by B. K. Boes
Baron Morrwin’s posture went rigid as he looked to Lord Nondrum who grunted and scowled. Moloch ignored them the best he could.
“Absolutely not, Your Majesty. Honestly, I wouldn’t even know where to find someone who could perform the dark arts,” Moloch said, keeping his expression serious. Part of him wanted to scoff at the suggestion. The dark arts were legend and lore as far as he was concerned. He continued, steering the conversation back toward reason. “Our chemists in Okleria have been experimenting with an explosive mixture of powders gathered from a variety of proprietary resources. They’ve blown holes the size of a mansion in solid rock.”
“That sounds dangerous,” King Gonnoss said. “How do you plan to get these powders here?”
Moloch chose his words carefully, clearing his mind of the encroaching exhaustion, pushing down the nausea. “Our own men would transport the powders. No Ergonians would even have the chance of being harmed. Once at the bridge, our chemists would mix the powders and set them alight.”
The king scratched at his chin. “We currently have control over our end of Radelle’s Heart, but our hold is weak and control changes hands often. If we lose it, we’ll get it back as we’ve done a dozen times this year. However, the Adikeans have consistently controlled our side of the Western Pass for quite a while now. How would you get through their line of defenses to accomplish this?”
“Our forces would take back the bridge, secure it, and then destroy the portion of the bridge connected to Ergonian land. The Adikeans would only be able to come as far as the last plateau from now on, which is barely even within sight of safe ground. There would be no way to cross your border into the Northern Radelle Mountains. And, obviously, no one has the skill to rebuild the Bridges.”
“You would need to take a less traveled path through the mountains, so as not to draw attention to yourselves,” the king said. “The Adikeans have a strong presence on the northern border of the mountains, and they control all the main roads. There is a way to get there without being detected, but I’d have to provide a guide.” King Gonnoss sat back in his chair and took a deep breath. “You’re sure the powders would work?”
Moloch shook his head. “We don’t know for sure. The Bridges are… unique in composition. But if it doesn’t work, the worst-case scenario would be that we secured the Western Pass and killed off some Adikeans.”
“I see.” The king paused for a moment. “Things are getting worse in the west. Ergonian daughters are being stolen every day. Crops and resources as well. Men are murdered for protecting their families. The mountain villages are ransacked when Adikean bands come through.” The king sat back and folded his hands on his stomach. “My reservation still lies in the fact that these Bridges are gifts from the Sustainer himself. Should we fight to retrieve such precious gifts? Gifts that we cannot reproduce? Or should we destroy them because the wrong people have control of them? It is not an easy thing. The Sustainer still hasn’t given me direction.”
“The Sustainer doesn’t need to give you anything!” Lord Nondrum interrupted, despite the king’s request for his advisors to stay silent. “The question you should be asking is this: How can you justify being the king who gives up all our fathers have fought to build? How could you possibly bow the knee to King Shamylle?”
“And how could you destroy any future possibility of your people regaining complete control of those Bridges?” Barron Morrwin said, following the momentum of Lord Nondrum. “The Adikeans are the problem. Not the Ancient Bridges. Once those scoundrels are gone from our lands, we can work to take control of both sides of each bridge. Free and profitable trade between the North and the South can be reestablished.”
Moloch shook his head. “Free and profitable trade can still go through Pytar. And under Eikonian protection, you’d have free access to our eastern coast to travel by sea. Even if you retake the Bridges for a time, the Adikeans will not go away. The Bridges will change hands every so often as they’ve done for generations.”
The king held up a hand. “I will consider this further. Lord Sarrem.” He met Moloch’s eye. “You have one more dinner in seven days’ time. My soul must stay true to the Sustainer’s will. If your way is right, pray the Sustainer will give me permission to accept your proposal.”
Moloch nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“You may go.” King Gonnoss waved a hand. Moloch stood and left, and Bram followed. Prince Durand, Lord Nondrum, and Baron Morrwin all stayed behind. The arguing began before Moloch was even out the door. When they shut behind him and the voices became muffled, Moloch put a hand to his stomach, his shoulders sagging.
