The Redstar Rising Trilogy

by Rhett C. Bruno

  “Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough that you allowed my favorite house in Bridleton to burn, was it?” Yuri said.

  “I thought that was your house?” Whitney asked Bartholomew, barely able to contain himself.

  “I swear, thief. When this is over, I’m going to revel in watching you suffer,” Bartholomew said. “I’ll boil your tongue.”

  “Pretty foolish thing to say to the man with a knife at your throat,” Yuri reprimanded.

  “Whitney, I know you’re barely sane, but are you really going to murder a Darkings?” Torsten said. “In front of the Wearer of White, no less?”

  “This one I might,” Whitney replied.

  Torsten sighed. He’d forgotten what it was like to deal with the intolerable thief Whitney Fierstown, now Blisslayer. “After all we went through, you haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

  “Why mess with perfection?”

  “Whitney, for Iam’s sake, just put down the knife.”

  “What, so he can stab me the moment I do?”

  “He won’t.”

  “Trust me, Shieldsman,” Bartholomew said. “I would.”

  “You two are standing in the way of a royal operation.” Torsten lifted his hand to graze the pommel of his claymore. “You will stand down, or you will both find yourselves occupying dungeons in the Glass Castle!”

  “Relax, Sir Unger,” Yuri said, extending his arm. He calmly paced before Whitney and his son, hands clasped behind his back. “What sort of mess did you get yourself into Bartholomew?”

  Bartholomew went to speak, but Whitney angled the blade just under his chin.

  “C’mon, Barty,” Whitney said. “Tell him.”

  “If you insist. This whelp masqueraded as a blind priest of Iam before burning down the Bridleton estate.”

  Torsten’s jaw dropped when he heard that. He knew Whitney was no favored son of Iam, but posing as a priest?

  “Then, he stole my mother’s—your wife’s—favorite necklace, and who knows what else,” Bartholomew continued. “Is that not enough?”

  “Okay, I admit that sounds bad,” Whitney said, “but burning down the house was an accident.”

  “An accident carried out by a Panpingese witch illegally practicing blood magic!”

  “A priest?” Torsten mouthed, barely able to get the word out.

  “That’s the part you…” Whitney caught himself. “Look, none of it was my finest moment, but we were desperate.”

  “To steal from my dead mother!” Bartholomew bellowed. He turned his head to get a glimpse of Whitney, ignoring the knife as it drew a thin line of red across his neck.

  “I can promise you that pendant saved everyone’s life in the Webbed Woods when we…” Whitney turned to Torsten. “Am I allowed to say, or…”

  “These are high crimes, Whitney Fiersto—” Torsten’s glare shut him up halfway through correcting the name. “And that’s besides me wanting no explanation of why you were deceiving the people of Bridleton when we were on a sworn quest to find the Queen’s brother! You should be hanged, not thrown in a cell.”

  “Trust me, I tried,” Bartholomew sneered.

  “Quiet you,” Whitney said, wrenching the man’s head back into place.

  Yuri held up both hands to silence everyone before the yelling continued. Torsten had plenty more he wanted to say, considering Whitney had abandoned him in their quest to play thief in Bridleton for a time.

  “Are you referring to the pendant I gave your mother on her half-century? The piece of heartstone hewn from Brike’s Passage in the Dragon Tail?”

  Bartholomew nodded.

  “Then you should have guarded it better!”

  “Father I—” Bartholomew stammered, smug smile disappearing.

  “Don’t speak,” Yuri cut his son off. “Do not speak. We are Darkings men. We don’t stoop to the level of thieves and brigands, yet here he is with a knife at your throat rather than running from your justice. So I’m going to ask once because I have no idea… what have you been up to in my city? And do not lie.”

  Whitney actually felt a lump bobbing in Bartholomew’s throat. “I’ve been trying to track this man down so I may return mother’s necklace.”

  “Really?” Whitney asked. “Because for all your dungeon-throwing, gallows-hanging, and speech-giving, this is the first I’ve heard of it.”

  “Because who knows what a monster like you would have done with it if you knew it meant something.”

