“N-No.” Essedus swallowed, careful of the dagger at his neck, and cleared his throat. “It does not belong to any noble House I know.”
“Could you find out?” Aravon leaned over the man. “Consider your answer well, for your life depends on it.”
“Yes!” Essedus half-shouted. His words spilled out in a hysteric rush. “I can find whatever you need. But digging into such things will take time, and what information I do not have, I must—”
“Silence!” Aravon thundered Zaharis’ sharply signed command. He paused a moment as the Secret Keeper continued to speak in the silent hand language, then nodded. “How much time?”
“A few days.” Sweat pricked on the astrometrist’s wrinkled forehead, tracking lines of moisture through the creases in his brow and cheeks. “Maybe a week, if—”
Essedus’ words cut off in a cry as Zaharis leaned lower and pressed the dagger harder against his throat. “One day!” he shrieked. “One day is all I need.”
Zaharis backed off, easing the pressure on the knife, yet not removing the blade from the man’s neck.
“But that is not all,” Aravon translated Zaharis’ one-handed words. “We would have information concerning Lord Aleron Virinus’ relationship with the Brokers. And, whether he has any other treacherous dealings behind the Prince’s back.”
The astrometrist’s eyes went wide and more droplets beaded on his forehead. Yet through his surprise and terror, he managed to nod. “But I will find out, I swear! I will bring you the truth, by the Watcher in the Dark and my eternity in the Sleepless Lands!”
“We shall see,” Aravon growled for Zaharis.
“Please!” Essedus wailed, and now tears joined the sweat streaming down his cheeks. “All I’ve done, it’s to keep my family fed and clothed!”
“The Mistress doesn’t care.” Aravon’s voice was hard as he spoke Zaharis’ words. “You have blasphemed and desecrated her holy secrets. Your only hope of absolution is to serve her bidding. So serve her well, Astrometrist Essedus, Cosmic Miraculist, and you may yet live. Attempt to flee or betray the Temple of Whispers, and your corpse will serve as an example to any who would follow in your path of faithlessness to our goddess.”
“I will not!” Essedus shook his head, frenetic. “But please, if I give you what you ask for, you will let me go, yes? I will leave Fehl immediately and no one will ever see me again. I will never again break the Mistress’ proscriptions, never!”
“Our goddess will decide your fate when we return tomorrow at this time,” Aravon said. “Serve her well, Astrometrist, and perhaps her fortune will smile on you.”
“I will!” Essedus dissolved into a fit of sobbing. “I will honor her with the whispered truths that she demands of me.”
With a nod, Zaharis released the man and sheathed the dagger. The astrometrist lay gasping, weeping, and shuddering on the counter, his tear-rimmed eyes wide and fixed on Zaharis’ face. He flinched and recoiled as Zaharis leaned close and fixed him with a scowl.
“The Mistress’ eyes will be watching you,” he said through Aravon. His eyes narrowed to hard slits. “We will know if you attempt to escape.”
Essedus’ protest was drowned beneath a torrent of wailing and weeping.
“Until tomorrow, then.” With that, Zaharis turned and strode from the astrometrist’s shop.
Aravon cast one last glance at Essedus—the sobbing, terrified husk of a man huddled atop his wooden counter—before following Zaharis. The doorbell gave one more tinny tinkle as they left, then the door clicked shut behind them.
The darkness outside seemed thicker, heavier than before. Shadows pressed in around them, and a gust of evening wind sent a shiver down Aravon’s spine that had little to do with the chill rolling off the Frozen Sea. The gloom descended on Zaharis—the Secret Keeper’s shoulders hunched forward, and he seemed to retreat into himself, his brows hooded and eyes downcast.
They strode away from the astrometrist’s shop without a word. Aravon couldn’t help the sudden nervousness that sprang to life within him. The Secret Keeper he’d seen back there bore little resemblance to the Zaharis he’d known for the last few weeks. And yet, the anger in Zaharis’ eyes as he spoke of Essedus’ blasphemy had been genuine, as real as the dagger in his hand. Likely more dangerous.
