The Nightblade Epic Volume Two: A Book of Underrealm, page 66
Even as Loren studied it, her attention was pulled away by the people milling about. Passersby gave the manor an uneasy look. The merchants hawking their wares seemed to studiously avoid looking at the place, as though they wanted their customers to forget it was there. Loren saw two children running along, and one of them stopped to spit on the building’s wall. A nearby guard gave a cry and came after the girl, but she laughed and scampered off.
“I am no great judge of people,” said Wyle, making it clear in his tone that he did not think that was true. “But I would wager that these citizens do not enjoy that building.”
“That is Wojin’s home,” said Kerri. “Or at least, it was before he moved into the palace.”
“Then why would he not give his speech from the palace?” said Chet.
Kerri glanced about to make sure no one was close enough to overhear them. “King Jun used to do so,” she said. “But it required opening the palace gates so that the people could fill the courtyards inside. They loved Jun, and so he did not fear to do so. I doubt Wojin feels the same. It would surely make him anxious to have so many thousands of citizens inside his very walls.”
“This is heartening,” said Wyle, grinning. “These people seem to be half revolting already.”
Annis frowned at him. “That was a poor joke. And we should not grow overconfident. Let us craft our plan.”
“The crowd could hear me from the statue,” said Loren. “It stands on a pedestal in the center of the square.”
“Yet you would be surrounded,” said Wyle. “The crowd would hamper the guards from coming to attack you, but it would not stop them completely. And the people would be a hindrance to your escape as well. Also, there is no cover to stop an arrow.”
Loren grimaced. “Of course. My first thought was that Wojin would not have his soldiers shoot at me if I stood there, for a miss might strike the crowd. Yet from what I hear of him, he might not be deterred.”
Kerri’s expression grew dark. “No, Wojin would care little for that.”
Gem bounced on his feet. “The rooftops!”
He pointed to the manors across from Wojin’s. Their roofs were the same red tile as most in Danfon, and each a gentle slope meeting in a peak. And Loren saw now that while they were far shorter than the manor across the square, they were almost of a height with the balcony from which Wojin would deliver his speech.
“That would do,” Loren mused. “But I should like to get a better look.”
“I will find us a way up,” said Gem, and scampered off to do just that. It was only a few moments before he returned. “Follow me.”
Just beside the middle building was a huge pile of fresh-cut lumber. It was stacked neatly and formed a sort of staircase leading to the roof’s edge.
Loren nodded. “This is perfect. It will let us get up and down from the roof, and I can address the crowd from there.”
“Yet it still proves a poor means of escape,” said Wyle. “If the space is indeed packed with the citizenry, you will not be able to get through them after climbing down.”
“There is likely another way off the roof,” said Gem. “Let us climb up and see.”
He leaped up the piles of timber like a satyr, and Chet started up behind him. But Wyle took a quick step back and raised his hands. “I shall leave such exertions to you. I have a physique built for cleverness and charm, but not for climbing.”
“That goes for me as well,” said Annis. “Besides, someone should keep an eye on the smuggler.”
Wyle held up a finger. “Ah, ah. I work for the king now. That means I am an honest businessman.”
Loren arched an eyebrow. “Indeed. But all the same, I think Annis is right—Uzo and Shiun will remain here with the honest businessman.”
“Certainly,” said Shiun. She took a step closer to Wyle, as though she were ready to catch him if he tried to sneak away. Uzo stepped up on the smuggler’s other side.
Wyle shook his head with an air of long-suffering dignity. “Always so distrustful,” he said. “But I forgive you. Who could blame such an upstanding servant of the King’s law?”
Loren smiled and turned to climb the pile of timbers. But to her surprise, she saw Kerri starting the climb as well.
“It might be better to remain here,” said Loren. “There is no need to risk yourself.”
Kerri raised an eyebrow, but she did not stop making her way up. “You think this is a risk? I think the danger will come during Wojin’s speech. If you fear I cannot keep up, do not worry. I am as much a city child as you are.”
