“So, you need a place to lay low, Mr. Peck?” the Sultan asked. A yellow cat’s eye gem, nestled in the folds of his big turban, gleamed in the light of a low-burning brazier.
“I’ve taken some heat recently,” Peck answered.
Peck studied the Sultan–his robes, his turban, his jewelry. He looked around the Sultan’s office. It was a drab room, with a green molded-cloth banner hanging from one wall and a bronze-framed painting hanging on the other. The back wall, across from him, held a large window of iron bars. The Sultan’s eyes were beady and black. They peered down a long nose. Thin fingers interlocked, hands resting on the table, the Sultan leaned back in his chair. “What you're asking for doesn’t come cheap. I can tell you’re scared. You did something terrible to a very important person, didn’t you, Peck?”
“You could say that,” Peck said.
“I don’t need to know the details.” The Sultan shrugged. “I just need your cooperation. Having you here puts my entire operation at risk.”
“I understand.” Peck nodded.
“Do you?” The Sultan leaned forward. He grinned. “Peck, I’ve been working on something big down here. You came to me for a reason–you’ve heard my name in the streets. This isn’t a chance encounter.”
I knew he’d try to recruit me.
“I’ve heard your name, too,” the Sultan said. “Well, names, I suppose.” He winked. “I’ve been watching you, Peck.”
“Have you?”
“Peck isn’t your real name, of course. Neither is Lord Landy, as most believe you to be.” the Sultan explained. “You saved Lady Miranda from the Red Sashes, didn’t you?”
Peck nodded.
“That was my serpent you stomped out,” the Sultan said.
Peck leaned forward. “So, you hired Snake to kidnap Lady Miranda?”
The Sultan laughed. He waved his hands about. “Oh, no. I hired Snake to be my spy–my man inside the ranks of the Reds. I have no idea how he got himself mixed up in that mess. Snake was good, Peck, but you… you are something entirely different. I could use a man like you.”
Peck rolled his eyes. “I’m not looking for work."
The sultan’s hands shot into the air above his head. The sleeves of his loose-fitting garment slid down his arms. “I am the Sultan of Alexandria! The King of the Underworld! I’m not some foreman.”
Peck chuckled. He surveyed the scene of squalor. “Those are quite the titles.”
The Sultan leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers over a thin chest. His brows furrowed. “Let’s get down to business.”
“I just want to lie low,” Peck said.
“And I just want to make money. But the Red Sashes want to assassinate me. The City Watch wants to hang me. And the merchants want to drown me in the river! If you want my hard-earned protection, you must pay me more than a few circlings, Peck.”
Peck sighed. “What do you want from me, Sultan?”
The Sultan's expression lightened. “As I said before, we're doing big things down here.”
“The Sultan’s Syndicate has impressed many people.” Peck scratched his head and shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“Oh." The Sultan sat a little higher. “The high lords are looking down on me, are they, Peck?”
Peck forced a smile. “Taking notice.”
The Sultan’s smile broadened. “Good.” He stretched his arms out wide. “I yearn to offer them a spectacle like never before!”
“What do you have in mind?” Peck asked.
“The Red Sashes,” the Sultan hissed. “They are the bane of my existence–disorganized, shortsighted, selfish–tearing this city apart at the seams! The smiths hate the carpenters, the carpenters hate the mill workers, and the mill workers hate the weavers. The merchants hate the craftsmen, who hate the laborers, who hate the slaves, who hate everyone–and rightfully so.” The Sultan's shoulders rose and fell as he huffed air. “Everyone loses money because they’re trying to take it out of each other’s pockets. The underworld needs some re-ordering.”
Peck laughed. “Order doesn’t cooperate with crime.”
“I emphasize the word some.” The Sultan grinned. “Honor amongst thieves: no more kidnapping noble children, burning down shops, or rioting in the streets. There’s a way to do business where everyone wins.”
Peck leaned forward. “This doesn’t sound like lying low, Sultan.”
“Nonsense!” The Sultan smacked the table with his hand. “You can use that exquisite cloak of yours.”
Peck’s stomach crawled with nervous worms. How does he know about my Cloak of Invisibility?
The Sultan steepled his fingers once more. “You could make quick work of them, Peck. You could clear the rats out of this city in a week, couldn’t you? I’ve seen what you can do.” Peck stared into the Sultan’s beady eyes. “Maybe this will encourage you to work with me: there is a plot to supplant the King.” The Sultan never broke eye contact and never stopped smiling.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Peck asked.
