CHAPTER THIRTEEN
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Alaric Sampson
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16th of Decepter, 935 PC
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The interior of The Hawk's Nest was a hunter’s dream with its big, heavy furniture better fit for giants than shriveled up men like Alaric, mounted weapons that could slay beasts, and pictures of the men who wielded them. A pungent aroma he’d never quite been able to put a finger on always lingered in the hallways. He wrinkled his nose at it as he walked into the lobby. An elderly woman sat in an out-of-place chair behind the desk in the corner. Her hair was covered in a permanent coat of snow and her glasses were hanging on for dear life at the tip of her nose. Unsurprising, her eyes were closed and her cane lay across her lap.
“Aunt Bethunia,” he said quietly. She wasn’t blood but she was the next closest thing. She was the kind of woman who had more grandchildren than humanly possible and would die for them if it came to it. He loved her as much as anyone in the world but sadly the amount of love he allocated to anyone was minimal at best nowadays.
Aunt Bethunia opened one eye. “Did you bring Camila?” Alaric shook his head, feeling ever so slightly ashamed of himself. His daughter hadn’t been to The Hawk’s Nest in years but trying to make Camila do anything in recent years had been a struggle he didn’t have the energy to fight. She was an adult now, full of wisdom and confidence from somehow solving the world in a mere eighteen years. Their relationship was tumultuous at best. A fact he hated but couldn’t fix- the disappointment he felt in the girl for being a commoner was painted too brightly in his demeanor when he was around her to go unnoticed.
Aunt Bethunia’s eye closed but she continued to talk. “If you keep hiding her from me I may have to come down from this rocky pedestal and find her for myself.” An empty threat. The woman was worse off than him, fingers curled up and locked in place, knees so wobbly it was a wonder she could still walk at all.
“That won’t be necessary,” Alaric said. “I will bring her to see you when the time is right.” One thing he’d learned in the chambers was to always push useless obligations to a time that didn’t actually exist.
“How many times have I heard this tale? Always the same ending too. I don’t have much time left in me, you know.” Alaric stepped behind the desk and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. She caught his arm with surprising speed. Her bony touch made him uncomfortable. “I will see her before I go, Alaric. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“Help me up. I want a hug.” She groaned something fierce as he pulled her to her feet and wrapped her up in his arms, the side of her head pressing against the scars on his chest. He wondered if she too could hear the thump, thump, thump of his throbbing muscles. She smelled of honey and rum, two of her favorite things. She withdrew, sitting back down with the grace of a boulder tumbling down a hillside. “Your brother didn’t even stop to say hello. You would think I haven’t helped the Sampsons for half a decade.”
“You know Elgar,” Alaric said. “He lightens up after a few ales. Give him a bit, then I’ll have him come see you.” She rolled her eyes.
“You’re here to see Capricia, I assume. Good old, Auntie B, no one’s top priority.”
“Ah, don’t say that. Pressing matters, that’s all. We’ll have dinner and a nice conversation after I’m done with Capricia.”
Seven decades worth of eyeing suspicious grandchildren studied him closely. “Fine. But I decide when I’m done with you.”
He nodded and stepped past her toward the ironclad door standing slightly ajar and buried a foot deep in the wall behind her. She grabbed him again. “The offer still stands. She’s coming around on it, you know.” She grinned at him, showing the youth that still hid beneath the years of decay.
“Thank you, Aunt Bethunia, but we both know it wouldn’t be right for me to take a wife now.” He touched his chest. “Not with so little time left.” Aunt Bethunia squeezed his wrist but said nothing. The thought that one of her babies may not live longer than her made her head shake in denial.
Just as Alaric was about to comfort the old woman, the ironclad door opened. A tall, slender woman with long, neatly combed black hair stood in the doorway. Her hips were curved perfectly and her chest was full but covered tactfully by her wool tunic. The strings at her chest were tied in a floppy bow that was cute to look at. Not as cute as her smile though. Not many things wiggled through Alaric’s protective exterior full of paranoia and anger anymore, but Capricia’s smile knew of the few hidden tunnels that remained. He was steadfast in his stance that he would not marry Aunt Bethunia’s daughter, not in his condition, but beauty was beauty, no sense in denying it.
“Alaric,’ Capricia said. She was biting her lip nervously but even still it somehow looked seductive.
He shook off his desires and reminded himself that Capricia’s nervousness was never a good thing. What has happened now? “Capricia. All is well, I hope.”