Loren laughed at that, and so did Gem. The boy had reached the rooftop already, and had lowered a hand to help Chet make the last few steps. “She is no daughter of a city,” said Gem. “Loren came from the forests.”
Kerri seemed surprised—so much so that her foot slipped. Loren quickly caught her hand and steadied her. “Thank you,” mumbled Kerri. “And forgive me for assuming. You are more refined than I would expect from a backwater bumpkin.”
Loren’s cheeks flushed. “I am only pleased you have not made fun of my accent, the way most people do. As for refinement, I would not say that I possess much, though I have had many experiences since leaving my home.”
“She has indeed,” said Gem. “You should have seen her when we first met in Cabrus. She stared in wide-eyed wonder at all the buildings, and her accent was even worse than it is now.”
Kerri laughed. “I think it is lovely.” Loren’s cheeks flamed still further.
Chet helped Kerri make the last few paces of the climb. The girl was not quite as agile as she had boasted, though she was no bumbler, either. They took a few cautious steps on the roof. Loren was pleased to find the red tiles were firm under her feet—they would not slip and make her lose her footing, and she doubted if they made any noise that could be heard in the manor below. Gem bounced close to the front edge of the roof, making Loren’s heart skip nervously. She always had to remind herself of Gem’s familiarity with heights, for he took risks and balanced on perches that she herself would not have dared. Chet stopped a pace behind the boy, looking at the square below.
“It is a bit more exposed than I would like,” said Chet. “They might still be able to shoot at you.”
“The lip of the roof will give me some cover from the street,” said Loren.
“I do not mean down below,” said Chet. “If he has any archers on the balcony with him, or in the building, they will have a clear shot.”
Loren looked at Wojin’s manor. There were, indeed, many windows with a good view of her, and the balcony was more than wide enough to allow for archers. “I had not thought of that. I suppose I shall have to keep my words brief, then.”
“But at least there are many routes of escape,” said Gem. “And not just to the sides, but behind.”
He pointed, and Loren could see that there were indeed many rooftops leading directly away from the square. There were not many gaps, and all were an easy leap.
“That shall be my route of escape,” she said. “But we should find a place to climb down. I would rather know just where to go, rather than have to discover a ladder in the thick of things.”
Gem led the way, jumping from one roof to another, and they all hurried to follow him. But it was almost no time at all before he stopped and pointed again. There was a drainpipe against a solid shop wall, anchored to the building with thick iron bands that would form perfect handholds.
“There,” he said. “And we are far enough from the square that I doubt they will be able to reach you here.”
“It is perfect,” said Loren. “Though just to be safe, let us all climb it, to make sure it will hold.”
It did, and when they had reached the cobblestones, Kerri led them back towards the square. When they came around the corner of the manor, Annis and the others turned to them in surprise.
“Back so soon?” said Wyle.
“Will it work?” said Annis.
“It will,” said Loren. “It is as good a place as any to address the crowd, and there is an easy way to escape once I have done so.”
“Most excellent,” said Wyle. “Though while you have been scampering about having an adventure, I have turned my considerable mind to our plan. I think there is a way to make your appearance do more for our cause.”
Loren folded her arms. “Oh?”
Wyle flashed his easy grin. “You are an impressive woman, Nightblade, and your black cloak will do you many favors in capturing the people’s minds. I think King Jun is right, and his people have no great love for the usurper. Yet while the masses love to believe in a figurehead, they are reluctant to follow them unless they see their fellows already doing so.”
“Speak plainly, smuggler,” said Loren. “I do not enjoy parsing the meaning from your words.”
“He means that a crowd will follow a crowd,” said Annis. She turned to Wyle. “That wisdom is known to many. But how do you mean to use it?”
“In the simplest way possible,” said Wyle. “When the Nightblade addresses the people, no doubt some of them will listen to her. But if some of them give voice to their support, and loudly, that will sway even more hearts.”
