Harbinger: The Downfall - Book One (27 page)

“There, there, grandmother, allow me to help you up.” He held out a hand. She reached up and took it and he pulled her to her feet. He smiled at her and ran a hand across her dirty brow. “You should never have taken the boy from your daughter’s care. The fire you set did not kill her as you planned. She suffered from the burns for over a week before she finally died a horrible and painful death. Every movement making her feel the fire again and she rubbed her fleshless body against the coarse sheets. Never forget the day you saw me, grandmother. I don’t think you will; people rarely forget the last thing they ever see.” With a deep throaty laugh, he turned away.

Screams of panic followed him up the street as the old woman called out for help. She begged the crowd for help, pleaded for them to stop the evil man who just blinded her. Nomed loved what he did, and he was the best at it.

Dawn stepped onto the dock. She knew her longboat would be safe under the watchful eye of the crew of Tyler’s Revenge. She had worked with the captain of that ship a few times and they had an understanding. Crowds parted for her and the men behind her. She felt like she was finally coming out of a dark cloud. It had long been a secret that the captain of the Lady Luck was a woman. It was not being announced, but anyone who knew anything would know if they witnessed the scene.

She stopped where the dock met the quay. She turned to Bezel and Warton and quietly exchanged a few quiet words. They nodded and turned to go about their duties. She turned to Cite and Rogen and looked up at the first then down at the other. As she was about to speak, a young girl dressed in dark leathers interrupted her.

“Excuse me, I couldn’t help but notice your unique cargo,” the girl said. “I think I may be able to help you distribute it for a fair price.”

Dawn looked at the girl, who was her height, her hand on the hilt of her cutlass. The girl was shorter than most men, but may yet gain some height because she was at least ten years younger than Dawn and may have some time left to grow. Behind the newcomer stood a man with short-cropped brown hair and beard, he was military in style, but not in bearing. His clothing that was lighter shades of gray, almost silver, contrasted with the dark haired younger girl’s black clothes.

Rogen stood behind and to one side of Dawn. Dressed in his usual attire, pouches, and weapons he was imposing, though he was a foot shorter than anyone else. Cite stared at the crowd and the ruin of the buildings, not noticing the conversation in front of him as he gawked at the seaside town.

“I am sure you can, but perhaps I should first speak with my usual people,” Dawn said.

“I am better than your usual people,” the curly hair girl responded. “I work from my own pouches, not an office, so I have no overhead. I am young and eager, so work harder. I am not established either, so I do not charge all those extra hidden fees.”

Dawn laughed. “I don’t think so, thank you though.”

“Let’s go,” Cyril growled, reaching forward to take Gruedo’s arm. Cite noticed the two for the first time and grabbed Dawn’s arm.

“Deal with them,” he whispered, “use them. I mean, take them up on their offer.”

Dawn looked back at him, and then looked down at his hand on her arm with a dangerous glare. Cite yanked his hand back. He turned his gaze upwards towards the building in front of them and his face went impassive. Cite’s voice came into Dawn’s head.
‘I know these two. Towers, silver and black. Do not let them leave us, we need them.’
Dawn stared at him for a moment longer and then turned back to Gruedo.

“I think we can do business. Why don’t we go somewhere we can talk a bit more privately?”

Gruedo led the group to a warehouse a few blocks from the docks. It was unused except for storage. She showed them into an office and pulled enough chairs from the walls that everyone could sit around the warped wooden table that rocked anytime anyone leaned on it. The conversation turned to business and an agreement was reached.

Dawn tested the young woman in this contest of bartering. It was a give and take, checking to see if she was reasonable, logical, and fair or if she would try to cheat or didn’t know what she was doing. She was young, but smart and knew how things worked. Gruedo did the same to her, and found herself enjoying the back and forth as she did with any challenge.

