Of Dawn and Darkness (The Elder Empire: Sea Book 2)

by Will Wight

  So they began their clandestine operations. Two charges packed under a rain-barrel outside the arena, leaning against their target wall. Foster and Petal both assured him that the charges were shaped appropriately for their needs, though Calder neither knew nor cared what a shaped explosion looked like. All he needed to know was whether it would work when they needed it to.

  “Absolutely,” Foster said, looking him in the eye and daring him to doubt.

  “I think so,” Petal mumbled into her hair.

  Good enough for him.

  For redundancy’s sake, there were two other charges hidden in the stairwell leading out. It would be more difficult to leave without stairs, and more dangerous to any bystanders caught in the blast, but that was their only plan in case the rain barrel was moved or emptied during the blast.

  Besides that, they carried six other charges for a potential manual detonation. As Foster had said, “When you’re dealing with explosions, you need backups for your backups.”

  Now, the night before Urzaia’s scheduled fight, there was one more step. Calder and Petal would bribe their way underneath the arena for a few minutes with the Champion. Urzaia deserved to know the plan.

  And if there were any other problems, it would be better to find them out now.

  Petal had finished hiding half a dozen cigar boxes in various places around her coat and skirts—their backups, if some of the charges needed to be replaced. She was along to make sure all their equipment was working. It was Calder’s job to get them into the arena.

  Not that he had any idea how to do that, but he found that a smile, a Guild crest, and five goldmarks would work as well as a key in most places.

  They were heading out of their room at a nearby inn when they ran into Andel. He stood in their way like a white-clad wall, hat perfectly in place, face impassive as he watched them.

  Calder faced him with a carefully calculated puzzled expression. “Andel? Is something wrong?”

  Inside, he was seething. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of all along.

  Never, at any point, had Andel questioned their plan to rescue Urzaia. At first, Calder and Jerri had gone to great pains to hide it from him, but eventually it was inevitable that he would find out. When he did, he’d said nothing. Not a word. He accepted it and continued doing his duties about the ship.

  The closer they got to the actual execution of the plan, the more helpful he’d been: putting advice in here and there, accompanying them to the arena, doling out correction or encouragement or sheer cynicism.

  He’d helped too much. For at least a year, Calder had been waiting for the man to stand in their way.

  And now here he was, actually blocking the hallway so they couldn’t pass. He’d known it wouldn’t last.

  “What’s your plan?” Andel asked.

  “Get inside, check the charges, compare notes with Urzaia. Tonight is our only chance.” They’d planned on speaking with him two nights before, but it seemed he only fought every three days. They could certainly wait for his next fight, later in the week, but Calder had rejected that idea.

  He’d made the man wait four years. There was no way he was going to show up now and say, “Here I am to rescue you, Urzaia! Now, keep risking your life and wait until I’m ready.”

  No, he’d waited until absolutely everything else was in place to speak with the Champion. And now that the time had come, Andel had a problem.

  “That’s not a plan,” Andel said. “That’s a series of goals.”

  “I’d be happy to fight a semantics duel with you another time, Andel. Tomorrow evening, perhaps, while we’re making full speed away from this city.” Hopefully with Urzaia onboard and a minimum of fuss behind.

  Andel adjusted his hat. “I’ll get you into the arena,” he said. Calder immediately tried to figure out how those words could possibly be a trick. “Under tradition and Imperial law, gladiators have the right to invite a member of the Order to give them death-rites on the night before a match. I may have parted ways with my Guild, but I am still a Pilgrim.”

  Calder leaned closer to Andel, trying to pierce the shapeshifting Elderspawn’s clever disguise. “You’d like to help us violate Imperial law? That would make you an accomplice.”

  “From a legal standpoint, I’m quite certain we’d be tried separately. Rather than your accomplice, which is what I’d be in the Heartlands, an Izyrian court would likely find me a separate offender and hang me.”

  Petal shuffled uncomfortably at the mention of hanging, but Calder was still waiting for an explanation.

