The Vale: Behind The Vale

by Brian D. Anderson

  Drake sat up and accepted the water, as much to prevent Xavier from being tempted as from any great desire to drink it. He looked over to the window. Normally, he did wake early, at least an hour before the sun was up. But he hadn’t slept in a soft bed in a very long time, and the temperature was just the way he liked it. Not too cold; not too warm. He had heard how some people found it difficult to sleep in a comfortable bed after enduring years of hardship, instead choosing a hard floor to rest on. Drake had encountered no such problem.

  “I assume you are here for a reason?” he said.

  “Get dressed.” Xavier told him, turning to the door. “And don’t take long about it. Your car is in the front. I’ll be waiting.”

  Drake remained motionless until he heard him leave the apartment, and then took a moment to yawn and stretch. Yes, this kind of life could definitely make a man soft. And that would suit him just fine. Nine years of living in filth was more than enough, especially now after having seen Lenora once again. It was the thought of his promise to her that eventually spurred him out of bed. Delaying only long enough to enjoy another rapid hot shower, he was ready to leave in just a few minutes.

  Though he’d chosen to wear one of his old V-neck t-shirts and a pair of well-worn jeans from his duffle, he took the much newer clothes from the closet with him anyway. They might well be a useful way of obtaining information later on; out in the provinces, good quality clothes were even better than money in some cases. The leather jacket was the only item amongst them that he actually put on. This was sturdier than the one destroyed by the assassin’s magic, and quite surprisingly, an even better fit. But he had never liked its short style very much, far preferring a trench coat. Now, though, he would be carrying a sword, and the jacket’s broad collar enabled him to wear this across his back without it being awkward.

  As Drake entered the lift, he recalled the first time he’d been sent to the outer provinces. His partner, Sal, had warned him that things were different out there. But back then, Drake had been a young man filled with confidence, and the words of warning were shrugged off.

  “I’m telling you,” Sal persisted. “They’ll kill you in the blink of an eye if you relax.”

  “With what?” he’d replied, certain that the protection his magic provided was impenetrable.

  “People outside of Troi carry more than just pea-shooters, you know.”

  Later that day, the blood pouring from the huge wound in Sal’s chest was something he would never forget. It was the first time he had seen a man die. And the first time he had taken a life.

  It would be far from the last.

  The few people he passed on his way out of the building shot him sour looks, most of them suspiciously eyeing the sword on his back and the P37 hanging at his side. To them, he knew he must look like a complete barbarian – a genuine low-life from the provinces. No one here normally walked around so dangerously armed. A few citizens might be permitted to own a weapon, but never anything more lethal than a small-caliber handgun – nothing that could possibly be a serious threat to the royal guard. Not that violence was common; people were far more afraid of being exiled than they were of being assaulted. Crime happened, but mostly petty theft and swindles. And if you were caught, you could always try to make restitution before the authorities became involved.

  Upon exiting the building, he saw Xavier casually leaning against Cal’s hood while fiddling with a small knife. He glanced up at Drake and let out a disapproving sigh.

  “Why do you insist on dressing like a provincial dirt dweller?” he mocked. “I had plenty of good clothing provided for you.”

  “Yes, and if you want me to find Prince Salazar, I can’t go around looking like I just stepped out of the lower city,” Drake retorted quickly. “That’s probably why your people haven’t had any luck finding him. They can see your men coming a mile away.”

  Xavier flicked his wrist. “I suppose it is a challenge for us to blend in easily with the uncultured and the uneducated. But thankfully, we have you now. And you certainly seem to have mastered it well enough.”

  More than ever, Drake wanted to throttle him. He gave a short, humorless laugh. “Why don’t you stop pretending to be something that you’re not?”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Your accent. Do you really think people don’t know where you’re originally from? At least I was never ashamed of who I am.” Drake could see Xavier’s jaw tighten: even as a recruit he had hated the fact that his father was a lower city dweller. “I can tell you one thing,” he continued. “Should by some amazing piece of luck your men do manage to find the prince before me, those at the top will still never accept you as one of them.”

  “You don’t know a thing about me, exile.”

  “I wish I didn’t. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m sure the king wouldn’t want me hanging around here doing nothing.”

  Gripping the knife handle with far more force than was necessary, Xavier’s eyes briefly burned with hatred. He then composed himself. “Quite right. However, before we go, I need to show you the alterations we’ve made to your vehicle.”

  It was Drake’s turn to feel a flash of anger. “What did you do to her?”

  Xavier chuckled, his good humor now fully restored. “Nothing of which I am sure you wouldn’t approve.” Walking over to the trunk, he gestured for Drake to open it.

  Inside, near the rear, was a small button that had not previously been there. At a touch of Drake’s index finger, a section around the button eased open to reveal an added compartment. Inside this were two metal boxes. One contained spare parts for his P37 – something that had been always exceedingly difficult to come by. In the other was an envelope with a thousand gold notes and a square piece of foam. A variety of glass phials had been placed inside small holes within the foam to keep them from shattering.

