CHAPTER TWENTY

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Alaric

*~~~**~~~*

21st of Decepter, 935 PC

Alaric stood at his boarded window letting the cool breeze that crept through chill him. His fingertips mindlessly strummed the rough surface of the window sill. The town around him was dilapidated and disgusting. If he could live anywhere else in the empire he would, but Thronerock provided the one thing he needed more than anything; anarchy. No one questioned what he did in his filthy little room in The Black Boar Inn. And more importantly, no one wandered into the lawless city looking to solve crimes or unravel mysteries. At least, not usually. It was the kind of place that no one would expect the Purists to be hiding in, gathering momentum, planning retaliation, self-defense. Thus, word that The Hounds of Haldar were sitting in the pub was unsettling. Elgar said they left no survivors. How could they know we’re here? It was obvious though. His other informants.

For years, Alaric had dealt with The Hounds of Haldar in one form or another. When he was young, he regularly rejected their pleas for him to join their mercenary group. When he was a part of The Crimson Nine he regularly used their services to avoid getting his own hands bloody. Now, as the leader of a resistance, he had to constantly worry himself over their influence in the empire. A rocky relationship with their Colonel, Rhyne Camdrie made collaborating impossible but no such turmoil existed between Rhyne and The Lotus Queen. The only thing keeping The Hounds from being skilled and disciplined Lotus was the colonel’s unwillingness to shorten his men’s life spans considerably by pumping the filth into their systems. Sadly, that may not be the case for much longer. An alchemist named Donovan Rellin was in Locke. At the infamous University da Mi’lier. And he was on the verge of creating an improvement to lotus magic. One that would stabilize the process that dried them out over time. Killed them for the Purists. Donovan Rellin was the reason Alaric and his small army had to bring the Lotus Queen down as soon as possible.

There was a sound behind him. A soft groan. It was the first time he had been alone with his captive since he and Danfield had been dragged into the inn kicking and screaming. Ah yes, Mr. Ames. How about a little fun before I meet with the Hounds? Is it unwise to make them wait too long? Eh. Maybe if we were elsewhere, but The Hounds answer to kings and I’m the king of this castle.

As he did so often, he removed a hard candy from his breast pocket. Last one. Diedro and Manaya will be back with more soon enough. When he turned he grinned at the top of Nathaniel’s drooping head. He could tell the helpless Lotus was staring at the crystals in the middle of the table. The smell of the black vile on Nathaniel’s lap made his own stomach queasy but it was also a sign that the man was ready to be manipulated fully. Look at him, desperate for his fix.

His belt and scabbard were hanging on the nearby bedpost. The dagger slid from its sheath with a metallic scrape. When he approached the table he slammed the tip of the blade into the scratched wood. Nathaniel barely moved. Alaric tipped the blade forward ever so slightly. Careful not to loosen it so much that it fell over. Easier to grab that way. Now, Nathaniel raised his head slightly, eyes peeking from beneath his draping bangs. Alaric chose to sit at the same corner of the table as the Lotus.

He stared aimlessly at the door, wondering if The Hounds would be so daring as to burst through. The hard candy rattled against his teeth as he moved it around with his tongue. They wouldn’t dare. Would they? Should I go down there? No. I will not bow to them anywhere, certainly not here.

As much as he wanted to use Coyne to extract every bit of information he could steal from Nathaniel’s mind, the boy’s magic was too valuable to waste anymore on a worthless scumbag like Nathaniel. Especially for information that he wanted more than needed.

“Look at me,” said Alaric. Nathaniel didn’t move. “Look. At me. Now.”

The Lotus lifted his head and scowled at him.

“Come now, you’ve brought this upon yourself. Surely you knew there’d be consequences for helping Urman try to ruin me… and worse… helping him slaughter a village full of people.”

Nathaniel did his best to wipe the vomit from his lips with his shoulder.

