Shadows of sacrifice, p.30
Shadows of Sacrifice, page 30
He offered an exhale and a nod, then looked at her. “His Majesty asked that his work today be kept confidential. I do not feel comfortable—”
“Commander, please.” A hint of a gurgle in the queen’s gut dragged her back to how she felt before yesterday.
“You must understand, Your Majesty, that secrecy is paramount when working with Realists…” Handry’s eyes gaped, and he chewed on his bottom lip.
“Realists? Sea sinners?” A dull ache slithered to the forefront of Anya’s head. “Commander, you will tell me this instant where my husband is.”
“Very well, Your Majesty. The king is in the disused weapons factory near the Primrose Temple.”
Anya left the castle with her armed escort and stomped towards the factory. Allow Ulrich to talk to me, she said to herself more than once. Hear him out. Try to understand. Thoughts of blasphemous sea sinners entered her mind – they built ships to venture onto the sea. Would The Maker unleash an inferno upon Verdura for their desecration? “Listen to Ulrich,” she said out loud. “Hear him out.”
Anya’s reddened face and sharp, loud words allowed her to pass the guard stationed at the factory door quickly. Inside was a racket of metallic clinks and tings. Men and women covered the factory floor, all of them talking and moving around. They strapped plates to one another’s shoulders and arms, coating their brown leather with steel. A charred stench of gunpowder lingered ominously – perhaps from what the factory used to be, or maybe these men and women were armed with more than the daggers and axes they latched to their waists with shinks and clonks. Between sacks draped over two men’s shoulders, a glint of light shone upon Ulrich’s crown. He scanned the room slowly, his eyes drifting across everyone. They passed by Anya and then snapped back to her. The king’s eyelids dropped, and his head dipped.
Anya squeezed through the busy bodies. Her recognisable face and glistening tiara usually granted her a wider berth through crowds, yet there she only received the occasional bow of the head or shimmying to one side. When she reached Ulrich, he still stood facing the others in the room. His back was straight and stiff, and his cane did not seem to be nearby. “These are sea sinners?” Anya asked. It was not the first thing she wanted to say to him, but her tongue betrayed her.
“Not now, Anya. This is why I did not want you involved yet.”
The queen whistled out a breath to deflate her chest. “I am not here to discuss this. I have come to you to apologise. I beg forgiveness for my accusations, and I feel remorse for striking Ivy.” Ulrich stayed silent. “My mind works in a different way, Ulrich. I do not apologise for this, but I am sorry for how I allowed my thoughts to fester. I have had time to think. It is Commander Rainhald whom Ivy is romantically involved with.”
Ulrich said nothing, but offered a slow nod. He looked at a collection of sea sinners that contained Ivy. She packed a sack alongside a large man with a long moustache. She was almost unrecognisable in tatty brown leathers, and a face bare and pale.
Anya watched her husband for a short while, waiting and hoping for him to speak or maybe offer her an apology. But it did not come. She tightened her jaw and contained her view within. “Would you like to share why we are working alongside sea sinners?” she asked instead.
Ulrich inhaled through his nose and arched his spine back. “I am granting the Realists a home within the Grasslands, under the protection of the Verduran crown. They will occupy land close to the Hausmere Manor. In return for their safe refuge, they will guard the route to the manor from Lochton invasion, and serve as an outpost for our soldiers. Tormon Quinley has already sent word to the Hausmeres.”
“You think the brothers of the Capital Queen will accept sea sinners?”
“They have been told the men and women at the refuge are merely allies – neither Verduran nor Realists. Should the truth come out, Ivy and her people have promised to shield me from liability.”
“I am not doubting you, Ulrich. However, it feels a major risk simply to gain a few extra bodies.”
“They will have another role too.” Ulrich slapped his left thigh, and his face stayed still. “They shall provide their healing abilities and remedies to our soldiers. They have the means and the talent of which I have never witnessed before. Erald Tannenbay is assembling an army to destroy. Ours is preparing to heal and rebuild.”
“If the rest of the Isle discovers the truth behind this alliance, they will segregate the North and see us as desecrators to The Maker.”