  “...this may come as a surprise to you, Marten, but I had a look at Urzaia’s charges on the way over from the Capital. He doesn’t deserve to be where he is, and even if he did, he’s paid the price by now. I have a great respect for Imperial law, but I am not a slave to it.”

  He spoke so succinctly, so matter-of-factly, that Calder almost forgot the man was speaking nonsense. Until this point, Calder would have called Andel Petronus passionately devoted to the law.

  But here he was, ushering them out the door to detonate some Imperial property.

  Clearly, Calder had missed something somewhere.

  ~~~

  Andel’s White Sun medallion got them through the arena guards faster than Calder would have thought possible. In fact, one of the guards pulled the former Pilgrim aside for a few private words before they entered.

  Then they were allowed inside the arena, directed to Urzaia’s room outside the sand, and given full run of the facility. Just like that.

  “Either the security here is much more forgiving than I would have expected, or having you along has made things significantly easier,” Calder said.

  “I’m twice your age,” Andel said, without slowing his pace or turning around. “I give the commands, because I know what I’m talking about, and you execute them with energy and enthusiasm. That’s how it works.”

  Not long ago, that reminder of Andel’s authority would have stuck Calder’s lips together like some of Petal’s alchemical resin. No way he would say anything to encourage the man after a comment like that. Now, though, Calder was used to it. “You were right this time. Edge case. Take your praise, beggar, and begone.”

  “I’ve had to beg before,” Petal said softly, and that killed the conversation.

  Urzaia was waiting where any gladiator would the night before a match—in a small room just outside of the arena. The only difference between Urzaia and his fellow fighters was that Urzaia got his own room.

  Either he was too dangerous for company, or no one wanted to share a room with the Woodsman. Both ways worked for Calder.

  They used the key Andel had been given by the guard, and then again on a second, inner door. Before Andel opened the second one, Calder stopped him.

  “We have the keys. Let’s take him now.” He was getting excited the more he thought of it. “Why not? No need to blow anything up. We take him and just walk out. The worst we’ll have to face is a few guards.”

  Without a word, Andel pulled open the door and showed him why.

  The room was small and made entirely of the same yellow stone that shaped the arena. They could see the arena through two iron gates, and a cold breeze wafted in from the night, stirring the grit and straw on the floor. On a bunk set against the wall lay Urzaia, laying back with his head pillowed on his hands, just as he’d slept on the deck of The Testament.

  Both wrists and both ankles were manacled, their thick chains leading to the stone wall. Without even checking, Calder knew they’d been invested. Even if they hadn’t been invested before they were brought to this chamber, they would be by now; the Intent of hundreds of captors and prisoners in this cell over the years. If the chains had held so far, they’d hold tonight.

  Besides which, Calder glanced around the room and couldn’t find Urzaia’s black hatchets. They must arm him only before the match, which made sense. He wouldn’t leave without his Awakened blades, especially since one of them was likely h
is Vessel. Calder and his crew had been disarmed at the door, though fortunately Petal hadn’t been thoroughly searched.

  Just in case, Calder took the key from Andel and headed over to Urzaia’s manacles. He knelt down to try the circlet of iron on the man’s ankle. The key wouldn’t even fit in the lock.

  He’d known it was a long shot, but he was ready for a break of good luck. He pressed his fingertips against the cold metal and Read...nothing useful. A muddle of Intent with the clear purpose of keeping the latch closed.

  Maybe with one of Petal’s charges—

  Calder was cut off by bands of warm steel wrapping around his throat, choking his air. He clawed at his waist, looking for his saber, but his belt was empty. He slapped in utter futility at whatever was strangling him, but he might as well have saved his strength. It was worse than steel; it was Urzaia Woodsman’s arm.

  “Hello, who are you?” came the Champion’s cheery voice. After another few seconds, his grip on Calder relaxed, and Calder’s vision swam as he tried to keep his breathing under control.

  “The Navigator Captain!” Urzaia boomed, and his voice carried surprise and delight. “You made it! Four years is a long time in the arena, but I am fortunate. They only started really trying to kill me last year.”

  Calder turned to face the gap-toothed Champion’s smile. Rubbing at his neck, he asked hoarsely, “What were they doing before?”

  “Before, the fights were almost fair. I did not think so at the time. But when it suddenly became difficult, I asked why. My Patron told me they could not find anyone to fight me when it was only me against an opposing team. So I have been fighting all of the other teams.”

  He laughed when he was finished, but Calder thought back to Urzaia’s fight with the Houndmaster. A Soulbound with the power to create four hounds to fight for him had been considered one full team. He had been enough to give Urzaia some new scars. Picturing the Woodsman fighting an arena full of enemies like that...

  His memories were interrupted as he noticed a strange gleam from Urzaia’s eye. He leaned closer, inspecting it, and the Champion noticed. He chuckled, tapping his finger on the eyeball. “It is hard to notice, is it not? I lost the real one…oh, who remembers? But I do not want to ruin my beautiful face with a patch, so I paid an alchemist for a replacement. Worth every mark!”

