“Okay, let’s go,” Rand said. He took Sigrid’s arm and caught her staring at the body of the man she’d killed. The first one was always the toughest, even if it was a monster. “He deserved it,” Rand assured her.
“I know.” She swallowed hard. “Iam forgive me anyway.”
“He will. Now we just have to make sure He has a kingdom left to watch over.”
Rand towed her along back down the hall. Groans sounded from within the other rooms as the victims of the Drav Cra recovered from the raid. Downstairs, Gideon Trapp lethargically swept up broken bottles, his wounds slowing him down. The drunkard Rand had arrived with sat at the bar with a pint in hand, utterly oblivious to the chaos. A few others had trickled in as well.
Rand understood well. Most people from Dockside needed to drown out the thoughts of their shoggy lives, and no mess would keep them from their favorite watering hole.
“There ye are,” Trapp snapped. He tossed aside his broom and met them at the base of the stairs. “This were yer fault, weren’t it? First, ye get my best server hurt, now this?”
“We’re leaving, Trapp,” Rand said. He went to shove by, but Trapp stood his ground.
“Oh no, ye don’t. Ye’ll both be working to pay off all of this, ye hear me?”
“She’s done here. We both are.”
“I don’t care what ye think ye know,” Trapp said, “ye ain’t getting out of this. Valin will hear about this.”
“He cares so much he didn’t even have a guard looking over the place. Sigrid is done. Step aside.”
Gideon Trapp turned to her and softened his tone. “Siggy, don’t listen to this drunken brute. There ain’t no better work than this in Dockside for a lady like you. Haven’t I been good to ye?”
Sigrid shoved a ball of fabric into his gut.
"What's this?" Trapp said. He held it up. It was the skippy outfit he made her wear while serving.
“He ain’t a drunken brute," she said. "He’s my brother, and yer a right piece of shog .”
Rand flashed Trapp a grin, and then he and Sigrid pushed by.
“Don’t ye dare walk away!” Trapp shouted. “I own ye, ye filthy whore's daughter. When Valin finds out what ye cost him—”
“And what did they cost me, Trapp old chum?”
The front door swung open and in strode the last person in Dockside Rand ever wanted to see. Out of instinct, he stopped to place one arm in front of Sigrid while the other hand fell to the grip of his longsword. Dockside had no mayor or constable, only a guard captain who kept as close to Yarrington proper as he could. Even the Master of Ships stayed at the castle and rarely visited.
Valin Tehr was the power. He had been for all of Rand’s life. If you stepped into a shop or tavern, it was likely he received taxes from the owners on top of what they paid the Crown. His right leg, scrawny and deformed from birth, made the man walk with a permanent limp and use a cane plated in gold. Even his face, with its oversized chin and wide-set eyes, was nothing to look at, but his mind more than made up for it.
Valin had been a thorn in the side of the King’s Shield for many years, though some felt him a necessary scourge. With fear and gold, he kept Dockside in line and its people working hard enough that the Crown turned a blind eye to his more nefarious dealings.
“Mr. Tehr, sir... I...I,” Trapp stammered like he was talking to a king. With the way the gangster dressed, however, he may as well have been. And while the man had no King’s Shield, a dozen or so thugs entered alongside him.
“Who did you insult this time to bring such destruction?” Valin asked.
“It wasn’t me, sir. This, this, drunkard angered the Drav Cra. They came bursting in before we opened, right through the lock.”
“Drav Cra and a Shieldsman? I pay you good money to stay inconspicuous.”
“Sir, if you don’t mind, me and my sister were leaving,” Rand said. He took a step, the thugs shadowed his movement, grinning like wild men.
“Not so fast.” Valin dragged his misshapen leg forward to get a closer look at Rand. “I know you, don’t I, kid?”
“Please, Mr. Tehr,” Sigrid said. “We really need to be gone.”
“I say who is 'gone' anywhere here!” Valin barked, emphasizing Sigrid’s Dockside accent. He spoke with the refinement of a true noble.
Rand pulled his sister back, his fingers wrapping the hilt of his sword now. “In the name of the King’s Shield, move aside.”
