NIghtbird (Empire of Masks Book 2)

by Brock Deskins

  ***

  Russel watched the goings-on through the small slot in the metal door leading into his warren. He observed the deadly confrontation with emotionally detached study, as he did with most things that happened around him. He weighed dozens of options and formulated plans that would achieve the best results with minimal damage and loss of life. At least as far as Kiera and his brother’s lives were concerned.

  He knew he could simply kill them all. It would not even be that difficult a feat. No one expected much from him, and the hesitation their underestimation caused was all he would need to gain the upper hand. But killing Fred and his men now would run counter to rescuing Ashlea, the girl in his dreams, the one trapped in the arcanstone. She needed him, and he needed Kiera and Fred to get the stone from the blast box.

  When the confrontation wound down and appeared to have been resolved without violence, Russel holstered the multi-barreled pistol he was gripping in one hand and climbed back down into his lair. Sitting down at the foot-pedaled polishing wheel, he went back to work honing his new arcanstones to be used in the tools he hoped would aid him in rescuing Ashlea.

  ***

  Reto walked into the bar and scanned the room until his eyes settled on his nephew Darynn seated at a corner table beneath an extinguished lamp. He sighed, assuming that the boy had put it out in an attempt to remain obscure, but he knew it only drew more attention to them. Nothing made people more curious than seeing someone who looked as if they were trying to keep a secret.

  The commandant threaded his way past the tables and drinking men and women, ignoring the looks his mask garnered. Darynn had likewise probably received the same attention when he had arrived, which only heightened the foolishness of putting out the lamp.

  Darynn started when Reto sat down, too absorbed in the contents of his glass to note his uncle’s arrival. The commandant poured a glass of wine from the bottle separating them, noting that it was more than half empty. He pushed his mask up so it sat atop his head and drank.

  Darynn leaned forward and whispered, “Uncle, is it wise to show our faces so openly? I turned out the lamp, but we are still visible to anyone who looks closely.”

  Reto set his glass down. “Do you think anyone here doesn’t know who we are?” He struck a match and lit the lantern. “Our masks are designed to declare our identity and status, not hide it. All you have done is make people more inquisitive.”

  “I just thought that given the purpose of our meeting that it would be wise to be as covert as possible.”

  “What purpose is that? Since when does an uncle having a drink with his nephew require discretion?”

  Darynn’s jaw bobbed up and down. “I—I just thought that when you asked me to meet you here that it had to do with what you and Sahma Adele had spoken of. She told me that you and her talked and were of like mind.”

  Reto glowered at the young man. “Sahma Adele and I spoke of nothing concerning you, and you spoke of nothing with her regarding me. You had best get that through your head or we are done here.”

  “I’m sorry, Uncle. I understand.”

  Reto shifted his ire to the bottle on the table. “Do you? Because getting drunk before a job is the quickest path to failure.”

  Darynn blushed and slid his glass of wine to the side. “I’m sorry. I had an unpleasant conversation with my father earlier today. Yet another argument about Bertram. Do you know he gave Grandfather’s dagger to him? That was mine by birthright! I accused him of favoring Bertram over his own son, said that he was the son he always wanted. The man had the gall not to even attempt to deny it.”

  Reto leaned forward, his eyes boring into Darynn’s. “What I am about to tell you does not leave this table. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Uncle, I swear it.”

  “You’re wrong. Bertram is not the son he always wanted.”

  “But—”

  Reto held up a hand. “Bertram is the son he never got to claim.”

  Darynn’s eyes shifted back and forth as his brain tried to decipher what his uncle was telling him. “That’s impossible!”

  “You know your father nearly as well as I do. It is not only possible but almost inevitable, given the man’s proclivities. He has spent most of his life bedding the most beautiful and influential women in this realm, one of his favorites being Ambrosine Velarius. In fact, the two were very much in love, but Farelle was already married to your mother, who had made sure that his wealth and influence was so entwined with hers that he could not possibly leave her. He might have anyway after Bertram was born, but Ambrosine got sick shortly after and died.”

