I was tired of the game. "What do you want, Solomon?"
His eyes narrowed, the bonhomie momentarily evaporating before my twin discourtesies of breaking his flow and ignoring his title. But then the mask flowed effortlessly back into place.
"There is a project of mine, some small work I've been pursuing for a number of years. It is about to come to fruition. But I have encountered something of a setback." He paced back and forth, occasionally turning towards me as if he thought I wasn't paying attention. "One of the key elements has been stolen from my associates, and I would dearly love to retrieve it."
"What does this have to do with me?"
"It has come to my notice that you have, quite recently, fallen into bad company. I do understand. You're far from home, lost and thoroughly unpopular with everyone around you. And then a pretty girl approaches you, weaves you a tale of murder and injustice. All she wants is for you to help her when no one else will, an appeal that goes straight to everything honourable and decent in your heart. And so you, quite without meaning to..." He came to an abrupt halt, and spread his palms wide.
"Fall into bad company?" I finished.
"Precisely." He leaned in close. "Arianwyn 'Kallindri' has been lying to you from the moment you met. Worse, she's just a lost little girl meddling in matters she doesn't understand." He took a deep breath. "I'm a reasonable man..."
It was funny how so many reasonable men had to clarify their nature to the poor, confused souls they kidnapped.
"...I know she took the portalstone fragment from Dalrand's study. I just want to know where she's hidden it."
My brow furrowed. Portalstone? Did he mean the chunk of watchstone that was at this moment still sitting in my pocket? Despite the seriousness of the situation, I almost laughed. The great and terrible Lord Solomon had been woefully let down by his minions. I hadn't even tried to conceal the fragment. If they'd searched me at all thoroughly, instead of simply taking my weapons, they'd surely have found it.
"How do you know she doesn't have it on her person?" I asked.
"There was some commotion by the river this morning, I understand," Solomon said. "Miss Kallindri was unconscious for some time, and you were distracted. It was laughably easy to have her searched. The same held true of her house, once that ridiculous... retainer of hers had left to join you."
I wondered briefly who had been Solomon's catspaw. Again my thoughts drifted back to Constans. Solomon's dismissal had been curiously heavy-handed. To throw off my suspicions? It wouldn't really matter unless I managed to escape my current predicament.
"I just want the fragment returned," Solomon said. "I give you my word no harm will come to her."
This was getting increasingly odd. If he was so concerned about Arianwyn's actions, why was she not here instead of me? Especially if he knew where she lived.
Then, in a flash, I had it. "You're afraid of her."
He frowned. "Nonsense."
"Then why haven't you got her in one of your dungeons, peeling the flesh from her bones until she talks?"
"Even I have limits. She has allies on the council, allies I do not wish to provoke." I had to give him that. Torture was nothing if not provocative. "That's why I wanted to give you this chance to be reasonable, to help me without need for unpleasantness."
"And if I refuse your generous offer?"
"Then I'll learn everything you know, inch by painful inch. Every man has his breaking point, and yours will come far more swiftly than you think. I'd rather not resort to such methods, but I will do so without hesitation if you force my hand." He shook his head. "There is much at stake."
I weighed my options. They were, as far as I could tell, incredibly poor. I could refuse cooperation and end my days in the dungeons. They'd find the fragment long before I died, of course, as my clothes would be the first layer stripped from me. I could throw in my lot with Solomon, but even as the possibility formed in my mind I realised I could no more do that than shrug off my manacles and fly around the room. That left precisely one option, an option that was, at best, a delaying tactic. It would have to do.
"You win," I said bitterly."I'll take you to where it's hidden."
Solomon wagged a finger. "I oversee, I do not enact." Behind me, the door opened. "Balgan," Solomon addressed his hulking retainer with a smile, "Ambassador Saran has decided to assist us after all."
So far, so good. Now I had to work out what to do next.
Nine
I'd been expecting to be dragged into the streets immediately, but my next journey – happily on my own two feet this time – was back to the cell. There I waited for another interminable period, with little to do but replay the conversation with Solomon, and work out how to profit from my stay of execution. Well, not execution, perhaps, but I knew that if Solomon resorted to less civilised methods of persuasion than the ones he'd tried so far, then the end result would be much the same.