Alaric reached to the middle of the table and crushed three of the four remaining capsules with his thumb then wiped his thumb off on his pants thoroughly. Don’t want any accidents. Nathaniel watched in disbelief, his fury becoming evident as a snarl formed on his face.

“A quick game then I must be going,” said Alaric.

“Fuck your game.”

Alaric scoffed. “I think you may enjoy this one. Play well and you can have that.” Nathaniel’s eyes followed his own to the capsule. Nathaniel was unable to hide his sudden interest. His shoulders rolled back, his head raised higher.

“That’s what I thought.” Alaric leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “You and the others have put me in quite a predicament, Nathaniel.”

Nathaniel mumbled something.

A fury erupted in his chest. “Speak louder you insufferable piece of shit!” A desire to kill the man right then and there brought his hand toward the dagger. “I won’t have you mumbling your foulness under your breath.”

Nathaniel scraped his teeth across his bottom lip. His eyes on the capsule, his words directed at Alaric angrily. “I told you.” He let out a loud exhale through his nose. “Urman threatened my family.” His mouth barely opened as he spoke. Just as you claimed you didn’t know where he ran off to.

“Either way, you’re here, like this… waiting for that capsule you want so badly. So, if you answer my questions honestly, I’ll give it to you. You have my word.”

“Your word means nothing to me. Your word means nothing to anyone outside your mindless followers.” Nathaniel’s gull surprised him. Never had the commoner said anything with any real substance to it.

“Such conviction,” said Alaric. “I’m impressed. But as I said. Answer my questions and the capsule’s yours.”

“Get on with it then.”

“Why did Urman betray the Marsallas?” asked Alaric.

“He wanted the Lotus Queen’s formula. The one she uses for the lotus magic. Didn’t say anything else.” Interesting. How did the formula get out from under her nose? And what does Urman want with it? Not information he’d know.

He leaned forward and put his elbows on the table.

“Which captain did he travel with?”

“Ezil something. Dunno his surname. Don’t matter anyway, sure he’s dead by now. Urman had no intention of lettin’ him double cross him. Ezil was the slimiest son of a bitch the Lotus Army.”

Don’t recognize that name at all.

“And you and the others helped Urman get an audience with Ezil?”

“Aye. Moons ago. Urman’s been working on this for a long time. Right under your nose.”

“Why are you and the others selling the information I trusted you all with so dearly?” It was the question he had been waiting to ask when Nathaniel was at his most vulnerable. One he wanted to hear the man elaborate on rather than play a guessing game with Coyne.

“Why wouldn’t we?”

What?

“Once Urman had us at his will we all figured we’d get the most out of fuckin’ you over that we could. He had so much leverage on us coming t’you wouldn’t have done no good, had all the strings ready to pull the second anybody made their own move. Besides, you’re the insufferable one. The one that never valued us. Threatened us constantly. Berated us for making mistakes while you sat on your arse in your shitty safe house. Well guess what… she knows about The Black Boar Inn. We made sure of it. Wouldn’t be surprised if a whole horde of Lotus showed up real soon.”

Nathaniel’s words sent a jolt of paranoia through Alaric. She wouldn’t launch an attack here. Not if she knows there are so many of us. He’s trying to scare me, that’s all.

“She wouldn’t dare.”

“Course, she would. She wants the girl,” said Nathaniel. Alaric wasn’t sure if he had heard the man correctly.

“What girl?” He realized who Nathaniel meant as Nathaniel spoke.

“Her daughter.”

Cora. James. She’d risk anything to get Cora back. Suddenly, Nathaniel’s words no longer felt like an empty threat or harsh insults. Enough games.

He moved the capsule close enough that Nathaniel could bend down and gather it with his mouth.

Nathaniel didn’t act immediately like Alaric expected. Instead, he spoke.

“How do I know it’s not a trick?”

Alaric smirked at him. “There’s nothing I’d rather see more than this pathetic act.”

“And then what? Will there be more?”

“As long as you keep providing me with answers, you’ll never go without.”