“The Red Sashes are involved but they're just pawns–not the masterminds behind the board.” The Sultan picked up a wooden mug and walked it across the surface like a chess piece, tapping its bottom against the tabletop.
“Who is?”
“A man named William Tucket. That’s not his real name, though," the Sultan paused. "This man also has many names, Peck.”
Peck shifted in his chair. “What’s his real name?”
The Sultan smiled. “Uthrad Pendragon.”
The night air was still. He looked out over the city from the tallest tower of the Delorian Keep. Cobblestone streets spread through the soil like roots. Countless buildings–small and tall–packed themselves in tight heaps of timber and stone. In the distance, encircling the city, the walls of Alexandria loomed like gray curtains that lessened the savagery of the wilds. Even with their walls, the savagery seeped in. The Pendragons are here? In Alexandria?
He thought of the night, four years ago, when High Exemplar Bernard came to him with a task:
“You want me to kill a baby?” Ardwin was not much more than a child himself.
“A child who would bring ruin to our kingdom,” Bernard said.
“I’m not a monster!”
“Ardwin, we must be whoever God needs us to be.”
Ardwin shook off the chill of the night and descended onto a walkway. He entered the tower and wound his way up spiraling steps. How long has Uthrad been in the city? Unlocking the door, Ardwin let himself in. Alatar paced back and forth in the center of his room. The Court Mage wore a long blue robe that fluttered about as he stalked the stones. A long gray beard fell along the center of his robe, like a wide fuzzy bib for a babe. Ardwin shut the door. “Alatar, I have news–strange news.”
“Not now!” Alatar raised a hand. “Oh… I lost it!”
“What?” Ardwin asked.
Alatar looked at him with wild eyes. “The elves–how they got in!” His bony arms flailed about as he spoke. “I almost figured it out when you interrupted!”
“The elves have been back?” Ardwin questioned.
“No! Don’t say that, Ardwin!” Alatar’s pacing intensified. “They could return…” the old man mumbled.
“The Sultan told me there is a Pendragon in our city,” Ardwin said. Alatar stopped. His eyes turned to Ardwin. Ardwin took a seat on a nearby stool. “Do you know anything?"
“There are rumors, but we have kept the Pendragons under watchful eyes and eager knives,” Alatar said. He resumed his pacing. “It would be impossible for them to get into this city without us knowing about it.”
“That much I know, Alatar. I thought you might know something about it." Ardwin picked up a metal utensil from a nearby table and twirled it between his fingers. "Moreso, I wondered why you kept it a secret from me?”
Alatar scoffed. He stepped toward Ardwin. “Because of your nature: Deloriar through and through. If there is a challenge, you will rise to face it.”
“Why protect him?” Ardwin asked.
“Uncertainties.” Alatar stroked his long beard.
“Are you speaking treason?” Ardwin thumbed the pointed pommel of his dagger.
“If I wanted to usurp the throne, I would use you as my tool, not the lesser-born son of an exiled house.” Alatar walked over to his workbench. The old wizard picked something up from the bench. Raising it into the sky, Alatar revealed a rapier. Its handguard was shiny silver, thick and wide, and spotted with little white pearls.
“Alatar?” Ardwin asked. The old man turned toward Ardwin. “How long has Uthrad been in the city?”
“An ‘asset’ in the Red Sashes discovered him six years ago,” Alatar admitted. “I tried to snuff him out then and there, but Uthrad is being protected. I’ve never discovered his allies, but they are powerful–very powerful. There is a dark design to his rising influence.” Alatar lowered the sword and looked Ardwin flat in the eyes. He drew the pearl-handled rapier from its black sheath. He held its fine point of silverlite out toward Ardwin. Ardwin closed his fingers around the handle of his hidden dagger. Alatar released the sword. It hovered mid-air.
“A flying sword?” Ardwin asked.
“I call it: ‘the Retaliating Rapier!’ On guard!” The rapier swooshed to life, lashing out at Ardwin. Ardwin barely ducked out of the way. Its steel streaked overhead. “Enough!” Alatar shouted. The flying sword whirled around in the air, then shot toward the old mage, sliding into its sheath. It landed with a loud clank! “The sword only listens to the person who draws it from its sheath.” Alatar held out the rapier once more. “The Pendragon in question has with him a sword: Ninathril, the Souldrinker. Uthrad has the sword of Arthur. You will need more than magic if you are to face such a man and live.” Alatar sighed. “I suppose it was fate that you two should meet: the sword of the Pendragon lineage, and the shield of the Deloriar dynasty.” The old man shook his head. “I wish you well, Ardwin.”
