Death's Knight 3

 

Chapter 3

 

Ralthur Kron waited in his cellar after his household had gone to bed, with a bag of clothing and a few favoured possessions. He had a lamp with him. Suddenly, a flagstone in the floor lifted and moved to one side, and he looked down into the grinning blue face of a trógling.

“Ralthur Kron, I presume?” said the trógling.

“I… yes. Are you my guide?”

“Yes, I’m Kaz. You can douse your lantern and leave it somewhere innocuous, like the top of the steps.”

“Won’t I need it to see?”

“You won’t be seeing. What you can’t see, you can’t tell.”

“I am not about to betray the secrets of friends; I am now a glyph-lord of a god of truth.”

“Get off your high horse, Ralthur, you wouldn’t be doing this if Harkon did not trust you,” said Kaz. “But any man may be tortured beyond endurance.”

“You are insolent!”

“I’ll go away, then, and leave you to the Inquisitor who is due to arrive tomorrow,” said Kaz, starting to climb back down the hole.

“No! I… I want to come, but you don’t seem to know how to address a glyph-lord.”

“I address equals as an equal, Ralthur. Shift some of your preconceived ideas from your moon-ridden head; I’m no slave you can push about. I earned my glyph status without having the easy path of the worshipper of a second-rate godling with delusions of adequacy.  I accept you as an equal because my god asks me to do so and because Harkon asks me as a friend to do so, but don’t throw your weight around at me, or anyone else. Such imperial manners are not tolerated amongst the sword brothers of Alethos.”

“You are the one who is subject to prophecy?”

“Many of us are in such interesting times. Now, ditch the lamp… oh, put the damn thing out, and I will put it at the top of the steps. A fine thing it would be if I let you kill yourself for not being able to see in the dark. Rynn will guide you down the hole; you may want to sit down and edge towards it on your backside,”

Ralthur Kron found the absolute darkness terrifying, and being manhandled down a hole even more so. He reminded himself that he should trust in Alethos, and have courage to do what had to be done.

Many twisting passages later, some with the sound of running water, and being told to walk bent on a narrow ledge, he was led up into starlight.

“Well done; you survived the ordeal better than many,” said Kaz. “You have a room next to Harkon.”

Ralthur Kron was an austere man, and had not taken advantage of the luxuries available to a governor, so he was not disappointed in his austere quarters, with a largeish room with both bed and bedroom furniture divided off by a curtain from a day room with chairs and a large desk.

“I can hardly believe it!” he said.

“Believe it,” said Harkon. “Drill at dawn.”

 

oOoOo

 

The High Inquisitor arrived just before noon, having been harried on the road by a number of hit-and-run attacks. He was austere to the point of being ascetic with burning eyes, and was put out to find that Ralthur Kron had left a letter of resignation and had left.

“Seize one hundred citizens, and let it be known that if the rebels do not give themselves up, they will be responsible for their death by crucifixion,” said the Inquisitor, whose name was Lazur Kron, and who was a kinsman of Ralthur, and loathed his cousin, Ralthur, whom he considered soft.

One hundred random city folk were duly rounded up. They included the parents of one of Kaz’s friends, Evgon. Evgon was a cheerful youth with a guileless face and curly hair, and until recently had been slightly chubby with puppy fat. He was Kaz’s quartermaster.

“My parents will gladly die for the cause but why should they?” said Evgon. “They aren’t warriors. And there are children in that group! But how can we rescue a hundred from the murder-poles? We managed one at a time, but a hundred? I can’t see how.”

“So, we’ll remove them before they crucify their hostages,” said Kaz, grimly.  

“They will keep them securely somewhere, and where isn’t apparent,” said Ralthur. “And then, they will be guarded by hundreds.”

“If we could guarantee to get the Polloni and Solosi onboard, we could tell them we deliver the uprising in a frontal assault,” said Kaz. “But we can’t guarantee their discipline.”

