The Redstar Rising Trilogy: (Buried Goddess Saga Box Set 1: Books 1-3)

by Rhett C. Bruno

  “Sir, that estate is old as the Glass itself,” Wardric said, “in the most well-defended portion of the entire city along Merchant Canal.”

  “And that's why we will come from beneath,” a new voice said.

  Yuri Darkings entered the tent and lowered his hood. His finely embroidered leather jacket could be confused for armor, but Torsten knew it was all for show. Just one of the puffy sleeves could feed South Corner for half a year.

  The longtime Master of Coin was back where he belonged. No longer hiding from the wrath of the Queen, he was every bit the picture of the wealth the Glass Kingdom brought with it to the lands it touched. His gray hair was perfectly combed, mustache trimmed above his lip. But more importantly, he had the tanned skinned of a man from Winde Port where the sun shone but for a few months of winter and when the morning fog rolled through.

  “Lord Darkings, I’m glad you could finally join us.” Torsten bowed.

  “Apologies for the wait, Wearer,” he replied. “I didn’t stop even for a bite to eat after receiving your message.” He turned to Redstar. “Ah, and the royal uncle. I hear you are the one I should thank for talking sense into our young king and getting me my old post back.”

  “I have an eye for men of value,” Redstar said. He nodded, but for a moment Torsten thought he could see a flicker of surprise in the man’s features—as if Yuri’s arrival wasn’t something he’d calculated into his plans.

  “Yes, well, Lord Darkings is from Winde Port,” Torsten said. “In fact, before Liam named him Master of Coin for the whole kingdom, he served as such for Prefect Calhoun.”

  “How is the old badger?”

  Torsten hung his head. “He is with Iam now.” He decided it best not to elaborate on how Muskigo had rolled the man’s head across the ground like no more than a worthless piece of trash.

  Yuri traced his eyes in prayer. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here sooner.”

  “There is nothing anyone could have done. The man now enjoying the comfort of his halls is a monster bent on vengeance.”

  “And now, so am I.” Yuri bent over the map and scanned it intently. He ran his finger back and forth, then stopped at a bluff a short way north of the city on the western side of the Winder’s River. “Here,” he said.

  “What is it?” Wardric said.

  “There is an old tunnel that leads out here, branching off the sewer lines. Merchants once used it to smuggle contraband before the Winde Traders Guild took control.”

  Redstar chuckled, purposefully loud.

  “What?” Torsten questioned.

  “Nothing. I’m simply amused by his use of the word contraband. You Glass folk are so terrified to admit what you truly are, it’s maddening.”

  “And what is that?” Wardric said.

  Redstar grinned. “The same as everybody else.”

  “Are you finished?” Yuri said before anybody could respond, a harsh edge to his tone. “I don’t care what you are to the King, or what recommendations you stole from Sir Unger and claim as your own. In regards to me, you have no title, and you will not interrupt a member of the Royal Council again.”

  Torsten coughed in shock. Redstar’s dagger spun too far and fell off the table.

  “Now, if I may continue.” Yuri cleared his throat. “These tunnels lead beneath Winder’s Wharf and tie into the sewers leading directly beneath the prefect's estate. The Shesaitju haven’t the luxury of building atop dwarven ruins. The sands do not permit sewers, leaving their… filth to be funneled through an aboveground system. They will not be mindful of the tunnels beneath them.”

  The man had a gravitas which even Redstar seemed to respect. Torsten had never seen him speak out much while Liam was alive, but that was no longer the case. Now, he was the oldest on the Royal Council by decades, old enough to remember when the Glass Kingdom only comprised a small corner of Pantego. When even Winde Port was a lawless, free-trading city without a Crown.

  “Precisely,” Torsten said. “Yuri has a contact in the city who will lead me and a small cohort of our finest men beneath the estate. We will end Muskigo’s reign of terror before they know what hits them.”

  “And if you fail?” Redstar said.

  “We won’t.”

  Redstar stood and circled the table, his glare fixed on Yuri. “The city teems with gray skins. If any spots your torches before you make it, they’ll be on top of you in seconds. Are you really going to hand me lead over this great army so easily?”