“Yes, no one has more respect for the Shield than I, isn’t that right boys?” His crew laughed. One went behind the bar, filled a mug and passed it to another who’d shoved aside the drunk and stole his seat. “Thing is, you’re Rand Langley. Wearer for a day, disgraced for a lifetime. And the word is you tried to murder the King’s uncle in his own chambers earlier today.”
Rand’s throat went dry. His palms started to sweat. Inch by inch, he slid his sword out of its sheath.
Valin clicked his tongue in disapproval. “I know everyone in Dockside, kid. You can hide from the Crown. You can hide from Iam. But you can’t hide from me.” He began to pace, every thud of his cane unnerving Rand further. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you. Not every day a Docksider earns the Shield,” he went on, “but every time I reached out so you might use your post to help this place we call home, you ignored my call.”
“I have no quarrel with you, Valin,” Rand said. “My father worked at your dock when he was alive, and you paid him well, kept food on our table. I meant no offense in rejecting your advances; I merely wanted to focus on my training.”
“Who am I to scorn good old-fashioned hard work? Still, it hurts me that you went off and forgot this place. You had so much potential.”
“I never forgot I… Look, I know what you bring in through this place. Let us go, and the secret goes with us.
Valin edged closer, and Rand’s heart raced. The man could hardly walk, and he didn’t bother carrying a weapon when his thugs could handle things for him, but growing up in Dockside, there wasn’t a soul who didn’t know that crossing Valin Tehr meant taking a nice swim out into the Torrential Sea.
“Are you threatening me, Rand Langley?” he asked. “You gonna get your Queen to hang me over the walls like the others?”
Rand pictured Tessa and the others swinging in the wind but squeezed his eyes to drive out the image. People in Dockside didn’t pay attention to Glass Castle affairs. It was what made it such a good place for him to shirk his duties. Clearly, Valin knew enough for the whole district.
“No threat… I just… we need to leave,” Rand said.
“Going to take another swipe at Redstar? Castle halls not bloody enough for you?”
Rand didn’t say a word. Instead, he drew his sword a little further, wary of the thugs surrounding him. Sigrid clutched his arm.
“Why didn’t you cut out his black heart the first time, you fool!” Valin laughed and banged him in the pauldron with his cane. His men joined in, and after a short while, Rand forced a nervous chuckle as well.
“If you let us go, I will,” Rand said.
Valin eyed one of his men. Unlike the others, this one was older, more refined. His shirt was neatly tucked, and his graying hair combed. All Rand could focus on, however, was his glass eye painted entirely white. He had the sharp nose and noble brow of a man from Brekliodad, as well as a curled, white mustache no westerner could possibly grow.
“Confident, chap, isn't he, Codar?” Valin asked the man.
“Indeed, sir,” Codar answered, Breklian accent thick as syrup.
“Too bad. You’ve got the whole guard in a mad scramble looking for you, kid. Like you’re more important than the missing Caleef.” Tehr smiled. “You don’t have the Caleef, do you?” He leaned in, pretending to look behind Rand. “You aren’t getting close enough to that filthy warlock to smell him now, let alone kill him.”
“I don’t have a choice,” Rand said. “Iam needs me.”
“The boy is needed by Iam Himself?” More chuckles fr
om the thugs sounded, now nearer.
“They would do well to watch their manners,” Sigrid bristled. “Wren the Holy himself asked this of him.”
“Ha! The Holy Father asked a sinner to sin?” Valin looked toward the ceiling, closed his eyes, and traced one of them with his finger. “Guess its better to use a sinner than a saint, if there are any left. What is this city coming to?” He looked to Codar as if expecting an answer.
“It is impossible to tell,” Codar said.
“Barbarians surrounding us, sharing our mead and nobody in the castle can do a damn thing. Hell, I don’t even know a soul in that place anymore, and I used to have the whole council on retainer. You hung a few who owed me a favor.”
“Redstar started it all,” Rand said. “Now he’ll see us fall to ruin.”
