“I really do admire you,” Lungu said, as the surgeon rose on trembling legs and scurried out of the room, tears in his eyes. “But you are a fool.”
“You have that backwards,” Astrid said. She managed to look up at Lungu and smile. “You have no fucking idea what’s about to happen.”
The soldiers dragged their dead and wounded from the cell, leaving Astrid alone.
She writhed and spasmed on the floor. Every breath was agony. Even the slightest movement was extreme torture. She might have been there for hours or minutes. The pain destroyed any sense of time.
“Father,” Astrid said. “Mother, give me strength.”
She thought of her parents then, and her three brothers. She remembered them in their best times, before their house fell. Their smiling faces didn’t make the pain go away, but the visions did allow her to accept it.
Astrid closed her eyes and recited over and again the code of the Well. The code lifted her above the pain.
Trust in the Well, and observe its intention, as the Well sustains all life.
Defend the Well, keep it always pure.
Respect all weakness and always defend the weak.
Honor the place where you plant your feet and where you lay your head.
Never recoil before the enemy.
Never cease opposing the enemy of the Well.
Always honor and serve those who serve under you.
Never lie and never break your word.
Because the Well gives to you, always give to others.
Be ever and always the champion of right and good.
Fortress Wards
“Oh really?” Gormer asked, leaning back against the counter. He and Pleth had talked themselves into a storefront on the trip down from Keep 52. “You think they’ll hang the bitch tomorrow? Where did you hear that?”
They struck up a friendship with some of the more hardcore loyalists who hightailed it from Keep 52 when they saw their profit potential begin to drop. Lying to these assholes was easy.
They had promised a hefty percentage of all the cheese profits that would never exist. Greed makes people believe almost anything. That was especially true here, literally under the shadow of Lungu Fortress itself on the shores of Lake Bicaz.
“My cousin is a gate guard at the Fortress Proper. Says he heard it from a guard captain. Says she’s crying like a baby and begging for her life.”
Gormer smiled, thinking about how nice it would be to pull his t-blade from his sleeve and slit the fat douchenugget’s jugular. “From what I’ve heard of Lungu,” Gormer said. “He’ll probably want to keep her around a few days.”
“Maybe,” the man said with a smile. “Are you a betting man? I’ve got odds she’ll hang tomorrow. How does twenty coins sound?”
That was when Gormer knew the man was bullshitting. He had pulled this game before. The lowball bet was just to get everyone to think one thing, when the smart money knew something else would happen. There was a book somewhere, Gormer could smell it. The more money placed on an execution tomorrow, the more money this fuckwad could make on his real bets.
“You’re on,” Gormer said, slapping a twenty-coin down on the counter.
“Not now,” the man said. “I’ll put your name on my bookmaker’s list. He’ll be around to take your bet.”
“Can’t wait to take your money,” Gormer said. You have no fucking idea, pissbucket, Gormer thought, making the smile stretch across his face almost painfully.
The man waved and hurried out of the shop, obviously thrilled he had a sucker. Pleth jumped back when Gormer’s arm flashed out. A six-inch knife thunked into the door at head-level as soon as it closed.
“Shit,” Pleth said. “I thought he’d never leave.”
“When are the others coming?” Gormer asked.
“Mortsen said they’d be by just after dusk.”
“Glad this place has a basement,” Gormer said.
“With two exits, no less,” Pleth replied.
“You are a quick learner,” Gormer said. “I need a drink to wash the taste of pig shit out of the air.”
Pleth looked down sadly at his feet. “He reminds me of myself,” he said.
“You’re a different man,” Gormer said, placing his hand on Pleth’s shoulders. “Maybe you’re the man you always were deep down.”
When Pleth didn’t look up, Gormer gave him a firm slap on the cheek. “Snap out of it, buddy. That shit’s ancient history.”
“It’s not that,” Pleth said. “I was thinking about my family.”
