Blood Loss: The Chronicle of Rael (14 page)

18.

Rael sits on a large rock, chewing on dried jerky while he gazes at the great, white walled city in the distance at least several miles away.  He finds that he cannot look directly at the city for too long before the reflecting sunlight threatens to blind him, placing great dark spots in his vision that turn bright when he closes his eyes.  He has never seen Byrverus before, having made a point of avoiding any place where Garod’s power is well felt since his flight from Martherus, but there is no mistaking the largest city in the Shining West.  Towns, villages and farms sprawl outward from the city for miles around, almost as far as where he sits.

Rael stands and wanders over to where his horse grazes peacefully.  The journey out of the North and into Aquis had been long and arduous, and he cursed himself for not taking a mount from the Jek village when he had left, for surely Lorina would have made certain he had one.  He had gone only a few miles south through the mountains before he had to stop to rest.  By the end of the second day, Rael had nasty blisters on his feet from the rubbing of his boots, which made the following days even slower and more painful.  When he saw the first Western village, he immediately stopped and paid a farmer well for the old stallion.  He is no fighting animal, but he is well mannered.

The farmer showed a pointed interest in Rael’s ashen skin, so the Dahken left immediately upon concluding his business.  At the first opportunity, he purchased a long, wool hooded cloak that was frighteningly hot over his armor in the summer sun, even in northern Aquis.  He added to the hood some wool scraps in which to wrap his face and hands for when he would need to come near others in the hopes that he would appear as an uninteresting pilgrim.  With any luck, onlookers may even think him a leper and avoid him altogether.  A fighting man in Aquis is not the most uncommon thing to be seen, but Rael has never acquired a helm to hide his face.

“Boy, I think it would be better if I went in alone,” Rael says, patting the horse’s shoulder.  The animal simply snorts as it grazes.  He mounts the animal and turns him toward Byrverus, and it is a short ride of minutes before they reach the first outlying farms.  Rael dismounts and, reins in hand, approaches a farmhouse that he has chosen for no particular reason.  A young girl spies him and speeds off behind the house shouting, “Father!”

Rael stops to wait for whatever manner of man may appear, and it’s only minutes before a rather unimpressive Westerner with short, labor style dark hair appears from behind the house.  As he approaches, Rael sizes the man up and determines that though he appears average in size, his muscles are lean and strong from years of hard labor.

“What do you need, friend?” the farmer calls as he comes near.

“I wish to tour the city ahead, but I understand it to be crowded.  I need care for my horse.”

“I can manage that,” the farmer replies, holding his hand out toward the horse’s reins.  Rael reaches into his robes, fumbling about for coins, and upon hearing the jingle the farmer holds his hand up, palm out.  “No need for that now, friend.  Pay me when you return for the animal.  If you don’t pay or don’t return, I’ll claim the horse as payment.”

“Fair enough,” Rael replies, and he hands the reins to the man.  As he walks away, he hopes the robe obscures the sounds of his armor or at least that the farmer thinks nothing of it.

Rael turns east and heads for the city, the road nearly to himself.  He sees a few persons out and about various farming tasks, and none of them pay him any mind.  Up ahead in the distance is wagon, no doubt driven by a merchant headed for Byrverus from who knows where, and as he crosses the miles on foot, more and more people join him on the road.  Some seem to be foreigners, or at least out-of-town merchants, but most are locals in the process of transporting goods or food from here to there.  By the time, Rael reaches the massive city walls, the press of people is so thick that Rael comfortably disappears into the middle of it.

He moves his eyes across everything he sees, while being careful not to gawk.  Rael wants no undue attention, whether from thieves or otherwise.  Fortunately, the sights, sounds and smells of the largest city in the Shining West are not too unfamiliar to him.  Byrverus is little different from Martherus, which he visited on several occasions in service to the merchant Pret.  It’s simply huge, and the immensity of the city is what tends to draw one’s eyes.