“And you’re going to stop him? You, the hangman who let the mad Queen run wild? If you ask me, it’s about time we got a whole new family up in that keep, but I’m happy here in my little fiefdom so long as whoever’s on the throne keeps out of it.”
“As long as Redstar has the King’s ear, the Dockside you know will become a hunting ground for barbarians. I can help stop it.”
“Not alone you can’t.” Valin smirked, then turned to his men. “Get this place cleaned up and grab my shipment. A Shieldsman needs our help rooting out the savages, and I live to serve the Crown.”
XVII
THE KNIGHT
Torsten tossed a tiny rock against the wall and let it roll back to him. Then again, and again. It was the best way he’d found of staying sane in the dungeon. Even then, he wasn’t sure it was working.
Sitting, waiting for news from Wren the Holy about Rand Langley’s mission made it even worse. He’d staked the fate on the kingdom first on Oleander showing a shred of mercy and sending for Wren. When she did, he’d put even more trust in a deserter of the King’s Shield to take down an Arch Warlock.
He was running out of faith.
“Yer gonna to need something bigger than that to break out,” the old kook in the adjacent cell said. When he wasn’t snoring, he couldn’t go more than five minutes without having something to say.
“I’m not trying to break out,” Torsten replied.
“Ye’ll be the first then.”
Torsten remained silent, rolling the stone over in his fingers.
“I gave up too.” The old man coughed loudly. “Been so many years down here, I dun’t know what I’d do outside no how. I be a charm of good luck though. Ye go, try and break out. I bet ye do it.”
Torsten clenched his jaw and held his tongue. He had no interest in making friends, but there was nothing else to do. And in the stifling darkness, the silence was an easy place to lose oneself.
“Please, by Iam, tell me how an old man trapped down here could possibly be a good luck charm?” Torsten said.
“Each bastard what gets shut in near me, gets out. Not long ago, upstairs, some handsome devil tricked me into tryin and got out himself instead.” He hacked out a laugh and a cough simultaneously. “Called himself the greatest thief in Pantego. Stole my freedom, he did.”
Torsten allowed his head to sink back against the wall. He couldn’t help but smirk. There was no question in his mind who the man was referring to.
“Then, they shoved me down here and some Drav Cra warlock, all metal, and masks, get’s put right where you are,” the old man continued. “Ye think I talk too much; guy wouldn’t shut it for a second even after they muzzled him.”
Torsten sat up. He crawled over to the bars and stuck his head through as far as it would go. “Redstar?” he said.
“Yeah that… that sounds familiar.”
“He escaped?”
The old coot peeked through as well, made visible by the flickering torch outside his cell. His face was so loose with age it looked like it was melting off his skull. Only a handful of rotting teeth remained in his mouth, and when he grinned Torsten caught a whiff of the foulest smell imaginable, and he’d endured the sewers of Winde Port.
“Ye shoulda seen it,” he said, ignoring the question. “The gods damned new King hisself came down here every night and talked to him. Sat right outside the cell yer in now. I swear on me bastard son, there ain’t never even been a Royal Councilman willing to stay down here, and I been locked up since Liam could walk. I’m innocent of course, but ain’t no one with them decision-making ears be willin to listen.”
“You didn’t answer my question. Did Redstar escape?”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
Torsten slammed on the bars. “Old man! I need to know.”
“Iam's light, ye really are a nutter ain’t ye? The King let him out hisself. I know it was him because of the crown, ye see, and the stature. I didn’t even know Liam had a son.” He cackled. “But I’m guessin he didn’t when I was locked in.”
Torsten backed away and hung his head. “Did you hear anything they had to say, or were you too busy yammering?”
“If I did, I wun’t tell you.” Torsten heard the man’s knees drag across the floor as he slinked back into the corner.
“I don’t have time for this. What did they say?”
“Ye have all the time in Pantego, ye biff. Gods… even the warlock'd be better company than ye—least he sang some songs.”
Torsten squeezed his fist and slowly drew air through his teeth. “Please, tell me.”
“Now that’s better!” The man guffawed. “It wasn’t too much really. Just some apologizin for doing what had to be done to open eyes, talk about Iam and the Buried Goddess. All borin stuff. The warlock was much more entertainin when he was mutterin to hisself alone. But, of course, he got invited right out by the King hisself. See? Charm of good luck.”
