Highlords of Phaer (Empire of Masks Book 1)

by Brock Deskins

  Only their breathing broke the tomb-like silence until Irna spoke. “Remember what I said, no sudden moves no matter what happens.”

  “Got it.”

  The pair strode cautiously but quickly down the pitch-black passageway with Irna’s lantern lighting the ground around their feet to guide their way. They had not gone far when they came to the first crossroads. Side streets split off and disappeared into blackness just a few yards beyond their light.

  Irna kept a straight course, never deviating. No one knew how many people called the undercity home, but Jareen had heard their numbers were substantial. He wondered how anyone managed to traverse these “streets” in the dark until he noticed torches and lanterns set into the walls. He paused at one lamp and touched the glass, surprised that it was still warm.

  “Uh, Irna,” Jareen called ahead, his voice soft and slightly trembling.

  Irna turned and froze. Jareen force himself not to swallow, certain the blade held against his throat would cut him deeply if he did. The hand holding his head back to expose his throat was soft and delicate like that of a woman, but it held him with the strength of a man. The soft voice did nothing to reveal the person’s gender.

  “Irna, is that you?” Nimat asked. “It has been a while. Have I forgotten an appointment?”

  Irna’s eyes flicked around the passageway as black forms detached from the walls and surrounded them. “Nimat, no, of course you have not forgotten. I apologize for coming here without notice, but I need your services. The port situation was unexpected and our need is great.”

  Nimat moved the blade away from Jareen’s throat and released him. “Great need commands a great price, particularly when one arrives unexpectedly. It is a good thing I recognized you or we both would have lost some business, your business being your lives. How can I serve you?”

  Jareen backed away from Nimat only to bump into one of his…her…cohorts who shoved him away. “I have cargo that I need to get across the city in secret.”

  Nimat took a step toward Jareen and traced a finger along the gold designs decorating his mask. Nimat’s hands and the skin visible above the worm-silk wrap covering its face was alabaster white. It was tall, taller than Jareen by half a head but so lean that he probably weighed more. Nimat’s eyes were a blue so pale the iris barely stood out from the whites and was marbled by flecks of red.

  “Your mask marks you as Auberon Victore’s personal attendant. I know you just came from the Voulge, so that must make you Jareen Velarius. You and your master have piqued my curiosity lately, as well as that of the chief inquisitor. He does not seem to like you very much, which makes me inclined to be very fond of you. Tell me, Jareen Velarius the slave, what have you been doing, flitting about in your own airship going the gods know where doing the gods know what? What do you need to move through my city?”

  Jareen’s muscles tensed. “Do you require to know what it is? I hoped someone like you would understand that some situations are of a delicate nature and must be kept secret.”

  “Normally, you would be right and I would not care, but I think you have something to do with Quinlan’s recent agitation and the situation going on above. The gendarmes are swarming, and that is bad for business.” Nimat called three men’s names. “Inform Underlord Donatien that I have taken on a consignment and will be handling it personally.”

  The men rushed off and Nimat turned back to Jareen. “There, now we may speak freely and without fear of undesirable ears hearing words they are not meant to know.”

  Jareen glanced at the people still surrounding him and Irna.

  “Do not worry,” Nimat said, reading Jareen’s concerned look, “I sent away the ones who do not have my implicit trust. Those still here would gouge out their own eyes on my order. What are you smuggling?”

  “We have not yet agreed upon a price.”

  “The price is whatever I ask, and you and I both know you will pay it. Be glad I am not a greedy person and demand your airship as part of the bargain.”

  “It is not mine to give.”

  “And yet you would give it if I demanded it.”

  “Jareen, we have to tell her if we are going to get her help,” Irna said when he hesitated.

  “Her?” Jareen asked under his breath.

  Nimat shrugged. “It is as good a pronoun as any. Now, do you want to discuss your business…or mine?”

  “I have…weapons that I must get to a safe house without anyone knowing.”

  Jareen could tell by the lifting of Nimat’s eyes and the creases appearing in the corners that she was smiling.

  “So, that was your man who murdered all those poor boys and girls.”

  Jareen shook his head. “What murder? What man?”

  “Gill Botwright killed ten boys and two girls last night using a weapon that spat fire and smoke like a tiny dragon. Are those the weapons you wish me to move for you?”

  Fear and anger coursed through Jareen as hot as fire and cold as ice, leaving him both trembling and sweating. “Gill killed…How do you know about the weapon he used?”

  “I got there before the gendarmes and saw…well, not with my own eyes exactly, what had happened.”

  Jareen immediately understood what Nimat meant. It was what Quinlan had done in the mine with the dead sorcerers. “That means that you are—”

  “Infinitely talented, yes. I am also ambitious as well as patient. How many of these fire weapons do you have and what do you plan to do with them?”

  “What happened to Gill? Do you know where he is now?”

  “The inquisitor scooped him up just hours ago. I imagine he is in a cell experiencing the most unpleasant moments of what little remains of his life.”

  Jareen cursed inwardly as he watched his grand scheme grow out of his control before his very eyes. He knew it was too big to keep entirely to himself, but far too many people were now a part of it, each creating an absolute point of failure should anyone betray him—or get caught—just as Gill had apparently done.

