by C S Vass
Paetrick sat down on his cot and stared into the fire.
“Surely King Boldfrost has his own religious council,” Paetrick said at last.
“Never enough mouths to speak the holy words, right?”
Paetrick rolled his eyes, clearly not in the mood for Brett’s blasphemies.
“Suppose I say yes,” Paetrick said. “Would I have to see my brother?”
“Paetrick, do you think I could keep Logun away from Black Wolf after the disaster they’ve suffered?”
Paetrick stared dead-eyed into Brett’s face.
“You might see him about,” Brett conceded. “But what of it? If he bothers you so, don’t talk to him. What, surely you don’t think that I’m bringing you there on his count, do you?”
“Captain Brett,”
“Yes?”
“I’ll come. Give me one day. I’ll come on my own accord.”
“Very good.”
“One other thing.”
“Yes, Paetrick.”
“You’re a terrible liar.
After speaking with Paetrick, Brett returned to the castle. The chill had intensified despite the rising sun, and a rain fell upon him as he walked. Brett found himself greatly tempted to return to the castle’s hot springs, but he knew from experience that such worldly pleasures lost their allure if indulged too frequently.
Instead of going down to the steamy basement caverns, Brett turned up towards the West Tower that was home to the castle library. Unlike most of the other brutes he went through his military training with as a soldier-pup, Brett had a great love of thick leather tomes, ancient scrolls, and every manner of the written word between them.
His favorite reading materials were the half-true military accounts of soldiers, creatively embellished with just the right amount of unlikely magic, unrealistic battle plans, and flat out untrue love interests. He was browsing through the circular tower’s carefully stocked section of just such stories when he turned a corner and saw a face that made him gasp.
“You!”
“Don’t look so shocked,” Logun grumbled in his thick baritone. “You’re the arsehole who talked me into staying here.”
“And what are you doing here? In the library I mean?”
“What do you think, browsing for fairy tales? I’m protecting him.” Logun pointed a fat finger down the hall where Benjiko poked his head out from behind a stack of scrolls on a table.
“Lord Benjiko,” Brett said.
“Brett,” Benjiko said. “I was led to believe that you were going to be attending to some…other duties.”
Brett, feeling absurdly embarrassed, managed to meet his Prince in the eyes. “Yes, Lord Benjiko. I am.”
“Where’s my brother, you turd?” Logun grumbled. “The way I see it I’ve done about three days of work where you haven’t done diddly-squat.”
Brett puffed out his chest, determined not to be dressed down in front of his Prince.
“I’ve been assigning soldiers, reviewing disciplinary files, shoring up the castles defenses—”
“You’ve been whoring.” Logun’s sneer made Brett’s blood boil. Still, he had too much dignity to deny it.
“And you’ve been spying.”
“Of course. This is the capital. It turns out being the bodyguard to the Prince pays more than a few pretty pennies. First thing I did was start paying off little mice and birds. I’ve got about four—no, five—and should be able to make it a nice even ten if we keep at the arrangement for a few weeks.
“You degenerate. You’d spy on your own allies?”
Logun snorted. “Captain Brett, this is Iryllium. I’m Shigata. We both know I have no allies here. Now don’t pout. My coin hasn’t got me much in the way of dirt on you, other than to see that you’ve been enjoying the luxuries of the castle instead of bringing my brother back from that cult.”
“Your brother will be here tomorrow.”
“I know, Captain. We’ve been over this. The spies.”
“Good gods, Benjiko, get him to stop this insulting behavior at once.”
Brett regretted the words before he was even done speaking them. Logun laughed openly in his face, while Benjiko frowned deeply.
“Running to master like a good little doggy?” Logun snorted. “It’s all right, Captain. After hearing reports on you for three days, I’ve determined that you’re completely unworthy of spying on. You can have your run of the castle concubines all you like, and I won’t hear another word about it.”
“Now ju…look here…totally absurd of you to—”
“I must insist the two of you be quiet,” Benjiko said from behind his stack of scrolls. “Daylight won’t last forever, and I shan’t risk bringing a fire within three rooms of these documents.”
“What exactly is it that you’re looking at?” Brett asked.
“I don’t know,” Benjiko replied, clearly irritated. “But it’s very important. I believe that it may have to do with our…with our major problem.”
The Dragons, Brett realized at once. But what could Benjiko have found in the West Tower that would provide any insight into them?
“Prince,” Brett whispered as he sat down next to him. “Can I assist you?”
Logun snorted. “I can see you need some time. I’ll leave the, eh, protecting to you for now until you’re done.”
“The man is insufferable,” Brett rasped as soon as Logun had left.
“I remind you, Brett. You’re the one who inflicted him upon me.”
“So you dislike him too? I apologize.”
Benjiko held up his hand. “Not at all. I’ve found him quite capable. A good choice. Now drop it. There are more important things to worry about now.”
“Tell me what this is about,” Brett said, gesturing to the stack of scrolls. “Can I be of assistance?”
“I’m not sure,” Benjiko replied. “I don’t know exactly what it is I’m looking for. I just know that it has something to do with silver.”
