43. Desperation

Thirdborn stuck to side streets and alleyways.

He couldn’t afford to get caught. He couldn’t afford to be followed, for that matter. This was a delicate stage of the operation.

Things had not gone as expected—he didn’t have Dollmaker’s location. He was close, though, and he had brought the notes he needed to figure out the rest. He had already narrowed it down to the western part of the Green Sea.

Once he could put all the pieces together, Dollmaker would belong to the Dark Eye.

And all their plans would finally fall together.

The Lord of Villains would finally be restored.

The fact that his cover had been blown was an annoyance, but not an unexpected one. He knew that his disguise would break down sooner or later. He simply didn’t have the finesse that his father or brothers had.

He made his way to the Old Quarter. The city had fallen into chaos, with half the citizens fleeing and the other half looting from their neighbors. So far, the northern part of the city had mostly been spared from the Beast infestation, but he could see smoke upon the dark sky when he looked back, and it seemed to be spreading.

It put a smile on his face.

Evangel, you sure know how to make an entrance.

He had not been to the hideout since infiltrating the Heroes’ Guild, so it took him a little while to gain his bearings and find the place.

The hideout was an unassuming, two-story tenement, built from aged wood, with walls that leaned disconcertingly. The heavy oaken door was the only thing sturdy about the place, set with a chunky iron locking mechanism.

Thirdborn approached the door and knocked in the sequence he had been taught. One knock, pause. Three knocks, pause. One knock, pause. Two knocks, pause.

A few moments later, the lock clicked and the door opened. One of his brother’s men led him inside.

The interior of the safe house was just as drab as the outside. More of Centucia’s Lions lounged inside, playing cards or sharing anecdotes. They were clad in ordinary, muted clothing, and they all had plain, drab faces. He wouldn’t have been able to pick one of them out of a crowd of Aribellian sheep to save his life, and that was the point.

“The Prince has been expecting you,” said the man who had led Thirdborn inside.

Thirdborn scoffed. “Is that what he calls himself now?”

He let his facade melt off, the role he had called Bits. Piece by piece, his face leveled out and returned to its normal shape. He worked his jaw. After so long, his real body felt more foreign than the disguise.

The man frowned. He let one hand rest on the shortsword at his hip.

Jak, that was the man’s name. He had a scar over his brow that set him apart from the other Lions.

Loyal to a fault, that one.

Thirdborn shrugged and walked through the hall, heading for the stairs in the back. He heard Jak follow him, only a few steps behind.

It annoyed him to no end, having this dog following him around, but he endured it. There were more important matters at hand.

Thirdborn proceeded to the second floor, into a large room where the windows were covered. The walls were draped with maps—provinces, cities, districts—and there was a wide table in the center of the room.

Jak lingered outside, but at least didn’t deign to enter the room.

Firstborn stood on the far end of the table, looking over some report or another. Secondborn lounged in a chair at the edge of the room, picking his nails with a slender knife.

Firstborn wore the most regal attire out of any of the Lions, a fine tunic with a trim of silver thread, supple calfskin boots and a pair of deep green hose.

The power has finally gone to his head, it seems, Thirdborn thought. No surprises there.

“Greetings, my prince,” Thirdborn said with a sarcastically deep bow, his Power offering him the flexibility to stoop until his head nearly hit the floor.

As expected, Firstborn grew red-faced and started blustering under his breath at the remark. The man was of average build and average height, with short, brown hair and a stubble.

He recovered quickly, folding his arms behind his back and regarding Thirdborn with a severe gaze.

“Sure took your time, little brother,” he said, putting emphasis on ‘little’. “I was beginning to think you had grown fond of the Heroes.”

Thirdborn set his jaw. That was low, even for him.

As Firstborn continued to hold Thirdborn with his gaze, he seemed to grow in size, becoming taller and more muscular until his proportions were a hypermasculine parody of the human form. His head almost touched the ceiling, and he could surely have given the Hero Titaness a run for her money. Indeed, meeting a person like that would have been frightening, but Thirdborn knew it for what it was.

