Under the concealment of the night, a meeting was in session at Wilbur’s Soutfel day house. The house wasn’t overly large. Not as big as his manor house at Estvor. The cottage would have to do, even if it was cramped.
Wilbur looked at his guests in the yellow lamplight across the room. Paramount Godric and his young cousin Paramount Klause stood stoically, dressed in the garb of the middle class as always.
Wilbur didn’t understand why they did that. They had power, money, and station. Why didn’t they show it? The only thing that marked them as noble was the metal ring on Godwin’s forearm. The circlet was a Fusillade Remnant. Wilbur had no clue what it did, but he knew it was priceless.
Their choice of attire did make some sense. Most of the Estvorians and Roof Runners who crossed over into Soutvor with them were of the lower class. It sent a message of camaraderie, but still. It didn’t merit much authority, which is what Wilbur would have done in their place.
Also present were a few leaders from a local gang, The Frez Seconds, and Duke Roe, a man stripped of his title and artifacts but by no means stripped of power. Wilbur was still determining how much he liked hosting these others. He tolerated it anyway because a wolf was always well acquainted.
“They’re not budging,” Paramount Klause said grimly. “We hit his wagons at the shipping yard, but Alred didn’t send any men to back them up.”
“We hit the docks,” one of The Frez Seconds leaders reported. “Burned two of his ships and were only met by a few local law enforcement. They were easy to deal with.” They chuckled, and Paramount Godric narrowed his eyes at them. Godric wasn’t a wasteful man. He didn’t delight in casualties, especially officers just doing their job. But he didn’t rebuke them as he still needed their support.
“Roe?” Godric asked as he turned to the former duke.
“We stole some field artifacts,” the sharply dressed man said. “Quite a few of them, too. Alred will be ruined if he doesn’t deploy his garrison.”
“Well, he’s not moving,” Klause said. “And it’s only a matter of time before his sons show up with their garrisons and guns to drive us from Soutfel. We can’t afford those casualties.”
Godwin shook his head. “We’ll abort our plan if the Kalbfel and Stemfel garrisons appear. We just need to strike him hard! What can’t he afford to lose?”
“His cattle compound,” Wilbur cut in, surprising himself with his answer. He had spoken before his thoughts had formed.
“Not a bad idea,” the stocky Paramount Godwin nodded. “Scatter the cows.”
“No,” Wilbur said. “The herdsmen.”
This time, Godwin protested, “There is no need to hurt bystanders.” He shot a warning glance at the boys from the Frez Seconds.
“Innocent,” Wilbur scoffed. “Hardly.”
All eyes turned to him for an explanation.
“I’ve had my spies watching the compound,” he lied. “It has come to my attention that the herdsmen and their families are martial men and spies, undercover, of course.”
“Are you serious?” Klause asked in shock.
“Quite. Think about it. A small elite force already on the outskirts of town is in a dangerous position to counterattack. We should meet them before they hit us from behind.”
That caused a stirring among those present. Even Paramount Godric stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I hadn’t planned for this. Maybe Alred was ready for us more than I thought. Hiding a force of martial men and waiting for his sons could leave us trapped on all sides.” He glanced at Klause with a worried frown. “I’ll take care of the cattle compound personally. I want you ready to lead the attack on the manor if you get the chance.”
The youth paled. “But Godwin–” he started in protest.
Godwin Rowan put his hand on Klause’s shoulder. “You’re ready. Can I trust you?”
Klause paused before nodding at his cousin. “I’ll do it.”
“Perfect. Give them Frez, everyone, and remember. Abandon the attack if the younger Alreds arrive, and don't harm innocents,” he said sternly. With a wave, he dismissed them.
Wilbur beckoned Arth over.
“Yes, boss?”
“Lead Master Godwin to the cattle compound,” the tea merchant instructed. “I want him to raise that place.”
Arth flinched. “But Esther–”
“Has refused me,” Wilbur said. “There are consequences for being foolish, and that Sharderin corpse will learn what it means to cross me. Convince Godwin that they are martial men.”
Arth smiled at the order and, as always, nodded in obedience. “The compound will be gone by morning, boss.”
Niklas saw a ceiling board with a splintered hole from a twisted knot on one side. Niklas cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. The noise outside raged and died, only to pick up again hours later as it darkened outside. Niklas was determined not to spend another minute in the cell.
The plank was high, but Niklas was tall and had a good high jump. He looked at his callused hands, desperately wishing he had his gloves.
The key was that the nails drove the planks up into the ceiling beams. Having recently worked in a lumber yard, Niklas had a hunch he could force them out.
Niklas grunted before springing up. He speared his fingers into the hole and hooked them around the back. He felt splinters and cracks dig into his fingers, and he bit his tongue at the discomfort.
The manor guards or the lawmen had bandaged his forearm half-heartedly while he was asleep, but his arm started to sting as he held himself up.