Annis’ eyes lit up, and she nodded eagerly. “Agents. Plants in the crowd to raise a cry.”
“I do not understand,” said Loren.
“Wyle will hire some few people—beggars, mayhap—to cry their support for you as you speak,” said Annis. “That will encourage others to do the same. It is one thing to whisper gossip in your own shop. It is quite another thing to shout down a king—even a false one—when his guards are close at hand, and armed.”
“But even the meek will rise up if they think they have the support of their fellows,” said Wyle. “If we are agreed, then, I will see to the specific arrangements.”
“More of your friends within the city?” said Chet.
Wyle cocked his head with a smile. “But of course. The meaner sort—not quite beggars, as the Yerrin girl said, but close enough. They will require payment—but I do not doubt that King Jun will be willing to accommodate that. As well as a fee for business honestly conducted, of course.”
Loren fumed. Wyle confused her sometimes, when he seemed so eager to help them—but only until she discovered how he meant to profit from it.
“Very well,” she said. “I will speak to King Jun and secure your payment—once he has the city. In the meantime, send your messages and have your friends ready to act.”
“My pleasure,” said Wyle, bowing low. “I imagine one of the Mystics will accompany me, to ensure there is no wrongdoing? Which one shall you send—the handsome one, or the quiet one?”
Loren looked at Shiun. The woman barely restrained a sigh as she went off with Wyle. Loren turned to Annis and the others. “Let us return to the manor and tell the king our plan.”
“Later,” said Annis. “Before we do, we have some goods to retrieve. Did you forget the tailor?”
Loren’s eyes widened as she stared at her friend. “You cannot mean to fetch a dress now, Annis. There are more important things to be done.”
“My dress is unimportant, but your new clothes are not.” Annis’ tone brooked no argument, and she stepped forwards to take Loren’s arm. “One cannot take too much care with one’s appearance when one is about to become a legend.”
“She is already a legend,” said Gem brightly. Annis ignored him and led Loren northeast into the city.
THE DREAM TOOK HER.
LOREN was in the sewers, and the man was there. The one whose hair was cropped close, who dressed in black leather, who had scars along his arms. His eyes still glowed with that strange light, akin to magelight and yet somehow different.
He leaned against the passage wall and put a finger to his lips, though Loren had spoken no word. She spun, looking around. They were in Danfon’s sewers, but she could not place their exact location. Then she thought she heard a noise—a great deal of running water. The river. They must be near the place where Wyle had first led them into the sewers.
She turned back to the man with the scars. He still held a finger to his lips, but now he lowered it and stepped around the corner. Though she had not willed her body to move, Loren found herself following him. She stepped around the corner and almost bumped into his back. The man motioned her to silence and then stepped aside for her to see.
There were Damaris and Gregor, just a little way down the tunnel. But there, too, was a woman Loren did not recognize. She had the look of a Dorsean woman, and she sat in a chair facing Loren. Damaris and Gregor faced her, away from Loren. Then Loren realized that the woman was bound and unable to move.
For the moment, Damaris and Gregor seemed content to ignore their prisoner. Gregor strode up and down the sewer, studying its walls, its ceiling. “This is how Loren entered the city,” he said. “I know that she and her party came this way, but my agents could not discover her whereabouts above ground.”
“That is no matter,” said Damaris. “Maintain a guard so that they cannot escape the same way. But I do not think she will try to flee. I think she came here seeking us. If that is true, then it is only a matter of time before she reveals herself, and that is when we may strike.”
Loren’s knees shook. Damaris knew she was in the city. Of course she would know eventually—Loren meant to reveal herself to the whole populace the next day. But how had she found out in advance? Or was this a vision of the future?
Her terror increased tenfold as Damaris turned to look into her eyes.
“Hello, Loren,” she said softly.
“I … this is a dream,” said Loren.
How did she know that? She had never realized it before—not while she was in the dream, at least. Or had she? Her mind was muddled.
