by H. M. Clarke
Eventually Dagan led them through a set of double doors into a large antechamber whose opulence was not as ostentatious as the previous rooms they had processed through. Large, ornate bookcases lined the walls of the room, filled with books, scrolls and neatly stacked papers. As this was an interior room, there were no windows, but a single closed door stood opposite from them in front of which was a large, wooden desk also filled with books and papers with an officious man that looked to be in his thirties seated at it. At the sound of the door closing, he looked up at them through large, wired framed glasses.
“Yes, can I help you, Magister?”
Dagan was now wearing his emotionless Magister mask. From the other Magisters Ryn had seen, it must be a part of their training to look like stone statues.
“I need to meet with the Lord Tribune, tell him..” Dagan glanced back at Banar as he weighed his next words. “Tell him it concerns the Dymarki.”
The man stared at him a moment as if waiting for more information. When it was not forthcoming, he rose from his chair and disappeared through the single door behind him.
Abruptly, they were all alone in the antechamber. Ryn opened her mouth, but did not have a chance to say anything as Dagan turned his ‘Magister Mask’ on her. Even without the accompanying warning buzz over the Link, she knew that he wanted her not to say anything out loud where it could be overheard by unwanted ears. Even so, Ryn turned to Lily and whispered, “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” Lily nodded but kept looking tensely about them, making Ryn feel like she was expecting someone to leap out and grab them.
A creak of a handle bought everyone’s attention to the single door behind the desk. But it was not the officious man or the Lord Tribune that was revealed when it opened; it was a woman wearing the red bordered black toga of a praetor. Ryn felt Dagan stiffen beside her, and she took a longer look at the newcomer. Her white blonde hair was cut level with her ear lobe and did nothing to soften the hard, angular lines of her face. Her skin was pale, and if possible was whiter than her hair. Ryn tried her best not to stare.
“Magister Drake.” Her voice was a dichotomy of softness and hard iron, and even Ryn could hear the sarcasm dripping from her words. She was no fan of Dagan Drake.
“Praetor Etienne Maluksi,” Dagan replied with no warmth in his voice. Ryn suddenly had the distinct impression that he wanted to slap the woman. Hard. No love lost between these two then. At the mention of the woman’s name, she noted that Banar became more alert.
“The Lord Tribune cannot grant an audience to just anyone. What do you want? you made mention of the Dymarki?”
“Funny how you and issues with the Dymarki seem to go together,” Dagan’s normal, jovial voice had gone, replaced with this deep, no nonsense one.
“And you always assume their side. I was naïve when last we met. I did not want you dead, but I thought a death was necessary. That might be too fine a point for you to understand, but you must admit, you came out the better for it.”
Dead? Ryn glanced sideways at Dagan, but the man gave the woman’s words no reaction. Ryn made herself a mental note to ask him about it when he was a bit more relaxed…and way out of reach of his runestaff.
After a long moment of silence, Dagan spoke again. He chose to ignore the woman’s goading. “A Magister may have misjudged an order and abused the Lord Tribune’s authority.”
The woman’s eyebrows rose in consternation. “I assure you, no Magister would ever embarrass the Tribunal, at risk of the Lord Tribune’s wrath.”
“Men were hired for the task of kidnapping a Dymarki Emissary, by someone bearing the Lord Tribune’s Seal.” Dagan paused, looking at Maluski expectantly, but the woman gave no reaction. If possible, the Magister’s expression became grimmer. “And the lack of any righteous indignation tells me that you knew.” Dagan raised a slender finger to his lips. “But does the Lord Tribune?”
A delicate frown cracked the stony façade of the Praetor “The Lord Tribune, entrusts his stewards to enact the laws of the Aequitas Tribunal.”
Dagan made a clucking sound with his tongue. “It sounds like you’ve been a very bad girl, Etienne. This news will shock the Lord Tribune, no doubt.”
Maluski glanced away and shook her head and a muttered “Stubborn,” reached Ryn’s ears. The woman turned back to look at Dagan, the frown now smoothed from her face. “All right, Magister Drake, if you won’t abandon this idiocy, let me offer you something. I have heard unsettling reports of some unusual activity.” Maluski paused as she considered her next words. “The Magister you seek is a radical who has grown…unreliable. Confronting him may do us all a favor.”
Ryn raised an eyebrow, and she felt an answering flutter over the Link.
“And he is what to you?” Dagan asked.
Probably someone who crossed her, Ryn thought.
“He is, was, a Protégé of mine. Magister Lucas Cordle. Assume what you wish, but I offer him to you as…reconciliation. Meet me at dusk at the Tanner’s Quarter Forum.” She gave Dagan a saccharine smile. “I invite you Magister Drake. Come see the unrest these Dymarki have inspired in Kaldor.”
Without waiting for a reply Etienne Maluski quickly turned and walked away, disappearing through the door.
Ryn turned to look up at Dagan, her eyebrow still raised. “Need I say I’m skeptical?”
Dagan gave her a grim smile. “It’s her game for the moment. Let’s see how she plays.”