“Don’t spend your whole evening talking about the darkness that has befallen the empire,” Aunt Bethunia said with a hopeful grin.
“Get on old woman,” Capricia said with a wave and looked back at Alaric. “Come. We must talk.”
*~~~**~~~*
The door to Capricia’s chambers closed slowly and heavily, with a clink that meant they were sealed in tight. He’d turned the entire room into an impenetrable fortress to give the two women the opportunity to escape their Lotus landlords if their cover was ever blown. At least he hoped it would withstand the Lotus Army’s dastardly inventions. There was no way to keep up with all the things Iris and Master Rellin were unleashing on the innocent.
The room was lit by no short of two dozen candles. Understandable given the lack of windows but dangerous considering the sea of flammables scattered across the room – empty scroll tubes everywhere, half open books tossed or placed wherever was convenient, stray pieces of parchment lying at the feet of towering stacks in the corner. It all gave the appearance of disorganization but Alaric knew Capricia could in fact make sense of the mess. He stood at one of the few reading lecterns around the room and looked at the book that lay open across it. Nothing of interest but a thick coat of dust did tickle his nose, nearly making him sneeze.
Capricia picked up a stack of books that were laying on the extra chair in front of her desk and dropped them on the ground with a thud. “My apologies for the mess. As you know, times are a bit… crazy.” The sentiment was true, but Alaric had never seen the woman’s chambers in any other state. She sat down on the edge of her own seat, lady like, knees pressed together tight, posture tall and straight. An empty scroll tube lay across her lap. Was that a hint of fear he sensed? He’d give the woman a few tongue-lashings, but never anything more. He all but had to respect a commoner that had put her intellect and work ethic toward helping Purists instead of killing them. She was a single rose in a wilting bush.
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“Aye. Crazy times indeed but order will be restored soon enough and those who proved their worth will be rewarded handsomely.” He nudged a few items out of the way with his foot and sat down opposite Capricia. “Something bothers you. Does it not?” They weren’t the kind of dancing partners that made a show of things. Straight to the point was all they knew, so they could start solving the problem.
“I’m afraid so.” He prepared himself for the worst. “Your informants are singing like songbirds all over the empire. They’re practically lining up to get an audience with Lotus officers. Half your inns have been raided and burned to the ground and at least three Purists have been taken.”
And there it was, the rage he was known for but always denied existed. One hand gripped the arm of the chair, the other balled up his pants leg in a fist. The scars on his chest burned as badly as they did the first day he’d seen them in the mirror. “Not Thronerock? Please tell me they don’t know about Thronerock.” The vast majority of the important figures in his plan were in the tiny town. The shake of her head brought a touch of relief. “Then who?”
“I haven’t heard any names yet. My gals are working on it.”
He said a small prayer for the unlucky souls but he’d learned long ago that he had no time for sorrow and weeping. “What has persuaded my informants?”
“Urman Gant.”
He had to lean back in his chair to avoid swiping the stacks of parchment off Capricia’s desk. “An apple always rots from the inside out.” Urman Gant was his most useful informant, someone not only willing to get his hands dirty but quite familiar with Iris Everton too. “That bastard knows every detail of what I intend to do.”
“I know,” she said softly. “But you can still do it. You’ve put together the perfect group of Purists.”
“Any idea why?” he asked, ignoring her entirely.
“Not yet but we’re on it.”
Capricia’s lack of knowledge was getting under his skin. When he was part of the High Chamber he was expected to know what couldn't be known; a standard he’d felt was unfair at the time but now held others to. She’s supposed to know these things before they happen. So I can be preemptive. Not look like a fool with my thumb up my ass. He leaned forward. “Do you know anything?” There must have been something hideous in his eyes because Capricia looked everywhere but at him. “You’re supposed to know these things, Capricia.”
“I know, Alaric. I know. But Urman covers his tracks better than anyone. Everyone knows that.” She slid even further toward the edge of her seat, like she meant to make a run for it. Foolish. She could outrun his legs, yes, but not his magic.
He stood, less confidently than he would have liked with his wobbly legs, and leaned both hands on the desk. “That’s why I had him working for me. He was useful. Are you still useful?”
“O-of course. The girls will have everything you need by the end of the month.”
