Chapter 30: Into the Depths

Faerel slammed her fist against the woman’s body.

“No, no, no, no!” She screamed as she shook the woman, even though her sides ached, even though she could tell she was rapidly losing strength.

“I was going to save you,” Faerel whispered.

She went back to her task at hand, steeling herself for it. One or two losses were inevitable. She knew that before she started. But the majority of the island would be under water soon enough, and awaiting the Silvery Halls of the King in the. And that made her smile.

She fumbled in her side pocked for the igniter, an alchemical twist that would burn with a bit of screwing. Faerel ignored the pain that flared up her side as she pulled it out, and twisted it, throwing it onto the pile of powder that lay beside her.

It didn’t burn.

Faerel looked at it. The alchemical twist was covered in blood. It was probably too drenched to light properly.

Faerel rolled her head back, staring at the cavern above. She had been so close. Suddenly the despair of the woman beside her didn’t seem so crazy after all. She fought with her will to keep her thoughts from turning down that same path.

Don’t think about it at all, if you must.

But she couldn’t. As she bled out onto the stone floor, the dead woman beside her, she couldn’t stop thinking about how close she had been. Why had the King in the Deep failed to bless her endeavor? He had provided support for her every other time! He had let her escape from the guards in Invercard; he had brought her the beetle to help her break her bonds on the Ingerwald canoe… why now? Why now, at the end of her long journey?

Faerel just couldn’t understand it.

But even if she couldn’t understand it, she could try to accept it. She only had so much time…

It’s okay, she told herself. Everything is going to be okay.

She closed her eyes, and sleep took her.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

When Faerel awoke, she was in chains. It was a normal situation, she supposed.

A gruff man sat beside her. He was not in chains. Well, then.

“You’ve caused this city a lot of trouble,” he growled. He spoke slowly, as if he was picking his words carefully.

Faerel did not answer at once. She glanced down at her sides, which had been patched up. She tried moving her hips, and pain shot through them. Patched up, but not completely healed.

Faerel looked back at the man. “It was for a good cause,” she assured him.

“I’m sure.” The man stood up, cracking his neck back and forth. “Your fellow prisoners told me what you did. It was a hell of a time capturing and killing them all.”

“You killed all of them?”

“All but you.”

She closed her eyes, and tried not to think of the fear and despair that she had put her fellow prisoners through. Most of them had bad enough lives before that any chance of gaining the Silvery Halls was a long shot… but even so. “Did you kill them quickly?”

The man shook his head. “No.”

“Why haven’t you killed me, yet?”

“You weren’t awake.”

Faerel bit her lip. “Ah.”

Her breathing sped up. Pain is part of the game, Faerel. Pain is part of the game.

“And I would like to have some answers, before I do. You were the leader of this group. You had a plan. It seemed to me like you were planning to blow up the Wall. Drown everyone. Why?”

Faerel considered it. “You probably wouldn’t understand,” she said, carefully.

“I already know you’re crazy,” the man said. “I didn’t expect to understand fully. I just wanted to know a piece of it.”

“I can’t,” Faerel said. “The less you know about it, the better for you.”

“What does that mean?” the man asked quietly.

“It’s all a game,” Faerel whispered. “I thought I had found a way to cheat the rules for everyone else.”

“Everyone else? Not for yourself?”

Faerel closed her eyes tightly, grimacing against the pain. “I don’t know,” she finally choked out through clenched teeth.

The man stood up. “Fair, I suppose. I’ve had enough of this. Pray to the gods, if you have the nerve. You’re coming with me.”

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Faerel rotated her wrists inside the manacles. She was chained at the hands and ankles to a large weight. The trip up from the dungeons of Raven’s Run to the top of the Wall had been tortuous. The man had chained the manacles on at the very beginning of their journey, and had a guard to carry the weight behind her. They had to stop several times for the guard to catch his breath. Faerel spent the time thinking of how to escape, but she hadn’t been able to come up with much.

She spent the time praying instead. Her prayers felt familiar, and oddly comfortable. She prayed that the King in the Deep gave her the tools to get out of the situation and continue the work she had planned. If he did, so much the better. If he didn’t, he didn’t.

Faerel took a deep breath, looking out over the Wall, where their journey had ended. The waves crashed, unrelenting, against the structure. Damn, she had been close.

The man was talking to the people who had been assembled there. He spoke in a deep and gruff voice, thick with confidence. Faerel didn’t listen to much of it. It was a typical statesmen speech, she thought—the city had been through rough times; it had been attacked from within and without. She continued to work her hands around the manacles, as if some finger position would be thin enough to slip out. Her ankles would be more trouble.

She perked up when she realized the man was talking about her.

“Do you have anything to say?” the man repeated.

Faerel felt suddenly nervous. “Yes,” she said. She hesitated, and cleared her throat.

“Please don’t give up,” she said, raising her voice as loud as she could without shouting. She didn’t believe what she was saying, but maybe they would. “You can get out. I promise you that there is a way out. Don’t give up, and never stop trying.”

The gruff man nodded. “Well said,” he muttered.

Two things happened at once.

The man gave the weight a shove with his foot. It fell down the Wall with a clatter, crashing against the stones. The chain attached to it was whipped down with it, the noise rattling in the air.

Faerel held the long end of the chain against the stone floor with her foot, and twisted both her wrists violently in place. Both of her thumbs broke from her hands with a sickening and audible crack, but she was able to pull her hands from the manacles.

The chain had caught up to her ankles, and Faerel was suddenly dragged off of the wall between the crenellations. She made a mad grab for the spire on her right, but she was unable to get a good hold with her mangled hands.

As she fell, her broken fingertips traced the stone of the Wall. Faerel felt the cracks and the imperfections in the stone, places where the wind and the water had begun to break down the immense structure.

She smiled to herself, knowing deep down that the Wall would break someday.

Then she hit the water and was dragged into the depths.

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Chapter 29: Drowned

Lito Laeth turned the Wasps over in her hand. They seemed alien to her—tools from a different time.

Paene Umber had left the cell, leaving Lito alone with her thoughts. She placed the swords on the ground, and stood up. She tried to run her fingers through her hair, in instinct, and old anger flared up again when her hands touched a ragged stubble instead. She trailed her fingers down, to the sticky stump that used to be her ear. She shuddered.

Lito put her weight on one foot, and then the other. They both seemed to be in good order. She swung her arms. They were weak, but serviceable.

Paene better been telling the truth—if not, she was walking into a trap. In any case, she had her Wasps, and would take some people out with her, regardless.

She picked her butterfly swords off of the ground, and headed out of Raven’s Run, towards the courtyard.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The Sunset Knight had been tremendously surprised to see the majority of her forces standing there. They looked as battered and bruised as her.

Paene had apparently brought out weapons and armor for her troops. It was all true.