“That could have gone better,” he said.
“The king will come around,” Bram said as they walked toward their rooms.
“I don’t know that he will.” A cold sweat broke out on Moloch’s brow as he willed his stomach to quiet. His limbs felt like lead, and the possibility of failure loomed over him like a dark cloud. He shuddered at the thought of Waen arriving in Ergon to gain the king’s trust for his own unimaginative, short-term plan.
“You look terrible.” Bram winced and placed one hand on Moloch’s shoulder. He motioned toward a stone bench in the hall. “Let’s sit for a minute.”
Moloch looked over his shoulder. They were far enough from the dining hall and had turned enough corners. He welcomed the relief of sitting and leaning his head back against the wall. “I know my plan would work, Bram. I know I can pull it off.”
“Of course it’ll work. In a few days, when Baron Morrwin’s treason is revealed because of you, the king will trust your instincts. I’m almost sure of it,” Bram said.
Moloch sighed. “It’s not his head that needs convincing. It’s his soul. You heard him. This is a religious hesitation.”
“Then, we’ll find a way to ease his worries,” Bram said.
“Perhaps,” Moloch said.
What am I missing? There must be a way. He closed his eyes and sighed. One step at a time. First, we need to reveal the baron’s treason. Gain a little more of the king’s trust.
Kindness breeds loyalty.
Maybe saving his son’s life will breed something more.
Moloch ran through strategies in his mind as he sat on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. His plan to reveal Morrwin’s treachery had to be flawless. He and Bram had gone over the plan with Prince Durand several times, but still Moloch’s stomach twisted at the thought of it all going wrong.
What if we fail? What if Morrwin accuses us of conspiracy?
The King of Ergon had to hear it from his nephew’s own lips, had to hear Morrwin condemn himself. It was the only way to ensure no blame for the prince’s poisoning fell back on Moloch.
A quick knock sounded at the door. Moloch stood and opened it. Bram burst through, jittery as he kept his voice low.
“I think I know where Morrwin is getting the poison,” he said. “I followed him this afternoon after the lunch with King Gonnoss. I grew suspicious when he took several turns, going in circles and then moving on over and over. He stopped in a seedy little neighborhood on the lowest level of the city, deep within the mountain. I had to let the shine of my short sword scare away a few vagrants.”
Moloch nodded. “Sounds promising. How long did he stay?”
“Not long. In and out.”
“Makes sense if he’s got a long-standing deal with someone. Coin for poison, a set amount every time.” Moloch lightly punched Bram’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, Bram. This could really help our case if our plan goes awry.” He reached for his own cloak, hung on a hook on the wall behind him. “Let’s go.”
“Now?” Bram asked.
“Yes,” Moloch said. “We need to know the concentration of the poison as soon as possible so we can adjust the prince’s treatment appropriately.”
“We should bring one of our men with us, to guard whoever Morrwin’s been dealing with. We don’t want him letting the baron know we’re onto him,
” Bram said. “And I know just the man to bring. Hurran. Kind of odd, but good with a sword and loyal.”
Moloch’s arched an eyebrow. “Odd?”
“Bookish, sort of shy… not your typical soldier,” Bram said. “Knows a lot but doesn’t flaunt it or make the other men feel stupid.”
“Someone to keep an eye on, then,” Moloch said. “Let’s bring him along. I could use a few more soldiers to trust, especially if everything goes as planned. Blowing that bridge isn’t going to be easy.”
“I’ll go get him and meet you by the stables.” Bram hurried away while Moloch tied up the laces of his boots and threw the cloak over his shoulder. His heartbeat quickened; confronting whoever was helping Morrwin could be key to fool-proofing his plan.