“With silver?” Brett asked. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“You’re not the only one.” Benjiko’s eyes were still glued to the scroll. “Is anyone near us? Check the surrounding shelves.”
Brett obliged and found the library deserted. When he returned Benjiko urged him to sit down. “I’ll speak quickly,” the Prince whispered. “I don’t know how helpful this information will be. Follow up on it as you can in your own time.”
Brett nodded, eager to learn something that might help discover the terrible mystery of the disappearing Dragons.
“In truth the lead I’m following was won by sheer luck,” Benjiko explained. “I was speaking to my father. Letting him know the urgency of the situation. Telling him that, gods forbid, should something happen to him, he would need someone he could trust to know what to do about the situation.”
“And?”
“He was not lucid. He was…rambling, angry. He said many things. Many hurtful things. But something stuck. Something that I don’t think he meant to say. He told me that I would not understand until I learned the true use of silver.”
“The true use of silver?” Bret asked, perplexed. “Those were his exact words?”
“No,” Benjiko admitted. “As I said, he was rambling. His words were mangled. He jumped between ideas. But he kept going back to the silver. The true use. The first use. Those were the phrases he used. Do you have any idea what it could mean?”
Benjiko looked up abruptly, his brilliant silver eyes searching for answers. Brett was momentarily astonished. He had been Benjiko’s personal guard for so long that at times he forgot to see the power behind those eyes. The viciousness of the magic they were capable of summoning.
“I don’t, my Prince,” Brett said. “But I’m happy to help you search for answers if you think that this mystery can be solved by pursing that.”
“I do,” Benjiko said. “But only spend as much time on it as you can spare. It isn’t our first priority right now. Not while there’s stil
l a chance for me to earn my father’s trust.”
Brett was grateful that Benjiko had turned back to his scroll, because he was sure that he would have found it impossible to meet his Prince’s eyes. “Of course, Lord Benjiko,” he said. “But, is it possible…perhaps there isn’t much of a mystery in it.”
“Oh?”
“Well, if the King is speaking of the true use, the first use, then might he not just mean, well, the first thing that comes to mind? The first use of silver was money. Money means power. It isn’t a huge jump to speak of the Dragons with such qualities. Particularly since his thoughts were so…disjointed.”
Benjiko was unconvinced. “I don’t agree, Brett. The Dragons didn’t suddenly become powerful in my father’s eyes. He always knew that. But he learned something that caused him to summon them from the far reaches of the continent. He learned something that made him willing to risk the ire of every lord in Western Gaellos. It has to mean something more.”
Brett nodded. It was a fair point. But still, since when was logic the only metric that they were to judge the musings of King Boldfrost by?
“Have you learned anything,” Brett asked, determined to steer the conversation away from anything unnecessarily uncomfortable.
“No,” Benjiko sighed. “Silver has been mined since we first learned it veined the continent. But primitive moneys were already in use at the time. Silver quickly became currency. Of course, it’s uses in magic have long been exploited. But there’s no original spellwork I’m aware of that has caused mages to seek it. Nor is it the only metal useful to those who study the arcane arts.”
Brett nodded. It was as much as he could have told Benjiko off the top of his head. Then he had an idea. It was probably nothing, but still. “They Shigata forge their thrygtas from silver, do they not?”
Benjiko’s eyes lit up. “Logun!”
Brett blinked at Benjiko’s abruptness. Within moments Logun appeared, stony-faced and hand firmly on the hilt of the broadsword that sometimes replaced his war hammer as his castle weapon.
“Where is your thrygta?” Benjiko demanded at once.
“In my chamber, on my weapon,” Logun responded dully. “Does my lord wish me to retrieve it?”
“No,” Benjiko said. “But I do wish to know about it.”
“Sorry, can’t help.”
“You don’t know?” Brett asked.
“I don’t care to share Shigata secrets,” Logun said without so much as glancing at Brett. “If my answer displeases you, my lord is welcome to have me whipped through the streets.”
“Stop your insolent pouting,” Benjiko said without changing his tone. “It’s unworthy of a warrior. Now, you truly can tell me nothing about your thrygta? I could make it worth your while.”
“I understand why you’re interested,” Logun said. “I seriously doubt the information I have would be relevant to your current endeavor.”
“I could have you broken on the rack.”
Brett was astonished, not so much at the threat but at the matter-of-fact way in which it was delivered. Benjiko was not usually one to say such things, even in jest.
“That is my lord’s right,” Logun drawled.
“Will you tell me why you won’t speak of it?” Benjiko tried.
“It’s a Shigata secret.”
“Very well, as you were.”
Logun nodded and disappeared.
“My Prince, I am seriously regretting recruiting that man’s help.”
“Don’t. He’s the best bodyguard I’ve ever had.”
The silence lasted only a heartbeat, but it was deafening.
“Other than you, of course,” Benjiko quickly said.
Brett snorted. “You’ll rethink that assessment when some cut-purse mistakes you for a commoner in the streets and Logun decorates the city walls with his blood.”
“There are worse traits in a man sworn to protect you than excessive force.”