“Oh, no,” Gormer said. “Get it together. Melancholy can get us both killed right now. Tell you what: you put that shit away right now. When this is over, you can talk to me all night about your family—even the diaper stuff.”
Pleth laughed, shook his head and crossed the room to a corner of the empty showroom where a good portion of their cheese bought a dozen jugs of ale, mead, and beet wine. “Which do you want first?” Pleth asked.
“It’s an ale night,” Gormer said. Pleth took the first few gulps of a new jug, then passed it over.
Gormer gulped until his eyes watered, then belched a gurgly belch. “Oh, shit,” he said. “Just what I needed.”
Mortsen’s voice startled them both. “You sputtering candles getting drunk already?” he asked accusingly.
“Of course,” Pleth replied.
“Without me?” Mortsen asked, crossing the room in his oddly fluid way. It was unnatural for a man of his size to move like a dancer. The gold-toothed man snatched the jug away from Gormer and nearly finished it.
“Made short work of that,” Gormer said, taking back the lightened jug.
“We have work to do,” Mortsen said. “It’s almost dusk.”
“Who’s coming?” Pleth asked.
“My three guys, a couple of their smuggling contacts, and two new people.”
“Do you trust the new people?” Gormer asked.
“Of course not,” Mortsen replied. “But one of them claims to be a staff surgeon on Lungu’s personal detail.”
“That’s big,” Pleth said.
“No shit,” Mortsen replied. “That’s why this magician here’s gonna pick through this guy’s head and find out if he’s lying. If he is, he ain’t leavin’ that basement alive.”
“None of us may leave that basement alive if we’re found out,” Pleth said.
“Always looking at the bright side,” Gormer growled. “Take another fucking drink.”
“Don’t worry,” Mortsen said. “Turns out most of my network is in the Wards. I have eyes and ears everywhere.”
They waited around a while drinking until someone Gormer had never seen before pushed through the door and closed it quickly. He was about to draw weapons when Mortsen jumped between them and muttered something. The man grunted in reply and left as quickly as he came.
“Our guests are on their way,” Mortsen said. “Ten minutes away. You guys go downstairs. You don’t need me for this meeting. I’ll be on the street standing watch.”
“Are the basement exits covered?” Pleth asked nervously.
Mortsen took a deep breath. “Yes,” he answered with uncloaked annoyance. Then, he left.
An ancient-looking table of rough-sawn pine sat in the center of the room with an oil lamp hanging from one of the timber beams holding up the ceiling.
“That lamp looks dangerous,” Pleth said, noting how close the flame was to the wood.
“Least of our worries,” Gormer replied, taking his place on an equally rough-cut wooden chair.
He was getting to the point where he could channel just enough magical energy to be receptive to other minds without having his eyes glow white. He was doing much more with so much less.
“Here they come,” Gormer said, nearly in a whisper. “Take the lead. Keep them talking, and I’ll pick their brains.”
He felt the fear first, from both of them. One of them, a Fortress Guard, hid his fear beneath a hard, weathered face. Gormer s
ensed regret and conflicted loyalties beneath the fear. He was tough and ready for a fight. He’d survived many battles under orders from higher ranks. Now, he was on the retirement track on Lungu’s security staff.
The second man made Gormer’s stomach turn. He was also conflicted about something he’d done recently. He hated himself for it. I know that feeling, Gormer thought. He almost said it aloud.
“Have a seat,” Pleth said flatly. The men sat.
A pregnant silence filled the room. Gormer had probed enough to trust the men. They were definitely not spies, and they had no love for Lungu.
“What do you have for us?” Gormer asked. “And who are you?”
“You know who we are,” the guard growled. “I know magic when I feel it.”
Gormer nodded his head and wore a flat expression on his face. He saw no value in hiding his abilities. “We have to take precautions,” Gormer said, coming as close to an apology as he ever got. “You, I read. But him…” he trailed off.
The little man cleared his throat and placed his delicate, soft hands on the table. “I am a surgeon,” he said. “A healer by trade and by oath. But Lungu… he made me torture her.”
