Soon the sun rose, and orange light reflected off the water. On their left, stretching to the shore beneath thick mist, were the Black Swamp's gnarled trees. Large creatures prowled within, and Markus thought he could see some of the black water that gave the swamp its name.
"I guess that's a place where you don't even want to go to the edges," he said. "Rik and I went there once, and that's an experience I wouldn't care to repeat."
Markus remembered the sudden change in their surroundings. As usual, they'd dared each other to enter the swamp. A swamp cat found them and chased them back out before they could see any of the water. In fact, they'd barely made it back to the safety of the Crayden Forest, on the other side of Warrick's magical barrier.
Markus had never shared that experience with his uncle.
"I've been to a lot of places," Klint said, "but I've only stepped a few feet into the Black Swamp. I'm no match for the monsters that live in a place like that." He grinned. "Or at least I'd rather not test my luck. My business is risky enough as it is."
"Where do you come from?" Rik asked.
"That's my secret. I won't ask you about your pasts, and I expect that you do the same. Once I get you to Tate City, I doubt we'll ever see each other again. No use getting friendly."
"Just trying to make conversation," Rik said.
But there wasn't a whole lot of conversation to be made.
After a few hours, Markus could no longer row the boat. By then, however, a rare northerly breeze had begun, catching the sail and moving the boat faster than their rowing. Eventually, the staff drained Rik's mental energy, leaving the sail as their sole means of propulsion.
Around midday, Tate City came into view, and they steered the boat into the city's docks. Markus expected Imperial Guards to be waiting for them, but didn't see any. Maybe they hadn't anticipated such a fast trip, or maybe they didn't believe Markus and Rik would go to Tate City.
"Good," Markus said as he disembarked on wobbly legs. "A chance to rest."
"Not so fast," Klint said. "I still need help with the cargo."
"Sorry. Forgot about that."
"Luckily, we don't have far to take it." Klint pointed to a large stone building nearby. "See that warehouse? I'm one of the few people who've got a key to the place. We shouldn't stir any suspicion. Once we're done, you're free."
Free? If only you knew.
Klint began unstacking the crates. Markus moved to help him, but Rik stood at the side of the boat, looking on with narrowed eyes.
"What's wrong, Rik?" Markus asked.
Rik turned to Klint. "Why'd you really need our help? Yeah, we'll help you get the cargo unloaded more quickly, but not that much. That seems like a lot of risk to take on for such a small gain. It doesn't make sense."
Klint put down a crate. "I was running a bit behind schedule. With your help, I made up the time. That's it." He frowned. "Now, let's get going with these crates. We haven't got all day."
It didn't take long to move the crates. Afterward, the three of them stood by the closed warehouse door. Markus looked up at the mountains, which loomed above the city like the walls of a giant prison.
"Well, this is goodbye then," Klint said. Around them, dockworkers hustled back and forth.
"Goodbye," Markus said, a little sad to see Klint go. He hadn't come to like Klint, but he appreciated what the smuggler had done for them.
"Thanks for taking us here," Rik said. "Even if you had your own reasons."
Klint let out a low laugh, then walked away, vanishing into the crowd of workers.
"Let's find some place to stay," Rik said. "There's no way I'm going to climb those mountains feeling like this."
"Good idea," Markus said, massaging his aching arm and chest muscles.
Rik looked up at the mountains. "At least we finally made it."
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We still have a lot of work to do."
Chapter 12
Berig woke to the sound of water dripping, to a pounding head, to his face pressed flat against damp stone. When he tried to push himself to his feet, he collapsed, the world spinning around him.
Where was he? Why was it so dark? He rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his blurry vision. Something was flickering nearby, but he couldn't make it out. Why did he feel so sluggish, as if his mind and body were separate?
Then it came back to him in bits and pieces: the flight from Bradenton, the man he'd killed in Riverside, the tavern in Crayden.
That was it. The tavern. He'd been drugged.
Still dizzy, he pushed himself to his feet, though his legs did waver at first. He rubbed his eyes, clearing the blurriness enough to make out his surroundings. In front of him stood a set of vertical bars and a matching door.
Prison, he realized, feeling sick.
In the corner of the dark dungeon, a solitary torch flickered, its flame close to dying. Berig pressed his face to the bars but couldn't see anything else. He crossed the stone floor, running his hands along the damp, vine-covered wall. The dripping sound continued in a rhythmic pattern that would grow tiresome with time.
The cell was about twenty feet by twenty feet, larger than any cell he'd ever seen. In the back, a set of decomposing bones lay scattered about the floor. He shuddered.
A rat scurried away from him, and small beetles feasted on what remained of the cell's previous inhabitant. Would that be Berig's fate? He had killed a man after all.
Berig sank to the wet ground, not caring if the water soaked through his clothes. His head throbbed, and his vision hadn't cleared. A musty smell filled the air, tickling his nostrils.
Some new start.
Distant footsteps sounded, echoing in the open chamber. His heart leapt and he hopped to his feet, the world spinning around him. Once his dizziness abated, he stepped to the bars, peering into the darkening dungeon.
