“Where were you?” shouted Graegor. “When the King was murdered. Where were you?”
“I’ve fought every day of this war, while you sit around on your fat arse!” roared Balfruss. “You’re a fucking coward!”
Graegor stopped thrashing about in Thias’s grip and all colour drained from his face. With an inhuman scream he surged towards Balfruss. Both of Talandra’s brothers were pulled six feet across the room before their combined weight managed to stop the General’s forward motion. The door to the dining room burst open and her royal guards came in with their weapons drawn. She waved them back and they retreated but stayed inside the room.
“Traitor!” snarled Graegor, unwilling to leave it alone.
“He’s not a traitor,” shouted Talandra, her voice cutting across all noise. “He’s your son.”
The silence that followed was so deafening it made her ears ring. Somewhere outside she could hear the repetitive strike of a hammer against an anvil. Even at this late hour the smiths were still hard at work when most were in their beds. She wondered if Finn laboured alongside them, trying to beat a piece of twisted metal back into something useful. She knew the smith wished someone could do the same to him. Remake him anew.
Talandra felt everyone’s eyes on her. All strength seemed to drain out of Graegor as he dropped his axe, and would have fallen if Thias and Hyram hadn’t held him upright.
Balfruss looked between her and the old General in open disbelief. But then his expression changed as he saw something familiar in Graegor’s face. There were some similarities around the eyes, but not enough to make it obvious they were related. The rest Talandra had put together over the last few weeks. Graegor was always angry, but recently he’d been particularly irritated about something personal. Everyone knew the man had no family, but that hadn’t always been true. Talandra’s father had mentioned it once or twice, but it had taken recent events for her to remember the tragic story of Graegor’s family being killed by raiders.
Another clue had come during her unusual conversation when the General had walked her back to her quarters. At the time she’d only known a little about Balfruss’s background, and in a tired daze she’d sent Graegor to speak with Vannok. Two days ago the pieces of the puzzle had started to come together in the back of her mind. A little more digging and a few discreet questions from Shani confirmed her suspicions.
She had intended to discuss this with Balfruss and Graegor in private to give the Battlemage another reason to stay in Charas after the war. She knew he’d also reconnected with Vannok and his family. Combining that with suddenly having a father, she’d hoped it would make it difficult for Balfruss to walk away. Now her plan was ruined, and she didn’t know what would happen next.
Thias and Hyram were struggling with Graegor’s weight, so they shuffled him towards a chair. He collapsed in a boneless heap and, for the first time in her life, Talandra thought the General looked defeated. The seemingly bottomless pit of rage that burned in his eye had been extinguished. He stared at the surface of the table, lost in thought.
“I thought you knew,” Talandra said gently.
“I suspected,” said Graegor, without looking up.
“You’re not my father,” said Balfruss, slowly getting to his feet. Talandra caught a brief glimpse of something before the Battlemage recovered. Behind his eyes she saw an abyss filled with terrible pain and so much anger it took her aback. “You’re nothing to me.” Balfruss turned and walked out of the room.
CHAPTER 39
Roza waited a few minutes in an adjacent street to make sure she was the last to arrive at the warehouse. As before at previous meetings, those gathered in the warehouse wore disguises and masks. The numbers in the crowd had dwindled slightly, but those that remained were real patriots. Those willing to do more than just talk and attend clandestine meetings for a bit of fun.
Although none had removed their masks, she knew all their identities and they believed they knew hers.
A few days after the first meeting, each of the activists received a personally addressed letter from Petra with their first set of orders. As expected this scared away the thrill-seekers chasing the latest craze, and the cowards only willing to mouth off behind closed doors about what needed to be done. The rest were willing to do whatever was necessary to retake their country, starting with the capital city.
For almost two weeks wealthy landowners, merchants and figures from high society had been frequenting a flower shop in the Trade Quarter to purchase floral arrangements from a familiar-looking woman. With each bouquet they bought from her, they also received orders about the number of Drassi they were expected to hire, and where to station them.
So far everything was going to plan, but experience had taught Roza never to take anything for granted.
As she passed through the crowd Roza felt a familiar heat coming from the stares of some of the men. Perhaps one or two remained for a different reason, but they would be sorely disappointed in that regard. It was also too late to back out now. They were committed, and anyone trying to withdraw at this stage would have to be silenced to minimise potential risks. Although with so many Drassi in the city, it would be obvious even to a half-witted operative that something was happening.
“It’s time to take back our country,” she said without preamble. “Just as we planned, there are five hundred Drassi in the city and another four thousand nearby.” She tipped her head towards a group of masked men dressed in custom-made finery and gold-edged masks.
Some of those in the crowd owned country estates that remained empty for most of the year, except on those rare occasions when they felt a whim to live as country folk. That is, country folk who were surrounded by opulence and waited on by servants, of course. Now their manicured gardens and colourful flowerbeds had been trampled underfoot and were the temporary barracks for Drassi warriors. They could reach the city in less than half a day’s march. Those inside the walls were more than enough to take care of Taikon’s Chosen, but it was what they couldn’t plan for that Gunder worried about. It was why he’d insisted she tell them to bring in so many Drassi, just in case the Chosen had been busy with unofficial recruitment.