“I understand the Diamond Isle views Realists as the enemy; but think of its history. Colveron Verrington the Second murdering his own allies and brother. The Slaughterer then eradicating horses from our world. The Rathmores’ siege of Peligonia to inflict plague upon it. The first Lochton descendants betraying my ancestors. And every battle between us and them since. Realists were not the cause of these horrific moments of the Isle’s past. Maybe it is time Verdura stopped seeing them as our foes and reaped the benefits of an alliance.”
Anya chewed on her tongue and trapped a lip between teeth. She wanted to sink into his mindset, but perhaps he needed her thoughts before it reached this point. Had anybody questioned the dangers to him? Had they considered the things that only she could see? Sacks spilled over with swords, axes, hammers, and guns. The biggest of men were plated neck to shin. This was an army preparing for more than just refuge.
Roderick XIII
The faint red stain of the young recruit remained on the training hall floor. Roderick couldn’t look at XT. After what the Corrector did to LK, Roderick didn’t know how he’d react to his uncaring glare. That meaty thump of XT striking him over and over replayed in Roderick’s mind. His jaw clenched so tight he was sure he cracked a tooth. He looked anywhere that XT was not.
Several extra ropes hung down the wooden walls, small bells attached to them. A long strip of broken glass lined the centre of the floor, glistening in the window’s light. VH stood before the recruits and said, “The art of stealth is perhaps the most crucial craft you must master to become a Corrector. To approach your target without them or anyone else being aware of your presence is critical to a successful mission. Your strength, endurance, and combat skills will not be required if you are proficient in stealth. This afternoon, you will learn to control your body’s weight with each movement; every twitch of your muscles will be a deliberate, controlled action. You will walk across glass without making a noise, nor injuring yourself. You will climb the rope of bells and create no sound.”
EV snorted. “Impossible.”
XT removed his cloak and untied his boots. His dark arms tensed with each pull at the laces, looking more coiled with muscle than ever. Hot air seeped from Roderick’s nostrils. XT gently placed his bare right foot onto the glass, and his head stayed upright and level. His step rustled softly, as if he’d tread onto soft grass instead. His left foot reached the shards too, and XT slowly walked across the entire strip in relative silence. He approached EV and revealed the soles of his feet. They were coarse and dry, but unharmed.
“That’s all well and good,” EV said, “but I’m twice your weight.”
“Then you will need to focus twice as hard to control this weight with every step,” VH replied. “You may go first.”
XT took CP to the bell ropes whilst EV removed his boots, shaking his head and muttering. Roderick stood beside VH. “I overheard you speakin’ last night,” he said to his trainer. “I heard a Corrector was captured. Will he be rescued?”
VH answered in a whisper. “That is not for us to decide. The Overseers will determine his fate.”
“There is a chance of savin’ him then? He won’t just be killed?”
“RF, preserving our obscurity is vital to the continuation of our creed. The decision from the Overseers will be in line with this objective. We invest many hours into training our Grey and Black Hands. We are not as ready to render that redundant as you may think.”
“You’re whispering. Why don’t you want XT t’ hear us?”
“XT is of the belief that captured Correctors should be executed without question. He feels quite strongly about this.”
“Why would he want that?”
VH turned to him, his yellow eyes never failing to send a shiver up Roderick’s spine. “XT was once captured, and the Overseers deemed a rescue too troublesome. They authorised a contract for his execution, yet he escaped arrest before a Corrector could reach him.”
“Ah!” EV screeched. “For the sake of The Maker… damn this!” He stood to the side of the glass, gripping his punctured bare foot as blood oozed. “It’s impossible!”
“Carefully consider every step,” VH said. “When your skin feels the glass, stop. Then rest your foot across, rather than allowing the glass through.”
Roderick smiled at seeing the big brute hop on one foot, smearing red prints on the wooden floor as he grumbled. Jingles chimed out, followed by a sharp thrash. Roderick looked to the other side of the room and his smile flattened. CP was halfway up the ropes, and XT held a thick leather strap.
“The bells rang,” XT shouted. “Your target is aware of your presence. Try again!”