  “I don’t care about a necklace!” Yuri roared.

  Torsten felt the hair on the back of his neck stand. He had no idea a man with hair so gray could have a voice that carried so thunderously. Even the eyes of the other King’s Shieldsmen watching went wide.

  “Tell me, thief, what slight did my hopeless son offer you?” Yuri asked. “We must all move on and focus on this war.”

  “Lord Darkings, I know this man,” Torsten whispered in Yuri’s ear. “I’m sure your son has good reason.”

  Yuri’s only response was to hold up a finger before turning back to Whitney and Bartholomew. Torsten wasn’t used to being dismissed like that by anyone but the Queen, however, he allowed Yuri this one. He had no son, so he didn’t know what it was like to be disappointed in one.

  But he did know Whitney. The thief was a man capable of instilling an endless well of disappointment.

  “Well, for starters, he treats his servants like common kitchen trash,” Whitney said. “Oh, and he hired a Dom Nohzi to kill me in exchange for Sora. So there’s that.”

  Yuri took a hard step forward and raised his hand with the intention of collaring his son. Whitney reeled them back and further angled his blade.

  “You went to the Dom Nohzi?” Yuri asked, face flush with unbridled rage.

  “The assassins from Brekliodad?” Torsten asked. He’d never dealt with the order of legal killers, as their lands were beyond the realm of Glass, but he knew of them. It was said they were richer than any kingdom or guild after centuries of killing. That they had toppled kings of old without a soul knowing.

  “I told you about this runt,” Bartholomew said. “You were too busy to listen, so I took things into my own hands. This man assaulted our family.”

  “The Dom Nohzi are animals!” Yuri shouted. “We deal in gold, not blood, favors and whatever else they ask for. Do you know what it means to hand them your blood? If you do not hold up your end of the pact, even if it isn’t your fault, they can find you anywhere in Pantego and make things even. You will have tied my hands!”

  “And you promised him Sora?” Whitney said. He chuckled. “If I know her, she’s probably already slipped him, and now he’ll be coming for you.”

  Torsten saw a flicker of doubt on Whitney’s face even as he tried to act brashly. It’d always been evident that he cared for the blood mage—as much as a thief could care for anything—which meant there was no question of how much danger she was in.

  “Whitney,” Torsten said. Three sets of eyes darted to face him as if he’d set off an explosion. “Maybe we can all find a way out of this.”

  “I can’t imagine where this is going.” He rolled his eyes.

  “Sora is still in the city?”

  Whitney nodded. “Wherever that killer is keeping her.”

  “Where is that, Bartholomew?” Yuri demanded.

  “You think I know?” Bartholomew answered. “The Dom Nohzi find you or invite you, they don’t get dropped in on, and they’re always on the move.”

  “He can’t have her until I’m dead, or something,” Whitney said. “So he can’t run even if he wants to. That’s how their deals work, right?”

  Bartholomew kept his mouth shut.

  “Answer him!” Yuri hissed.

  “Yes, that’s how it works,” Bartholomew hissed. “This one is loose with the rules though. He probably already had his way with her and tossed her in the bay.”

  “How many stories did I tell you about the Dom Nohzi growing up boy?” Yuri hissed.

 
“Too many,” Bartholomew said. “How do you think I found him?”

  “Then you know, until he kills the promised target, he would not dare.”

  “You’re sure she’s alive?” Whitney asked, eyes glinting.

  “I’m sure that my son is an idiot. But they are as strict as they are exacting. The man will hunt you to the ends of the known world to fulfill the blood pact.”

  “Can it be rescinded?” Torsten asked.

  “Once the pact is made? I don’t know. You are among a very lucky few. The Dom Nohzi typically act swifter than a man can reconsider and are usually not interrupted by war.”

  “Bartholomew?”

  “I don’t know,” he grumbled.

  “You will draft a writ immediately, informing them that the deal is annulled,” Torsten said. “You will offer to compensate them for time lost, and Whitney and his friend are to live.”

  “After everything he’s done? I’d rather die.”

