NIghtbird (Empire of Masks Book 2)

by Brock Deskins

  “The standard was first blood. Bertram deliberately bent the standards of conduct to facilitate his desire to kill him.”

  “He was a petulant little shit who got what he deserved.”

  “He was my friend!”

  “Then you would do well to choose better friends! Perhaps if you tied yourself closer to men like Bertram, you would be a better man.”

  Darynn’s rage boiled over but he fought to restrain his anger so as not to make a bigger scene than their arguing already had. “I am second at the naval academy.” He cast a scornful look at Bertram. “In any other class I would be first by a large margin.”

  Farelle sneered. “No true son of mine would so readily accept, much less be proud of, being second to anything or anyone.”

  “I am sorry you were so cursed with having the second-best son in the city!”

  The elder Vanos leaned in toward his son. “Not nearly as much as I am.”

  Bertram cleared his throat, cutting off whatever retort Darynn was about to issue. “I should go.”

  Farelle halted his departure with a hand on his shoulder. “Nonsense, not before I give you your graduation gift. That was why I approached you in the first place. I was going to present it to you after the others before Gilbert so rudely interrupted.

  The man removed a scabbarded dagger from the red sash tied about his waist and handed it to Bertram. “This was my father’s, handed down the Vanos line since Brelon Vanos carried it through the desert as he led our people to the sanctuary of Velaroth.”

  Darynn’s eyes went wide. “Father, that is my birthright!”

  “He’s right, Sah Farelle,” Bertram said. “It should go to Darynn.”

  “Nonsense.” Farelle looked pointedly at his son. “It deserves to be wielded by a man who will stab it into his enemy’s heart, not his back.”

  Darynn stood wordlessly, trembling with rage.

  “If you think I am wrong,” Farelle said to his son, “then challenge him for it, or me. It is what a true Thuumian would do, not just a boy who marks his face and pretends to be what he is not.” When Darynn did not respond, his father scoffed, “Precisely what I thought.

  Darynn fought to control his outrage lest he become the second man to die in a duel this night. “Gilbert’s mother is distraught. As his best friend, honor requires me to console her as best I might. Good evening, Father.” He spared Bertram a hate-filled glare before turning on his heel and storming away.

  “He’s right, you know,” Bertram said. “In any other class, he would top the academy rankings by a respectable margin.”

  Farelle nodded. “I know. I am proud of his accomplishments.”

  “Then why not tell him?”

  “His mother coddled him too much and it shows. I will drag the Thuum out of him and bring it to the fore, kicking and screaming if I have to.”

  “I think I understand.”

  The Thuumian clapped him on the shoulder. “Of course you do. I wish your mother could have been here. She would be proud of you. I know it’s of little consolation, but know that I am proud of you for her.”

  Bertram uttered an uneasy chuckle at the clearly inebriated man. “Thank you, sah. And thank you for the gift. I will do it honor.”

  “I know you will, son.”

  Bertram looked around for Lysse but did not see her. She was likely also consoling the grieving mother, and he was not about to step back into that mess. With no one he cared about in sight, Bertram thought it a good time to retire for the evening.

  CHAPTER 3

  Rastus sat in his parlor, imagining that he could feel the heat emanating from the woman’s vitriolic fury. Surely it was just the fire blazing in the hearth. Most of it at least.

  “He murdered my son!” Adele Wiebe screeched at him. “It was a duel to first blood, but he slaughtered him instead with malice and aforethought.”

  “What is it you wish me to do, Sahma Adele?” Rastus asked.

  “I want him arrested, tried for murder, and either hanged or sent to the slave mines!”

  “That is not going to happen.”

  “Being your family does not make him above the law!”

  “Bertram broke neither law nor social custom. Granted, he abused a loophole in the system, but let us not forget why he challenged your son in the first place.”

  “Gilbert was rude and his comment vulgar, made only because alcohol exacerbated the stupidity of youth. He did not deserve to die for it!”

  “I am not saying he did,” Rastus assured the woman.

  “Yet my son is dead.”

