by C. M. Hayden
“Vexis murdered Antherion. She’s torturing my grandfather and defiling his legacy. If you think I care about being noble, you’re sorely mistaken.” His yellow eyes narrowed. “So, tell me, where are you going and why?”
Taro’s teeth clenched. “To Helia Edûn.”
“Why there?”
“Vexis and Halric are too strong to fight head-on, and there will be a thousand soldiers between us and them by the time we get to Nir Daras. We need an advantage.”
“And that advantage is…?”
Taro looked up. “Kadia Andurin.”
“Kadia?” Kurian asked, caught off his stride.
“Her sister.”
Kurian nodded. “I know who she is. She was a friend of mine when I was an artificer.”
“Well, she’s bat-shit crazy now. Barely able to talk. But Vexis cares about her more than anything, and she’ll do anything to keep her safe. Anything.”
Kurian’s expression was carefully blank. “You want to kidnap her.”
Taro nodded. “I’m going to find her and smuggle her out of the city. From there, I’ll use her as a bargaining chip to get Nima back.”
“What if you’re caught?”
“I’ve got a lot of experience not being seen. I also have a few friends in Helia Edûn that might help me. Most importantly, I’ll have the element of surprise. Vexis doesn’t think I’d ever step foot into Helia Edûn again.”
“Because it would be suicidal.” Kurian stretched his arms behind his head. “I see several holes in this plan, most of them ending in your untimely death.”
“And walking into Nir Daras is any safer?” Taro asked. “Vexis has contingency plans for everything. She thinks she knows what everyone will do at any given time. If we want to beat her, we have to stop playing by the rules.”
Kurian thought about it for a long moment, his bright eyes fixed on some faraway point in the night sky. “I…like it.”
“You do?” Taro asked.
“It’s crude. It’s cruel. It’s despicable. But it could work. Like I said, I like it.”
In the heat of the discussion, Taro had stopped looking and listening for crewmen. So, when he heard a voice respond to Kurian, he almost jumped out of his skin.
“I don’t,” the voice said.
Standing not half a dozen feet from them was Fenn. His arms were crossed, and he didn’t look pleased. Lokír wasn’t far off, though he was conspicuously silent.
“How long have you been there?” Taro asked.
“Long enough,” Fenn snapped, then got right to the crux of the matter: “It’s a stupid plan, Taro.”
Lokír grimaced. “What you suggest is despicable.”
Taro gestured to Lokír and Fenn, his eyes fixed on Kurian. “See? This is why I was trying to leave you guys out of it.”
Kurian looked to the others. “Having Kadia would be a strong bargaining chip. We wouldn’t have to actually hurt her. The threat might be enough.”
“I don’t care about the damned girl,” Fenn said. “I care about whether we’d be able to get in and out alive.”
“I can do it,” Taro said. “I’ve done it before. I know how to escape, and I know people on the inside.”
Fenn grumbled something. “It’s an unnecessary risk.”
“For you, maybe,” Taro said. “But it’s worth it to me.”
Fenn rubbed his temples as if he had a headache. “You’re sure you could get to her without being seen?”
“Sure enough to bet my own life on it,” Taro said. “But not yours.”
“May I suggest a compromise?” Kurian interjected.
“Shoot,” Fenn said.
“You and Lokír continue as planned. Scope out Nir Daras and wait for us. Meanwhile, Taro and I will infiltrate Helia Edûn. If something unexpected happens, I’ll fly us both out.”
Fenn looked to Lokír, who looked horrendously uncomfortable.
“What do you think?” Fenn asked.
Lokír frowned. “This is not right,” he said, but before anyone else could respond, he kept talking. “However, in the face of this scourge, perhaps…less than honorable means are called for.”
Fenn tapped the tips of his fingers together. “You know, if Kyra were here, she’d never allow this.”
“No, she wouldn’t,” Kurian said. “But she’s not here.” He looked back at the boat dangling from the crane, then to Taro. “What do you say?”