As it happened, I did have a plan of sorts, but its success was far from guaranteed, founded as it was on a pair of enormous assumptions. I was far from confident about my chances, but this desperate plan was all I had – unless something better came along, of course. Given my recent luck, I wasn't holding out much hope.
It was dusk when the door to the cell opened again. I was expecting Balgan, and was not disappointed. I took against his smaller companion almost immediately.
He was pleasant enough to look upon, as far as these things go. His dark hair was carefully oiled into place, his thin moustache precisely trimmed and his dark crimson clothing of an expensive, but not overly showy, cut. Yet there was something about the way he carried himself that warned me that his nature was as ugly as Balgan's appearance.
It was the eyes. There was a gleam of something unsavoury, hidden from cursory examination, but no less real for that. Or perhaps I just didn't like him because he was wearing my sword, for there it was, buckled at his waist. On the one hand, it was easy enough to understand. He'd have been hard-pressed to find a better blade in the city, and it wasn't as if the true owner was likely to live long. On the other, that sword was tied to my family's blood in so many ways, and it irked me to see it commandeered.
"It's time to go," he said. "Unless, of course, you've decided not to embrace Lord Solomon's offer?"
In reply I rose and walked to the door. I had no wish to be carried through the streets like a sack of potatoes.
"Excellent. Let us be on our way." The small man gave a mocking bow. "I am Ildaro, and I'm delighted to be your companion this fine evening. Balgan you've met, of course. He'll be coming too – a comforting fellow to have around in these dangerous times."
Not to me, he wasn't, but I didn't suppose my opinion was being sought. At Ildaro's direction, Balgan produced the key for my shackles and set my hands free. Then, with another ironic bow, Ildaro indicated I should follow my gigantic gaoler from the room.
I was led downward down a series of spiral staircases and along passageways that had much more in common with my barren cell than the extravagantly apportioned apartments in which Solomon had received me. We finally emerged onto an enormous flagstoned courtyard and into the ebbing remains of what had been a beautifully ruddy sunset.
I craned my neck skyward to take a look at the building that had been my home for the better part of a night and a day, and saw, with no real surprise, that it wasn't some lordly mansion, but the central keep of a fortress.
A shove from Balgan hinted that I should pick up my pace, but I hardly noticed, so lost was I in wonder at the arrogant scale of the place. I'd known of the Towers of Tressia before, of course – one could hardly make war against the city and not know they existed – but I had never realised just how massive the things were. I remembered thinking how the Hadari army had been within six months of wiping Tressia off the face of the map, and suddenly knew the folly of my thoughts. This fortress alone would have laughed at our efforts for a year or more, and it was but one of many. I'd always assumed that the end of the war had saved many thous
ands of lives, but only now, in the shadow of that great bastion, did I finally have an inkling of just how correct that assumption had been.
"Almost a shame there's peace now, isn't it?" said Ildaro, with a snigger. "You'd have had a nasty shock, I reckon."
No less than six heavily armed praetorians guarded the outer gate, but they clearly knew Ildaro, for they let us pass without as much as a word of challenge. A few moments later, we'd passed through the gatehouse, crossed a bridge over a grassed-over moat, and I was out of Solomon's territory and back in the city again. No, that wasn't quite right, I realised. I might have been out of Solomon's stronghold, but in his territory I remained. As if to enforce that point Ildaro hooked his fingers into my arm and pulled me close.
"Now remember, you're just out for a stroll with a couple of friends, so there's no need to be drawing unnecessary attention to yourself," he cautioned, smirking.
I wrenched free of his grip and put a small, but welcome, distance between us. Balgan rumbled a warning, but Ildaro held up a placatory hand.
"Don't worry, Balgan," he said. "I'm sure our friend realises Lord Solomon isn't foolish enough to set him loose in the city with only the two of us to make sure that he behaves."
