“Imagine,” Katherine muttered.
The nobleman scowled at her, but Alesh’s mind was already working, a faint flicker of hope working within him. “Well, that’s great. So all we have to do is somehow sneak into the city and find this Sigan guy.”
“Well…” Rion said slowly, “we might…that is, there might be a bit of a problem with that.”
“Oh?”
“Thing is,” he said, running a hand through his hair, “well…I might have misspoken when I said we weren’t on the best of terms. The fact is, the last time we saw each other…well, he tried to kill me.”
“I get it,” Katherine said.
“But why would he try to kill you?” Alesh said.
“Well he is a criminal, isn’t he?’ Rion said. “That’s what they do. Also…maybe I owe him a bit of money.”
Alesh frowned, sitting back and studying the nobleman who was busy shifting uncomfortably like a child being called down for misbehaving. “A bit?”
“Fine,” Rion snapped, “a lot of money, alright?” Katherine made a disgusted sound in her throat, and Rion scowled. “I was going to pay him back, okay? Just as soon as…well…I was going to pay him back.”
“Apparently not as soon as he wanted,” Alesh said flatly.
The nobleman sighed. “Yeah. Crime bosses have a tendency of being unreasonable about that sort of thing.”
“But…you’re a nobleman,” Alesh said. “You’re…I mean, you’re rich, aren’t you?”
Rion studied him as if he was daft. “If I were rich, do you think I’d borrow money from a crime boss?”
“So you are saying,” Darl said, interjecting for the first time, “that this man, Sigan, will not want to help you.”
The nobleman rolled his eyes. “What I’m saying is that Sigan wouldn’t shed any tears, if he found out I was dead. In fact, I think he’d be more than happy to help me along, if given the opportunity.” He shook his head. “I don’t even know why I brought it up. It’s a stupid idea. There’s got to be some other way to…” He trailed off, and for a time they all sat in silence, glancing at each other to see if anyone else had a plan that might work.
After several minutes of silence, Alesh shrugged. “Looks like we’re going to pay this crime boss of yours a visit.”
Katherine smiled widely. “Oh, don’t look so glum, Rion. I’m sure that you’ll win him over with that charming personality of yours.”
***
There were hands on his shoulders, shaking him frantically, and he blinked, groaning at the throbbing pain in his head. “Gods,” Odrick rasped, “not so rough. My head…” He trailed off as he opened his eyes to see a thin old man standing over him. It was he who was doing the shaking.
“Forgive me, Master, but I thought it best to wake you. I’ve done what I can for your wound. I do not know much of such things, but you’ll be happy to know that it probably isn’t fatal.”
“Well,” Odrick said. “That’s something.” The man seemed vaguely familiar, but at first he couldn’t place him, just as he couldn’t remember why he was lying on the floor with a headache that felt like he’d decided to trade blows with one of his father’s hammers and see which cracked first. Then he realized that the man was Fermin, the manservant for Lord and Lady Tirinian. Suddenly, it all came rushing back, and with a grunt he shot to his feet.
Or, at least, he intended to. He’d barely risen from the floor when the dull throb in his head became a rioting cacophony of agony that drowned out all thought and reason.
Then, he was lying on the floor again, staring up at the thin man who blinked myopically down at him. “I would not presume to order you about, Master, but it would, perhaps, be wise to take it slowly.”
Odrick looked for any signs of humor or sarcasm in the man’s face but saw none. That might have been because his vision was blurry from his eyes watering with pain, or perhaps because he’d never been much good at detecting sarcasm in the first place. “Thanks.”
The old man offered him his hand, and slowly, wincing in expectation of another bout of agony, Odrick managed—with the manservant’s help—to sit up. He paused there, until the dizziness had subsided as much as he thought it was going to. “What happened?” he said. “Where are Lord and Lady Tirinian?”
The old man’s face twisted, and for a moment Odrick thought he was going to cry. Finally, he seemed to master himself. “My lord and lady have been…taken, Sir Odrick.”
