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  “I hadn’t thought our esteemed judicial administrator gave such credence to malicious rumors. I can think of no trustworthy reason to believe I have a criminal chained on my property.”

  “I’ve been given the authority to offer you amnesty from prosecution, Lord Talivin. Though you’ve illegally detained a Draugan subject, no charges will be laid if you turn Eloran Restul over to me.”

  “I’m afraid I must continue to insist upon my innocence. You’ll find no fugitive here.”

  “This can proceed one of two ways. We can maintain a decorum of civility while you assist us however we require, or you can continue to treat me as though I were an idiot and respond to requests with outright lies. The first scenario ends my unpleasant task in short order and prevents word of this sordid affair from spreading. Each of us can return home happy. The second invites further unpleasantness for me and unwanted humiliation for you. Which will you choose?”

  “Though I am ever eager to assist an Imperial officer in whatever capacity available to me, I’m afraid I can provide no help tonight. At least not regarding this contrived matter.”

  “Further unpleasantness it is,” Thorkell remarked. “I went beyond reasonable courtesy in an effort to spare you public embarrassment. Evidently the gesture is lost on you. Therefore I’ll return tomorrow after sunrise with two full contingents to undertake an intrusive and exhaustive search of your estate. It will not be swift and it most certainly won’t remain private. Beginning immediately, I shall also station these legionaries here, in order to be certain you don’t feel the temptation to quietly remove the fugitive before my return. I can only imagine what unsavory rumors your peers might conjure, though evidently the thought doesn’t bother you in the least. During this time your grounds will also be subjected to a rigorous examination for all other potential illegalities, according to the law. But since you insist we follow proper procedure, my hands are tied.”

  Talivin maintained a stoic visage and seemed willing to call Thorkell’s bluff in allowing his threat to play out. Cyriana felt a hollow knot form in her stomach during the silence, praying to any god willing to heed the words of a crook. If they were wrong about the rumors circulating in recent weeks this entire episode was for naught. She had never given credence to gossip spread by the nobility and thought it unfair the one time she did it might be wasted effort. Despite the convincing deception, even Thorkell knew they could not risk an incident by parading onto a nobleman’s property uninvited.

  “Wait,” Talivin uttered. He tightened his jaw and gnashed pearly teeth together. “I have your assurances of a full pardon?”

  “By the emperor and empress, you have it. I’m in the habit of conducting honest negotiations in their name.”

  “Follow me.”

  Talivin pivoted on his heels and conducted the fake legionaries between koi ponds and groomed shrubbery. Cyriana followed through a carved entry and along narrow hallways to one unadorned door where an armored woman stood. Talivin beckoned for her to collect a pulsing torch, unbar the entrance and enter first. Stone stairs reeking of mildew and peppered with spongy growths led into dank, expansive chambers below. Few details beyond rutted walls were discernible in the gloom.

  It may have been a trick of the eerie light, but Cyriana thought Talivin’s face had reddened and was dotted in moisture. “My grandfather ordered the construction of these underground chambers. I find them distasteful, but did not wish to incur the exorbitant cost of demolishing or converting this level into something more practical.”

  “Are we conducting a scenic tour?” inquired Thorkell.

  “I have no desire for you to labor under the misconception that these unfortunate rooms are frequently occupied on my orders. Your Mellenerian criminal is the first to be interred for several decades. Should you doubt my words, by all means conduct a search while you’re here. I’ve nothing else to hide.”

  The guiding woman ignited torches bracketed against one wall and halted outside black bars flecked in rust. She placed hers in a vacant slot, unhitched keys from a rawhide belt and opened the clanking gate. A shivering figure huddled in one corner atop stone flooring with gaunt legs pulled to his chest.

  Spindly gray hair sodden in sweat clung to a flushed pate mottled with freckles, while dappled wrought iron chains coiled beneath bare wrists and ankles. Cloth bands wound over otherwise bare feet, his sole concession to dignity beyond a frayed tunic. Dark smudges dirtied the fabric looped around his ankles.