  Calder should have gotten here sooner.

  “How long have you been fighting…like that?” he asked. It wasn’t the question he should be asking, but he needed to know.

  Urzaia frowned, considering. “More than a year now. Fourteen, fifteen months, I would say.”

  Calder gripped the man’s shoulder, which felt like grabbing leather armor. “I know it’s been longer than I wanted. But trust me a little more. Tomorrow, we’re getting you out.”

  The Champion patted him on the arm reassuringly. “Don’t worry. If I trust a man one day, I will trust him the next, until he gives me reason not to. And here you are! I was right to trust you, yes?”

  Calder had to look away, his throat choked with emotion. All this time...all this time, and Urzaia still trusted him.

  In the meantime, Andel explained the plan.

  “I have to win one more time, yes?” Urzaia grinned. “No problem! If this is the last fight of the Woodsman, I will give them a real show!”

  Behind them, the door opened.

  Calder straightened immediately, stepping behind Andel. Their previous arrangement may have looked suspicious: Calder the closest, obviously speaking to Urzaia, the Champion grinning like a fool, with Andel standing deferentially behind and Petal huddling in the back. It would be clear that Calder was the one talking with the gladiator, not Andel the Pilgrim. That wouldn’t be enough to get a guard to draw steel, but it might spark some questions.

  Into the room came the guard they’d met earlier, the one at the door. And with him, he brought his supervisor.

  The man’s rank was obvious. His hair was solid silver, his uniform pristine. He had a four-pointed star on his chest, where a Guild member might wear their crest, and he looked at them like a man deciding which variety of acid to spray on a bunch of sewer rats.

  “Who are these two?” he asked his subordinate, gesturing sharply to Calder and Petal.

  The guard didn’t have an answer, so Andel stepped in. “Guests of the Order and friends of the supplicant. They’re here to provide a measure of comfort before Urzaia’s last moments. Should they come.”

  The supervisor squinted at Andel as though trying to see through his words with sheer force of will. For once, Calder was glad for the man’s mask of a face.

  “We do not allow unsupervised access to the arena,” he said, evidently forgetting that his guard had done just that. He extended a hand, palm-up. “The key, if you please.”

  Wincing, Calder handed it over. The guard paled, and the supervisor’s face tightened as he gathered his obvious anger. Clearly, Andel wasn’t supposed to relinquish control of their arena key.

  “Search them,” the supervisor commanded. “Search the prisoner. And then get them out.”

  Urzaia was still smiling, but now it made him look more dangerous than ever. He could snap a man’s neck without losing that smile. “I am not a prisoner. I am a gladiator of the arena.”

  “You’re chained to a wall, is what you are. Search him first, see if they slipped him anything.” The man’s gaze stayed locked on Andel, as though he suspected the Luminian Pilgrim would try passing Urzaia something now.

  Which gave Calder enough space to step to one side, out of the man’s view, and gesture to Petal. He mimed scooping something out of his pocket and throwing it away.

  Her eyes grew wide.

  During their first encounter with the guards, they hadn’t been inspected. They had willingly divested themselves of weapons and moved along. Now, based on the search the guard was giving Urzaia, they wouldn’t have the room to hide a needle. Which meant that Petal needed to rid herself of six alchemical charges in a way that didn’t see anyone detained or detonated.

  Petal started edging closer to the edge of Urzaia’s bunk, behind the supervisor’s back. The guard had finished patting Urzaia down, and was glancing up to check for his next target.

  Before the man had a chance to notice Petal was gone, Andel spread his arms. “I didn’t smuggle weapons in to a gladiator who requested death-rites,” he said, and Calder was certain he only spoke to keep the men focused on him. He was better at this than he had any right to be, as a representative of the Imperial court.

  For his part, Calder kept his eyes on the supervisor. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw Petal producing cigar boxes and sliding them under Urzaia’s bunk.

  One of the boxes scraped over the stone floor, and Calder spoke up, desperate to cover the noise. “Ah! It’s...so...so great to see you, Urzaia, I’m sure you’ll make it out alive tomorrow.”

  Urzaia chuckled, and Calder couldn’t tell if he was playing along or if the man was really just that relaxed. “I always have so far. I don’t see why tomorrow should be any different.”

  Petal tossed one more charge under Urzaia’s bed, and then raised both of her small fists triumphantly.

  A second later, the supervisor turned to her. “Get away from him. Over here.” He knelt to pat her down, businesslike and professional. “I hope you took the Pilgrim up on his rites, Woodsman. Tomorrow’s a big day.”

  Calder had no idea who this man was, but he spoke as though he knew something Urzaia didn’t. In the meantime, his subordinate had finished with Andel and moved on to Calder. He was in for a disappointment, as Calder had nothing suspicious on him.

  His shoelaces were invested weapons, and he could kill a man with them given enough time. But nothing suspicious.

  Urzaia raised his eyebrows at the supervisors words. “If it is twelve men and I must fight without my hatchets, that is not a surprise. I have done that already.”

  The supervisor snorted, but said nothing else. Seconds later, he stood. “We�
�re done. Woodsman, we’ll see you on the sand.”

  The two guards marched the crew into the hall, leaving Urzaia alone.

  With half a dozen alchemical munitions under his bed.