Sir Odrick. If the day hadn’t been the strangest he’d ever had already then being called “sir” without sarcasm or venom would certainly have clenched it. “Taken?” he said, struggling to put some order to his muddled thoughts. He slowly looked around the room and saw that the men he’d fought were gone. As, too, was the blood that had been spilled during the fighting. Polite criminals, to clean up after themselves. Or—and this was more likely—they didn’t want anyone to know they’d taken Rion’s parents, which didn’t bode well for what they intended to do with them. Still, he was impressed. No traces that they’d been here at all remained. None, that was, except for a barely-conscious blacksmith who had been foolish enough to stick his head—a head that wasn’t thanking him for it, just now—into places it didn’t belong. He frowned. “Why am I not dead?”
The old man seemed to consider that. “Well, sir, according to the priests, the gods do not take a man until it is his time. Still, there is much debate on the topic—philosophical opinions abound. Some believe that life and death are fated by no more than the flip of a coin. Though—”
“Sorry,” Odrick interrupted, the man’s rambling doing little to help him gain control of his confused thoughts. “What I meant to say was, they obviously cleaned up and left, taking Rion’s father and mother with them, so…why am I not dead?”
“Ah,” Fermin said, blinking. “Right. Well, if it comforts you any, sir, I do believe that is what they intended.” He winced, glancing at the doorway as if he could see something beyond it.
“There’s something out there?” Odrick ventured.
“Uh…that is, yes, sir. I’ve made a bit of a mess, I’m afraid. But I assure you that I will clean it up. Lord Tirinian is most forgiving but…” He cut off then, wiping a finger at the sudden tears that formed in his eyes, and cleared his throat before continuing. “That is, my lord is very kind, but I do not expect he would find it acceptable to discover a corpse on the stairs when…when he returns.”
Odrick sympathized with the man’s obvious grief, opened his mouth to try to offer what comfort he could, then froze, the manservant’s words sinking in. “Wait. A corpse?”
Fermin’s face turned red, as if he was embarrassed, and he nodded, studying the floor. “Yes, sir. I’m afraid so.”
Odrick slowly, painfully, rose to his feet, groaning at the thumping in his head, thumping that felt it was going to tear his skull apart at any second. “Show me.”
“Very well, sir,” the man answered with obvious reluctance. “This way.”
He started toward the open doorway, and Odrick followed. At least, he meant to. Instead, he took a single step, and the strength seemed to go out of his legs. He managed to catch himself on the wall, narrowly avoiding crashing to the floor. “My…feet don’t work,” he gasped.
“I do not mean to be contrary, sir,” the manservant said, “but let me assure you that your feet are perfectly fine. It’s your head that’s the trouble. The pain and disorientation should pass soon…or not.”
“Ah,” Odrick said, rubbing at his temple with the hand not holding him up against the wall. “That’s a relief.”
“Just so, sir,” the old man said, nodding, as he stood, waiting in the doorway.
Odrick took a second to gather his strength, then, one hand trailing along the wall, he made his laborious way to where the manservant stood. They walked out to the landing, and Odrick stared at the corpse of a man sprawled across the top few stairs with blood pooling beneath him. “He’s dead.”
“As I believe I mentione
d,” the manservant said, almost defensively, then he cleared his throat. “Forgive me. I am no healer but…yes, sir. I believe he is. At least, he has not moved for quite some time.”
The blacksmith gave his head a shake in an effort to clear the blurriness from his vision and stared at the body. “That’s an arrow sticking out of his back.”
“A crossbow bolt to be precise, sir,” the old man said, nodding, a slight frown on his face as if they were discussing a stain on a tablecloth instead of a corpse.
“Right,” Odrick said. “How do you suppose it came to be there?”
“Well, sir, I admit that I know little of such things, but Lord Tirinian was a great warrior in his day, and he has many such weapons—is a bit of a collector, in fact. This particular crossbow hails, I believe, originally from Clausia. A small island community far to the south. Clausian crossbows are famed for their unique mechanism which—” He cut off, taking in Odrick’s look. “Oh, I see. Well, sir, the fact is…I shot him.”