“How did he get into the city? Who allowed it?” Ardwin questioned.
“I don't know," Alatar said. "That question has haunted me these past six years. The nobles have their answers, and I have mine.”
Ardwin grabbed the mage's sleeve and tugged at his robe. “Who else is aware of his presence?”
The old mage cast his eyes to the floor. “There are growing concerns…”
Ardwin placed a hand on his shoulder. “Alatar?”
Deathless gray eyes rose to meet his own. “I imagine the Sultan informed you of the locations and accomplices, so I will just say this: you are what you do, Ardwin. You’ve done a lot of good. You are a good man. Take the sword. It is the only help I can offer in this endeavor.”
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Ardwin took the sword. “Thank you. If I may ask, why have you helped me all these years?”
“I suppose it is for the same reason the Holy Order took you in: you are more useful to me alive than dead.” The old man peered back at him.
Storm clouds swelled over the capital, readying to unleash their deluge. With his magical cloak, Ardwin never slipped on a wet shingle. The wind carried him truly. The rain, however, rendered its invisibility useless. Thankfully, it was a dark and moonless night. He could smell the precipitation in the air, could feel the lightning surge. Thunder roared. Soaring through the open sky, he felt vulnerable, yet powerful. This is my kingdom! The shadows of night, the battles in the dark, the secrets of the city. How did Uthrad enter my city? Who let this happen?
The tower of a guard barracks offered him a perch. The Commons stretched across the city, but his destination lay nestled in a valley overlooked by the Noble District. Ardwin scanned the shanty homes and rundown apartments. Is Alatar playing me for a fool? The Retaliating Rapier rested on his back, its sheath harnessed and fitted to hide beneath his cloak. He certainly knows more than he’s willing to say. He’s afraid. And if he’s afraid, then I should be, too. A leap of faith landed him on the roof of the barracks. He dashed across its spine, ignoring the patrols on either side, for their torchlight was too dim to reveal him. Ardwin dove off the barracks and glided over four alleyways separated by buildings. He landed on the steep shingled roof of the Vermin’s Vineyard, a derelict tavern for the downtrodden. Music and merrymaking resounded through its thin roof. Ardwin sat down next to the chimney. He welcomed its warmth. I will deal with the rats after severing the snake's head. Uther was an innocent child when the Temple ordered me to assassinate him. Uthrad is not a child, nor is he innocent.
Soot from the chimney sat thick on his cheeks. Raindrops cut black runs streaming like tears. His hair mussed, the hood of his wet cloak pulled tight, Ardwin shuffled down a narrow alleyway. Water gathered in potholes between the cobbles of the street. He found the apartment and approached the door. His knuckles rasped its wood: one, one-two, one, one, one-two. The door opened slowly. Dim candlelight poured through the doorframe. Ardwin stepped into the building. “It’s about time!” A nasal voice said. It belonged to a short, bald man. He wore a red sash around his waist.
A bigger man sitting across the room shot up from his chair. “That’s not Todger!” The bald man grabbed at Ardwin’s cloak, but Ardwin stepped away. “Intruder!” the big man shouted. Ardwin threw back his hood and loosened the Retaliating Rapier’s seat in its sheath. With a flare of his cloak, a vicious gust of wind flung the two watchmen off their feet. Their Red Sashes fluttered.
Two doors opened: one to the left of the central hallway and one to the right. Red Sashes poured out both doors, holding clubs, daggers, broken bottles, axes, and swords. Ardwin drew his magical dagger and pointed it at a bearded man holding an iron ax. He pricked his thumb with its pointed pommel. He felt blood pooling. It dried in the force of a thunderclap. The building shook. Its boards rattled. And the Red Sashes who held metal weapons cried out in agony as the lightning of Animiki’s Talon heated their weapons and seared their flesh. Iron and steel glowed white-hot. Their allies gasped and cowered. Mayhem ensued.
Reds rolled about. Men, women, and children shouted and cried. The Sultan didn’t say their families were here! A brave and burly young man charged at him with the leg of a wooden chair raised over his. Ardwin spun, sending his cloak in a spiral that picked the would-be attacker up in a whirlwind and flung him away.