Chapter Thirty-seven
Friends in Low Places
Taro had to admit, having someone by his side, especially one of the dragonkin, was a comfort. Friends or not, he knew that navigating Helia Edûn would be hazardous at the best of times. What’s more, Taro liked Kurian. It wasn’t something he was happy about, either. In fact, it seemed to happen despite his best effort to hate him.
It wasn’t Kurian’s overt closeness to Kyra that irked him (though that certainly didn’t help). Taro’s issue with Kurian, if he were truly honest with himself, was that Kurian was everything he wished he could be. Brash. Brave. Charming. Powerful. And all these qualities just seemed to fall into place for him.
Taro knew his failings all too well, but in the end he couldn’t be anything other than who he was. And, after all, he did have skills of his own…
In the dead of night, in the flickering lamplight, Taro and the others hammered out the last details of their despicable plan. Their rendezvous point. Dates. Failsafes, should all not go according to plan.
Though Helia Edûn was a massive city, there was still a chance that Taro might be recognized. He couldn’t do much about his prosthetic leg other than cover it, but there were other steps he could use to alter his appearance. Old tricks he’d employed in Ashwick more than once.
When the Colossus arrived in Shahlda, Lokír and Fenn disembarked. With them, they took most of the supplies, as well as Taro’s walking stick, which he reasoned he shouldn’t bring into the capital, lest it draw attention to himself. Taro asked Fenn to keep it safe for him; it was nothing special, but it reminded him of Azra, Bran, and the kind Helian family that had helped him when he was at his lowest point.
Taro and Kurian went through some of the clothiers in Shahlda and purchased unassuming commoner garbs. A green and gold cloak over a creamy linen shirt for himself, and a ratty old red tunic for Kurian that had only one sleeve.
After unloading several passengers, and cargo bound for a Helian Lord Paramount named Kaster, the ship set sail that very same day.
It wasn’t uncommon for merchant ships to have medics. Calling them “doctors” would’ve strained credibility to the breaking point; they rarely had any formal training, and you certainly wouldn’t want them to treat you for anything serious. However, they were usually at least semi-competent in a few key areas. One of these was the cleaning and sterilization of wounds. In the vast stretches between towns, a dirty cut could lead to infection and the loss of a limb if not treated.
The medic aboard the Colossus was a whiskery old sawbones who always seemed to have a bottle of wine firmly in hand. It didn’t take much for Taro to convince him to part with a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and ammonia. Mixed carefully together, and in the right amounts, Taro was able turn his dark- brown hair into a weak blonde, as befitting a southern Helian.
“I’ve never been to Helia Edûn before,” Kurian said as he pulled his new shirt over his head, and smoothed out the wrinkles in the cloth.
A crewman had arrived moments earlier and told them the ship would be docking within the hour.
“It’s nowhere near as bad as I thought it would be,” Taro admitted. He pulled his trouser leg over his prosthetic, hiding the wood and leather buckles as best as he could. “Some good people. Some assholes, to be sure, but you get that in any town, you know?”
Kuri
an nodded. “A universal truth, if ever I heard one.”
“We just need to keep a low profile and we’ll be fine.” Taro eyed Kurian.
“What?”
“Low profile,” Taro repeated seriously.
Kurian sounded legitimately offended. “I’ll have you know I’m very unassuming.”
Taro laughed out loud. “Sure you are. Just keep both feet on the ground and we should be fine.”
It was late evening when the ship moored and settled into the Imperial Harbor of Helia Edûn. The moment the gangplank was lowered, the crewmen went to work unloading every cargo crate with bustling efficiency. There were a few imperial guards stationed on the harbor, but they were busy talking amongst each other. It was, after all, just one more merchant ship. Dozens arrived in the capital every single day. Still, Taro wanted to get somewhere out of the way as soon as possible, and he ushered Kurian to follow him.
But just as they were about to turn the corner around a wooden crane, Taro heard a jovial, familiar voice.