  Rastus’ patience toward the grieving mother had reached its limit. They had been chasing the issue around for the past half hour and he was done with it.

  The duke bolted to his feet and met Adele’s furious gaze with equal enmity. “As is my sister against whom the disgusting insult was levied! At least now Gilbert can make his apologies in person.”

  Adele’s mouth worked silently a moment before she turned to Esmerelda standing quietly with the other city leaders. “Cousin, will you not support me in this?”

  Esmerelda frowned. “I think not. Rastus is correct. Bertram broke no laws. While he did bend the rules of chivalry, he did not violate them. I grieve for you, Adele, but charging Bertram with murder would only add one injustice to another.”

  Adele looked to Zibaran and Krysten with pleading eyes, but she would find no support in this room. If she wanted justice for her son, she would have to get it herself.

  “Self-serving cowards, the lot of you!”

  “Calm yourself, Sahma Adele,” Rastus warned.

  “I think there is one thing we should consider,” Krysten said, earning a hopeful look from Adele. “While Bertram did not break the law, his actions were extreme if not unwarranted.”

  “What are you implying?” Rastus asked.

  “We all know that Bertram is one of the best graduates the naval academy has ever produced, but does he possess the proper temperament for being in control of our most powerful military assets?”

  Zibaran nodded and stroked his chin. “Yes, I see what Krysten is saying. I am as fond of the boy as anyone, but perhaps we should wait before fast-tracking him into a command position. He needs to learn how to temper his reaction. Imagine if he perceived such an insult with our entire fleet at his disposal.”

  “I know the boy is temperamental and rash, but do you honestly think he would bombard one of our cities because someone was rude?” Rastus asked.

  “Do you believe he is incapable of it?” Zibaran countered. “What if he considered someone a regional threat and not just an individual one? Would he listen to us, or would he do what he thought was right and just?”

  Rastus knew the answer to that question and sank back down into his chair. “I will relent to delaying Bertram’s command training. Who would you put in his place?”

  Esmerelda looked to her peers. “I think we should pause and discuss this amongst ourselves. Give us a few days to review potential candidates. There are only a handful of those truly qualified, so it should not take long.”

  Rastus sighed. “Very well. I will discuss our decision with Bertram in the morning.”

  “I certainly do not envy you in that regard,” Zibaran said with a grin. “I hope he is not so offended that he challenges you to a duel.”

  The duke chuckled. “You and me both.”

  ***

  Wesley opened his eyes and immediately regretted it as light streaming through the parted curtains tried to sear his retinas. Stifling his groan, he gingerly slipped his legs over the side of the bed so as not to disturb its other occupant. He found his shimmersilk shirt, trousers of fine cotton, and lizard-skin boots where he had left them last night and slipped them on.

  His money was on the nightstand as he expected. Slipping the coins into his pocket, he padded across the spacious bedroom to the door.

  “Use the servants’ stairs at the end of the hall to your left,” the matronly woman in the bed
said just as Wesley reached for the door handle. “I doubt my husband came home from the duke’s gala alone last night, if at all, but if he does catch sight of you he will challenge you to a duel for propriety’s sake.”

  Wesley turned back and smiled. “I shall depart like the moon Brontes, with the coming of the dawn and without a sound. I do hope I get to return as well some evening.”

  Antonia ran her hand across the shimmersilk bedsheet covering her thigh. “I may be inclined to play Niobe to your Brontes. Your skill belies your youth.”

  Wesley bowed. “The sahma’s exuberance belies her…experience.”

  “Young and charming. You are a rare treat indeed.”

  “It is why I serve only the most distinguished of palates. I am far too sweet for a common tongue.”

  “There is certainly nothing common about your tongue.” Antonia closed her eyes and sighed at the memory. “That is why I will forgive you stealing one of my husband’s shirts.”

  Wesley tucked the draping bit of shimmersilk back into his jacket. “I am so sorry. It’s a gift for my little brother. He is weirdly obsessive about the stuff.” He glanced to the window. “The sun is up, and it is past time for Brontes to return to his daytime abode. Fare thee well, dear sahma.”