A stampede of bodies ran across the room, making for the exit. A woman carrying a small boy ran headlong at Ardwin. He jumped high and allowed the woman to pass under him. A herd of people passed with her. “Fire!” a voice cried. “There’s a fire!” An apple hit him in the jaw, bursting into bits. It spun him around. With a flap of his cloak, Ardwin regained his bearings and rode the wind toward the hall. He spun and came crashing into three Red Sashes, blocking the entrance. The mangle of bodies thrashed about. They clung to Ardwin’s cloak and became wrapped in it.
Ardwin saw a group of armed men stalking down the far end of the hall. He released the cloak’s clasp at his neck. He stood and shouted: “On guard!” The Retaliating Rapier shot out of its sheath and darted, point first, at the approaching attackers. Its thin blade whooshed through the air, slicing, and jabbing.
Ardwin stomped at a head that hid beneath his cloak. “Oof!” A man moaned. He grabbed his magical cloak and tugged, but the Reds nearly pulled Ardwin off his feet. Two Red Sashes piled into the hallway. Ardwin threw his dagger. Animiki’s Talon buried itself within a man’s chest. The Red Sash didn’t have time to cry out. Lightning is too fast. Thunder roared. His eyes glowed white, as did his ears, nose, and mouth. They were all burned to ash. As he melted from the inside, his blood boiled away. The other Reds looked at their friend in horror. One shrieked. He dropped his mason’s hammer and fled down the hall. The one left clinging to Ardwin’s cloak trembled. His eyes were wide, his mouth agape. Ardwin pulled his magical cloak free and clasped it back onto his shoulders. The Red Sash did not resist.
The Retaliating Rapier fought on–stopping a swarm of Reds from advancing down the hallway. Ardwin studied them. That’s one more life than I came to take. Ardwin walked toward the floating rapier and the remaining Red Sashes. They looked frightened. But if blood is to be spilled, let it be enough that my God is satisfied.
Up the stairs at the back of the hall, Ardwin dashed to the next floor. “Intruder!” A voice cried as he reached the top. A man ran at him with an ax. Ardwin spun and delivered a back fist to the on-coming attacker. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a Red charging with a knife. Ardwin stepped aside and punched the man in the chin as he passed. The first attacker got back to his feet, the other lay asleep to the world. “You can surrender,” Ardwin offered.
“Might be that I could, if not for a fouler fate.” The man charged Ardwin bearing his ax high. Ardwin waited for the man to step close, then drew his dagger and sliced the man’s throat with a graceful flick of the blade. The attacker dropped his ax, clutched at his neck, and rolled down the stairwell.
The hall filled with Reds. Ardwin turned onto another stairwell leading to the third floor. The Red Sashes followed. At the top of the steps, he spun around, sending a gale through the second story of the building. Doors slammed, boards rattled, and peasants screamed. Ardwin continued up another flight of steps, then another, his cloak speeding him toward the top floor. Four hostile Reds awaited him. A slender man with a curved blade charged first. Ardwin drew his rapier and parried an attack. He spun, slicing the swordsman’s leg. “Ah!” the man shouted, falling to the ground. His ally, a fat old man with long hair and a braided gray beard, joined the assault with two clubs. Ardwin dodged two blows before realizing the other Reds had circled behind him. He jumped into the air and clung to the ceiling, dropping the rapier to clatter onto the floor between the men.
“On guard!” Ardwin cried. The Retaliating Rapier sprung to life and made quick work of all four men. Ardwin fell from the ceiling and landed, crouched. “Enough!” he barked, and the flying sword found its sheath.
He approached a large wooden door at the end of the hall. The whole building stirred below, but no one seemed interested in joining him on the top floor. Ardwin sheathed the Retaliating Rapier. He tugged on the iron handle of the door. A man, wearing rough worn leather and holding a beautiful sword at his side, stood at the center of the room. His hair was shoulder-length and black as night. “Another assassin?” the man asked.
“Uthrad Pendragon?” Ardwin asked. His cloak still dripped with rainwater.
The man smiled. Stern eyes softened. “That is the first time I’ve heard a Deloriar speak my name.”
How do you know me? Ardwin said nothing.
Uthrad chuckled. “I thought they would send you, eventually. Ardwin, that’s your name. The name given by your Holy Order–”
“Is the Temple involved in this? Who betrayed our city?”
