There was no way to avoid it.
To save the world, Darien had to kill thousands of innocent people.
Chapter 9
Riverside. A city of hope, of infinite promise. Berig walked the undamaged cobblestone streets in the morning sunlight, thinking he could finally change his ways. But then he found the poorer section of the city, where countless people lived on the streets. Competition.
No monster here, he guessed.
Passersby paid him little attention, reminding him that he was alone. It had taken years to build his life back home. Could he do that again?
He knew he couldn't think like this, that he had to approach life with optimism, but he'd never learned how to do that. Instead, he would find himself back where he'd been in Bradenton. He had no skills. No education. Nothing.
What could he do besides begging and stealing? He wasn't sure how the guards here would respond to such activities. There was so much he didn't know. He used to thrive on uncertainty, as that was all he'd ever had, but he was tired of it, tired of never knowing how he'd feed himself. Was there a place in his harsh world for someone like him?
A few silver coins clinked in his pockets. They were the only money he had. As tempted as he was to drink and forget his problems, he had to make that money last.
His stomach rumbled. In the center of Riverside, he found an open-air market, where he bought some food that would last him the day. Eating a sweet red fruit that didn't exist around Bradenton, he continued touring the city.
Most of the people he passed wore clothes almost as shabby as his. They avoided the gazes of others, going solemnly about their business. Defeated.
Emperor Warrick claimed his society produced equality and opportunity, but Berig had never seen it. Nor had anyone he'd ever spoken to.
There was no point in feeling angry toward the emperor, though. Warrick was their ruler, and that wasn't going to change. They had to accept the way things were and live their lives the best they could. Sure, it was depressing, but there was nothing better out there. Only those who supported the emperor could live in luxury.
And no matter the advantages, Berig couldn't support Warrick. Not after the man burned his childhood village to the ground for no apparent reason.
Eventually, the sun sank below the western horizon, and Berig's stomach lurched before he remembered that other cities didn't face nightly monster attacks. The presence of other people, calm and unhurried, soothed his nerves. Only the poorer districts were deserted, probably because people feared robbery.
Berig went to a tavern on the city's eastern side. Just a few drinks, he told himself as the bartender slid him a glass of ale. Then he'd get smarter about money.
Sitting there, however, reminded Berig of the friend he'd lost in Liam—one among many gaping holes in Berig's life. Holes he could never fill. What was life without friends, without the familiar comforts of home?
Berig ate silently, finished a few drinks, then left the tavern in worse spirits than ever. He wandered over to Riverside's poorest district and settled down in a deserted alley, glad it was summer and he would need no blanket. Still, he struggled to sleep.
About an hour after he'd entered the alley, a rough-looking man staggered toward him, obviously drunk. Berig hopped to his feet, sensing danger.
The man slurred his words. "This is my alley."
"Sorry, I didn't know. I'll go find another one."
The man brandished a knife. "I don't think so. You're new around here, and we don't need new beggars. Don't want no competition."
"Don't worry about me. I'll just get going."
"No, I don't think so." The man rocked back and forth, waving the knife like a madman. Berig's chest tightened. The man charged. With nimble reflexes, Berig sidestepped the lunge, but stacks of large crates blocked his only escape route.
"Help!" he shouted. "I'm being attacked!"
The man charged again. Berig grabbed his arm in time to keep the knife from plunging through his stomach. The man dropped the knife, which thudded against the dirt ground, and Berig fell to his knees to retrieve it, quicker than his drunken assailant. Berig scooped up the knife and jumped back to his feet, holding it up in what he hoped was a believable threat.
Berig's attacker pulled another knife from his shabby clothes. A longer knife. Berig's heart pounded as the man charged again, moving with an unsteady gait. Berig sidestepped the charge and plunged the knife through his attacker's chest. The man grunted, then hit the ground, clutching the spot and writhing.
What did I just do? Berig stared at the scene in horror, then dropped the knife and darted out of the alley.
Right past a Riverside town guard.
"Stop!" the guard called out, but Berig kept running.
Great. That guard had seen the dead man and Berig running out of the alley. Maybe Berig would start a new life somewhere, but it wouldn't happen in Riverside. There were enough torches and lamps that the guard had seen Berig's face.
Berig ran as fast as his legs would take him, recalling skills he thought long gone after his thieving days. He ran a long time, then looked back, panting. No pursuit.
Had the guard decided not to give chase? Berig didn't think that was possible, so he took off. Soon he reached the city's eastern edge, where he looked back again. Still no sign of pursuit. He slowed to a brisk walk, leaving the cobblestone streets behind and marching along dirt roads carved with runnels.
He followed the road through the night, not stopping, but he did look back every few seconds, afraid he'd see a dozen armed men chasing him. The road was empty.
But the guards could follow on horses, so Berig ducked into the forest to the south of the road, covered in sweat. He walked until his legs would carry him no farther, then settled down against a large tree and drifted off to sleep.
After waking the next morning, he continued eastward through muggy weather that fueled afternoon storms worse than any he'd ever seen. He spent the storms huddled low against the ground, damp and shivering, with no rain cloak to protect him.