He slapped the desk. “That’s not good enough!” A stack of parchment went flying. The brunt of it hit the ground hard, leaving only a few pieces to float down slowly, hiding and revealing Capricia’s fear as they crossed back and forth in front of her face. “I need to be ahead of everyone in the empire! How many times have I told you that?!” He looked at her. His heart was racing. Hers appeared to have stopped entirely. “Well?!”
“S-several.”
He turned away, squeezing his temples. Months of meticulous planning ruined as I stand at the gates of glory. Lords knows what Iris knows now. Will I even be able to send my soldiers on their missions? Is this how they found us in the plains? A sinking feeling told him he knew the answers to his questions. He slung his chair across the room, knocking down the towers of parchment in the corner. When he could, he said, “Do you know where he is?” He turned to her. She was standing now, scroll tube gripped tight in front of her chest like a shield, a pitifully pointless shield. “Do you know where Urman is?”
She swallowed hard then shook her head. “Not yet.”
“Do you know where he is heading?”
“N-no.”
His magic grabbed every inch of her body before he knew what he was doing. It was against the word of The Creator to use magic against a commoner but few Purists gave that notion the respect it deserved. Especially when commoners now used magic against Purists daily. His legs grazed the side of the desk as he walked toward his paralyzed prisoner. Streaks of tears lined her thin cheeks. Her eyes begged for mercy but his heart wasn’t listening. “Years of planning, Capricia. Months and months of traveling the empire, rounding up my soldiers, setting up connections. All while believing you would be watching where my eyes could not. You’ve failed me.” He was so close he could hear the faintest of breath seeping from her nostrils. She reeked of helpless terror. “What good are you to me if I have to do your job for you?” A burst of magic surged through him and into Capricia when he slammed his hand into the block near her head. The snap of her neck was so loud from this close that it shook him from his blind fury. He looked at her. She stared blankly at him. He released his grip on her, sending her tumbling to the ground in a crumpled heap. The only thing he could think of was Diedro raking him over the coals. Am I evil or scared?
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Alaric sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at the bottle of wine sitting on the nightstand. He’d never had a close relationship with alcohol, always sipping on his drink slowly at the countless parties he and Catalina attended when he was something more than a killer, but now that he was this far down the path of revenge, there weren’t many things that could help him sleep like a glass of wine, or two. He picked up the metal cup and spun it in his hand slowly as he mulled over the events of the last few days. I am a killer. A murderer. A child snatcher. The thump in his chest was deafening and painful, another great reason to drink. How much magic can I possibly have left? How many days until she stands over my corpse? At least I will have denied her what she wants most.
The thump was louder, more annoying.
“Alaric! You open this door right now.” He squeezed the cup nervously as Aunt Bethunia’s voice barreled through the door. Does she know what I’ve done?
Why he walked to the door with his hands ready to kill, he wasn’t sure, the old woman was no threat to him, but everything had a way of feeling like a threat lately. He opened the door, stepping back to maintain distance as it swung inward.
The tip of Aunt Bethunia’s cane was pointed at him as soon as it could fit through the doorway. “Don’t think I forgot our evening together.” She smiled so wide he could see the gaps between her deeper teeth, but it vanished when she noticed his hand was ready to grab her. She lowered it with her cane gently. “Put that thing away before someone gets hurt.” He did as he was told but like all good grandmother’s she could see something was wrong with her baby. “Oh, Alaric, sweetheart. This war is killing you.” She stepped forward, gathering him up with her free hand and guiding him toward the bed.
“I’m fine, really,” he said as he sat down.
She chose to stand in front of him, studying him silently until she said, “You have had this veil of toughness draped over you since the day I met you and still, I know it isn’t what you want, it isn’t who you are. You’re letting that woman drag you down to the depths of the three hells with her instead of appreciating what time you have left. Time you could be spending with my daughter, I might add.” She winked at him so smoothly it was as if she’d mastered the art.
“You’re right, I know you are, but if I don’t fight this war, no one will.”
“Would that be such a bad thing? She can’t find every Purist.”
“I’m afraid she will try to do just that.”
Aunt Bethunia laughed lightly. “Then let her die trying. There will always be magic, Alaric. That’s The Creator’s will and I don’t care who this bitch thinks she is, she is not The Creator.”
“The rest of the empire might argue with you on that.”
She waved her hand. “Fools. All of them. Unwilling to accept their lot in life.” She sat down beside him and put a hand on his back. “They’ll all pay for what they’ve done, but that’s not your responsibility.”
He nodded his head. If only that was true.