“When?” someone shouted. “When do we get to fight?”
“Very soon,” she said. “I’m making final preparations. I have new orders for all.”
The orders all said the same thing but she made a show of carefully selecting letters from her satchel before passing them out to individuals. Each masked activist quickly hid it inside the fold of their robes, or shoved it in a pocket, to read later in private. They would not meet again like this. The liberation of Yerskania would begin in three days.
“It is almost the right time to strike,” said Roza, moving back onto the raised platform. “The war is not going well. The Seves continue to stall and defeat the west. The alliance is crumbling. The Morrin are fighting among themselves and the Zecorrans are divided and want to overthrow Taikon. Shael was crushed, but now even its people are fighting back.”
The Zecorran reinforcements had gone directly through the southern pass to Seveldrom, for which she was grateful. If they’d attempted to take Yerskania it would have turned into a bloodbath in the streets. The plan with High Priest Filbin had proven incredibly successful. His Holiness had become a leading figure now who spoke out in public against the rebels and even Taikon.
Elsewhere the Morrin had abandoned Shael, sailed north and returned home. Every day she heard stories about fresh tragedies and outbreaks of violence committed by the extremists. The Morrin were too busy fighting to free their own country to care about anyone else. All of this, combined with so many troops engaged in Seveldrom, made it the right time to shatter the remaining pieces of the western alliance. Events were finally moving in the right direction and what they were planning in Yerskania could be the tipping point.
“Yerskania will be free,” she promised. There was a brief cheer and a sporadic round of applause before the crowd be
gan to disperse. Groups began to leave, a few minutes apart to avoid attracting too much attention. She spotted Gunder in the crowd who moved to the rear of the warehouse to wait for everyone else to leave. When they were alone she made a brief circuit of the warehouse before coming back inside and locking the door.
“What didn’t you tell them?” barked Gunder, which made her raise an eyebrow. Normally he maintained a firm grip on his emotions.
“Nothing. We’re ready. Do you have any news?”
“The Watch is still being cautious. I’ve done all I can. Now it’s up to the rebels,” he said with a sneer.
“Meaning what?”
“Either they help with the rebellion, or you make sure they don’t interfere. The Drassi won’t care if their targets are Chosen or local citizens. They’ll kill whoever they’re told, as long as it’s within the time limit of the contract.”
Roza shook her head. “That’s not a good idea.”
“We can’t afford for word of this to leak. Eliminate anyone who gets in the way, even members of the Watch.”
Something had him rattled. He’d become a lot more unsteady, which she’d not seen happen to him before. Perhaps he’d been playing the game too long.
“What’s happened to you?” she asked but Gunder ignored the question. He started to turn away until she put a hand on his arm. “Talk to me.”
From beneath the Gunder mask of flabby flesh and gaudy clothes, Regori the butcher glared back at her. He glanced briefly at her hand and she pulled away as if burned.
“You have your orders.”
Adopting his usual friendly mask, Gunder waddled out of the warehouse.
Without thinking about it, Gunder took an indirect route home from the warehouse through the winding city streets. Once he was a few streets away he peeled off his pheasant mask and threw it into an alley. The red marks on his face would fade in less than an hour, leaving no trace behind. He wondered how long it would take to cast off the remnants of the fat merchant when this mission had run its course.
He criss-crossed Perizzi, passing over the River Kalmei several times, ever watchful for shadows. It was only when he came abreast of The Lord’s Blessing that Gunder realised he was being followed. After a few minutes it became clear they were very inexperienced. Despite the person’s attempt to muffle the sound, he heard faint scraping from their shoes. They were also following too closely, as twice he saw movement at the corner of his eye when he turned his head.
Ducking into a narrow alley that ran behind a row of shops, Gunder dashed ahead, jumping over broken boxes and crates of rotting fruit. His boots squelched and stuck to the ground, but he didn’t stop to look at what he’d stepped in. Not far ahead the alley opened onto a street that was quiet at this hour. Instead of running any further Gunder ducked into a doorway beside the mouth of the alley, pressing himself into the shadows as much as possible.
A few minutes later he heard someone coming towards him at speed. At their current pace his pursuer would go right past and he could slip away before they doubled back. It had been a long night and he was tempted to let them go, but changed his mind. It was the easy and generous option and not something he would ever have done before coming to Perizzi.
As the shadow came abreast of his hiding place Gunder burst into the alley, knocking them against the far wall. All he had time to see was a small figure dressed in blue and white. It was some kind of uniform, but unlike any he’d seen before. Before they had time to recover Gunder lashed out with a boot, catching his pursuer in what he thought would be the stomach. The resulting cry of pain was too high pitched for his pursuer to be a man.
Gunder pulled his pursuer upright, shoving them against the far wall. Light from the street lanterns fell on the figure’s face and Gunder stepped back in surprise.
“Sabu?”
The boy was wheezing and holding one hand to his chest, but it was the uniform Gunder found the most startling. It resembled the uniform of the Chosen, except for the red badges sewn onto the sleeves. Three decorated the right and two the left. Each had a different symbol at its heart, indicating some kind of achievement.
