He raised his head to look at the stars. Every time he thought about his origins he came to a halt. Who was his mother? All the women were his mothers in the Dungeon of Thieves but he longed to have that sense of having one exclusively for himself, especially at times like the reunions of Aheron III and Mérdmerén with their respective families. He had taken a good look at their daughters’ features, found similarities, and thought that he could not find his own resemblance in anyone.
Turi took another breath. He had allowed himself to be carried away by his own emotions before a mission. It was not that he could not get a grip on himself, since with a little willpower he could clear his mind, but the fact was that he longed to have a family. And suppose he was to create his own? For the first time in his life, Turi was considering the idea of leaving the Dungeon. Anybody who wanted a wife and children would have to leave the sewers; if not, their offspring would be part of that overarching family in which all were cousins, nephews, and nieces.
Turi shook his head. What am I thinking? Children? A wife? Since when have I cared about stupid things like that? I’m about to go into the room of a tyrant who could skin me alive and here I am mulling over things that don’t matter. Deep down, he knew it was no trivial matter. This restlessness had been there in his soul for many years and he would have to let it find a way out. It was going to be impossible to escape from himself.
He stood up and took a few steps along the roof, hung over the edge, and let himself fall. With a somersault, he straightened up and ran to hide in a corner. There, he waited. A squad of soldiers passed close by without noticing his presence. Once again, he came out of the shadows, climbed through a window, and landed in a corridor lit by torches. The thief smiled; the dancing flames created a spectacle of shadows that would help to conceal him.
He gave a leap to reach the space high up between two columns. He pushed hard with both hands and feet to support himself there, suspended in the air, while a couple of guards passed below him.
When their steps retreated, he came back down, feeling the sweat on his back. He followed a corridor of columns with a red carpet which led to a thick wooden door; the tyrant’s room. He went up to it to look through the keyhole. It seemed that no-one was there. Where could Osuno be?
He heard voices at the end of the corridor. Someone was angry and two others were trying to calm him down. Turi moved quickly and tried the handle, determined to get into the room. It was locked. He ran to a corner in the shadows and huddled, making himself into nothing more than a small dark bundle.
The voices were coming closer. Turi’s heart was in his mouth, but he stayed as he was. It was the only way to survive.
“Those bastards promised me the throne, but they said nothing about treating me like a dog. They’ll pay. Bloody orcs! They’ve killed my women so they could eat them! It’s totally unacceptable! And that damned sáffurtan. I’m glad they eliminated him.”
“But milord, the orcs didn’t know they were your women. As far as they were concerned, they were just like what goats or sheep are for us.”
“They were my women, you imbecile. Besides, how can we be sure they won’t use us for their dinner one day? That damn necromancer was playing with us. He only wanted my soldiers and my weapons to fight for his beloved God of Chaos. Another son of a bitch who probably wants my throne.”
“My lord! Don’t insult the God of Chaos. He’s our god now.”
“What?”
“Part of the deal was to accept Mórgomiel, God of Chaos, as our only god.”
“Sure, but we were always pretty much atheists, so I don’t mind insulting any god. Nobody uses me that way and those bastards are going to pay. I swear it!”
“The pirate king hasn’t been found, sir.”
“They have to keep searching, you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And now leave me alone. Open the door, you swine.”
Turi heard the sound of a key and a lock.
“Now, be off.”
“Shall I send you your women? The ones who are still alive?”
“No. I want to be completely alone. And buy some new women in the market. The ones who survived will be traumatized for life. Sell them at a good price. Now get out of here before I cut your head off for being a piece of shit.”
The door closed. Turi heard steps moving away and a murmur of unsteady voices. He brought out his head from between his legs, stood up, and stretched his muscles. From what he had heard, the tyrant was sick of the necromancer. What had their deal been? He only knew that they had sworn loyalty to the God of Chaos in exchange for power. Like a mute cry of anguish, a shiver ran down his spine. The torches crackled in the silence of the corridor. Mérdmerén’s suspicions were right: Némaldon had tempted Moragald’Burg and any number of other nations to join its cause. He had to get back from this mission in order to be able to make a report.
The thief was horrified. Barely a year had gone by since the battle of Háztatlon, and the Némaldines were already plotting another attack. Something told him it was not simple revenge or the tantrum of a defeated nation that wants to get its own back. No, this looked like a detailed, well thought out plan. It was time to find out more.
In front of the door, the youth felt for the small dagger he carried at his belt, his only weapon. Stealth and cunning are enough for a good thief; the one who needs anything more than a dagger is a ruffian and nothing more.
He went over the plan in his mind. It had to work. He was counting on the fact that the tyrant was agitated and that he seemed to think of the necromancer as an enemy.
My enemy’s enemy is my friend, he thought, remembering one of the Baron’s maxims. He knocked on the door.
“What the hell’s going on?” the tyrant shouted. “I told you to leave me alone.”
“I have a special message,” Turi said. “From the pirate king.”
He heard heavy footsteps and a sword being unsheathed. The door opened abruptly.
“A boy! Who sent a boy to negotiate?”