He hadn’t just said the words—he believed them. Just like the Secret Keepers that hunted him believed they, too, served their Mistress by killing him for breaking his holy oaths. That rigid adherence to belief and extreme zeal went far beyond what Aravon could have ever expected from the man walking beside him.
Through the lamplit streets of Littlemarket they strode, the fetid, biting, nauseating scents of the industrial district faded to the back of Aravon’s mind, replaced by disquiet. Silence gripped him, a fist of iron that constricted his throat as his heart hammered a nervous beat. It wasn’t until they left Littlemarket and stepped onto the cleaner, less-odorous Princetown that he finally summoned his voice.
“Would you have killed him?” he asked quietly.
Zaharis didn’t glance at him, simply kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead. His shoulders and spine were stiff, his jaw muscles clenched as tight as his fists. Nearly a minute passed before he raised his left hand and signed, “Once, perhaps.” When he turned, the soft blue glow of the Icespire shone on a face stained with remorse. “The man I was long ago, the man Darrak knew, that man would have done it. All of it. The tongue, the eyes, the hands and legs. All of it. The punishment to fit his crime against our Mistress.”
“And what of the man who stands beside me now?” Again, Aravon’s words were soft, his tone gently probing. “The man who sacrificed everything for the pursuit of ice saffron, a cure that he believed would make his world a better place. Who has risked his life a hundred times for his friends and those relying on him. What will that man do?”
Zaharis stopped now and turned to look Aravon full in the face. “Truthfully, Captain? I do not know.” Anguish twisted his features, and the light of his internal struggle glimmered in his eyes. “Once, the world was far more black and white. Right and wrong, as laid out in the holy writings of the Mistress. Her teachings to safeguard the world from itself, from cruel and evil men who would seek to use her secrets against the innocent, the helpless. Life in the Temple of Whispers was simpler. No questions or quandaries, only the knowledge that we, her priests, were charged with guarding her secrets at all costs. But now…” He let out a long breath.
“Now, things have changed.” Aravon placed a hand on the Secret Keeper’s shoulder. “It’s different when you’re the one being hunted to guard those secrets.”
Zaharis nodded. “Not because of what I have done with the Mistress’ truths, but what I might do. Sentence and execution before any crime. That…” He hesitated, his fingers unmoving as his expression grew grave. “That is a power as dangerous as the alchemical secrets we seek to keep out of the hands of men like Lord Virinus. Power that we have claimed for ourselves yet one that few men and women, humans as fallible as anyone else, are worthy to wield.”
Aravon drew in a long breath. “I cannot claim to know the burden you have borne as a servant of the Mistress. Your oaths and the teachings of your priesthood have led you this far, but perhaps it is for the best that you question that which you once knew to be true. For it is only when we accept that we do not know that we can truly learn. I do not have the answers you seek, but I believe that deep down, you already know the truth of what you must do. Of what you have been called to do by your Mistress.”
Zaharis’ eyes narrowed. “You believe I am doing right by turning my back on everything I learned as a Secret Keeper, everything I swore when I took my vows?”
“Perhaps, or perhaps not.” Aravon shook his head. “I do not know the words of your oath, nor can I begin to understand the full extent of your role in protecting our world. But, if your heart leads you to make certain choices—choices with which your fellow priests might not agree—I would argue for listenin
g to your heart. Your knowledge of what is right and wrong is what guides you through this world. You will never find peace if you do not do what you believe is right, just as you will never find peace if you continue to do that which you know to be wrong.”
He stepped closer to Zaharis and lowered his voice. “You can only be true to yourself, and trust that your faith in the Mistress will guide you aright.” A small smile tugged at his lips. “In all my years as a Legionnaire, it is my faith that has kept me going through the most trying of times. And I am just a simple soldier. You are a priest, Zaharis, trained in the ways of your goddess. A goddess I hope—no, I believe—guides your path. Her way is the way of secrets, is it not? Perhaps her hand in your life will remain hidden until such a time that it is right for it to be revealed.” He shrugged. “Until then, trust yourself. The rest of us do.”
Zaharis’ brow remained furrowed, the light of his inner turmoil still shining in his eyes. Yet the tension in his shoulders relaxed a fraction and he stood straighter. Shadows retreated from his face, and a long, slow breath escaped his lips.
