"It smells like shit." Belina stood with her arms folded, her head just shy of touching the roof of the freshly Spark-carved, cylindrical tunnel they stood in.
"There's no shit, Belina. You just watched Ariveer carve it with the Spark. It hasn't been used for sewage yet."
"Well then, I can smell the shit that will be here in the future. So, this is Kira's big plan? Finish connecting the sewage system for the refugee quarters and have us march through it? She's a cunning bitch, making us walk through shit. You've got to admire her."
"There's no shit." When Kira had first suggested the plan, Dahlen had argued with her about the fact the Belduarans had gone that long without a functioning sewage system when all she'd had to do was commission a Craftsmage to finish the work. It was then he'd discovered the blame for the sewage system not being completed could not be entirely laid at the dwarves' feet. Daymon and his nobles had not been able to come to an agreement with the dwarves as to the compensation they would receive when the Belduaran people had finally been able to resettle themselves. Dahlen could have understood if the dwarves had been trying to extort the Belduarans, but according to Kira, all the dwarves had wanted was a supply of fresh, above-ground grown fruit and vegetables, to which Daymon had responded by breaking off negotiations. Kira could have been lying or simply stretching the truth, but honestly, it sounded like something Daymon would have done.
A few feet ahead of Dahlen, Ariveer, the Alamant Craftsmage who Kira had commissioned to carve the tunnel into the refugee quarters, had stopped and turned to Belina and Dahlen. He was an elf, dark hair falling over tapered ears. "All right, we're at the edge now. One more push and we're through. Once you pass through, I'll close the opening behind you so nobody will discover your passage. I will wait here for six hours. When you come back, tap something metal against the rock. After six hours, you'll be on your own."
"All right, thank you, Ariveer."
The elf nodded. "Are you ready?"
"Wait, no." Belina scratched at her chin. "How will we know when six hours have passed? We won't exactly be stopping to check the clocks on the walls, and there's no way I can count for that long. I've the attention span of a drunk fish."
Ariveer gave Belina a strange look. "My apologies. This is for you." The elf reached into the pocket of his trousers and produced a small golden sphere attached to a long chain, about the size of Dahlen's palm. It looked like a closed metallic seashell with spirals and patterns carved into its surface.
"What is it?" Dahlen asked as he took the object from Ariveer, surprised at its deceptive weight.
"May I?"
Dahlen nodded, and the elf reached out and pressed his finger against something on the object's side, eliciting a sharp click as it opened to reveal an interior that looked like a smaller version of a clock, the numbers one through twelve etched into its surface, moving around the edge of the circle in evenly spaced intervals. A golden clock hand was fixed at the centre.
"It's a timekeeper," the elf said, gesturing towards the clock hand and around at the etched numbers. "It's a clock, but it fits in your pocket. A recent dwarven invention. Compressing everything into such a small space means it's not particularly accurate, but it gets the job done. It's already wound and synchronised to my own timekeeper."
Dahlen looked at the timekeeper, then closed it and hung the chain over his neck, tucking it beneath his shirt. He'd left his leather armour in the smuggler's den and instead wore a linen shirt and padded trousers along with a sword, that Belina had acquired for him, strapped to his hip. The refugee quarters were likely teeming with people, which meant blending in would be their best chance. "All right. We're ready."
Ariveer nodded and turned back to the wall of stone that closed off the end of the tunnel.
"Oleg first," Dahlen said to Belina as Ariveer began to carve a small passage through the rock and into the section of the sewage system that had already been constructed. "He'll be able to tell us where they're keeping the assassin. We get him, we get out. No detours."
"It's a straight-forward plan, Dahlen. I don't think we need a recap."
Dahlen nodded, letting out a sigh. He'd said it aloud more for himself rather than Belina. His experience at The Cloak and Dagger in Azmar had only cemented that subterfuge was not his strong suit. Steel and blood. They were his currency. What he'd trained for. What he knew. Fighting, at the very least, was quick. There was no time to worry and fret, to let anxiety sink in. All this sneaking around set his heart hammering and twisted an unabating knot in his stomach. "Remember," he said, looking Belina in the eye, "no killing."
"So you keep saying, but that's going to make this a lot more difficult."
"No killing, Belina. The Belduarans are on our side. They're good people."
"Not even a little maiming?"