He examined Alaric for several seconds before he finally bent down slowly, keeping a sideway glance on his tormentor as he moved. When his mouth was close enough to clamp his lips around the capsule Alaric sprang at him, grabbing the dagger as he moved. His left hand slammed Nathaniel’s chest down, his right plunged the dagger through the back of the man’s neck, pinning him to the table. Blood shot onto Alaric’s clothes and flowed from Nathaniel’s mouth, painting the capsule by his lips in crimson.

Alaric bent down close to Nathaniel’s ear to taunt the man but he was dead before Alaric could speak.

*~~~**~~~*

Garth was crossing the catwalk when Alaric stepped out of his room, Tripelthin followed the guard closely. The absence of a raucous crowd below felt eerie and uncomfortable.

“Gentlemen,” Alaric said as he rubbed Nathaniel’s blood into the fabric of his black tunic.

“Sir,” Garth grumbled. His large double-sided axe was strapped to his back and his eyes said he was ready to use it.

Tripelthin nodded and took a place at the banister. He glanced at The Hounds sitting at the bar. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Alaric figured that was best also. Tripelthin wasn’t much of a fighter. His abilities as a fiery Naturalist were best used to control a battlefield or flush out hidden enemies.

“Ready?” Alaric asked Garth. To which the brute nodded stoically

As they made his way down the stairs, one of the Hounds in particular watched Alaric closely from above the rim of his cup. His name was Rhyne Camdrie and he was a smug prick. Mean as a pack of hungry wolves. Made so by years of fighting with the most heralded mercenary group in the empire. His claim to fame was his incredible rise through the ranks of the mercenary group; the youngest colonel in the group’s century-long history. Alaric never believed the credibility of the story behind Rhyne’s rise, but it didn’t matter if he did or not. His men considered him something as close to a god as a man could become. A laughable notion to a man with literal magic in his soul.

Alaric stared back at the mercenary as he descended the stairs. Neither man wore a single ounce of emotion on their face. One commoner pushing me around is more than enough and Rhyne is no Iris Everton. No matter how highly he and his men think of him.

As Alaric reached the bottom of the stairs, a suffocating tension filled the pub.

Alaric’s Purists were scattered around the room. Some sat in booths, others leaned against the banister above. Each was focused solely on the exchange that was about to happen.

Garth’s frame widened eyes and lowered mugs as the two Purists approached the bar but the Hounds did not show fear. A terrible mistake in Alaric’s opinion. Garth had little sympathy for tough guys. Surviving a brawl with the brute required showing vulnerability. There was little chance Rhyne and his men would be doing that.

“Alaric,” he said in his gruff voice. He was bald like all the other Hounds. His face was round and looked like it had been carved up nice a time or two.

“Rhyne.” Alaric crunched on the last bit of his hard candy. “What brings you and your lackeys to Thronerock? You know your kind isn’t necessary here. People do their own dirty work in these parts,” said Alaric. Garth let out a short, low grumble of agreement.

Rhyne, quite unnecessarily, spit on the floor. “You know damn well why we’re here.”

“Forgive me… but I haven’t a clue,” said Alaric.

“Cut the shit.” Rhyne stood from his stool. “A dozen of my men were found dead in Blue Lakes and we both know those backward fools weren’t the ones to kill them.”

“Perhaps you overestimate the skill of mediocrity.” This brought grumbles from Rhyne’s men.

“I’ll put my mediocre foot in your ass, you fuck,” said one of the larger Hounds. He stood from his stool, followed by his comrades. Rhyne put his hand out to settle his men but never took his eyes off the Purists before him. His lips were spread just wide enough to show his yellow teeth. The muscles in his jaw were tense.

“Your days are numbered, Alaric. Everyone knows it. Three hells. You know it.” He took a step forward. “You know, I used to have a lot of respect for you. When you were a part of The High Chamber. So smooth with your words, so meticulous with the angles you’d play. But then your daughter went and took a tumble and your mind was destroyed right along with her body. And look what’s left, a man that hides in the slums of the empire.”

