Authors: Brock E. Deskins
Garran and Adam’s steeds plodded on, the methodical clopping of hooves against the cobblestones moving them inexorably south to Artemisia and its coastal capital. Seagulls glided and squalled over the city. They competed with the pigeons for food outside café and plaza as well as covering everything in their droppings.
The smell of the sea permeated the air even inside halls of Merribourne’s grand palace. Thanks to liberal use of lavender and other exotic scents, the air was pleasing, unlike that of the city’s vast harbor. Adam and Garran followed the sound of rushing water and found a spectacular fountain located in a grand open plaza.
The fountain was set in the center of a massive, circular pool some fifty feet in diameter. A raised ring of marble encircled it to allow visitors to sit next to it and enjoy the live coral and aquatic life living within. An army of workers patrolled the grounds, chasing away all aerial invaders and ensuring the palace remained unsoiled.
Adam sat upon the marble bench and gazed into the water. “This is magnificent! Do you see all the fish?”
Garran curled his lip, unimpressed. “Too small to eat.”
“There are purposes to life other than food.”
“They’re definitely too small to screw.”
“Even for you?”
“Even for you?” Garran mimicked and made a rude gesture.
“Seriously, why can you not simply appreciate the beauty in something?”
“People like me do not have time for things that do not serve an immediate purpose. If it does not bring us closer to our goals or desires, then it has no use.”
“Sometimes, I don’t know whether to hate you or pity you.”
“You can’t do both?”
The arrival of King Callum and Queen Isobel forestalled Adam’s retort. He and Garran stood and bowed at the monarchs’ approach. Callum was a man near his father’s age, tall, proud, and still handsome despite the deepening creases across his brow and corners of his eyes. Isobel was strikingly beautiful and some fifteen years younger than her husband.
“Your Majesties,” Adam welcomed, “thank you for seeing us on such short notice.”
Callum extended his hand and clasped Adam’s wrist. “We have heard so much about your goings on these last several months. I could hardly refuse to greet the men who have given The Guild so much grief as of late. Come, let us sit here at the fountain and discuss things.”
Adam and Garran resumed their seats. “I must profess that I am a little surprised that you wished to speak to us in such an open and public place,” Adam said as the royal couple sat next to him.
Callum smiled. “Isobel and I come here often to speak with people regarding sensitive subjects. The openness shows we have nothing to hide, while the sound of the fountain ensures that no one can eavesdrop on our conversation.”
Adam looked around and noted the number of people strolling through the plaza. He was unable to discern the words of those in conversation even when they passed within a few paces of where they sat.
“Very wise, Your Highness.”
Callum smiled and nodded. “Beautiful yet functional, just as my grandfather desired when he had it built.”
Adam elbowed Garran. “Do you hear that? Beautiful
and
functional.”
Garran scowled. “Yeah, like crotchless silk panties. Elbow me again and I’ll show you another function it serves by drowning you in it.”
Adam turned back to Callum and gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Agent Holt is a hopeless deviant and drug addict who is currently moody from withdrawal of both vices.”
Isobel leaned over and patted Garran on the knee. “It is all right. I am no stranger to such things and know it can be quite vexing.”
Garran arched his eyebrows. “Really, you?”
The Queen clapped a hand to her chest and giggled. “Oh no, not me personally. My brother has always been a free spirit, and I have seen firsthand what such frivolity can induce in a body.”
“Speaking of inducing things in a body…” Garran grunted when Adam’s elbow caught him in the side. “That was your last free one! One more jab and I’ll hold you down until the bubbles stop! Your last words will be glub glub glub!”
Isobel wore a smile, but Callum was less amused. “Gentlemen, if we could return to the matter at hand.”
“My apologies, Highness,” Adam said. “Garran can be…I do not even have words for what he can be except for
effective
when he directs his skills to the proper task. Callum, you hate The Guild as much as anyone does. Your people still celebrate a freedom they lost when The Guild took over the greatest fleet in the world. With your help, your proud people can return to the seas as masters of their own ships and fortunes. They could once again own the ships they captain instead of being forced to lease them from The Guild. You could double the size of your fleet if independent merchants and captains could once again forge their own destinies.”
“Everything you say is true, Adam. I wish my father had listened to your grandfather when he warned of The Guild’s rising power. Instead, they chose to avoid the inevitable conflict, and now we all must live within their shadow. I do not have a powerful army, and now I cannot ask for Anatolia’s support in defending my kingdom. If you fail, I will lose my kingdom. Of that I am certain.”