“Blasted Knights of the Clear Starlight,” said Harkon. “Hearts in the right place, brains in their weapons.”

“Not to mention their bad poetry,” sniggered Kaz.

“And our job made harder because of that fool, Miklos Wolf-Foe,” snarled Vulk.

There was a growl of approval.

Not all Alethosi had welcomed the chaos-cured Lycoids at first, but showing themselves to be disciplined and valuable warriors, which had been the concern had allayed many misgivings.

It had, however, been Vulk and Polia who had snatched some of the child hostages away from the Selenites when  Miklos Wolf-Foe had confronted the Selenites who were grabbing people, and started off on his cultist poetry.

“Cursed by chaos, shunned by light

Whimper now at my despite!

Turn and flee from my demand

Or I will kill you where you stand!”

He had been rapidly taken into custody, and was being held with the rest of the hostages.

“He will make trouble when we rescue them,” said Protasion. The worshipper of Pollonis, god of light and truth, was a hothead. He had challenged Vulk before Vulk had been cured of his lycanthropy, and Vulk had bitten his finger off. It had not made Miklos any sweeter in disposition. He had tried to make trouble by reporting Vulk to Commandant Pythas, who had told him to stop telling lies about his initiates.

Miklos, who had been close to becoming a Glyph Lord had been stripped of his rank as senior initiate when Pythas complained about him telling lies.  Miklos had needed to talk fast not to be stripped of his initiateship entirely, but it was held that he meant well.

“We’ll have to truss him up the moment he makes trouble and dump him in his own temple,” said Kaz. “And make sure he sees nothing he can give away. They do not know, yet, that we use the sewers and drainage, nor do they have sufficient respect for trógling to have any idea that we have been taught stone-manipulating cantrips to enable mining. However, I’ve a mind to do what we did when we rescued a camp of Plainsfolk slaves,” she added.

Svargia sniggered.

“And that freaked them out, no end,” she said. “We cut through the back of the compound when the guards were distracted, and Kaz drew a circle on the floor of the hut, with made-up Runes, and the Selenites thought it was some strange Steppe magic.”

“It conceals what we really do, very nicely,” said Kaz. “A runic gate opened somewhere. And just scuffed enough to send the scholars insane.”

“Now we have to find out where they are kept,” said Harkon.

“The Selenites keep trógling slaves,” said Kaz. “Do you suppose they can tell one trógling from another?”

“One with long, lustrous hair? Yes,” said Harkon.

“Then I’ll cut it off,” said Kaz. “It’ll grow back. If Alethos wants it long, he’ll accelerate its growth out of pique.”

Harkon chuckled. He could well imagine that.

“Make a wig from it, to wear when being yourself, in case he doesn’t,” he warned.

“Good idea,” said Kaz. “Right, no time like the present; Lelyn, will you shave it short, and see to having a wig made?”

“Of course,” said Lelyn. “You’ll need to bind your breasts; you have quite apparent female assets these days, few enslaved trógling are well-enough fed to be as obviously female as you are.”

Kaz nodded.

It was one reason trógling were often overlooked; tending to have large heads and eyes in proportion to their bodies, and very little inside ragged tunics to identify them as male or female, they were treated very much as if they were particularly stupid children, a view not dispelled by a tendency to speak in simple sentences with little grammar appreciation, through a lack of parental care on the part of Darkling parents of Trógling, and a lack of ability on the part of trógling nurses.  Those who eavesdropped, like Kaz, learned more complex grammar.

“And if any of my household slaves realise you are not one of them – as they will?” asked Ralthur.

“I’m planning on stealing them at some point, anyway, because slavery is wrong,” said Kaz.

“They aren’t all troglings,” said Ralthur.

“Trógling,” said Kaz. “Are humans too stupid to hear the difference between ‘o’ and ‘ó’ or something?”

Ralthur spluttered.