CP struggled repeatedly to scale the ropes in silence, and every jingle of a bell led to another wicked slap of leather on flesh. Blood wettened CP’s black jerkin, and lacerations fattened on his shoulders and arms.
VH stepped into Roderick’s view, then waved him onto the glass walk. Roderick removed his boots, trying to focus and ignore the irritating heat bubbling in his belly. His attempts on the glass had the same painful outcome as EV’s. Every step crunched and pierced his feet some more.
Roderick advanced to the bell ropes. He told himself to stay composed and remember why he was there. The first lash of XT’s whip blasted fire through his body. Don’t react. He gritted his teeth and climbed. The bells chimed again, another slap, more agony, but this time a scorching rage ignited in his heart, like being struck by lightning.
“Until you stop moving like a lumbering dog, I will continue to treat you like one!” XT yelled over and over, stoking the fire.
Roderick plummeted to the floor after maybe his sixth attempt. His back stung an unimaginable pain. From his knees, he craned his neck to XT, his face pulsing. The Corrector walked off, and VH replaced him. With a taut voice, Roderick asked VH, “You’re happy with his methods?”
“Until the strike of leather or a closed fist breeds focus instead of anger, you will not become a Corrector. We shall return shortly. Tend your wounds.”
VH left the training room with XT as Roderick chewed his tongue, his jaw tight. The welts on his back bit like they’d been doused in vinegar. EV and CP also laid on the floor, red streaks surrounding them as if they’d been mauled.
EV tugged a chunk of glass from his foot. “I’m looking forward to the day I see a target bleed rather than myself.”
“How can you possibly wish to inflict such anguish on somebody else?” CP asked, his wounds cutting his patience short.
“Don’t forget why you’re going through this, Pee.”
“Not to torture people with needless pain! I am here because I believe in their code. I trust in the approval process by the Overseers. I am fighting to ultimately help others. RF will agree with me there.”
“Pee, stop being so naive, or you’ll end up like LK. Family Man here knows just as well as I do how all this works. Whether you relish it or not, the outcome is the same – death.”
“Death with cause. Not needless pain. Right, RF?”
Roderick stared at the ground. “There’s goin’ t’ be pain. And don’t call me Family Man.”
That night, Roderick lay awake for hours. CP drifted in and out of sleep, waking with a grimace whenever he rolled onto one of his lacerations. At one point, he must have caught Roderick with his eyes wide open, as he said, “RF, I know you’re angry—”
“I’m not angry.”
Roderick’s mind was as alert as a man seeing the world for the first time. He replayed each training session over and over, recognising where he went wrong, what he should’ve done, and how he should’ve responded. The mental drills tired him, but any sleep was light and brief, his mind still churning away.
A faint creak crept into his ear. He kept his eyes closed. A whisper of warm air brushed over him. He smelled leather and sweat, getting stronger… and closer. Roderick snapped his eyes open, sprung into a seated position, snatched an outstretched arm in front of him, and yanked. A cloaked figure collapsed onto the bed. Roderick vaulted to his feet. He seized a knife from the intruder’s hand and as the attacker turned over, Roderick pressed it to his throat.
“Very good, RF,” said the recognisable voice of VH in the doorway. The Corrector lit a lantern, dispersing a soft orange glow into the quarters.
Much like Roderick’s first night at the base, other recruits stood above CP and EV with blades at their necks. The recruit who came for RF, however, felt the steel on his skin.
“That will be all,” VH said.
EV cursed and kicked off his covers as the cloaked invaders left. The one leaving Roderick frowned with his head low. Roderick watched them leave, his breaths as calm as when he lay in bed. VH, his face coloured orange from the lantern, looked at RF, and nodded.
Cyndra VI
Verdura or Lochton? Cyndra questioned. It used to be so clear. Ulrich Rawson or Erald Tannenbay? The dungeon drained her mind. The dark cell possessed no air. It was a slow suffocation. Yet a decision had to be made. It was needed, and it was needed now. Their time would be running out. They too would now be hunted.
Lochton has me in a prison, but so did Verdura. A more pleasant prison, but a prison nonetheless. This is not about me, though. It is about finding them. Both kings have stopped this from happening. Their own selfish needs. I was insurance for one, and a weapon for the other. They cannot stop me any more or it will be too late. Damien Beringer knows.