  “I thought this might come in useful,” Xavier said. “Each of the phials is clearly marked, so I suggest you take time to examine them all once you’ve left.”

  “What’s in them?”

  “Did I not just say to look once you have left?”

  Drake slammed the trunk. “What else?”

  Xavier entered on the passenger’s side and waited for Drake to get behind the wheel. Set in the center console was a blue button and a small holoscreen.

  “Touch the screen and it will give you your exact location,” Xavier informed him.

  Drake did as instructed, but nothing happened. “Good job,” he mocked.

  “It doesn’t work within Troi, that’s why. But it will work fine once you’re outside the city. Use your fingers to expand the map if you need. Press it firmly and hold, and it will display inside your windshield.”

  Drake ran his finger over the blue button.

  “Don’t press that unless you have no choice,” warned Xavier. “If you do, everything within twenty feet of the vehicle will get blasted with mana fire. However, this weapon uses a significant amount of fuel, so be careful.”

  “And the tracking device?”

  “Unfortunately, we cannot afford to risk its discovery. For that reason it currently remains inactive.” He opened the glove compartment and pointed to a tiny silver switch. “Once you have secured the prince, simply turn it on, and we will immediately be on our way to you. Do not activate it on for any other reason.”

  That the royal guard believed the perpetrators of this abduction were capable of detecting a tracking device meant they must know at least something about them. It also suggested that they were far better equipped than the vast majority of lawless elements living outside of Troi.

  “Any other little extras I should know about?” he asked.

  Xavier closed the glove compartment and leaned back in his seat. “I think that is quite good for only one night’s work. Now, if you don’t mind, we’re expected at the magistrate’s office.”

  Drake fired the engine and threw Cal into gear. She was sluggish at first, but he knew how to fix that. H
e had to admit that the additions were quite clever and could likely come in useful, particularly the mana fire. He assumed the phials were a variety of poisons, truth serums, and possibly corrosives.

  After jumping back onto the main highway, he wove his way up to level one. They were only a few miles away from their destination when, quite suddenly, he pulled over and turned off the engine.

  “What are you doing?” Xavier demanded.

  Drake pointed to a nearby manga juice shop. “I’m not leaving without one.”

  He was literally drooling with expectation as the man behind the counter handed over the frost-covered container. Straight away he gulped in a large mouthful, savoring the sweet flavor on his tongue for several seconds before swallowing.

  After returning to the car, he settled back in his seat and took several more leisurely drinks without showing any inclination to start the engine. Xavier was looking more than a little displeased.

  “This is by far Troi’s greatest accomplishment,” Drake remarked.

  “If you are done being childish…”

  Drake laughed. “Not nearly.”

  This time he left Cal in front of the magistrate’s office. Two men of the royal guard were waiting inside to escort them to the rear offices, and Drake followed them, humming merrily as he continued to enjoy regular sips of his juice.

  The interior was austere and functional. Only holopics of the line of kings disturbed the light gray walls and white tiles. The men and women darting in and out of the offices were all dressed in similar black suits, and each wore a silver medallion on their right lapel bearing the seal of the magistrate.

  The magistrate herself was one of the most powerful people in the lower city. Velma Chase had been assigned the office more than twenty years prior, and had since built a reputation for strict adherence to the law, not to mention a cruel and unforgiving disposition. Rumors were that she had issued a warrant for her own son simply because he had stolen a twenty note from her handbag. Drake hoped she would not be attending whatever meeting Xavier had in store. If he was to live in the lower city once this business was over, better that she did not grow accustomed to seeing his face.

  He could clearly recall an evening out with his fellow guards during which they had encountered a trio of drunken men in a nightclub who worked in this very office. Rather unwisely, one of them had made a slightly off-color remark about the magistrate in a public place. Only minutes later, all three were escorted from the building, looks of sheer terror on their faces. There was very little that happened in the lower city that didn’t reach Velma’s ears, and her employees were under strict orders to always be on their best behavior. Of course, the royal guard had a standard for public behavior as well. And it was quite high. But at least they were permitted to enjoy themselves from time to time. Following this incident, he had never seen anyone else from this office out on the town again. Not ever.

  They arrived at a small conference room, where seated at the table with a sour expression etched deeply into her face was Velma Chase. Drake heaved a silent sigh. So much for his hope of avoiding her. The woman’s silver hair was tied into a neat bun, and her rimmed glasses sat low on the bridge of her wrinkled nose. In addition to the silver pendant everyone else wore, she also had another button bearing a Lion of Troi fixed to the left lapel. As her piercing green eyes fell on him, Drake imagined that he felt the temperature in the room drop by several degrees.

  “Is it your custom to be tardy?” she asked, her voice deep for a woman. “I gave the royal guard more credit than that.”

  “My apologies,” Drake replied. “I stopped to buy a manga juice along the way.” He held up the nearly empty cup as evidence.

  “I see.”

  Xavier nodded for the two men escorting them to wait outside. Even he, who vastly outranked a lowly magistrate, looked ill at ease around this woman; not that he was about to let her cow him.

  “Should we have brought you one as well?” Drake asked her.

