There was only one more right turn to go, and then, skirting the main channel of the Meridania sewer for the last two hundred yards to its outlet, they would see the faint light of the sunset.

At least that was what the Rat King had told the others when he stopped the group, consisting of himself, Viryl, Anker, and four of his brothers. Three of the knights of the Order of Libertas on Dioryl’s paycheck were waiting with a cart at the mouth of the sewers, and they would not have the chance to speak freely in front of them. It was their last chance to say goodbye.

Anker had already been shackled with heavy chains and stripped of his belt, but his saber still hung at his side; after one of the Rat King's men blessed it, he had been assured that no one would notice it as long as he did not interact with his surroundings. Yet it was dangling conspicuously, and he could not believe that he would get away with it so easily.

“Listen, fallen one,” the Rat King began his farewell speech, turning to Viryl. “We trust in you. Free us from the scourge that weighs upon us, and we will reward you as you deserve. We know what you seek. We know where it is and in whose hands. We know all the secrets the Grand Master hides. Once he is defeated, we will reveal them to you.”

Viryl nodded. He would have killed Dioryl for free, but since he was being offered the chance to put an end to his frantic treasure hunt, why refuse?

The Rat King registered Viryl's assent in his pale pupils, and invited them to proceed.

After emerging from the side tunnel into the main one, the meeting point was immediately visible. As the Rat King had announced, three knights of the Order of Libertas were waiting for them in their ethereal armors next to a cart with an iron cage on top pulled by a horse. Although their faces were not fully visible, they had an unmistakable look of boredom. When they saw the procession of beggars arriving with the knight in chains at the head, however, they perked up.

“Did you see, Hammerless? They’re here! They’re here! This wasn’t a waste of time!” exclaimed one of the three, a stocky figure wearing light blue ethereal armor with gold trim.

Another of the three, a spindly one wearing a gleaming midnight blue ethereal armor with silver trim and a white plume, squatting next to the cart, replied in an annoyed tone, “You are such a moron. I didn’t say it was a waste of time because I didn’t think they would show up. The client told us in person that his sewer men had recovered one of the three fugitives, and his words could hardly be false —”

Hammerless stopped his monologue and rose from his sitting position, “— What I don’t understand is why I can’t shoot a nail into his head right now, and instead we have to escort him to his residence.”

“He wants to talk to them,” Rustball explained in all of his naivety.

“What could he possibly have to say that we can’t find out on our own? And why would he ask me to be his escort? I’d be more useful elsewhere!”

After saying those words, Hammerless hopped on the spot, unable to rest, and then advanced towards Anker, raising an arm, as if he were about to cast a spell, "It only takes a moment! I'll say 'tac' and he's dead, and then we can get back to looking for the other one! We'll tell the client that he tried to escape or something! He can't complain, after all he paid us to kill them!"

Anker turned pale. It was obvious that it would end like this. He knew the practical mentality of the knights all too well. Whoever gets his hands on a subversive simply kills him if he is of little use.

“Stop, you dickhead!” the third knight, a massive man wearing white ethereal armor streaked with crimson, bellowed. Anker recognized the timbre of the voice immediately. It was unmistakably that of Melfis the Jawbreaker. “He’s already paid us to kill them, and now he’ll pay us more to bring them to him alive. So we’ll bring them to him alive.”

“I remind you that I am the one in charge of this mission,” Hammerless replied piqued.

"Yes, but they pay us all the same. And I think a few more quartaroli would please everyone," the stocky knight in the celestial armor complained.

"You heard Rustball. If a fool like him is acting smarter than you, you're really hitting rock bottom, aren't you?" Melfis observed.

Rustball turned to Melfis for a moment, perhaps offended by his words, but he didn’t argue. Hammerless sighed, and grabbed the chain dangling from Anker’s wrists in annoyance. He yanked it and yelled in exasperation, “All right! Let’s get a fucking move on!”

Anker, suddenly thrust forward, thought he would stumble but miraculously managed to regain his balance. He glanced worriedly to his side, expecting his saber to be rattling all over the place. But he didn’t see it at all. As he had been promised, it had vanished. He couldn’t even feel its weight. Yet he was sure of it: it was still hanging at his side. So had Viryl disappeared as well? He turned and looked for him with a fleeting glance, but behind the Rat King’s men there was no trace of him.

“Look ahead, Southerner!” exclaimed Hammerless, tugging at Anker like a dog on a leash.

“He is not very talkative, this knight of Ferlonia,” Rustball assessed, circling Anker and studying him curiously.