A trick.

That was all Firstborn’s Power was.

“I have not grown any fondness for them,” Thirdborn said. He unslung the satchel from his shoulder and threw it on the table. “I have what you needed.”

“Not what I need,” Firstborn corrected. “What the Dark Lord needs. Remember that.”

“Look at you two, bickering like children,” Secondborn purred without glancing up. He had a broader build than either of the other brothers, and his pale skin shimmered when it hit the light as if it was made of delicate crystal.

Firstborn ignored him and pulled the satchel toward himself. He flipped it open and rifled through the papers and notes inside.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“This is… somewhat more extensive than I had expected,” he admitted. “Surely, a simple location name would have sufficed?”

“The Heroes’ Guild doesn’t want anyone to find Dollmaker,” Thirdborn explained. “They have gone to great lengths to hide him away. His location is barely ever mentioned in official documents, and often contradicts itself. I’ve spent this time narrowing down his true hideaway and weeding out false trails. I was discovered before I could uncover a final conclusion, but I’m certain I have everything I need.”

The slow, baffled look on Firstborn’s face made him grin.

“I suggest we pack up and leave immediately,” Thirdborn said. “As I mentioned, my cover was blown. The Heroes will not be far behind.”

“No,” Firstborn said. “The situation in the city is unfolding in our favor. The Heroes have let this Beast infestation run rampant. We will stay put and monitor the damage caused by the Beasts, then assess our options.”

“That was not part of the plan! If the Heroes find us, we don’t have the men to fight back. Three Power users and a handful revolutionaries do not make an army. We need to get Dollmaker’s position back to the stronghold.”

Firstborn waved away his concerns with a massive, illusory hand. “Not to worry, little brother. I will send a man with the intelligence you have given us. The rest of us will stay. Or are you feeling craven? Would you like to be the one to run back to the Dark Lord, tail tucked when there is so much chaos left to be sowed here?”

“This is not about bravery,” Thirdborn said, struggling not to raise his voice. “This is about your own arrogance. You want Ender to greet you as an equal, to hail your accomplishments, to grant you power. It will never happen. You are an insect beneath his boot, and as such you will always remain.”

Firstborn studied him with a blank stare without moving a muscle. “I have given the order. You will obey if you wish to remain in our brotherhood.”

Thirdborn turned to Secondborn, arms spread pleadingly. “And you? Do you not have an opinion on this?”

Secondborn shrugged. “If it’ll let me kill more Heroes, I’m all about staying.” He looked over his nails, clicked his tongue with satisfaction, and sheathed his knife. He stood and walked over to Firstborn’s side of the table. “Now, little brother. Will you join us?”

Thirdborn sighed and closed his eyes for a moment.

They were being foolish. He wanted to throw the city into chaos as much as they did, but he knew that the mission came first. They were playing loose with Ender’s orders, and that never ended well.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll do what you ask.”

Firstborn nodded. “Good.”

Someone cleared their throat behind them. Thirdborn turned around to look.

Jak stood in the doorway, hands folded before him.

“We have a watcher,” Jak said.

“Hero?” Firstborn asked.

“Unclear. We can’t tell from this distance.”

“It has to be,” Thirdborn growled. “They’re the only ones who could have followed me. Damn it. I thought we’d have more time, with the city in flames.”

“I’ll deal with it,” Secondborn said. He stood up off his chair. “Don’t you worry your little heads over this, brothers.”

“Once the threat has been neutralized, we pack up,” Firstborn said. “The Thieves’ Guild will have to offer us another hideout. I’m afraid this one is likely compromised.”

Secondborn headed for the door with a nonchalant stride.

*****

“Everyone, run!” Thorn shouted. “Heroes, we’ll hold off the Beast!”

The D-Rank rushed to the front of the group, standing alongside Cliff-Face as the civilians began to clear out in a westward direction. Towards the Lodge.

Lace’s body was frozen with fear. Her mouth was dry. All she could do was stare at the Beast as it came towards her. She gripped the gale-staff tightly in both hands.

