Wait… he thought. Is that…?
Aric turned his horse and spurred it off the road, climbing a hill. As he reached the top, he halted his mount and took in the view.
Now there was something he hadn’t expected to ever see again. The ocean.
A vast, glistening blue mantle, sprawled before him as endlessly as the dunes of the Mahar. They had reached the Eastern Sea. Below the hill, cradling a narrow bay, was a small city. A fleet of a handful of fishing vessels was anchored in its port, crying seagulls circling above their upright masts.
The sound of horse hooves announced the arrival of the rest of the hunters. Eliran halted her horse next to Aric’s. She consulted her Seeker bracelet, then closed her hand around the glowstone jewel, eyes set on the city down below.
“Got you now, bitch!” she muttered.
Aric looked at the mage, raising a brow. “You have a history with this Astoreth?”
“I have a history with all these bastards. Come on, let’s not waste any more time.”
“That may be a problem,” Leth said, a spyglass held to his eyes. “I think news of our captain’s escape may have traveled faster than us.”
Aric quickly grabbed his own spyglass and so did everyone else who had them. Instead of the typical Legionaries, a veritable army of paladins manned the walls of the city. A queue of people stretched from each of the gates, paladins questioning them and searching their wares before letting anyone in.
“Crap!” Eliran hissed after taking a peek through Aric’s spyglass. “Now what?”
“We wait for nightfall,” Aric replied calmly. “We can climb the walls under the cover of darkness.”
Eliran ground her teeth. “I don’t like waiting. With every moment that passes, Astoreth gets closer to whatever it is she’s trying to do in there.”
“We could force our way through,” Aric suggested, “but that will just sound the alarms.”
“No. No, you’re right. You should wait for nightfall, but I don’t have to. I can get inside unseen. I have my ways.”
“What will that achieve?” Clea asked. “You’ll still need to wait for us before making a move.”
“True,” Eliran conceded, “but it’ll give me the chance to do some scouting. I would feel much better if I at least knew what it is she’s planning to do next.”
“Can’t hurt to know a bit more about the target before we attack,” Aric agreed. “How will we find you?”
“This place must have a Dawnmother temple somewhere.” Eliran tipped her chin towards the city. “Meet me there at midnight.”
Aric nodded and Eliran kicked the haunches of her horse, trotting downhill towards the main gate. As she descended Aric drew a circle in the air, then placed his hand over his head. The dragon hunters dispersed across the hilltop, hiding amongst the thicker bushes lining its ridge, taking care to keep a good view of the surrounding landscape.
They remained hidden until the sun was gone, leaving only the moon to light up the sky. What had been a pleasantly refreshing breeze turned into a frigid wind, and soon Aric was fighting to keep himself from shivering. For a moment, he was transported back to one of those spring nights when he and Fadan had wandered the empty streets of the Citadel, pretending to be fighting all manners of evil.
Well, Aric thought, this isn’t pretending anymore. He whistled, got out from his cover, and ran downhill with his head low, a group of shadows following him.
They went for a wide bend of the wall where none of the city gates were visible. With his back against the wall, Aric signaled for Clea and Dothea. The two girls removed their backpacks, exchanging them for thick rings of rope that Nahir and Ergon handed them from their own equipment.
Every hunter was expected to be a good climber. After all, dragons didn’t bother building stairways to their mountaintop lairs. Clea and Dothea, however, weren’t just good climbers. They were uncanny. Aric was sure both could climb faster than they could run.
The pair glided up the wall, their fingertips and feet digging into the crevices between the stone blocks. They disappeared over the battlements and, a moment later, the two ropes dropped from above, and Aric signaled his hunters to start climbing. They climbed up in pairs, leaving Aric and the rookie, Artax, for last. The poor kid had barely had the time to adjust to his new company, and they had already turned him into a fugitive. Worse than that, they had set him on what was probably a suicide mission against evil mages dealing in death magic.
