The Trahiad

by Randall Seeley

  He stepped forward and brought his sword to bear, fainting a quick thrust to see if the drunk would react. As predicted, the thief brought his sword up clumsily, and Darthyn knocked the blade aside, and then leapt forward. He crashed into the man and immediately regretted it. This close, the man smelled of sweat and urine. Darthyn elbowed the man in the face, and he crumpled to the ground.

  “Tough opponent there, Darthyn,” Mavin said as he forced himself not to laugh.

  “He always chooses the tough ones,” Damon said as he swirled into the fray.

  Darthyn cursed his luck that both Mavin and Damon had seen him engage with a drunk. So much for Maydyn not knowing about this.

  The next opponent still smelled of alcohol, but he was steadier on his feet. Maybe he’s not drunk… yet… He held a broad axe that was nearly as wide as Darthyn was and the man stood a good foot taller than Darthyn. From the way he stood, Darthyn could tell this man was hired for his strength. Maydyn and Mavin won’t laugh about this one!

  He stepped forward just as the man’s axe came crashing down. It shocked Darthyn at how quick the man was—he looked too large to move that fast!—but Darthyn was a master. He struck his sword up and connected with the axe. His intent was to block the axe and counterattack, but when the axe connected with his blade, it required everything Darthyn had just to hold on to his blade. The axe blow was powerful! His arms ached and felt like they were ringing up and down, and he ducked as the blade came back around. Dragon’s blood! He’s trying to kill me!

  Darthyn stepped back to regain his footing and brought his sword up in front of him, ready for another attack. The enormous man smiled. He’s mocking me. He’s bloody mocking me! Realizing he had sworn twice in the last few thoughts, he thought of Elizabeth. Thank the Creator she’s not around, she’d have my bloody hide! Dear Creator, there I go cursing again! He shook his head to clear it. This oaf was getting the better of him.

  The man charged, his smile vanishing with each approaching step. Darthyn watched him approach and fell into a defensive position. He’s either going to crash into me, crush me, or try to chop me in half.

  As the man drew near, his axe rose into the air. Chop me in half it is, Darthyn thought as he prepared. He waited until the man’s axe raised and then exploded forward, connecting his shoulder with the man’s wide stomach, knocking the breath out of him. The man grunted and his axe fell from his hands. He crashed to the ground, trying to grapple Darthyn down with him, but Darthyn twisted free, brought his sword up, and struck the hilt down into the man’s temple. The thief crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

  With the threat gone, Darthyn took a deep breath to calm his emotions. He was shaking—some from fright, but more from adrenaline—at least that’s what I’ll tell Maydyn, and he looked around the room. Fighting was still rampant, with more of the thieves down on the ground than Alderidon Guards, but there were still more Guards on the ground than there should have been.

  Darthyn looked for Sim and saw him a scant distance off, laying on the ground with his eyes closed. Darthyn rushed to him, afraid of the worse, but as he got closer, he saw Sim’s eyes open slowly, then snap shut just as quick. Curse me, Sim is pretending to be unconscious! He almost laughed despite the situation.

  “Stop!” a sudden shout sounded from above.

  As one, thieves and guards stopped to listen to the loud commanding voice. It came from where the barrels were coming from. Darthyn realized that the rope was leading to what was most likely a room that led to the streets above. Just like Mavin predicted.

  “On what authority is this attack? Are you a group of thieves? Or is that Alderidon Guard emblems I see etched in your cloaks?”

  Darthyn still couldn’t see the man, but he recognized the voice. It was one of those voices that you could never mistake once you heard it. A perfect baritone, so perfect that once it began, you hoped it would continue to speak forever because it had a calming and controlling tone.

  “Racin Poe, you dog! Get down here with your men and own up to your crimes!” Mavin yelled as he stepped onto a barrel to get higher into the air.

  A loud laugh—nearly as melodious as the voice—came from above. “Benn Mavin? Is that you? My dear friend, Mavin!”

  “Get down here, Poe. By my rights as magistrate and by the order of the King!” Mavin continued to yell.

