Highlords of Phaer (Empire of Masks Book 1)

by Brock Deskins

  “So do I. I can’t take another round of torture, and I’d rather be dead than try. You know he’ll find you, just like he found me.”

  “I know and I am counting on it.”

  Gill stood on a stool to raise him closer to the small opening. “Make it clean.”

  Jareen cocked the pistol and pointed it through the bars inches from Gill’s forehead. “You will be remembered as a martyr, a hero. I promise.”

  “Better than I ever could have hoped for.”

  The pistol discharged with a crack of thunder and a burst of fire and smoke. Gill flew back off the stool and landed on his back, his eyes open and staring sightlessly at the ceiling, a wry smile on his lips.

  Jareen reached into a pocket and left a small strip of cloth torn from his cloak for Quinlan to find. The spots of blood on it were all but invisible against the dark fabric. He hoped that the multiple residual auras they imbued would be similarly indistinguishable.

  ***

  Quinlan worked his way through the airship, meticulously searching every corner and cubbyhole, even going so far as ordering timbers torn from the hull and floor so he could search the dead space inside. He had just completed scouring the berth deck and was climbing up the ladder when Lieutenant Talbot Millard nearly stepped on his head in his haste to find him. Talbot scrambled out of Quinlan’s way and helped him up through the hatch.

  “What is it, Talbot?” Quinlan snapped.

  The lieutenant swallowed, only some of the sweat pouring from his brow a result of his haste in finding his superior. “The prisoner, Gill Botwright, is dead.”

  “What?” Quinlan snapped. “How did it happen?”

  “We think he was killed through the outer bars by someone on the street. Sah, his wound looks like the strange ones we found on those boys.”

  Quinlan’s jaw muscles swelled and writhed beneath his skin. “Jareen.” He spun on Irna. “No one leaves this vessel until I say so. My men will have orders to kill anyone who tries.”

  Irna shrugged. “We’ll be here, patching holes and scrubbing shit.”

  The inquisitor raced down the cradle stairs to the coach waiting below with Talbot struggling to keep up. He leapt through the open door and leaned out to issue orders to several gendarmes standing around.

  “All of you, onto the running boards! Drub anyone who gets in my way. If they don’t move fast enough or argue, kill them and fling their carcasses into the gutter!”

  The coach tore through the city with wild abandon, the gendarmes leaping from the running boards and clearing all obstacles in their path with brutal efficiency. Twice, when carts were too slow to move out of the way, Quinlan used his magic to blast them to pieces before ordering his driver to run over the wreckage.

  The chief inquisitor stormed into the gendarmerie and stomped to Gill’s cell where he found the prisoner lying on the floor, his head surrounded in a halo of blood. He bent over the body and studied the hole in Gill’s forehead and the powder burns on his flesh.

  Placing his thumbs over Gill’s sightless eyes, Quinlan cast a spell to recover the last few moments of the man’s life. He saw a person in an overcoat wearing a slave mask. The figure pointed a strange object through the bars, which erupted in a flash of light, and then he saw nothing more.

  Quinlan was unable to clearly identify the mask the person wore, but there was no doubt in his mind that it was Jareen. He pushed a bench below the tiny, barred window and examined the opening. His lips curled into a smile as he plucked a piece of cloth stuck between one of the bars and the mortar holding it in place.

  “I have you now, Jareen.” He turned to Talbot. “Grab as many men as you can and follow me.”

  The inquisitor sped from the building, shouting to everyone he saw to follow him, and leapt onto the bench next to the coach driver. The wagon rocked as gendarmes clambered aboard behind him. Quinlan pinched the strip of cloth at one end between his thumb and finger and cast his tracking spell. The cloth fluttered as if being lifted by a breeze, pointing the way back to its owner.

  Quinlan stretched out his arm and shouted, “That way!”

  The coach leapt forward and clattered down the street, its motion having no effect on the magical compass in Quinlan’s hand. Someone on the carriage rang a bell to warn anyone ahead to clear the way while others blew whistles, summoning any local gendarmes to join in the chase.

