by Alex Lang
Gilvys entered the room then.
“Where have you been?” Velledon asked.
The man hesitated a breath before answering. “There was an incident upon the Strider’s bridge earlier…”
Chapter Twenty-One
“Congratulations. Consider your debt of ten thousand tals cleared,” Caldir said.
Kyris fought, unsuccessfully, to keep the smile from his face.
The two sat at the table in the parlor above the tailor’s shop.
His plan had worked. There had been a few minor complications and he may never wish to swim again, but otherwise, everything had turned out well. He could hardly wait to tell Jahna and Tasi. The night prior, when he had returned, he’d related to them what he had done. Kyris generally kept the details of his exploits from his sisters, for fear of upsetting Jahna, especially of late, but this time he couldn’t resist. Kyris wanted Jahna to know that he wasn’t the same boy that had refused to jump at the waterfall.
“All is well, then? The artificers do not suspect anything?” Kyris asked.
“It appears not. There haven’t been any unusual activities reported at any of their facilities. But I did not call you here just to congratulate you. I’d like to present you with your second task.”
Kyris blinked. “Already?”
It was Caldir’s turn to smile. “Yes, I know it is soon, but I am afraid time is of the essence.”
“Of course. Sooner the better. What’s the second task?”
“For some time, I was led to believe that an old friend and colleague of mine was held at Urkenol—you have heard of it?”
Kyris shook his head.
Caldir leaned back in his chair. “Urkenol is a prison on a small island off the southern coast of Velland. It is for scions, mostly outcast or those who ran afoul of political scheming. Though there are exceptions, as my friend was neither. It took me many years to infiltrate the prison only to find that my friend was no longer there, having been handed to the artificers. And, thanks to the information gleaned from the ledger you recovered, I now believe I know where. An artificer facility in the Hammerfell district.”
“Why would lamp makers be holding your friend?”
“Why, indeed? The Artificers of Falduin, however, have grander goals than to make lamps, as marvelous as they are. How much do you know about the organization?” Caldir asked.
Kyris shrugged. “Never heard of them until coming to Vigil. Worshipers of Lodd, I assumed.”
“No, not just Lodd. It wasn’t always the case, but presently they can count among their members all the different lines of the Tesrini gods. All the various orders have some small stake in the organization, and this is primarily the doing of Lord Governor Velledon. Prior to him joining, the artificers were tinkerers, scholars of relics, their most storied accomplishments long past. Since then, many influential houses have joined and now… now we have the miracle of crystal torches. But as I said, they have higher aspirations. They seek to regain old glories, to create relics, or it might be more accurate to say, to create them anew. It is not an original idea, certainly. Plenty have tried to reproduce godscraft, but they are the only ones, in recent times, to have succeeded, if only on a limited scale.”
“The lamps?” Kyris asked.
“Yes, what are the quartz lamps if not relics, in the fashion of the crystal scepters and flame staffs carried by Keepers?”
Kyris frowned at the fact he’d never made that connection. He was intimately familiar with the flame staffs the keepers used, but the soft glow cast by the new quartz-lighting seemed so gentle in comparison to those weapons.
“And now,” Kyris ventured, “you would like me to liberate your friend?”
“A skilled rogue and a seer.” Caldir’s expression grew serious. “Other than his location within the facility in Hammerfell, I cannot tell you more. They are extremely secretive, and their security is rather extensive. Their members have been loyal, and all attempts to bribe have proved unsuccessful.”
“Hammerfell. Yes, I believe I saw the place when Adar and I followed Gilvys.”
“To think, my friend has been so close all this time,” Caldir said, more to himself than Kyris, and there was a hint of pensiveness in his expression.
On the surface, the task seemed forthright, Kyris thought. He wouldn’t have to concoct any elaborate schemes this time. From what he remembered of the facility, it was huge. Getting in wouldn’t be a problem for him, but to liberate and escape with a person? That would prove… troublesome. What condition would this individual be in? Could they scale a wall if he brought the proper equipment? Kyris voiced his concerns.
Caldir gave him a pointed look. “I do not have the answers. However, if the task were simple, then I would not require someone of your unique talents.”
“I have never been asked to steal a person before,” Kyris said with a small smile. “How will I know the prisoner?”
Caldir stared out the window of the parlor. “His name is Grunul. It’s been a few years since I last saw him… and I pray his ordeal hasn’t changed him so…” Caldir turned back and smiled. “Ah, but you wish some recognizable traits. He’s a Marlander, so ask to see his arms. They are marked with ceremonial scars, as is tradition with warriors of his people.”
“How long do I have?”
Caldir leaned forward and folded his hands on the table. “Since I don't know why Grunul is there or how long they plan on holding him, it’s best to do this as soon as possible.”
“May I think on it?”
“Of course. But this is important to me. Do not be long in your contemplation. I will not allow Grunul to languish in captivity when it is within my power to remedy.”
Kyris nodded.