“Listen to me. While you keep up the good fight, your brother lets his kingdom go to ruin. And what do you get for fighting? Does he even know you exist? What are you fighting for?” Uthrad swung his sword in front of him and leaned against it, both hands resting on its black-jeweled pommel. “When the Pendragons ruled, Fergonia was our ally against the South Cities. Trade flourished with the West. And the Dwarven Kings envied our wealth. We were the shining jewel amongst all human kingdoms.” Ardwin peered into Uthrad’s dark eyes. “Fight with me, Ardwin. We will bring the kingdom back to glory. I will give you a noble name and a noble life. Or, retire if you wish. Live a peaceful life on an estate out in the countryside. Do as you wish. Just don’t stand in my way.”
“Your way?” Ardwin asked.
Uthrad smiled. “My cousin is still a child. He’s not fit to rule.” Uthrad held Ninathril up. Its silverlite blade was split by a dark metal, winding down into a spiraling handle. Its handguard was thin–fit with diamond-shaped tips. The double-bladed silver steel gleamed in the candlelight. “A king is made.”
“This is about your pride.” Ardwin opened his cloak up, revealing the dagger at his hip. “If you continue on your way, many people will suffer.”
“I am fighting to end their suffering! The Red Sashes exist because of the injustice they suffer day in and day out. The nobles do nothing, the King does nothing, and the Holy Order does nothing. I have the sword of Arthur and the means to make my dreams a reality!” Uthrad stood tall. “Who are you to judge me? What do you fight for?”
“A better world,” Ardwin answered.
“Then join me in building one.” Uthrad lowered his sword and held out a hand. “You don’t owe the Deloriars anything.”
“The commoners, the nobles, and the Temple all work together to make that dream a reality. It isn’t possible for one man. I fight for a dream shared by all–something greater than myself. The world doesn’t owe you anything.”
In a flash, Ninathril sang past Ardwin’s face. “Ah!” Uthrad cried. He held the sword in both hands.
Ardwin flared his cloak. The wind sent Uthrad crashing over a wooden desk and through a window. He disappeared into the night. Rain fell in a thunderous clatter like calvary charging across a battlefield. Ardwin jumped out of the window and landed on a steep tiled roof. He slid down the roof and over its edge, gliding to the ground. A scarce few street lanterns maintained their flame against the battering storm. The cobbles of the street were scarce, too. The ground was soft and soggy. Ardwin’s boots became soaked, sinking in mud. Uthrad held his blade out to the side and stalked toward him. “I will be King!”
Thunder roared. Uthrad charged.
Ardwin jumped over a slicing arch. His cloak carried him higher. Ardwin drew his dagger and pointed it at Uthrad. He pricked his finger, felt the blood pooling, and witnessed the thunderclap. Animiki’s Talon struck Ninathril with lightning. Uthrad almost lost his grip on the sword. The silver steel flashed white, then dimmed. Uthrad backed away as Ardwin landed. “On guard!” Ardwin yelled. The rapier sprung to life and assailed Uthrad.
Ardwin charged in with his dagger. Uthrad dodged, moved, and parried. He danced across the slick ground with deft feet. Neither the Retaliating Rapier nor Ardwin with his talon could land a clean blow. Ardwin backed off, allowing the flying rapier to press forward. “Tell me who you are working with! Who betrayed their King?”
Uthrad focused on the rapier, remaining silent.
The blood on Ardwin's thumb was still fresh. He aimed Animiki’s Talon at his magic rapier and released a burst of lightning. The rapier glowed white-hot as it struck Ninathril. A burst of white light flashed, crashing against a cloud of churning shadows, a shore breaking upon the tide. The force resounded like a giant’s hammer hitting its anvil. Uthrad lost his balance. Flaring his magical cloak, Ardwin pushed off a cobblestone and shot toward Uthrad. Ardwin hurled through the air as his rapier kept Uthrad on the defensive. Uthrad spotted him. He turned. Ardwin threw his magical dagger, to which Uthrad parried it away with his sword. The Retaliating Rapier jabbed at Uthrad’s belly, forcing him to block. Ardwin tugged his cloak and redirected himself at the last moment. He grabbed the floating rapier in mid-air. Flowing with the wind, he twirled around Uthrad.
Uthrad followed but was too slow. Ardwin’s rapier sunk into Uthrad’s leg. Uthrad cried out with pain. His sword answered with a song of steel as Uthrad pressed with a flurry of attacks. Ardwin dodged and moved. “Who betrayed our city?”