Moloch followed Bram down to the lowest level of the mountain city of Pytar. He was grateful they didn’t need to cross the bridges, though they did use some of the lifts so as to avoid the longer, snaking pathways to the lower levels. Hurran was with them, quiet and a bit awkward as Bram had warned. But Moloch found his constant calm reassuring. He also seemed to be constantly watching everything around them, observing with one hand on the hilt of his short sword.
The grandeur of the city diminished as they walked deeper into the bowels of the mountain. The face of the lowest level had been kept up nicely with shops and homes, albeit not as nice as those on the levels above. At the start, the tunnels felt more like roads, wide with tall ceilings. Tall lampposts blazing with fire combined with the lighting of individual buildings to create a sort of twilight ambience.
The tunnels soon began to narrow. The high ceiling — no longer lit — was shrouded in darkness. On either side, instead of distinct shops and homes, everything began to blend together. There were holes carved into the rock to provide for doors and windows. Soon more and more curtains stood in place of shutters and wooden doors.
Moloch began to recognize similarities between Trenchtown — the slums of Patriphos — and these dark corners of Pytar. He glanced down one tunnel to find columns of individual holes carved into the tunnel wall, rows of the openings stretching down the tunnel. Each column had four holes, each one about half the height of a man. Scantily dressed women sat in the openings; there seemed to be small rooms behind each hole. Ladders were placed between each column. Nearby, a man crawled up one of the ladders, passing a few of the women before stopping before a brunette in a white shift. She smiled and retreated into the room, and he followed, closing the curtain behind him.
Moloch shuddered at the sight. It wasn’t what was going on behind the curtains that bothered him. It was the empty stares of the women sitting silently, waiting. They were all too thin with dark circles under their eyes. And it was the men patrolling the tunnel. They were the ones taking the money.
As they moved on, they saw a group of three children, the oldest perhaps twelve years of age. They were huddled around a fire, roasting what looked to be a bat on a makeshift spit. Here and there, beggars sat on the streets. They passed several taverns, which seemed to be the only places with real doors and shutters.
“How much farther, Bram?” Moloch asked as a man leaning against the rock wall of a side tunnel gave him a toothy grin, twirling his dagger slowly.
“It’s down this next turn,” Bram said as he took them down another, smaller tunnel. On either side, what seemed to be homes were carved into the rock. Bram stopped in front of the only one with a real door. It was a wooden one, painted red. The windows were barred with iron rods, red wooden panels boarding them up.
“This is it?” Moloch asked.
“You want to do the honors?” Bram asked.
“Let’s do it together, shall we? Hurran, you keep guard.” Moloch gestured toward the door. Bram nodded. “On three. One. Two. Three!”
Moloch and Bram slammed into the door with their shoulders, and it burst open. They both stumbled over the threshold. Moloch righted himself quickly; Bram drew his sword. He didn’t know what to expect, but the clean, warm and cozy atmosphere of the room threw Moloch off. Shelves of books and scrolls lined the back wall. Along the side were more shelves, each with an array of knick-knacks, jewelry, or colorful corked bottles arranged and organized neatly. On the other end was a fireplace, with a chimney-like structure carved into the rock above it. A well-made taurret wood desk stood between him and the bookshelves. High-backed chairs of fine dark green fabric stood between him and the fireplace.
And sitting there with a stack of papers in his hand was a genteel-looking man, clean-shaven in a modest but fashionable tunic, vest, and trousers. His hair was combed back and oiled, in an Ergonian style that was popular perhaps ten years before. He stared at Moloch and Bram with an open mouth and wide eyes, one of the papers extended toward the fire.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked.
“We’re here about the deal you’ve been making with Baron Morrwin,” Moloch said.
“Ah, I see.” The man looked down at the papers, and then threw them all into the fire.
“Get ahold of him,” Moloch shouted. “Those papers could be important!”
