144: Wrath

by Dallas E. Caldwell

  "He is recruiting allies to join his cause as we speak, or rather, as I speak," Matthew continued.

  "Yes," interrupted another Dairbun.

  Matthew remembered him distastefully from previous encounters. His name was Brahnt, and he thrived on being contrary. He was all eyebrows, and his robes were covered with golden spindles that had no true function other than to make the man look pointy. With his idle thumbs, he stroked a carved walking stick carried only for fashion.

  "It is his cause. His fight," Brahnt said. "Not ours! Why should our people concern themselves with his doomed quest?"

  Matthew pursed his lips and shook his head. He turned his attention back to Karrah, hoping his old friend might help him; that he might say anything that would help move the talks toward a more favorable resolution, but the engineer remained silent.

  "Your people live directly in the shadow of Exandercrast," Matthew said. "You can see the shores of Waysmale from this very tree. There is no true daylight here. Only morning lances and evening shadows. Have you not lived in fear’s darkness long enough?"

  "Fear’s darkness?" Brahnt laughed. "Unlike your primitive kind, our astrologers know the true reason for the northern twilight. It is certainly not caused by your God of Fear. The suns simply choose to reside in the south."

  Matthew raised a single eyebrow and scratched his ear.

  A pudgy Dairbun cleared his throat. He was much older than the rest of the group and wore many embellishments that established him as an elite artisan. His face was fat with bulbous jowls, and he wore a boxy hat that made him look as though he had been smashed into his chair. A pair of spectacles clung furiously to his nose, driving deep red marks under his eyes. His name was Mohva, and he was the current Elder of the Dairbun. His decisions were always supported unanimously as the other council members attempted to garner his favor.

  "In a few more decades, the world will shift again, and dawn will once more shine upon our people," he said.

  He dug through his robe and pulled out a large scroll. On it was a rendering of Traesparin floating through that which lies beyond. Past the southern edge of the world were three small suns, and to the west, a cluster of broken moons. Outside this area was a collection of stars and constellations.

  "Let your kind keep their superstitions," Mohva said with a scoff. "And let your friends have their impossible battles."

  Matthew hung his head in defeat. How could he possibly reason with those whose minds were too full to hear his words?

  "Thank you for your time," Matthew said.

  He conjured a portal but hesitated before stepping through. With a sigh, he turned and looked hard at Karrah with wide eyes and a half-grin. "Dawn has nothing to do with suns, or moons, or stars. It is a choice to start again… a choice to fight… a choice to live."

  Matthew took a single step forward and vanished along with his arcane door.

  The council laughed and murmured amongst themselves, but Karrah remained silent. His spirit was low, and remorse roiled within his stomach.

  Why was he unable to find words when his friend needed them? Was this council’s approval so important? He cursed himself under his breath and prayed that he would someday be able to make it up to Matthew, though he knew not how.

  "The little man thinks us Peltin children!" Brahnt was leading a chorus of laughter. "Beware of fear’s darkness! The Iron Butcher has returned!" The council chamber echoed with hoots and guffaws, and each one drove the guilt of guilt further into Karrah’s heart.

  These were the people he wished to lead as Next-Elder, but he did not have the courage to stand firm beside one of his most loyal friends. It was a weakness unbefitting of a leader. A weakness unbefitting of a man.

  Brahnt stood and pantomimed opening a large portal before him. "If only that troublesome pintling would port himself off a cliff, perhaps we could get on with our living."

  Karrah rose in a fury, and his chair clattered to the ground behind him. "Matthew the Blue is a better man than any of us! Are we so far removed from the world in our high towers that we have forgotten what it is to know awe and tremble? We are great crafter’s, men of tools and ingenuity, and because we use levers and weight and borrowed magic to make something grand, we think ourselves better than gods. We think ourselves lords over creation because we understand the truth of things."

  The group was silent and Mohva eyed him warily.