  “He still could have claimed him as his bastard. Such a thing is not unheard of.”

  Reto shook his head. “Our father’s wealth was not vast, and he left most of it to Farelle, who drank, partied, and gambled most of it away. Your mother was from a very wealthy family, and she wanted to mix her money with royal blood. Her first choice was Rastus after his wife died, but he refused to consider it. The only viable option at the time was your father. The duke of a dead nation was better than nothing at all, so they entered into a contract that was more like a business acquisition than a marriage. One that would leave Farelle destitute should he violate the tenets, the most egregious being scandalizing the family name.”

  “Mother never knew about his affairs?”

  “She knew and, beyond being insulted by them, did not care as long as the name she had essentially purchased was not tarnished. Your father enjoys his lifestyle too much to throw it away, even for his beloved firstborn.”

  “Firstborn…He’s the rightful heir to my legacy.”

  “Not to mention being Velaroth’s future ruler. That boy, by product of his birth, will manage to absorb three of the five cities within the next decade, depending on when Rastus decides to retire.”

  “Three…” Darynn rubbed his face with his hand and tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I know he is likely going to marry Lysse Dushane, who is the heir to Nibbenar.”

  “I am sure Lysse and her mother have their own plans in regards to that union and the resulting balance of power, but how likely do you think it is that a man like Bertram will take a back seat to his wife?”

  “Not likely. Not likely at all. Bertram is obsessed with being the best at everything he does.”

  Reto pierced his nephew with a raptor’s gaze. “Once he has the secret to making powder and building airships, what could stop him from putting Vulcrad and Glisteran under his thumb as well?”

  “He would need a lot of soldiers to crack Vulcrad.”

  “And when your father dies, he would have them. There are three thousand Thuum living like refugees in this city alone. All Bertram would have to do is promise to rebuild the home they lost and return them to the proud people they once were, and they would hail him as a hero. We Thuum are born to fight. How many of your friends are chafing at the bit to engage in a true battle?”

  Darynn pressed his hands flat against the table and studied its surface. “I would be lost to history. No one cares about a second son.”

  “Something I know far too well.”

  “What should I do?”

  “I think you know precisely what you should do. I know some men who have no desire to see Bertram ascend the throne and who also know how dangerous being an inquisitor can be. Talk to Sergeant Owen Randolph. He will tell you how quickly a simple investigation can turn deadly.”

  Darynn smiled. “Thank you, Uncle.”

  “For what? I’m just sharing a drink with my nephew.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Two days after the disastrous battle with the demons, Tal’at reached the high mesa where his tribe were camped. He stared straight ahead, refusing to meet the eyes that watched him, not wanting to answer the question that loomed behind their concerned gaze—Where are the others?

  The rover leader tossed back the flap to his father’s yurt and, with a deep breath, ducked his head and plunged inside. Tal’at foun
d his father, along with their medicine man Sharif and a handful of elders. Their faces bore grim expressions. The elders always knew when something was wrong.

  His father, Bulus, spoke. “Sit, my son. Tell us what has happened.”

  Tal’at sat cross-legged on a stylish woven rug and met his father’s stern gaze. “My band and I heard cannon fire and witnessed two airships in battle.”

  “That is troubling to hear,” Sharif said. “I have heard nothing of impending war between the cities.”

  Tal’at shook his head. “The battle was not between city states, but a navy vessel, out of Nibbenar I think, and a strange airship filled with demons.”

  “Demons?” Sharif spat. “What do you mean by that?”

  “The two ships destroyed each other. The demon ship was a black monstrosity. I found the remnants of the hold filled with grey-skinned creatures, similar to men, but not men, connected to the interior by what I can only describe as viscera.”

  The elders muttered and drew warding signs in the air with their hands.

  “The grey men were clearly slaves to a much more menacing demon.”