“If only it were thanks to you. That man is a foul, no good—”
“Monster,” someone addressed him from the opposite direction. Soft footsteps approached from around the corner, then a familiar face outside his cell was painted orange by the dim torchlight, the birthmark covering half of it as dark as red wine.
“Redstar,” Torsten growled.
“That’s the man!” the old coot said excitedly. “Walked right on outta here like he—”
“Quiet.” Redstar raised his left hand and squeezed his fingers, a bloody bandage wound around his palm. The old man went silent in an instant. “I told you I would be visiting, old friend,” he addressed Torsten. “How are you faring down here?”
“I preferred when it was quiet,” Torsten said.
“Must you always be such a grouser? Come, Torsten, I’d like to show you something.”
“If you open that door, I will kill you.”
“And them?” Redstar snapped his fingers, and two King’s Shieldsmen approached, their heavy boots shaking dust from the walls. The first was Sir Nikserof Pasic, the most veteran of his order remaining within the Glass Castle. His arm wound had healed. The other, Sir Austun Mulliner, whom Torsten had wounded so deeply outside Winde Port. “Will you murder them too, just like last time?”
Torsten hurried to the bars and looked Nikserof in the eye. The Shieldsman refused to look back. “Nikserof, you must not listen to a word he says,” Torsten pled. “Can’t you see how he’s deceived you all?”
“They are under strict orders to keep me safe, by the King himself,” Redstar said. “After a man of your order—former order—tried to kill me in my quarters, they’re lucky they aren’t all hanged. But that man wasn’t really one of them, was he, Torsten?”
Torsten’s heart sank. He hadn’t yet heard from anyone, but that meant Wren the Holy was able to reach out to Sir Rand Langley to redeem himself through the death of Redstar. Clearly, he'd failed.
“What did you do to him?” Torsten questioned.
“Far less than I should have. He escaped like the spineless rat he is.”
“Turning to a Deserter?” Sir Mulliner said. “By Iam, what happened to you in Winde Port?”
Sir Nikserof didn’t say a word.
“I thought you were better than turning to deserters and ale-soaked cowards to do your dirty work,” Redstar said. “You have abandoned honor in your mad quest to prove me something I’m not. Your men see it too.”
Torsten again tried to get Nikserof to acknowledge him, but now understood why he wouldn’t. Taking the vows of the King’s Shield meant serving for life, and Rand Langley had abandoned the castle after Torsten returned, leaving nobody to answer for why so many had died. By their code, he should have been hanged.
Torsten realized then that he could have attempted asking Nikserof to do what was necessary and take down Redstar. They had fought together in Winde Port, bled together. Instead, Torsten went to a deserter for help—failed—and again played right into Redstar’s hands.
Torsten shifted his gaze to Mulliner, who stared back, eyes full of frustration and judgment. Torsten closed his eyes and let his chin fall to his chest.
Sir Nikserof removed a ring of keys from his belt and began unlocking the cell door.
“Nikserof, whatever this is, there’s still time,” Torsten said without looking up. “I know I don’t deserve to wear the White, but he will destroy you. Hang me if you must, but set him beside me.”
“Sir Pasic,” was Nikserof’s only reply as the keys fumbled within the lock. He’s nervous. Perhaps he might still welcome the opportunity to tear the warlock down.
“Some of the King’s Shield know how to obey the command of their king,” Redstar said. “It shouldn’t be so difficult as it’s in the name, but you seem intent on undermining him at every turn.”
The lock clicked, and the door swung open. Nikserof and Mulliner entered and seized Torsten’s arms to cuff them. Austun then gave him a hard tug.
“Would you listen to me!” Torsten implored. “He doesn’t serve the King; he only serves himself!”
“Relax, Torsten,” Redstar groaned. “This isn’t your execution. I simply want to show you something.”
“Nothing you show me will change a thing.”
“We shall see.” Redstar grinned. “Come.”
The Redstar Rising Trilogy Page 90