At a glance, Rael appears to just follow the crowd filing through the wall’s gates as it flows through the city streets, into giant intersections and across markets and bazaars.  As some people stop to buy goods or hawk their own, the river of bodies thins only to be rebuilt as other denizens of the city join.  There are few people here that draw attention, almost all being Westerners, but even the occasional Northman or Tigolean doesn’t catch the eye of those around.  Rael supposes that only a Loszian magically appearing in their midst would surprise these people.

Rael simply allows himself to be led for miles into Byrverus, as if a giant and invisible thread attached to his chest slowly and steadily tugs him along.  As the buildings grow in height around him, the number of people traversing the streets seems to decrease.  He passes through an inner set of limestone walls with battlements, likely one of the city’s original outer walls before the city outgrew it, and he finds himself in a wealthy neighborhood.  Small estates line the cobblestone road to either side, and there is no trash or waste in the street here as there is elsewhere.  The persons he sees here walk with purpose, and they all appear to be either wealthy or of some importance.

The homes and other buildings in this part of Byrverus are not as tall and imposing as the outer portion of the city, and this allows him to see two large buildings up ahead.  He only catches glimpses of one, which appears to be a castle or palace of some sort with two or three spires or towers.  The other, however, dominates the skyline ahead – a huge edifice of white rock in the shape of a rectangle standing on end.  Rael knows from the stories that it is Garod’s largest temple in Rumedia, and he silently hopes that it is not to that place he is being drawn.

The street opens up ahead into a beautiful plaza that is several hundred yards in either dimension, and it is paved with marble and feldspar.  Small gardens, perhaps five feet square, and gilded fountains about the same size are placed throughout the plaza to break up the monotony of the marble.  To Rael’s left over a dozen marble steps lead up to the gargantuan temple, and its main doors are open to form a gaping mouth of sorts over eight feet across.  A statue of Garod stands on a pedestal about halfway up the steps.  Again looking up at the temple, a building the size of which he has never seen, Rael almost laughs aloud with the idea that perhaps Garod’s priests overcompensate for a certain shortcoming.

Thankfully it is not to this monstrosity that Rael feels pulled, but instead to the palace across the plaza from him.  The palace could only belong to the king of Aquis, or the queen for Rael is not really sure who rules the nation currently.  He starts across the plaza, woefully aware that all of the palace’s doors and gates are shut, and he spies armored soldiers outside of these doors as well as on the battlements above.  He also feels watched for the hairs on the back of his neck stand, or would stand if not for his armor. 

Rael increases his pace, not so much to appear that he is in a hurry, just that he moves with purpose.  He exits the plaza through the northeast corner, between the palace and temple complexes, and he quickly finds a shadowy corner into which he can slide without being noticed.  There are few people here anyway, so he closes his eyes as he leans back against the palace itself.  Rael cocks his head sideways as he focuses on the pull in his blood, feeling it as it… as it…  He feels as if he is standing on his head and spinning as nausea settles into his stomach heavily.  Rael opens his eyes to find he still leans upright against a wall, and the sick feeling dispels somewhat.  Whatever calls to his blood is down under the palace itself.  Does the palace of the good monarch of Aquis, the High Priest to Garod, have a dungeon?

Rael wanders through the city streets to consider his predicament, all the while his blood calls him into and under the palace.  From what he can tell, the main hall is largely open to the public, but he assumes that soldiers would prevent him from exploring the palace beyond that, especially if he tries to work his way into some sort of jail or dungeon.  His first instinct, likely driven by the burning in his blood, is to simply enter and then hack down anyone who tries to prevent him from finding what he seeks, but he quickly pushes the feeling aside without any real consideration. 

No, this requires more subtlety.  Every city Rael has seen from Tigol to Akor has two sets of rulers.  Those in their castles, palaces or estates rule officially, but there is always a seedy underbelly somewhere.  In his experience, criminals rarely act completely alone.  There is always someone who takes a share for allowing the cutpurse to operate on a certain street, the whore on a particular corner – a boss.  He has seen so many inns and taverns that seem to have a dark corner where a mysterious stranger waits and watches all.

