Returning to the dungeons to see Brodan for the second time had given him much to consider. His first conversation with the former regent had been interesting; he questioned the man’s sanity, but he had left seriously considering the validity of his arguments. Was it not logical that an Illyrian prince hiding his identity to become king could be the true traitor, and not the son of the beloved deceased monarch? Was it not logical that Brodan might have been framed by that same traitorous prince who had in truth ordered the murders and then laid them at the regent’s feet? Logical perhaps, but not assured.
Paden had been shocked to learn that Gilmoure was the Illyrian prince, and found it quite plausible he could be behind a plot to usurp the Asturian throne. Brodan had certainly been a force to be reckoned with in the Tournament, and with his knowledge and skills, and the support of the nobles, he had been the most likely candidate to succeed. As the regent, he had been king in all but name, and knew the workings of the palace. A plot to discredit him to the extent he was charged with murder and treason would certainly be brilliant.
If on the other hand there was no plot, and Brodan was truly guilty, as the nobles had decreed, then he deserved all he had received, and more. Tiberius, whom he trusted, was convinced that was the case. But then the question remained; why had Gilmoure spared the life of the regent if he truly was guilty of murder and treason? According to Tiberius it was only at the insistence of his son that Brodan had not yet been executed, but that was difficult to believe. Gilmoure would have wanted the former regent disposed of, so that he would be incapable of orchestrating the very thing that Paden was now investigating; rebellion.
Whispers in dark corners spoke in hushed tones of a hidden resistance of individuals who shared a common belief. Simply, they felt that the law, the decree of the nobles, and the results of the Tournament could all be damned. They would not accept an Illyrian Prince as their king.
Paden was not certain what the intentions of this alleged resistance group were. He wanted to discover whether they did not want Gilmoure as king because they had evidence he was the true traitor, or simply because he was an Illyrian. Whether they truly planned to free Brodan, as Jelénna had overheard and Brodan himself had corroborated, was yet to be seen. But this had been enough evidence for Tiberius to order an investigation of the rumored underground resistance. He had ordered Paden to first determine if they actually existed, and if so, discover their true intentions.
His first step had been his repeat visit to Brodan. He had not expected to learn much from the interview, but Brodan had been surprisingly forthcoming. Perhaps after their first encounter, Brodan for some reason believed he could trust Paden, although that seemed unlikely. His lingering doubts should have been enough reason for the former regent to remain cautious.
Contrary to that however, Brodan had revealed everything he needed to know about the resistance group. Not only had he acknowledged their existence, but he had told him where to find their headquarters. Brodan had even given him the password to get inside.
With half of his investigation complete as simple as that, Paden should have been ecstatic, but he was not. Brodan trusting him might explain all of his candid revelations, but it had all seemed…too easy. Even if Brodan truly believed Paden had firmly decided against the king, why would he relinquish the secrets of the resistance so quickly and easily? Perhaps with nothing to look forward to but life in the dungeon, Brodan no longer cared what fate might bring. That might be as good an explanation as any.
His random thoughts scattered on the cold wind as he arrived at the address Brodan had provided. Located in a depressed area of the city, the large building had once been a theatre, but with the decline of the surrounding neighborhood it had gone bankrupt and closed many Summers earlier. Brown weeds long dead in the cold of winter choked the front yard, and ivy climbed the front of the decaying building to replace what was left of the worn and peeling paint.
The black windows seemed to watch his approach. Although they gave the appearance of vacancy, Paden suspected they were covered to hide what took place within. A single window shutter, hanging loosely on a damaged hinge, banged morosely against a broken frame.
Paden approached the large double wooden doors at the front of the building. Although they were as faded as the rest of the dilapidated structure, they appeared quite solid. It took a few moments after his hesitant knock for a small peephole door to slide open, and a faceless growl to demand the password. Paden repeated the password Brodan had provided––‘the true king’––although he could not keep the grimace from his face as he said it. Leave it to Brodan and his supporters to embrace that much hubris.
The peephole door slammed shut, and in the following silence Paden wondered if the password had been wrong. His fears were allayed when three bolt locks were slid back and the heavy wooden door swung inward. He stepped into a darkened room lit solely by a single smoky torch, and was immediately halted by a flash of steel at his throat.
“It’s quite sharp,” the same gravely voice warned, and without further preamble added, “Who are you?”
Paden swallowed. “My name is Paden. I’m a friend of Brodan’s.”
“Is that so?” the man growled, his voice laced with suspicion. “Can you prove it?”
“I knew the password, didn’t I?”
“I suppose you did,” the shadowed doorman grunted, although he sounded offended. “I’ll see you to Felinus. He’ll sort you out.”
Paden shrugged. “Felinus is the man in charge?”