  Wesley checked the hall before darting out of the room and making use of the narrow stairs. He passed several servants and had to cross through the kitchens on his way out, but no one appeared to pay him the least attention.

  Whistling a merry tune, Wesley fingered the coins clinking in his pocket as he tallied his earnings. Sahma Antonia had tipped him well. Almost as much as he thought he deserved. It was Tribute Day, so he had made an even greater effort to be pleasing, not that he ever slacked off on any other night, but this one was especially important. As long as Kiera had been even moderately successful in her endeavors last night, they should have no problem meeting their tithe.

  A few blocks from the trade ring, Wesley spotted one of Rafferty’s thugs loitering on the corner. He had not gotten a pass from the gang who controlled this area, and getting caught poaching was not good for his bottom line, not to mention his health. He ducked down an alley between a clothier’s shop and a fine grocer’s hoping to avoid being seen.

  If anyone looked his way, they were sure to spot him. Even the alleyways in the highborn district were clean and free of rubble or trash for him to hide behind. Wesley selected another route between buildings partway down the narrow passage before turning right at the next one. He wound his way through the urban maze while maintaining his heading out of the district.

  All Wesley needed to do was exit the alley he was in, cross through the next block, and pass beyond the wall separating the highborn district from Midtown. He would not be safe until he was back in his own sector, but the gangs in Midtown and below were easier to avoid. Even if he did get caught and could not talk his way out of a trespassing fine, it was a significantly cheaper tribute than he would pay for getting caught in Rafferty’s domain.

  Wesley reached the end of the alley and was about to step out onto one of the wide avenues until Iggy, or possibly Micah, he never could tell the two apart, blocked his egress.

  “You should have run, Wesley,” Langdon said as he and the other twin stalked toward him from behind. “You might have beaten us here and gotten away.”

  Wesley turned around. “And break a sweat in my work clothes? Hardly.”

  “You got a passage token to be here?”

  “I’m not working. I just came to purchase a new shirt.”

  “Why didn’t you just get a new one from where you got those cheap Midtown knock-off skitter lizard shoes?” Iggy asked.

  Wesley spun about. “These are rather expensive Midtown knock-off skitter lizard shoes, I’ll have you know!”

  “Let’s focus on the matter at hand,” Langdon said. “Why are you ducking us if you aren’t working?”

  Wesley shifted from foot to foot. “I wanted to avoid any misunderstanding like this one.”

  “You’re a terrible liar, Wesley.”

  “You insult me, sah. I am an excellent liar.”

  “You’re also trespassing.” Langdon held out his hand and made a beckoning motion. “Let’s have it.”

  Wesley’s shoulders sagged and he groaned. “How much?”

  “How much you got?”

  “Oh, come on, Langdon, be fair. It’s Tribute Day.”

  “Yes, and it’s my job to collect tolls and fines to give to Rafferty so he can pay Nimat. You know how it works; money flows up.”

  Wesley scowled. “Yeah, and shit rolls down.”

  “See, you do get it. So, let’s have it.”

  Wesley jabbed his hand into his pocket, pulled out his fistful of coins, and deposited them into Langdon’s cupped palm.

  “Not bad, Wesley. You bed the fleet commander or something?”

  “No, he’d have paid twice as much.”

  Wesley watched Langdon separate a few coins into a short stack. He thought he was going to get off lightly until Langdon pocketed the bulk and handed back the remainder.

  “You can’t take almost my entire haul. There are rules!”

  Langdon nodded. “There certainly are, poaching being one of them. Another one is paying debts of fellow gang members.”

  “What debt?”

  “We caught Kiera last night.”

  “Aw, crap. How’d she do?”

  “Not well, I’m afraid. Not only was she unable to pay her fine, there’s a small matter of a punitive charge.”

  “What kind of punitive charge?”

  “The assault kind.”

  Wesley slumped and his face went slack. “What did she do?”