  The coach sped through the city, heedless of those in its path. The cloth’s tugging became increasingly insistent and Quinlan ordered the driver to slow as it began flapping wildly. Even as he set his eyes on the tavern across the street, a man wearing black clothes and a familiar white and gold slave mask stepped through the door and bolted the instant he saw the gendarmes.

  “After him!” Quinlan ordered.

  The driver flicked the reins and the carriage lurched forward. The figure ducked down an alleyway and the coach slowed to follow only to find the passage clogged with debris.

  Quinlan leapt from the seat. “Go around and follow as best you can!”

  The inquisitor used his magic to strengthen his muscles and leapt over the obstacle with ease. He lost sight of his quarry several times, but the cloth in his hand led him unerringly to his target.

  “Stop, Jareen!” Quinlan shouted when he spied him just ahead. “You cannot outrun me, and you cannot hide!”

  Jareen ignored the command, lowered his head, and ran. It was a futile effort. Quinlan’s spell struck him in the back and sent him and bits of debris flying through the air. Jareen tumbled across the ground, rolled to his feet, and continued running, heedless of the numerous points of pain stabbing through his body.

  Quinlan chased after the fugitive, determined to put an end to him and his schemes once and for all. He had him, and there was no way the dissident would escape his justice again. He launched another sorcerous strike, but luck or some kind of sixth sense allowed Jareen to dart away down another path just before it struck.

  Jareen heard the corner of the building explode behind him and blew a mental sigh of relief that he had managed to dodge it just in time. It was unlikely he would have withstood the powerful blast. He knew he could not continue to outrun the sorcerer, but he had to keep running. There was no other choice. Fighting him simply was not an option.

  Quinlan continued the chase, stumbling over the wreckage he had created with his spell. The narrow alley opened into a sort of plaza surrounded by buildings. While there were numerous deep doorways and structures behind which to hide, he saw nowhere Jareen could have run. The cloth between his fingers pulled insistently, forcing him to tighten his grip on it. “Come out, Jareen. There is nowhere left to run. It is over.”

  Quinlan drew his sword in a flourish when a dark shape wearing a telltale white mask stepped from the shadow of a doorway.

  “No, Inquisitor,” the figure said.

  Quinlan turned to his right when another form also wearing a mask appeared.

  “It is not over.”

  A third masked man appeared to Quinlan’s far left.

  “It has just begun.”

  Quinlan flicked his eyes to the strip of cloth and watched it in confusion as it danced between all three men. He spun when another voice spoke just behind him.

  “But your role in this game has come to an end.”

  Jareen raised his pistol and fired straight at Quinlan’s perplexed face. The inquisitor barely had time to register what was happening and the danger he was in. With little more than a thought, he erected a powerful ward to shield his body.

  Jareen’s shot impacted the invisible barrier, but the enchanted musket shot shattered it like glass with a shower of cerulean sparks. The bullet lost some momentum crashing through the ward, but not enough to save the chief inquisitor. Blood erupted from the wound just above his left eye, and he fell back against the cobblestones, staring sightlessly up at the hazy night sky, his mouth moving as if trying to form words that would never come.

  Jareen looked away from Quinlan’s bo
dy and turned toward the sounds of shrill whistles drawing closer. “We must go.”

  “But the shot…” one of his men said.

  “There’s no time to recover it. Leave it and let us hope for the best,” Jareen said as the gendarmes closed in on them.

  Using ropes, the men climbed out of the courtyard and vanished into the night.

  CHAPTER 29

  Jareen rapped lightly on the door before entering. It was late, but he thought it wise to check on Sah Auberon before returning home. He would want to hear of his venture’s success in Glisteran. It also provided something of an alibi for him when news of the chief inquisitor’s death became known. Not a strong alibi, but it was all he had.

  “Sah Auberon?” Jareen called out softly, not wanting to wake his master if he was sleeping. “It is Jareen. I have returned.”