“He’s in charge,” the man grumbled as he removed the sword from Paden’s throat. He slammed the heavy door shut, closing out the cold air and fluttering the lone torch. Paden got his first look at the doorman as he slid the three bolts back into place. The short, stocky man turned, and realizing he had left his back unprotected, quickly raised his sword threateningly, as if to cover his mistake. He grunted something about moving and pointed ahead, so Paden began to walk in the indicated direction. Now that this business was truly started, it seemed best to move forward and finish it as quickly as possible.
They passed through a dark hallway and two more sets of doors before entering a large chamber that was lined with dusty wooden benches, and a large, dark stage on the far end. Crowding the open floor before the stage and the first few benches were people of every description. Numbering perhaps as many as three or four dozen, those assembled turned to stare at the newcomers as the creaky wooden door swung shut behind them. The hall was dimly lit by a small number of dirty lamps, and a dim pallor of dust and cobwebs hung over the entire space.
A man in a dark velvet coat and a foppish hat stood on the stage above the crowd. His arms were extended as if he had been addressing the crowd in a dramatic fashion, but he spoke now to Paden’s escort.
“Ralf, what have I told you about leaving the door unguarded?”
“My pardon,” Ralf replied, his own modest cap in his hands. “But I’ve someone here to see you.”
“I can see that,” Felinus sighed. “Did he at least know the password this time?”
“Yes sir,” Ralf nodded vigorously. “That he did.”
When Felinus spoke, his voice was laced with arrogance. “So who have you brought me then? Come, do not be shy.”
“My name is Paden,” he said, stepping into the dim light of a lamp. “I’m a friend of Brodan’s.”
“Ah yes, Paden,” Felinus replied with an unctuous smile. “I remember seeing you around the palace. Welcome to our…gathering.”
“You know me?”
“I know you work for Tiberius, and I was told by…a friend you would be coming,” Felinus replied, his smile returning. Paden thought he sounded a bit evasive.
“Brodan?” Paden guessed, since only the former regent and Tiberius knew of his visit.
The man waved a gloved hand. “Indirectly.” Not much of an answer, but it told Paden one important thing; this man kept communication with Brodan through some means.
Wi
thout waiting for an answer, Felinus continued. “We are thrilled you’ve decided to join our little group. We have been planning to free the true king from his illegal captivity for some time, but have lacked a good man on the inside. There are…things that an important noble like myself simply cannot do. Our preparations are in place; now that you are here we have the final piece of the puzzle.”
“I wasn’t happy to learn of our king’s true identity,” Paden admitted, “and I support discovering what his true intentions are. I’m willing to help free Brodan if he is truly innocent, but I’m not prepared to commit any crimes. To begin, I would like to see your evidence of Brodan’s innocence before I decide whether to join your group or not.”
Felinus laughed arrogantly, but it sounded practiced and forced. He continued to chortle as he strode down the rough set of steps to the left of the stage. He came to a halt in front of Paden, and worked diligently for a moment to pick an invisible piece of lint from the front of his jacket.
When he spoke at last, his semi-permanent sneer was back in place. “I don’t think you understand, Paden. You joined the resistance the moment you walked through those doors. Obviously, we cannot have someone walking around with knowledge of our operation that we don’t trust. Simply put, you are for us, or you’re against us. If it’s the latter, I’m afraid you won’t be leaving this room alive.”
Paden unconsciously swallowed as several men slowly stood and began to fan out around the room, covering any direction in which he might run. Though none of them appeared to be armed, the scowling men could easily have concealed weapons of some kind. Even if none of them had weapons, their sheer numbers alone would overwhelm him. He was decent in a fight, but not against this many.
Felinus held his arms out dramatically in a show of patience. “Just a moment boys. We haven’t heard where Paden stands yet.”
Paden was uncertain whether he would leave this room alive, but he now knew this had been a grave mistake. If he somehow managed to survive this, Tiberius was going to owe him enormously. With a sigh, he made the only decision he could under the circumstances.
Working to keep emotion from his face, he said, “I’m with you, of course. I was only unclear what part you intended me to play.”
The broad disingenuous smile returned, but Felinus had a dark glint in his eyes that was nearly hidden by the brim of his velvet hat. When he spoke, he did so as if to a child. “See now, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Welcome to the Resistance.”
*****
Paden walked back to the palace with a quick stride, taking a much more direct route than he had on his way to the resistance. He could not stop thinking about what he had learned in the decrepit old theatre. After seasons of plotting and planning, the resistance would free Brodan within the week, with his help of course. Their evidence of Brodan’s innocence and the outline of his own involvement in the plan were sketchy at best, and after a basic overview of their intentions, Felinus had summarily dismissed him. The arrogant fop would not even answer any of his questions!
Paden could not help but wonder if he had made a fatal mistake in joining the resistance, although he certainly had not been given much choice in the matter. Take away Felinus’ arrogant chatter and that ridiculous hat, and Paden had been left with ‘join us or die.’ Not a satisfying choice, either way.