Rogen stood in a corner of the office behind Dawn. He watched the newcomers. The older of the two showed a holy symbol of Jonath. It was odd for a priest of the God of justice, earth, and protection to be associating with a street thug. He would like to say it was because it was odd times, but throughout his life, Rogen had seen men of power and respect doing things that even the lowest of street people would not consider. He watched them, looking closer now. The priest Cyril was uncomfortable. Not nervous, but not used to the type of situation in which he found himself. His eyes darted back and forth and he kept looking at the doors, as if he had somewhere else to be, or something else he felt he should be doing. Gruedo was playing the game she was born to play. At the right times in the story she leaned in, and looked amazed, but not too much. She showed doubt when it would heighten Dawn’s story and absolute faith when it was necessary. She didn’t do it so much that it seemed false, just enough to make anyone relax, even someone like Dawn.

Cite stared at the two people who had appeared on the street and debated on using his abilities to try to find the reason they were represented in his dream. He skimmed the surface of their feelings. He felt excitement from the younger one. It was obvious she was enjoying herself. The other one was confident and serene enough, yet impatient for something. The meeting finished and Dawn and Gruedo stood and shook hands, clasping each other’s forearms at the wrist. Cite knew he had to do something before they parted ways.

“You seek to cleanse the silver tower of its taint?” he asked. Everyone turned to look at him, unsure who he had asked.

“I seek to return Silver Castle to the hands of the church,” Cyril answered, with a wary look.

Cite let out a breath he did not know he had been holding. “Silver Castle? The legendary castle built by Jonath himself?” Cite asked. The others in the room looked at the two strangers. Gruedo looked amazed. Rogen watched Cyril and Gruedo to gauge their reactions. Dawn sat back down and leaned back with her hands behind her head and a wide smile on her face, as she put her booted feet up on an empty chair.

“The same,” Cyril nodded, “as well as the Silver City too.”

“You are but half, followed by your shadow. Which appears darker because of your shine,” Cite mumbled.

“Pardon me?” Cyril asked and Gruedo echoed, “What was that? I am no man’s shadow.”

Cite turned to look at Rogen. “Three years ago, maybe five, I dreamt of them. I didn’t remember it till now, but I can check my journals for more details.”

“Excuse me?” Gruedo interrupted, “You dreamed about me? I’ve never met you before. What kind of weirdo are you?”

“He’s a dreamer,” Dawn said. “He has dreams of the future that come true. And he is a powerful mage to boot. I have seen him cripple men with a thought and a wave of his hand.”

Gruedo took a step backwards. Rogen watched and wondered who played whom more, Dawn or Gruedo. Dawn appeared to be falling for everything Gruedo had put out on the table, but now Gruedo took everything she said as truth. She didn’t think twice before accepting such an impossible feat. Either that, or Gruedo had seen magic before.

Cite waved his hands in front of him and said, “No, no. I am not dangerous. Don’t be nervous.” Gruedo eyes followed every movement the man’s hands made. “I just, I mean, it was an accident. Let me explain, no, I shouldn’t. Not here. Cyril, you have the gifts of your God?”

Cyril nodded and cocked his head as he watched the mage. “What do you mean, ‘I am half’?” he asked.

“You are followed then? By something dark, or in the dark? It appears worse than it is because of your deeds?” Cite asked and Cyril nodded again.

“You say you know about my mission from a dream?” the priest asked.

“Our mission,” Gruedo corrected.

“Our mission then. What else do you know about it?”

Cite hesitated for a moment as he collected his thoughts, breathed a cleansing breathe to calm himself then began, “The forest of yews and ash becomes weapons and gravestones. You are the shining light that may cleanse the Silver Tower, or Castle as you call it. She,” Cite pointed at Gruedo, “is drawn to you, and came from a fallen tower, or perhaps castle, and will be sought by a black tower who may try to buy him or tempt him with money or emotional pain.”

“I came from a castle?” Gruedo asked. “I don’t think so. I was raised by the church of Promethene.”

“An orphan?” Cite asked.

“Yeah, an orphan. Wait a second, that doesn’t mean, look, every kid dreams of shit like that. I won’t even begin to believe that. It is too cliché, like a second rate overdone bedtime story.”