“I suppose. Can he be bought?”
“You ask as if you had not considered that question carefully already.”
“Forgive me.”
“Brett?”
“Yes, my Prince?”
“Don’t lose focus. There is only one thing that truly matters right now. We have to find out what my father is planning.”
“Yes, my Prince.”
Chapter 13
Wind-whipped snow filled the air as they stepped through the behemoth city gates. They were approached by guards before entry, but few questions were asked once Godwin revealed his dragon-in-chains tattoo. A Shigata’s sword was always needed in a city as large as Saebyl.
For three days he had slept at The Naked Sun, sweating his fever out through every pore in his sore body. Thoughts of the shipwreck played out behind his eyes whether he was awake or not. Lyra was out there, somewhere, and he needed to find her.
Jondus’s men had found no trace of Lyra or the pirates. They agreed to continue to look, but Godwin knew that such thoughts faded from men’s minds before long. Saebyl was the only major city in the North Shield. If Lyra was alive, she would try to make her way there.
“Massive,” Robert breathed as they stepped into the snowy streets of Saebyl. “I didn’t know cities came this big in the West.”
“They don’t, except for here,” Godwin replied. “At least in size. Iryllium has the greater population, but Saebyl has a greater geography. They don’t condense the houses here. There is little competition for space. The North Shield is not a place anyone outside of this city wants to live.”
It was not hard to see why. They were near the end of the world, at least as near to it as any explorer could testify. A short bay to the west separated them from the Frost Forest, home to an abundance of demons and elves. To the east the frozen waters of the Dark Sea stretched towards Eastern Gaellos and the Tarsurian Empire. Northward was only the empty and inhospitable cluster of frozen glaciers known as the Clouds which quickly dissipated into eternal nothingness.
“There was a great battle here during the Bloodwater War, wasn’t there?” Robert asked.
Godwin did not reply.
Despite the cold the sun was shining bright and waxy in a clear blue sky. Snowdrift had been swept from the main roads by horses pulling ploughs, so the streets were walkable and the markets were open. Robert wanted to stop and speak with every fishmonger, merchant, and tanner that they passed, and by the time they neared the center of the city Godwin’s temper was flaring.
“Enough, come on,” he snarled gripping Robert sternly by the arm and forcing him away from a rather busty woman who kept tilting over her stall to admire Robert’s necklace. “No more stops. We have work to do.”
“Where exactly are we going?” Robert asked, adjusting his fur cap.
“To Saebyl’s castle, the home of Denver Rockhelm,” Godwin snapped. Pulling Robert’s face close to his own he added, “I warn you, Denver Rockhelm has a reputation for administering harsh justice like you have a reputation for bedding stable maids. Do not step out of line, Robert. I won’t be able to help you if you do.”
“Heavens,” Robert said, pompously adjusting his cap again to Godwin’s annoyance. “When have I ever stepped out of line?”
Godwin didn’t answer. Instead he turned on his heel, holding Robert’s collar in his hand all the while, and pointed above the castle’s outer wall.
“Beautiful stonework,” Robert said.
“I’m glad you think so,” Godwin breathed. “The coloring is unique. Decades of blood have stained it to that exact shade. You know, shortly after the Second Bloodwater War, there was a little incident here in Saebyl.”
“How unfortunate.”
“Lord Rockhelm’s own son was in charge of the castle treasury at the time. A crime was committed. The son stole a small amount of money to pay for some trivial pleasures—women and wine I believe. It was inconsequential. The law here required the offending son to pay the money back and lose a finger. Denver Rockhelm disagreed. He believed that as l
ord he had a duty to avoid the appearance of any corruption at court.”
“Poor lad,” Robert said. “What happened? He lost his hand?”
“He lost his head. Denver Rockhelm struck the blow himself, dipped it in tar, and left it above the castle wall for thirty days and thirty nights. Do you understand now?”
“My hands will lift nary a copper coin nor a lady’s dress while we remain in the city.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Now move.”
The wide city streets narrowed somewhat as they approached the gate to Denver Rockhelm’s castle. The castle itself was a concentric structure that spiraled like a maze through several layers of walls until it hit the central stone keep. Death holes, fire-pits, and spellcraft of every sort protected the home of Saebyl’s ruler. Denver Rockhelm was not a man who could be caught off-guard.
When they approached the outer wall’s gate, a bulking ogre with a heavy broadsword hanging at his waist greeted them. “Papers?”
“I’m Shigata,” Godwin said.
“Who’s he?” the ogre grunted.
“My assistant. Need him to wipe the blood off my sword and clean my boots.”
Robert opened his mouth to protest, but one glance from the massive ogre silenced him before he made so much as a sound.
“Haven’t had a Shigata ask entry into the castle in quite some time,” the ogre observed.
“Well one’s asking now,” Godwin said. “Will you let me through? I have urgent business with the Lord of Saebyl.”
The ogre stared at Godwin for a long while without speaking while a light snow began to fall and collect on his shoulders. “You’ve been here before,” the ogre said at last.
Godwin didn’t lower his eyes. “Yes.”
“You are the O—”