Rich Wulf - Rise of the Seventh Moon

The other knights were gathered in the main hall, beyond the block of cells. They watched Zed with open suspicion. Of course they would. Draikus would have told them what happened in Vathirond, the version where Commander Kalaven was a hero and Zed Arthen betrayed her to an opportunistic war tribunal. He ignored them. He didn’t care what they thought. They weren’t his concern. He stepped out onto the streets of Nathyrr, blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the light.

“Sir Arthen,” said a voice to his right.

Zed glared at the speaker, a thin man in a finely trimmed back coat. His face was pale and thin, the sort of man who spent far too little time in the sun. “It’s Master Arthen,” he said tersely. “Not ‘Sir.’ ”

“Of course,” the man said, spreading his hands wide in a gesture of apology. He spoke in a distinctly Cyran accent. “My name is Niam Kenrickson. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Are you the one who paid my fines?” Zed asked.

“Not I alone.” He offered a thin smile. “My associates and I are veterans of the Last War who have found difficulty adjusting to a world at peace. We are once-respected warriors now struggling to find our place in a world that sees us as extraneous. Much like yourself.”

“I see,” Zed said, trying to buy time to think. He hadn’t intended for things to happen this way. He had hoped to cause a little trouble in a public place, gambling that Eraina would notice someone who was a little too interested in the antics of a bitter, violent war veteran. He had hoped, at best, that they would find a lead. He wasn’t prepared for this. Zed cursed Draikus for recognizing him. This would be easier if Kenrickson didn’t know his real name. If Marth found out that Zed was here in the Harrowcrowns … that would make his life a great deal more complicated.

“Thank you,” Zed said, realizing Kenrickson might be growing impatient at his silence. He smiled politely.

“Quite welcome,” Niam said with a pleased grin. “Pardon me for disturbing what might be a difficult memory, but when you attacked those men earlier, did you say you fought at Vathirond?”

“I did,” Zed said.

“And you had brothers who died there?” Niam pressed.

“Not brothers in blood,” he said, “but men I considered brothers.”

“I was stationed far from Vathirond, but I have cousins who fought there,” Niam said. “I have heard it described as one of the bloodiest engagements of the last two decades. A true test of loyalties. Thrane, Cyre, and Breland in a battle for survival. Did you know many Cyran soldiers?”

“Some,” Zed said. “Vathirond isn’t something I like to think about.”

“Of course,” Niam said. “The Five Nations have become difficult for men such as you and I. It is difficult to find a place. The quest for new purpose in a world at peace can be elusive. My associates and I specialize in helping former soldiers renew their purpose.”

“Are you mercenaries?” Zed asked.

“A coarse term,” Niam said. “Mercenaries fight for profit. Our goals are greater. Most of us are former Cyrans, but there are a few like yourself-brothers in arms from distant nations.”

“Sounds interesting,” Zed said.

Niam glanced around, blinking rapidly as he spoke. “I can say little more,” he said. “In these times the Five Nations become nervous when they hear of Cyrans taking up arms. I pray only that you do not discount my offer for its clandestine nature. My brethren and I have learned that men without a nation must value caution. Even so, I assure you our cause is a noble one.”

“Of course,” Zed said. “As I said, it sounds interesting.”

“If you are interested in employment, you should visit my offices,” Niam said

“We could go now, if you like,” Zed said, hoping to put Niam off-balance so that he might reveal something.

“That isn’t necessary,” Niam replied, wrinkling his nose. “You are quite obviously exhausted after your night in prison. You should rest. You can meet with us this afternoon, after you’ve cleaned yourself. Our offices are on the corner of Carver Street and Oak Lane.”

Zed nodded. He realized, with some embarrassment, that he still stank of rum.

“I’ll be there,” he said.

“Excellent,” Niam said. “I shall inform my associates of your impending arrival.” He tipped his wide-brimmed hat. “Good day.”

Zed tapped his temple in informal salute as the thin man strode off down the street. He scanned the streets as Kenrickson left. Where was Eraina? She would have come to help him by now, or at least to gloat over his arrest. He found her sitting at a table outside a small restaurant with a view of the prison. She sipped from a small cup as she watched him approach. He saw that his sword was leaning against the table, near the seat across from her.

“Good morning,” she said as he took the seat. “You smell terrible. Like you’ve been doused in alcohol.”

“I have been,” he said.

“I thought you didn’t drink,” she said.

“I don’t,” Zed said, pouring himself a cup of water. “Just doused myself in it. Literally. I spilled some rum on my hair and my shirt before I attacked the knights. I figured they would be a less likely to kill me if they just thought I was an angry drunk.”

“Convincing disguise,” she said.

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” he answered, taking a deep drink of the icy water. He had to get out of these clothes. The smell reminded him too much of years better off forgotten. “How long have you been here, Eraina?”

“A little while,” she said. “I followed the undertaker.”

“Were you going to leave me in prison?” he asked.

“You asked me not to interfere,” she said, smiling softly. “So I didn’t. I assumed everything that happened was exactly as you planned.”

Zed grunted sourly and set his cup back on the table. “Not exactly,” he said. “I’m surprised you went along with it.”

“I treasure my vow of honesty,” she said, “but I have come to recognize that allies not similarly bound can operate with a greater degree of flexibility. If you had told me what you planned to do, I might have stopped you.”

“Well, thank you for trusting me, Eraina,” Zed said. “That means a lot.”

She flushed slightly, returning her gaze to her cup. “The results don’t change the fact that your plan was ridiculous,” she said. She set her cup aside and leaned back in her seat. “You were very lucky. You had no guarantee that your performance was going to provoke any sort of useful reaction.”

“We were out of leads,” he said. “It was worth a try. The town square is busiest that time of day. I had the greatest chance of being seen by someone connected to Marth.”

“If those guards had been a bit more zealous, they might have killed you,” Zed said.

“Might have,” Zed admitted. “I brought up Vathirond for a reason. That was a day that blackened the image of the knights for a lot of people. I thought mentioning it so loudly in front of so many witnesses would have made things a little less likely to get bloody.”

“It was still a gamble,” she said.

“I’m alive,” Zed said, shrugging. “I admit, I wouldn’t have tried it if I knew Draikus was their commanding officer. I think he had the town watch standing ready, waiting for me to do something stupid.”

“Your reputation precedes you?” Eraina asked, chuckling.

“I’m serious, Eraina,” Zed said, annoyed. “You know being recognized doesn’t help us at all. Marth knows who we are. Draikus knows I’m working with you. If Niam knows I came here with a Sentinel Marshal, especially one that’s hunting Marth on a murder charge, we’re going to have a lot of trouble. We might have a lead, but it turned out messier than I would have liked. Pursuing this is going to be tricky.”