Ice ran down Gormer’s spine. He took a deep breath to deal with his anger. “Where is she?” Gormer asked.
“What condition is she in?” Pleth added.
“She’s alive but…”
“Don’t hold back,” Gormer said. “I can go in and get it, but you won’t like it. I’d rather respect your mind. It took courage for you to come here and do the right thing.”
“My family,” the surgeon said.
“My family is also in danger,” Pleth said. “My friends and I won’t let anything happen to them.”
The surgeon took in a shaky breath. “I don’t know when he means to hang her. I put a device on her back. On her spine. A clamp. It pinches the nerves… Lungu designed it.”
And you put it on her, Gormer thought. He reserved his judgement. “Her condition,” Gormer insisted.
“I don’t know. Her healing magic seems to be dealing with the wound and the pain. I don’t know how. I’ve never seen magic like hers. I don’t think she has long, though. Magic takes its toll on the body without rest. That seems to be true in every magic user I’ve seen.”
Gormer smiled then. “That, I do know,” he said.
“What about you, Guard,” Pleth asked. “Do you have a family.”
“With this face?” the man said with a gruff laugh. “Hell no. Bachelor for life. I had a job. Now, the man I once admired turned that job to shit. Him and his shit son ruined this Protectorate. Fuck him.”
Gormer slipped back into his old character. “Don’t hold back,” he said. “Tell us how you really feel. Stop mincing words.”
The grizzled veteran squinted for a moment and was about to say something before he realized it was a joke. His laughter sounded rusty. “I can help. There are a few like-minded people around. It’ll get fucking ugly, though.”
“What about you, Surgeon?” Gormer asked. “Are you in?”
“I broke my oath,” he said with wet eyes. “I have to fix that.”
“There’s a lot of that going around,” Pleth said.
“We need to end the meeting before you two are missed,” Gormer said. “But we will send word.”
“I talked with your man,” the guard said. “The big scary one with the mouth full of gold. He had people in the Fortress also. I’ll make sure his people meet mine.”
“And we’re off to the races,” Gormer said.
“What races?” the guard asked. The surgeon looked puzzled.
“Doesn’t anyone know four-hundred-year-old expressions anymore?” Gormer asked.
“How do you know all these expressions?” Pleth replied.
“Picked them up along the way,” Gormer replied.
“You bullshit too much for my taste,” the guard said, standing up. “But I don’t need magic to tell you’re a good sort. Both of you.”
They all shook hands. “I’ll be in touch,” Gormer said.
“Can’t say I’m looking forward to it,” the guard said. “But needs must.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Worry at the Keep
Vinnie stood in the office that had changed hands three times in recent weeks. Astrid had made it hers for less than a day. Now, Commissioner Brovka sat behind the desk looking far-too comfortable for Vinnie’s peace of mind.
“You sent for me,” Vinnie said begrudgingly. “I’m busy, so get to the point.”
“I always do,” Brovka said. When Vinnie didn’t sit down in a chair in front of the desk, Brovka stood and went around to meet him. “We are at a critical juncture. When you free Astrid, we must be careful of what happens next.”
He squinted at Brovka. Vinnie was a trusting soul, but he was wary of such a quick turnaround.
“Why are you suddenly on our side?” Vinnie asked, not wanting to waste time beating around the bush.
“I was never against you,” Brovka said. “I’ve always been for law and order.”
“So was Krann,” Vinnie replied. “And he had ledgers he used to calculate how many villagers he’d let starve before adjusting his tribute quotas.”
“An aberration,” Brovka said.
“But you let it happen,” Vinnie said, pressing the point.
Brovka looked down at his expensive shoes. His shoulders sank, making his age more apparent. “Yes. Krann was an oversight. As Chief Commissioner, I was responsible for those under me. I failed.” He paused, then lifted his head again. “Shaming me won’t help anything,” Brovka said. “Believe me, I do feel shame. It doesn’t change what must be done.”