“Lace, come on,” Mom said urgently, tugging on Lace’s shirt. “We need to go. Let the Heroes take care of this.”

Lace let herself be dragged along for a few steps.

Torchbearer, a real Hero with years of experience, was dead.

What chance did she have?

Thorn raised her hands and fired a dozen or more projectiles at the Beast in quick succession. They buried themselves in the man’s broad chest but didn’t seem to cause him any trouble as he continued to advance in a relaxed amble.

“Pathetic,” the humanoid grumbled. “They sent out their weakest, is that it? This will be over quickly.” He tilted his head back and let out a long, blood-chilling howl that echoed over the street.

At first, nothing happened.

Then spawnlings began to spill from the alleys into the street. The humanoid barked something in a harsh tongue that defied interpretation, and the score of spawnlings skittered towards the fleeing civilians. The survivors were still disorganized, the main group barely ten meters away from her.

Lace’s body moved before her mind could catch up.

She ran to intercept the spawnlings. The wind was at her heels, pushing her to run faster.

“Wait, Lace!” Mom cried, staggering after her. “Don’t do that! You’ll die!”

Lace glanced back and sent a gust of wind that knocked Mom flat on her back. He could have her following.

Thorn’s apprentice saw what she was doing and joined up beside her, brandishing his shortsword.

The mass of spawnlings was close to overtaking the civilians.

Lace jumped into the fray. With a spinning strike, she split several of the monsters in half. Thorn’s apprentice leapt into the gap, slashing at the Beasts with his weapon. Following her example, he looked fearless, but he lacked her reach. The best she could hope was for him to occupy some of the spawnlings while she dealt with the rest.

He simply wasn’t equipped for this.

The spawnlings changed their targets, screaming as they threw themselves at the two apprentices. They were almost immediately surrounded, and Lace struggled to keep them all at bay.

She funneled a blast of air into the ground, moving outward to knock more than a dozen spawnlings away from them. It gave the apprentices enough to group themselves back-to-back, cutting and slicing at the writhing mass of limbs coming for them. She couldn’t count how many she had killed, or how many were left. It was pure chaos.

Their screams barraged Lace’s ears, their hot, black blood singed her skin.

She spared a glance at the two Heroes further up the street. Cliff-Face struggled to wrestle the massive creature, looking minuscule in comparison, while Thorn peppered the Beast with stinging projectiles.

The Beast pummeled the granite man with hard blows that sent chunks of rock flying from his body.

Lace wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to keep it up.

We have to finish this quickly and help him.

Lace called on the wind, focused on the power that brewed within her like a storm. It answered with resounding enthusiasm. Her arms doubled, then doubled again with pale, translucent copies, allowing her to bat away the creatures as they approached, or catch them so that she could impale their hearts with her staff.

A growing pile of twisted, unmoving bodies was growing to her left and right, forming an embankment that the spawnlings were forced to climb over to reach her, giving her additional time to deal with them.

Come on. Faster.

Lace heard a scream and looked back. Several spawnlings had attached themselves to the other apprentice’s body, winding around his limbs and forcing him to the ground. Lace shot a blast of wind towards him, but the creatures stuck to him like leeches.

More of them swarmed the young man, and in just a few seconds he was completely engulfed as a feeding frenzy began. His screams grew in intensity, then faded away.

Lace yelled and slashed with her spear, pushing more and more wind through it until the blade being emitted from its tip was the length of a greatsword. She clove several of the Beasts in two, continuing with a violent flurry of attacks until a heap of them lay at her feet.

When she had finally finished off all of the spawnlings, she looked up to see the humanoid Beast throw Cliff-Face to the ground, motionless. He rounded on Thorn, who tried to back away. He grabbed her by the arm and lifted her easily into the air.

“No!” Lace shouted. “I won’t let you!”

She spotted Torchbearer’s sword, which lay discarded on the cobbles. It still burned with a pure, white flame.

She ran towards it.