As she buckled on a set of armor, Lito tried to think of who could be attacking them from that side of the Wall, and came up short. But it was not her job to deal with impossibilities. Other people would tease out the how’s and the why’s later. Her job was to clean up the mess, and take care of the city.

“Listen up!”

Her voice carried in the courtyard, and her soldiers craned to listen. She took a great deal of satisfaction in the wondrous whispers that spread throughout the group—no doubt they had all assumed that the Carpenter had tortured and killed her a long time ago. It was only half true.

“Caeledonia is under attack. I know that you’re weak. I know that you are low on sleep, food, and energy.” Lito took a deep breath, and ran her hand over her head—across her scalp, and down the remains of her ear again. Let the troops see it. Let them know that they weren’t as worse off as they could be. Let them know that their commander had gone through immense pain, and was still going to march to the city's defense, regardless.

“We don’t know the enemy’s strength. We don’t know the enemies plans. We don’t have time to make any plans of our own, so I’ll want you in groups of three—stick with your squad mates, if you see them. Roam throughout the city, be on the eye out. Engage enemies if you think you can handle them; wait for other groups if you think that you can’t. I want this city clean by evening. Let’s give them a red sunset.”

She strode out of the courtyard promptly thereafter. Lito thought she heard some ragged whoops behind her, but she didn’t pay attention to it.

Lito hurried down the bridge, running as fast as her legs would take her. There was a strange ringing in her ear—and an even stranger silence where her ear used to be.

She ran passed the crumbling holes inside the Wall that the Carpenter blasted out of. It had all been ruined—every plan, every chance, every attempt that she had made to keep the city safe. She wiped her eyes, trying not to think of—

Lito came up completely short during her run. There was a woman walking away from a corpse by the checkpoint on the Cael Proper side. She had a bag slung over her shoulder, and was heading towards the broken entrance of the Wall.

Something about the situation seemed wrong to her. If it was a civilian, why weren’t they in more panic? The city was being attacked; she knew that for certain from the shouts of fighting in the streets. And if it was an attacker…

Lito remembered seeing the broken Wall for the first time. Her heart had stopped as she had wondered what could have happened if the Wall had truly been destroyed.

The Sunset Knight continued running across the bridge. When she reached the checkpoint, she took the stairs two at a time to get up.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The caverns were dripping with condensed water. Every footstep that Lito took echoed in the dark caverns. She looked around for a torch, but couldn’t find one. The only glow was the alchemical lights, dim and unused, that the Carpenter must have set up during his long stay here.

At the end of the cavern, close to the Wall itself, knelt the woman. She was dumping powder from the bag onto the ground.

“Stand up,” Lito said, harshly.

The woman stretched herself out, and turned to face the Sunset Knight.

Lito drew the Wasps. Each blade was light and deadly in her hand, and she was glad that the hours of time in the jail had left her the strength to wield them.

“I’m surprised you followed me,” the woman said. “I didn’t think anyone saw.”

Lito didn’t reply, and crept closer. The woman’s eyes flicked downwards, taking in the blades.

“Those look sharp,” she said. “You could hurt someone with those.”

“I intend to,” Lito said. Twenty feet between them now, and Lito was slowly closing the distance.

The woman continued to lounge against the Wall. Her fists were closed at her sides. “You are brave,” she said. “Why aren’t you defending the rest of the city?”

Lito didn’t respond, but continued to stalk closer.

She cocked her head to one side. “Is it because you worried that something terrible was going to happen down here? That must have been a sacrifice… do you wonder about all the people who are dying out there that you can’t save?” The woman’s face fell as she said this. “Do you worry about everyone who is in immense pain, losing their will and their resolve… wishing you could have done something for them?”

Lito didn’t listen to the words. Of course she had worried about it—she was one of the best fighters in the city, and every second she was in here was a moment she couldn’t be out there, defending her people. But one glance at the powder on the floor convinced her that this was a more important, if less glamorous, fight.

Lito lunged forward, blades in hand, just as the woman said, “Me, too.”

The Wasps punched through the woman’s sides, but she seemed not to notice or care. The woman’s hands wrapped around Lito, and they tumbled to the ground. The Wasps were stuck; she couldn’t get them out for another strike. The woman was bleeding from her side, but she wasn’t screaming in pain. She had Lito’s arms locked around her side, but with a savage twist she broke one of the Sunset Knight’s arms.

Lito tried to roll away, and with a sudden push she did. She stood. Her right arm stuck out at a funny angle, and she couldn’t move it without feeling pain.

The woman, too stood up, and pulled the Wasps out. She twirled them in her hands, even as the blood flowed from her side more freely.

“You don’t have long,” Lito said, panting.

The woman nodded. “You’ve done your duty. Rejoice in that.”

Then she lunged, both Wasps aimed straight for Lito’s throat. Lito threw up both arms in defense, and her broken arm took the full force of the woman’s weight. It crumpled in pain, and she felt broken bone grind against the rest of her.

The act prevented her own blades from slicing through her throat; instead, they sliced her at the shoulders and lower neck.

Both women collapsed to the ground. Apparently the woman only had enough strength for that final attack.

“Gods,” Lito whispered. “Help.”

“They will,” the woman promised. She was moving. “They will.”

“What are you doing?” cried Lito. She tried to pull herself onto her side, but her head felt dizzy and she lay back down in agony.

“Helping,” the woman said. She was fumbling with something to do with the powder.

“Gods,” Lito cried. “Why have you done this? Damn them, damn them, damn them!”

All of the pain and aching of the last few weeks came rushing back to her. Not being able to save the city from the Carpenter. Not being able to save Elaene, even after all she had done to protect and go along with her plan. Not hearing from Dane, who alone could have saved the city. Why in the Sunken Hells were the gods such miserable wretches, who cared nothing for their people?

“No,” the woman said. “No, don’t say that.”

“Damn you,” Lito said. A red mist was clouding her eyes. When she reached her good hand up, her neck was sticky with blood.

The woman had ceased her work and was screaming. “No, don’t say that! You’re going to be fine, you’re going to live in the Silvery Halls—we still love you!”

“Gods… don’t care…” Lito gasped. “If they did…”

The red mist was slowly eating away at her vision. She could no longer see the light of the halls. She struggled to find the words, but could not.

Her arm fell limply at her side. Lito had never felt so betrayed.

And she never would again.

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Chapter 28: Delta

Dane Wrickon looked around at the devastation about him.

Soldiers were slumped over in their booths, snoring. Other men had sprawled on the floor, also sleeping. There was broken glass littering the stone, and alcohol spilled in innumerable places.

Dane struggled to his feet. He grabbed the side of the table to help him keep his balance.

He remembered sending a coded message to Lito, telling them of her success immediately after the battle. He had promised to return with all speed.

He had pressed his men as far as Glen-Deoch, marching as soon as they were able after breakfast. They had been weary, but Dane had forced them nonetheless. The wounded had remained in Invercard, but the rest had trudged the long road uphill towards Caeledonia.

