Rise of the Red Harbinger (35 page)

What?
With that, the guard thrust a leather-gloved fist into Garrison’s temple, collapsing him to his knees. Garrison, floating between awareness and unconsciousness, saw the mountain swirl before him and only heard the world through muffles and echoes. The man dragged him along the ground, only making Garrison dizzier. His presumed savior spoke, but the words broke down into more echoes before reaching his ears.

Still lolling and swaying, Garrison felt the world before him speed up. He raced through darkness without having moved. He swore he still kneeled on the ground, but the ground no longer existed and black space surrounded him, while emptiness raced past him.

In a few more moments, the world slowed back to stillness and its color returned, only now Garrison knelt on the hard stone ground outside a castle. His vision regained enough focus to see a modest castle before him, though he still found difficulty in seeing the details of it. Two men grabbed him by the hands and dragged him, he assumed, inside. The ground cut open Garrison’s exposed knees, but the pain from it was miniscule compared to the aches everywhere else on his body.

Although his mind still felt a bit cloudy, Garrison understood that he was safe. After running for a week, he had managed to outlast his father’s soldiers. That was who they were now, his father’s soldiers, not his own any longer. He would become the very thing his father hated. Garrison was free to live his life as he wanted, and once he healed, he would commit himself fully to the lifestyle of a Descendant and make the world understand that Descendants were not the scourge his father claimed them to be.

The dragging stopped. The two men lifted him to his feet, still supporting him beneath the shoulders. He could only imagine how he looked: filthy, clothes in tatters, stained with blood, dirt, horse guts, and chunks of his own flesh missing. But soon enough, he would be healthy again. A short man stood before him now, dark with his hair closely shaved to his head, in the Shivaani fashion.

The man to his right spoke. “Maven Jelahni, this is Prince Garrison of Cerysia, son of King Edmund. He seeks refuge with the Descendants in the House of Darian.”

The Shivaani replied, “I know who he is, though he looks like a simple beggar before me. I have seen him many times, yet he likely has no recollection of me. Tell me boy, is it your intention to fulfill your duties as a Descendant here?”

Garrison still could not project much from his dry, cracked mouth, so he nodded, trying his best to meet the man’s eyes despite the knot in the back of his neck.

“Then you are a fool. I know of your crimes against Descendants. The whole world knows of your father’s decree to eliminate us from the world. And you are the leader of his army.” Garrison could only look at him now, hoping the man could see the genuineness in his face, see that he meant no harm. He bent his neck despite the lack of cooperation from his muscles, and saw only anger in eyes of his accuser.

The man to his right spoke once again, “What shall we do with him then, Maven? Would you have us bring him to Zin Marlowe?”

“No. I say kill him. This…prince. Ensure that it is painful and use whatever means you feel is necessary. Zin Marlowe need not know about this. Once he is dead, send for me. I want to see his lifeless head for myself, and then I will send it back to his father.”

Chapter 13

City of the Fallen

From
The Book of Orijin
, Verse Eighty-Nine

We have blessed the ordinary with the power to perform miracles. We have given sight to the blind. Verily, We understand the laws of the world where you cannot
.

“Less than a mile
away! And I think we’ll be out of the rain before we get there!” Horatio’s voice snapped Baltaszar out of his ponderings. The heavy, steady rainfall coupled with the clopping of hooves had sent him into a sort of trance. His leg still ached, but he’d used it enough in the past few days that he’d grown accustomed to the soreness.

They’d left Khiry on the opposite end of the city from where they’d entered. Soren had explained to them that they could ride along the coast almost all the way to the City of the Fallen. It would take nearly twice as long, but there would be no soldiers there. Baltaszar hadn’t been sure whether to be annoyed that Cyrus and Anahi hadn’t suggested the same. Regardless, he was alive. His hand still stung constantly, but it would heal. He would recover and be back to normal soon.

In the past few hours, they had returned to the Way of Sunsets, because there was no entrance into the City of the Fallen from the coast, as Soren had informed them. Horatio shouted again, “Look Tasz, the sun is shining up ahead!” Baltaszar did not have to strain to see what Horatio was talking about. The darkness of rain clouds was almost at an end. Baltaszar suspected his horse noticed as well, as it quickened its pace.

“Good God.” Baltaszar immediately lost his train of thought and cursed the clouds and rain. The intruding sunlight illuminated a wonder Baltaszar could never have imagined. “Who? What. Is. That?” At the edge of the city stood the towering light grey stone statue of a man with his right arm outstretched and his palm open as if welcoming the world to this city.

“Lionel.” Horatio finally spoke. “One of the Harbingers of Darian’s time. He was the great speaker; everyone loved him.”

Baltaszar finally collected his thoughts. The marvelous statue toward which they rode solely provided affirmation that leaving Haedon was the right choice. “Is the world truly this marvelous? That things like this exist? You’re telling me that men created that, Raish?” Over the past couple of days, he had developed the habit of shortening Horatio to ‘Raish’. Horatio hadn’t seemed to mind.

“Oh, men definitely built this. The Galiceans, they have been master builders and sculptors for centuries. If you look around, in the distance you’ll see that there is a statue facing out from each side. Of the others, Darian to the north, Abram to the south, and Gideon to the west.”

Baltaszar chuckled, “Why didn’t you bloody tell me about this earlier? If I had known about such things, we would have gotten here at least two days sooner!”