With his feet propped against the wall, Aric climbed, his calloused hands barely feeling the fibrous bite of the rope. Once at the top, Aric jumped onto the battlement’s walkway and squatted next to the rest of the company. Clea and Dothea rushed to pull the ropes up and swing them over the other side of the wall, dropping down into the city. There was a small plaza below. No one was walking its cobbled streets this time of night, nor were there any lights shining through the windows around them. They had chosen a good place to make their climb.
Something creaked and Aric swung his head towards the sound. The wooden door to the tower at the end of the wall section had opened. A paladin walked out, torch in hand. The man was a good fifteen paces away, but even though it was dark and the paladin had his helmet shoved down over his head, Aric still noticed his eyes widening.
The paladin went for his sword and his mouth opened, but he never made a sound. All Aric heard was the whistle of two knives hurtling towards the man. The paladin’s body sagged to the ground and the torch tumbled over the side of the wall, falling to the street.
“Fire take this!” Aric whispered. “Good reflexes, guys.” Nahir and Trissa nodded back. “Quick, everyone, start climbing down.”
“What about him?” Leth asked, motioning towards the paladin’s body.
“We certainly can’t leave him there,” Aric replied. “Nahir?”
The Cyrinian nodded, then strode to his victim and threw him over his shoulder. By the time he returned to the ropes with his passenger, most of the company was already down on the street.
Clea and Dothea waited up on the battlements for everyone to get down safely, including Nahir and his cargo, then untied the ropes and got down the hard way, just like they had climbed up in the first place.
“What are we supposed to do with him?” Irenya hissed, grimacing as Nahir placed the corpse down on the ground to rest his shoulder. “We can’t just walk around with a dead body.”
“We don’t even know where to go,” Leth added. “How are we going to find the local temple?”
“Nahir?” Aric asked.
The Cyrinian shook his head. “Don’t even remember the last time I was here.”
“Well, in that case, we ask the locals.” Aric aimed a finger at the other end of the street. “There’s a tavern down there. I’ll go and find out. The rest of you look for some dark alley you can dump the body in, then meet me back here.”
“You’re going alone?” Leth asked.
“I’m asking for directions,” Aric replied, “not storming a castle.”
“You’re dressed like a dragon hunter,” Leth clarified. “In a city on lockdown because of Guild fugitives. Us, more precisely.”
Aric looked down at himself, examining his metal plated leathers. His intricately sculpted golden vambraces alone looked more impressive than a Legionary’s. At least he had decided not to wear his dragon scales and Glowstone armor today.
“Right… I suppose you and Clea can come with me. Just in case.” He motioned to the rest of the group. “The rest of you, make sure no one finds that body for at least a couple days and meet us back here.”
“I wanna go to a tavern, too,” Orisius whined.
“Yeah,” Trissa agreed. “Why do you guys get to have all the fun?”
“We’re not having fun!” Aric retorted, his whisper growing too loud. “We have work to do. Now go.”
There were some grumbles, but everyone eventually obeyed and the group split in two. The tavern down the street had a couple of windows fl
anking the front door, but both had their shutters closed, the thin shafts of light and muffled laughter escaping through thin cracks in the wood the only indication of what lay inside. As they neared the establishment, the inscription on the boot shaped sign hanging above the door became visible – The Sweaty Shoe.
“Okay,” Aric said, grabbing the door knob. “We’re just regular patrons. We’ll order a drink, strike up a conversation with the bartender, and casually ask about the local temple.”
Clea nodded, but Leth wasn’t so sure.
“Just regular patrons? You’re carrying three different swords, for Goddess’s sake. You have knives coming out of your ears.”
Aric dismissed Leth with a wave of his hand. “It’ll be fine. People will be drinking in there, having fun. They’ll barely even notice us.”
He pulled the door open. A jumble of laughter and yelling swathed out, deafening the creaking of the door. Inside, heads turned, noticing the newcomers.