“You can say that. He was greeted by Hammerless, who threatened to shoot a nail into his brains. I don't think he'd be in a chattering mood in a situation like that. He's understood his place,” Melfis commented.

Hammerless opened the door of the cage on the cart and ordered Anker, “Go in.”

Anker obeyed, without a word.

The cage was locked, and Rustball and Hammerless took the wheel. Melfis stroked the mane of the draft horse at the head of the wagon and said goodbye to his two companions, “It looks like everything is under control here, you can go. I'm going back to the city to find Viryl of the White Gale. I'll make sure our colleagues do a thorough search of the red-light district and the station, without getting distracted. See you later.”

Before he left, Melfis turned toward the sewer outlet and bowed his head to the beggars in greeting. They stood there, distant and silent, like eerie ghosts, and did not even respond to his signal. Melfis had dealt with the sewer dwellers a couple of times. Weird guys: they didn’t talk unless absolutely necessary. A religious thing, he had gathered. But they knew their job, as he knew his. And that was enough to earn his respect.

*****

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Witnessing the scene, a bloody temptation made its way into Viryl's mind. The white and red ethereal armor of that son of a bitch Melfis looked like the wrapping of a delicious coconut chocolate. He had separated from the others, and was returning alone to the eastern gate of Meridania, taking a walk in the thick snowy woods at the foot of the walls.

It would have been so simple to stalk him, waiting for him to release his ethereal armor for a breath of cold night air. And, just then, to plant a javelin in his neck.

The traitorous bastard would have fallen into a pool of blood without a whimper. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity where a knight without an Exoplion can take out a knight with an Exoplion and get away with it.

Viryl shuddered as he pictured himself behind that cynical, balding bastard, with his good-natured face as fake as a brass ducat.

For nearly a year of their lives they had been in the same boat, both metaphorically and literally. Together they had wrested the island of Arvas from the Infidels. Some of their companions had died, and only those who had been able to watch each other's backs had survived.

Was the life of an old comrade in arms worth less than a handful of lire?

Viryl sighed.

No, that was a luxury he couldn't afford.

In the Darlah affair there was a mastermind, an executioner and a son of a bitch who had only taken care of delivering the corpse wrapped up like a present to a kid on Christmas morning. Figuratively, in his gun Viryl had only one bullet and he knew very well who he had to shoot it at.

And then, the most important factor, the kid. He had trusted him and put his life in his hands. By giving in to his lust for revenge, Viryl would practically condemn him to death. He would lose the blessing of the unnamed god, and even if he managed to get to Dioryl's residence while keeping away from Hammerless and Rustball, his break-in would lose the element of surprise entirely.

There was no point in keeping a prisoner alive when he was no longer useful. Once Viryl showed up at Dioryl's gate, he would surely kill the kid first. Even if he was caged, he was still a knight, and he couldn't risk him breaking free, finding himself facing two enemies instead of one.

Wouldn't Viryl have been the true traitor at that point?

Viryl had only one option: to keep his promise and stick to the plan. So she took an energy potion from his belt and drank it in long gulps. Then he started to chase the wagon, which was proceeding on a narrow, muddy road.

*****

By the time the carriage reached Dioryl's villa in the open countryside, it was already deep night. In the darkness, the exact dimensions of the palace could not be distinguished, but it was clear that it was truly enormous. A humble university professor could never have afforded such an estate.

The outer fence was made of brick, interrupted by a single wrought iron gate, whose vertical bars ended in sharp lanceolate points. Next to the gate, in front of the surrounding wall, was built a guardhouse, where a guard dozed, wrapped in a heavy blanket.

The two knights of the Order of Libertas pulled the cart up to the cubicle, and Hammerless called to the guard, “Hey! We've brought the fugitive, as your master requested.”

The gatekeeper rubbed his eyes and looked out from his post, yawning. Then he put his hand in his pants pocket and took out a key, and went out to greet them and show them the way, “Welcome, distinguished guests!”

"Where do we dump him?" Hammerless wanted to wrap things up quickly and had no time to waste on those fucking formalities.

“Oh, sure. The Grand Master said to take it to the greenhouse,” the caretaker replied.

“The greenhouse?” Rustball repeated, confused.

"Yes, the greenhouse. Proceed along the garden, then you will find the palace. If you go to the right, along the facade you will come across an arch: go through it and you will find yourself in a clearing in the center of which there is a glass greenhouse. It is large, you cannot miss it. It is closed, but the key is in the lock. You can open it without any problems, the important thing is that you turn the lock a couple of times again when you leave," the guard explained, then he opened the gate and signaled them to pass.