Vinnie crossed his thick arms across his chest. “Two questions: why should I believe you, and what do you imagine needs doing?”
Brovka met his eyes again. “The second question will answer the first. When Lungu is defeated, I will make sure that the rest of the Commissioners support Astrid and the rest of the Dregs. I will grant amnesty and make sure the rest of the Commissioners go along.”
Vinnie smiled at his use of their team name. “In the meantime,” Vinnie said. “Find another office. This one belongs to Astrid. I’ll watch it for her while she’s gone.”
To his surprise, Brovka agreed readily. He was mildly apologetic. “Using this space was a bit forward of me. I’ll find someplace else to do my work. I’ll need access to the ledgers.”
Vinnie considered this for a moment. Something didn’t seem right. “No,” he said flatly. “What does bookkeeping have to do with anything?”
Brovka sighed. “I see I’ll have much more work to do before I earn your trust.”
“You got that right,” Vinnie said. He made a mental note to put a guard on the office.
To his surprise, Brovka smiled. It was the first unguarded expression Vinnie had seen from the man. “You’ll find I am a man who enjoys challenges,” Brovka said. His shoulders rose once more, and he took on the air of confidence and authority again. “You will see. But don’t take too long in learning that I mean what I say.”
Vinnie grinned at the bluster. He stuck out his bear-like hand. “I won’t,” Vinnie said as the two men shook hands. “I believe in fairness. You’ll get a fair hearing from me.”
They released each other, and Brovka strode out of the room, seizing the last word. “I’ll be on the ground floor. I have letters to compose to the other commissioners.”
Fun Times at Lungu Fortress
The veins on her arms and legs had turned black as her eyes. She’d caught a reflection of her face in a puddle of water that dripped from calcified cracks in the wall. That was her only source of water.
The metal that poisoned her blood made her joints ache, and her chest burned with each heartbeat. Lungu came by on occasion to stand in front of her and lecture her on how well and truly defeated she was. She barely listened.
She couldn’t sit cross legged to meditate, so she did so on her knees, using th
e rotting straw as a cushion. Only the magic kept her alive. She had no idea how it was possible. Without any real rest, with only spoiled, rotten food, she managed to continue breathing.
Lungu’s taunts and long, rambling lectures, the sea of pain—all of it meant nothing. They were illusions. The only thing that meant anything to her at all was the code. She only cared about Lungu insofar as he was part of it.
Lungu and people like him were the people the code was meant to stop. Astrid believed first in the code. All other truth came from that.
Never recoil before the enemy.
Never cease opposing the enemy of the Well.
After she killed Lungu, she promised herself she was allowed to rest, but not a second before.
Was he in her cell now? She couldn’t tell. She heard a voice in her head.
We are coming for you. I know how much pain you’re in. Hang on, the voice said. It was familiar. Did it belong to her father? Or was it her mother? She couldn’t tell.
Some part of her mind knew that the poisons were changing parts of her brain. The magic could heal her but she wondered if she’d ever be the same.
I will hang on, father, Astrid thought. For you. For mother. For our family. For the code.
Then, the voice was gone. Lungu was there. She smelled the liquor on him. His stench wasn’t unlike the mold that was a partner to every surface of the dank space.
“It won’t be long now,” Lungu said. “Day after tomorrow. I think an afternoon hanging will suit you. That will allow plenty of time for the peasants to witness you die. Their hero.” He spat.
Astrid smiled. She turned her black eyes to him and saw only a blur, and it made her break her meditation to laugh. Her lungs rattled as she did.
“You’re blurry,” she said. “Fitting. You smear. You stain. I’m going to wipe you from my boot like horse shit.”
The Protector lunged forward and stopped short. Astrid could smell the sword blade hovering by her neck. It smelled a bit like ozone, like fresh snow smelled to her in the moonlight.
“Is it snowing?” she asked like a small child, mind drifting.
Knight's Struggle: Age Of Magic - A Kurtherian Gambit Series (Tales of the Wellspring Knight Book 2) Page 23