  “No, because you and your wolves and your finest men are going to come with us. They will help Yuri’s men navigate the dark without need of torches, and I’ve seen what you are capable of. If we’re unable to take Muskigo down by blade, you’ll bring the entire estate down around us.”

  “My, my, Sir Unger, now you’re so willing to abuse my unholy gifts?”

  “Countless lives are at stake. I have to believe Iam brought you to our side for a reason. But with our finest warriors working together, I have no doubt we will succeed.”

  “So, let me get this straight. You want me to sacrifice my best people for this impulsive plan, and if things go wrong, which knowing you they no doubt will, give my life for the Glass?” Redstar chuckled.

  “If it’s meant to be.”

  “My apologies, Sir Unger. But I must reject this plan.”

  “You don’t get to.”

  Redstar chuckled again. “You see, Wearer, that is where you are wrong. I’ve beseeched my goddess for guidance, and hers are the only orders I will heed. She warned me you would send us on a suicide mission. She tells me that if we wait and pray, we will know the time to strike when the cold is driven away by wind and flame.”

  “You would cower back here until spring?” Wardric said.

  “If the goddess wills it. Or do you forget the last time we ignored her warning and allowed Torsten here to lead us astray.”

  Torsten’s anger was cooled only by noticing a few of the King’s Shieldsmen surrounding the tent, watching. “The cryptic messages you concoct aren’t a warning, Redstar. They are an excuse for cowardice. We were all deceived, and now is our chance to make it right. We need our best men to carry this out, yours and mine. That is an order.”

  “Unfortunately, I still must decline.”

  “That is treason,” Yuri said. “You’re worse than your sister.”

  “Careful, my Lord. Saying that, I might accuse you of the same.”

  Torsten looked down and realized he’d been squeezing his fists so tight his palms were sore. He stepped in front of Redstar but didn’t draw his dagger. Instead, he stared into the man’s eyes—the man who’d tried to murder him in the Webbed Woods, and had hurt so many countless others.

  “Redstar, I know we don’t trust each other, but this is our chance,” he said. “Do it for your sister or your nephew. By Iam, do it for yourself. Even if we die killing him, you’ll be remembered as more than the uncle who cursed a child. You’ll be a legend, remembered forever for saving the lives of thousands.”

  “Just as Nesilia was remembered for giving her life so Iam may end the God Feud?” he said. “Excuse me if I have a hard time believing you.”

  “Forget gods,” Torsten said, unable to believe his own words. He took Redstar by the shoulders. “Do this, and I will forgive you for everything you have done. I might even begin to trust you.”

  Redstar closed his eyes. His lips twitched at the corners as if he were picturing what it might be like to experience a triumphant return to Yarrington. Torsten thought he finally got to him until he opened his mouth again.

  “Whilst I’m touched by your sentiment,” he mused. “I cannot so easily throw aside the will of my goddess.”

  “Damnit Redstar!” Torsten released him and slapped aside a group of tankards sitting on the table. “What must I do to get you to fight beside us? Every minute, one of your people starts a brawl and you do nothing. You’re a member of the royal family, and if you would just demonstrate the worth of this alliance, we could re
turn peace to the kingdom.”

  Redstar backed away and strolled around the table. He stopped behind Yuri and massaged the man’s shoulders before being promptly shrugged away. “It has been made plainly apparent that neither I nor my goddess are your equal,” he said. “But my army is to yours, and they will follow me no matter what. We will not risk fighting again. I must obey my goddess.”

  “Then you are a coward!” Wardric slammed on the table.

  “The King will hear of this upon my return,” Yuri said. “You have my word.”

  “I’m sure he will,” Redstar said. “Right after you tell him of my future victory. Now, you must excuse me, my Lords. We must continue praying to the one below so we do not fail again.” He bowed absurdly low while leveling his gaze upon Torsten. It reminded him of the sarcastic way the thief Whitney used to acknowledge him, only this wasn’t playful. There was something curious in the gesture—as if it were meant to be the last bow he ever gave. Then, he walked away.

  “How dare you turn your back on your Lords!” Yuri hollered.