He had found reason to be suspicious of the circumstances of Garrick becoming king, but it was definitely not worth dying over. Not many things were, in truth, but certainly this was not one of them. It was beginning to look like Tiberius may have been right all along.
Paden approached the wide opulent marble steps leading up to the front entrance of the palace. Lost in his own thoughts, he did not notice the quartet of men who darted out of the shadows to join him as he ascended the stone staircase, until one had a knife to his ribs.
“Be quiet and act normal,” the man with the blade whispered.
“What do you want?” Paden demanded, although he already suspected the answer. He recognized the man with the knife from the theatre. The others were behind him and hooded, but they could have easily been at the gathering as well.
“I would have thought that obvious.” Paden looked ahead to the top of the stairs, but he could hear the sneer in his voice. “You are going to get us in to see Brodan.”
“I understood you were not planning to free him for several days,” Paden said, his mind racing. “What’s going on?”
“You understood wrong.” The grip on his arm tightened as the man continued. “Felinus chose to move the plan forward to ensure you didn’t decide to back out of our…arrangement.”
“What arrangement? I didn’t have much choice in the matter.”
“Enough talk,” he said as they neared the top of the stairs. The knifepoint pressed painfully into his ribs. “Get us inside.”
Nearing the guards at the palace entrance, Paden put on his most innocent face. “We are going to report to Tiberius,” he told the closest one. “My friends here have information for him.
He did not know the name of the guard, but he had been through this way enough times for the man to wave them through with a bored look on his face.
Their boot heels clicked along on the stone floor as they marched through the entrance. Inside, the marble gave way to fine Illyrian wool rugs, muffling their footsteps.
“What now?”
“We go to the dungeon, of course,” the man growled, punctuating his point with the tip of his knife.
Paden gasped in sudden pain. “Watch it with that thing, I’m helping you. There is no need for that.”
The sharp metal pressed against his ribs was retracted slightly, but not removed altogether. “Just remember it’s here, so we don’t have any mistakes.”
“Fine,” Paden sighed, taking a left turn in the direction of the dungeon and its most notorious current resident, the former regent. He barely noticed the finely painted vases and colorful tapestries decorating the lavish hallway as his mind raced for a solution.
He had been caught off guard, and did not know what to do. He had thought to give Tiberius several days warning before the underground could put their plan into action. Now his mind raced for a way out of this predicament.
Fumbling for ideas, he said, “I can get you into the dungeon, but have you thought about how you will get Brodan out? Surely the guards will not let us walk out unscathed with their most infamous criminal.”
“Keep it down,” the knife wielder growled. “Don’t worry, that has been taken care of. Your job is to get us in.”
“What is your plan for escape?”
The man was silent as they made a right turn down a new hallway. Finally he said, “The rebellion is underway. Fighting in the streets should be sufficient distraction for our escape.”
“Fighting in the streets? You must be joking!”
“Dealing with the rebellion should give the palace guard plenty to contend with,” the leader whispered fiercely. “We’ll use the confusion to escape with the true king. Now be quiet! You don’t need any more details. Just shut up and get us in.”
They continued towards the dungeon in silence. They passed a number of servants, but many were used to seeing Paden in the palace and went about their business, hardly noticing the five men at all. Servants took little notice of nobles and the like in any case, unless they were issuing orders, and they knew that the less attention they drew to themselves, the less likely that was to happen. The furnishings and decorations lining the halls grew more humble as they went, until at last they reached the dungeon level and the walls of stone were as bleak as an Illyrian winter.
Paden had nearly lost hope for a sensible resolution to this madness, but he felt a surge of optimism upon seeing the guard posted at the entrance to the dungeon. Certainly he would not allow four strange men into the dungeon. Approaching the heavy locked door, his hopes were dashed when the single guard nodded to the knife wielder in a familiar way and turned to unlock the massive door behind hi
m.
Inside was a small guardroom, lit by two small lamps that illuminated a rough table and chairs, and three small cots in one corner. Near a weapons rack on the far side of the room were the corpses of two men wearing guard uniforms, complete with bloodstains.
The remaining guard spoke for the first time. “I got Felinus’ order, and I’ve prepared the way. Brodan is ready.”
“And the guards?”
The guard snorted. “These won’t talk, and we shouldn’t see any others here for awhile.”
The knife wielder nodded while his three companions followed the guard across the room to the single door on the other side. With a rattle of keys, he unlocked the door and swung it open. “Is everything else ready?”
The man holding Paden nodded. “Yes. Go release the true king, while I wrap up a loose end.”
The guard and his companions disappeared through the far door as the knife wielder whispered to Paden, “Thank you for getting us in. It was even easier than I thought it would be. You have our thanks.”
The Key of Creation: Book 03 - The Temple of Kian Page 12