  Her mouth twisted into an even deeper frown. “Shall we get this over with? I have many other matters to attend. As, I am sure, do you.”

  With a smile of acknowledgement, Xavier moved over to the switch and turned off the lights. For a moment, the room was plunged into total darkness. Then there was the hiss of a holoplayer powering up and its screen illuminated on the wall behind the table. Xavier and Drake both took seats while the magistrate retrieved a small silver box with a series of buttons from the briefcase beside her chair.

  “I assume that the Captain has already informed you why you are here,” she began. “In that case, I will get right to the point. Six weeks ago, Prince Salazar left Troi without an escort and was captured by a radical group known as Exodus.”

  “Exodus?” Drake frowned. “Never heard of them.”

  “I’m not surprised,” she said. “They work very hard to hide their presence. But it is our belief that they have been behind almost every major act of dissent for the past twenty years.”

  Drake drew back. “Impossible. No one could avoid detection for that long. Certainly not a group of any size or significance.”

  His remark instantly drew a stern look from the magistrate. “You will please refrain from any further interruptions,” she snapped, then allowed a moment of silence to develop in order to punctuate her severity.

  Satisfied that she had made her point, she continued. “Now, then. It has taken my office a very long time to piece together what little we know about them. They are led by a woman named Zara – at least, that is the name she goes by. Who she really is, I couldn’t say. All we know for certain is that she comes from the provinces and her followers are fanatical. It is our belief that they intend to use the prince as a hostage in order to force the king to shut down the power station.”

  “What?” Such was his surprise, Drake was unable to hold his tongue. “Who in their right mind would want that?”

  “Someone wanting to take over Vale,” Xavier told him.

  “That is our assessment,” Velma confirmed. “This, of course, we cannot allow. Unfortunately, the royal guard has so far been unsuccessful in locating where the prince is being held. Time is passing, and the king is becoming increasingly worried.”

  “So naturally, His Royal Majesty thought of you,” Xavier added with just a tiny hint of distaste in his voice.

  Drake shifted in his seat. “Before I do anything, I need to know why the prince was outside of the city without protection.”

  “Actually, you do not,” Velma corrected. “Though rest assured, you will be given all the information considered necessary for your task.” She pressed a button on the silver box, and an image of a large warehouse appeared on the screen. “This is the last place we were able to track the prince’s whereabouts. It is a storage facility in Indra. We believe that this is the place where Exodus abducted him.”

  “What’s kept in this facility?” Drake asked. Indra was an outer province to the north, very nearly as poor as Aurora.

  “Nothing of particular interest. Medical supplies are occasionally sent there to be separated before distribution. That’s about all.”

  Drake tried to think of what else might be in the area, but came up empty.

  “From there, we have no idea what happened,” Velma continued. “Needless to say, our efforts to uncover Exodus have been stepped up dramatically. So far, however–”

  “Let me guess,” Drake cut in. “They always seem to be one step ahead of you.”

  There was clear annoyance on her face. “Yes. We’ve captured a few of their operatives, but they always die the moment they’re in custody. It’s some sort of remote suicide that we’re still trying to identify. They simply send out a signal, and a moment later they’re dead.”

  Just like the man who had attacked him in the garage, Drake recalled.

  “Does this sound familiar?” she asked, seeing the recognition on his face.

  Drake nodded. “Yes. I heard something about it a while back, thou
gh I didn’t pay much attention at the time.” The lie slipped out easily enough. The last thing he needed was Xavier getting too close and mucking things up; hearing what had happened might spur his unwanted interest.

  The magistrate clicked the button again, and an image of a young man appeared. His dark hair and copper skin gave his sharp features a striking, almost sinister look.

  “This a Samuel Friedman, a former instructor at the College of Mages, but now what you call a hawker. Since being expelled, he goes by the name of Bane.”

  Bane. Drake had definitely heard the name. Many times, in fact. His reputation was sketchy at best. A real killer. And young. But very good at his job.

  “Our information suggests that he may know how to make contact with Exodus,” Xavier told him.

  “Bane’s hard to find,” Drake responded. “Any idea where I should start?”

  With another click, a new face appeared, one that Drake recognized instantly.

  “I see that you are familiar with this one,” the magistrate remarked.

  “You’re damn right I am. That’s the son of a bitch who tried to kill me.”

  Staring at him from the screen with narrow eyes set in a round face, smirking with confidence and with what little hair he still had tied into a wispy ponytail, was his double-crossing client.

  “Fortunately for us, he failed. But that should make your job much easier. Bane is in his direct employ. Start there, and you should be able to find Exodus.”

  She clicked another button and the screen went blank.

  “That’s it?” asked Drake.

  “If there were more, I would have told you.”

  He knew she was definitely hiding something. He could see it in her expression and hear it in the tone of her voice. Something wasn’t right about all of this. The client, a man named Bolton Fisk, was a known criminal who had managed widespread bribery of the authorities and had a fierce reputation for terrorizing anyone who might even consider bearing witness against him. Which most of the time simply meant that they died. Fisk practically owned the outer provinces in the west and had nearly as much influence in the south.