Over the three days Berig traveled, these storms came from the west every afternoon. When possible, he sought cover in small villages, hiding from Imperial Guards. There might be a bounty out on him.
The road he followed snaked between some mountains. Berig had never seen such mountains up close. From Bradenton, he could see the mountains forming the edge of the Empire, but no one ever set foot on those mountains. The mountains he saw now weren't as tall, but there was something beautiful about their jagged peaks and rocky slopes.
On the evening of the third day after leaving Riverside, Berig arrived at the western edge of Crayden, which appeared a grand city at first sight, with large manor houses and clean cobblestone streets. The city sat in a valley between some of the mountains, and on its eastern side, there was a vast forest, which he'd seen from a higher vantage point before entering the city. The center of Crayden featured rundown wooden houses and people in rags.
Berig would fit right in.
His efforts had failed in Riverside, but he couldn't lose hope. If only he could stop dwelling on his mistakes, his crimes, on the man he'd killed.
Berig had done a lot of bad things, but killing was different. Maybe he could have escaped without killing the man. Even trapped in a corner, he should have been quick. Had he killed the man because he wanted to in that moment?
The memories of those chaotic seconds were a blur. He had reacted, survived. No thinking. Were his instincts to kill, to do the wrong thing?
A few minutes after the sun set, he found a tavern. He had a few bronze coins left, enough for a drink or two.
With his shoulders sagging, he stepped into the tavern, into air thick with smoke and ringing with low conversation. Throughout the tavern sat large, rough-looking men, the kind he didn't want to anger. Keeping his distance from them, he took a seat on an empty stool at the bar.
After the bartender finished serving some of those men, he walked over to Berig.
The bartender, though not all that old, had long white hair with spots that looked yellow in the flickering lamplight. He scratched his scraggly beard. "What'll you be having?"
Berig thought a moment. "I'll take the strongest thing you've got."
A stupid decision, but he didn't care.
"You sure about that?" asked the bartender. "A guy your size can't handle no strong drink."
"I've never met no drink I can't handle." Berig leaned on the bar with frustration. "And believe me. I've met a lot of drinks in my time."
"Really? You sure don't look like it. In fact, I've never seen you before. You ain't from around here, are you?" He narrowed his eyes. "You from Riverside?"
"Yeah, that's where I came from," Berig said, before realizing he shouldn't have revealed that. As usual, he hadn't thought before speaking.
"Not much of a traveler then." The bartender turned away. "I'll get your drink ready."
"Thanks," Berig mumbled, kicking his legs against the underside of the counter. The bartender disappeared into a back room behind the bar. Strange. Liam had never done that.
Maybe the tavern didn't carry the strongest drink in its normal stock. Nothing to worry about. Not everything was a plot against Berig.
The bartender returned with a smoking stone cup, which he placed in front of Berig. It gave off a strong odor, one Berig couldn't recognize.
"So what is this?" he asked.
"Wouldn't want to give away my secrets, now would I?"
"I guess not." Berig lifted the cup to his lips and sipped the smoking liquid. Strong, but not much stronger than Berig had drunk before. However, he also tasted something bitter he didn't recognize. After a few small sips, he downed the rest of the drink. It burned against his throat.
"I'll take another one of those," he said.
"No, I'd wait to see how that one affects you first."
"I feel fine. Let me have another one."
"No. Just wait, okay?"
Berig waited, swinging his legs beneath the counter. He glanced around the dark tavern, his vision a little blurry. Was the drink affecting him that quickly? The murmuring of voices became indistinct while his vision blurred further. He shook his head, thinking he was imagining things, and made himself dizzy.
"How're you feeling?" the bartender asked.
"You put something in that drink, didn't you?" Berig's words sounded slurred, but not the normal slurring of a drunk.
"Yes, I did."
"Why'd you do that?"
"I was waiting for you," the man said. "Imperial Guards came to me a couple days back, saying to be on the lookout for you. Name's Berig, ain't it?"
Berig nodded, stomach churning.
"Don't know why they wanted you, but it's a good bounty."
Darkness swam in Berig's vision. "Damn you."
"Nothing personal."
Berig slipped off the stool, hitting the ground hard.
* * * * *
When Darien received the report of Berig's imprisonment, he leaned back in his throne and relaxed. Now he had Berig in Crayden, where he needed to be.
But would Berig survive the city's destruction? Would anything go as Darien had planned? Many paths showed Nadia, Markus, and Berig escaping the city. Just as many showed them dying in there. This was the part he hated. How could he orchestrate their lives when the future left so much to chance?
He could tell his Imperial Guards not to attack them, but there was no guarantee they'd remember that in the heat of battle. Guarantees were a luxury Darien didn't have.
That moment of relaxation had passed. Now he tapped his fingers on the golden arms of his throne and let out a soft chuckle. The people of the Empire thought he lived in excess.
But they didn't know that Darien had made other metals mimic the appearance of gold. It was a means of appearing more powerful. Gold had always implied power, even back in the Old World. To Darien, it was meaningless, and he saw how his palace might look excessive to some.