The march had been immeasurably worse this time around. The soldiers were no longer fresh, energized by adrenaline and a healthy dose of fear. They were battered and bruised, while not being broken. Instead of a swift downhill run in the late sun, they were forced with a hot and steamy climb.

It had been reasonable, Dane remembered, to stop for refreshments once night had come on and they had reached Glen-Deoch. It had been reasonable, Dane remembered, to spend a few moments celebrating their absurdly lucky victory. It had been reasonable, Dane remembered, to join them as their commander in solidarity.

He held his aching head in his hands. It had all been reasonable, yes. The circumstances had neatly lead to a perfect trap, one that he really should have been on the lookout for. Dane had fallen into similar results from similar circumstances many times before.

Dane Wrickon felt sick, and not only from the alcohol. He went outside and threw up over the cobblestones outside the ale house. It was early morning, but the sun had not yet risen over the mountains. He stumbled against the walls, moving in an aimless direction in the dewy glow.

That was it, then.

If Dane couldn’t keep a handle on his drinking even after such a victory, moral and otherwise… he remembered throwing the drink off of the Wall. He remembered begging the gods for help before the battle. And Dane knew that it didn’t mean a damn.

Dane was outside of the city in less than an hour, heading towards the farmlands.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

You’re failing Lito.

That was no problem. Dane had failed people before.

You’re failing yourself.

That was more of an issue. Still, Dane shrugged the thought off as he walked into the stacked-stone houses and wide fields of Glen-Clachan. Dane had failed himself too, more often than he cared to remember.

Would a soldier run away?

Perhaps not. But Dane wasn’t a soldier. Not anymore.

The only thought that truly stopped him was this—that he had tried this before. He never tried the same thing twice, if it didn’t work. Running away to the farmlands hadn’t worked—on the contrary, it had been extraordinarily disastrous.

Dane collapsed along the side of the road, resting against a protruding rock. He was slick with sweat from walking and he had no water.

What were his soldiers doing? Had they recovered from their night of merriment? Were they looking for him? Were they heading towards Caeledonia as he thought about it?

Dane didn’t know. They could still be celebrating, treating this as a vacation. He had been in command. There was no guarantee that anyone in the group would take responsibility and bring up the men on their own initiative.

He laid his head back against the rock. In the noon sun he could see a fellow traveler approaching. Dane waved his hand in greeting.

“Hello, there!” the man called.

“Hello, yourself,” Dane replied.

The man stopped by Dane. Dane neglected to rise, but the man talked regardless. Some travelers were like that. Dane remembered that from working on the farm lands, long ago. Some people would talk to him even when it was clear he was engaged in back breaking work.

“I’m Baxter,” the man said. “Down from Caeledonia. Where you from?”

“Invercard,” Dane said. He didn’t elaborate.

The man whistled. “You got out of there just in time, I suppose. It’s under attack by prisoners now, I heard.”

Dane considered it. He had sent up that fake message for help— he assumed that if Lito had still been in charge, she would catch it and ignore it. If the Carpenter had made his move, he was hoping that the man would be lured into weakening his force and send down aid. It looked like his plan had worked.

“How did you hear that?”

“Carpenter gave a grand speech about it. About how he had the island’s best interests in mind.” Baxter spat on the ground. “As if that could placate us after what happened.”

“What happened?” Dane asked.

“Overthrew the king. Killed a bunch of people. Caeledonia isn’t doing well.” He looked around, as if he was expecting people to overhear them. “It’s why I got out.”

“I see,” Dane said, eyes closed. “You ran away, too.”

Baxter jumped. “I had to think of myself,” he said. “I didn’t run away from anything.” He sat down beside Dane. “Besides,” he said. “It’s not my responsibility.”

Dane didn’t say anything to that. But Baxter continued to talk. Perhaps he just needed someone to talk to.

“I used to be a sweeper,” he said. “Keeping the streets clean, you know. Before that I had been a tradesman in Glen-Deoch. It hadn’t worked out, not really. I can’t make anything myself, don’t have the knack. But I was a good businessman. I bought toys and trinkets from Caeledonia; sold them downriver. I bought marvels and tools from Invercard and sold them up river. The King’s Men came, examined by business, and decided that someone else would do a better job in the same position. They decided that the best I could do for Olean was to clean streets in the back alleys of Cael Proper.”

He shook his head, and spat on the ground again. “They had no right. Sunken Hells. The minute the Carpenter moved in, I thought to myself—Baxter. Baxter, you can go back and do it again. You’re free.”

“Yeah,” Dane said.

“I’m not excusing the Carpenter for what he did,” Baxter said hastily. “That wasn’t right either. But… well, it worked out alright for me. It’ll work out alright for a lot of people, I suspect.”

“Yeah.”

“A damned shame that it happened the way it did,” Baxter said. “But… well, it’s not my affair.”

Baxter pushed himself off of the ground. “Nice talking to you,” he said, nervously. “Good luck with wherever you’re going.”

As he walked off downriver towards, Dane waved his hand vaguely in his direction. “Go,” he said. “I absolve you of your shame.”

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Dane walked into the village, one of the many that roamed around the farm lands. Collectively, these small villages were known as Glen-Clachan, although no individual village truly owned the title.

People were about, drawing water from the well, or going about their daily business. Most of men were out working on the farms, but the sun had retreated back below the mountains. Dane suspected that people would return soon.

“Hey!” he called to an aging man, who was walking briskly from one side of the courtyard to the other. The man stopped, startled, but swiftly adjusted his trajectory to meet Dane.

“Hello, sir. Richard Guernsey, at your service, town medic.”

“Dane Wrickon. Ah, vagrant.”

Richard nodded. “We’ve had a few of those come in these days,” he said. “Looking for work. The King’s programs have failed, so the stories go, and people are looking for a new life. A better life.” He eyed Dane suspiciously. “You looking for that?”

“Something like that. I have a couple questions first.”

Richard barked a sudden laughter. “You all sound alike. It’s as if you’re shopping for a perfect-fitting set of clothes. How’s the water around here? Are the stone houses comfortable? What is the sunlight spread?” Richard shook his head. “It paralyzes them. We’ve had four different people come through from Cael Proper, thinking that they can find work here. None have stayed; they’ve all gone downriver to look for better opportunities.”

“Nothing that complicated, Rich.” The medic cocked his head slightly at the informality; it was as if he couldn’t decide whether to smile or frown. Dane continued. “Is there an ale house in this town?”

Richard shook his head. “I’m afraid not,” he said. “The town a mile or so upstream has one; it’s enough to handle most of the neighboring towns.”

“That’s perfect,” Dane said. He hesitated. “Is there work, here?”

The medic considered it. “There’s always work to be done. It may not be that steady until you can find a good niche for yourself. But everyone around here always needs a hand one day or another.”

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Dane settled down on the metal cot, staring into the cold stone that lay above him.

He had done this all before. It hadn’t been this town; but it had been something quite similar. There was a queer sort of desperation in it, trying this again.