“Ho there!” it said.
It was none other than Thaedos Mathan. He was richly dressed, with a sleek black gentlemen’s suit and a thick cigar clenched between his teeth. He spoke without it ever leaving his mouth.
“I was beginning to worry,” Thaedos said, grabbing Captain Tristam’s hand and shaking it. “I trust the Port Authority in Shahlda didn’t give you any undue trouble?”
“A bit. Lord Kaster doesn’t know whose side he’s on. His friendship with Archcleric Ricarn is proving to be a…liability.”
“Were you able to convince him?” Thaedos asked, wearing a thin smile.
Captain Tristam smiled a grungy smile, showing off four missing teeth. “Two things the Old Gods have found fit to grace me with: rugged good looks, and the bottomless purse of my good friend Thaedos Mathan. With these boons at my disposal, all things are possible.”
Thaedos chuckled and took a hard drag of his cigar. “I’m rapidly approaching the bottom with each passing day.”
Tristam straightened his collar. “I fear that money won’t be effective with Ricarn. Clerics rarely have need of such worldly goods.”
“We’ll have to find other means then, won’t we?” Thaedos asked. “The High Inquisitor was quite clear: Nir Daras will come into the fold, one way or another. Ricarn can either join the new order, or be consumed by it.”
“He wouldn’t march upon a Lord Paramount, would he?” Tristam asked.
Thaedos shrugged. “Any man who denies the laws of ascension is no lord. One thing I’ve learned about you Helians is that you value order. When Ricarn sees where the wind is blowing, he’ll submit. He knows Nir Daras can’t withstand an imperial siege. It’s a city of holy men, relics, and pilgrims. Not warriors.”
Kurian tugged at Taro’s arm. “What are you waiting for?”
Taro moved with Kurian to hide behind a stack of crates. “That’s Thaedos Mathan,” he said in an urgent tone.
“What does that mean?”
“It means something’s going on,” Taro thought aloud.
Kurian jostled Taro. “Fill me in here.”
“I met him last time I was here. He’s not big on legal ventures. Coming to meet a shipment doesn’t seem like his style.”
Taro crouched and hurried back to the crates the crew were unloading. Kurian followed close behind, and when they were near the crates, Taro motioned for Kurian to help him open one. They were nailed shut, but with a slight amount of templar applied, the lid easily gave way.
As the writing on the case implied, inside was nothing more than grain.
Kurian sifted his fingers through it. “Satisfied?”
Taro frowned. Maybe he was overthinking this. However, just as he was going to concede, Kurian’s hand hit something hard as he ran it through the grain. He reached in further, and pulled something out. The bright, silvery glimmer of a shield peeked out amongst the oats. Kurian kept digging, finding swords, crossbows, and pieces of armor.
They didn’t have long before more crewmen arrived, so they darted off the dock and into the city proper. Taro was winded by the time they got to an abandoned alleyway, a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead. Kurian was utterly unperturbed by the sprint.
“Thaedos is selling weapons?” Kurian asked, peeking around the alley.
Taro wiped the sweat with his sleeve. “He’s buying weapons. But from who?”
“Could be anyone,” Kurian said. “Cardaeros runs right into the open sea on both ends. There are plenty of unsavory people who’d love to make a copper off war between Helia and Endra.”
Taro shook his head, not quite convinced. “There’d be no reason to hide weapons coming in if they were legitimate, right?”
Kurian shrugged. “Maybe Thaedos is trying to build up his own army.”
“Maybe,” Taro said, unconvinced. “Or maybe he’s working with someone else.”
“Whatever the case, we don’t have time to stand around. You said you had friends in Helia?”
“A few,” Taro said. “An old friend I used to run with in Ashwick, named Sikes. We’ll probably find him in one of Thaedos’s brawling arenas. Getting past the doorwoman might be tough, though.”
“Why’s that?”
Taro shrugged. “Last time we met, we hogtied her and left her in a closet.” He ruffled his newly blonde hair. “Disguise or not, I think you should handle talking to her.”