Adam laid a hand on Callum’s shoulder. “The Guild is going to take it anyway. Of that, I am certain. They did it to my father, and they are going to do it to Opatia. Arnao is already under their thumb, and they will continue to do it until they have uncontested power in every kingdom in the land.”
Callum sighed and hung his head. “At least the only blood that will spill will be mine. My people would fight to defend me, and they would die by the thousands.”
“They are dying now, only slowly, and not just them, but their children and the children not even yet born.”
“How many will never be born if we go to war?”
Isobel stood and pulled on Callum’s arm. “Let me speak a moment with my husband.”
Isobel led Callum to the far side of the fountain. Adam watched the royal couple engage in what appeared to be a heated debate given the Queen’s animated gestures.
Garran poked Adam in the ribs with his elbow. “See that? Once again, the woman comes to our defense. You’re welcome.”
Adam slapped at Garran’s prodding elbow. “You honestly think this has anything to do with you?”
“Of course it does! You watch. Later tonight, I will receive a secret message to meet someone somewhere. That somewhere will be a boudoir and Isobel will be the someone.”
“You seriously think that Queen Isobel is going to invite you to have an affair.”
“It happens all the time.”
“By women in power?”
Garran shrugged. “Sometimes.”
“Who look like her?”
“It’s a sound theory!”
“It is delusional.”
“You saw what happened in Betham.”
“With Ingrid—a middle-aged, overweight, emotionally deprived woman with a sexual appetite nearly as depraved as your own. Isobel might not be the sharpest sword in the rack, but she is stunningly beautiful and likely has no trouble finding gratification.”
Garran gave Adam a tight smile as the couple returned. “You’ll see.”
“Agent Holt,” Callum said, “tales of your exploits have not failed to reach us here, and my lovely wife feels there might be a service you can perform for her. Should you fulfill this service to her satisfaction, we would be willing to revisit your proposal and come to an agreement.”
Garran nudged Adam. “I assure you, Your Highness, no woman has ever been dissatisfied with me. When and where shall I…perform this service?”
“I should think you will want to begin immediately so that you might get back in time.”
“Back? Back from where?”
“Urqua.”
“Urqua?”
“Yes. Isobel’s brother, Elroy, went to Urqua after exchanging correspondence with one of their citizens. He was arrested shortly thereafter as a spy and has been a political prisoner for the past three years. We were hoping that you could use your exceptional skills as a premier agent to extricate and return him to us.”
“Extricate…from an Urquan prison. I was thinking more of an infiltration than extrication…”
“If you are able to return Elroy, I will do whatever I can to aid you in your cause.”
Garran sighed. “All right. I’ll do it.”
“Wonderful! We await your return.”
Adam beamed as the King and Queen walked away and elbowed Garran. “Hey, remember when you said ‘you’ll see’? Well, I just saw.”
Garran chuckled and nudged him back. “Hey, remember when I told you what would happen if you elbowed me again?”
“Wha—?”
Garran spun, grabbed Adam by his shirtfront, and pushed him over the fountain’s enclosure and into the water.
“Goddam bloody Urqua!” Garran railed as he stomped around the room.
“So you have said a dozen times in the last hour. What is your problem with Urqua?”
“Other than it being the most oppressive regime in the world? It’s…boring!”
“So…no whorehouses?” Adam asked.
“Or proper drinking houses! It sucks! It just sucks.”
“So you will have to complete a mission sober for once. Tragic, truly tragic.”
“Like hell I will. Stay here and don’t leave—with anyone—no matter how nice their breasts might be.”
“It was one simple mistake! Where are you going anyway?”
“I need to straighten some things out before we leave.”
“And by things you literally mean your thing,” Adam accused.
“Amongst other things.”
“You know nothing good ever comes of leaving me alone in an inn. Why don’t you just stay here?”
“Why don’t you learn some self-reliance beyond that of a sub-average toddler?”
Adam raised a hand to protest but let it drop back to his side. “That is actually a somewhat reasonable argument.”
“I am glad you think so. So, if you will excuse me, there is no way I am riding into Urqua sober.”
Adam huffed through his nose. “You wouldn’t visit your mother sober.”
“If you knew my mother, you would know how badly you just failed at using sarcasm.”
Adam locked the door behind Garran and sat on the bed. He looked at the window, got up, and secured the shutters. He tried to meditate, but he could not shake his anxiety.
“This is going to end badly. This always turns out badly.”