Dahlen narrowed his eyes, turning to watch as Ariveer stood before them, his hand twisting and turning, fingers moving, the stone before him melting into liquid, pulling back into the tunnel and melding smooth with the already-carved stone. No light came through from the other side, but Dahlen could feel the emerging breeze touch his skin. He coughed and gagged, a putrid odour filling his nostrils and catching in his throat. "Fuck." He retched, putting his hand to his stomach, trying to hold back the vomit. "What in the gods is that smell?"
Belina held her shirt up over her mouth and nose. "I told you I could smell shit."
Ariveer turned back to them, pinching his nose between his finger and thumb. "I made the opening above the waste on the other side. If you climb up and stay to the right, you should avoid falling into the pool."
"The pool?"
"Without adequate waste drainage, the sewage on the other side has been funnelling into the holding pool, building up. Just stay to the right."
"Fantastic."
Once Dahlen and Belina had climbed through the opening, Ariveer had closed it behind them, and they'd made their way up through the main tunnel, then climbed out into a service corridor. Dahlen now stood at the edge of an open stone doorway, looking out over one of the sweeping walkways that bridged the divide between the two sides of the enormous cavern that was the refugee quarters.
Men, women, and children hobbled along the walkway, their clothes tattered and dirty, weakness born of hunger obvious in their lethargic motions. The clamour of footfalls and shouts filled the air, rising from the main street and the lower levels. Dahlen had no doubt the stench in the cavern would have turned his stomach had they not spent the previous half hour walking alongside a river of human excrement.
Dahlen and Belina stepped out onto the walkway, pushing through the crowd and making their way to the stone ledge that framed its edge. He rested his arms on the ledge and looked over the refugee quarters. Rows upon rows of doors and walkways were set into the wall on the other side of the gargantuan cavern, sets of staircases connecting each level to the next, rising hundreds of feet from the ground below to the ceiling above. Innumerable walkways spanned the gap between the two sides of the cavern, an intricate spider's web of stone.
A few hundred feet below, the main street of the refugee quarters was crammed with people like grains of sand shifting past each other, shouts, footfall, and chatter echoing through the chamber.
Dahlen looked towards the entrance to the refugee quarters that led out towards Durakdur. A low wall had been erected at the top of the stone staircase that descended into the main street. It was difficult to see anything at that distance, but the bluish-green light of the flower lanterns glimmered off the steel plate of the soldiers who were lined across the entrance, standing ready.
"Before the attacks, Daymon assigned Oleg a small room to act as his office not far from here," Dahlen said to Belina, still looking out over the shifting mass of people on the street below. He pointed up towards a walkway that ran along the opposite wall. "It's on the other side, three levels up, marked with the symbol of Belduar on the door."
"Let's get going, then." Belina looked about her, a worry on her face Dahlen wasn't used to seeing. Her gaze fell on a young man walking past, his eyes sunken, face gaunt. "Hunger is a horrific way to go."
"You know, empathy suits you," Dahlen said as he pushed himself away from the ledge and started off through the crowd, Belina following.
Belina frowned, giving a shrug. "Too much of it can get you killed. Selective empathy. That's a survivor's method right there." Belina pushed past two men who were arguing over what looked to be a piece of hard, mouldy bread. "How have they gone through the food so quickly?"
"There isn't much food stored here. Logistically, the dwarves can only provide enough for a few days at a time. Feeding tens of thousands of people is no easy task, and the balance of farming and consumption in these mountains is delicate. They've sacrificed a lot to help us." Dahlen thought back to when he had first entered the refugee quarters with Ihvon to help distribute rations and how he had gone back many times again to help. There had been something warming about helping people without spilling blood.
Belina nodded, using her hands to steer her way through the crowd as Dahlen led her across the bridge to the other side of the chamber. A few people gave Dahlen a second look as though recognising him, but none of them said anything, for which he was grateful. The last thing he needed was to draw any attention to himself.
"So, are you going to tell me why you neglected to tell Kira about Daymon's involvement in everything with Pulroan?"
Dahlen frowned, stepping off the bridge and turning left towards the nearest staircase that led to the next level up, wading through the river of refugees. "I considered it. But telling her would've implicated Daymon in whatever is happening here. And although I'd like little more than to see Daymon dangle from a noose, it would be the Belduaran people who would suffer. They would be not only without a leader, but without a home, and the dwarves surely would not continue to shelter a people whose leader had made an attempt on their own. I thought it better to keep that information close for now. If we somehow find a way out the other side of all this, I'm sure I'll find a way to use it."
"You know, you're not half as stupid as you look."
"I think that's actually the nicest thing you've said to me."
Belina shrugged, pouting in agreement. "It might be the nicest thing I've said to anyone."