The last time, he had gotten himself well established doing farm work. It had been simple work; heavy lifting and other manual labor, mostly. There had been no ale-house in the village, like this one, and he had exhausted himself enough every day to make the trek to the nearest house supremely unattractive. The incentives had worked well for him; there was no easy trap to fall into and indulge his drinking habits.

It had been a relatively happy life for a few months. Then some cart hauler from Glen-Deoch had swung through their town, and Dane had not been able to resist the easy opportunity. It had been the worst binge Dane had ever been on, and he had left the village the next afternoon.

All of the thoughts, concerns, and worries that he had been pushing off throughout the entire day came sweeping back to him, as he lay in his cot.

Why hadn’t the gods helped him? The Crone at the Cliffs knew that Dane had problems with alcohol. Sunken Hells, it was something that he struggled writing with every Gift Day. And she had done nothing. Why? Gods, why?

Why hadn’t he died at Invercard? This was the worst part of it. If he had died… Dane gulped down a lump that felt the size of his fist. If he had died, he would have died sober and in a triumphant state. He would have died having given up alcohol; he would have died successfully doing his duty as a soldier; he would have died planning and executing a brilliant defense. The gods would have to accept him, then.

What was he now? What was he now? Just another drunk, running away from everything and everyone. No one would want him, now. Not Lito—if she was still alive, and Dane doubted that she was—not Elaene, not any of the gods, no one.

He felt agonizingly thirsty, and got up out of his cot, suddenly. He walked outside into the cold evening air. Part of him wanted to lace on his boots and start upriver.

Dane didn’t. By the time he got there, it was almost certain that it would be closed. Not to mention that it wouldn’t do him any good.

The silvery starts twinkled above him, cold and impossibly high. The deep water of the Rush murmured off next to him, one of the many irrigation channels that broke off from the main river to fuel the farmlands.

Dane Wrickon relaxed. He had a great sense of calm, as he stood there in the night. He didn’t know how; he could think of a dozen reasons against his feeling and zero reasons to support it; but he had a strange feeling that everything would turn out alright, in the end.

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Chapter 27: Shoulder Strike

Paene’s eyes narrowed as the priestess was pulled onto the scaffold. His blood boiled at the injustice of it, but he bottled his fury, uncommonly strong for him, in preparation for what was to come later. He had been bottling this fury for some time, and he prayed that the pressure would hold until Dane Wrickon returned to Caeledonia.

But they had not heard anything from Dane from any channel that Lito Laeth knew of in the city. Lito was growing increasingly agitated, and increasingly suspicious of Paene. She would refuse to give him helpful information—with good reason, Paene supposed. To her mind, Paene might be spinning an elaborate story, using Dane as an excuse to find out all of Lito’s remaining supports in the city and remove them.

That wasn’t the case, of course, but with the evidence available, how was the Sunset Knight supposed to judge between the two? Paene did everything in his power to keep Lito comfortable and well fed, comparatively, at least, and he prayed that his efforts were not noticed by the Carpenter. So far, it had appeared that he had been successful. Those consolations did wonders for Lito’s spirits, and she was always more cooperative after a hot meal.

It was too soon, too soon to make their move. They had, in all likelihood, no support inside the city, and Paene did not know when he would get some. Even worse, they had received word from the men that Paene had sent down the Rush, even though they themselves had not returned. Invercard was standing, and rebuilding what damage it had sustained in the attack. There was no trace of the King Enclosed’s soldiers in the city.

Paene knew that the window of opportunity was closing fast. He prayed daily that Dane Wrickon would return, and he suspected that Lito had done the same.

Thus far, the King in the Deep had neglected to answer their prayers.

The Carpenter was announcing to the assembled people about the contraption. Paene gritted his teeth. This was a spectacle that no one needed or wanted to see. The Carpenter had thought such a demonstration would seal his reputation for the members of the city—this is what happens if the Carpenter is crossed, regardless of position.

Paene expected a riot, and had taken nearly all available guards in the city—a scarce few—to try to keep order. No one would die needlessly anymore, if he could help it.

The priestess was beginning to make her way across. He looked elsewhere, trying to keep his mind from thinking about what his eyes and ears were perceiving. He told himself that this wasn’t his fault; that none of what had happened since the Carpenter’s revolution was his fault, but that wasn’t true. He hadn’t caused any of the death and destruction himself, but it was a near certainty that he had done little to prevent it.

What excuses could one give a god for not doing one’s duty? The gods were rumored to be able to see the future, traveling down the possibilities as one travels up the branching rivers and streams. Was there a possibility where Paene had ensured the safety of everyone? Where no one had been burned in their homes, but where people could do as they wanted?

Paene wanted to believe it; it was the sort of branch that he worked for, but he couldn’t see how to get there. But deep down, he wasn’t sure that it was even possible. Everything had gone wrong; everything was going wrong, and sometimes he wished that all of this responsibility didn’t have to be on him to make things right.

But just by standing there, he was assuming responsibility. He knew that. Paene was a remarkably able man—able to build things of beauty and intricacy, able to destroy things with care and precision. Dotean, the Master with his Forge, mandated that those who were able to work such wonders were to do so. Since Paene was able to play these games, he was mandated.

A cry brought him out of his thoughts. He looked up, expecting the priestess to have fallen—but she hadn’t, not yet.

He strained his neck, whipping it back and forth, straining for the source of the noise. Nothing. The crowd was silent—listening, perhaps, as he was.

Then it came again—and there were words in the cry.

“The Wall is breached! The Wall is breached!”

Paene took off at a run.

Was it the water? For a terrifying second, Paene considered that it was the water, breaking and surging through the Wall. How careful had the Carpenter been when he broke out from under the storage caverns? Had he caused structural damage, damage that would throw all of Olean under water?

As he ran, he dismissed the idea. If the Wall had breached, even a crack, he knew that the pressure would grow to terrible levels. The Wall wouldn’t crack, water slowly trickling from its sides. The Wall would break, and flood the island. People would die, almost instantly, from the force of the water or the oncoming wreckage. He was still running; the Wall must still be intact.

Which meant… what? Paene raced through the possibilities. As he did so, he roared to the onlookers to take up weapons and defend the Wall. He didn’t quite know what he meant by that, but it seemed like the best thing he could yell.

Had someone came over the Wall, invading the city? How? Who? He knew that wood could float in water, as well as metal tempered in a certain shape, but who had that quantity of wood? Who could have a launching point for such a quantity of metal?

Paene heard whoops and yells, and the clanging of metal on stone.

However these people had arrived and whoever these people were, they were getting into the city. Paene bared his teeth. It didn’t matter. Paene would kill them all the same.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

“Open the cells!” Paene roared.

He hadn’t stopped to see the Wall; he had yelled warning and tried to get the word out as best he could. The Carpenter’s men hadn’t returned from Invercard; Dane Wrickon and his force had disappeared—there was only one force of fighting men left, and they were locked up in the cells. They were weak, some had been tortured, and most were in terrible shape. But they were the only people Paene could use.