It was starkly obvious that the words were actually a warning for me. As my escorts caught up, I cast about as casually as I could. My heart sank. Scattered amongst the passersby were at least a dozen individuals – all of them men with the appearance of hardened killers – whose eyes were fixed firmly on me. There was no chance of making a break for it. I should have been flattered, but somehow couldn't quite appreciate the twisted compliment. Armed, I couldn't have hoped to cope with more than two or three of them. Unarmed, I was easy pickings for even one.
Balgan, slower on the uptake, suddenly made sense of Ildaro's joke and his shoulders heaved with barely-restrained laughter.
Ildaro clapped me on the shoulder. "Let's be on our way then. I've a feeling it's going to be a cold night. I'd like to have this business done before the worst of it descends."
I led them through the quiet streets as slowly as I dared. At each junction I speeded my pace, hoping to portray a confidence I didn't feel. As far as my escorts were aware, I knew exactly where I was going, and a moment of indecision would swiftly, and no doubt painfully, disabuse them. I had cause to thank the fact that my time had hung heavy since coming to the city. With little else to occupy me, I'd often taken meandering walks through the streets, and fancied that I knew most of the potential routes. Even so, each confluence of road and alley brought with it a brief moment of near panic, quickly washed away each time my deception went undiscovered.
Through it all, only Balgan and Ildaro stayed close by. The others hung back or to the side a few yards distant, presumably so as not to provoke suspicion in any conveniently passing constable. Except there weren't any passing constables. So far, we'd traipsed a good quarter of the way across the city and seen not so much as a hint of the law. I'd not gambled on receiving any assistance from that quarter, but had allowed myself to hold out slim hope that Quintus might lumber to my aid if I could alert one of his minions.
We reached another junction, and I took a steep road to the harbour side where the Silverway emptied into the ocean. The harbour wall gatehouse loomed large. Behind that, lay a tangled slum of crooked houses and, a little beyond that, the stone quayside and the open sea. I was running out of city, which meant I was running out of time. But there was nothing I could do about it. I'd have to keep to my course and see what unfolded. Once in the tangle of the dockside, I might be able to slip away.
"Not many constables around this evening." I stepped aside to make way for a brewer's dray as it headed uphill. Under cover of the movement, I took another brief look around. My wider escort was still in place, keeping their distance until needed.
"Oh, you noticed, did you?" said Ildaro. "Lord Solomon didn't want our little promenade to be interrupted, so he's arranged a few distractions." He leaned closer, and whispered conspiratorially. "The full details escape me, but I believe there's been an assault on a most dignified councillor, a handful of Sidarists murdered and, before long, a terrible fire is about to sweep through some particularly fine streets in the North Quarter. It should be more than enough to keep the law out of our way."
If I'd still harboured misconceptions about Solomon's ruthlessness and reach, I'd have shed them at that moment. So many lives ended or threatened for no better reason than to create a distraction. "There was no need for any of that."
Ildaro sniggered. "Look, his lordship wants the rock, so his lordship gets the rock. That's how it works."
"There was no need to harm anyone." Even as I spoke, I wondered why I bothered. Ildaro was clearly as morally void as his master.
"If you say so," Ildaro shrugged. "But it's done now. Best you don't let those lives go to waste."
I reached the bottom of the hill and passed through the harbour gatehouse, Balgan and Ildaro still at my side. There should have been guards on the gate. Even with Tressia and the Empire at watchful peace, there was the possibility of corsairs slipping past the outer defences. Then again, perhaps this was another consequence of Solomon's misdirection.
Scarcely had the thought formed in my mind when there was a rattling of chain on metal behind me. Whipping round, I saw the gatehouse's portcullis slam down across the roadway. Balgan, Ildaro and I were now trapped on the harbourside with a half dozen other thugs, whilst the remainder of our group was sealed on the city side.