"That's eh… yeah. That's a little sad."
Dahlen led Belina up a series of three staircases and along a walkway until they finally came to a metal door with an etching of a crossed axe and sword in front of a lonely mountain.
As he rested his hand on the cold door handle, Dahlen saw Belina tap her fingers against the pommel of one of the many knives strapped to the belt at her hip. He frowned at her.
"I know, I know. No killing." She gestured for Dahlen to open the door.
The office looked as Dahlen had remembered it when he'd visited with Ihvon, except where previously it had been neat and meticulously arranged, it was now a mess. Lanterns of Heraya's Ward were strewn about the room haphazardly, some hanging from the ceiling, some resting atop stacks of papers Oleg had brought from his permanent embassy in the Heart a few weeks back, and others sat on the floor or atop the emissary's desk.
Nothing adorned the smooth stone walls, and the room itself was relatively sparse. A few items of clothing lay in heaps on the stone, and sheets of parchment were scattered about the place. Archways were set into the far wall and the wall that stood on the left side of the room, one leading to a small study and the other leading to a tiny rectangular area with a single straw-filled mattress.
"Anthea, is that you? We need to find a way to get through to Daymon. According to these numbers, we'll be out of food in a matter of days. What did Captain Harnet say? Does she think there's a way to reach the Queen?" Dahlen couldn't help but smile as Oleg Marylin stepped through the archway set into the wall on the left side of the room, scratching at his unkempt beard with one hand, an open ledger held out with the other, a pair of reading glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. The man stood there in silence for a moment, turning the page of the ledger, his eyes flitting across the words written within. "Anthea? Has someone stolen your tongue?"
The man continued to read through the ledger, anxiously scratching at his beard. He tried to turn the page again but found it stuck to the page behind it. He frowned, licking his finger, then swiping the page across.
Dahlen let another moment or two pass before he spoke. "Oleg, it's me."
The man jumped at the sound of Dahlen's voice, scrambling to grab hold of the ledger as it fell from his grasp. "Sweet mother of my mother's mother! My lord, what are you doing here?" Oleg tossed the ledger on the desk beside the door, scurried past Dahlen, and stuck his head out onto the walkway, looking frantically from side to side. "Did anyone see you?" The emissary pulled the door closed, sliding a bolt across it, then pressed his back against the metal, drawing in laboured breaths, resting a hand on his belly, sliding the other one across his hairless head. "I thought you were dead. We all did. I'd heard Daymon had you arrested, but then when you disappeared after the attack in the Heart, we assumed you'd been killed."
"As you can see, Oleg. I'm still very much alive. And I'm going to need your help if we're going to get out of this. But before that, how is Ihvon? Has he recovered?"
The man nodded slowly. "Yes, my lord. But… the king… Once he learns you're alive…"
"Oleg, I have some things to tell you about your king, but they are to stay between us, for now."
"Oh!" The man's eyebrows shot up, and he lifted a finger into the air. "One moment. Stay right there."
"Oleg we don't have time for this." Dahlen puffed out his cheeks in exasperation, running his hand through his hair as Oleg disappeared back through the archway.
"He's kind of cute," Belina said with a downturn of her lip. "In a 'jittery uncle who can't remember where his shoes are' kind of way."
Dahlen stifled a laugh at that.
"Here," Oleg said, stumbling over a book on the floor as he stepped back through the archway carrying a long bundle of cloth. "You can thank Lumeera. She had them carried from the Heart. When you disappeared, she gave them to me for safekeeping."
Oleg folded back the cloth, revealing a glint of steel beneath.
"My swords…" Dahlen reached out, running his fingers across the steel. "Oleg…" He shook his head, a smile spreading across his face. "I owe both you and Lumeera a debt that I can't articulate. Thank you. I don't have my scabbards with me. Can you do me one more favour and have them left by the sewage holding pool?"
"Do I want to know?"
Dahlen stood on a crowded walkway on the upper levels of the refugee quarters, leaning against a tall stone pillar, his gaze fixed on a metal door that stood at the top of a narrow stone staircase, two guards in polished plate and purple cloaks standing on either side.
"This is where they're keeping him?" Belina stood beside him, running her thumb along the blade of a throwing knife that fit in the palm of her hand. The woman carried more weapons than Dahlen could count.
"The refugee quarters weren't made with prisoners in mind. If Oleg says the assassin is being held here, this is where he is." He pulled the timekeeper from beneath his shirt, clicking open the latch. "Two hours before we need to be back."
