“So what are your plans?” Ghell asked. “I’ll give you the boy but I want what I was promised.”
“And you’ll get it,” Duncan said. “Rest assured that if our master has promised you the life of this one’s sister then you’ll have it. But only
after
I have finished his task.” Duncan scratched his beard. “I believe our master’s ends can be met with just the boy, but the Hawk has requested both he
and
the girl. So, I supposed the plan is simple: we’ll use the boy to get to the girl, and then I’ll take them both with me to Magia.”
Ghell didn’t look happy, but he nodded. “If you insist. Not sure how you plan to use the boy as bait. There’s seven of us and hundreds of
them
.”
“Trust me,” Duncan said. “I’m more powerful than I look. All I need to capture the girl is to find her; once I know where she is, the rest is of no real concern.” He turned his eyes on Nero, who felt a cold chill spread through his body under the old Archmage’s gaze. “Come now, boy. Let’s reunite you with your friend, the prince. I’m sure he’s worried himself sick looking for you.”
Duncan wiggled his finger, indicating Nero should approach. Despite the vomit-inducing stench, Nero was anxious to be away from the one who called himself Ghell. So choosing the lesser of two evils, he slowly made his way towards Duncan, who turned around and began to walk up the cellar’s steps without looking behind to ensure Nero was following.
“Before you go,” Ghell said.
“Yes?”
“Let me make a go for the girl first. If I fail, you try it your way. I think I can get her if you can find where she is. And I want to make absolutely sure I’ve done what the Hawk said so that I will get my reward.”
Duncan smiled. “I have a fairly good idea. I’ll know for certain within the hour.”
“Will you tell me?”
“Will you fail?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll tell you once I know. I’ll send a messenger to find you.”
“Very well, then.”
Nero didn’t know what either of them were talking about. He only hoped he wouldn’t soon find out.
Sehn
, he thought.
Where are you
?
Night fell over the city, snuffing out the last traces of daylight. Now, only the pole-mounted lanterns and the moonlight staved off the darkness. Yet even with night upon them, the people of Hahl were not winding down as they usually did once the afternoon gave way to evening.
Patrick glanced at both sides of the street; everywhere he looked, he could see faces staring out of windows with expressions ranging from fearful to curious. With the previous evacuation and subsequent attack on Hahl, Patrick’s decision to block the city’s gates—combined with the city guard’s search efforts—had drummed up a bit of panic among the people. He hoped things would be over with soon and back to normal order.
Patrick stood alone with the Champion. Every so often, he would stop a passing guardsman and issue an order, ask for an update, or send a message back to Command Duuhard, who had been briefed on the situation a few hours back. But no one had found any leads on the boy’s location.
Things aren’t looking good
.
Patrick knew that if they didn’t find the boy soon, they wouldn’t find him at all. As upsetting as it was, he’d soon need to change his focus from rescuing the boy to dealing with Sehn and Cah’lia should they discover his disappearance. Either that or he would have to take an extreme measure and subdue them after they returned to Hahl.
But not yet
.
Patrick liked the little elven boy—enough that he decided to make one last sweep of the area before he called off the search. He couldn’t keep the guards blocking the entrances for much longer. Merchants and people on business needed to enter and leave Hahl at will. Sealing off the city hurt commerce, and so by extension it hurt the citizens, as well.
Ignoring the ache in his tired knees, Patrick continued his search, making his way through the gradually narrowing streets. He kept his hands at his sides, ready to draw his weapon at any time. His gut instinct told him that if a boy were being held captive, it would likely be in the lower-income areas of the city, where the kidnappers would be able to remain unnoticed provided they had the money to bribe whoever was hosting them. With less presence from the guards, they could easily buy an innkeeper’s silence.
As prince, it was the epitome of foolishness for Patrick to be in this part of Hahl without an armed escort of guards protecting him. A cutthroat wouldn’t think twice about snatching the purse of the prince and leaving him for dead, and while the Champion was likely stronger than several dozen men combined, Patrick didn’t trust the dark, whispery man.
I can defend myself just fine
.
Patrick almost stumbled over the pavement beneath his feet; it was chipped in places, and with each step, it became increasingly more broken up. A few of the homes here were constructed out of stone, but as Patrick ventured deeper into the run-down slums of Hahl, mud and straw made up nearly every structure, and the smell of bakeries, smithies, and butchers was replaced with the nose-wrinkling scent of horse dung and improperly-disposed trash.