“The Wall has been breached! We are being attacked! Open the cells!”

The jailors jumped to the task. Paene instructed a few to bring weapon’s from the cache to give to the soldiers, and to have them all assemble just outside Raven’s Run. He stopped to take the keys to Lito’s cell from the jailor, as well as some of her personal items—including a pair of deadly looking swords. Well, Paene knew from firsthand experience how deadly they could be.

He ran through the passages, keys in one hand, Lito’s butterfly swords in the other.

Lito was there waiting, chained up as usual. Paene fumbled with the keys and opened the cell, and undid her chains with the same desperate haste.

He caught her has she collapsed into his arms.

“Are we making our move?” she asked, wearily. “Or are you here to kill me? I don’t much care, anymore.”

“Snap out of it,” Paene growled. “It’s neither. We’re being attacked. Some crazies somehow got over the Wall from the Ocean side, and are currently laying waste to the city. We need you. We need your men. It’s the only fighting group that we have left.”

“We’re weak,” Lito whispered. “We can’t.”

“You must,” said Paene. “We have no one else. Caeledonia will burn.” He handed her the swords. “Your men will be waiting for you in the courtyard outside the Run. I trust that you can lead them still.”

He got up, shaking out his legs for his next run.

“Where are you going?” Lito had pulled herself to her feet, and was leaning against the wall of her cell.

“I’m going to kill the Carpenter,” Paene said. He wiped his hair, slick with sweat, out of his eyes, and ran out of the cell.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

As Paene hurried across the bridge, he watched the smoke rise from the city. The stone houses and structures wouldn’t burn… but everything and everyone inside them would.

Paene had been struggling with the moral calculus during his run. Seeking out the Carpenter and murdering him would take time and effort— resources that could be used defending the city and saving her people.

But… Sunken Hells, the Carpenter had no stomach for a full-scale fight, and it was unlikely that he had been killed in the initial melee. If the city survived, the Carpenter’s men would be returning soon, and the Carpenter would regain his stranglehold. An uprising thereafter would be costly and uncertain. If the Carpenter was going to fall, he was going to fall in this attack.

And Paene Umber was probably the only person who could get close enough to do the deed.

He reached the courtyard on the other side of bridge, the entrance to Cael Proper. The contraption was still standing there, and the priestess swung slowly in the wind. He paused in his haste next to her.

“King in the Deep… I’m not a priest, but please keep the horrible circumstances in mind for her come the Solemn Vigil. She was in an impossible situation, and I don’t grudge her for what she did. Dotean, if you could provide some support on that, I would sure be grateful.”

The courtyard was empty. Where was everyone?

The fighting had probably devolved into the alleys and homes. The Carpenter had probably retreated to his caverns under the Wall. He hurried in that direction, leaving the priestess behind him.

There were three men near the checkpoint. They weren’t anyone he recognized. They saw him, and rushed forward, swords drawn. They may have been shouting; Paene couldn’t register sounds outside of the screaming, roaring cacophony about the city.

Paene ducked under the sword of the first man—it had been a sloppy attack, and the result of a frantic rush. He drove his knife into the man’s unprotected knife, and whipped it across.

The other two were more cautious and moved towards him on either side as if to flank.

Paene backed up towards the side of the mountain that ran down from the Wall towards the city. It was one less direction to protect from. As he did so, he fumbled in his pouch for a handful of powder.

The first man lunged forward. Paene slapped the mountain behind him with the fistful of dust, and threw himself at the ground below and to the left. The rock exploded behind him, showering him with debris. The first man’s chest was a ruin. His momentum had carried him straight into the blast.

The second man was running towards Paene too. Paene rose swiftly, hand raised in a fist.

“You want the same as him?” he growled.

That stopped his attacker. That hesitation was enough. Paene rushed forward, hand still clenched, and the man swung his weapon to strike the hand. Paene opened it, empty, and brought his other hand with the sword in an upward strike, sticking his blade in the man’s armpit.

The man brought his sword back and caught Paene on his ribs. The leather armor held, but Paene suspected he would have nasty bruises there later. Paene caught his enemy’s sword hand and stepped forward, closing the distance.

The resulting struggle was nasty and short.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Paene entered the caverns, panting with exertions. His hands were bloody and his side ached. He ran away from the Wall, towards the halls below the Rush.

“Crick!”

There was no response. He went further into the storage areas. If the Carpenter wasn’t here, he was going to feel horrible.

At last, his shouting merited a response.

“Parish! Over here!”

Paene found the Carpenter, hidden in the halls, an alchemical light glowing by him. He did not look pleased.

“Where in the Sunken Hells were you?” Crick Hasting roared.

“I was busy,” Paene said. “Defending the city.”

“No chance,” Crick said. “We have no soldiers because you sent them down the Rush. Those men are burning and sacking and— ”

Paene drove his sword through the Carpenter’s throat.

He wiped it clean as he walked out of the caverns, expressionless.

Step one was complete. He prayed that Lito was having success defending the city. Paene ran out of the storage areas to find and assist her.

Chapter 27 2,118 | 58,812/50,000

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Chapter 26: Cracks in the Wall

Faerel let the water lap up against the side of the canoe. She was humming with anticipation, rocking the canoe gently back and forth.

Her soldiers followed in their own canoes—almost too many to count.

She dipped her hands into the water, and tried to wash the ash of Ingerwald out of her hair. As she did, she thanked the King in the Deep for guiding her through the mountains. The remainder of the prisoners had followed. She wasn’t sure what had happened to the bulk of the forces—she suspected that they were dead. There were too many tricks and traps that the people of Invercard could have pulled once they had advance warning.

Faerel was glad for the inconvenience. It allowed her to take care of Ingerwald too.

Ingerwald—the Fiery Forest. Faerel had known from the first moment that she had seen it that she wanted to burn it down.

The people were so… barbaric. They spoke the same language as the rest of Olean, but they acted in a completely different fashion, uncaring of their fellow man—except that seemed to be no longer true, if the stories she heard about Cael Proper and the Carpenter were true.

What was the solution? Faerel had agonized about it ever since she had been sent for the Drain.

Priests and priestesses had a unique role, given to them by the gods. It wasn’t just to counsel people—anyone could give advice, it was to take full responsibility for getting their charges to the Silvery Halls.

But what did that look like? She had seen problems countless times in Ard-Abthen—new novitiates, fresh from the rest of the island, would have a great religious experience. They would dedicate themselves to the work, to their prayer, and to their studies. It was always beautiful to see, but in nearly every case, her fellow novitiates could not keep up the pace. They would slack in their prayers, blaspheme, and generally return to their messy and irreverent lives. Renewal would happen, from time to time, but it was an endless cycle and Faerel couldn’t help but believe that it was a downward spiral.

