Chapter 23

Dumas hated Aris Ravenscroft.

The General had made a mockery of him. Aris Ravenscroft had tricked him into revealing more information than he had ever intended to give. He’d been played like a rookie by the supposedly uptight General and he should have known better. Dumas should have caught Aris’ wiliness but he hadn’t and it ate at his pride. Aris Ravenscroft had made an embarrassment of him.

He had cheapened his name.

Dumas killed those who embarrassed him. He did worse to those who smeared his name.

Aris hadn’t only wounded Dumas’ pride, but had nearly killed his business too after the fact that he had gotten his intel from him had surfaced.

Aris Ravenscroft needed to die.

The business that had once been booming had been tainted by the General. His usual clients; thieves guilds, squabbling nobles, and the kings of the low-lives, had dried up after the leak.

His cliental didn’t trust a man who would sell them out.

Some had put bounties on his head. That was a foolish move.

Dumas had dispatched the would be assassins with ease, he had enough money and secrets to protect himself, but how long could those ties last?

Dumas needed to redeem his name.

He had been able to deal with the petty noble that had sent the assassin by leaking his bad habit of having his way with his underage servants and then making them suddenly ‘disappear’ never to be seen again.

The bounty had disappeared, but Dumas knew someone else would put a price on his head again sooner or later if he didn’t deal with Aris quickly.

He needed his wall of secrets to be constantly filled to keep his protection up. He was no fool to think that it would last if he didn’t keep his work up, and because of the General, it had slowed to a trickle.

That man would be the death of him.

General Ravenscroft needed to be eliminated.

Dumas had giggled like a child when he heard that Aris was searching him out. The perfect opportunity had fallen right into his lap.

The General would pay for destroying Dumas’ empire.

*****

“It’s good to see you again,” Dumas purred as Aris stepped into the ornate living room.

Aris took in the large study, making sure to scan every detail. Dumas had always preferred meeting in public. That he had been invited to Dumas’ dwelling place set alarms ringing in his mind.

The loosened skin that hung from the fat man’s jowls were an even bigger warning.

Something was wrong.

The mansion may not have been the fat man’s true dwelling place, but the well worn interior and the displays of wealth made Aris guess this truly was the fat information broker’s real home. Dumas loved backhanded declarations of superiority and the expensive masterpieces that hung on the wall, some Aris knew to be stolen from wealthy nobles, showed just that.

The fat man wanted him to know just how superior he was to Aris.

Why had he been invited to the man’s house?

“Something’s up.” Aris thought while he returned the Dumas’ greeting.

Aris wondered if the Dumas had noticed how tense he had become. The information broker made no reaction when Aris shifted to more easily access the tiny boot knife that Dumas’ guards had missed during their frisk of him.

Maybe the information broker hadn’t noticed.

“So I hear you’re looking for information on an old soldier you used to serve with during Evrain’s mountain campaigns. Am I correct?” Dumas said with an overly friendly smile.

Aris nodded in affirmation. “Well done. I would expect nothing less from you,” he attempted to massage Dumas’ ego.

The greasy man smiled at the compliment. It was something.

Aris had been well aware of the danger he was walking into, meeting Dumas. But he was desperate. He needed to find Wallace. Something in his gut told him that the grizzled veteran would have the answers he was searching for.

He wouldn’t be a fool though.

One of the first things Aris done when he’d gotten back to his feet after his mysterious coma was to track down the information broker and see what effect his new status as a hero had had on the man. Aris had known immediately that he would have to add the fat man to the growing list of enemies his newfound fame had brought him. So it was with the utmost care he had decided to reach out to Dumas when he’d failed in all his attempts at tracking down his old captian.

“Well you’re quite lucky you’ve got a friend like me who has your back,” Dumas leaned back into in his seat, or rather, more slid into it like a massive slug, and rested his arms atop his ample girth. “The moment I heard that you were searching for an old comrade, I set out my feelers. Anything to help the new hero of the empire, right?”

Aris grimaced at the saccharine way Dumas said ‘hero.’

“Right. Anyway, my network was able to find who you’ve been looking for. Your old superior officer Wallace Holstead if I’m remembering his name correctly.”

Aris gave a slight tilt of his head showing Dumas that his guess had indeed been correct. “Impressive,” he said.

“Well he wasn’t hard to track down. You’ve always stood out above the crowds, and now that you’re the newly christened ‘hero’ of the empire, people were practically begging to share information.” Dumas licked his lips. It was a lie of course.

Dumas had return the information he had one a key member of the Veaish military to get the information he had needed, but if it allowed him to kill Aris it would be worth it. Worth everything he had lost.

“So what is it going to cost me?” Aris asked.

“The same thing it always does with you. Another piece of information. I want to know you better than anyone. Even your wife,” Dumas replied to Aris’s question.

“Okay. You, know how I famously didn’t attend my brother’s execution? It’s because he begged me not to. It killed me, but it was his last wish.” He hated giving the fat man the information, but he felt compelled to talk.

Dumas grinned. It disgusted Aris. “That’s not gonna be enough.”