***
Garran staggered out of the drinking house and into the nearly deserted street. Only a few late night revelers like himself and the usual cutthroats were still out at this ungodly hour. He almost made it back to the inn without sicking up—almost. Garran threw up the contents of his stomach against the wall of a building until there was nothing left but bile.
After a few more heaves for good measure, he crossed the street and plodded up the stairs, silently thanking the carpenter for having the foresight to install a sturdy handrail. Garran slumped against the door and pounded on it with his fist.
“Garran?” Adam inquired through the locked door.
Garran mumbled an incoherent response. Adam opened the door, and Garran stumbled inside to collapse into a pile onto the floor.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Garran?”
“I think I’m dying,” Garran moaned.
“You are not dying, you are just drunk off your ass like usual. Just once, I wish you would conduct yourself like a responsible adult.” Adam sat in a chair and loomed over Garran. “Not only have you drunk yourself into a coma, you selfishly put me and our mission in danger doing it. You deserve this.”
Garran gave a strangled chuckle that broke into a cough. “You are going to feel real bad when I die. So bad, it’s almost worth it.”
“You are not dying, you ass.”
Garran managed to roll onto his side and held up his hand now heavily flecked with blood. “Wanna bet?”
Adam slid out of the chair and dropped to his knees next to Garran. “Garran, what’s wrong? What’s happening?”
“He already told you, boy. He’s dying.”
Adam leapt to his feet, spun toward the door, and backed away. “Who are you?”
“Dragoslav Zeegers.”
Garran tried to stand, but Dragoslav stepped into the room and pushed him to the floor with his foot. “You just sit tight and let it happen. Struggling will only make it hurt more and take longer.”
Garran began convulsing, and bloody foam frothed around his mouth. He went still and expelled a final shuddering breath. Adam pressed his fingers against Garran’s neck to find a pulse. There was none.
“He’s dead,” Adam whispered.
Dragoslav pulled a knife and leaned down to make certain the task was complete. He recoiled at the smell of Garran’s evacuated bowels, pressed his sleeve against his nose and mouth, and gagged.
“Oh, that is an otherworldly stench!”
Adam scrambled away, pulled the shortsword from his belt hanging on the bedpost, and pointed it at Dragoslav. “Keep away! Keep away from us both!”
Dragoslav looked at Adam with a derisive sneer. “Put that pig sticker away, boy. If I have to take it from you, I’m going to make it hurt.”
“You can’t. You have orders.”
“To bring you in alive, nothing more. The way I see it, you don’t even need to have all of your limbs for me to fulfill my orders. I’m certain no one will complain if you’re missing a couple of fingers or even an eye, so it’s your choice.”
Adam looked at Garran, his eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling, and lowered his weapon. He was still a novice swordsman, a poor one at that, and fighting a trained killer like Dragoslav was a futile gesture.
“Smart boy.”
Dragoslav tied Adam’s hands behind his back with a length of cord and marched him down the stairs and out of the inn. The few people still occupying the drinking room gave them a look, but no one spoke or moved to intervene.
The former agent forced Adam down the dark streets. The smell of the city changed as they approached the docks. The cobbled street became wooden walkways that led to the long piers where several ships lay at anchor.
Dragoslav gave Adam a shove toward the gangplank leading to the deck of a sleek schooner. The ship sported a small crew of perhaps a dozen men who were obviously waiting for them.
A bearded man wearing the coat and cap of an officer approached. “I see you got him. Any trouble?”
Dragoslav shook his head. “Naw. Transcended are only dangerous to those stupid enough to fight them. I took him without raising an eyebrow. Still, I’d like to leave as soon as possible.”
“Aye. It will be a couple of hours until the tide rises enough to clear the atoll, but we run a shallow draft and should be one of the first ones out. You can lock him up in my berth. I can stomach bunking with this rabble for a few days.”
Dragoslav nodded and pushed his captive toward the captain’s quarters. It was a small ship, and even the stateroom was built with an economical approach to spatial conservation, but it was palatial when compared to the crew bunks. Dragoslav shoved Adam onto the bunk without unbinding his hands and took a seat in a nearby chair that was bolted to the deck.
Adam writhed about until he was able to sit up and glared at the man now sipping from a flask. His anger dwindled as a mix of fear and sorrow seeped into his soul. He was captured, their plan had failed, and Garran was dead. There was no one coming to rescue him this time.
***
Mona trudged up the stairs bearing a load of fresh linens for the beds. She hated these early morning duties, but folks often left in the middle of the night, usually to catch the morning tide, and she needed to have the rooms ready for the next day’s guests. She came to a room, glanced through the door, and let out a shriek.