Hanging from the ceiling with one hand, Niklas looked at Alden across the hall.
The older man nodded at Niklas but made no move to call for guards. His green eyes glistened momentarily before he turned away from Niklas, allowing him to work in private.
Almost as if, by his consent, Niklas managed to cram three fingers from his other hand into the hole. It felt like he was holding himself up on a knife’s edge. Niklas grunted, swung his feet up, and planted them on either side of the blackened plank. Tense in his inverted squat, he strained his body as he pushed away from the ceiling with his legs. The wood bit his fingers as he pitted the strength of his legs against his fingers.
Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
The plank groaned as its nails started to slip.
Niklas gasped and dropped back to the ground. Shaking his raw hands, he looked back up at the plank. He had managed to pull it down an inch on one end. There was a fresh new gap for him to grab, hopefully, less splintered.
Niklas jumped up and jerked the plank, letting his weight pull it loose. It swung down. Several nails stuck through it, and two bent as they anchored it. Twisting the board, Niklas ripped it free and dropped it to the ground.
He waited a moment to be sure the noise hadn’t drawn any attention from the front room. Satisfied that it hadn’t, hope leaped in his fluttering chest, causing him to smile. But he wasn’t out of this yet.
He grinned at a new six-inch gap in the ceiling where the plank used to be. Repeating the trick, he managed to loosen the two on either side, but they were nailed in better, and he couldn’t get them free. Panting from the bat-like squat session, Niklas jumped up and wormed his way into the slot in the ceiling.
Niklas grunted and kicked his legs as the planks scraped his arms and chest. He sucked his gut in, but his deep chest made squeezing through painful. The long slit on his forearm split, and Niklas felt warm blood soak the hasty bandage. With a grunt and almost a full minute of thrashing and pulling, he found his way onto the rafters above the ceiling.
Feeling triumphant in the dark, he made his way from rafter to rafter, feeling his way like a blind man. At the edge of the building, a circular vent formed out of slanted slats. The noise outside had rekindled; Niklas silently prayed that he wouldn’t arouse any suspicion and kicked the vent into splinters.
Peeking out the new window, Niklas saw several dark figures moving around below. Several had painted their faces, and others covered them with handkerchiefs. They must have been the Rowan’s men moving to position for an attack.
Niklas dropped to the ground, causing several of them to yelp as they looked at him in surprise. Niklas grunted as he grabbed his gut where Erik’s blade had penetrated the deepest. His wounds didn’t like the shock of the drop. Ignoring the thugs, Niklas turned to circle the small prison building. He had some business to see to.
Niklas banged on the reformatory's door, and Officer Yelsing opened it, his look of annoyance shifting to surprise. “Yo–!”
Niklas slugged him across the jaw hard, collapsing him in one blow.
“That’s my jacket!” Niklas growled as he pulled it off the unconscious man and threw it over his shoulders. It felt like a brotherly embrace at a ten-year reunion. The familiar shape and weight were precisely as they were supposed to be.
Niklas looked around, but no other officers were in the small office. Rummaging through drawers and bins, he quickly located his reaper's blade. Finally re-equipped with his only earthly positions, Niklas turned to leave but stopped at the figure blocking the doorway.
“Niklas Loga,” he said in Sharderic. “I’ve come to bring you home.”
Niklas gasped and fell back. The man wore black Drone armor with articulating plates covering everything but his head. Under his arm was his Drone mask, its eyes staring at Niklas like a god of the past. In his other hand was another Drone mask.
“Are you here to kill me?” Niklas asked, growing numb with fear.
“No, brother,” he said. “I’m taking you home.”
“Who are you?” Niklas asked, his thumb finding the switch on his reaper blade.
“Don’t fear me,” he said. “You and I are comrades, not enemies.”
“It was you? Who hit the Dueler with that dart?”
He nodded. “You weren’t doing so well. You were unprepared.”
“I left Pit forest,” Niklas whispered as he finally noticed the Prylux pistol on his hip. The weapon had lines of pulsing yellow light. “You’ve come to silence me?”
“Niklas Loga, if I wanted you dead, that dart would have been for you instead of the Relrin.”
“Unless you wanted the valor for yourself.”
He shook his head. “Things have changed back home.” He extended the second Drones mask. “You can get your face back.”
Niklas looked at the mask in bewilderment. “No...no, that’s not possible. I’m faceless. I have no valor!” He pointed at the scar on his face to prove his point.
The Drone shook his head, his white ponytail swaying with his head. “You were unjustly condemned. The Zealots have been punished, and you will receive a second chance. Don’t you understand, Niklas? You can go home.”
Niklas took the mask with trembling hands, and it finally hit him. Home? Was it possible? Could he go back to Edgar? Work hard and become a Raider? Was it all a test? Had Gyva taken it all to teach him a lesson? Was she giving it back because he passed?