Confusion reigned, but not nearly so much as I would have liked. Some of my escort stared back the way we'd come, seeking signs of an ambush, others were looking up at the guardhouse above, searching for a sign of whoever had dropped the portcullis – if, indeed, it wasn't a simple malfunction. A trio of the thugs on my side of the gatehouse hustled forward and attempted to lift it clear, but couldn't move it even an inch. Glancing through the bars, I saw another man hammering away on the garrison door. Unfortunately for him, it was a very old and solid door. I didn't expect that he'd make much in the way of progress.
Ildaro grabbed my arm, drew his – my – sword and jabbed the point into my stomach. The message was clear: don't even think about leaving. Seeing I was safely guarded, Balgan shouldered his way through the cluster of thugs around the portcullis. He spat on his hands, grasped the base of the portcullis, and heaved. Inch by inch, Balgan hauled that deadweight of riveted steel upward along its tracks, the rictus of concentration and the sweat beading his brow the only outward signs of his superhuman effort.
A small black object dropped through one of the murder holes above the archway. It bounced once off a thug's shoulder, twice on the ground, and then exploded with a dull crack.
Instantly, the tiny space beneath the arch was filled with a foul-smelling yellow smoke. It was so dense I could barely see Balgan, let alone the thugs beyond the portcullis. Ildaro backed away from the gatehouse, dragging me with him and barking at his men to follow. I was soon glad that he had. Only a couple of his thugs had emerged from the smoke cloud. The rest were in no fit state to get clear – or so I assumed from the strangled sounds that emerged from within.
Ildaro dragged me back another step. As he did so, a dark shape dropped from the rampart above our heads, smoke swirling and streaming behind him.
Some sixth sense warned Ildaro of his danger. He looked up in time to see a pair of boots collide heavily with his face. The impact knocked him off his feet and I winced empathically as his head struck the flagstones. His assailant landed lightly.
Constans.
He threw me an irreverent salute, and turned to face Ildaro's remaining two thugs.
They were as good as I feared they'd be. They drew their swords, but rather than coming forward in a mad rush that would have left them unbalanced and easy prey, they circled around us so that we couldn't keep both in view.
"Back to back," Constans muttered. He held out a dagger, hilt-first.
I nodded and took th
e weapon. My sword had fallen from Ildaro's hand only a few feet away, but it might as well have been on the Isle of Selann for all the good it would do me right now.
The thugs still hadn't attacked. Constans and I circled with them. Constans had a pair of daggers in his hands now, their wicked points daring the enemy to attack.
"What do we do now?" I asked, eying the nearest thug.
"We await glorious opportunity." Constans didn't sound at all concerned. In fact, I had the distinct impression he was enjoying himself.
Glorious opportunity came a few seconds later when a heavyset thug, breathing hard and obviously the worse for wear, stumbled from the smoke. Taking in the sight of the fallen Ildaro, he drew his sword, bellowed a challenge, and ran headlong at Constans.
The two circling guards, knowing the value of a good distraction when they saw one, closed in. Constans didn't even hesitate. He took two running steps towards the charging brute and launched into a flying kick that caught his target square in the middle of the chest. The victim's bellow cut off, and he dropped winded to the ground.
The remaining thugs ignored Constans and closed in on me. Faced with opponents on both sides, I advanced on the one directly to my front. He slashed at my belly, but the attack was clumsy and easily parried. I lunged for his eyes. He stumbled backwards, tripped on Ildaro's prone form and cracked his head on the roadway.
Constans shouted a warning. I turned as the other thug's sword hissed past my face. Ignoring the dagger in my hand, I kicked my new attacker massively between the legs. He doubled over with a roar of pain. Grabbing a hank of his filthy hair, I dragged his head down and slammed my knee into his face. He gave another cry of pain, muted this time, and collapsed.
Three more of my escort had finally emerged from the thinning smoke, faces blazing with damaged pride, but thankfully no Balgan as yet. Constans didn't seem to care about being on the losing end of three-to-one odds. He just laughed went to meet them. As he ran, the daggers left his hands. They sliced through the air, burying themselves in flesh to the accompaniment of meaty thuds. His victims dropped their swords and sank to their knees, desperately trying to staunch the flow of blood.
Shadow of the Raven (The Reckoning Book 1) Page 9