“Yes, Captain,” he signed.
After a long moment, Aravon nodded and broke off the eye contact. Neither of them spoke as they resumed their journey through Princetown toward Windward Way. Their silence remained unbroken all through the quiet darkness of the shuttered People’s Markets, northeast along Leeward Way, and into Portside, until they pushed into their third-floor rooms in the Wrinkled Pig.
Aravon’s eyes narrowed at the sight of Skathi and Noll sitting on the two beds. They sat facing each other, yet seemed locked in nervous quiet. The pair leapt to their feet and whirled toward the door the moment he entered. One look at their faces and Aravon knew something had gone wrong.
“What is it?” Aravon demanded. “What happened?”
“It’s Belthar.” Skathi exchanged a worried glance with Noll. “He’s…missing.”
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Aravon’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean, missing?”
“Exactly that.” Noll’s eyes darted toward Skathi, the shadow of worry twisting his sharp features. “When we got to where he was supposed to be posted up watching Lord Virinus’ mansion, there was no sign of him.”
Skathi nodded confirmation. “And we checked everywhere he might be hiding, every vantage point and perch within sight of the mansion. Nothing.”
Aravon pursed his lips. A hint of alarm crept through his veins—what could have happened? “Any chance he’s found somewhere else to watch from?” He looked between the two. “Someplace you didn’t know to look? A rooftop or alley somewhere out of sight?”
“There’s this.” From within the folds of her cloak, Skathi drew out a plain leather thong. “We found it in the mud where he was supposed to be watching.”
Icy fingers of dread pierced Aravon’s spine. Keeper’s teeth! He had no need to ask what it was—he’d recognize it anywhere. Belthar had toyed with the braided leather bracelet a thousand times before and never removed it. While the length of the thong was faded and frayed, the two ends were torn clean.
His eyes snapped up to Skathi and Noll’s faces. “Any idea what—”
“We heard the Icewatch whispering.” Noll’s voice echoed the consternation etched into every line of his face. “They spoke of Brokers seen on Azure Island. No idea why or where, but...” He trailed off.
Aravon’s breath froze in his lungs. The Brokers! Belthar’s former comrades in crime during the hard years he’d lived on the streets of Icespire. They had sworn to kill him if he returned to the city. And now they had him.
“Noll, Skathi, with me!” He glanced at the Secret Keeper. “Zaharis, stay here in case Colborn and Rangvaldr return.”
“What should I tell them?” Zaharis cocked his head.
Aravon’s jaw clenched as he turned toward the door. “Tell them we’ve gone to the Glimmer to get Belthar back.”
* * *
Aravon drew in a deep breath as the sea of wooden shacks, shanties, and hovels loomed in the Icespire-lit gloom ahead. Worry thrummed within every fiber of his being, twisted his stomach in knots. He was about to step foot into the Glimmer. There, even Icewatchers feared to tread.
He had no illusions as to their odds. The three of them, well-armed and skilled as they were, couldn’t hope to invade the Brokers’ stronghold.
Yet there was no hesitation in his step as he marched toward the slums. If the Brokers truly had taken Belthar, they would find out what happened to anyone who messed with the Grim Reavers. And, on the off chance the smugglers weren’t responsible for Belthar going missing, they’d bloody well tell him who was.
Straight down the muddy lane he marched, through the skeletal husks of buildings crumbled by age, torn down by the Icewatch, or fallen into neglected disrepair. Past windows and doors that opened into yawning chasms of blackness. The hair on his arms prickled—he was being watched, no doubt about it. Hiding in the shadows around him, the eyes of the Brokers tracked his movements.
Good. His fists clenched by his sides. Let them watch. Let them hear. The sooner we get their attention, the better chance Belthar survives this.
“Gengibar Twist!” Aravon’s shout echoed through the sagging, dilapidated shanties lining the muck-covered street. “Gengibar Twist, I know you can hear me.” If not, the Broker’s comrades certainly would. “Come out and face me!”
“Captain,” Noll muttered, his voice pitched low so only Aravon and Skathi could hear. “What the bloody hell are you doing?”
