IV

The parks were quiet and tranquil for the most part, except for the occasional noise from the tumultuous happenings in various parts of the city where demonstrations and uprisings happened.

Above the trees Arlian could see black smoke rising from multiple directions as he followed Gracian through the walkways. The immaculate parks had been so far untouched by vandals.

“It’s this way,” Gracian said.

Arlian knew where the massive statue was located, had visited it many times while walking through the parks with Mariel. It was a lovely place.

When they arrived, Arlian immediately saw the rope Gracian and climbed down to get to the walkway.

He looked about. “Is there no other way up there?”

“It’s possible,” he said, glanced this way and that, though he seemed unsure of himself. “There’s a lot of thick underbrush and the hill is steep. The mouth of the cave, there’s no easy walkway.”

“Hmm.”

“I think we’d have to jump.”

The bronze fire-bowls had guttered out long ago, since this area was not being tended to by the keepers. The pool beneath the statue of king Kiryndaro was full of leaves and every coin that would normally have been waiting for the priests was gone.

The statue was at least twenty paces high, the king majestic in its smoothly-carved white marble. The figure was adorned with an armor cuirass etched in gold, the crown atop his head gleaming in what sunlight was left. The red rubies that had normally incrusted the crown had been dug out.

So much for vandals, Arlian thought.

“I can’t climb that in my armor. He unbuckled his sword belt and tossed it to Gracian. The man—not a fighter, probably had never held a sword in his life—caught the belt awkwardly, like he didn’t quit know how to old the weapon, or that he was unaccustomed to its weight.

Arlian unbuckled his cuirass and it fell to the ground. The armor smiths of Aevalin had been using Yarishan designs for the past decade, so removing and putting on the armor was a simple thing that a knight could do on his own without help of another.

His gauntlets wouldn’t help him climb, but he wanted to keep them in case combat became inevitable. He also keept the shin guards strapped to his legs.

Under the black-painted armor of his station, Arlian wore a padded gambeson of high quality with diamond stitching. He probably didn’t quite appear as though he were out for a stroll in the town, but it didn’t matter.

“Here,” Gracian said, giving Arlian back his belt. He strapped it to his waist and gestured for Gracian to precede him up the statue.

The man nodded, took to the rope and used the statue as a base for his feet. It didn’t look overly hard, though Gracian struggled.

“I’m surprised.”

The man grunted, unable to respond.

“You’re a servant—a clerk. It’s impressive.”

Something behind him rustled in the manicured hedges. Arlian turned, regarding the area, wary against anyone who might see them. If the Schuarists caught them here, they would no doubt wonder what was going on, seeing a Watchman climbing king Kiryndaro’s statue.

Trouble would follow.

These bastards of the Grand Mage were strangely unorganized, and yet willing to work together on short notice.

Very cultish, he thought.

Letting his blade sink back to the bottom of its scabbard, Arlian let his guard down. The noise was nothing—probably a bark rat. He hoped Captain Lech and Brakso would return soon, with more men. They would need a lot more men.

Gracian grunted as he disappeared over the statue’s shoulder. Evidentially there was a landing up there. He looked over. “It’s your turn”—he called, breathing hard—“…Commander.”

Arlian never cared for the full gloves that covered his fingers from tip to hand, instead choosing good gloves where the tips of his fingers were bare. He’d always thought a better grip on his blade over the added protection was more worth the risk.

As if not wearing gloves at all, he rubbed his hands together and took hold of the rope and climbed after Gracian.

With the statue as a base for his boots, the climb was difficult, but not as hard as he thought it would be.

Grunting, he crested king Kiryndaro’s shoulder and took Gracian’s hand. The man had a surprisingly firm grip.

Breathing heavily, Arlian regarded the cave mouth.

“This is it,” Gracian said. “This was an escape tunnel for the nobility when the High City had been the main citadel of the city.”

It made sense. Aevalin was nestled into the shoulder of a mountain. To escape a siege, one would have to climb Mount Herrylenia—and it was no easy feat.

A passageway was more advantages because of expedience.

Gracian lead the way, taking one of the lit torches at the mouth of the cave. “I lit this on my way down.”

“Can it not be seen from the pathway?”

“I don’t think so.”

The hewn stones within the cave were surprisingly smooth, but the cavern was not completely artificial, as the upper area had a natural cavity with stalactites, albeit, small ones.

They glittered beautifully in the torchlight.

“How long does this travel for?”

“Not long,” Gracian said, his voice echoing off the cave walls. Their reverberating voices sounded ghostly—and evil. “The exit is just this way. There’s a garden up ahead and a thick cops of trees that obscures the cave entrance.”

“Are there any—“

Gracian stopped, his body visibly tensing. “My lord!” He back-stepped quickly, almost running into Arlian, but he dodged the man’s sudden movement. “My lord—look out!”

A finely-dressed man was in the cave with them, torch in hand. He lunged toward Arlian with a belt knife but his edge was deflected by Arlian’s armored vambrace and the man stumbled forward from the weight of his own strike.

Arlian came in with his fist against the man’s jaw and he went down to the cold stones, his blade clattering loudly.

Not stopping to regard the man any further, Arlian let loose his sword, grabbed up their attacker’s fallen torch and made for the cave exit.

Moving quickly, he left the cave mouth, the warm air of the summer night more palpable since they’d been in the coolness of the cave.