  Starved, tortured and barely clinging to his fragile sanity, Cyriana feared Eloran might give the game away by addressing his rescuers by name. Even a faint slip could ruin the ploy cultivated with such care. How fortunate for her enough cunning remained in his mind that Eloran merely glanced in their direction and harrumphed. Even Thorkell might begrudgingly admit the old forger played his prisoner role well.

  “Am I to be freed?”

  “Only from your present confines,” rebuked Thorkell. “Eloran Restul, you stand accused of willfully composing illicit forgeries and conspiring to deny a citizen’s lawful inheritance. How do you choose to plead?”

  “Innocent.”

  “I didn’t expect otherwise. Though I don’t blame Lord Talivin for his desire to hold you in such a condition, I cannot in good conscience condone it. You are a Draugan subject and entitled to a trial. Until one can be arranged, you’ll be housed within the Justiciary Gaol. I can’t promise conditions will be better, but you’ll be given a more generous diet.”

  “I can hardly wait.”

  Thorkell whirled and snapped impatient fingers at Talivin’s lone flunky. “Remove his fetters. We brought our own for the purpose.”

  She hunched on one knee and shackles clanked open, tumbling from Eloran’s swollen wrists and ankles. His moment of reprieve ended as Maylene and Baskaran heaved him upright and clamped iron bonds on torn skin.

  “Please, I haven’t the strength in my limbs to walk unassisted,” he pleaded. “I’m an Imperial citizen and deserving of fair treatment.”

  Disdain flitted across Thorkell’s face. “An Imperial citizen charged with heinous crimes earns no mercies. The prisoner shall either walk or be dragged by his chains. Perhaps I might also choose to have him remain here to rot and be forgotten if his tongue does not cease its waggling.”

  Cyriana’s commendable intuition surmised Thorkell continued to bear an old grudge not easily satisfied. Perhaps for the Almoravid job that soured and nearly saw them all killed. Eloran would not soon forgive this ill treatment though, and thus the cycle continued.

  Talivin sidled closer to Thorkell and lowered his voice to the barest whisper. “I have your word this incident will not be known within the city?”

  “No soul will speak of it. The fugitive was apprehended beyond the city limits by patrolling legionaries and no one else.” Thorkell walked several paces before turning to face Talivin one final time. “Though a parting warning, if I may. Do not presume to defy the emperor and empress again by flouting their laws. Should you wish to level allegations against a citizen, bring them to us. Leniency will not be forthcoming if you choose this path again, Lord Talivin.”

  Unwilling to tolerate a retort, Thorkell pivoted and strode from the dungeon. Cyriana winced while Eloran struggled to hobble alongside his escorts. A pain in the arse he might be, but she still yearned to slide an arm around the man and lessen his discomfort. No one pursued or spoke to them during their exit and all house guards granted a wide berth to the Empire’s troops. Cyriana breathed easier once they reached encircling boulevards and disappeared into the night.

  “Those lovey-dovey thespians will be found not long after sunrise,” she asserted, tugging at her suffocating armor. “And I’d wager dear Talivin will quietly make inquiries about the Draugans who raided his estate overnight.”

  “Count on it,” murmured Thorkell.

  “I’ll give him a day or two at the most to learn no legionary visited his abode. And an hour after that to put a contract on all our
heads. Hurry back to our stash so we can ditch this armor. We have until morning to get the hell out of this city.”

  *

  Thorkell helped lower Eloran into a seated position on Cyriana’s mattress once they had returned to the Royal Exchange inn. “There you are. Wouldn’t have forced you to stagger after us if I’d known about your foot. Funny how this is the first time in your life you chose not to grouse and voice your thoughts.”

  Eloran lunged upright on one wobbling leg, punched the other man’s jaw and howled in pain, rubbing flesh on reddened hands. “The prisoner shall walk?” Eloran demanded. He winced, massaging his limp fingers and scowling. “Still smarting over Almoravid, you northern bastard?”

  Thorkell directed a finger at the forger’s clutched hands. “Serves you right for clobbering me, though I’m not certain why you’re feeling distress. Bugs routinely fly into my face with more oomph.”