Harriet, the other chambermaid, rushed to her side. “What is it?”
Mona pointed at the floor just inside the room.
Harriet sucked her teeth and shook her head in disgust. “Now what kind of filthy animal craps his drawers and just leaves them in the middle of the floor for decent, hardworking folk to clean up?”
“Menfolk,” Mona answered hotly.
“Mhm, you know that’s right.”
***
There was a clamor on the deck, different from the normal sound of sailors at work. Several voices rang out accompanied by brief but urgent shouting, waking Dragoslav from his slumber. By the time he stood and reached the door to the cabin, all was quiet—too quiet. The sailors should be busy setting sails and pulling in lines to put the ship under way.
Dragoslav unsheathed his blade and gripped it tightly in one hand as he slowly approached the hatch. The schooner did not have a raised aft castle, so the captain’s berth was accessed through a short flight of steps leading below decks.
Dragoslav opened the hatch, cautiously ascended a few steps, and looked out onto the deck. No one moved. He spotted several shapes in the waxing light that might be bodies. He hopped down the steps, crossed the cabin, and hauled Adam to his feet.
He pushed his captive ahead of him. “Try to run and I’ll stick you. If I think for a second that I’m going to lose you, I’ll cut your throat.”
They gained the deck and made for the gangplank. Dragoslav cried out, clapped a hand to his lower back, and stumbled to the deck. Adam spotted the glint of metal from a throwing knife now lodged in his kidney. Dragoslav withed in agony and twisted around to face his ambusher.
“You! You’re supposed to be dead!”
Garran walked out of the shadows, his blood-covered reaping blades gripped in his hands.
“Garran, you’re alive!” Adam shouted. “And wearing a dress?”
“It was the best I could find on short notice. It was this or rolling balls out, and no man wants to fight naked.”
Dragoslav tried to stem the rapid flow of blood with his hand a grunted in pain. “How the hell are you not dead?”
“Transcended are damned hard to poison. On top of that, you stupidly used Baylor’s root, which everyone knows becomes less effective when the target has large quantities of rapture root and opium in their system.”
“I never was much for poison,” Dragoslav said. “I always preferred strangling. It just seems to me like a more respectable way to kill someone.”
“You should have stuck to your methods, because now you’re dead.”
Dragoslav coughed, wincing at the wave of agony it sent coursing through his body. “I should have quit when I had the chance and retired in Wooder’s Bend like I wanted to twenty-some-odd damned years ago.”
“Wait, what about Wooder’s Bend?” Garran asked.
“Yeah, tiny turd of a town in the mountains, but peaceful. Had a house built and everything. The broad I was bedding said she was pregnant, so I figured it was a good time to make one last score before quitting the diplomatic corps for good. It was one time too many. Gregor got wind of my double dealings and had me locked away.” Dragoslav paused in his recollections, thought back, and laughed. “Oh, irony, you are a cruel bitch.”
“What are on about?” Garran demanded.
“Your name! I just remembered. I thought it was familiar. Holt was the alias I was using at the time!” He barked out another laugh. “I think I just got killed by one of my bastards!”
“One…I have siblings?”
“Dozens probably.”
Garran’s reaping blades hung by their straps from his wrists. “I finally find out who my father is, and not only do I kill him, it turns out he’s a miserable piece of crap.”
“Hey! You ain’t a prize your damned self!” Dragoslav snapped.
“Well, you know the old saying; the apple doesn’t fall far from the horse’s ass!”
Adam laid a hand on Garran’s shoulder. “Garran, we need to go.”
Garran grabbed at his dress and pulled it up. “Not before I piss in his dying eyes! Do you have any idea what you’ve put me through?”
“Oh, look,” Dragoslav shouted back, “you got my nose but your mother’s prick!”
“You bastard, I’ll kill you!”
“You already did, you miserable little shit!”
“Garran, come on!” Adam urged and pulled him away. “He’s already bleeding out. We need to get moving, and we don’t know if he has anyone else in the city helping him.”
Garran spit at Dragoslav as Adam shoved him toward the gangplank and away from the ship. Dragoslav watched them rush away through the dark tunnel that was his failing vision. He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a paper packet with trembling hands, barely able to hold onto it with his nerveless fingers.
He tore the corner off with his teeth and poured the sand-like contents into the gaping wound in his back. It burned as if someone were inserting a red-hot poker into his guts. The agony brought a moment of clarity to his mind before everything went dark.