  "No, perhaps that’s not the right of it," Karrah said. "Perhaps we hide in our trees because we know that the greatest of our creations is but nothing to the passing of time. It is for fear that we do not dare to dream, lest our dreams become nightmares and we do not wake. I will stand by the council’s decision, but I am ashamed of what we have become and I am ashamed of myself."

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The day was cool and breezy, Kiff’s favorite type of day. He sat alone behind a collection of large boulders about two kallows outside of Odes’Kan, waiting beside the road Polas and the others would travel. Lazy clouds drifted by; some taking the shapes of rabbits and other prairie creatures as they continued their journey across the open blue.

  Kiff imagined he saw a drakken and a fluffy orin doll. One cloud started to look like a Cratin steam engine complete with little tufts of cloud trailing along behind. A shadow fell across him as a mass of billowing clouds covered the suns for a moment. Kiff thought the great pillowy block looked an awful lot like an underground mansion, like the one he hoped to settle down in once his adventures were over for good.

  The sound of approaching horses pulled his mind back down from the heavens. He took a cautious look around the boulders, but it was only a tradesman and his guards heading toward the city.

  Kiff had used all the speed he could muster on his board to return to the city a full day before the others would. It was quite fortunate that he had heard Polas speaking to Vor about his contact in Odes’Kan that was securing them passage through the nearby port. Otherwise, Kiff would have had to come up with another excuse to drag them back to the grand city.

  He had never been very good at waiting, but the day’s beauty and his pride over his most recent achievements made the slow passage of time bearable. Kiff had spent his whole life being owned, ordered, or made to do or be or act a certain way. Somehow, today felt different. Sitting against the stone, watching a lone sparrowhawk make circles in the endless sky, he felt freer than he had in years.

  He was not ashamed of the three bodies that lay next to him, each with slit throats and cold, dead eyes staring at the same open sky. Sometimes sacrifices had to be made. He almost felt bad for the poor fools. There were only two types of people in the world; those who made their own destiny and those who let others make it for them. These three were certainly in the latter group.

  But not Kiff. He knew what it meant to be a slave and to be his own master. Just because he took orders or worked toward other people’s goals, that did not mean his goals could not be achieved along the same course of action.

  At least, that was what he told himself to preserve the smile he hid behind his dark mask. Kiff had proven his worth and knew that it was appreciated. This would be the last time he ever had to prove himself to anyone. He had left his own life behind so many times before, only to recreate himself with each new path he found. This latest creation would be the last. Either it would fit, or it would break like the city of Klaxiona.

  Polas rode with Vor beside him; his eyes forward on the road ahead of him and his mind bent on the difficulty of his path. Xandra rode next to Flint with one hand out to steady the sleeping Faldred. Without Kiff's ceaseless conversations, the ride was slow and peaceful. They had stopped to rest at the end of the first day near the same brook they had camped on their way from the city. Vor had caught a few pallid trout for their dinner, and the night had passed without incident, each one taking their watch in turn. They began again before dawn, but lost ground when they were forced to double back to the brook to retrieve a few scrolls Flint had left behind in
his sleepy, early-morning haze.

  Hours later, the suns hid themselves away against the southern horizon, and the air turned cold with their passing. The ride through the plains of Nas Sonath had gone smoothly and swiftly thanks to Vor’s guidance. Now the city of Odes’Kan, with its looming walls, waited a few kallows ahead.

  As the group passed a large cluster of boulders, a metal disk whirred through the twilight air. It nicked Vor’s armor and careened off into the distance. Polas shouted for everyone to stop, and Xandra had to keep Flint from casting a reflexive spell as he was pulled from his slumber.

  "You should really be more cautious," Kiff said with a salute. He sat atop the largest of the boulders, his posture cocky and playful. "I could have been a whole team of assassins, and then where would you be?"

  "Whetting our bloodlust on the cries of dying assassins." Vor clenched his jaw and ground his teeth.

  Polas waved a calming hand toward the Dorokti. "What are you doing out here, Kiff?"