  Eloran growled and made to strike him again, though lost his balance and toppled into Baskaran’s outstretched hands. He sought to disentangle himself but the squirming served only to mimic a panicky fish with far less gusto. “Who the hell is this Eurote coddling me like some newborn babe? Take your hands off me.”

  “Seems imprisonment did nothing to curb your surly tendencies,” muttered Thorkell. “I might’ve guessed the experience would see fit to stifle your tongue. Can’t we hire some middling scribe who isn’t sullen to perform his role instead? Preferably one who is also a mute. One ink stain’s as good as the next, isn’t it?”

  Eloran shooed Baskaran’s hands away and sputtered with indignation. “A scribe?” he choked. “A scribe?”

  “For crying out loud,” Cyriana said, touching a palm to her aching forehead. “He’s baiting you, Eloran. Quit being such a grouch.”

  “You think gluing a moustache to your chin is difficult, northman?” Eloran demanded, ignoring her warning. “Try replicating a person’s penmanship without the subtlest flaw. Can you even write?”

  “Enough,” she berated. “Eloran, you owe blissful freedom to his insane plot. Learn to appreciate his less charming traits for the sake of his redeeming ones. And Thorkell, stop tormenting him like some fussy child in need of a good wallop. You know damned well I hate children, and if you continue behaving like one I promise our time together will be unpleasant. Whatever issues you two are nursing come to an end here. We all have a job to do, and I for one hate that you’ve forced me to be the mature adult. I don’t care for its taste. I’ll relinquish the unseemly role the moment someone else shows a smidgen of sensibility so I can return to being myself.”

  “Forgive me for asking, but we all have a job to do?” questioned Eloran. “I speculated what prompted your risky effort at freeing me. Evidently not a longing for my company. Magnanimity played no role here, eh? You’ve a robbery in mind and desired my renowned and unsurpassed faculties. One can hardly blame you, though I wonder whether I’d continue to simmer beneath Talivin’s estate were it otherwise.”

  “We likely would’ve left you rotting as punishment for being clumsy enough to be nabbed. You’re here because you have a rare skill I mean to use for my own benefit. Since you get freedom from the deal, you’ve no right to hold grudges.”

  “I suppose not. Thus, I’m at your disposal. Where might we be headed?”

  “Elsewhere, and that’s all you’re getting from me until we arrive.”

  “How unfair to put such little faith in me—”

  Cyriana lifted a forefinger to muzzle him. “Freedom.”

  “Ah, I can’t wait for you to lord that feat over me for the remainder of my days.”

  “Then take comfort knowing death’s only a few years distant,” quipped Thorkell.

  “Eloran’s going to whack you again if you keep this up,” Cyriana said. “Not hard, granted. But remember that I’ll be the one to do it next if you try my patience, too.” She flung fresh bandaging that fluttered over Thorkell’s face and drooped from his shoulders.

  “What am I to do with this?”

  “Wrap Eloran’s wounded foot, you twerp. After you remove the crusted bindings he’s wearing now.”

  Thorkell stared at her aghast and opened his mouth to protest until Cyriana hushed him into silence. “You might be the architect of his freedom, but you also forced him to walk when any halfwit should’ve noticed the blood stains. Penitence is never enjoyable. I’d wager that’s the whole point.”

  Eloran settled onto the bed once more, lifted his foot and wiggled toes protruding from snug cloth. “I await your tender care.”

  “I’m going to shave that scraggly gray mop you call hair while you’re sleeping,” Thorkell promised, crouching on one knee with pale linen trailing from a hand.

  “So long as it’s after you’ve tended to him,” added Cyriana.

  “Why did Talivin mangle your foot, Eloran?” Thorkell asked. “I’d have started by crippling your precious hands. Not that I’ve ever given thought to the subject. This is all figurative, of course.”

  “He wanted to draw out my suffering. Even bragged about it to me one day. A forger without hands has nothing worth living for. But if he left my fingers untouched I continued to have a fleeting hope. He wanted to let that linger before crushing it.”

  “Makes him more the fool, to my mind,” Cyriana said. “You’d have been no use to us without deft fingers. But his heartless desire means you suffered no permanent damage.”