Once past the walls, the knights found themselves immersed in the glorious garden. A dozen flowerbeds followed one another at the edges of the road, separated by stone-paved paths. It was not clear how wide they extended, since the artificial lighting was off, but at a rough estimate there was almost half a mile to go before reaching the lanterns hanging on the villa's portico. Rustball whistled in admiration and swore. That place was a palace, the southerner had plenty of money.

As instructed, the wagon circled the mansion until it found the gap and rode through. After two hundred yards, Hammerless and Rustball spotted the greenhouse and stopped their horse in front of the entrance.

Rustball took charge of unloading the prisoner. He had superhuman strength and knew the “oily surface” spell, which he used to slide the iron cage without friction. Anker didn’t complain about the jostling. The two knights were lousy drivers and the ride had made him very nauseous. He was too busy suppressing the urge to vomit to pay attention to Rustball’s rough, jerky pushes.

The knight in cerulean armor left the cage just inside the entrance, went out, and locked the door, as he had been ordered. Hammerless drummed impatiently with his left hand on the wooden board of his seat, while with his right he held the reins, ready to snap them as soon as his partner sat down beside him. Rustball didn't even have time to hoist himself onto the cart, and they were already moving.

Hammeless had to halt the horse just a few moments later. The Grand Master in his luxurious nightgown had appeared under the arch and was signaling them to stop.

“Yes, Grand Master? How can we help you?” Hammerless asked somewhat hastily.

"Come up to my study so I can pay you and offer you a glass of Elpirisia del Norte Avuelite sherry. I must give you your reward for this additional service you have provided me," the man invited them.

Hammerless held back the invective that was on the tip of his tongue, and politely refused, "Grand Master, as you know, we still have work to do. You can pay us later. You told us that Viryl of the White Gale is no longer in the sewers, but as much as we hate to admit it, we have no idea where he's hiding right now. We need to go back on patrol. And as for you, if you really want to question that boy, you'd better do it as soon as possible, so he can give us some useful tips."

Rustball looked at his buddy with a hint of resentment. He absolutely wanted to try that rich guy's liquor. He couldn't stand Hammerless when he did that. Him and his fucking micromanaging. It wasn't about money, because they had been paid in advance. It wasn't even about reputation, because it was a confidential job and they wouldn't get any publicity. Simply, when he realized that something wasn't going as he had planned, Hammerless started to go crazy. He had thought he had outwitted an old fox, and he hadn't cared about Jawbreaker's advice. Because the sewers had only one exit and the rest of the city was well-guarded. Well, the fox had escaped and now he was groping in the dark. He could have just swallowed his pride and admitted his mistake, but no. He was doing everything he could to get to the bottom of that thorny issue.

“I insist. Things have gone differently than expected, that much is true. But the game is over now. That fallen fool will die, one way or another. Twenty minutes will make no difference,” the Grand Master countered. His words were enigmatic, but his tone of voice made it clear that he would not take a no for an answer.

Hammerless tried not to snort, and asked, "Can I leave the horse here?"

“Of course! Park wherever you like, make yourself at home!” exclaimed the Grand Master with a smile plastered on his face. Then he added, “I’ll go get the keys of the greenhouse, and then we can go up.”

*****

The heavy, humid atmosphere of the greenhouse immediately made Anker’s nausea worse. He tried to calm the turmoil in his empty stomach with long, deep breaths, but it was no use. He clutched the grate and vomited a small volume of gastric juices, then wiped away the thin thread of drool that hung from his mouth with his uniform sleeve.

He didn't feel any better.

The warm temperature inside the facility should have been a welcome change after a day spent in the freezing cold, but oxygen was scarce, and Anker's head felt heavy and throbbed with a dull ache.

The knight tried not to think about it. He had to figure out how to get out of there and reunite with Viryl. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but his vision allowed him to scan an area of just under ten yards, where another cage identical to his had been abandoned. Beyond that, the vegetation was too dense, and he could only make out the outlines of exotic-looking plants. There was no wind, yet the large leaves swayed limply.

In the distance, creaking and thumping could be heard. As if there was something alive in that greenhouse.

GLOSSARY:

“Oily Surface”: a special spell that spreads a layer of flammable grease in the surroundings decreasing the friction, making it harder for the enemies to walk and making it easier for the user to push heavy objects.