A shadow appeared, and the man casting it followed, dressed in the yellow surcoat of a Crayden town guard. With the torch in his hand, he relit the torch on the wall, and then he turned away.
"No!" Berig called out. "Don't leave. Please."
The guard started to walk away, then turned back to Berig. "What do you want, prisoner? I have little time to spare for your kind."
"What am I doing in here? Don't I get a trial?"
"Imperial Guard orders. We were to put you on the lowest level of the prison, the one nobody escapes. You must've done something to piss them off."
Berig's stomach sank. "And you're just gonna let them do this to me?"
"Look. It's not our place to get involved in things like this. I'm sorry."
"I don't get it. They didn't even tell you what I did?"
"No, they didn't," the guard said. "And I don't want to know. The less I know, the less guilty I'll feel about leaving you down here. Sorry, it's a cruel sentence, but that's the way the world works. Not much people like me can do about it."
"Can you at least get me some food and water?"
"I should be able to do that," said the guard. He shook his head and walked out of Berig's view. Berig sank to the wet ground, wondering when he'd get out. Or if he'd get out.
* * * * *
Tylen woke to a loud knock on his bedroom door. He rubbed his eyes and rolled over, his mind a little hazy from last night's wine. Orange light streamed through his bedroom window, and he groaned. Which of his stupid servants was knocking at such an early hour?
"What is it?" he demanded, placing his feet on the red and gold carpet.
The servant entered the room. Tylen couldn't remember the young man's name.
"Imperial Guards are here to speak to you?" the servant said.
"What the hell do they want?"
"I'm not sure, my lord, but they seemed rather impatient."
"Tell them they'll have to wait. I need to get dressed."
The servant trembled. "Yes, my lord. I-I'll tell them that."
He scurried out of the room, and Tylen shook his head in disgust. Why were all his serva
nts so damned worthless? If they couldn't even talk to Imperial Guards without wetting themselves, what use were they?
Tylen rang the bell in his room, calling in another servant to help him dress. This servant, a pretty young woman he'd bedded a few times, came rushing in. He didn't bother remembering her name either, but she was good in bed, so he found her useful.
"Do you need help getting dressed, my lord?"
"Yes, I need you to pick out good clothes for me. I'm going to speak with High Lord Cray today. I have the feeling I did not favorably impress young Lady Cray."
She bowed. "Of course, my lord. I know just the outfit."
She slipped into the closet, then emerged a few moments later with a set of princely red robes. Perfect. Tylen couldn't help but smile.
The servant helped him into his outfit, then combed his hair. By the time she finished, he looked fit to meet the high lord. Maybe even fit to intimidate an Imperial Guard or two. What the hell were they doing waking him so early?
The first servant barged into the room. "They're done waiting, my lord. They say they will enter the house forcibly if you don't meet with them right now."
"All right, I'm coming down."
After a quick look in the mirror, Tylen stepped out of the room and down his manor's grand stone stairs, then across red and gold carpeting. He reached the open front door, where the Imperial Guards stood.
"All right," Tylen said. "What the hell do you want?"
An older man with gray hair and a clean-shaven face stepped forward from a crowd of six. The black diamond border on his red dragon surcoat marked him as a commander. "There is no need for attitude. Not with us."
"Just get to the point. You woke me up for something. I trust it's important."
"You are late on your taxes," said the commander. "Two days late, in fact."
"Well, your records are wrong. I always pay on time. I am a good servant to our emperor. You have no right to come to my home and question my loyalty."
"We are not questioning your loyalty, merely your payment of taxes."
Tylen gritted his teeth, trying to keep his temper under control. "Can I see the books?"
"No, you can't. We don't answer to ordinary citizens."
"Convenient," Tylen muttered. "You're robbing me, and you know it."
The commander smiled. "Be that as it may, you have to pay us."
"You're no better than highwaymen." Tylen narrowed his eyes. "How much?"
"Five hundred gold coins should do."
Tylen took a few deep breaths, his temper stirring again. That was a lot of money, even for someone as rich as he. However, to stay in the emperor's good graces, Tylen had to pay these taxes. Sure, he might win a legal argument, but it would reduce his standing in the emperor's eyes. With his ambitions of becoming high lord, he couldn't afford such a risk.
He turned to his servant. "Go to the vault and retrieve five hundred gold coins."
"Yes, my lord." The servant hurried out of the foyer.
Tylen glared at the Imperial Guards. "Why, might I ask, did you feel the need to wake me at the crack of dawn? Surely this could have waited a few hours."
"We do not make our schedules fit the convenience of citizens. You answer to us, not the other way around."
Tylen chuckled mirthlessly. "It's so comforting to know that you can do anything you want to us without fearing the repercussions. It's amazing anyone leaves their houses."
"Oh, we know when to stop," said the commander. "Ordinary people might not be able to kill Emperor Warrick, but they could kill many of us before he's able to step in and stop the riot. It's not as easy a life as you think."
The sound of jingling coins alerted Tylen to the reappearance of his servant, who handed the heavy bag to one of the Imperial Guards.