“Why are you dressed like that? What are you doing?” he asked quietly, keeping one eye on the street.
“I’m doing my civic duty to protect the civil liberties of the nation,” said Sabu. His intonation was off on certain words, suggesting he’d learned them through repetition.
“Do you even know what that means?”
“I’m doing my duty.”
Gunder raised an eyebrow. “How?”
“I find traitors. I’ve already helped get five arrested,” he said, gesturing at the red shields on his uniform.
Even though he already knew, Gunder needed to hear it. “Who do you work for?”
“His Holiness, Emperor Taikon, Overlord of the West.”
The sinking feeling in his stomach deepened. “You stupid boy. You’ve no idea what’s really going on.”
Sabu shook his head sadly, as if Gunder was the one being misled. “I know enough.”
He tried to dash into the street but Gunder grabbed him by the neck, flinging him deeper into the alley. Sabu landed in a pile of mud and something that was decomposing, which roused a cloud of fat angry flies. As he got to his feet the boy looked more horrified by the grime on his uniform than his predicament. He tried to wipe the crud off, but only smeared grey and brown sludge down the front of his breeches.
“Why were you following me?”
“You’re a traitor,” said Sabu. “Just like the other one.”
Sabu looked over his shoulder as if considering trying to run back the way they’d come. Gunder grabbed him by the arm before he made an attempt to escape. “What other one?”
“The Zecorran jeweller. I saw him sneaking into your house the other night.”
Ironically Zoll’s visit had been a social call from a lonely man who hadn’t wanted to drink by himself. But if Sabu had given the Chosen his and Zoll’s names then it would explain why they’d raided his home. Gunder had not seen the jeweller for a few days, which meant he was still in custody, in hiding, or likely on a ship back to the north.
“Did you tell the Chosen I was a traitor?”
The boy squirmed and looked as if he’d swallowed a lime. “I was going to, but I needed proof. They gave me the lash last time I guessed and it turned out wrong.”
Gunder sighed in relief. There was still a risk that Sabu could compromise the rebellion, but if he took extra precautions they would be minimal.
“Why did you—” Gunder started to ask and then stopped as he noticed the hilt of a dagger protruding from his stomach. It was simply crafted and bore the boy’s name and an inscription on the hilt that read ‘Initiate’.
Sabu’s eyes widened with terror as he realised what he’d done. He tried to run, but Gunder maintained a firm grip on the boy’s arm. After a few seconds, Sabu’s panic faded and he stared at the wound with suspicion.
“It’s not bleeding.”
The blade, barely longer than Gunder’s index finger, was embedded in the padding he wore to resemble a fat man. A normal dagger would have cut him, but the boy’s blade had not even pierced his skin.
“I really wish you hadn’t done that,” said Gunder, letting a dagger drop from his sleeve into his empty hand. Sabu saw the blade and frantically tried to pull free.
“I won’t tell anyone. I promise!” he babbled, then started to cry when Gunder pulled him deeper into the alley. When Sabu realised tears were having no effect he lashed out, kicking and punching Gunder. He opened his mouth to scream, but the dagger flashed by his throat and his voice faded to a gurgle. A curtain of red enveloped his neck and he crumpled to the ground, gasping and choking for breath. Gunder waited until the boy stopped breathing before wiping the blade on Sabu’s stained uniform and walking from the alley.
CHAPTER 40
It was just after dawn and yet there were over a dozen people sat or kneeling inside the cathedral. De
spite having travelled throughout the west, and as far as the court of the Desert King in the east, Balfruss still experienced a deep sense of awe when entering the oldest surviving church of the Great Maker. For almost a millennia countless people had come here to pray to the oldest of the Gods. In that time a hundred wars had ravaged the world, nations had come and gone, but this site had remained devoted to the Maker throughout.
There was something profound and calming about the atmosphere in the church, its familiarity and consistency. After only a few years away from Seveldrom, Balfruss noticed small changes in the city. The latest fashion was to grow a moustache, whereas full beards had previously been the norm. People’s clothing seemed more colourful, and yet also more conservative than he remembered. Food in taverns was now commonly flavoured with spices from the west, which was a blessing as it had always seemed bland to him before. He’d noticed these and a hundred other changes but here, in the house of the Great Maker, time stood still.
The huge arched ceiling, wide stone pillars, stained-glass windows and heavy wooden furniture were exactly the same. Down one wall was a procession of paintings of former Patriarchs from centuries ago up to the present. On the opposite wall, landscapes that had been donated by local artists to raise money for the church. One change Balfruss did notice was a gallery of brightly coloured crude paintings, stuck to an area on the back wall. On closer inspection he realised they were drawings made by local children of King Matthias, together with simple messages of condolence.
Eloise was sat four pews from the front. Her eyes were open, staring straight ahead but they were distant. Balfruss sat down nearby but said nothing, enjoying the soothing peace and quiet.
With no distractions his thoughts turned to recent events. There were no more secrets between him and the others. The Queen and her Generals knew everything about the Warlock and so did his brethren. He’d even told the other Battlemages about Graegor, although he was still struggling with it.
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