  Xandra could not help but smile at seeing the Undlander again, but her eyes searched him for reasons of his sudden reappearance. She had been certain that he had abandoned them, and had spent the trip trying to convince herself that she never wanted to see him again.

  Kiff sprang down from the boulder, landing in a crouch, and pointed to the other side of the rocks where three bodies lay.

  "Thought there might be a nuisance or two waiting for us on the road, so I decided to scout ahead."

  He dragged one of the bodies toward the group. From inside the corpse’s pack, he pulled out a metal throwing-star about the size of a man’s palm. Its edges were razor sharp, and it resembled an iconic eight-pointed star.

  "It’s a swell thing I did, too," Kiff said. "These guys were planning to ambush us."

  He walked over and handed the star to Polas who examined it with a shrug.

  Flint beckoned for the item and greedily scrutinized its every detail. "The symbol is familiar, but I cannot place it. I have seen it on Odes’Kan trade manifestos and official documents, and I seem to remember seeing it a few places around town as well."

  "It’s the symbol of the House of Stars; the assassins, pickpockets, and ne’er-do-well branch of the Thieves’ Guild," Kiff said. "Apparently not everyone wants your little god-slaying quest to succeed. Might cut into their profits if Exandercrast weren’t around and people started to get all uppity about being good, moral citizens."

  Vor turned to Polas, his hand resting on the grip of his axe. "Want me to gut the pup? No reason to dirty your sword with his blood."

  Polas shook his head. "Exandercrast has minions everywhere. I did not expect to travel freely, even this far from his home. If this boy has bought us another night before they descend upon us, I will give him the benefit of the doubt."

  "Me too!" Xandra said.

  The others turned to look at her, and she felt her cheeks burning as bright as her hair.

  "I just mean, well, it looks like his story checks out, right?" she said. "Not that three assassins would have troubled Master Kas Dorian, but they may have been lucky enough to fell one or two of us with a surprise attack."

  "You see, Vor," Kiff said, "not everyone is out to get you. I mean, those three were, and likely the rest of the Thieves’ Guild is, but that’s four points to our five. I’d call that a win for the good guys. You shouldn’t be so distrustful."

  Kiff pulled out his board and step up onto it. It floated him up to eye level with the others, and his silver-blue hair stirred gently with a passing breeze.

  "Besides," the Undlander continued, "this is only an advance party. I’m sure there’ll be more inside the city walls. We’ll have to trust each other to make sure we all survive."

  The last stretch of road before they reached the gates of Odes’Kan passed in strained silence. Xandra kept stealing glances back at Kiff. For some reason, even he was not his usual chatty self. It was such a strange group and certainly not what she had expected when she stepped onto the road that led to her destiny. She had thought there would be more soldiers, or a team of Gifted, or minstrels, or… something.

  The last trickle of sunlight disappeared over the southern horizon as the group stood before the massive gate. The night was clear and crisp, bringing a gentle chill to Xandra’s fingers and nose.

  Kiff stepped down from his board. "Give me a second. The gates will be guarded."

  He put his board into his pack and pulled out a set of finger-spikes and a grated elbow pad.

  "Why don’t you fly over?" Xandra asked.

  "Can’t," the Undlander said. "The wall has a black iron lining along the top. Helps protect the city from magical assault, but it also means I’ve gotta do this the hard way."

  Kiff finished situating his gear and took off in a sprint toward the wall. He made an impressive leap about a quarter of the way up and used his elbow pad and finger-spikes to latch on. Seconds later, he was on top of the wall. He pulled out his board and threw it down on the far side before disappearing on the other side.

  Kiff drifted to the ground in an alley between the city wall and a cobbler’s shop. A few barrels lay along the wall, filled with seed or nails or something else that had likely been forgotten. Kiff ducked behind one at the end of the alley where he had a clear view of the gate. A lone guard stood, stiffly, against a signpost. Luck was on Kiff’s side as the guard had his back turned.