  Darthyn noticed that the other thieves around them were shifting uncomfortably as they recognized what was happening. They may have thought this was another group of thieves trying to intercept a job, but now they knew it was the Alderidon Guard and that was probably worse. He couldn’t help but smile. Mavin was right. We will catch these sly dogs—and Racin Poe—the leader of the Trahiad!

  “Be careful,” Damon warned softly. “We can’t trust him.”

  “The King is down there with you?” Racin asked.

  “Enough of this!” Mavin yelled back up.

  But it was Darthyn’s turn to share his amusement. “Not the King, but the Prince who will judge you. Racin, come down here. Now,” he commanded.

  There was silence on the other end. Darthyn thought he heard voices whispering, and he saw Mavin take a step toward the rope. Damon shrugged his shoulders and moved to follow Mavin, but Darthyn raised a hand to stop them both. “Let him come. You hear that, Racin? You either come down here or I’ll unleash the Guard on you and arrest you for resistance!”

  “Oh Darthyn, Darthyn, Darthyn,” Racin said as his handsome face appeared in the trapdoor above. He had a giant grin—of course he would—that was brighter than the light that filled the sewers below. “It really is you!” he exclaimed with a laugh. “Is Elizabeth with you? I always love seeing Elizabeth.”

  Darthyn felt his face go hot and his hand tighten on his sword.

  “Elizabeth?” Sim asked. “Is he talking about your wife? How does he know Lady Elizabeth?”

  From the questioning stares that everyone else was giving him, Darthyn knew Sim wasn’t the only one asking that question.

  Darthyn glared at Sim and then shifted his ire toward the elegant man gliding down the rope. Racin Poe landed on his feet as deftly as an acrobat, and then he flourished his cape elaborately as he stood tall and regarded the room. He stood a good three to four inches taller than Darthyn, had long shiny black hair that fell past his shoulders and put most women’s hair to shame, and had broad enough shoulders to make any doorframe look narrow. And he was the best-looking man in all of Alderidon. At least that’s what Elizabeth says, curse her!

  “You came here just to pay me a visit?” Racin asked coyly.

  “You are under arrest,” Mavin said when Darthyn stared stupidly. Darthyn cursed himself for not being able to answer, but he couldn’t. Racin Poe had at one time been a good friend—they had grown up together, gone through the Academy together, and had stayed friends all during Racin’s time in the Order—but something had happened that had driven Racin out of the Order, and now, I can’t think on it. Unconsciously, he looked at Damon. Damon may be the only one who understands what Racin went through.

  “On what charge?” Racin asked as his dashing smile turned to a deadly glare. “What charge exactly, Magistrate? For being in a sewer? For bringing goods from a building I own, down into the sewers?”

  “For the illegal transport of draestl, dralchoms, or whatever else are in these barrels,” Darthyn said confidently, gesturing at the barrels. “We have you, Racin. We finally have you.”

  Racin turned to look at Darthyn and stared into his eyes. For a moment, Darthyn saw the Racin he had grown up with and there was a flicker of softness and admiration. But a moment later it changed to amusement. Amusement!

  “Illegal? What is illegal about what I’ve done?” Racing asked innocently.

  “Enough of this,” Mavin said, frustrated. “Racin, you are under arrest. Tell your thugs to put away their weapons and step aside. All of you are under arrest. If you resist, it will be the gallows for sure!”

  “Gentlemen,” Racin said w
ith a laugh. “Wise, and prudent, gentlemen—I, above all others, uphold the law, and I can assure you that I have done nothing illegal. What must I prove to allow me the freedom to be about my important business?”

  “Nothing illegal?” Darthyn asked. I hate the way Racin smirks. Elizabeth always liked that bloody smirk. “I assume you’ll say that the barrels are full of nothing illegal. Can we check them? Do you give us permission to open them?”

  “Permission to search my barrels?” Racin said, annoyed. “Darthyn, I can’t understand why you want to search an honest man’s barrels when you have so many more important things to do. Like deal with that dragonling. Have you caught him yet?”

  Darthyn bristled.

  “I take it from your reaction that you haven’t yet?” Racin teased. “How long has the dragonling been avoiding you now? Since before Wayd was born, right?”

  Darthyn shuddered. And how many people has Morgar killed…

  “Enough of this!” Mavin interrupted. “We don’t need your permission. We’re opening the barrels!”