The Commander of the Watch wanted to surprise any other attackers by moving upon them quickly, not giving them time to recover from their sudden shock, but there were none others in the area.

Relaxing, he went back into the cave where he found Gracian picking up the belt knife. At the fallen man’s waist was a coil of thick rope.

“He was going to climb down,” Arlian said, nudging his torch toward the man.

Gracian nodded. “But was he a concerned servant or—“

“Or a Schuarist?” Arlian finished for him. “He seemed to be rather tense,” he added, “but so are we.”

So that told them nothing.

“It’s impossible to know,” Gracian said.

“We need to stay on our guard. Let’s tie this man up here in the cave so he can’t go for help.”

Gracian nodded, bent and took the coiled rope and together they tied the man up, Gracian holding his feet while Arlian wrapped the rope around his legs, and then around his body and arms.

If he was a Schuarist, he was a secret supporter, looking to get out the same way Gracian did to warn his fellows of a backdoor escape. Or a backdoor entry so they could get at Councilor Jorrissiana.

Arlian sighed. So much was riding on the councilor. So far her vote had not been cast. She was undecided, but word was she was leaning toward supporting Prince Kandrion—something the Klause Schuar’s supporters would not abide.

“Let’s go,” Arlian commanded, and together they left the cave and made for the councilor’s residence.

Being the commander of the City Watch, Arlian’s own residence was of a higher caliber than that of the average citizen. Not because the station came with special favors, but simply because of the pay.

But the High City was far above the quality Arlian and Meriel were accustomed to. He didn’t care—these residences were too luxurious for his taste.

And now they were in danger of becoming a shambles. At least the ones in the front of the High City village.

“It’s quiet,” Arlian said, glancing about. And it was, except for the commotion on the other side of the residences where the switch backed road and its trampled gardens lay. That’s where Captain Orvyn and his Watchmen were defending the residences.

Why was that the only road up here?

It seemed to Arlian the escape path inadvertently gave the High City landlords an excuse not to spend the coin needed for a second road.

“It’s this way,” Gracian said. “Follow me!”

He picked up his pace and Arlian followed him between two manor houses with white and pink bricks, gardens with ornamental flours, tempered glass windows and delicately wrought iron gates. Statues lined the walkways and the roofs were of high quality blue titles.

A shame to see them scratched and beaten and burned, but these had so far been untouched. At this juncture, the Schuarists only wanted Jorrissian and so far hadn’t resorted to riotous tactics up here—thanks to Captain Orvyn and the efforts of his men.

“Hurry,” Arlian called. “They might not be able to hold the entrance to the grounds much longer.”

“It’s this way,” Gracian said, taking Arlian between some apartment buildings down a path of lanterns and fountains until they reached a residence at the end of the cul-de-sac.

Arlian craned his neck just to take in the whole structure. There were at least six levels. Ornamental vine flours hung from the eves, giving the area an even more fragrant aura than what Arlian had noted before.

He saw it before Gracian said anything. “Oh no.”

The door…

It was smashed open.

Shouts from inside erupted.

Arlian bolted past Gracian, his sword out of its scabbard in an instant. When he got into the anti-chamber, he looked both ways for potential attackers.

Something tumbled from upstairs.

Glass shattered.

“Stay away! Back!”

Arlian rushed up the stairs, his boots stomping every two steps.

“You have no right to be in here! Leave at once!”

It was the shocked and fearful voice of an older woman. Jorrissiana for sure! Arlian nearly fell over when he tripped on a bloody corpse at the top of the stairs, the dead man clearly a guard, his scabbard empty, but his blade nowhere to be seen.

Stamping forward to keep his balance, Arlian fall against the wall on the other side of the open hall, a framed painting disconnecting from where it hung and slamming to the highly polished floorboards.

“What was that?” someone called, his rough tone muffled through the thick wooden door.

“I don’t know,” another man said.

“Help!” Jorrissiana called.

“Silence!”

Arlian wiped the sweat from his face and grasped his sword hilt more tightly.

“Go check it out.”

Just then a man came out of what looked like the entrance to the sun room—armored and ready to cross blades.

Where in the name of the gods did a man like this appear? Men of this sort had not been mixed with the Schuarist crowds anywhere that Arlian was aware. He pointed an aggressive finger directly at the man, who didn’t seem surprised to see him standing there in the least. “Desist this attack at once, or I’ll kill you, Schuarist!”

The man smirked, his mouth full of well-maintained teeth, though they had gaps, giving him an intimidating air, but what was more, Arlian took notice of the man’s countenance. He had the look of a killer, and he was armed to the teeth like a mercenary.

Shit.

Jumping back, Arlian barely moved out of the path of his attack’s blade, a long great sword—too long for indoor fighting.

The length of Arlian’s blade didn’t afford him very much more advantage over this cutthroat.

His attacker came in for another death blow, but Arlian took hold of his blade in his left hand, raising the weapon more quickly than he could have from the hilt—the move known as half-swording—saved his life, and he kicked the man back, his boot coming into heavy contact with his lower cuirass.

“Gracian!” Arlian called.

He needed assistance, or else he would be cut down if this mercenary’s accomplice came out to assist him.

“Gracian!”

“My lord?” the man’s voice came from downstairs.

He actually felt the swish of air the tip of his opponent’s blade made when cutting through the air, nearly slicing Arlian’s head off.

“NOW GRACIAN!”