Turi found the perfect opportunity. With a skillful move, and much faster than the tyrant could follow, he slipped inside.
“I’m Turi the Crafty, the pirate king’s messenger.”
The tyrant turned and saw the boy with a bag of gold in his hand. He threw it at Osuno.
“You’re fast, huh?” the man said, still impressed. “Here in Moragald’Burg, we cut off thieves’ hands, even if all they steal is garbage. Do you want to be left a cripple?”
The sovereign waved his sword in the air, then sheathed it. Turi soon recovered from his fright.
“The necromancer was our enemy too.”
“I see. There are more of those they call sáffurtan. I hate those scum.”
The man watched the boy, trying to decide whether he was telling the truth or bluffing.
“He promised us something similar,” Turi lied.
“Sons of the bloody mermaids!”
The sovereign sat down and looked thoughtful. The room was a large one, full of extravagant decorations, with horns of exotic animals and wood carvings of winged figures.
“I knew those bastards were plotting something,” he went on. “They promised me a place in the council of the God of Chaos when he came to rule the universe in exchange for my army. But it’s all a lie. There’s no God of Chaos, it’s just a stupid game to make me give them my soldiers.”
They were staring at each other, each trying to gauge the other. Osuno the Fifth’s hair was shoulder-length and blond. His face was square and strong-jawed, his shoulders wide, and he was notably tall. He might be one of the lads in Mandrake or someone hoping to become a Brutal Fark-Amon. At the same time, his eyes revealed something cold and calculating, lacking in feeling. From his weather-beaten hands, Turi deduced that the man had overcome a range of difficulties.
“They did the same to us. My king broke the agreement and that’s why they want to kill him.”
Turi felt pleased. The lie wa
s working to lure the tyrant on to his ground.
“What do you propose? If you come to me with something as stupid as what the necromancer did, I’ll cut off your balls and feed them to a wyvern.”
“I’m proposing an alliance. Necromancers aren’t just any enemy. They have a lot of power and a lot of malice. To defeat them and their orcs, we need to join forces.”
“And what is your force? That miserable dagger?”
“No. We’ve got our mage to count on, the one who killed the necromancer who tried to murder my king.”
The man said nothing but his eyes glimmered. Anybody who killed a necromancer was worthy.
“When we’ve got rid of the necromancers,” Turi continued, “we’ll have to unite our armies.”
“Do you have an army? That’s a bluff, isn’t it? Do you think I’m dumb?”
“Not at all, my lord. To tell you the truth, my king was sent by the King of Mandrake with this very aim in mind. If you help us in our mission, you might receive an invitation to the Imperial Palace.”
“Has Aheron sent you?”
“Aheron III is dead. Now the ruler is Lion’s Fist. The land is prospering but we had to defeat Némaldon.”
“Némaldon!” The tyrant’s surprise was growing all the time. “That explains a lot. If Némaldon fell, now they’ll be looking for allies to attack again… it might be my chance to defeat Mandrake if I join the evil ones. I could conquer that prosperous land and bend it to my will!”
Turi swallowed. His plan was going wrong. Shadows were passing across Osuno the Fifth’s thoughtful face, not just those caused by the dancing light of the torches.
“But I could never trust one of them again, not ever. Those sons of mermaids always take advantage of you. Did you know the orcs ate my women? No, no, they’re crazy. This time I’ll bet on a little thief like you. I’ll join forces with the Mandrake Empire, and we’ll eliminate the evil forces once and for all. I accept! Let’s go and kill those sons of hags once and for all!”
Turi smiled in surprise.
“All right. I’ll let the pirate king know.”
“Go and do it this very moment. I’ll start recruiting my best soldiers. And get a move on. We need to sort this out today.”
“Today?”
“Don’t make me repeat myself or I’ll cut your head off. Now be on your way, you little maggot, and call your master.”
“Yes, sir!” Turi said, and the next moment he had disappeared into the shadows.
***
Mérdmerén, Greyson, Elgahar, and the other ten thieves from the king’s company were wandering about Moragald’Burg harbor like a bunch of criminals. In a way, they were, as they were fleeing from the great tyrant. But the mage’s presence kept them safe from ambush; his black-dyed toga alone was threatening enough.
They had gone in and out of more than fifteen low-life taverns—or, at least, Mérdmerén and Greyson had, being the only ones who looked like real ruffians. Elgahar still had the soft skin of a boy. It was the same story with the other thieves, they were too young. As for the women, they were attractive, and with such striking necklines, it seemed more sensible to keep them away from the centers of activity.
In each bar, Mérdmerén ordered at least one beer and when he had had over fifteen, he was beginning to weave from side to side and slur his words. Before this, he might have been talking too much, but now he was verging on the impudent, stopping every passer-by to ask the whereabouts of the sailor Ságamas.
The city of Moragald’Burg was disgusting and even to say that was a compliment. The streets made of dirt were a shelter for tramps and drunkards who made up the greater part of the population. The taverns were no more than huts of wood or stone. Inside, there was a bar with only one thing to drink: warm beer, quite possibly adulterated with piss. Money was counted in simple coins of volcanic rock, clumsily chiseled, which explained the numerous cuts on the hands of the natives. A few of them had gold coins, the most valuable kind. They all dreamed about going to the Mandrake Empire to seek their fortunes in the land of prosperity.