  “Go ahead, you have my permission,” Racin said, nonchalantly.

  “Well, we will,” Darthyn responded, regaining his confidence. “And we don’t need permission,” he added under his breath. He thought he heard Mavin grunt. Oh, I know I’m acting childish. Racin always got the better of me. It’s one thing to bring up the dragonling—my greatest failure of all—but I can’t believe he brought up Elizabeth! It didn’t help that Damon stood where he was with an amused smile of his own splashed across his face. Curse you, Templar cowards!

  He reached the closest barrel and motioned for someone to grab a crowbar. There was one nearby, and a guard handed it to him. Putting it into position, he heaved, and the barrel broke open and spilled kernels of wheat.

  “Search the others,” Darthyn commanded as he thrust his hand into the grains to search for something hidden within. Only kernels of wheat met his touch.

  They broke the other barrels one after another, and wheat and rye filled the sewer floor. “It can’t be,” Mavin said, disgusted as he kicked at a pile of wheat. “The reports. The bloody rumors. We—”

  “What?” Racin interrupted. “What did you hear? That I’m a criminal? That I’m transporting dragonlyst? Or dragonsbane?” he let out a loud laugh.

  “Why the sewers?” Darthyn asked. There has to be an angle. I can get him here. I can— “if there was nothing to hide, why the sewers?”

  “Since when is there a law against entering the sewers? Come on, High Judge. Don’t you make the laws? Is there a law saying I can’t be in the sewers? Is there?” his voice became thick with rage. “Answer me, Prince!”

  “Guard your tongue,” Mavin yelled. Guards and thieves alike tightened their grips on their weapons. A scowl replaced Damon’s amused smile.

  “No,” Darthyn hissed. “But it’s discouraged. There’s no reason to be down here.”

  “No reason?” Racin asked. “No reason?” he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “There is every reason! Have you seen the streets of Alderidon? There are thieves everywhere! They are stealing from caravans—sometimes in the light of day! Your guards, they do nothing. I don’t feel protected up there. If I was transporting this shipment of goods on the streets above, there would be no guarantee of their safety. No—keep your mouth shut, Mavin—can you guarantee my safety? No, you cannot. So I move my goods at night, in the safety of the sewers.”

  Darthyn wanted to chew a hole through his lip he was so mad. Curse Racin and his brilliant mind. His handsome looks. His—ugh!

  “Now, if you can be so kind as to leave us to our business, we’ll collect our things and be on our way,” Racin said.

  Darthyn wanted to scream. Instead, he started swinging his sword back as if he would throw it at Racin. Racin saw the motion and smiled at him, which made Darthyn want to throw it even more. Breathing deeply to calm his emotions, he lowered his sword, and finally nodded. Mavin cursed. The guards stepped away and the thugs—merchant guards—moved back into place to pick up any grain that was salvageable.

  “I expect a full repayment of the goods lost in this unauthorized raid,” Racin said as he walked by Darthyn.

  “Nonsense,” Mavin said. “We had every right to search these, you weren’t—”

  “Do I need to visit Elizabeth?” Racin said flatly, staring right at Darthyn.

  Without thinking, Darthyn strode up to Racin and threw a punch at his face. With reflexes faster than lightening, Racin grabbed Darthyn’s fist while in motion and forced the punch to stop. Darthyn’s eyes bulged in shock as he felt the force that stopped his hand. He’s so strong. He shuddered as he looked into Racin’s cold, hard eyes.

  “Do I need to let Elizabeth know?” Racin repeated in bitter hatred. “She may be eager to see me after all these years. It’s your decision, old friend.”

  It amazed Darthyn at the transformation of the man. He had gone from jovial and friendly to irate in a matter of moments. I’m not sure he won’t kill me if I don’t appease his request. Finally, Darthyn nodded. As Racin smiled, Darthyn reached forward and grabbed him by the arm. “But keep Elizabeth out of this. She chose me, Racin. She chose me. Get over it. You should be over it by now. She’s my wife and always will be.”

  Racin smiled before letting out a roaring laugh. “Get over it? Me? I’m not the one that feels threatened every time I mention her name!” and with that Racin turned to leave, walking back over to the rope, and pulling himself up and out of the sewer.