It was such a tragedy. The King in the Deep and the four lesser gods judged based on the entirety of one’s live, but what could they do when they saw someone fail again and again and again, taking three steps back for every step forward?

And yet… at the same time, she believed that the King in the Deep gave people the benefit of the doubt. If someone’s life was trending upwards, and were to suddenly stop… they would almost certainly be able to join the Silvery Halls, on the strength of their current commitment.

Once she had came to that realization in Ard-Abthen, the rest of her life had crystalized before her.

Murder was wrong. This she knew. But she also knew that the King in the Deep valued sacrifice from his followers—the sacrifice of their very lives in service to their charges.

For most priests and priestesses, this was limited to pain and suffering. They would work late nights, sweat and work along side their charges, and wreck their bodies to assist and to guide in any way they could.

Pathetic. Anyone could sacrifice their body—pain was part of the cosmic game; pain didn’t exist outside of the body; pain couldn’t possibly touch the soul, unless one bought into its importance. Faerel didn’t. Pain wasn’t important

But the soul… that was permanent. That was a fitting sacrifice. And what was a sacrifice, really? It was getting rid of something in such a way that it could not be returned.

That was why followers of Dotean left their marvels at the temples, donating their treasures to their god. It was why followers of Fiach threw their produce into the Rush or the ocean, drowning it permanently.

By killing her fellow men, Faerel knew that she was damning her soul permanently. She prayed that the King in the Deep would be pleased with this sacrifice, that he would understand why she did what she did and reward her for her efforts, but she did her best not to think about it. If she thought too much about it, it would invalidate her efforts.

Her actions were a gift, something given away. She needed to act and think as if she would never get her soul back, that she would be trapped in the Sunken Hells. Only then would it be selfless.

That was the plan, anyway, buried in her subconscious.

And she had faithfully followed that plan, more or less, since that first killing in Ard-Abthen. She had been caught in Invercard, but had managed to escape into the mountains before being sent to the Drain.

Faerel remembered the sleepless nights, shivering in the cold, weary with hunger. With the assistance of the King in the Deep, she had found the forest city of Ingerwald. She had been incredibly surprised—no one, to her knowledge, knew about this city on the outermost perimeter of the island. It was thought that the isolated mountains ringed the entire island.

Faerel had tried to continue to save the members of the city, but they had caught her at it.

Faerel hadn’t minded. She had escaped then too, and retreated back over the mountains to Olean.

Sooner or later, she had been captured for the third time and sent to the Drain. Faerel smiled as she remembered. She had escaped again.

When would people stop trying? This was a good confirmation for her that the King in the Dead was pleased with her work, and wanted her to continue.

At the Drain, she contemplated the problem once more. Killing individuals was slow, agonizingly so.

Then, one night, it had all came together.

There was a beautiful elegance to the solution. After all, wasn’t the King in the Deep going to end his project eventually? He would break the Wall, and drown the island under the waves.

She was just speeding up the process.

Faerel glanced back at the bag full of explosive powder behind her, and smiled.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

The canoes made their way around the Island. None of her soldiers knew her true intentions. It was a way to strike Olean at its heart, she had said. It was a way to bypass all of the reinforcements that were undoubtedly coming down the Rush from the city. It was a way to plunder the richest city on the island.

And it was a way to save everyone on Olean. She had taken care of the other part of the island already.

The Wall loomed above them. Faerel watched as the water was sucked underneath towards the drain holes spaced throughout the Wall. She glanced upwards. As far as she could tell, there were no guards walking the Wall—were they busy? Short-staffed from their defense of Invercard? That couldn’t be right… it would be a short walk in comparison to the ocean rowing.

Could the rest of the prisoners have won after all? That was a troubling thought. In the end, it shouldn’t matter.

She motioned towards two of the boats behind her. Two burly soldiers prepared themselves, trying to steady themselves against the steady rocking of the canoe. They each threw grappling hooks up towards the Wall. The first caught right away; the second took a few throws.

Faerel decided to chance it, and raise her voice.

“As I promised you, companions. The jewel of Olean, the capitol responsible for putting you in the Drain.”

She smiled. “Have fun.”

Cheers erupted around her. She shouldered her pack of explosive powder, and checked that her sword was still buckled.

Faerel was the first on the rope. It had been knotted in regular intervals to assist those climbing it, and she made short work of the hundred or so feet up to the top of the Wall.

The Wall was bare. It was downright eerie.

Faerel took a few experimental steps forward, towards the Cael Proper side of the Wall. Still nothing.

The rest of the prisoners started to appear. She motioned them forward, and they ran down the Wall and the stairs which lead to Cael Proper.

That was when they were spotted. A guard at some checkpoint house noticed them, and started yelling. One of the prisoners shot him with a crossbow, but the call had been taken up.

“The Wall is breached! The Wall is breached!”

Faerel raised her voice to cut through the emerging roar. “The plan is the same. Use the alleys and the homes. They should have a hard time finding and taking you down—work smart, work well, and I have no doubt that the city will soon be ours!”

She let the prisoners rush past her as she knelt by the guard. He was still breathing.

“You were doing your duty,” she said, quietly. “That was a brave thing for you to do.”

He tried to make a sound, but blood gurgled out of his mouth instead.

She drove her sword through his throat, severing it in one blow.

“Enjoy the silvery halls, my friend.”

Faerel straightened up—and an interesting thing caught her eye.

The Wall had a hole in it.

She opened her mouth in disbelief. Why would the Wall be broken? Who would do such a thing? It looked as if she could walk right in and head straight to some critical areas.

Screams and shouts started to echo throughout the city. Faerel said a quick prayer that no one would fall into despair. Cursing the gods in that way in someone’s final moments… Faerel tried to suppress the memories of fresh blood spilled on rocks, of a cut that was too slow and too gentle.

Was it worth it? Probably. The majority of the island wouldn’t be caught up in this conflict, and would be going about their normal lives. She prayed that people would remain in hope, but even if they didn’t, it was a small amount of souls to lose when compared to the entire island. With luck, they wouldn’t have time to despair before the water hit.

Faerel went over to her bag, and put it to her shoulder. She began to stroll towards the gaping hole in the Wall, and started to hum as she did so.

Olean would be saved soon enough.

Chapter 26 1,738 | 56,694/50,000

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Chapter 25: Balance

The door to Elaene’s cell opened.

“It’s time.”

Elaene nodded. Her eyes were dry, and she allowed herself to be lead out of the cell.

As she passed the Sunset Knight’s cell, she gave Lito Laeth a small nod of the head. Lito stared back, impassively. It didn’t surprise her. The Sunset Knight was used to sacrifices.

Why couldn’t Paene had stayed under his torture induced coma for another few days? Elaene had finally started to make herself useful to the Carpenter, and was planning on breaking Lito out at any time when she was betrayed and captured.

Now everything had been for nothing. Torturing Lito… assisting the Carpenter in scheduling his little ‘demonstrations’… even breaking the near sacred law of impartiality in the first place. It had all been for nothing.