“What abo-”, Dagan’s hand whipped up to shush Ryn before she could finish.
“Do not say anything here. The Tanner’s Quarter is across the city from here. If we are to get to their forum by dusk, we had better get going.”
As Ryn walked closer to the meeting place, the harsh smells of the nearby tanneries assailed her senses. She was used to the bad smells that come with the warrior life, the horses, the camping, the smell of bodies that haven’t seen soap in a month, but the constant stench of the effluents from the tanneries made her eyes water and caused her stomach to roil.
Dagan was walking beside her and seemed unaffected by the smell. She heard both Ashe and Banar breathing hard through their mouths, and she didn’t know about Bron and Vannik. Perhaps their beards acted like filters when they breathed–maybe that’s why Bron sometimes perfumed his. Lily tried to use her blonde hair to cover her nose, but from the way her faced screwed up it wasn’t working.
“Ugh, the air tastes worse than it smells!” Donal coughed out and then started to spit as if that would get the taste out of his system.
“That doesn’t work Donal, save your spit for when you’ll really need it,” Ashe told him.
The sun was just ducking below the skyline as they were making their way through the Tanner’s Quarter. Ryn glanced uneasily at their surroundings, as well as the smell, this part of the city looked rundown and neglected, and found her hand had slipped to the hilt of her sword.
“Keep it there,” she heard Dagan say, his voice low as he leaned in toward her. “This place is a little too dodgy, even for me,” he finished with a smile. He then turned to the others. “That goes for the rest of you as well. Bron and Vannik can tell you that this is not a highly sort after neighborhood for any up and comers much less a Caester member.”
“This is where the arse of Kaldor leaves all it’s shi-” Bron oofed as Vannik nudged him hard on the shoulder. “Alright, faeces then,” he corrected.
“That bad, eh?” Donal began to look uneasily at the dark, dilapidated buildings about them.
“If you want bad, wait until you go into the Meat Market,” Bron grinned.
“Meat Market!” Lily squeaked.
“It’s where the livestock for the city is butchered and whatever can’t be used is left for the dogs.”
“And the bone collectors,” Vannik added.
“We’re coming up near The Tallow,” Dagan’s voice broke into the conversation as he looked uneasily around the streets. “It’s a popular tavern around here…there should be a lot more pe
ople loitering in the streets or going there to drown their sorrows.”
“The Tallow? That’s the cockroach house close to the forum, isn’t it?” Vannik looked about them as well, though he seemed unsurprised to see no one about. “The owner, Briee, works for us.”
“Vannik!”
“Come now brother, I’m not giving out state secrets here!”
Now that Dagan had mentioned the vacant streets, it unsettled her even more than she already was. “Where is everyone if they are not out here going about their business?”
“I have a feeling that we are about to find out,” Banar replied. “This is the perfect place to ferment dissent.”
“Nice place for a rally, good choice Lucas Cordle.” Donal tried to make light of it, but Ryn could tell he was anxious.
“Magister Maluski is here somewhere.” Dagan loosened his staff in its harness.
“Wonderful,” Donal muttered and freed his own staff completely and held it close to his side.
“Is it just me that its more than a coincidence that a member of that family has shown up right at this moment?” Banar quietly asked, his voice serious for a change.
“There is no such thing as coincidence Banar.” Dagan did not look back at him as he spoke, keeping his eyes focused on the street ahead of him.
Voices slowly echoed back to them as they walked along an alley near the Forum. To Ryn’s ears it sounded like a large crowd had gathered and they were not in a happy mood. Dagan finally released his staff and held it close along his arm, making it difficult for a person to discern if someone were not looking for it.
“The Forum is just up ahead, and it seems that we might not be alone here. It looks as if Magister Cordle has bought along a few of his friends.” Dagan’s head swung back down the alley as a voice rose above the sound of the crowd. “He’s doing his best to stir them up. Ready your weapons, if the Dymarki are held captive there we may need to rough up a few people to get to them.”
The sounds of metal and the clack of wood came from behind Ryn as they came to the end of the alley. Dagan halted them within the shadows of the building, and Ryn looked out across the Tanner’s Quarter Forum. It was small, even compared to the Brookhaven one, and was surrounded on all sides by rundown wooden buildings that even a lick of paint could not improve upon. At the far end of the forum was a small crowd of people surrounding the front of the Local Tanners Guild Hall. The crowd had their arms up, shouting, blocking the view of the steps.
“No sign of Maluski.” Dagan said, his voice barely heard over the cries of the crowd.
“You didn’t seriously expect her to show up did you?” Ryn asked him in surprise.
“I did. Even if she is an Ass,” Dagan gave her a smile as he said this, “she is a Praetor.”
Ryn looked at him in disbelief. “You may not lie, but you do bend your words a bit. Maybe she does as well. When she said she’d meet us here at dusk, what she really meant was a year from now.”
Dagan shook his head, but the smile remained. “Whatever happens tonight, just keep close to me.”
The sudden seriousness of the tone took Ryn by surprise.