As they did, one by one, every conversation ground to a halt, patrons stopping mid-sentence, mouths hanging half-open until the only sound in the tavern was the weeping of a mandolin. Sitting at the back of the tavern, the lonely bard must have noticed the sudden silence and, without stopping his music, raised his head towards the door with a curious frown. His fingers stopped, the last notes ringing so wrong it was as if the instrument was out of tune. The ensuing silence was thicker than the haze of pipe smoke hanging in the air.
“Yep,” Leth said. “We’re practically invisible.”
10
The Fights We Cannot Win
Fadan woke up drowsy and sore. He tried to roll onto his side to reach for a vial of Runium on his nightstand but immediately regretted the decision. The wound on his abdomen exploded with pain like a hot iron twisting deep into his gut, pushing him back onto his pillow with a grimace.
Goddess damn it!
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Fadan called, still wincing.
The door slid open and a sphere of light flew into the room, painting the space with a tint of blue.
“Phaedra?” the Prince asked, recognizing the sphere.
“You remember my name.” The Wizardess walked inside, purple robes flowing around her. “I’m honored.”
“Of course I remember your name.”
“Oh, he doesn’t have a sense of humor,” she remarked to herself, moving to the side of his bed. She crossed her arms behind her back and inspected Fadan from head to toe. “How disappointing…”
Fadan felt his cheeks grow warm and pulled the covers up as if he could hide deeper beneath them. “I… Erm…”
Phaedra reached for the vial of Runium on the nightstand and handed it to the prince. “Here.”
Fadan frowned up at her. “Are you reading my thoughts?”
“Me?” Phaedra dangled the vial over his nose, the red, metallic liquid swirling inside. “That would be a very rude thing to do.”
Fadan snatched the potion, downed it in one gulp, then used a spell Great-Enchantress Clotilda had taught him to numb the pain. As the warmth of the Runium spread across his body, he pushed the covers away and sat up straight. “Are you going to dress me as well?”
Phaedra chortled. “You wish.” She turned and stepped out of the room, going back to the antechamber where she now slept.
Fadan found a pair of black pants and a blue shirt and jacket to go with it. Back at the Imperial Citadel, a small army of servants would’ve helped him to wash, find an outfit, help him dress, fill him in on the day’s schedule, and a dozen other things that went into the minutiae of a prince’s morning routine. Here in Ragara, however, his life had become a lot more… simple. Not that he minded it. If anything, Fadan liked it much better this way. At least he didn’t have Sagun breathing down his neck, spying on his moves and reporting back to his father.
“So,” Phaedra called from the other room, “what exciting adventures await us today?”
“Meetings,” Fadan replied as he pulled on his trousers. “Then some more meetings, and maybe some paperwork if we’re lucky.”
“Yay…”
“You know,” Fadan joined Phaedra in the antechamber, buttoning his jacket, “I wish I wasn’t down here even more than you do. You have no idea what I would give to go with Doric and Hagon to Pharyzah to save my mother.”
Phaedra nodded. “I can imagine.”
For the first time, she didn’t sound like she was mocking him, which was unsettling in a whole new way.
“Right, so… I guess we go about my princely duties, then.” Fadan strode to the door of the antechamber.
“What exactly are you trying to achieve, here?”
The Prince froze in his tracks. He turned, staring at the Wizardess with a confused look. “Defeating my father, of course.”
She was standing in the middle of the antechamber, and her arms parted open, encompassing the cramped space. “From down here?”
“If it was up to me, I’d be up there fighting already!”
“Why aren’t you, then?”
Fadan blinked, stunned. “Because…” he blurted out after a long moment. “It’s not that simple.”
Phaedra shrugged. “If you say so.” She stepped to the door. “Shall we?”
What was it with this girl and his brain freezing up around her? “Huh?”
Phaedra motioned towards the door handle. “Go about your princely duties…”
Fadan glanced at the door as if only now realizing it was there. “Oh, right. Yes, of course.”
He opened the door and fled outside.