"Plenty of time. As long as your anxious little friend comes through on his word."
"Oleg is a good man."
"I hear that a lot," Belina said, shrugging. "What is a 'good man'? What defines 'good'? What I've noticed is those who describe themselves as good men are often far from it. And those whom others describe as good men tend to have a nasty habit of dying young."
Dahlen frowned, closing over the timekeeper and sliding it back under his shirt. He looked through the crowd, searching for any signs of the distraction Oleg was to arrange. "A good man is a man who does what they know to be right."
Belina gave Dahlen an amused look, slipping her finger into the ring that sat at the end of the throwing knife, spinning it. "You live in a world of black and white, Dahlen. Though I'm sure you'll soon see the grey."
Dahlen made to argue, but a man's voice roared, rising above the chatter and footfall. "We want food!" the man called out. "We need food!"
Other voices cried out in agreement, the atmosphere of the crowd turning on a pinhead. Dahlen could feel the tension shift in the air.
"A true king feeds his people!"
More and more people stopped, their chants rising in fervour.
"A true king fills his people's bellies instead of his own! He doesn't allow his people to be penned in a cage with disease and hunger taking us one by one!"
Dahlen looked towards the two Kingsguard who stood either side of the metal doorway that guarded the building where the assassin was being kept. Both of them had taken a step down the stone stairs, trying to get a better look at what was causing the crowd to gather and chant. Dahlen saw the glint of armour throughout the crowd, caught by the bluish-green flowerlight of the lanterns. It's working."I haven't eaten in three days!" a woman cried.
"My little girl is coughing up blood! We can't stay here!"
Another shift rippled through the crowd, an anger bubbling, a rage festering. The change was so sudden, Dahlen almost couldn't believe it. Shouts and cries rang out, men and women roaring at the top of their lungs.
"They've taken the bait," Belina whispered.
Dahlen looked towards the doorway and saw the two guards no longer stood watch. He cast a worried glance towards the baying crowd. He had wanted Oleg to create a distraction, not start a riot.
"Come on." Belina grabbed Dahlen by the arm and heaved him forward, dragging him through the crowd. "These kinds of things are like wildfires. You've got to let them burn themselves out."
Belina and Dahlen pushed their way through the crowd, ascending the steps to the metal door set into the wall of the cavern, Dahlen casting one last look over his shoulder before they stepped inside.
The entranceway of the building was nothing more than a short, barren corridor, devoid of any signs of life. None of the Belduarans had been in any way eager to turn this place into a home. The corridor was narrow, maybe five or six feet across, just enough to swing a sword. Four flower lanterns sat on flat sconces set into the walls, alternating, two on each side, a metal door directly across from each lantern. At the corridor's end, it branched off left and right.
"Oleg said they're holding the man down the end of the corridor on the left, and that there's usually only two or three of the Kingsguard stationed in here at any one time. Daymon can't spare the numbers."
"Well, best get to it, then. No time to lose." Belina set off down the corridor, her steps as light as feathers. "Follow my lead," she whispered, giving Dahlen a wink.
"Belina."
Belina kept walking, picking up her pace.
"Belina," Dahlen hissed, keeping his voice as low as possible. He had been on the other end of one of Belina's plans before, in The Cloak and Dagger, and it was not an experience he was looking forward to repeating. "Belina…" He reached out and grabbed a hold of her shirt, tugging.
Belina stopped, wrapping her fingers around his wrist. "Your mother was a whore and your father is an arsehole. You're a combination of both."
"What?" Dahlen squeezed his hand around the fabric of her shirt. He knew she was playing with him, he just wasn't sure how. "Belina, why would you…"
Belina tugged at Dahlen's wrist, the side of her linen shirt ripping, exposing dark skin. Then she pulled a throwing knife from her belt and sliced a thin gash across the top of her forearm. She rubbing her fingers in the blood and spread it across her face, sliding the knife back into place. Before Dahlen had any idea what was happening, she shoved him backwards and dashed around the corner.
"Belina!" Dahlen called in a hushed voice, chasing her. "What are you…" Dahlen let his words trail off. Three guards in burnished plate stood before a metal door at the end of the corridor, purple cloaks knotted at their shoulders. Belina broke into a full run, and her plan finally clicked into place in Dahlen's mind. "No, Belina, don't you dare!"
"Please!" Belina called out, faking a stumble, her voice rising twice as high as he'd ever heard it. She sounded like a damsel from the bards' stories, her shirt ripped, blood spread across her face. She glanced back, winking. "Help me! He's trying to kill me!"