He felt Valor’s gentle burn return as he stared at the drone mask’s eyes. Could it be?
Niklas laughed out loud. All this work, his failed plans, setbacks, and his road home came to him!
Niklas stopped as the voice of reason took hold. This was far too good to be true.
“Who are you?” Niklas asked, setting the mask on a desk like a thermal charge.
“My name is Vidder,” he said, his eyes following the motion. He was athletic and powerful, though not as tall as Niklas. “You have been very hard to find.”
“Why have you been looking for me?” Niklas asked, realizing that there had to be a catch. Stuff like this didn’t just happen.
“I have been sent by somebody who cares deeply about you.”
“Edgar?” Niklas asked, and his wounds screamed at his enthusiasm as he unintentionally tightened. Now that he could believe.
Vidder chuckled and shook his head. Someone much greater.
“What? Who?” Niklas demanded. “I am just a Drone. Not even that anymore. I don’t have any friends back at Pit. Who would care other than Edgar?”
“The Arbiter.”
Niklas laughed helplessly. The laugh of realism ripping away hope. “The Arbiter? The Father of Pit? Now I know I’m mad.”
“Don’t you mock father,” Vidder growled.
“So you’re his son.”
“As are you.”
“I find that unlikely,” Niklas snorted. “Considering my father was a Relrin.”
“But the Arbiter has accepted you as his own. You should be honored.”
“But why would the great Arbiter have any interest in me?”
“Because you are special, Niklas,” Vidder said emphatically.
“Right.” Niklas rolled his eyes. “Me. Special. Drone Niklas Loga.”
“You don’t believe me… you have been away for almost a month without med. Tell me, how do you feel?”
“It was horrible at first,” Niklas said. “I couldn’t even function properly. But it comes and goes in waves.”
Vidder shook his head, and Niklas noticed his hands trembling for the first time. “You should be bedridden. You shouldn’t have built up resistance yet.”
“You’re off med, too,“ Niklas realized.
“I’ve been looking for you for almost three weeks!” he growled. “I’ve been out for a week and can barely stand. I promise you answers, Niklas. But you need to come with me!”
“Where?”
“Home. To Edgar. To your people. To the Arbiter. You are not one of them, Niklas. Stop pretending to be. They locked you up like a criminal. They’ve slandered, beaten, and rejected you. What do you owe them?” He pointed to the bandage on Niklas’ forearm, which still seeped through.
Niklas felt the weight of his words. Vidder wasn’t lying. Niklas was a parasite to them. Wilbur, Erik, and Geoffrey generally hated him, and rightfully so. But What about the Sommerfeldts? What about Esther?
“Let’s go!” Vidder groaned. He was in pain, and Niklas could see it. “I need to get you back, and I need med. The door that goes home isn’t closed, brother.”
The door behind you isn’t closed yet. But do you really want to forfeit the door ahead?
The man who sat in a cell just behind the door at the back of the office had said something like that, and he claimed to be some sort of seer. Could it mean...“I really can go home,” Niklas gasped, and his eyes threatened to blur. This nightmare could go away, but what about his people?
Niklas looked longingly out the window.
“You have friends here?” Vidder sniffed the air. “I can smell them on you. Are you afraid that you’ll miss them? Those few who have accepted you? Trust me, it will be better for both them and you for you to leave. Your presence will only hurt them.”
Niklas nodded in agreement, but that harsh truth stabbed his heart like a hot knife. He had offended Esther and made an enemy of Wilbur on her behalf. Niklas had been a burden to Lill. Rasmus was still waiting on a promise he never seemed to find time for, and if not for him, the Sommerfeldts wouldn’t have to sacrifice what little they had to keep him fed. “Are there no other options?” he asked. “Can I bring them?”
“No,” Vidder said. “Come home. That is the only option where everyone can be happy.”
Niklas saw the two doors. One led back to Pit Forest, Edgar, and his home, the other to his new family, to misery. They would continue to be persecuted and rejected because of him. Their lives would be difficult and painful with a Drone in their midst. They would smile and tell him it wasn’t his fault. But deep down, they would know that it was. Though Niklas had good intentions, he had cursed their house.
“Do you care about them, Niklas?” Vidder asked.
Niklas nodded, a knot welling in his throat.
“Then leave. If they truly mean anything to you, fix their lives by leaving them. We are different people. We cannot coexist with them- not without destroying each other. But you know that, don’t you?”
Niklas looked at the drone mask on the desk before him and thought of the last three weeks- the pain, the joy, the beautiful moments, and the sour. Lill’s scolding, Ivar’s sarcasm, Rasmus’ respect for him, Trygve’s loyalty. Niklas loved those boys, Esther…
Niklas nodded and sniffled. “I choose the door behind.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ll go with you. For their sakes.”