  He could not afford to stay down here and haggle or debate with criminals. “I plan to fight the highborn and depose the highlords and emperor, and to do that I have to get these weapons and powder off my ship and hidden away until the proper time. Tell me what it will cost me for your help.”

  Nimat gazed into Jareen’s eyes for a long moment before replying. “It will cost you…your word.”

  “My word? My word on what?”

  “On our alliance, of course.”

  Jareen shook his head, thoroughly confused. “I do not understand. What alliance?”

  “You and I are kindred spirits and the fates have brought us together. We are both ambitious…people, and together we can help each other fulfill our destinies.”

  “I still do not understand.”

  “You wish to rule above, and I desire to rule below. Together, we can achieve it. I will help move and secure your weapons. Wherever you were keeping them before is likely no longer secure. Only down here can you be certain to keep them safe and secret from the gendarmes and the highborn. You will have to get into the palace in numbers in order to bring down the overlord. I know secret ways in of which even you are likely ignorant. In return, you will help me remove that fool who fancies himself the underlord and I will take his place and make the undercity what it is meant to be with the ruler it deserves. What say you, Jareen the slave who would be king?”

  “It would seem I am in a poor position to bargain,” Jareen replied.

  “Yes, you are. It is the way we prefer to do business in the undercity.”

  “All right. Help me, and I will help you.”

  Nimat stepped so close that Jareen could smell the scent of lavender coming from her skin and the peppermint on her breath. “Do not cross me, Jareen. Not now, not ever. With my aid, you will rule this city, the entire empire if such is your desire, but betray me, and I will destroy you and everything you, your children, or even grandchildren become or create. This I promise you.”


  Jareen nodded, not trusting his voice to form the words.

  Nimat stepped away. “Irna and I will handle your cargo. You need to see to your people. I do not know what has become of whatever weapons you have secreted away in the city above. I do know that your man stashed the ones he used beneath the Scarborough Bridge and that another retrieved them before I could. If your people have any sense, they and the weapons they hold are not where you left them, but that will not protect them for long. You will have to deal with Gill before Quinlan breaks him, if he has not done so already.”

  “I will handle it.”

  “Do you know how?”

  Jareen paused for thought and nodded. “I do.”

  “Good. I think you and I will get along splendidly.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Quinlan ran his finger down Gill’s spine in a soft caress as if he were counting the vertebrae. Gill screamed in agony and writhed at the end of the chains holding him upright by the wrists as fingers of fire plucked at the nerves like cords on a cello. In this way, Quinlan was a musician, and a rather talented one at that, although few enjoyed the sound of his music.

  “You led me on a merry chase, Mr. Botwright. Better than I had anticipated, but you should have known your efforts would be in vain. No one can hide from me, least of all not some lowborn thug like yourself.”

  Gill tried to spit at the inquisitor but lacked the strength, and the bloody spittle dribbled down his chin. “Go stick a sandworm up your ass! I killed your precious highborn brats, so go on and hang me and get it done with, you sick bastard.”

  “I don’t give a damn about the people you killed. I want to know about the weapons you used. Where are they? How many do you have? What do you plan to do with them, and what part does Jareen Velarius play in all this?”

  “Who?”

  Quinlan traced another line of fire down Gill’s back. “Do not play with me. Answer my questions and I will make all of this go away. I will grant you the sweet release of death for which you so desperately beg.”

  “To the Tormented Plane with you!”

  Gill howled once more and prayed to the twin gods to strike him dead as pain erupted throughout his body.

  “Your loyalty is admirable but futile. Your suffering is as pointless as it is unnecessary. I will break you. It is inevitable. How much you suffer before then is entirely up to you. Where did you get the weapons?”

  Gill gasped, trying to hold on to enough air to form words. “I made them.”

  “Nonsense. You haven’t the intelligence for such a thing.”

  “I made them from plans Aiden Underhill drew up after he saw Auberon Victore’s ridiculous demonstration. He made some rough sketches before you caught and hanged him. I used them to make the weapons.”

  “Let’s say I believe you, which I don’t, how did you get your hands on the powder?”

  “Smuggled some in from Vulcrad. Not much, but enough to do the job.”

  Quinlan stroked his finger across Gill’s bare chest, tracing another searing line across his flesh but with far less pain than before. “What is the name of the person who brought you the powder?”

  Gill shook his head, slinging sweat from his hair. “Didn’t get one. He was just a guy. No name.”

  “Who did you write to in Vulcrad to procure you some of the powder?”

  Gill’s head hung down and he stared blankly at the floor.

  “Come now, you had to have someone to contact in order to make your request. What was the person’s name?”

  Gill shook his head.

  Quinlan grabbed his prisoner’s sweat-soaked hair and forced him to meet his gaze. “Do you see how fast lies are unraveled? Especially ones made by people who lack the intelligence to craft them properly much less create a weapon of extraordinary power. Aiden Underhill did not devise them and you certainly did not construct them. Both were accomplished by Jareen Velarius. I already know. I only wish you to admit it. Tell me what I want to hear and I will make this go away.”