  “This is not a debate!” Torsten thundered. “The Dom Nohzi are killers, but from what I’ve read, they are honorable. The blood pact is over by command of King Pi’s Royal Council, and they will obey it.”

  “I knew I liked this guy,” Whitney remarked.

  “I’m not finished. Burning the home of a noble and robbing him of his mother’s heirloom? Posing as a priest? When I had the Master of Rolls ennoble you, I was unaware of these unspeakable atrocities.”

  “About that,” Whitney said with a sly grin. “Any chance the Master of Rolls can draft up a new one? Someone burned what was apparently the only copy.”

  “I can’t say you didn’t deserve it,” Torsten said. “But no son of Iam deserves to die without fair trial. And so, as punishment, you will help us in our quest to end this war. You will lead us back through these tunnels and create a distraction like I know only you are capable of. Cover our ambush.”

  Torsten looked to Yuri. “This is our best chance at Muskigo, and the more men drawn from his side, the more exposed he’ll be.”

  “You expect me to go back in there?” Whitney asked.

  “I do. Sora is still in there, and if you do this, I will ensure that when we retake the city, we search for her, and present the assassin with Bartholomew Darkings' resignation.”

  “And if I say no?”

  “Then you will be arrested for high crimes, nobleman or not. I’m growing tired of seeing you in a cell, but I will make sure the next is one you won’t escape from.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Bartholomew groaned. “This man can’t be trusted! Father, it was my duty to lead them through these tunnels. I’ve played in them since I was a child, nobody knows them better than I.”

  “Played?” Whitney said. “Did you push children in front of collapsing walls back then, too?”

  “Enough Whitney,” Torsten said.

  “I’m just saying. I’ve seen how this guy likes to pla—”

  “I said, enough! If Lord Darkings agrees, that is how this is going to go. You’ve insulted the wrong family, Whitney, but here is a chance, once again, to show that you’re out for more than yourself.”

  “I agree,” Yuri said. “Clearly I can’t let my son out of my sight for even a minute. If you think the thief can lead you back through and under the prefect's estate, then I won’t stand in the way.”

  Torsten stared into Whitney’s eyes. They were full of terror no matter how hard he tried to mask it. Torsten wasn’t sure why he trusted Whitney wouldn’t lead them astray, yet he did. Reuniting with him like this, with everything in the balance… it really did feel like something—someone—greater was at work.

  “Sure, I can,” Whitney said. “But are you really sure you want to go back in there? I’ve seen it Torsten. It’s a war zone.”

  “I have no choice,” Torsten said. “But you do. If you won’t help to serve your kingdom, then at least do it for her. I’ve seen the way you look at her, Iam knows why. If we don’t retake Winde Port, there isn’t a soul in there that'll be safe.”

  “You have to be kidding me,” Bartholomew said. “Father, you’re really going to leave this in the hands of this scoundrel?”

  Yuri didn’t even bother to respond.

  Whitney started to let up on his grip of the man, his dagger sliding down to around his shoulder. “You promise you’ll help me look for Sora?”

  “To any extent I can, after we handle Muskigo,” Torsten said.

  “No, you have to swear on him. Swear to Iam, and I’ll give you the best yigging distraction anyone’s ever seen.”

  “My word is my bond,” Torsten said.

  “You bond needs to be stronger if I’m going back into that shoghole.”

  “You’re not in a place to bargain, thief.”

  Whitney slowly brought the dagger back to Bartholomew’s throat.

  Torsten growled. “Forgive me, Iam.” He fell to a knee and traced his eyes with his fingers. “I swear to Iam, beneath the Vigilant Eye. Help me, and you have my word.”

  Whitney’s gaze arced across the faces of all the King’s Shieldsmen, then to Yuri, and back to Torsten. His hand momentarily tensed, then he chuckled and pushed Bartholomew away.

  “You son of a—” Bartholomew whipped around but was promptly seized by his father. Yuri took him by the ear like he was a petulant child and drove him to his knees.

  “My son will draft the annulment at once,” Yuri said, twisting further.