“Most of them? Yes,” said Harkon. “Or, rather, don’t care. Be fair, Kaz; a lot of Toróg traders have rather thick accents.”

“Oh, fair point, I suppose,” said Kaz. “I don’t expect humans to get the thirteen different nuances on the letter ‘o’, with or without a lengthening diacritic, because you don’t have darksense to read how the tongue and teeth are held.” 

“And I thought I knew darktongue pretty well,” said Polia. “What are you going to do about the other slaves?”

“Tell Ralthur’s that I came with the inquisitor, and permit any he brought to assume I came with the house,” said Kaz.

“Could work,” said Harkon.

“Should work; slaves do not, on the whole, question things,” said Kaz.

 

Kaz slipped back into the governatorial residence through the entrance to the sewers they had opened to rescue Ralthur. She was dressed in a simple tunic of rough cloth, like most slaves, her hair uneven and short, and a single earring showing the sigil of the house of Kron. She had questioned Ralthur carefully on what his slaves wore, and was pleased that he knew that they had a winter and summer uniform, and a sufficiency of tunics to be clean, even if the quality of the cloth was not good.

“I can give respect to a man who notices his slaves and cares enough for their welfare to be sure they are appropriately clad,” she told him. She had compromised, as he doubted that his cousin would notice save to be disgusted by a dirty slave. His household comptroller probably saw to outfitting slaves.

She slid up out of the cellar, carrying a bottle of wine. The vintage was sufficient that any discerning man would consider sampling it, even if it had not been sent for. A towel over one arm, and a goblet on a tray with the bottle, she informed the resident kitchen slaves that his excellency needed his wine now.

“He has guests,” said the human cook. “The commandant of the garrison, and the high priestess of Selen.”

“I take more goblets,” said Kaz, in the rough, simplistic speech style of most trógling.

 

 

“I did not ring for wine,” said Lazar Kron, sharply.

Kaz managed to cringe. She dropped into the flat-footed squat with face turned down which was the submissive position of trógling to their masters.

“Is standing orders,” she said.

“Oh? Very well then,” said the Inquisitor. He went on, ignoring Kaz, and speaking to his guests, “I have made the proclamation that the hostages will be crucified at noon tomorrow, but I want the crosses in place by dawn, so if there is any trouble, we can begin early.”

“As you order, my lord,” said Clodus Mils, the garrison commandant, taking the wine from Kaz. “The hostages are a noisy bunch, but they were subdued enough when confined in the arena near the wild animals.”

“Good,” said Kron. “My lady, have you anything more to add?”

“Not substantial, your excellency, but I suspect there will be a rescue attempt.”

“They will find it hard, not knowing where they are being held,” sneered Kron. “But if they attack the garrison, they will be cut to shreds, and we will crucify the townsfolk anyway, to show we mean business.Mils has dug pit traps by the main gates, with stakes set within them; the defenders will permit them to overcome the gate guard, and rush in, and the ground beneath their feet will give way and the front-runners will be slaughtered.”

“I have doubled the guards on the arena,” said Mils. “And the hostages are kept in half a dozen separate cages. Opening one would be hard, opening all would be impossible, and moreover, there is an area where wolves for the arena are being kept through which any rescuers would have to pass.”

He accepted a refill from Kaz.

“I will be sure to pray for our Lady of the Night’s blessing,” said the priestess, Allenna Dren.

Kaz left with her tray, the guests declining more than a single goblet full by replacing their goblets on the tray. Unhurriedly, she left the used goblets in the kitchen, and drifted down to the cellar, and away through the wall. She was massively magically powerful for a trógling, and had no hesitation in using as many cantrips as were needed. Other trógling would not suspect one of their kind throwing magic around with such apparent profligacy.

 

Her friends eagerly awaited her report.

“The wolves in the arena will follow other wolves,” said Vulk.

“So I hoped,” said Kaz. “It won’t be easy, but it won’t be impossible.”