The roped creaked as it tensed. The attached wheel began to turn, causing the connected wooden beam to turn with it, which started the swing of the giant bell that had just a moment ago hung blessedly still and silent. It took a few pulls, with the bell rocking to and fro, before the clapper within struck the metal, commencing the ringing. The sound reverberated through Kyris’s body, vibrating his insides; what was a new and interesting sensation the first time he’d experienced it this morning had lost its novelty. He cursed the nameless ringer below and cupped his ears, although it did nothing to lessen the effect. After an eternity of clamor, the bell stopped, and everything settled back to normal. It was third bell, signifying midday. He hoped he wouldn’t be here long enough for another ring.
Kyris lay prone, peeking through the stone banister down at the artificer’s factory. The compound had double-high walls, and none of the surrounding buildings offered a decent vantage within. Kyris had resorted to climbing the only structure near that did offer an elevated perspective—a bell tower. Many such bell towers were erected throughout Vigil. They were used to signal special occasions or dire calamities such as fires and floods. Their tolls still marked the time of day for most; clocks and watches being too expensive.
From his perch, Kyris had observed the artificers all morning and tried to deduce the function of the three main buildings that comprised the large compound, and where a prisoner might be housed. Three buildings, different from one another in age and appearance and set apart, each in their own corner within the walled grounds. The rest of the compound was broken up into various yards. In one area, a shooting range had been setup with straw dummies, and in another, a sparring circle for fighters to train. Occupying the last corner of the rectangular compound were contraptions of all sorts. It took Kyris a while to sort out what he saw. He recognized a catapult and what appeared to be a wagon affixed with metal plating and other fortifications along the sides. It reminded him of the war chariots depicted on murals and told in stories. There were other objects that he could not determine the purpose or function of, no matter how long he examined them. All told, the compound took up an entire block within the Hammerfell district.
The largest of the three main buildings appeared to be a factory. This was the easiest t
o discern since the wall facing into the compound slid open, revealing the workshop and forge within the building’s interior. He could see the smiths working at their craft, bringing down their hammers on glowing orange metal set against anvils and hear the rhythmic metallic ringing, which he found oddly soothing. Workers streamed in and out of the factory constantly.
The next building he examined was of a different nature. It was a temple of Lodd, like those found scattered all over the city but of a much smaller scale than usual. It was old and made of gray stone, surrounded by numerous columns on three sides, save the front. A formidable wall, taller and wider than the rest of the structure, marked the entrance. It was as though the builders had dropped a wall meant for a different building and butted it up against this one. On the surface of the wall was etched a scene depicting a man with powerful arms carving stone with hammer and chisel. In the corner portion of the mural was the symbol of the Forgers, a design of two squared borders overlapping, askew from one another, and intertwined in the center was a piece of jagged rock or ore. The stone had significance beyond a simple rock, Kyris felt, as great detail was given to its carving, and it stood out in relief to the rest of the mural surface. Steps led up to a metal gate, flanked by guardsmen, and beyond was a courtyard where columns of varied size and style were erected, all jutting up to different heights. The purpose of such a space was lost on him. Was this what passed for a garden with the Loddans?
Few entered or exited the building throughout the day, and those that did looked to be more scribes than craftsmen.
As much of a mystery as the temple was, Kyris directed most of his attention to the last building, for he felt it the most likely place where a prisoner would be held.
The last of the three large structures was of more recent construction. The exterior was clad in plain, unfinished wood. It lacked any extraneous decorations or character and spoke purely of function; just two rectangular blocks adjoined to each other at a right angle and tucked into the corner. It was two stories high and sparsely dotted with windows. He thought of it as a dormitory, though why a factory would require its own garrison or its workers to live on-site was yet another mystery. There was also a kitchen within, as Kyris saw food delivered and witnessed some butchery of fowls in the rear of the building.
There were a few outlying buildings; a stable, a shed, and a watchtower, if one would consider that a proper building. A regular wagon, sans armor, sat on the side of the stable, and horses had been walked about the compound earlier in the day.
The watchtower was little more than a roofed platform with railings, set upon four wooden poles. It had been erected to one side of the formidable gate. Two guardsmen with crossbows occupied it and looked down at all those that entered and exited the compound. Two more guardsmen manned the actual gate; a solid, wooden behemoth that seemed more suited for a fortress or keep than a factory. The men at the gate were responsible for opening the wicket, the smaller pedestrian door set within the larger wooden gate, or the whole, as needed. Another six of these artificer soldiers practiced and sparred in the small training yard. That made it at least a dozen sentries, to Kyris’s counting.
Kyris was contemplating how best to enter the dormitory when he noticed two kitchen workers walking across the compound with a cauldron between them, each holding a side handle. The cauldron was not empty, given their strained appearance and their quick, short steps. They headed into the workshop, which piqued Kyris’s interest. When third bell had rung, signaling midday meal, the smiths and laborers had streamed out of the factory, heading for the dormitory, no doubt, where an eating hall resided. So why, then, was food being brought back into the factory building?
He continued to watch, and after a short while, the kitchen laborers emerged from the workshop with a pot distinctly different in shape than the one they’d brought in and clearly empty as the two carried it with ease.
Yet another mystery.
Kyris spent all day watching the factory. When night fell and fifth bell rang, the workers stopped their labors for the last time and made their way back to the dormitory. Again, the kitchen workers brought another pot to the warehouse, and as before they left with a lighter burden, the cauldron he had seen during midday, he was certain.