  Whitney watched gleefully as Bartholomew moaned in pain, slapping the ground.

  “With my seal upon it,” he continued, “the Dom Nohzi are more likely to acquiesce. You’ve placed me in a precarious situation, boy. We can only hope they don’t ask anything of me in exchange, or for your worthless life.”

  “Thank you, Lord Darkings,” Torsten said. “For everything.”

  “I live to serve the Crown, my Wearer. Thank you for suffering through this family matter.”

  Torsten strode forward and took Whitney by the arm. It almost felt a dream that the thief was back in his life until he touched him. The Webbed Woods, Bliss… it had only been a month, but it all seemed like eons ago considering how much had changed since then. Again, Torsten was placing the kingdom’s future in the hands of a thief, but he was never one to ignore the silent hand of Iam at work.

  “Are you ready for another quest in the name of the Glass, Blisslayer?” Torsten asked. As the words left his lips, he couldn’t even believe how accepting he was of the notion.

  Whitney shrugged. He was still busy marveling as Bartholomew received the punishment he so deserved. “Just let me enjoy this for a few more minutes,” he said, “then we can go be heroes again.”

  XXII

  THE THIEF

  “So, this is what it feels like to lead an army,” Whitney said, glancing back at the line of King’s Shieldsmen. It was impossibly dark, but a few pricks of light filtering in through cracks above allowed him to see their gleaming armor. Torsten wore his white helm, face guard open, which meant things were serious.

  “Feels good,” Whitney continued. “Maybe if you die up there…”

  “You’re lucky to not be living out the rest of your days in a cell, thief,” Torsten replied. The word came out with extra venom as he stepped over a lumpy pile of something in the narrow passage. All that he could be sure of was it didn’t smell good.

  “Oh, c’mon, we’ve got to be on a first name basis by now.”

  Torsten gave him a grunt, nothing more. Whitney knew the big lug was glad to see him though. There was no reason the King’s Shield needed Whitney to lead them through these secret passages when a Darkings could do it, which meant Torsten must have trusted him more.

  The thought had him grinning.

  “Think you could get me on royal retainer?” he said. “You know, for whenever you need my special skills?”

  Torsten scowled but didn’t answer.

  Whitney led them further through the warren of smuggling tunnels, trying to remember the path he’d taken following Bartholo
mew. He was nearly at the point of praying he’d led them the right way through the stifling darkness when they reached a break.

  Rock turned to carved stone, buried tunnels intended for sneaking horrible things became sewers intended for shipping shog. A false wall of stone blocks lay dislodged and around the corner. Whitney raised a hand. The troop stopped behind him. He craned his neck to hear better. Something was wheezing just on the other side.

  “What is it?” Torsten asked.

  “Wait here.”

  He hurried through the opening. What sounded like wind weeping through cracks was really Fenton on his hands and knees trying to gather his bearings. A few thin lines of light seeped in through a ruptured portion of the ceiling above. He saw the wet spot of blood where Ton’kai nearly died. Whitney couldn’t help but hope Kazimir would decide to end that fat slob Bartholomew when he caught wind of the proposed annulment.

  He patted his pocket to make sure the papers hadn’t fallen out into the muck below.

  Fenton looked up at him, eye lulling, blood coating the side of his head. “You… it’s—”

  Whitney kicked him hard in the head. His body flopped over onto the collapsed rock, unconscious again.

  “The first one was for them,” Whitney said, shaking out his foot, “but that was for me.”

  “Who was that?” Torsten questioned. He appeared behind Whitney, sword in hand.

  “Nobody now.”

  “Whitney.”

  “Just one of Darkings' boys who deserved way worse.”

  Torsten grabbed Whitney by the arm and forced him back to the front of the line. “No more games, Whitney. I want you in front at all times. Is that clear?”

  “Fine, fine. I got it out of my system anyway.” He pointed to the right, into the sewer tunnels, toward where the air smelled fouler. “This way is the city sewer system. I don’t think any gray skins saw me go down here but we should be on the lookout.”