  The brief respite from his tortures was enough for Gill to regain a sliver of strength. He whipped his head forward and managed to land a glancing blow. His spittle struck with greater accuracy, splashing the inquisitor square in his left eye.

  Quinlan slapped his palm over his prisoner’s chest. Gill cried out and writhed. It felt as though his heart was being ripped from his chest. Although the pain lasted only a few seconds, Gill felt what seemed to be an eternity of agony before he finally fell unconscious.

  A gendarme burst into the room as Gill dangled limply from his chains. “Chief Inquisitor. Jareen Velarius’ airship has returned.”

  Quinlan spun to face him. “When?”

  “About an hour ago.”

  “Why am I just now hearing of it?” Quinlan shouted.

  “Sah, most everyone is performing inspections. The port is chaotic, but I am assured that no one has left the vessel. A detachment has it surrounded, keeping everyone on board until it is inspected.”

  Quinlan inclined his head toward his prisoner. “Take him back to a cell. I will lead the inspection myself.”

  He commandeered the first gendarme wagon he saw and ordered the driver to the mooring yards. Despite the late hour, traffic clogged the streets, slowing his travel across the city. Quinlan cursed the delay; the fact that he was the one who created it only fueled his ire. Most of the carts forcing him to constantly choose another route were wagons taking their commodities between the airships and warehouses, tasks that normally would have been completed long before now had his inspections not created a massive backlog.

  He felt Jareen slipping through his fingers with every passing minute. By the time he reached the mooring yard, what little patience he had when he left the gendarmerie had vanished. He sprinted up the stairs, stormed onto the Voulge’s deck, and sought out the pilot.

  “Where is Jareen Velarius?” he demanded.

  Irna turned to several of her crewmen. “Go fetch Jareen.”

  Quinlan’s eyes never left Irna. She did not think he even blinked once, even after several minutes passed. One of her men finally returned.

  “He isn’t on board.”

  Quinlan grabbed the man by his collar and pulled him near his face. “What do you mean he isn’t on board? Where is he?”

  The man shook his head, clearly frightened. “I don’t know, sah! We looked everywhere and couldn’t find him.”

  “Where is Jareen Velarius, Pilot?”

  Irna shrugged. “He was anxious to return to his master. I can only guess that he got tired of waiting and left. He didn’t tell me. All I do is fly this tub where I’m told.”

  Quinlan seethed and fought to tamp down his anger. If Jareen did return to Auberon, it would be a simple matter to fetch him later, especially now that he and the powerful lord had come to something of a mutual understanding.

  “You will take me through every nook and cranny of this vessel, Pilot. I want to see into every cavity capable of accommodating anything larger than a loaf of bread. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Inquisitor. I will be happy to escort you myself. We have nothing to hide. I assume you want to start in the lower hold and work up?”

  “That will be fine.”

  Irna turned to her crewmen. “Go below and light every lantern we have. I want the bowels lit up like the sun. The inquisitor is an important man, and he has better things to do than crawl around our crap-filled airship.”

  Quinlan recoiled and covered his mouth and nose with his face wrap when a crewman opened the hatch to go below decks. He followed Irna down the steps and looked at the damage the horned devil caused.

  “What happened here?” the inquisitor asked.

  “We got hit by a nasty storm and had to put down. Unfortunately, we landed smack dab in the middle of a horned devil nest. We lured the bull into the hull. It was the only way to slow it down enough to kill it before it slaughtered the entire crew.”

  “Clever. Even so, you were lucky to have s
urvived.”

  “It was Jareen’s idea. Fortunately, it was a young bull and his harem was small.”

  It was a lie, of course. The bull was mature and commanded a large herd, but there was no way they could have fought them off without revealing how they had managed such a feat.

  “It killed several of my crew and tracked worm shit all through my ship. That’s the wonderful aroma you’re smelling. It’s going to take a week to scrub out this stench.”

  Quinlan grunted but did not respond as they made their way deeper into the airship.

  ***

  Gill felt a hand dragging him back into wakefulness. He fought back, desperate to never again return to a world that caused him so much pain, but his efforts were futile. His eyes fluttered open and he dared to breathe a sigh of relief when he found himself lying on a cot and not still hanging from the torture room ceiling.

  “I was hoping you would wake soon,” Jareen said.

  Gill grunted from the pain caused by his sudden movement, but he forced his body up and scampered to the tiny barred window set in the top of the wall of his cell. “Jareen, is that really you?”

  “It is. Do not raise your voice.”

  “Are you here to free me?” Gill whispered.

  Jareen’s lips curled down into a scowl behind his mask and his shoulders slumped as he drew his pistol. “In a way, but not in the manner either of us would like.”

  Gill grinned, his teeth stained with blood. “Admit it, you’ve been waiting for this moment since we met.”

  “What happened? Why did you do something so incredibly stupid?”

  “I had to. After what those boys did to that girl, I had to do something, otherwise others would have and not as cleanly as I did. The whole damn thing would have fallen apart if I hadn’t killed them myself. This way, they only got me, and I haven’t told them a damn thing.”

  Jareen nodded. “I understand.”