  “You keep saying demon, Tal’at,” Bulus said. “Why do you call it this?”

  “The black-garbed creature looked like a man, more so than the grey brutes, but it was evil incarnate. Its skin was deathly pale, its lips blood red. It wove shadow into weapons that froze one’s very soul when it struck. It carried a slender void-steel spear that was able to pull the very life out of one’s body. The demon was also able to raise the dead and command them to fight for it.”

  “You saw this?” the chief asked.

  Tal’at nodded. “I did.”

  “How many of these creatures were there?”

  There were at least three score of the greys, but none that survived the battle and crash. I saw two of the master demons and slayed one, but not before losing my band. I would have fled, but there was no time. They died too swiftly.”

  “And the other?”

  Tal’at cast his eyes down at his knees. “When he raised Asim, I danced with the wind.” His head snapped up. “I did not flee from cowardice! I knew I needed to return here and warn the tribe. I could not risk falling in battle and taking this knowledge to my grave.”

  Bulus nodded. “No one doubts your courage, and now you show wisdom as well.” The chief looked to Sharif. “Tell me, did my son fight demons?”

  Sharif looked to the other elders, most of whom shook their heads. “No.”

  “I know what I saw!” Tal’at said.

  “You know but do not know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A long time ago, before the highlords, an evil race called Necrophages ruled this land. It was the sorcerers’ power that enabled the people to rise up against them and purge them from our realm and drive the few survivors across the sea. Fearing they might return once they restored their numbers, the sorcerers created the Great Tempest.”

  “If they are here, then they must have found a way to cross the sea,” Bulus said.

  The medicine man nodded. “I have been listening to the wind these last decades, and it warned that the tempest was waning.”

  Bulus frowned. “How many have returned?”

  “I cannot say. The wind cares not about mortal men, or even monsters.”

  Tal’at clenched his teeth, clearly vexed. “Why have I never heard of these Necrophages?”

  “Only a handful of us elders pass the knowledge of their existence down to the next generation, usually only on our deathbeds,” Sharif explained. “The wind can carry a name very far, so it is best that it never be spoken lest evil hears it and considers it an invitation.”

  “How great a danger are we in?”

  Sharif shook his bald, tattooed head. “The sorcerers are gone, but it appears that the Necrophages are still able to wield their dark power. If they attack in force, it could be disastrous for everyone in Eidolan.”

  “What do we do, Father?”

  Bulus sat motionless for a full minute. “We must ride the wind and warn the other tribes.”

  “What about the cities? Surely these creatures will attack them first,” Tal’at said.

  “Most certainly. We can send envoys to the cities, but it is unlikely they will listen to us savages.”

  Tal’at stood. “Warn our people. I have told you of what I saw. Now I will track down the one that slayed my friends and take his head as well.”

  Bulus stood and laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. “The desert is vast, and if the Necrophages are coming, your people will need you to lead them and fight by their side. Now is not the time to lose oneself chasing vengeance.”

  Tal’at gave his father a resigned sigh. “You are right. We must focus on the living and warn our people. Let the cities fend for themselves as they always have.”

  The call went out, and the Thuum struck camp with practiced efficiency. The tribe’s wind callers summoned a powerful gust, and air sails, many far larger than the one Tal’at used, billowed in the strong breeze. The entire tribe sailed into the sky like the seeds of a dandelion. It was a spectacular sight to behold, and Tal’at never grew bored of seeing it.

  Floating above the desert floor, Tal’at turned his head to face in the direction he had fought the Necrophage. “I will find you, Dorian, son of the Harbinger of Death, in this life or the next. Then it will be I who will bring death to you.”

  ***

  Kiera stomped up the steps and onto the deck, her hands pressed over her ears to block the incessant hammering coming from below. She found Wesley at the bow smoking aether weed and let her scowl inform him of her displeasure.

  “What is your lunatic brother doing down there? He’s been banging on stuff nonstop for the past three days!”