  “Forget him,” Torsten said. “If he wants to hide, then we’re better off without him. I was wrong to stake our chance at victory on the foul powers he calls upon by blood and sacrifice.”

  “Agreed,” Wardric grumbled.

  Torsten turned to Yuri. “Can your man quickly lead us through the dark alone?”

  “Nobody knows these tunnels better,” Yuri said. He was stuck staring at Redstar until he became just another fur amongst the ranks of his people.

  “Then take us to the passage. I will lead a cohort of Shieldsmen beneath the city and end this.”

  “No,” Wardric said. “I will lead them.”

  “Wardric, I refuse to argue with someone else about this,” Torsten said.

  “Then don’t. Redstar is a bastard, but he’s right about one thing. This may well be a suicide mission. It’s not like riding to the walls under the banner of peace. You are our Wearer, and I cannot in good conscience allow you to take on this burden.”

  “That is why it must be me.”

  Wardric pulled Torsten aside and lowered his voice. “This is exactly what he wants, don’t you see? He’s gambling that you will die on this mission and he can step into command. By Elsewhere, he might burn the entire city to the ground while you’re in there just to do it.”

  “I know what he wants.”

  “Then don’t risk it! I have served the King’s Shield for decades—far longer than you. Now, I may not be the same warrior, but I knew Uriah and King Liam just as well. I never wanted to be Wearer, I only wanted to serve my kingdom. But now I’m asking you… use me for this. Stay behind with the army.”

  Torsten swallowed the lump forming in his throat. To think, he once worried old Wardric would be a thorn in his side when he took on the mantle. Now, he wished he had an army of the man.

  “It has to be me, Wardric,” Torsten said. “If you fail, Redstar will use it to contest my leadership either way. He wants the King’s favor more than anything. He thinks me dying will make him Wearer but he’s wrong. If I fail, it will be you who takes over… I know it.”

  “You know that’s not true. Like we said, it is the King’s dec—”

  “What do you think I spent my time doing while you two were gone?” Yuri interceded. “The young King will heed my counsel. If Torsten fails, I will tell him who deserves to wear the white.”

  “And if I don’t, even his own people will learn to respect us,” Torsten said. “You’ve been to Drav Cra. They respect only strength, nothing else. They’ll see Redstar for the coward he is when his beloved goddess is wrong.”

  Wardric looked to the ground. Tears welled in the corner of his eyes but he slowly began to nod. “Don’t fail, sir,” he said softly. “Don’t fail.”

  “I don’t plan to. Iam hasn’t forsaken us. Not yet.” Torsten pounded his chestplate in salute. Wardric returned the gesture.

  And then, they embraced.

  “I don’t care what anyone says,” Wardric said after they released, “you’re as brave as Uriah was.”

  “And twice as stupid.” Torsten grinned. “Look after the men while I’m gone?”

  “Oh, I plan to. And if my sword accidentally finds it’s way into Redstar’s back, I’ll say it was an accident.”

  “And I’ll support you in that as well,” Yuri added.

  “Try to keep him alive,” Torsten said. “I can’t wait to see his ugly face when I return with Muskigo’s head.”

  “I’ll try,” Wardric chuckled.

  “Now, you know the men even better than I. Send me one hundred of the most experienced Shieldsmen we have, but leave some for yourself. No wolves. No dark magic.” He shook the pommel of his sword, sculpted into the form of Iam’s Eye. “Iam will guide us beneath the rebel, and we will bring him swift justice.”

  XX

  THE THIEF

  Whitney gagged as his feet splashed up shog and piss. The Winde Port sewers reminded him of the Fellwater Swamp… and he hated the Fellwater Swamp. A thin beam of light slashed in from the small hole above and the sounds of battle echoed through the tunnel. He couldn’t help but laugh.

  Did I really almost finally get hanged?

  Of all the adventures he’d had since leaving the homestead, his last couple of months were the craziest. He’d been purposely imprisoned after accepting the world’s stupidest challenge to steal the Glass Crown off the head of a dying king. A challenge in which he’d succeeded.