  Darthyn stared after Racin and couldn’t help the smile from forming on his face.

  The thugs continued to gather the materials as the guards turned to head back the way they had come.

  “What a disaster,” Sim said. “I can’t believe he treated you like that. Why did you allow it?”

  Darthyn continued to walk forward, replaying what he saw over and over in his mind, completely ignoring his squire as Sim tried to get his attention.

  Mavin noticed that he wasn’t listening. “Darthyn, what is it?” Mavin finally asked as they walked the dejected group back toward the surface. When Darthyn didn’t respond, the magistrate grabbed his sleeve. “Darthyn!”

  Darthyn looked at Mavin and smiled. “Did you see it, Mavin?” Darthyn asked.

  “What?” the magistrate asked.

  “A small tattoo just under Racin’s left ear.”

  “I’m not in the mood for guessing games,” Mavin said. “Out with it.”

  Darthyn laughed—not as musical as Racin’s—but laugh he did. “Three swords formed in a triangle around a dragon’s head. And the best part, the number seven, was underneath it.”

  Mavin stopped, and his mouth fell open. “Are you certain?”

  Darthyn nodded. “Absolutely. He’d never let us get that close before, but he played into it perfectly today!”

  “So our assumptions were correct,” Damon nodded thoughtfully. “Racin is the Seven? The grandmaster of the Trahiad?”

  “What’s going on?” Sim asked. “What does this sword mean?”

  It was Mavin who answered. “We’ve been searching for years for ways to connect Racin Poe to the Trahiad. We always knew it was him behind it, but he’s always been too careful.”

  “Until now,” Darthyn said with a laugh.

  “What’s the symbol?” Sim asked.

  “Three swords in a triangle around a dragon’s head is the mark of the Trahiad,” Darthyn said. “But the number seven? The Seven is the leader of it all. And Racin Poe had that mark,” Darthyn finished with a laugh. “We now can connect Racin Poe to the Trahiad and have proof that he’s their leader. We will get you, Racin Poe. We will get you and put your thieving organization behind bars forever.”

  1

  A Riddle

  Hope is a funny thing. True, it provides a sensation of potential and the perception that something better is ahead, but it derives its power from something much simpler than that. It’s a motivator. It’s something that provides the ener
gy to pick yourself up and try again when everything, and everyone else, is telling you to quit.

  Elisa Ander ran into the Hogswallow Inn, her head spinning and her heart racing, looking anywhere and everywhere for her brother, Wyatt. She knew he wouldn’t be difficult to find—he was well over six feet tall, had massive broad shoulders, and had a booming voice that you could hear from anywhere. But all she saw were the lewd eyes of men already heavy in their drink, despite it only being ten in the morning.

  She stepped into the common room anyway, trying to ignore the eyes that began examining her, and took a deep breath. Why does Wyatt always look for work in these wonderful places? She knew why they were looking at her. She was pretty, though she wasn’t a big fan of the freckles on her face and sometimes she felt like she was a little too tall—there weren’t many girls right at six feet. Not to mention that they teased her about her hair. She wore it in the manner of her people, two braids woven tight on each side of her head. I’m Myandian after all—despite growing up in these wretched Slums.

  The Slums were what they were. It was home, and she had to deal with dirty men and their inability to control their gazes. She fingered her concealed dagger and smiled. Let them try something.

  “Elisa?” she heard a harsh whisper from the side. Or at least an attempt of a whisper. She turned toward the voice, knowing full well it was her brother, and wasn’t the least surprised when she saw him all the way across the room. That lout needs to learn how to whisper! “What are you doing here?”

  Elisa glared at him and walked over. One man sitting at a table with the barmaid—her name was Delia if I’m not mistaken—was making unwanted advances on her, and as he saw Elisa walk by, he reached out a probing hand in Elisa’s direction.

  Elisa grabbed the man by the hand in a tight grip, flipped it over, and pushed up. The man barked out a scream of pain and Elisa pushed higher. “Watch what you’re grabbing!” she said loud enough for the entire room to hear. She saw Wyatt making his way over—as he always does, trying to protect me—so she attempted to solve this before he could. She needed to prove to everyone out there that she could protect herself. I can, and I will.