Odrick watched as the man actually began to wring his hands together, as if afraid of being called out. “What was he doing here in the first place? That is, if the others had left?”
“As to that, sir, I believe that this man was sent to…finish tidying up their mess.”
“You mean kill me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Meaning, you saved my life.”
The man blinked, as if he had only just thought of it. “I…I suppose so.”
“Thank you.”
Fermin looked more uncomfortable than he had yet at the blacksmith’s gratitude, shuffling his feet. “I was hiding, sir…when they came. At first, I was only cleaning the solar, but when I heard the screams…”
Odrick put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “You were right to hide. If you hadn’t, you would probably be dead, and me as well. You wouldn’t have had any chance against three of them…neither of us would have.”
Fermin met his eyes. “It is my duty, sir, to see to all of my master’s needs.” The shame, the guilt in the man’s voice was terrible to hear.
“It’s not your duty to die, Fermin,” he said. “And because you didn’t, now we have a chance to do something to help them. If we end up being able to save your master, it will be because you hid instead of throwing your life away for no reason.”
The man considered that, then slowly nodded. “Thank you, sir.” And then, turning back to the corpse, “I am not sorry I killed him.”
Odrick followed his gaze. “No, you shouldn’t b—” He cut off, frowning as he caught sight of something sticking out of the corpse’s trouser pocket. He leaned down—careful to do it slow, moving his head and neck as little as possible—and retrieved what turned out to be a slip of parchment. A feeling of dread building in him, Odrick unfolded the parchment, narrowing his eyes to bring the blurred writing into focus.
Rion,
I hope that this letter finds you well and soon. I have desired your company for some time now, and I’m afraid that I and your parents will be most troubled should you not visit me at my home before tomorrow afternoon.
Hope to see you soon though perhaps, not as much as your parents. I would even go so far as to say that they are quite distraught.
—S
The dead man must have meant to leave the note behind for Rion to find, and it didn’t take more than a second for Odrick to realize who it must have come from. Sigan. A crime boss that anyone who had spent time in the city’s poor quarter had heard of, a man who was feared—and rightfully so, as far as Odrick was concerned—by the city’s citizens. A man known for his ruthless brutality as well as his cunning and a man who now had Rion’s parents.
Gods be good, Odrick thought, and the light-headedness he felt as he looked over the letter again wasn’t from his wound, not this time. “I’ve got to find Rion,” he said, more to himself than the man standing beside him.
“Rion, sir?”
“Ah, right. I mean Eriondrian.”
“I have not seen Master Eriondrian in several days, sir. My lord and lady have been quite upset by his absence.”
They’ll be even more upset if he doesn’t show up by tomorrow evening, of that I’m certain. Odrick considered going to the city guard but dismissed the idea immediately. Sigan was a powerful crime boss, the city’s most well-connected, and even the guards themselves were afraid of him. Those, that was, who didn’t belong to him, bought and paid for. He could go try to rescue Rion’s parents himself, but the wound in his head was all too fresh a reminder—if one was needed—of how it had worked out the last time he’d tried to play at being a hero.
No, there was only one thing to do. He had to find Rion. But where? Odrick had spent the last days using all of his free time to visit the usual places that Rion frequented, but had come up empty time and again. He had even questioned the other nobles—Armiel and Bastion among them—and had discovered nothing of Rion’s whereabouts. A thought struck him, and he felt a flare of hope as he realized he hadn’t checked all Rion’s usual haunts after all. Oh, he had searched all the places that Eriondrian Tirinian, one of Valeria’s most prominent noblemen, tended to visit. But what of Rion, the man in the shabby cloak and clothes who spent his time in the poor district, who had associations with men such as Sigan? That man Odrick had done nothing to find.
“I have to go.”
“So soon, sir?” Fermin asked. “If you would like, I could fix you some tea or…” He trailed off, perhaps realizing how ridiculous the offer of tea was, given the circumstances, but Odrick did his best to give him a smile.