Damaris did not acknowledge Loren’s statement. She only came forwards, walking up until she stood less than a pace in front of Loren. Gregor did not follow, though Loren could almost feel the bodyguard grow tense.
“Thank you,” said Damaris, “for bringing Annis to Danfon.”
Loren wanted to flee, but she could not move. “She is not here. You have been misled.”
The merchant smiled. It was a sad, lonely expression, but her eyes were warm. She stepped forwards. Loren tried to jerk away, but she still could not move.
Damaris embraced her, arms wrapping around her back to rest on her shoulder blades. She laid her head on Loren’s shoulder, face turned away, and squeezed her tight—not to harm, but only to give comfort. Loren had almost forgotten that the merchant was nearly a hand shorter than her.
“You have taken such good care of her,” said Damaris softly. “I know now that if she had joined me in the Greatrocks, I would have regretted it. Everything had happened so fast. My hasty decision would have been my ruin. The Necromancer would have taken her from me. They have leverage over me already, but they always want more. Thank you for seeing to her safety.”
Despite herself, Loren relaxed in the merchant’s embrace. Why did she feel so safe? She knew Damaris’ evil—knew her love of others’ pain, her desire for control.
Yet after a moment, Loren recognized the truth. This was not the embrace of a friend. It was the comfort of a parent. It was something Loren had no memory of. Jordel had given her only a pale shadow of it, more akin to a battlefield commander than to a father. Loren was always expected to look after Annis, after Gem, to console them when the world was cruel, to see to their safety. Now, for just a moment, a part of her mind could pretend that Damaris’ embrace promised the same. Reassurance. Security. Protection.
“Do not forget what happened at Wellmont,” whispered Damaris.
Then she pulled away, and Loren’s wits returned. It was the dream. It made her see things—think things—that would never happen in the waking world. This was another lie. Another trick.
Damaris stepped back until she stood by the woman in the chair. The woman’s head had hung, but now she lifted it. Loren studied her. Sharp and severe features, thin eyebrows and regal lips. But she had been beaten terribly, and one eye was almost swollen shut. Far worse than that, her clothes were soaked in blood. Loren knew it came from a thousand torturous cuts, the sort that Damaris liked to give her victims as she pried information from them.
The woman tried to speak, but a bubbling cough came out instead. She hacked for a moment and tried again, her voice like steel.
“Never again will Jun sit the Dorsean throne.”
Damaris drew a dagger and cut the woman’s throat. The dagger was—had been—Auntie’s.
Loren took a step back, horrified. Then she heard a noise behind her and turned. The man in black had gone, but someone else stood there.
Kal.
The grand chancellor was resplendent in his red cloak, which was free from any of the sewer’s grime. Behind him were many Mystics, all of them armed and armored.
Loren almost melted in relief. “Damaris is here!” she said. “We can capture her!”
Kal did not answer. He raised his sword and leaped to attack her.
She barely scrambled out of the way in time. At the last moment she fell and struck the wall—but then she fell through it. Loren looked up in shock. What had seemed a small alcove was actually a side tunnel entrance. It led off into utter darkness—but in the main tunnel were Kal and his bloodthirsty Mystics.
Loren ran as fast as she could. Away from Damaris. Away from Kal and his Mystics who howled for her blood. But more red-cloaked warriors appeared in the sewers ahead. Again Loren had to turn down a side tunnel. She was hopelessly lost. Where was the city? Where was escape? She had no idea. She could only keep running.
A figure leaped out of the darkness ahead, and Loren recoiled. But it was no Mystic—or at least, not a real one. It was Niya.
Loren turned to flee again, but Niya snatched her arm.
“Quickly! We must escape!” she cried.
The Mystics were now close behind. Loren hesitated just a moment too long, and Niya’s grip was strong. Soon they flew side by side. They came to a junction.
“Bent grate!” cried Niya, pointing. Loren saw it—twisted and bent, as though it had been struck by something heavy.