"Fuck it, Belina. Why do you always use me as bait?" Dahlen ripped his sword from its scabbard, setting his feet as the three Kingsguard pulled their swords free and moved towards Belina. He didn't want to kill any of the guards, but he was pretty sure they wouldn't share the same sentiment when it came to him.
Belina threw herself to the ground, flailing theatrically. It was like watching a bard act out a drama.
The three Kingsguard put themselves between Dahlen and Belina, each of them holding sharp steel in their fists.
"Put the weapon down, and we can end this before it begins," one of them said, shifting his feet into a wide base. "You're outnumbered."
Behind the guards, Belina got to her feet and palmed a knife with each hand.
"Belina, no killing!"
The look of confusion on the Kingsguards' faces was trumped only by the almost comical frown that spread across Belina's. She narrowed her eyes before letting out a sigh. As the guard nearest to her turned to see what was happening, Belina drove one of her knives in between the plates of his armour at the elbow, leaving it lodged, forcing him to release his grip on his sword. As the man howled, Belina grabbed him by the helmet and pulled him back. She used her second knife to slice through the leather strap that held the helmet in place before slamming the pommel repeatedly into the side of his head before tossing him to the ground.
The other two guards turned away from Dahlen, moving on Belina together. They swung their swords as wide as the corridor would allow in an attempt to cleave her in half, but the woman dropped low, sweeping their feet out from under them with a deceptively powerful kick. One guard stumbled backwards and tripped, his momentum and the weight of his armour throwing him off balance, crashing to the ground. The other just about managed to keep his footing, catching himself on the wall.
Dahlen slid his sword back into his scabbard as he ran, leaping for the still-standing Kingsguard. He thew his full weight forward as he charged the guard to the ground. The force of the impact dragged the air from Dahlen's lungs, the guard's full plate making him feel as though he had tackled a stone wall. The pair scrambled as they hit the ground. A knee collided with Dahlen's stomach, and it was all he could do not to vomit. He spun himself up, landing on the guard's chest, knees on either side of her body, hands clasped around her throat. Dahlen squeezed, then pulled, lifting the guard's helmeted head off the ground, then slamming it back down into the stone until her body went limp. His chest heaving, Dahlen dropped down beside the guard, sweat dripping from his brow, lungs burning. He could see the slow rise and fall of the woman's chest beside him. It was infinitely harder to not kill, but he'd fought beside these men and women. He'd bled with them. They were not his enemies.
A cry rang out, and Dahlen looked up to see Belina roll past the last guard, who had gotten back to his feet, and bury a knife in the back of his calf as she came to the end of the roll. She slid a second knife from her boot and rammed it into the man's other calf, dropping onto her back and kicking him in the back of the knee. The man cried out, tumbling forwards, hands reaching backwards, attempting to grasp the two knives that were now lodged in his calves. As the man fell, Belina rolled backward, tucking her knees close to her chest, then launched herself to a standing position in a feat of acrobatics Dahlen was absolutely certain he would never attempt.
Belina took a step forward, then kicked the howling man in the face, snapping his head back and knocking him unconscious.
"Fuck!" Belina lifted her foot, grasping it with both hands, hopping on her other leg. "Shit, that hurt." Belina grimaced, lowering her foot to the ground and letting out a sigh.
"Really?" Dahlen said as Belina helped him to his feet, still moaning about her foot.
"What?"
"'Help me! He's trying to kill me!'" Dahlen did his best impression of Belina, raising his voice higher than hers for dramatic effect.
"Oh, get over it. You're so dramatic."
"I'm dramatic?"
"'No killing!'" Belina said in a mocking tone, contorting her face and spreading her palms.
Dahlen shook his head, looking down at the guards, one with a knife protruding from the gap in his armour at his right elbow, another with two knives jutting from the backs of his calves. "Did you really have to do that?"
"You're right, I shouldn't have."
"Really?" Dahlen couldn't hide the surprise on his face. Even if Belina agreed with him, her admitting it was rarer than an eclipse.
"Really. I should have just asked nicely and shown them my tits." A grin spread across Belina's face. "I'm sure that would have worked. Everyone loves tits. I—"
"Belina."
"What?"
"Stop saying tits. I get it. Please, stop."
The grin on the woman's face grew even broader, and she gave Dahlen a wink, pulling her knives from where they were lodged in the unconscious men, kicking one in the head as the pain shocked him awake.
"Let's just get this over with." Dahlen turned the door handle and pushed.