of the Bloody Hand. Just my guess, though."

  Ilanna nodded and was about to speak when the door opened, revealing Laken. The odor of liquor he brought in lacked the pungency of the miasma clinging to Sys, but there was still enough reek to make Ilanna wish she hadn't just eaten.

  "You're late," she told the Hound.

  "Sorry," he said, tilting his head, "but took me a bit longer to break free than expected." He gave her an apologetic grin. "When you're the one buying drinks for the crowd, people tend to get real chatty."

  "Learn anything of use?" Errik asked.

  "Might've," Laken replied. "Heard rumors of how much we've pissed off the Bloody Hand at everything we're doing in Praamis."

  Ilanna grinned. "Means we're doing it right."

  "Aye, that we are." Laken sat on the room's only chair and leaned back.

  "Anything on Lord Torath?" she asked. "From what Sys tells me, people are fairly tight-lipped on the matter."

  "Ain't that the truth!" Laken snorted. "I shelled out a full imperial around the Merchant's Quarter and got barely more than a few stories of the Blood-hand's exploits in the War. If I never hear the name Torath again…" He grimaced. "But there was a tidbit I picked up in Upper Voramis that I thought you'd find interesting."

  The Hound leaned forward and waggled his eyebrows. "I know where to find the Torath mansion."

  Ilanna stared at the mansion of the former of Lord Torath. The architecture of the two-story building lacked the pretension of its neighbors; it was a solid, practical construction clearly built for a man who favored function over form. From the high, turreted wall enclosing the property to the sturdy pillars supporting the arches and flat roof, it looked more like a stone fortress than the palatial estates of the nearby Upper Voramians.

  No lights flickered in the windows, and she saw no sign of inhabitants. She turned to Laken with a questioning glance. "Abandoned?"

  The Hound shrugged. "No one I talked to seemed to know. Or, they were in no hurry to share the information with me."

  Ilanna's eyes narrowed as she turned her gaze back to the Torath manor. According to Darreth's research, King Gavian had reclaimed the estate after Lord Torath's death. Even a simpleton would know to sell the mansion—in a prime location in Upper Voramis—to another nobleman rather than keeping an empty property. And yet, by all appearances, the property was unoccupied.

  If only I could get a better look inside. Without a rooftop vantage, she could see only the wall and the upper story of the building. She could scale the wall easily enough, but the passing Heresiarch patrols made that a dicey proposition.

  "What's the play, Ilanna?" Errik asked.

  Ilanna chewed her lip for a moment. "Laken, get around back, see if you can find another way in."

  The Hound nodded and, drawing his dark cloak tighter, slipped off into the shadows.

  Ilanna leaned against the wall, her mind racing. She could head back to The Sour Mash Inn in the hope Keltor and Athar had returned. But if their search had proved fruitless, she'd have made the journey across Voramis in vain.

  She turned to her friend. "What do you think, Errik?"

  The Serpent hesitated before speaking. "If that man you faced in Praamis really was a Torath bastard, he's bound to return here. Provided he survived the Stannar River, of course."

  Ilanna rolled her eyes. "Has the world ever been kind e
nough to deal with our problems for us?"

  Errik inclined his head. "Point. So given that he's bound to return, we wait and watch until he does."

  "But why would he come here?" She motioned toward the dark, empty mansion. "Doesn't look like anyone's lived here for decades."

  "True," Errik agreed, "but do you have any better ideas? Unless you can find a way through the Steel Company, I don't think we're going to get any answers from Lord Damuria."

  Ilanna ground her teeth. Given time, she'd manage to find a way in. But time was something she didn’t have much of. Her duties as Master of the Night Guild beckoned, and every day she stayed increased the risk the Bloody Hand would discover her presence.

  She drew in a breath to answer, but a faint sound cut off her words. She paused, holding her breath, straining to hear. Had it just been a trick of her mind, or something rattling in the wind?

  It came once more: the rattle of a chain, followed by the familiar thunk of a heavy deadbolt.

  She gripped Errik's arm and pulled them deeper into the shadows as the postern gate to Torath mansion opened. A dark figure emerged and peered up and down the street, then ducked back inside. Moments later, the main gate swung open on creaking hinges, and a covered wagon clattered out.

  Ilanna paid no attention to the two drivers, but she scanned the mansion interior for the few seconds the gate remained open. Dozens of rough-looking men moved about, hauling wooden barrels from within the building and loading them into two more wagons. Shuttered lamps provided just enough illumination for them to work without lighting up the mansion. When the gates swung shut behind the departing wagon, the high walls muffled the sounds of labor.

  Ilanna traded glances with Errik, and he nodded. "It has to be."

  The wooden barrels were identical to the ones she'd burned on the dock in Praamis. They could contain anything—from Nyslian wine to Drashi ale to Twelve Kingdoms olive oil—but she would wager a fortune in gemstones that they contained Bonedust.

  This reeks of the Bloody Hand. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. The men working within the Torath mansion had a distinctly thuggish look about them. Most of Voramis' legitimate enterprises were headquartered in the Merchant's Quarter, and never among the ostentatious buildings of Upper Voramis. Besides, what merchant waited until the pre-dawn hours of the morning to move lawful merchandise?