Was it worth it? She asked herself.

No. In fact, everything after she broke impartiality had been a betrayal of everything that she believed in. At the time, she had thought she had been doing the right thing… but now she wasn’t so sure.

The endlessly confusing walls of Raven’s Run rushed by, as the jailor roughly pushed her through the halls. She felt disoriented when they finally broke out from under the mountain, into the sunlight. The Wall was before her, still broken on the lower end. The cavern loomed from across the bridge, and she thought that she could see things moving in the deep. They started across the bridge, making their way to Cael Proper.

Elaene started to pray for forgiveness from the King in the Deep. She wasn’t sure whether it was worth it. She wasn’t sure whether it would work. She had broken one of the rules, the rules that their order had been designed for.

Priests and priestesses were supposed to act as sacrifices to serve the rest of the people. They were supposed to offer their time and their life to improving the spiritual, mental, and emotional help of their charges.

Wasn’t that what she had been doing, though, for Lito? She had sacrificed herself, in a very real and irrevocable way, to ensure that things went well for her.

That’s not the same as spiritual health.

The thought came unbidden to her. And it was true—Lito could have suffered and died under the Carpenter’s assault—and still went to the silvery halls of the King in the Deep. And that, that alone was Elaene’s responsibility. Not to ensure that any worldly success occurred.

They were nearing the halfway point. Elaene started to feel sick.

Why hadn’t things been easier? Why had she been put in an impossible situation, where inactivity would feel like betraying her charge, and activity was definitely betraying herself?

This is nothing new.

And yet, it felt as it was. Serving at the Table hadn’t been difficult; serving at the Drain hadn’t been this conflicting.

Maybe the world was getting into more and more of a tangle. Her faith told her that at some point the King in the Deep would tire of his creation, an drown the world in dark and cold water. The Elders of Ard-Abthen had predicted that he would do so when humanity had devolved to such a state that the ‘project’ wasn’t worth continuing.

If that was the case… then it would make sense that the world and the people in it would only get worse. More corrupted.

They had reached the end of the bridge. In the main square, a crowd had gathered. Elaene kept her head held hid. She would not give the Carpenter the satisfaction of breaking.

The Carpenter’s voiced carried. He droned on about her crime, all the wrong that she had done to the Carpenter and to the city as a whole.

She took the time to look at the structure in front of her.

There were two pillars of rock, about thirty feet away from each other. Each one had a metal platform on the top, where one or two people could reasonably stand. Connecting the two was what looked like a metal knife—it tapered out slightly on both ends, but came to an impressive point. There was a pole, horizontal and a good distance above the thin walkway, that mirrored it above.

A noose was hanging from the pole, swinging back and forth.

The Carpenter ended his speech. The jailor pushed Elaene forward. She saw Paene, standing next to the Carpenter. She couldn’t place the expression on the face. She wouldn’t have called it sad… it was as if Paene was considering a problem that was far distant from the situation.

The jailor pulled himself up on to the metal platform. He reached for Elaene, and hauled her up after him.

Elaene looked out across the metal knife. She couldn’t breathe.

The jailor reached out, and caught the rope in his hand. He tugged on it, hard, and she saw that the rope slid freely along the pole high above her.

The jailor slid the noose around her neck, and pulled it tight. Then he pulled her hands behind her back, and tied them there.

Elaene stayed quiet as the Carpenter strode over. He smiled at her, and got close enough to talk.

“It was well done,” the Carpenter said. “I was surprised how far you took the act with the Sunset Knight. Cutting her hair off… that was a delicious touch. If I may ask—were you trying to save yourself, or trying to help her?”

“Why does it matter?” Elaene gasped.

“It doesn’t,” the Carpenter said. “But I would feel better if I knew that you were doing this for some higher purpose, and not for selfish reasons.” He shook his head. “You priestesses were supposed to inspire and guide us—how sad to see that you’re just the same as everyone else.”

Elaene didn’t understand what the Carpenter was doing. Was this a moment of final honesty? Or was he simply messing with her, trying to get inside and wreck her head before he died? She didn’t answer.

The Carpenter turned to face the crowd. “I am not a cruel man,” he said, “despite whatever has happened before. I have no desire to murder a priestess. But is she a priestess? She violated the law of impartiality, practically the only mandate of her priesthood. It is a narrow path to walk, true, but she vowed and promised to walk it.”

He turned to Elaene, as if he was speaking to her, but his voice continued to carry.

“I offer you an option, Elaene—let us see if you can walk the narrow path once more. If you can traverse from this platform to the other, it will show that you have the care and the balance that you require to rejoin the priesthood. If you cannot… well, Elaene, it will be only what you deserve.”

Elaene bit back her retorts—how could her physical dexterity possibly correlate to her mental and spiritual well being?

It was an impossible task. She looked at the knife ridge in front of her, and shuddered. No one could possibly walk across without falling—especially without her arms to guide and balance herself.

The Carpenter turned to her, and retained his normal voice that the crowd could not hear. “Good luck, Elaene.” He sounded elated, as if he was having trouble keeping his laughter in. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

Elaene bared her teeth. “You’ll drown right next to me, Carpenter.”

She took her first step. The rope slid along, staying tight across her neck. She buckled, but regained her balance. She took another step.

Elaene had said those words to the Carpenter in sudden, hot anger.

Was it true? Was she destined for the Sunken Hells the next Solemn Vigil?

Was one foolish moment enough to cause the King in the Deep to loose trust in her completely?

She took another step.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. She would make him see. She would make them all see.

The rope burned against her neck as she dragged it along. Sweat ran down her face as every muscle in her core and legs strained to keep her upright.

People were shouting around her. She ignored them.

The halfway point loomed ahead of her. She pushed the fear back and focused on that point alone. She rotated her feet as she stepped so that they were perpendicular to the tiny ledge. It seemed to help.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Paene running by her, towards the bridge. She didn’t stop to think about why. She just took another step.

She crossed the halfway point.

There was still away out. The Carpenter would be true to his word, with so many people watching he had to be. She could still return to Ard-Abthen, make attonment for her sins. This one moment didn’t need to define her, she could still get out.

The people around her continued to shout—and this time, she heard them.

“The Wall is breached! The Wall is breached!”

“Defend the city! Get some weapons and move!”

Confused, she slipped.

The rope tightened suddenly against her neck, choking her.

Her legs were straddled across the ledge. She tried to hook one along and pull herself up. She couldn’t breathe.

Gods. Gods forgive me.

Chapter 25 1,556 | 54,956/50,000

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Chapter 24: Treading Water

Paene Umber maintained a steady breathing, trying to remain calm. Crick Hasting was anything but.

“We barely have the men to defend against the local populace as it is,” he said. “And now you want us to send a hundred men down the Rush?”

“We wouldn’t need so many men if you hadn’t instilled such fear into them,” Paene said. “I wish to the gods that you hadn’t used such cruel methods during your takeover.”