  ~~~

  The crew had to rise before dawn to make it to the arena in time to ensure seats, which meant that Calder had a grand total of three hours sleep. None of the others were much better off, except for Jerri, who for some reason was looking forward to the day with endless enthusiasm.

  “Jerri, since you’re chipper this morning, sound us off.”

  “With pleasure! Petal, you’re first up.”

  “Checking the charges,” Petal whispered.

  “Foster?”

  “Oversight,” he grunted. “I’m on the closest guard.”

  “Andel?”

  “Backup. I have a seat on the opposite side of the arena, and I will signal Foster if I notice something wrong.”

  “Cheer up, Andel, all you have to do is watch the fight! I, on the other hand, will close off the staircase as soon as the match begins.” Calder pointed to himself and said, “And then what, Calder? Why, thank you for asking. Once the fight is over, I will be the one to detonate the charges.” Technically, Foster or Petal should be covering this job, but he didn’t feel right leaving it to someone else. In the worst-case scenario, he could take full blame for the plan.

  The Emperor needed him alive, or the thousands of goldmarks he’d sunk into The Testament’s construction would go to waste. If Calder went before an Imperial court, he’d likely get off with nothing more than a swollen debt.

  Which would be painful enough, but anyone else would be executed or imprisoned for life.

  “And if something goes wrong?” Jerri asked, as though delighted by the prospect. She could roll out of bed bristling with energy. Calder, on the other hand, currently wanted to knife someone.

  “Andel signals Foster, Foster signals Petal and me, I tell you,” Calder said. “Or we all notice and run.”

  “What about the charges?” Petal asked, then shook her head. “The extra charges.” The ones they’d left with Urzaia.