It was decided, then.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The next day, nearing dusk, Kyris waited in an alleyway across from the artificer compound. For the fourth time, he checked his weapons in their sheaths, the tools within his satchel, and adjusted the bundle of rough canvas strapped to his back.
He had given much thought as to the timing of his incursion. Going too early would mean more time hiding within the compound, increasing his chances of getting caught. Waiting for much later in the night was risky for a different reason. If no one used the main gate, then Kyris would have no way of entering the compound. There would likely be traffic during fifth bell, but that was also when there was the most activity with people moving about, and that offered its own difficulties.
So when two workers, smiths by the look of them, emerged from the wicket—opened an hour before fifth bell was due to be rung—Kyris readied himself.
As soon as the workers cleared the threshold, the door was closed behind them by the artificer guardsmen, but that didn’t matter to Kyris. He shifted and ran headlong towards the gate. All the noise of the city vanished. The familiar dimness and haze covered everything like a blanket. He suppressed the expected spike of fear as he focused on the plan and path he had laid out the day before from his perch in the bell tower.
The wicket was blurry, in stark contrast to the large gate that framed it and the stone walls that flanked both. The smaller portal wavered, as if its hold on being a door was tenuous. Kyris ran through the hazy representation of a door-to-be, a mild touch against his face, like passing through a gossamer curtain.
Now within the compound interior, he headed right, towards the rear of the dormitory. Stacked to one side of the kitchen entrance was a collection of empty crates and other refuse. Kyris unslung the bundle from his back and ducked into a nook among the rubbish. Unfurling the canvas blanket, he covered himself, careful to make certain that no part of him was exposed. He hoped, by all appearances, to be just another pile of discarded rubbish to any passersby. Thus situated, he shifted.
The clamor of the kitchen startled him as an open window was not far above him. By the sound of it, the cooks were getting ready for evening meal. A few tense moments passed as Kyris listened intently. There were no startled shouts, no one poking him with a stick, no agitated ringing of alarm bells as would be the reasonable response at seeing a canvased lump materialize out of thin air.
Kyris tried to relax. Though the first part of his plan was complete, he still had a while before nightfall, and he found it difficult to calm down as his body coursed with nervous energy. His hands shook uncontrollably, and he eyed them with bemusement. It wasn’t fear, at least no more than usual. He was no stranger to the task at hand. Infiltrate, sneak, steal; granted, never before had he been tasked with stealing a person, but this wasn’t the reason for how he felt.
No, it was the significance of what this one task meant. If he was successful this night, the possibility of getting to Kathmor became that much more real. Somehow, he had avoided thinking too deeply about it, had tricked himself into treating this night as just another job, like so many before, but the weight of it all could no longer be ignored. Would Caldir be able to locate Kathmor, or would he have to deal with the Whisperer himself? When he did get what he was after, Kyris just hoped the Inquisitor didn’t end up being half-way across the known realm or worse… But he didn’t allow himself to entertain that outcome further.
Eventually, his thoughts drifted, and when the fifth bell rang, he was surprised by how fast the time had passed.
He continued to wait under the canvas, imagining the sun setting, the new guards relieving the old shift, and the workers filing out of the factory, all as he’d witnessed the day befo
re. Above him, cooks shouted to helpers in final preparation. People moved in and out of the kitchen, and some came within mere steps of where he hid. A crate was added atop of the stack he hid beside and something struck his cover, trash most like, making his heart race, but he remained motionless.
Eventually, the buzz of activity died down as most of the compound settled in for their evening meal. Deeming it safer, he edged the canvas over slightly so he could peek out.
Night wasn’t long in coming this time of the year, but the compound was lit by quartz lamps positioned throughout. There were still a few workers and guardsmen loitering around the courtyard, but their presence wouldn’t matter. He grinned when he spotted what he was waiting for; two kitchen workers exiting the factory, carrying an iron cauldron between them.
Kyris waited until the workers entered the kitchen, then he slowly moved to a crouched position, his legs screaming in protest, stiff and achy from inactivity. He made certain to shuffle the canvas a bit, then he entered the Gloom. The coarse fabric, no longer propped up by his body, passed through him and collapsed into a pile of formless haze at his feet. The clamor of the kitchen ceased. He spared a moment to adjust to the fear, to push it down as best he could, then he sprang into motion only to promptly stumble as his legs refused to cooperate. Shaking them out, he commenced a mad dash towards the workshop, which was on the other side of the compound. Focused solely on his destination, he barely spared the shadowy forms of workers and guards a glance as he either passed by or through them. Ahead, one of the warehouse entrances was in sight, still blurry from its recent use by the kitchen workers. A guardsman stood to one side of it, but Kyris ignored him like the rest. He had other concerns.
He had more time before the wraiths made an appearance, but the door was far too distinct and clear for his liking. Kyris ran harder, leaning in as he charged through the factory entrance and passed into the interior. The door offered more resistance than usual, like a wall of heavy foliage, but his momentum carried him through. From experience he knew if he had waited any longer, the door would have been as impassable and solid as any normal door should be.