“Parish, you don’t understand… you’re so naïve. If I hadn’t done those things, what would stop people from uprising against me? Once you show that the king can be deposed with a quick strike, others will be quick to try—unless you can prove that such an action would be costly to them.”

Paene did not answer right away. He tried a different tactic. “As we speak, it is likely that Invercard is undergoing another assault,” he said. “And I don’t think that the men can hold it this time. If you send men down, you can hopefully stop them before they leave the Rush and break out into the Island Above. The people will love you. You’ll no longer by their conqueror, their torturer… you’ll be their savior.”

Crick scratched his chin. “I’ll think about it.”

Paene took a deep breath. “You can stop thinking about it,” he said. “I’ve already sent the men down.”

The Carpenter turned and looked at him. “You did?” he asked, softly. “Why would you do that?”

“You were nowhere to be found,” he said. “Time was of the essence. If we delayed even a bit, it might have been too late to defend the canyon adequately.”

“You have always been loyal to me,” the Carpenter said. “I suppose you were trying to do what was right. But you could have opened our conversation with that, instead of dropping this on me. Why didn’t you?”

Paene considered it. “You have always valued honesty…” he said, putting some meaning into his words. “Honesty at any cost. I will give you some now as well.”

“Please do,” Crick said.

“When I woke up, I was appalled at what I heard. You were no longer attacking our enemies. You were attacking the people that you swore to free. You burned innocent families inside their homes. You inflicted hideous tortures upon soldiers, some of whom were forced into that service—the exact sort of person that we created this whole movement more. And when I heard these things… I wasn’t sure who I was dealing with.”

“I was afraid,” he said, “that if I asked that you would say no. And if you said no… I was worried that the Island would burn. I took responsibility for it. I didn’t think that you were in a healthy state of mind to make that call.”

“It was not your call to make,” the Carpenter said. “But we will have words about this later. I need your help to come up with and build something truly fearsome for the Sunset Knight’s punishment. Something above and beyond what we had planned originally.”

“I suppose I can do that,” Paene said slowly. He had to keep the Carpenter in good spirits, or none of this was going to work. “Why the sudden increase? I thought what we had planned was fine.”

Crick cocked his head. “Because she violated the treat,” he said. “She captured you after you agreed to meet in good faith. I mean… I’m not too surprised. It’s what I would have done if she herself had met, and not the priestess.”

Paene was confused. “The Sunset Knight didn’t capture me,” he corrected. “The priestess did. Lito may have planned the idea, I suppose, but the priestess gave the order.”

Crick stood up suddenly. “That bitch,” he whispered. “That lying, traitorous, double crossing…”

Paene felt sick.

“I’m putting the Sunset Knight project on hold, Parish. That priestess deserves some immediate punishment.”

Oh, shit.

“Crick…” Paene said. “I can think of nothing that would be worse for your reputation than to publicly torture to death a priestess. I was the one harmed by this, and I’m telling you to let this go. Let her go home. Banish her from the city, put pressure on Ard-Abthen to prevent her from ever counseling again, something, but don’t kill her in this way.”

“Parish, this is not your call. I need you, but don’t test my forgiveness.”

“I understand,” Paene said, bowing his head slightly.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Paene nodded at the jailer. The burly man left soon after, twirling the newly acquired gold in his hands. Paene hoped that he wouldn’t report any of his midnight meetings with Lito to the Carpenter—he only had to keep his tongue a little longer, and Paene was happy to pay enough to ensure it.

“Hello again,” Lito said.

“Hello,” Paene said. He took a seat. “Your hair is growing back.”

Lito shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

They had been meeting every night for the last few days. Slowly, surely, Paene was winning her confidence.

“We need you to look powerful and able to lead when you get out,” Paene said. “Not beaten and battered.”

Lito laughed weakly. “That’s going to be difficult,” she said. “Unless you plan to house and feed me for a straight week after you break me out.”

Paene nodded. “We might,” he said. “I’m not sure how long we can wait after I kill the Carpenter.”

“Kill?” Lito asked. “Last night you only wanted to imprison him.”

“I’m killing him,” Paene said firmly. “He is dead set on publicly torturing the priestess to death.”

Lito was quiet.

“Which brings me to another point,” Paene said. “Why didn’t you tell me what you and Elaene had schemed together? I was caught confused, and told the Carpenter what really happened when I was captured.”

“Sunken hells,” Lito said. She leaned her head back wearily.

“Yes,” Paene said. “We need to make our move before then. If a priestess is killed in this way… the city is going to riot, and I don’t think we’ll be able to control them the feeble forces we’re going to have.”

After a few nightly conversations, Lito had revealed the truth: Dane Wrickon’s message was a fake. He had defeated the prisoners and was coming back up the road. Lito suspected that Dane might already be in Caeledonia. Paene was unsure.

They had sent down the Carpenter’s forces to solve a crisis that didn’t exist. Once they were able to make contact with Dane, Paene and Lito were going to spring their trap. The Carpenter would be dead, and the city would be united under their leadership. Both camps, they hoped, would be pleased with the outcome.

But none of Lito’s contacts had been able to confirm where Dane was. And until he was in the city, ready to help, they couldn’t move.

“I pray so too,” Lito said. “Gods. Elaene.”

“How did she convince the Carpenter?” Paene said. “I couldn’t believe it.”

“She tortured me,” Lito said. “The Carpenter watched.”

“That must have been difficult,” Paene said.

“I think it was,” Lito said. “Gods. How did this get so wrong? Elaene has her own plans to break me out, I think, but I haven’t seen her since that day. You obviously haven’t seen her, and now she’s doomed.”

“It’s a bad situation,” Paene agreed. “All we can do is pray that Dane gets back in time.”

Lito tried to stretch herself out. “Thank you for talking, Parish. You better get back.”

Paene nodded, and as he turned to leave, he thought of something.

“Lito,” he said. “Why did you trust me, over these nights?”

“On the one hand, why would you lie?”

“Giving you hope, then taking it away. It’s as cruel as anything that the Carpenter could imagine.”

Lito raised her eyebrow. “Do you always undermine yourself? You second guess everything.”

Paene shook his head. “Not exactly,” he said. “I try to see everything from all sides. Even the sides that I don’t agree with.”

“Regardless,” Lito said. “I have no choice. And even if it’s a lie… it’s a beautiful lie.”

Paene Umber nodded, and exited the jail. When he arrived back at his quarters, he found a message from the Carpenter. Elaene’s public trial was taking place next evening.

Paene stared out, trying to see through the walls of his quarters and into the city. He had less than twenty four hours to make contact with Dane, assassinate the Carpenter, run his counter revolution, break the Sunset Knight out of jail, and save Elaene.

He cracked his knuckles.

Let the water rise, he thought. I’ll swim through it regardless.

Chapter 24 1,448 | 53,400/50,000

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