Bram surged forward and caught the man as he tried to bolt for the door. Moloch rushed toward the fire. It seemed to be urakma paper, which burned quickly and cleanly. He grabbed a poker and tried to get out some of the paper as it quickly disintegrated. But he just kept poking holes in the paper, breaking it up and burning it faster. Moloch got down on his hands and knees and peered into the fire, trying to make out some of the words on the remaining papers. The ink was red, the handwriting flourishing. The fire had eaten through parts of it, but he was able to make out a few letters and words even as the fire consumed it.
History… Bomen
Accustomed to getting all he asked for…
Stood strong…
He refused…
The test of time…
Moloch grunted in frustration as the page melted away. He stood and turned. Bram had the man sitting back in a chair, securing him from behind with one hand on each shoulder. Hurran must have closed the door again, keeping watch outside.
The man smiled and laughed nervously. “You could have just knocked,” he said.
“This isn’t a joke.” Moloch came to stand before him. “What kind of dealer are you?”
He placed a hand on his chest and displayed an offended expression. “I’m not a dealer. I’m an artist, a master storyteller, a collector, a connoisseur. You can call me The Acquisitor. All my friends do.” He shrugged. “I work with dealers and smugglers. On occasion.”
“But you’re the one who sold the juxquinn poison to Morrwin, are you not?” Moloch asked.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He sniffed and raised his chin.
Moloch looked up at Bram, who took his cue. In one swift motion, Bram had a dagger at the man’s neck.
The Acquisitor narrowed his eyes at Moloch, barely flinching away from the blade. “My clientele wouldn’t appreciate rumors that I’d given up a name to some brute I know nothing about. I’m sure you understand.”
“I understand Morrwin has been poisoning Prince Durand, the son of your king. That’s not something King Gonnoss would appreciate,” Moloch said.
A flash of uncertainty crossed The Acquisitor’s face. “Prince Durand? Are you certain?”
“Quite.” Moloch raised his eyebrows at Bram, and the blade drew a line of blood across the man’s neck. That seemed to spark a little fear into him.
“I didn’t know,” The Acquisitor said, voice shaking. “If I had, I wouldn’t have sold it to him. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a traitor.”
“How patriotic,” Moloch said. “It doesn’t matter if you knew or not. I doubt the king will care, and now we know who you are. I need to know the concentration of poison to properly treat the prince. Tell me, and perhaps I can convince the king to spare your life.”
The Acquisitor pressed his lips together, closed his eyes, and let out a defeated sigh. “One tenth potency,�
� he said.
“And how long has Morrwin been buying?”
“From me? Four months.” The Acquisitor closed his eyes and sucked in a breath as Bram pressed the blade into his skin. “Please. I’ll do whatever you ask.”
“This one cracks easier than a pinenut,” Bram scoffed. “Not even sure we needed a third man.”
Moloch sighed and stood, looking down at The Acquisitor. “It’s possible I’ll need you to confirm all of this before the king. If I let you live, will you do this?”
The Acquisitor blanched. “I mean, if those are my only options…”
Bram grunted and pulled the man’s head back by his hair, the dagger cutting in deeper.
“If I tell my man here to let up, will you cooperate?”
“Yes, yes! I’ll do it!” The Acquisitor whimpered. When the blade eased up, he let out a breath. “Thank you, oh merciful lord… uh… what was your name? I’m afraid I missed that part.”
Moloch shook his head. “My name won’t be necessary,” he said. “Let up,” he said to Bram. “He’s not much of a threat.”
“Thank you, my lord,” the man said.
“How did you find juxquinn poison, anyway?” Moloch asked.
“I’m very good at finding things.” The Acquisitor lifted his chin once more, but winced at the movement, bringing his hand to his throat where the superficial cut still bled.
“I’m leaving a soldier here to guard you, Acquisitor.” Moloch said. “I’ll send for you when I need you, but you are not to leave this house. If you cause me no trouble, I’ll suggest a merciful sentencing to King Gonnoss.”
They opened the door to Hurran standing guard.
“I want you to stay here with this man,” Moloch said. “Don’t let your guard down. He might not be a soldier, but I can tell he’s smart. No one goes in or out, understood?”