Alaric was already dangerously close to losing his temper. Kill him. Let Garth slaughter the rest. I could put him in his grave and he’d never lift a finger. His fingers were curling, his magical grip on his own chest wound was released, the command was on the tip of his tongue when he reconsidered. Killing their golden boy will only push them further toward Iris. No need to hand our enemies a thousand trained killers.

“Went and lost you’re fucking mind like one of them mad men you find down by the river, hiding under bridges, talking to themselves, rocking themselves to sleep.” A sinister laugh, low and scratchy, escaped from Rhyne’s mouth. “I bet you still cry over her, don’t you? Lay in bed at night and beg The Creator to give her back. Wake up in a cold sweat after you watch her fall down that shaft. Or do cower in fear at the thought of The Lotus Queen coming to get you? Jump at every sound, pull the blanket to your chin like a child.” He grinned. “She wants you dead. She wants all of you dead.” Rhyne had drifted toward him with each word. Garth stepped forward as well and placed one of his large hands on the mercenary’s chest.

Rhyne had helped talk Alaric’s temper down; turned it to a familiar sadness. “All of them,” Alaric said calmly. “I do all those things. I do see her fall. Every night. I do wake up sweating like a whore in a temple, wishing I could catch her, save her. Because I loved her with every ounce of my heart and I let her down. I’m ashamed of that, but not of regretting it. Nor am I ashamed of the fear Iris has put in all of us. She’s powerful. Because she preys on the weak-minded. And lords know there’s plenty of weak minds to prey on.” He glanced at the other Hounds purposefully. Then back to Rhyne. “She makes deals with those she knows she can turn into her puppets.”

Rhyne licked his chapped lips and tipped his head back confidently. “I don’t give a rat’s ass who’s pulling what, as long as my pockets are lined with gold.” Was that a slip? Is he rethinking working with her? “But I do care about the oath every man takes to join this elite group… We want Diedro back. Got some things we need to teach him about deserting.” The other Hounds let out their own grumbles around the bar.

A little taken back by Rhyne’s brash demonstration of courage, but unwilling to concede an inch, Alaric put his hand on Garth’s arm and lowered it. He stepped forward. “Look, I understand you’ve lost one of your pups. It’s terrible. Truly…” He reached into his pocket and retrieved two Leos that were buried there. “Here,” he said and held them out for Rhyne. “Buy yourself some leashes.” When Rhyne didn’t take the coins, Alaric pressed them against the man’s chest. It sent a small jolt of force through the mercenary.

Rhyne’s hands moved in a flash, filled with every intention of snapping Alaric’s arm at the elbow. When they were inches from snatching Alaric’s arm, they froze. All of Rhyne froze. Terror stared at Alaric. He basked in the satisfaction of seeing the Hound look so pitiful.

“Surely you know just how quick you have to be to lay hands on me, you arrogant son of a bitch. No pathetic commoner will be the first.”

The other Hounds were on the move. Cautiously but without fear.

“Stop,” said Alaric. He let the coins fall to the floor with a clank in order to grab his dagger and put the tip to Rhyne’s throat. He looked over the helpless mercenary’s shoulder, still clenching his fist, gripping every fiber in Rhyne’s body. The Hounds were skeptical at first. It was clear they were waiting for their colonel to speak, but obeyed when no words were uttered. They could see Rhyne was slowly suffocating as Alaric held control of his lungs.

Alaric's dominance wouldn’t last long though. It couldn’t. The seam in his chest was beginning to tear. Stitch by stitch like a poorly sewn sleeve tearing away at the shoulder. It took everything he had not to wince in pain as he glared into Rhyne’s eyes. He could not, however, keep himself from sounding less intimidating, less in control of the situation, himself. He wanted The Hounds out of the pub as quickly as possible. “I don’t know where this Diedro is, but if I find him, I’ll send him your way.” He released his hold on Rhyne. Rather than back away from the blade, Rhyne held his chin high, gathering his breath with remarkable grace. When he was able, he allowed his chin to knock into Alaric’s blade as he spoke.