* * *
They crossed the damp corridors of the underground compound, headed for the study of Arch-Mage Persea, in utter silence. The whole way, Fadan made sure to keep one pace ahead of the Wizardess.
When they reached the Ach-Mage’s study, Fadan adjusted his jacket, then raised a balled fist to knock, but stopped himself. “You’ve known her for a long time, right?” He lowered his hand, glancing back at Phaedra. “How do I persuade her of something she doesn’t agree with?”
“You don’t,” Phaedra replied flatly.
“Come on, you could at least try to be a little helpful.”
The Wizardess let out a bored sigh. “I’m not your assistant.”
Boy did she not want to be here. Fadan tried to tell himself not to take it personally, but it was hard to not be at least a little bit hurt.
He knocked, and the great double doors parted with a soft whine. Inside, Arch-Mage Persea sat behind her desk. She stood up with a curious frown.
“You Majesty?”
“Sorry to interrupt.” Fadan walked inside. “I know how busy you are, but I need with speak to you.”
The Arch-Mage indicated the chairs across from her. “No problem at all, but why didn’t you summon me?”
“I didn’t want to wait,” Fadan replied, taking a seat. He looked over his shoulder to see Phaedra still standing outside of the study. “You’re not coming?”
“I can guard your body well enough from out here.”
“Suit yourself,” Persea said, then flicked a finger, shutting the doors in Phaedra’s face before sitting down again and turning her attention to Fadan. “Ignore her. She bores easily, but she’ll get over it. How can I help?”
“Well, now that Doric and Hagon are on their way to Pharyzah, I’m trying to focus on our next steps,” Fadan explained. “Since I can’t go with them, I can at least do my part—take my father down.”
“Of course. But there’s not much I can help on that regard.” Persea leaned back, intertwining her fingers in front of herself. “I thought you had a meeting with Duke Nyssander and his Generals this evening.”
“I do, but we both know how that will go. We’re outnumbered. We’re outclassed. It’s suicide to openly attack my father. Et cetera, et cetera…”
Persea tilted her head, regarding him with curiosity. “You disagree?”
“No. That’s the worst part. With the exce
ption of Nyssander and one or two others, I’m no longer willing to trust any of the members of the Council. That leaves me with a very small number of troops, all of which are levies, not professionals like my father’s Legionaries. Facing my father in open conflict in these circumstances is suicide.”
“They’re your Legionaries as well. Wasn’t that the plan all along? You steal your father’s Legions?”
“How? People respect strength, especially that of soldiers. If they see me as a lost cause, there’s no way they’ll join me.” Fadan leaned forward against the edge of her desk. “My position is too weak. I need your mages. This cannot be done without them.”
Persea took a deep breath, then shook her head. “I’m sorry. We’ve been through this at length. Our—”
“Why?” Fadan cut her off. “I don’t understand. What good was your neutrality policy when my father came after your people? It didn’t work! It failed! How many more mages needed to die for you to see that?”
“The neutrality policy predates the empire by more than a thousand years!” Persea sat up straighter, her hands squeezing the arms of her chair. “The crimes of one tyrant do not erase millennia’s worth of work. Entire kingdoms have come and gone, but the Academy has remained, free and independent in its mission to pursue knowledge for the sake of knowledge alone, not as a tool for the powerful.”
“The world has changed. You’re fugitives. You—”
“I’m sorry,” Persea said, finality in her voice. “Your cause is a righteous one, but not righteous enough for us to abandon who we are.”
“Our cause,” Fadan corrected. He was about to add something else, but a knock at the doors behind him cut him off.
“Now she wants to come in,” Persea muttered. “Excuse me.” She made a come-hither gesture and the doors opened. “What?”
Instead of Phaedra, Fadan turned to see a young man in a simple tunic slide through the doors. “Imperial Majesty. Arch-Mage.” The man bowed at each in turn with his greeting. “Duke Nyssander requests your presence in the Council Chambers. There is an emergency.”
The Shadow Of Fallen Gods Page 16