As Rael walks, he watches the estates around him shrink in size until they turn to more conventional homes and shops.  He continues walking as the grade of stone used in these buildings turns from perfectly squared cuts of granite and limestone to less perfect, irregular shapes – the cast offs from the more well-funded construction efforts.  The paved streets turn to cobblestones and then remnant gravel held together by old hardened tar.  The frequency of stone buildings begins to lessen, replaced by cheaper timber. 

Rael knows he has reached the right part of Byrverus when, in the afternoon glow of the sun, he sees whores standing brazenly on the street attempting to lure prospective clients.  He sees a cluster of these women, and some men, in front of a large but poorly kept building with a faded sign showing two flagons of spirits knocking into one another as if invisible hands brought them together in a toast.  He gives the whores a wide berth as he circumvents them for the door, ignoring their jeers and catcalls.

Inside is a tavern like any other he has seen with its smoky cooking fires, bar and sparsely attended tables.  However unlike most, this one is not well lit, as if its denizens prefer gloom and shadows to light by which one can see well.  Rael saunters cautiously up to the bar that runs wall to wall on the main room’s left side.  He wrinkles his nose slightly as his eyes pass over remains of food and drink that have yet to be wiped away, not to mention old stains of spilled drinks long past.  A tall and thin black haired man with a full ear to ear beard stands on the other side as he dries pint sized cups with a filthy rag.  He has pale skin, which is not uncommon for a Westerner, contrasting severely with the black of his hair.

“What’ll ya’ have?” asks the barkeep.

“Whatever is popular,” Rael replies.

“You got coin?”

Rael reaches into a small sack tucked into his sword belt and takes a coin in between his middle and fore fingers.  He nonchalantly drops it on the wooden bar, and the silver coin
clinks
as it bounces slightly, almost stands on its edge and then rattles as it spins and settles to rest on one side.  The coin vanishes almost instantly with a swipe of the barkeep’s hand, and the man sets to dispensing a brownish gold liquid into a newly dried wooden cup.

As he sets it in front of Rael with a thud, he says, “Here ya’ are then.  That’ll cover you fer this one, but you’ll need more.”

Rael takes a sip and finds the drink foul, but then he has never cared much for the ales and meads that people commonly drink.  “I have more,” he replies, “but I seek information.”

“Information costs,” the barkeep replies, suddenly more interested in his rag.

Rael drops a gold coin on the bar and says, “I need someone who can help me with something… discreet.”

“Says a man who wears steel under his robes.  Even if I knew such things, how do I know ya’ don’t work for the crown?  Or worse – the priests?”

“Are they not the same thing?” Rael asks genuinely.  “Suffice it to say that I have no love for either.  I need to –”

“Don’t,” the barkeep interrupts with a raised hand.  “Ya’ say ya’ can pay?  Leave me four more of them, an’ don’t tell me nuthin’.  There’s a door over there.  Ya’ see it?  Knock four times, an’ explain to him what ya’ need.  I’m not sayin’ he can help, but that’s who to ask.”

Three hours later, well after dark and with a near empty purse, Rael finds himself in a vacant alley behind the tavern.  He can see little with the only light coming from the stars and a half-moon overhead, and the place reeks of decaying garbage and human waste.  He waits quietly, unmoving so as not to attract attention, listening to the scurrying of rodents and stray dogs and cats.  He starts when the squealing of metal hinges pierces the air as a door opens somewhere nearby and then slams shut.  He can barely make out the black outline of three forms as they come silently down the dark alley, and he rests his hand on his sword as it cross his mind that he has been double crossed.  As they approach, he realizes that two of them carry a large, heavy load between them which they set on the ground with a soft thud as they near him.

“Are you him?” whispers a shadowy form as the two load bearers back away.

“Yes,” answers Rael.

“Then come here.  You’ll find what you need inside.”

“Inside what?” asks Rael, and he cautiously approaches.  The figure does not answer, but he doesn’t have to, for as Rael comes near he sees that the load is in fact a huge chest.  The dark figure, a man of short stature Rael is sure, lifts the chest’s lid to reveal a suit of plate armor complete with a blue doublet declaring the wearer to be a captain of Aquis.