  He looked in Auberon’s bedroom but found the chamber empty. Jareen wondered if he was still at the factory but thought it unlikely. The poison he mixed in with the restorative should be leaving him weak and fatigued by now despite its invigorating properties.

  Jareen crossed through the spacious apartments and went to Auberon’s study where he had a small laboratory set up. He entered the room and froze when he saw the hasty drawing sketched onto the chalkboard. It was crude, even when compared to his prototype musket, but there was no mistaking what it was.

  “Do you recognize it, Jareen?”

  Jareen jumped and spun around, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword. Auberon stood in the doorway looking wan and leaning against the frame.

  “I think so, sah.” He turned away and strode to the large slate. “You have compacted the powder in a tube with a single opening from which the controlled explosion could launch a projectile. If it is successful, and if we can devise an efficient method of ignition, you will rewrite military doctrine. Imagine your brother’s face if you fielded an army equipped with such weapons against him. It is brilliant!”

  Auberon gazed at his servant with a forlorn expression. “Your praise once meant a great deal to me, Jareen, but I cannot help but feel it is a hollow devotion.”

  “Sah, have I done something wrong?”

  “Have you? Would you tell me truly if you had? I do not know. I feel that I do not know many things these days.”

  Jareen rushed to Auberon’s side as he began coughing. “Sah, tell me where your restorative is and I shall go fetch it.”

  Auberon held up a hand. “I shall not be taking it any longer.”

  “But you need your strength.”

  “My physicians will see to my health. You need not concern yourself any longer.”

  Jareen felt a twisting in his gut. Was Sah Auberon onto him? What had transpired while he was gone to give him such alarm?

  “Sah, please, tell me what you think it is I have done. I will do whatever I must to earn back your faith.”

  “Chief Inquisitor Quinlan spoke with me last night and made some damning accusations.”

  “Sah, he has been after me for some time. For what reason, I can only guess. Likely because of my unfortunate relation to my fool of a brother-in-law. He cast idiotic aspersions onto yourself as well.”

  “He drew many parallels, and they all trace back to you. You are at the center of everything, Jareen. He showed me, and I cannot find the logic to refute it no matter how much I desire to do so.”

  Auberon shook under a coughing fit, but Jareen held him up and walked him toward his bedroom.

  “You are tired and fever-stricken. Get some rest, and when you feel better, you will see how ridiculous the inquisitor’s accusations are.”

  Auberon slid into his bed with Jareen’s help. “I fear I am not going to get better. Not soon and perhaps not ever. Did you do this to me, Jareen?”

  The pain behind Auberon’s question shook him, but Jareen steeled his resolve and choked down the lump rising in his throat. “How could I possibly do such a thing?”

  “A question for us both,” Auberon said. “I do not want you traveling any more. Send others in your stead to oversee the deliveries. I want you close at hand.”

  “Of course, sah. Such was my intention after concluding your business in Glisteran.” Jareen smiled at his master. “I have such a story to tell you about that little adventure, but it can wait until you are better. Perhaps I can speak with Chief Inquisitor Quinlan tomorrow and we can get all this nonsense sorted out.”

  “Perhaps. Jareen,” Auberon called out, stopping him at the door.

  “Sah?”

  “About what happened to your family…”

  “Yes, sah?”

  Auberon paused to choose his words. “Know that I am sorry.”

  “Thank you, sah.”

  Whatever the sorcerer was going to say, Jareen sensed that he had changed his mind at the last moment. Despite a momentary curiosity, Jareen cast the thought aside. Nothing he could say would change what was going to happen.

  ***

  Jareen set the breakfast tray over Auberon’s lap. “Do you require anything else, sah?”

  Auberon lifted himself up to a more upright sitting position and Jareen adjusted the pillow behind his back for better support. “No, I have everything I need. I think I already feel better since your return.”

  “I am glad to see you recovering. I knew you would.”

  “Perhaps it is just the effect of having proper help once again. You should return to the factory. Are we still maintaining the increased production?”

  “Up twenty percent since my return, sah.”

  “Excellent. And our new security measures?”