However, power instilled fear, and Darien agreed with one of the long-lost political philosophers of the Old World. It is better that a ruler be feared.
He wanted to be loved by his people, and some did love him, but he also intended to change the world. He'd seen the rest of the world before his imprisonment, and his spies told him it hadn't improved. These people would only make the necessary changes because of fear.
One day, there would be peace, but not today.
Chapter 10
"Why must I go to this gathering?" Nadia asked her father as they rode to Crayden's western side in a carriage. "Avia says you might be looking to find me a suitor for me tonight."
"Yes, Nadia, it is time we looked to the future."
"All right, if I must marry a noble, I choose Lord Ander Franklin."
"Let's not be hasty, Nadia. There are other men out there, men who might make better high lords. You should keep your options open."
"Is that all you care about, Father—who makes the best high lord? Don't my feelings matter? I'm the person who must live with the man for the rest of my life."
"In some situations, duty is more important than your feelings."
She heard the unsaid implications of that statement. He was talking about her mother, about his betrayal. If he expected that tactic to change her mind, he was insane. Her better mood had faded now, for she knew her father would choose the most infuriating man possible.
A man who would try to control her.
They reached Lord Franklin's large stone manor, which sat close to the mountains on the city's western side. A few sculptures stood out front, along with well-tended gardens, but the building lacked the overdone ornamentation of many nobles' manors. After the driver helped Nadia out of the carriage, she and her father walked together toward the manor's front door, passing neat hedgerows that reminded Nadia of the gardens surrounding the castle.
Lord Lewis Franklin stood in the open doorway. His hair was white, his face clean-shaven as was the fashion among nobles.
"Good evening, my lord" He bowed and beckoned them inside. "I hope you find the night enjoyable."
Her father strode past Lewis. "Yes, we expect to enjoy ourselves."
"And good evening, Lady Nadia," Lewis said, and kissed her hand.
"Good evening," she said, trying to remember the etiquette for formal occasions like this. She was of higher rank than all the nobles, but it didn't feel that way.
Sticking close to her father, she stepped farther into the house, across floors of polished white stone and rich red carpets. Portraits and other paintings, some depicting beautiful landscapes, lined the walls. Chandeliers cast warm, welcoming light upon everyone.
Crayden's nobles were milling about, conversing with one another and holding glasses of red wine. Nadia didn't recognize most of them, but she'd heard enough from Ander about the other nobles that she had no intention of getting to know them. Warrick supporters, all of them.
Her father, after looking around awhile, turned to Lewis. "Has Lord Tylen arrived yet?"
Tylen. Nadia had heard that name before. Ander didn't like him if she recalled correctly.
"Not yet, my lord," Lewis said, and her father's expression sank.
A servant appeared near them, holding a platter with five glasses of wine. "My lord and lady, would you like some wine?"
"Yes, of course," her father said, taking one glass for himself and another for her. He didn't thank the servant, but Nadia did.
She sipped her wine, grimacing at the taste. Her father had told her she'd grow to like it in time, but she didn't see the point in drinking something that impaired her mental and physical abilities.
"I have some people I want you to meet," her father said, smiling as if she should be delighted at the prospect.
Nadia followed, greeting everyone politely, trying not to glare at the back of her father's head. She knew she'd forget all their names in a few minutes, but she tried her best to appear interested, longing all the while to break free fr
om her father's stifling presence.
Servants approached, bearing platters of small appetizers: things like aged cheese and smoked fish. They tasted good, but Nadia only ate for an excuse not to talk. She'd never liked socializing, especially not at such a large gathering. Her chest tightened.
She tugged at her father's arm. "I need some fresh air. It's too warm in here."
"All right. Just a few minutes, though."
She walked across the sitting room, past other nobles deep in conversation, ignoring them. What did it matter if she seemed rude? At last, she reached the door to an empty deck of reddish wood, and stepped outside. Her trapped feeling dissipated as she leaned against a railing overlooking a steep drop.
The door opened behind her, and she turned with anger. When she saw Ander, she relaxed. "Good evening, Ander. I'm being terribly rude, aren't I?"
"No, it's completely understandable. I can't stand being around most of those people. It's one of those things you learn to put up with after a while. I can't blame you for needing to escape the first time you've been to one of these things."
"You followed me, didn't you?"
"Maybe."
Even in the moonlight, he looked handsome. Her feelings for him stirred again, try as she might to suppress them. She was supposed to avenge her mother, and how could she focus on that when she also wanted him?
"You look troubled, Nadia. Is everything all right?"
"Is there somewhere we can talk?" she asked. "Where people won't be able to find us?"
"We can go to one of the rooms upstairs. You do only want to talk, right?"
"Of course."
He took her gently by the hand, a perfect gentleman, and led her up the stairs to a higher deck. They entered an upstairs hallway, then ducked through one of the wooden doors. Nadia settled into a soft red chair while Ander took a seat in another across from her.
Empire of Chains (World in Chains Book 1) Page 7