“No thank you, Fermin, but I appreciate the offer. Now, I’ve got to go. If Rio—if Eriondrian stops by, can you tell him I have to speak to him, and soon? Tell him to leave word at my father’s shop of where I can meet him.”
“Of course, sir,” the manservant answered. “And I wish you all the luck in your endeavor. I will be here, cleaning up my mess, in case you need my help.”
“Thanks,” Odrick said, but he did not expect that he would. The old man was kind enough and had saved his life, but for the sort of mess they were in, a manservant wouldn’t do. For all he knew, one of the gods themselves wouldn’t be enough. He walked down the stairs, all too aware of the irony that, to get to where he wanted to go, he was forced to step over corpses. He could only hope and pray that this would be the last one.
Chapter Five
“I still don’t like it.”
Rion bit back the first comment—angry and scathing—that came to his mind. Instead, he turned to Alesh who stood just outside the forest cave’s entrance. “What’s to like?” he said bitterly. Still angry and scathing, maybe, but not as much as it might have been. “Anyway, I don’t know why you’re so worried. You get to relax in a cave, put your feet up, maybe eat some berries, while we’re the ones risking our lives.” But maybe “risking” wasn’t exactly the right word. What they planned was to sneak past patrols that were out searching for them, ones that wouldn’t worry about asking questions if they found them, into a city full of people who would love nothing more than to see them strung up. And, if somehow they managed to avoid being killed or tortured outright—nearly an impossible feat in itself—and make it to their target, then Rion had to somehow convince Sigan to help them instead of killing him. No, maybe “committing suicide,” would have been closer.
All in all, it was a plan that, even if it worked, seemed contrived to see Rion dead before nightfall, and he would have much rather stayed behind with Alesh, Darl, and Sonya instead of walking into certain death. Alesh’s expression, however, showed that he was disappointed that he wasn’t able to go himself. Which just proved that being clever wasn’t a prerequisite for being chosen by one of the gods.
“You’re going to need all the help you can get,” Alesh said, repeating words spoken less than an hour before when they’d come to the final decision. “If the Redeemers or Tesharna’s men find you—”
“We will be doomed whether you’re with us or not,
” Katherine said, her voice soft and firm all at once. “We’ve talked about this, Alesh. You can’t come—it was only yesterday that you were marched through the city streets. There’s too good a chance that someone will recognize you and bring the whole of the city guard down on our heads. If that happens, one more fighter isn’t going to save us from what they plan. As for Darl,” she continued, turning to the Ferinan who looked equally frustrated that he couldn’t accompany—the fool, Rion thought—“you’re a Ferinan. By now, news has circulated through the city that you were among the group the guards tried to capture, and you’d stick out like a sore thumb—you know that.”
The Ferinan frowned, but he didn’t argue. Not that he really could. Even Rion had to admit—reluctantly—that he and Katherine were the only real options to travel into Valeria. Rion knew the lay out of the city, knew Sigan too, for better or worse—he expected mostly worse—and neither of them would be as easily recognized as Alesh or Darl. Of course, it gave him little comfort that the decision that would undoubtedly lead to his death was also the one that made the most sense. “Can we just be about it already?” he said. “We waste any more time, there’s a fair chance I’m going to lose my nerve, and I expect a man walking into the city with soiled trousers would draw more attention than we’d like.”
Katherine scowled at him. “Do you really have to—” She cut off as Sonya laughed.
“You’re silly, Uncle Rion,” the girl said.
Rion blinked at her, finding that he couldn’t find words. Uncle Rion? Gods help me.
“He’s right,” Alesh said. “We’ve wasted enough time already.”
They’d decided to set out early this morning after getting a full night’s sleep—though, if any of them had actually managed any sleep, given their situation, they knew a trick Rion didn’t. They’d woken with the sun and Darl and Alesh had spent the last few hours marking the patrols, double-checking to make sure that no more troops than they expected stood between them and Valeria. And why would they? Rion thought sourly. After all, we’d have to be fools to want to go back into the city. Which, of course, said just about all that needed to be said out his opinion of their current plans.
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