“I’ve no idea where to find the Brokers.” Aravon spoke in an equally quiet tone, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow, searching in every open door and behind every decaying wall for any sign of watchers. “I figure it’s best we get him to come to us.” He raised his voice to a shout. “Come out, or are you too much of a coward?”
“By insulting him?” Noll sounded nervous. “Way Belthar says it, we’re deep in Brokers territory. Maybe there’s a better way?”
To Aravon’s surprise, Skathi backed his plan. "Not one that’ll work as quickly. Fastest way to get to whoever’s in charge is to go straight down the middle.”
“Come fiery hell or frozen water.” Aravon’s eyes snapped toward an adjoining alley. He thought he caught a flash of movement, and another on the creaking balcony of a two-story hovel built of termite-eaten wood. A few thundering heartbeats later, dark figures poured from the shacks and huts around him.
“Damn.” Noll cursed. “That’s a bloody lot of them.”
Aravon didn’t reply, simply stood his ground as nearly twenty men in rough-spun wool, leather breeches, and tunics little better than threadbare rags surrounded the three of them. The ruffians kept well out of reach, yet the menacing scowls on their faces and the clubs, rusted knives, and short swords gripped in thick-fingered hands clearly meant business.
“Only two kinds of people would walk in here like that, shouting my name.” A strong, confident voice echoed from the darkness of a nearby shelter. “Arrogant cunts that think they can take over my crews, or idiots looking for a quick death.”
The man himself emerged a second later, striding toward them with a steady, unhurried gait. Tall, with rangy muscles and too-long hands—hands perfect for picking pockets—he wore clothes only marginally less frayed and faded than the thugs surrounding the Grim Reavers. His hair—dark brown or black, it was hard to tell in the dim light—was pulled back into a loose tail that hung down the front of his woolen vest. His angular features, sharp chin, and high cheekbones might have been handsome, if not for the leather eyepatch covering a smattering of vicious scars marring the right side of his face.
“The question is, which are you?” The Broker slowed to a halt outside the circle of his men and fixed Aravon with a piercing one-eyed glare. “Judging by that pig-sticker on your belt, I’m going to guess the former.”
His solitary eye slid past Aravon and roamed over Skathi and Noll before returning to settle on Aravon’s face once more.
&
nbsp; “I’ll admit I’m curious as to why you think the three of you’s going to be enough to deal with me and mine.” He gestured to the thugs encircling Aravon and his companions. “Odds ain’t exactly in your favor. Which makes you more a suicidal fool than anything.”
“You’re in luck.” Aravon gave him a wry grin. “I’ve no intention of challenging you for control of the Brokers. Though, if I wanted them, I’d have them.” He spoke the words with a voice of perfect calm and met Gengibar Twist’s lone eye without hesitation. “Twenty wouldn’t be enough.”
A mocking smile twisted the man’s lips into a half-sneer. “Arrogant cunt it is, then.” He cocked his head, raising his one unscarred eyebrow. “So how’s about you tell me what it is you think you’ve come to get? If nothing else, it’ll make an interesting story for my bone-thumpers here to tell their friends while dumping your corpses into Icespire Bay.”
Aravon folded his arms calmly over his chest. “I’ve come for Belthar.”
“Ain’t never heard of him.” To his credit, the Broker’s face didn’t so much as twitch. “Not really the sort of name common among the Glimmer.”
Aravon inclined his head. “Perhaps you’ve heard of the Grim Reavers, then?”
That had the desired effect. Gengibar’s one eye widened a fraction, his lips tugged downward just a fraction. The Broker thugs actually took a step backward, and Aravon felt the sudden tension from Skathi and Noll behind him. That knowledge should be kept secret, yet here he spoke the words aloud in the street.
“Not many people in the Princelands that haven’t,” Gengibar Twist admitted with a shrug of his bony shoulders. “Then again, those sort of stories tend to be highly exaggerated.”
“These aren’t.” Aravon’s voice held no trace of bravado or bluster. “Everything you’ve heard about us is true.”
Steel and Valor: An Epic Military Fantasy Novel (The Silent Champions Book 3) Page 54