“Well here’s a piece of information that may surprise you,” Aris said, making a snap decision. “I’m not the hero everyone says I am. I barely took part in killing the revolutionaries,” Aris chose his words carefully. He wanted the image of him as the hero who’d personally saved the life of the Emperor to be exposed for the lie it was, but even one misspoken word around Dumas could become a noose in the future. “Yes I let the Emperor know of the attack and fought them, but it was someone else who actually stopped him. People that even you are afraid to speak of.”

Dumas drank in the news with a smile. Aris had given him a world of information in those few words. It would almost be a shame to kill him now.

Almost.

*****

“Hide yourself,” Wallace abruptly stopped his lesson and commanded Kestrel to obey. “Go into the pantry. If you look closely behind the big bag of flour you’ll see the shelf there is set on hinges. Use the knot of wood on the side as a handle to open it,” he said.

Kestrel wondered what had alarmed the old soldier so, but he had come to trust the old man over the time he’d been under Wallace’s care. He’d seen many visions of him saving the men under his command. He would do anything to protect those in his care.

Kestrel knew better than to question the grizzly old man.

He’d no sooner stepped inside the secret compartment —which was barely bigger than Kestrel himself— than a knock came on the door. There was a certain cadence to it that tugged at the back of Kestrel’s mind. It sounded familiar somehow.

Why?

Wallace stomped to the door and opened it.

“Aris Ravenscroft. What a surprise. How long has it been?” Wallace couldn’t hide the surprise from his voice. “To what do I owe the honor?”

Aris Ravenscroft? The Aris Ravenscroft? What was the general in charge of the city guards doing at Wallace’s tiny place?

Fury boiled in Kestrel. His hands clinched. His knuckles turned white. Why was Aris Ravenscroft visiting Wallace? What connection did they have?

It took every ounce of self control he could muster for Kestrel to keep from bursting out and attacking the man. How could the monster in charge of the men who’d killed Cillia —beautiful innocent Cillia— be friends with Wallace?

Aris Ravenscroft deserved to die for what his men had done to Cillia.

“Shut up and listen.” Kestrel commanded himself. “You won’t learn anything if you’re too angry to listen to what’s happening you idiot!”

“Are you alone old friend?” Aris asked.

“Yes,” there was a hint of sadness in the gruff old man’s voice.

It sounded like he hated lying to the General.

“Good. I trust you can still handle a metalvine well enough?” Aris asked.

“Of course boy. And I bet you I could still teach you a trick or two,” Wallace’s voice had a tinge of bravado to it.

Aris laughed. There was a familiarity there. Why?

“I’m glad to hear that, because you’re going to need those skills. I had to resort to visiting Dumas to track you down, and as I’m sure you know I’m not on his good side anymore,” General Ravenscroft explained. “Anyway, he tracked you down for me, but I imagine he plans on killing me and anyone else he can catch in the trap he set up old friend. And I, like an idiot, fed him some information that could be very damaging, so we need to get out of this alive and face that pig.”

Just how well did the two know each other? The General talked to the older man like he had known him for ages.

“How many are there?” Wallace asked. “I was only able to count four before your unexpected visit.”

When? How? Kestrel hadn’t noticed anyone.

“I saw them too. They were sent ahead to scout the location. There’s six more.” Aris calmly explained. “Do you feel up for it? I’ll get seven or eight and if your old bones still hold, you can clean up the rest.”

“I’d say you’ve got the numbers backwards, but I’m too old for this…I think we’re gonna need some help. Kestrel, we’re going to need your help here, so come on out of your hiding space. Oh, and make sure to save whatever anger you have towards our guest for until after we fight off these thugs!” Wallace shouted towards Kestrel’s hiding place.

Kestrel cursed but obeyed and soon stood beside Wallace, arms crossed in front of his chest with cords of fury tightening them. His eyes poured over Aris.

The General was shorter than Kestrel had imagined him. Kestrel had always thought him to be a mountain of a man but Aris Ravenscroft was nearly three inches shorter than himself.

Despite Kestrel having him beat in hight, the General had an imposing air. He felt as deeply rooted as the mountains. His blue eyes were deep and sharp as a sword, his blond hair was cropped short, just like those of the city guards in his employ, and he had a well manicured goatee that practically screamed militaristic discipline.

He appraised Kestrel in the space of a second. He nodded.

“You know how to handle one of these things?” he tossed his metalvine to Kestrel.

“No, but I can fight,” Kestrel growled.

He hated the man standing before him. His guards had killed Cillia, but Kestrel’s desire to live trumped his hatred at the moment.

“You would be proud of the kid. He almost took out two of your guards, both armed with metalvines, with his bare hands. He has raw talent.”

Aris raised his eyebrows at Wallace’s comment. “I’ll have to ask you what my guards did to you to deserve that if we live through this,” Aris said to Kestrel.

The sincerity in his voice startled the young man. Did he really mean what he had just said?

“Are you ready?” Wallace asked.

“On three,” Aris said as he snatched the razor sharp fillet knife Wallace used to gut fish. He turned to Kestrel. “Just hit anyone that isn’t us. Got it?”

Kestrel nodded.

“One, two, three!”