  As he approached the unsuspecting sentinel, Kiff stepped closer to the wall and let its shadow engulf him. He pulled a single sickle from its holster and spun it once in his hand. A gentle whir was the only sound as he struck. He lanced the blade into the man’s back, below the rib cage, and hooked the weapon up into the man’s heart.

  The guard stepped forward with a gentle groan.

  "What in the hells?" the man said as he turned to look at Kiff. "You ever heard of knocking?"

  Kiff stood staring, unblinking, at the man. His mouth moved beneath his mask, but it made no sound.

  The guard shook his head and walked over to the gears that controlled the gate. Kiff’s sickle wobbled with each step but remained firmly in the man's back. He opened the massive door wide enough for one person to slip through at a time.

  Polas was the first through the opening, and the others followed closely on his heels with weapons drawn.

  "Reyce, it’s good to see you," Polas said.

  "Um," Kiff said, "can I have my knife back?"

  Xandra and Flint stared in horror as Reyce slid the sickle from his back. The blade scraped, and Polas heard a few pops, but it came out clean.

  Vor snorted in disdain, but the others continued to stare in disbelief.

  Polas was unfazed. "I could tell there was something wrong about you when we first met, my friend. How long have you been counted among the dead?"

  "Wait, you’re dead?" The Undlander stared down at his bloodless sickle. "That’s cheating."

  "Death found me not long after you went missing," Reyce said, completely ignoring Kiff. "I’ve been the lifeless steward of the guildhall ever since."

  "That explains how you knew so much about Lynnc and the others," Polas said.

  Reyce nodded.

  Someone was still around from Polas’s age. Around but not truly alive. Polas was rocked by a sudden image of Calec, pale flesh, sunken eyes, and cold blood. Matthew had said the boy was alive, though. Surely he would have made the distinction.

  "I admit I am quite relieved you have come at last," Reyce said. "Though I do not actually need rest, I fear my heart is weary of these years with dry blood in my veins."

  Flint curled his bottom lip and drummed his fingers against a scroll case.

  Vor's eyes scanned the rooftops and alleyways, and a low growl rumbled from his throat.

  "I agree with Vor," Kiff said. "I'm sure these revelations are wonderful, but maybe they could take place, oh, any place else."

  Reyce nodded. "You’re right, of course. We should leave the streets. There are, no doubt, more eyes searching for
you than my own."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Nittengret was a salty mix of sea traders and settlers locked in by the expansive ocean that separated Maduria from Cratia. The air held a constant chill that became icy when the wind swept from the west. The city was arrayed as though all the buildings and shops were fighting for a better view of the coast, the bravest of which ventured out onto the waters on floating docks. Boats loaded down with crates and barrels, passengers and sailors, slipped in and out of their berths on the two-mile long dock. Carts and wagons filed in from the mainland, bringing furs, meats, wine, and any number of assorted textiles.

  Lacien landed on the eastern outskirts and worked the tired muscles in his neck and shoulders. His feathered wings glistened with mist collected from flying among the clouds. Nittengret was the last stop before the Mela Islands. Only ocean lay in the vast expanse between the two cities, and he needed food and rest before the long flight.

  He moved his bow from its cradle against his chest to rest on his left shoulder and unlatched the lid of the leather quiver strapped to his right thigh. He checked the short sword on his hip and tightened his bracers. Lacien was not expecting trouble, but Nittengret was a free territory that answered to no government and saw all types of rabble pass across its docks, including many Cratin traders, and there was no great love between the Melaci and the Cratin peoples.

  A large inn stood on the very edge of the coast, half of its bulk jutting out over the waves. The Fisherman’s Hole was a favorite haunt of sailors who had no boat of their own to sleep on because it rocked along with the motion of the tides. Lacien was not terribly fond of the tavern, but it was one of the few places in town where one could repose cheaply without being forced to share a bed with roaches or worse.

  He stepped across the threshold and into the stale, misty air of the downstairs bar. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim haze, and he stumbled over a young Cairtol who staggered out of the bar with drink in hand.