The commander shook the bag. "I trust you didn't shortchange us."
"That would be a stupid thing to do."
"Yes, it would."
Tylen thought they would leave, but then the commander stepped into his house. "Nice place you have here. You mind if we talk someplace private?"
"What do you want?"
"Just a quick word."
"All right," Tylen said. He felt wary as he led the commander to a sitting room.
They didn't sit down. Instead, the commander pulled Tylen over to a corner of the room and spoke in a low voice. "I'm giving you a warning. Just so you know, you might want to spend the next couple of weeks somewhere like Riverside or Varner City."
"And why is that?"
"I can't give away details, but Crayden is not where you want to be in the near future. There's something planned involving the city, and it would be dangerous for you if you stayed. I'm not supposed to be telling you this, but since you're one of the most loyal nobles here in Crayden, I figured I'd let you in on the secret. Don't let anyone else know." He stepped away. "We'll know if you do."
The commander left the room. Tylen watched him go, uncertain what to make of the warning. Couldn't the man have been more specific?
Whatever the case, Tylen wasn't going to let anyone boss him around, not even an Imperial Guard commander. Crayden was his city—would be his city—and he could only become high lord if he stayed there.
Surely whatever they were planning couldn't be that bad.
* * * * *
Nadia spent her day in the library, looking for more information on Woodsville. Her father's selection of Tylen as her suitor would only make her leave sooner. She read through accounts of Woodsville again and again, trembling at the thought of its dark creatures. Wraiths. Skeletons. Other evil spirits and undead creatures. The most troubling of all was an entity known as the Silver Wisp. With one touch, it could make a person disappear. None of her books told her where such a victim ended up, and she didn't want to find out herself.
At the moment, her father was talking with Tylen in his study, probably about how they'd control her. Whenever she thought of her father, and especially of Tylen, she felt hot stabs of anger.
Then she thought of the Order meeting tonight, of the threat to Crayden, and her anger turned to fear. What could Warrick be planning? She supposed she'd find out at the meeting. Once again, she would leave the castle with Varek and Len on the pretense of visiting the inn Kara's father owned.
She read through the day, taking breaks only to eat, then left the castle with Varek and Len that evening. As she walked to Kara's home, her intuition assailed her with sudden warnings—a quick series of scattered images she couldn't decipher.
"Are you okay?" Len asked.
"I'm fine, just a headache." But she'd felt more nervous than usual all day. The same kind of nervousness she'd felt the day her mother was captured. She didn't share her concerns, though. Whenever she mentioned her intuitions, she got strange looks.
Len put a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she felt that attraction to him again. Yes, he was annoying at times, but his concern for her seemed genuine. Maybe she could make room for love in her life.
But what about Ander, and their kiss last night? She had never kissed Len, though she'd been tempted on numerous occasions.
Ander was the logical choice, of course. A fellow member of the privileged class. Lately, she'd dreamed about a comfortable life with him in the moments when she doubted her chances of killing Warrick, but she couldn't have that life after her father's decision last night.
Maybe Ander could accompany her on her quest, though he'd never given any indication he intended to leave Crayden. Nor had Len.
She turned to him. "If I left home to kill the emperor, would you come with me?"
"Of course I would. Isn't that what the Order's about—doing something that matters?"
"Is that the only reason?"
He hesitated. "Well, there's also the fact that I like you." He shook his head. "Not that we could ever have a life together. We're from different worlds."
"That doesn't matter. I'm leaving this life, this world, behind. You can do the same. We won't be w
hat we are now. We'll be two travelers, completely equal in station."
His look was distant. "Yeah, that'd be nice."
Later that night, Nadia stepped into the meeting location, a different house this time, on the city's eastern side. She had felt the whole way there as if people were watching them, and though she tried to brush it aside as paranoia, her intuition kept sending her warnings.
Kara chose to sit up front with Aric and Ander, taking the last seat in the front row. Nadia sat down in the third row of seats, the one closest to the back of the room. As the meeting filled, some people had to stand in the back. Nadia recognized most of them, but a few looked unfamiliar. Maybe they weren't regulars. This was an emergency meeting after all.
But she had her doubts.
* * * * *
Darien felt sick to his stomach as he leaned on the wooden table. He didn't like what the Webs had shown him regarding Nadia. Her path was suddenly doubtful, filled with more danger than ever. How could he get things back on track?
It all might depend on Markus, oddly enough, and on Commander Glenn's ability to get him back home in time. Darien could not intervene and risk drawing the suspicion of Markus and Nadia. Every path involving his direct interference ended in failure.
No. He had to rely on others, had to rely on Markus and Nadia being Weavers. Weavers had a way of drawing what some people might call coincidences.
In truth, it was their ability to alter the strands in that giant Web. Some said that God made certain people Weavers, and that seemed as good an explanation as any.
But Darien had seen no evidence that God existed.
Darien would plan the future according to his wishes, and no one else's. But there were nagging doubts in the back of his mind, subtle hints that someone else was out there, guiding the Webs as well, hiding the truth from Darien.
He didn't like that thought at all.
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