“It doesn’t mean you are a prince. This is no fairy tale. You could have been a chambermaid’s child from a roll in the hay with the stable boy for all I know. I am just saying you probably come from someplace big that may have been destroyed or changed so much it is no longer the same place.”

“Oh.” Gruedo said, quieting. She looked a disappointed.

“The bottom line is someone or something very powerful and evil does not want this to happen, my dreams have shown me that. I want to do everything I can to help.”

Cyril looked over the gathering and thought about the evil he had seen. How Duke Malvornick had brought his entourage to Humbrey and began frequenting the official functions and unofficial parties. The Duke had donated to the church, buying his way into influencing it over a decade, becoming indispensable. Jonath had decided to send the help he needed. “Is it just you that wants to help?” he asked.

“I will be going with the boy,” Rogen said, “and I believe the lass here will be coming also.”

Dawn nodded from her reclined position. “Parsay provides where Fate fears to tread,” she said.

Cyril looked at Cite and noticed the man was watching him. Cite met his eyes and realized he was staring. Looking down, then anywhere else except at Cyril, Cite said, “So, where are we going and what exactly do we need to do?”

Cite motioned Dawn over to him as they departed the warehouse. They slowed as they fell behind the others. Cite spoke in low tones so he would not be overheard.

“Cyril has had a run in with your Duke Malvornick. I felt it coming from him when I told him I wanted to help.”

“What do you mean? Does he work for him?” Dawn asked, her voice quiet.

“No, I don’t think so. I didn’t go into his mind, but I get the feeling he may be motivated by Malvornick, but not in a good way. He harbors negative feelings towards him. I also felt something about his family, or the church, or some group Cyril is close to.”

Dawn nodded and touched Cite’s arm in a gesture of thanks. She moved forward to catch up with the others, explaining she needed to find buyers before it was dark. Gruedo and Dawn went to find Bezel and bring him to the buyers for the monster.

Gruedo had decided it would be best to sell the tale with the tail, as she put it. The head would be most valuable. People would pay premium money for the eyes, brain and teeth, but first Gruedo wanted to see if someone would buy the whole head. She knew a few taverns she thought would be interested in having the head of the beast that caused the Great Wave of Fifty-Four.

Cyril led Cite and Rogen back to the Red Door. The three men sat over a meal, each lost in their own thoughts. People looked at the odd trio. They looked like two merchants and their short, hairy bodyguard. Rogen soon excused himself saying he needed to go find some information while in town.

Rogen entered a gambling house, the Wicked Vice, which was owned by him. It has been cleared of all its customers, and only the proprietor – a wiry man with a lazy eye named Jactin – remained besides one other. A young lady with brown hair to her shoulders sat reclined in a padded velvet chair by the fire. Smiling, she waved at Rogen. Rogen nodded and made his way to her, looking over the room as he did. He saw the half dozen one-way mirrors which guards normally stood behind, waiting in case of trouble. They would be abandoned now.

“Kaht,” Rogen nodded as he drew a chair away from a table and sat in it.

“Master,” the young lady said, smiling, “how was your journey?”

“Tedious and almost deadly for me, thank you for asking. What information do you have?”

“Lots,” she said, watching Jactin as he made himself busy behind the long, polished bar. “Would you like me to tell you now, or after your gadfly friend leaves?”

“Now,” Rogen said, “Jactin will be bringing me a drink, some food, and a few other things.”

“Very well,” Kaht’s eyes twinkled as she leaned forward so the Rokairn could hear her better. “Duke Malvornick is moving his people into places where he can make trouble. Grenedal Dragonblood is to be trusted, he is doing everything he can to be a thorn in the crazy nobleman’s side and ruin his plans. Everyway is an ant nest of activity since the dead rose and killed hundreds of people. But the good news is that we have gained a few allies. Not many, but powerful people who want to save what they can. Most operate for selfish purposes, but they match our own for the moment.”