It was nighttime. The streets were home to guards, men on their way back from their daily activities, and a pack of street dogs in search of garbage and rats.
“Where, whe—?” Mérdmerén stuttered. He was in the midst of an attack of uncontrollable hiccups.
“Ságamas is dead,” Greyson said cruelly, tugging at his mustache with two fingers. He seemed to be able to hold his drink better.
“That’s impossible!”
“I’ll take charge from now on,” Cail put in. “I’ve got an idea.” And he slid away into the darkness.
“Cail!” Mérdmerén called out.
“Be quiet, my king,” Greyson said. “Cail will find your friend.”
“All this is a waste of time,” Funia complained. “And the men are beginning to stare at us too brazenly.”
“Don’t bring your sword out yet, Funia. The last thing we need now is to get into a fight and attract attention that way.”
Mérdmerén began to weep. He sat down on the ground with his head between his knees.
“I’m too drunk… Ajedrea! Maria! Ahh!” he cried to the heavens. “I give up. Let’s go back to Mandrake. I’ll sit on the throne and turn into a pumpkin.”
“The Stingray will never be defeated, you daughters of mermaids! The Stingray will live forever! Ha ha ha!” they heard from inside a nearby brothel.
The door opened suddenly, and two massive bouncers threw out a rotund body.
“And don’t come back to the harbor again!” they shouted.
The bundle rolled over, then sat up and shouted, “You bloody sons of mermaids! You’ll never beat the Stingray!”
A woman came out. She was not attractive, though her breasts were gigantic and her curves good. From the doorway, she spat out, “You owe me fifteen crowns! That’s the price for fucking me.”
“I already paid you, Rosalia. Look between your legs! Ha ha ha!”
The door of the brothel slammed shut.
A shadow moved in the street.
“Yimba, I promise you the money’s on my ship,” the man moaned. “I’ll pay my debts, I swear it!”
He looked up, but instead of the threatening fist he was expecting, he met an inebriated gaze.
“Ságamas!”
“Mérdmerén? Hell!”
“Son of a bitch!”
“The King of—!”
Greyson covered his mouth before he could give anything away.
“Don’t say anything. For now, we’re just pirates, nothing more.”
Mérdmerén offered him his hand and they hugged, slapping one another on the back repeatedly.
“It’s been too long, my old friend,” Ságamas said. His breath smelt of badly cooked shrimp.
The sailor took the face of his old partner in his hands to get a proper look at him.
“Hell, it’s you. Welcome to my home!” He swept the street with a wave. “And how come an all-powerful individual like you has deigned to visit this sty, Moragald’Burg? Things here are exactly the same as when I left. This is a country of bastards, poor as a lump of shit without any flies, lost with no hope of salvation. Here, you only live well if you’re the tyrant, and to be the tyrant, you have to put together an army and topple the current one. It is you! Hell!”
Mérdmerén smiled. “I set off on a political mission, but failed.”
“Political? Since when—?” Ságamas stopped when Greyson cleared his throat and looked at him accusingly. “Ah, yes, I understand.”
Cail came out of the shadows.
“Ságamas?”
“It’s him, you can stop looking,” Mérdmerén said.
“I found out something interesting,” the boy replied. He smiled like a cat.
Behind him, Turi peered around with the same smile on his face.
“Ságamas!” the thief cried out.
“Turi, Cail, Greyson… the rest of you I don’t know,” the old sailor said. “Bu
t you’ve come with some delightful women.” He took off his tricorn hat and greeted them with a showy wave, all the while ogling Funia as though she were a piece of meat in the market. “I’m Ságamas the Sailor.” He indicated towards Mérdmerén. “For a time I was the faithful sidekick of my friend here.”
Funia raised her fist. “Stop leering at me like that, or else I’ll gouge out your eyes and give them to the dogs.”
“Lecherous old fool. I bet you can’t even get it up,” another woman began but stopped when Funia gave her a warning glare.
“All this exchange of courtesies is unnecessary,” Turi said sternly. “There’s something very important you need to know.” He looked from side to side. “But not here. Let’s go to some noisy tavern, so nobody can hear us.”
***
They chose the noisiest tavern. The talk was about the fugitives from the tyrant, the pirate king, and the rumor that the two of them had established an alliance. Nobody suspected that there, in front of their noses, were the most wanted figures of the entire nation, nor that the pirate king was no pirate after all but the sovereign of Mandrake.
Ságamas listened to the explanations with an expression of horror. He still looked elderly and the white beard covered most of his face. Although now he sported a bigger belly, inflated by beer gases.
“Right now?” Mérdmerén asked when Turi told him about the negotiations with Osuno and how urgently he wanted to seal the pact.
“Right now.”
“Something smells fishy,” Greyson said.
“It was me,” Ságamas admitted, turning red.
Soulseeker’s Descent Page 16