There was a somber quiet as Taro and Kurian passed through the market square. It was filled with the clamor and clatter one would expect from a bustling city, but there were noticeable differences. For one, there were far more imperial guards than before. In fact, there seemed to be at least a small group stationed on every city block. The banners of the Shahl that once adorned every overpass had been torn down, replaced by the large seal of House Rutharan.
It seemed that Helia was back under imperial control. The Shahl was dead, and his effigies and banners were expunged from the city. Praxis had been forced to flee, but Taro couldn’t say how Vexis and Dr. Halric managed to escape the new emperor’s purge.
In addition to these changes, the Helians seemed to be preparing for some sort of festival. The last time he’d been in Helia, Taro had experienced the Festival of Lights. This one was decidedly different, employing wicker dragon statues and colorful masks.
Taro was so distracted by examining the decorations that he walked headfirst into two people.
“Oi!” one of them shouted, as the case of eggs he was carrying wobbled in his hands. “Watch where you’re going.”
“Sorry,” Taro said absently, though he was the one on the ground.
Kurian took Taro’s hand and helped him up. “Lowkey, remember?”
Taro brushed the sand off his trousers, and tried to get his bearings. With the festival decorations, the square looked different than the last time he’d been there, but he soon spotted the intersection of overpasses that led to Thaedos’ underground. With Thaedos himself still on the harbor, now was the opportune moment to move.
When Taro pointed at the bakery nestled between a tailor and an aviary, Kurian gave him a bewildered look. The window troughs of the building were filled with bright lilies and waterflowers; colorful images of fresh bread and the name “Grandma Margaret’s” was drawn on the door with chalk. It looked every bit the mom-and-pop business. Of course, Taro knew better.
“You’re not serious,” Kurian said dryly.
“Trust me,” Taro said, pulling up his hood. “Go in there, ask for the special, and give her this.” He handed Taro the equivalent of a Helian shekel.
When they entered the bakery, the bell on the door jingled and Margaret shuffled out of the back room. Her gray hair was pulled into a bun, and she wore a small set of spectacles hanging from a pink string around her neck. When she was nea
r them, she put the spectacles on and squinted.
“Oh, it must be my lucky day,” she said in a haggard voice. “Two strapping young men have come to pay ol’ grandma a visit. How can I help you boys? How about some mincemeat pies, fresh out of the oven not ten minutes ago?”
Taro nudged Kurian forward.
Kurian seemed unsure, but did what Taro told him to do. “The special, please.”
When he set the money in Margaret’s hand, the old woman’s façade melted away. “What’s with the parade of freaks headin’ down this past month?” she asked. “Merciful Sarona, I swear Little Thaed wants to drive his poor old mother to an early grave.” She eyed Kurian and Taro, then waved them along to the back room. “Well, let’s get movin’, sods, this isn’t a rest stop.”
Margaret pulled open the door to the back room and entered. As she did, she pointed to a tripwire on the floor. “Watch your step,” she said. “Had some troublemakers in here not long ago. Can never be too careful.”
Taro stepped over the wire, and looked around at the mechanism it was attached to. A long, iron axe on a turning bolt hovered over the doorway. If the wire was tripped, the axe would swing down with enough force to take off a man’s head.
Taro tried to keep his face out of Margaret’s full view without seeming suspicious. When he and Kurian were finally in the underground tunnel on their way to the fighting pits, Taro breathed a sigh of relief.
The fighting pits were as dark and cramped as Taro remembered. There were about two hundred or so spectators and bettors milling about, going from pit to pit. Four bloody fights were going on as Kurian and Taro walked through the crowd, trying to blend in as best as they could.
The first fighting pit was the smallest, little more than a hole in the ground surrounded by wooden poles dug into the earth. It seemed the least serious of the fights, and the two men inside were even talking and joking as they went in for their hits.
The next two fighting pits were of similar size, and it seemed like they were more practice matches than anything.