  A groaning entryway heralded Maylene’s return to the inn. She closed the door and moseyed closer, eyeing Cyriana’s pallet with a raised brow. “Thorkell’s finally showing his affections, I see. And even with a crowd in attendance.”

  “I hate you,” replied the false-facer.

  “Here,” she declared, placing a small earthenware vessel on the mattress. “A crotchety herbalist swore this would stop rot from spreading. He was not pleased I picked his lock and awoke him. Silver made him more amenable to my demands.”

  Cyriana directed a finger at lacerations running along Eloran’s skin. “Get in there and smear that foul paste, Thorkell. This isn’t the time to be coy.”

  “I hate you all.”

  She folded both arms and returned her stare to Maylene. “And did you book passage out of the city?”

  “Boat’s ready for departure. The captain was none too pleased I had the audacity to fiddle with his routine, but more silver changed his way of thinking. Seems to be my only response these days. We’ll board shortly and leave at first light.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Oh, almost forgot this.” Maylene lifted a cane and tossed it to Eloran. “Figured it’ll make the limp less frustrating.”

  Eloran traced one finger over smooth wood and looked at her with genuine surprise. “Thank you, Maylene. I hadn’t expected this gesture.”

  “No thanks necessary.”

  “I insist. You’ve done me a kindness, the first from this grumpy flock.”

  “Some fool left a window open with it leaning against the sill. I reached in and snagged the thing for you, but only because it happened to be on my way to the herbalist.”

  “I should’ve known,” Eloran proclaimed, though thin lips tugged gently upward. “Altruistic as ever.”

  Thorkell cocked his head to one side and studied elegantly carved wood, his fingers sopping with poultice. “The cane gives you an air of distinguished bearing, for once in your life.”

  “Whenever you happen to come within my reach I’m going to smack you upside the head with this shiny walking stick. I pray you succumb to forgetfulness and do so often.”

  “How many times do you reckon it’ll be before you break a hip? Ah, there’s a question worth pondering.”

  Dismissing Thorkell with a flippant wave, Eloran faced Cyriana. “Provided Soroth isn’t our final destination, may I suggest we plan to travel there?”

  “That squalid pit?” questioned Maylene. “I can’t fathom anything necessitating a trip into that city.”

  “Normally I would agree wholehe
artedly with you. But I know an acquaintance residing there, one I’ve used in the past owing to her peculiar talents.”

  “Oh, and what might those be?” Cyriana asked.

  “Girl has a flawless memory. I don’t know how it’s possible, but she doesn’t ever forget a sight she glimpses or a word spoken to her. The degree to which she remembers is uncanny. In all my travels I’ve never come across one quite like her. She’s a unique commodity and valuable addition.”

  “Do we need someone like her?” inquired Thorkell. “And before anyone throws accusations around, that’s a serious question.”

  “She comes in handy in ways you can scarcely imagine. Set her to work on something and she won’t forget a single detail, no matter how seemingly trivial.” Eloran glanced toward Cyriana and revealed a faint smirk. “From the look on your face, I’d wager you’ve begun conspiring ways to use her.”

  “I have. Fine, she can join our merry band. But we aren’t casting a wide net, because I haven’t the patience for yet another troublesome recruitment. If the lass isn’t home when you come knocking, we’re hopping on the next ship leaving harbor.”

  “Can we skip the place entirely?” murmured Maylene. “I hate Soroth. It’d be an ill omen, and just plain shitty, if we were robbed on the way to our own heist.”

  “That’s why I mean to be quick.” Cyriana gathered old bandages soiled in dried blood and dumped them in a dirty pouch. She needed to ensure no signs of their residency here could be traced to Lord Talivin’s estate, however unlikely. “Once Thorkell is finished dressing Eloran’s foot we’re leaving. Nothing stays behind.”

  Chapter 6

  Shove a dagger in a wastrel’s stained hand and watch as he thinks himself mighty.

  Arthis Coldbirth, Martial Prowess:

  Soldiering Without Reprieve

  103 Black Ruin, Year of the Penned Tome