“Three hells if you don’t. We both know damn well he’s with you.”

“That’s a serious accusation to be throwing around with no evidence,” said Alaric. It was he who sounded smug now. “I know the magnitude of the oath your men take. I’d never interfere with your… organization.”

Rhyne scoffed, his chest bounced gently. A smirk formed on his lips. “There’s no sense in lying. The dam has burst, Sampson. Your secrets aren’t secrets anymore. Everywhere we go someone knows something about you. And more than one set of eyes has seen Pyvere with you and yours.”

Nathaniel’s words raced through Alaric’s mind. Without thinking he lowered his blade from Rhyne’s chin. He glanced at The Hounds behind Rhyne. Hands were on hilts, egos were in full force.

“Careful. I wouldn’t want to have to let Garth off his chain,” said Alaric. The bodyguard pulled his axe from his back slowly.

Rhyne glanced at the monster beside Alaric. “He disrespected this letter.” He pointed to the H on his chest. “And while I’m the colonel of The Hounds of Haldar, no one will get away with that.” His arrogance flowed naturally from his lips.

A timid, scared voice interrupted the exchange. “Hey fellas, if you’d be so kind as to take your business out back, I’d appreciate it. Don’t need more damage than I get from the regulars.” The pitmaster and owner of the inn, Orin Rockfall, spoke from his place by the fire pit.

Alaric raised a hand. “Don’t worry, Orin, there won’t be a brawl in here. These lads are in over their heads. Mr. Camdrie here will realize that before any blood is shed.”

The sound of steel being half drawn from sheaths filled the bar room. The Hounds were ready to bite. Rhyne, though, remained unarmed. He examined Alaric, looked Garth up and down. A man and woman walked up beside Alaric. Lace Patterson was on his left. A Physicalist, like Garth, different in his magical abilities, but every bit as deadly. The tip of his bastard sword rested gently on the floor, both hands cupped the round pommel. A long brown pelt hung down his back. The woman on his right was Alaric’s daughter, Camila, or Cammie as most called her. Two braids circled her head like an amber colored crown, the rest of her red hair fell down her back beautifully. Her short sword was drawn but hung loosely at her side. Alaric wondered why she wasn’t on the catwalk with her preferred shortbow. He fought the urge to send her away. He hated when she put herself in the thick of conflicts.

Several more Purists appeared along the catwalk and around the room. Tripelthin was still leaning on the banister, his fingertips were set ablaze. The fraternal twins, Corbin and Therrin White stood with their bows not far from him. Kovey Walber and the Ambrose girls had slid out of their booth on the other side of the room. Velvetine looked fiercely agitated to have been interrupted from whatever the three were doing. Wicket and Lilly had met at the top of the stairs. One of Wicket’s several daggers was drawn, his typical look of wariness on his face. Lilly’s more determined face was hidden behind her bow that was already raised and aimed at Rhyne.

“Everything well, father?” Camila asked.

“Aye, sweetie. Mr. Camdrie was just leaving.”

“Aye. We’ll leave. This time. But this ain’t the last you’ve seen of us. We’re gonna find Diedro. And when we do we’re going to kill him and everyone he’s with.”

“Good luck with that,” Alaric said.

Rhyne’s men sheathed their swords. Some left immediately, others finished their ale and gave the Purists dirty looks. A particularly large one tossed his mug in the fire pit and spit toward it.

Rhyne looked at Alaric intensely. “Second.”

Alaric looked at him, raising an eyebrow ever so slightly.

“I’ll be the second commoner to lay hands on you, Sampson. Don’t act like I don’t know what she did to you.” He turned on his heel and headed for the door.

When the pub was clear of all Hounds Alaric looked at his soldiers. “Gather your things, we ride out at midnight. I want my council in my room immediately.”