Unlike the safer areas in Hahl, the merchants here not only took their wares home with them for the night, but they took their kiosks, too, leaving the streets vacant save for a few groups of men who huddled in small, circular groups on street corners, obviously up to no good. As Patrick and the Champion passed, they lifted their heads and offered appraising looks, as if sizing them up as potential victims. Yet with a single glare from the Champion, they grinned through their rotten teeth, gave a curt nod, and then averted their eyes.
Patrick kept on the lookout for any signs of the boy. Though there were many shady people strolling about—likely guilty of any number of crimes—none struck Patrick as being the culprits he sought. A few did seem to recognize him, though, which wasn’t surprising: his gem-studded vest and finely threaded trousers were drastically out of place here. Even if they didn’t peg Patrick down as the prince, they must’ve assumed him to be some sort of noble or perhaps a wealthy merchant. In either case, everyone from bulky men to old, haggard women eyed him with temptation in their eyes. Patrick hoped they didn’t attempt anything stupid and force him to put them down.
At the end of a dark, rank-smelling street corner, Patrick made his way over to a pair of young men who, if not exactly clean looking, had at least enough teeth left in their mouths to form basic sentences. They glanced quickly at one another while he approached them.
“Looking a little out of place, are we?” the one on the left said. He was the shorter of the two. Other than a single tear in one of his sleeves, his clothing was more or less intact.
Patrick sighed. “Not as much as you, my friend.” He lifted an eyebrow at the man’s shoes. “You’d almost blend in well in this part of town…if not for those boots. They’re a bit higher quality than most wear around here. Who are you two?”
“Depends on who’s asking,” the man said.
Patrick grinned. “Prince Patrick Vasilis of the Kingdom of the Seven Pillars. And if that’s not enough to get a straight answer out of you”—he crooked a thumb at the Champion—“my friend here is also curious about what you’ve got to say.”
The man’s response was instantaneous. His posture straightened, and then he gave a deep bow, as did his companion. “My prince,” he whispered.
Patrick moved closer to the man and tried to block him off from outside view. He was already drawing more than enough attention, and the last thing Patrick wanted was to attract even
more
. As it were, Patrick’s visit to this part of Hahl would already be the topic of conversation for the next month.
“Who are you two?”
“We’re agents of Hahl’s guard, Your Highness.” He pointed to himself. “I’m Arayus and this fella with me here is Belegon. We’re here to sniff out a pack of murdering thugs who’ve been extorting money from local businesses. But, ah…so far we haven’t made much progress.”
Patrick evaluated the men and decided he wasn’t surprised. The two agents probably drew more attention to themselves than a man dressed like Patrick did, especially since Patrick wasn’t trying to blend in. People were more likely to be wary of a wolf in sheep’s clothing than a wolf in wolf’s clothing. Patrick realized he’d need to have a word in private with whoever stationed these two here. If he, as a prince, could sniff them out as agents, then any thug worth his scars would be able to do so as well. Patrick would bet his inheritance that the only reason no thug had stuck a knife in these two was because they served as an unwitting way to keep an eye on Hahl’s guard—people one could use to feed false information to.
“I’m looking for a kidnapped child,” Patrick said. “I believe the boy may have been taken here.”
Patrick spent the next few minutes explaining the current situation. He grew annoyed whenever either of the men asked why the prince himself would be out searching for the child. Patrick would dismiss their questions and continue on with a line of his own. He figured that even if these two failed miserably as agents, they’d at least have some idea of the local workings and be able to point him in the right direction.
The man, Arayus, nodded after Patrick had finished speaking. “I can’t say I’ve seen any kidnapped boys come through here.” He bit his lip before continuing. “But if one
was
taken here, the inn just down the next road, first one on your left—that’s where he’d be. Owner’s a real scumbag; the smells that come off that place has me believing he takes bribes to hide bodies until he can safely dispose of ‘em.”
“Interesting,” Patrick muttered. He thanked the agents and then walked away. The Champion fell in line beside him. When they were out of earshot, Patrick whispered, “What do you think?”
“I think you need better agents,” the man with the catlike eyes whispered back to him.
Despite the grave situation, Patrick allowed a small chuckle. “I didn’t think you were capable of humor.”
“Neither did
I
.” The Champion’s lips twisted into the barest grin, which faded an instant later. “I am…worried about the boy. Whether or not you believe me of such a thing is irrelevant—we must get him back. If you are unable to continue the search, then I will continue myself until I’ve found him.”
“You
do
realize I must, for the good of my people, reopen the city soon, yes?”