  He’d been at the wrong place at the wrong time when the same enemy that now attacked Winde Port laid waste to his hometown of Troborough. He narrowly escaped but only thanks to yet another capture at the hands of Glass soldiers.

  He’d been commissioned by the Wearer of White to journey into certain death where he was captured—again—by cultists before finding himself face to face with a Spider Queen goddess. He was spun up in her web, fought giant man-eating spiders… and somehow survived.

  Now, he thought all that was behind him until the one part of the adventure that felt just like every other caught up to him—a spoiled, entitled, good-for-nothing, has-been constable named Bartholomew Darkings and his hired assassin from some mysterious land in the North.

  Whitney peered upward at the slime-coated, moldy, dripping ceiling.

  “Gods and yigging monsters! What have I done to deserve this?” he shouted. His voice boomed, his words echoing, returning to him again and again. He kicked the wall.

  “Shog in a barrel.” Now his foot hurt on top of everything else.

  As he trudged through what resembled dwarven-dug channels, Whitney found himself wishing he really was far up north in the Dragon’s Tail, gulping down tankards of ale. Those dwarves knew how to drink.

  He glanced down at the ropes still binding his wrists together. They were tight, and it wasn’t until that moment he realized pins and needles were running up and down his arms. He heard the squeaking of a rat, and straining his eyes, spotted the little critter gnawing on what appeared to be leather.

  Whitney was proud, but not too proud to admit when he saw a good idea. Raising his wrists to his mouth, he began to bite at the ropes. By the time they unraveled, his teeth were in agony, but otherwise, he was no worse for the wear, and his arms were free of pain and restraint. He silently thanked the rat and sludged on.

  There was so much going on in the city above that Whitney couldn’t prioritize his own thoughts. Sora was missing. A hired assassin was loose with his knives trained on him, and the Shesaitju were overrunning the place.

  Way to defend your cities, Torsten.

  He’d missed being able to blame the once-and-present Wearer of White for his bad luck. Against all odds, it actually helped him feel like things were normal. And normal helped him realize that he was standing in the one place in the whole city that could likely get him out alive. The sewers had to run somewhere—probably straight into the bay. And since no good city planner would allow the muck he presently stood in to filt
er out too close to the city, he might actually find himself on his pathway to true freedom.

  He closed his eyes and felt his chin sink into his chest. There was no way he could abandon Sora—even if there was a good chance she was already dead.

  “Being heroic is a pain,” Whitney sighed to another rat hunched over in a corner. He had made a decision to take on a partner when she found him in the western forest. Her training on thievery and the ways of the world wasn’t done yet, he realized, ignoring the second thought that popped into his head about how perfect “On Thievery and the Ways of the World,” would be for the name of a book on his life.

  He resolved to not leave Winde Port without Sora. And to someday write a book.

  He had no idea where to find her, but if she was in the city, he had two ideas. She was still in the Panping Ghetto, either captured by Kazimir, or she was able to escape in the chaos and knew that would be the best place to disappear. In a district where others looked like her, and where the fighting would be minimal she’d find rest. There were no soldiers or guards for the Black Sands to fight there.

  His other thought was that Darkings had her somewhere in his mansion, waiting to sell her off to Kazimir as some sick gift after Whitney kicked the bucket... only he was still alive, which meant the blood pact was open and Sora remained Bartholomew’s offering.

  With newfound gumption and faith that she remained alive, he set off down the tunnels. At a fork, he turned against the slow current of the muck, toward where the smell was fouler and not diminished by the salt of the bay. He had to hold his nose. This was far from his first foray into city sewers, but the people of Winde Port who could afford it were known for revelry. Which made for smellier garbage.

  He kept going until he reached a wider tunnel with a trough down the middle connected to one of Winde Port’s many canals. He couldn’t see which one, only that it wasn’t grand enough to be the Merchant Canal running through the heart of the city. Shouting echoed from beyond it in too many languages for him to discern a word.

  Whitney hopped across the trough and made his way to the canal. An arched opening led out to the frozen surface, and since from so low all he could see were stone walls, he decided it was time to figure out where in the city he was. He’d already been circling the sewers for Iam knows how long.