“Something’s happening.” Ashe’s voice cut off any reply Ryn could give Dagan as his arm pushed between them and pointed toward the crowd.
“Let’s go.”
Dagan moved into the Forum and the rest followed alertly in his wake. As they came closer to the rear of the crowd Ryn could hear a strong, male voice giving a speech. As the man continued to speak, the people in the crowd dropped their raised fists and Ryn was finally able to see what was on the steps of the Guild Hall. A tall, well built red headed man stood on the top step of the building. He was dressed in white, but wore the black toga of a Magister. He did not have a staff, but held a long dagger in his hand and he used it to gesticulate everything he said. Ryn’s eyes then moved to what stood behind the man on the portico. The three Dymarki they had met earlier at the barracks were bound with their hands behind their backs against the wide columns of the guild hall portico. Even tied, they towered several feet above Lucas Cordle. One of them, Serta, had blood streaming from his mouth.
“Like any beast remove the fangs and it is lost. They are weak compared to those loyal to Myrcea. The only certainty in their being here is their death before the people of Kaldor.” Cordle raised his dagger high and the crowd cheered. Ryn could see red running down the blade in the flickering firelight of the torches of the guild hall. In the other raised hand was a long, tapered white object and Ryn had a sickening feeling settle deep in her stomach. She looked at Dagan and saw his face had gone hard and his body rigid in anger.
Ryn turned her attention back to Cordle in time to see him turn and, with the fist holding the tooth punch the bleeding Dymarki in the face. The Dymarki did not utter a sound but his black-tipped ears flattened against his head and his lip curled back in a snarl, and Ryn could see that more than his canine teeth had been ripped from his jaw.
Dagan moved forward and Ryn followed. She could see his white knuckled grip on his runestaff. He opened his mouth to speak when Praetor Maluski’s voice came from behind them.
“Magister Cordle!”
Cordle spun on his heel at the sound of the Praetor’s voice. He stepped back toward the crowd and opened his arms wide. “Take a knee everyone, the Tribunal blesses us and our endeavors.”
“You claim a blessing when you have abused the authority of the Lord Tribune so openly? You have bought wrath down upon you. You remember Magister Dagan Drake?”
Maluski pushed her way past Donal and Banar and came up to Dagan and placed her hand on his left shoulder. She then looked back to Cordle. Her face and hair looked even more washed out in the firelight and her whiteness made her stand out against the black clothing of the Blackwatch. She’d be the first one targeted if anything happened, and Ryn did not feel any shame for thinking that.
“The Dymarki have friends Magister. How will you answer their allegations?” Maluski removed her hand from Dagan’s shoulder and stepped forward as she spoke. She now stood in the gap between their group and the crowd.
“If you want a fight, face someone whose weapons are not bound by their code of honor and warriors who are not bound by your fears and insecurities.”
“This man is a coward. He only picks on those whose lives he already holds in his hands,” Banar called out to the crowd.
Cordle’s face contorted in rage. “I am no coward!” In the blink of an eye, Cordle stepped back to Serta, took his dagger and slashed the throat of the injured Dymarki. The Cat slumped against his bonds as his heart's blood gushed from his neck and turned the white fur of his chest red.
‘SERTA!’ The mind shout screamed into every head in the forum.
Suddenly blue barriers appeared around the other two Dymarki and the blow that Cordle had aimed at Hella bounded away as it hit the shield.
Cordle turned, spun around to glare at Dagan and his glowing runestaff. He pointed his blood soaked dagger at them. Rage suffused his face enough for the skin color to match his hair. “See these traitors? Destroy them,” he yelled out to the crowd.
At those words, Maluski turned tail and ran.
CHAPTER Twenty
Suddenly, as if to a silent cue, the crowd drew weapons and charged into their group. In the blink of an eye, one of the men crashed to the ground in a spray of blood as Banar leapt forward, his sword swinging. A member of the crowd came to stand over the body. The serrated edge of his sword gleamed red as it caught the light.
Dagan moved himself to stand between the figure and Ryn, the glyphs on his staff glowing blue as he kept the protective barrier up around the two Dymarki secured on the portico. Cordle had turned back to the Cats and looked to be waiting for the barriers to fall. She felt Ashe move suddenly away from her. Turning, she saw him catch a wicked edged sword with the hilt of his blade before aiming a solid punch at the man’s jaw. The man fell to the ground and Ashe stepped forward to meet the wall of the oncoming crowd.
Ryn firmed her grip on her sword and moved up to take a position on Dagan’s unprotected side. With his attention taken up with keeping that barrier up, Dagan will need her to make sure that nothing can interrupt him enough to let it fall. Two men rushed her and for a brief moment, she wished that she had her shield; instead she slipped her dagger from its sheath as she sidestepped between them and gripped it so that the blade ran along her forearm. She then slammed that forearm hard into the chest of one of the oncoming men, letting the blade’s sharp edge sink through the cloth and into the soft flesh while her sword slipped under the guard of the other man and sliced deeply along the ribs and under the arm. Both men recoiled away from her, free hands automatically pressed against their open wounds.