Uthrad smiled like a madman, eyes wide, teeth barred. “You’re going to die for nothing. Everyone you killed died for nothing.” Ardwin lashed out with his sword, but Uthrad grabbed the rapier and punched Ardwin in the face. It dazed Ardwin. His windswept cloak carried him out of the way of Ninathril, who screamed past his midsection. He felt something beneath his foot. Uthrad charged forward, his sword held high. Ardwin knelt at the last moment and picked up his dagger. The swordsman swung and Ardwin rolled out of the way. Uthrad was upon him before he could regain his bearing, but his magical cloak guided him to safety. Ardwin flared his cloak and soared into the air above. “Tell me who the traitor is, and I may let you leave the city alive,” Ardwin offered.
“I’m willing to die for my dream, bastard!" Uthrad's eyes tracked him. "Are you willing to die for yours?”
Ardwin dove, hurling toward Uthrad. He brought both his dagger and sword down upon the man, but Ninathril held strong. A blast of energy forced Ardwin back into the sky. He released the rapier. “On guard!” He flipped backward, carried by his cloak, landing on his feet. The rapier pressed Uthrad.
Ardwin tightened his grip on Animiki’s Talon. He charged back into the fray. Uthrad slammed Ninathril against the Retaliating Rapier, but the smaller sword held. Ardwin sliced at the swordsman with his dagger, but Uthrad blocked his attack. Uthrad’s attention was captured by the rapier attacking from behind. The swordsman spun, knocking the rapier away and repositioning himself to face the rapier and Ardwin. “I will not die!” Uthrad cried. His weight was heavy on his left leg.
“Enough!” Ardwin shouted. The rapier found its sheath. The two men stood in the dark rain, staring at each other.
Uthrad chuckled. “You’re like me, bastard. You do the killing, while the better born reaps the spoils.”
“I’m nothing like you,” Ardwin retorted. “You only fight for yourself.”
“I fought for my cousins," Uthrad said. "My family. But my dreams are real, too!” Uthrad dashed forward, moving laboriously. Ardwin drew his rapier and charged. Ardwin dodged his attacks with ease. He side-stepped and crouched under Uthrad’s next swing, slicing the back of his knees. Uthrad face-planted. Ninathril clanked against the cobbles. Ardwin kicked Uthrad in the head, then jabbed his rapier into the man’s shoulder. Uthrad yelped. He rolled over onto his back. The Pendragon usurper lay staring into a starless sky.
Ardwin stood, a foot on his enemy's sword, a rapier pointed at his neck. “Who betrayed our city?”
Uthrad’s mouth opened and closed. “What becomes…" Blood dripped from his lips. "Of my dreams?” Ardwin peered into dark, dying, eyes.
Ardwin approached the Sultan’s door and knocked. The slender man in his flowing robes, silks of greens and yellows, welcomed him with a big smile. “So, it’s done?” the Sultan took a seat at his table.
“It is,” Ardwin said.
“You look worse for wear," the Sultan said. "Though, I don’t imagine killing a fine warrior like Uthrad was easy-”
“We had a deal,” Ardwin cut him short.
The Sultan’s smile turned flat, and his big white turban sunk with his thin brow. “We did. I understand the magnitude of this job. I don’t mean to make light of it. The Sultan must keep up appearances, my friend.” The slender man reached a hand into his robe and withdrew a coin purse. He set the purse on the table. “You can stay as long as you want. I’ll keep you safe and secret.”
“No.” Ardwin stalked over to an iron desk sitting against the far wall. He picked up a piece of parchment and retrieved a quill–wetting it with ink. “I’m leaving the city. You should, too.”
“You’ve opened a window of opportunity for me,” the Sultan said. “I’m not jumping out–I’m climbing in.”
The Blackroot River drifted south, but his barge cut north, fighting the currents that flowed fiercely beneath their calm surface. Leaning against the rails of the barge, searching black waters for answers, Ardwin cradled Ninathril in his arms, wrapped up in a bedroll and blanket. When Uthrad died, someone else died, too. It was not a character the Temple taught him to play, nor was it one of his own creations. It was deeper. I’ve killed before. Why do I feel like this?
“Where are you headed?” a shrill voice disturbed him. It was a child–a little boy with short shorn hair.
“I’m not sure,” Ardwin answered.
“Are you a wanderer or something?" The boy’s eyes lit up. "A ranger?”
Ardwin nodded. “I am.”
“Am what, mister? Which one?” the boy asked. “Who are you, mister?”
He peered into the black waters. Who am I?