“I do.”
“Where will you look if you cannot find him here in Hahl?”
“Everywhere and anywhere.”
Patrick slowed his steps as they approached the inn, which was just as run-down as the rest of this part of Hahl. A crooked sign that read “Rezza’s Nest” hung slanted from the door in faded black ink. It was a two-story inn, and unlike its neighboring buildings, this one was constructed out of stone with brick roofing. If not for the outer walls that seemed to crumble in places, this inn could’ve almost passed as a middle-class establishment—almost. There was also a stench to the place, much as the two agents had described.
Patrick pushed open the door and entered without looking behind him to see if the Champion followed. The fact that the entrance was unlocked after dark didn’t bode well for the place; already, Patrick had reasons to be suspicious. Honest inns shut their doors after the sun set.
The common room was half-filled, with the usual sort of folk who frequented this kind of inn: drunks, gamblers, and the occasional whore. Kingdom law had banned prostitution ever since Patrick’s father’s scholars discovered a connection between whoring and life-threatening illnesses. Of course, if ever a profession was harder to outlaw, Patrick would like to learn of it. Still, he didn’t come here to crack down on petty crime.
He took a seat with the Champion at the back of the common room. Not a single head turned to glance at him, which could only mean one thing: everyone in the room was either a thug or a thug-in-training. Patrick was certain that, not only was everyone aware of his presence, but many were likely communicating with basic hand gestures: nose rubbing, coughing, and frequent hair scratching. Whether or not they knew he was a prince or not was another matter. But for sure they knew he was there.
Good
.
Let them know
.
A barmaid approached and Patrick ordered two mugs of ale but without the intention of actually drinking any of it. The woman returned with the drinks shortly afterwards, and Patrick, keeping his eyes downcast on the murky liquid, lowered his voice as much as he could while still uttering comprehensible words.
“Sit here, do nothing, and remain calm,” he whispered. “Although I suppose the calm part is easy for you.”
The Champion didn’t speak, and Patrick wondered if it was even possible for the man—the Item—to say anything without using that ever-present whisper. The Champion gave the slightest bow of his head, which told Patrick he understood the instructions. The fact that he was willing to obey Patrick’s orders at all was a great relief.
“Though I realize there is only a tiny chance the boy is actually here,” Patrick began, “I don’t want to lose him if he is. Right now, everyone here is no doubt wondering what the rich man is doing in their tacky little inn. While many here are likely guilty of something, they obviously don’t think I’m here for their heads, assuming, of course, that anyone in here recognizes me as the prince. If they do, they realize that if I were here to cause trouble, I’d have stormed this place with a hundred guards.”
Patrick stopped himself from sipping at his drink. “No, they’re most likely curious, and of course skeptical. That is,” he added, “unless they know why I’ve come here.” Patrick met the Champion’s eyes for a brief moment, and he could see that the man had comprehended his words.
“I…understand,” the Champion whispered. Thankfully, when he spoke, his voice came from only his lips, doing away with the creepy effect of sounding from everywhere at once. “If whoever is responsible for the boy’s kidnapping is here, then you’re hoping to see a reaction in them…yes?”
Patrick nodded. “Exactly. Whoever took Nero must’ve known
I—or
you—would come looking for him. And if this is the right place, someone will give us a sign. Observe their facial expressions carefully—it’s a trick Rillith taught me. Look for anyone who isn’t overly curious of my presence.”
“Would it not be the other way around? I’d imagine the nervous-looking ones would be the guilty ones.”
“No,” Patrick said. “Not at all. Regardless of who or what these men suspect I am, they all have
some
reason to be nervous. But the ones who kidnapped the boy will be going out of their way to
appear
nervous, but not enough to stand out. Because of this, they’ll overcompensate.”
“I see.”
For a few minutes, the room became noticeably quiet while Patrick sat in the back with the Champion. But several moments later, the volume picked up, though not to the degree it had been when Patrick had first entered. Men returned to their card games, and women, cautiously at first, began tapping on the shoulders of any man who looked like he could afford the coin needed to pay for their company for the night.
Patrick wasn’t sure how long he should wait before deciding that no one here had any connection to the kidnapped elven children. There were plenty of other inns just like this one, and Nero could be in any of them—assuming an inn was even where the boy was being held. So far, things weren’t looking good. Through the corner of his eyes, Patrick spotted the inn’s lesser-intelligent patrons stealing rudimentary glances at him, while the more clever guests used the reflections cast by their mugs and utensils to peek his way.