  “I have increased the guard force per your recommendation and have also instituted several verification checks. I enlisted a member of the gendarmes to record the weighing and movement of all powder produced and exported. It is weighed when we make it, when it leaves the warehouse, as it is loaded onto the airship, and after it arrives in Vulcrad. If so much as an ounce is missing, we and the gendarmes will know of it.”

  Auberon smiled. “Above and beyond, just as I expect of you, Jareen.”

  Of course, Auberon, and the gendarmes, had no way of knowing that a fifth of the powder loaded onto the airship disappeared through the smuggling tunnel beneath the docking cradle and was replaced with carefully measured sand.

  “Has Chief Inquisitor Quinlan still not contacted you?” Auberon asked.

  “No, sah.”

  Auberon frowned. “That is so very strange, although I cannot say I am disappointed. Still, it has been a fortnight since I last spoke to him.”

  “You mentioned that he had a suspect in those horrible murders. Perhaps he apprehended the man and was satisfied that he had those responsible? I imagine a man like him does not like to admit his mistakes, particularly one so grand, and is avoiding us both out of embarrassment.”

  “That is certainly a logical assumption. I know far too well the pain of a bruised ego.” Auberon looked up at a knock at his outer door. “Go see to that, Jareen. Tell them I am eating and to come back later if you cannot resolve whatever it is they want.”

  Jareen bowed. “Of course, sah.”

  Auberon cocked an ear toward the door as he ate. He heard a female voice along with Jareen’s, and she seemed very insistent. The only woman he could think of whom Jareen could not easily dismiss was his mother, but the fact that there was any contention whatsoever eliminated it being her.

  Jareen returned with a woman in tow. “I am sorry, sah, but this is Inquisitor Lynette Layton from Nibbenar. I tried to get her to return later, but she refused.”

  Auberon motioned for Jareen to remove the tray and set it on his nightstand. “That is all right. What can I do for you, Inquisitor?”

  “Sah, forgive me for disturbing you. I understand you are not feeling well, but I felt it urgent to speak with you.”

  “Of course. What is it you require?”

  “I am taking over Chief Inquisitor Quinlan’s investigation regarding the murder of several notable citiz
ens.”

  “Taking over, why? Where is Quinlan?” Auberon asked.

  “He was struck down while pursuing a suspect two weeks ago.”

  “He’s dead?”

  Lynette shook her head. “No, but he is gravely wounded. The physicians do not know when or if he will regain consciousness. We hope he does so that he might be able to tell us who tried to kill him, but I hope to catch the perpetrator before then.”

  Every muscle in Jareen’s body tensed, but he forced himself to relax, praying that neither of the other two saw his momentary discomfiture.

  “That is unfortunate to hear. What has this to do with me?” Auberon inquired.

  “The weapon that struck him down was of the same sort used to kill the highborn the previous night. I understand that he spoke to you regarding how such a weapon might be made.”

  “We did speak. Quinlan mentioned that he had a suspect. I got the impression that he would apprehend him in short order. It is likely that this is the same man who injured him. Did he not have any notes or mention the identity of the man to anyone in the gendarme?”

  Lynette nodded. “He did arrest a man named Gill Botwright earlier in the evening, but someone killed him in his cell before Quinlan was able to extract any useful information. The assassin struck while the chief inquisitor was away inspecting an airship that belongs to you. I spoke with several members of the gendarme, including Lieutenant Millard, and they said that your vessel or its cargo was of great interest to him.”

  Auberon nodded. “That is true. The weapon we suspect this killer is using requires the explosive powder only I know how to manufacture in order to operate. Quinlan and I were very concerned that someone had managed to acquire some of it, and he was investigating all possible sources.”

  “Do you know how this person managed to get their hands on something only you know how to make, sah?”

  “I do not. My best guess is that they acquired it in Vulcrad and smuggled it back to Velaroth. That is why Quinlan had locked down the ports and was searching every airship.”

  “Did the chief inquisitor share the names of any other suspects he had in mind?”