  “Busted up his clock weights,” Micah answered.

  Iggy bent down and looked at Langdon’s crotch. “Poor little bugger probably won’t never tell time right again.”

  “Shut up, Iggy!” Langdon snapped, and pushed Iggy’s head away from him.

  “I’m sorry, but you know how she can be.”

  “Doesn’t excuse what she did or the debt she owes.”

  Wesley nodded. “You’re right. Are we done?”

  Langdon grimaced. “Not quite. You know blood can only be paid partially in coin.”

  “Come on, Langdon. Technically, she didn’t draw blood…did she?”

  Langdon shrugged. “I can’t see my insides, so I can’t say for certain, but it’s bodily harm nonetheless and must be repaid in kind.”

  “Damn it, Kiera,” Wesley mumbled. “Stop, not in the face!” he cried as Langdon cocked his fist back.

  “You don’t get to choose, Wesley. It’s dealer’s choice.”

  “But marking up my face will cost me work.”

  “Why do I care?”

  “The less money I earn means the less I have to pay you. My best customers are in your district, and I’m usually good about paying the toll. I would have paid last night but the appointment was made last minute.”

  “Fine, so where do you want it?”

  “Nowhere visible, and don’t mess up my clothes.”

  Iggy said, “Why don’t you knock him in his knackers like Kiera done you?”

  “Those are my most important bits!”

  “Ain’t they for us all?” Micah said.

  “Yeah, but mine earn me money. Yours probably just earns you laughs.”

  Langdon stopped Micah’s angry advance with an outstretched arm. “Wesley, what are you doing? Are you trying to go for two? Let’s keep this civil.”

  “Sorry, I get nervous and mouthy in the face of violence. Get on with it.”

  “Iggy, Micah, hold him up so he doesn’t fall and soil his trousers.”

  “Thank you, Langdon. Decent of you,” Wesley said as the two brutes grabbed him under each arm.

  “Think nothing of it. We’re all playing the same game even if we’re on different teams.”

  Langdon’s fist blasted into Wesley’s stomach. Wesley’s knees buckled as all the air left h
is lungs. It was all he could do to choke back the vomit trying to escape along with it so as not to ruin his clothes or shoes.

  Langdon clapped him on the back. “Are you good to stand on your own now?”

  Wesley got his legs beneath him and nodded while bracing his hands on his knees.

  “Let’s make sure we pay those tolls so this kind of thing doesn’t happen again. And please, talk to Kiera. If it had been someone else who stopped her instead of me and my guys, there would have been some serious retribution. I know she’s tough and all, but that’s something none of us want to contend with.” Langdon dropped a small wood disc at his feet. “Here’s a passage chit showing you had business here and paid your toll so you can take the free road through Midtown.”

  Wesley picked up the token and gave Langdon a thumbs up before hobbling away. He showed the token to a man he recognized as belonging to Marina Armbruster, the leader of a Midtown gang, when he crossed the “border.” There were four gangs operating in the business district, but Marina controlled the largest.

  With access to the free road, Wesley was able to reach Blindside without further trouble. Blindside was the common name for the outer ring of the city, so named because it served to shield the eyes of those living in Midtown and Highborn City from the cruel reality of the outside world. Its proper name was Sanctuary, named for the large number of refugees who flocked to Velaroth and did not die en route when the sorcerer king tore the world asunder.

  Of course, no one used the name Highborn City outside of Blindside since Duke Jareen Velarius declared that there were no more highborn or lowborn some two hundred years ago. That lasted until the first airship returned to the skies and made wealth and power mean something once again. Those who lived in Highborn City called it Liberty City, which was ironic because they went to a great deal of trouble to keep out the riffraff who did not belong there.

  Working so often in Midtown and occasionally Highborn City, it always depressed Wesley when he returned to his home in the slums. There was not a single building that stood intact, not with its original materials anyway. The structures that were still erect had a patchwork of materials used to cover gaping holes in their sides where walls had crumbled or had been torn down for their bricks and used to repair and improve the massive wall encircling the entire city.