Cyndra groaned, a soft rumble that bounced around the stone cell. She was in her corner on the floor, so she listened for the voices from above again. Maybe they would help her reach the decision. “I’ll push him ’til he gets the job done,” she had heard earlier. “I will not tolerate backchat.”
“He needs to be told,” came another voice. “There is only one man who can do this.”
“He’s losing his mind,” sounded another.
“Always hide in here,” echoed another.
“I will find him.”
Things are escalating. He will not accept the fear behind the king’s words for much longer. He is ready to blow. The more out of hand it gets, the more unpredictable everything shall become, and the less valuable I will be. That will only delay me finding them. Verdura or Lochton? Rawson or Tannenbay?
Cyndra thought the scratching sound to be in her head, but soon realised it was the footsteps of the servant again, Labella. This time a young boy stood by her hip as they appeared by the bars. The boy was tubby, had large watery eyes, and pained red stripes across one cheek.
“We need your help,” Labella said with a feeble squeak. “Toby here needs your help.”
Cyndra folded her arms and turned her head. Verdura or Lochton? That was the only problem she had time for.
“Please, Cyndra. Toby has found himself tied to Commander Cain Stokes and needs to know how to cut that tether. The commander is becoming more violent. He did this to Toby’s face.”
Cyndra had already seen the sores on the boy. She did not need to look again.
“Please. Can you at least tell us what Cain will do next? Maybe advise Toby how to stay safe?”
“I cannot see the future.” Cyndra hoped the bite of her tone would be enough for Labella if not her words. “I am learning about Cain Stokes, but I know nothing of the boy, so I cannot help him.”
“You are troubled? More so than usual. Maybe I can help you in return? Maybe if I help you to aid Verdura, then this will save Toby in the end?”
“What makes you think I want Verdura to win?”
“But Cyndra… surely… how could you want to help King Erald with all he’s having done to you?”
“I did not say I want that, either. Both kings have treated me poorly. Both are stopping at nothing for victory. But this is not only about me. They have made me integral to it – I did not ask for that. Thousands have died in their names. Innocent people are still out there, possibly lost and alone, possibly even dead, all because of Rawson and Tannenbay.”
“The way King Erald rules though… The way he runs the city… You’ve surely seen it? Sickness, starvation, homelessness. King Ulrich does not do this to us. He—”
“He stays in Verdura. Rawson will only defend. Tannenbay will only attack. This war that has waged for hundreds of years will never end this way. And I will never be free of it either.”
“But—”
“Leave me. I need quiet. I need to think. There is no time left.”
Cyndra pressed her eyes closed. Maybe the answer would come if she just squeezed harder. Force the thought. Summon the right option. It was there somewhere. She had learnt so much. So much had changed since they took her. Verdura or Lochton?
“Cyndra?” came the boy’s voice. So soft and innocent it slipped beneath her skin and tugged at her heart. “Please.”
She opened her violet eyes to look at him. The marks on his cheek were inflamed. They would no doubt be stinging, as would be the thought of Cain Stokes striking him. “I do not know how I can help you,” Cyndra said.
Toby’s fingers toyed with the edge of his black jerkin, and his eyes flitted in every direction. “I don’t want him t’ hit me again. Please. What do I do?”
As Labella’s arm tightened around Toby’s shoulder, Cyndra found herself wanting to do the same. He looked so different to him, but he acted so similar. How could she turn her back on Toby just to favour her own? “I need you to tell me everything,” she said. “From the moment you met Cain, up until he hit you.”
Toby described it all. With a tear in his eye, he spoke of how the commander found him and what happened to the doctor. He trembled as he recalled removing the hand of the boy thief and then being struck by an angry Cain. It was hard to hear. Many bad things happened in that city. But for an orphaned child to be in such a situation left a knot in her belly she could not unravel without at least attempting to help. If this could happen to Toby within the so-called protection of a city’s confines, then who knows what he is experiencing right now? “Just let me think,” she said, cutting Toby off, not meaning to sound so impatient.