  Wesley turned down the corners of his mouth and shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  She looked at the smoldering pipe. “Do you really think it’s a good idea to be smoking the product you are supposed to be selling?”

  He took a deep drag from the pipe and held in the smoke for half a minute before responding. “I don’t have an appointment for several days, so there’s no downside and a whole lot of upside.”

  “I’m sure that moronic statement makes perfect sense to your addled brain. How about you try to explain it to me?”

  “In the next couple of days, Fred is going to call you in to do this job of his. If you’re successful, I don’t have to worry about whether or not I sell my inventory. If you fail, he’s going to kill us all. Either way, what happens to the product is irrelevant. The only difference is whether I meet my end sober or not. I have elected to go with not.”

  Kiera pressed her fists against her hips and stared up at the sky. “There’s a surprise.”

  Neither of them noticed that the banging had ceased until Russel appeared on the deck bearing a strange object that looked vaguely like a pistol with a spool of shimmersilk cord attached to the top. An object resembling a metal mushroom with a flat cap protruded from the front of the gun like the tip of a crossbow bolt.

  Russel thrust the object at Kiera. “Here.”

  Kiera held the device in her hands and stared at it. “What is it?”

  “Grapnel gun.”

  “Um, OK. Why are you giving me a grapnel gun?”

  “Whoosh, fly, climb,” he replied, his hands cutting through the air.

  “That sounds useful. How does it work? I don’t see a hook.”

  Russel pointed to the flat mushroom-like projectile attached to the shimmersilk cord. “The arcanstone sends the grapnel flying. Grapnel bonds with what it hits. Push this button, whoosh, fly, climb.”

  Kiera studied the grapnel, taking note of the small pieces of mage glass set around the outside edge of the disc. “Oh, like a magnet!”

  Russel pressed his lips together and frowned. “No. Mountains are made of rock. Rock is made of sand. Sand is made of smaller sand, and that sand of even smaller sand. Sand sand. Sand sand of th
e grapnel merges with sand sand of the other object and bonds together to form a whole.”

  Kiera stared at him, confused. “So…like a magnet?”

  Russel’s face reddened and his hands flew into a flurry of movement, his anger and frustration making his signing look as if he were trying to fight off a swarm of hornets.

  Wesley stepped to his brother’s side and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Calm down. It’s not your fault Kiera is too dumb to understand.”

  “Like you have any idea what he’s talking about—mountains and rocks and sand sand!” she snapped.

  “No, but I’m smart enough to just smile and nod when he says it.”

  Russel took several deep breaths to calm himself. “Yes, like a magnet.”

  “See!”

  “I see that signing is a poor medium for sarcasm.”

  “Shut up.” Kiera aimed the grapnel gun near the top of the airship’s broken mast and squeezed the trigger. The grapnel flew out and stuck securely to the wood. “Ever see a dumb person do this?”

  She thumbed the button Russel had indicated would reel in the cord. She yelped when the gun jerked out of her hand, bending one of her fingernails back in the process. Kiera glared up at the device now dangling twenty feet over her head.

  “What the crap?”

  “So, did you want me to answer that, or am I going to assume it was a rhetorical question?”

  Kiera turned her glare from the dangling grapnel gun to Wesley. “Depends on how fond you are of being able to see out of both your eyes.”

  “Rhetorical it is.”

  She turned her hostile gaze on Russel. “What good is this thing if it gets jerked out of my hand when I use it?”

  Russel handed her a leather bracer with a sturdy metal ring sewn onto it. “You have to clip the gun to this.”

  Kiera took the bracer and strapped it to her forearm. “You might have given me this first.”

  “Basic law of physics. To lift or move an object, a greater amount of force must be applied. Everyone knows that.”

  “Nobody knows that!”

  “I knew that.”

  “Shut up, Wesley!” Kiera stared up at the grapnel gun in disgust. “How in the Tormented Plane am I going to get that thing down?”