“Right. You would have rushed away from Cara and her sisters fawning over you? For this?” Horatio nodded toward the statue.

“I likely wouldn’t have met them! I wouldn’t have allowed myself to get hurt!”

Horatio rolled his eyes, “And then you would have never known of chocolate and coffee. Do you see how everything works out?”

Baltaszar simply shook his head and spurred his horse on. As they reached the base of the statue at the edge of the City of the Fallen, Baltaszar fully grasped the magnitude of the statue’s size. One of Lionel’s feet was large enough for at least thirty people to sit on with room to spare. The statue was easily a hundred feet tall, maybe even two hundred. Standing directly in front, Baltaszar could barely tilt his head far enough to see the top of the statue. “Such creation and invention. I can’t believe I have been missing out on such an incredible world my whole life.” Baltaszar gritted his teeth. It was the second time in his life that he’d felt resentment toward his father.

“Come on fool. Believe it or not, there is more to this city than one nice statue.” Horatio dismounted and led his horse between the statue’s legs into the busy city. Baltaszar dismounted and followed, still enamored by the statue. They followed a wide stone road full of people traveling in all directions. Every so often, Baltaszar would eye a disheveled mass of torn clothing lying in the street or propped against a building.

“Why do they do that?” He shouted to Horatio above the din of the city.

“Why do who do what?”

“Those people. Why do they just lie in the streets like that? Why not just go home and clean up? Are they that lazy and tired?”

“Seriously?” Horatio glanced at him as if he’d just said something incredibly stupid.

“Of course I’m serious.”

“They don’t have homes, fish-brain! I’m sure they would love to have homes where they could be clean, but they have no money and likely not enough talent to be good at any jobs. You ask me, they should just go to the Tower of the Blind. Word is, the Tower will take in anyone and feed them, as long as they become a servant of the Blind. Maybe that’s just too far and demanding, though.”

“But look at all these people going by in their horse-drawn carriages, wearing rich clothes and jewelry. You’re telling me they couldn’t do something for them?”

“The world is not that simple, Tasz. Like it or not, there are homeless in every city of Ashur, som…”

Baltaszar cut him off, “We had none in Haedon.”

“Fine. With the exception of your perfect little hidden city, there are homeless in the rest of Ashur. Don’t blame the rich for not helping. It starts at the head. King Edmund taxes every country excessively, and for those that he knows are not loyal to him, he taxes them even more. Do you think any of these people can afford to just give away their money? Do you think anyone can afford to hire an extra hand just to be nice? I wish Ashur was all nice statues and pretty girls, Tasz, but there is more ugliness than there is beauty.”

Baltaszar shook his head in anger. “Then something needs to change. People cannot just accept…this.” He waved his hand at another heap lying in the road. “Someone needs to do something.”

Horatio shrugged, “Well, we are going to the House of Darian. If there are people anywhere in this world capable of great things, it’s there.”

“I suppose we’ll find out soon enough. I just don’t understand how the whole world can put up with the bad decisions of one man. But fine, that’s enough. I’ll leave it be for now. Where exactly are we going?”

“We have to find an inn. A specific inn.”

“What’s the name?”

“Well that’s the thing, I don’t exactly know. But I will know when I see it.”

“And I have the fish-brains?”

“No, you don’t understand. There are certain inns that have a secret in their names and signs. That’s how Descendants can tell if they are welcome inside.”

“We’re in the City of the Fallen. I would think we would be welcome anywhere.”

Horatio waved his hand in annoyance, “Yes, but Descendants will still only go to certain places. Places that are familiar to them. That’s where we want to be.”

“What secrets are we trying to find then? How do we know when we’ve found it?”

“There will be an ‘l’ in the middle of the name somewhere. It will extend lower than the rest of the letters, meant to resemble the marks that we bear. You probably didn’t notice it with ‘The Happy Elephant’ or ‘The Weary Traveler’.”

Baltaszar nodded his head. “Clever. Very clever. All right then, let us search.”

“Yes. We’ll get to the middle of the intersection first and then evaluate each direction. There are so many streets here; it may take days to find what we’re looking for.” Horatio nodded, “We’ll walk to that statue.” He nodded to a life-sized statue of a man at the center of an intersection.

Baltaszar glanced ahead toward the destination, then snapped to attention to make sure his eyes hadn’t deceived him. He walked to the statue and studied the face for several moments.
This face. This nose!
“That...I know this man! He’s the one who sentenced my father to be hanged!”

“What? Tasz, that’s impossible. This is a statue of Vitticus Khou, a former chancellor of this city. He died decades ago. Look, it even has a name plaque on the base.”

Baltaszar’s eyes narrowed as he clenched his fists. “I don’t give a bloody damn what you or that plaque says! That is Oran Von! He may look years younger, but I would never mistake that face. The hooked nose. The chin.”

“Seriously, control yourself,” Horatio grunted. “Khou was infamous for his support of Descendants. Thousands of people attended his funeral. This all happened before we were even born and still I know about it. Ask any one of these people in the streets and they will tell you the same thing. You are mistaken. It is not the same person.”

Baltaszar’s face warmed as he gritted his teeth. “You listen to me, wazzock. I’m not stupid. I wouldn’t just make up some story based on a fleeting thought. I know this man; I have seen him regularly for the past fourteen years. Likely all seventeen years of my life if my memory could go back that far. Does Vitticus Khou have siblings? Children?”

Horatio smirked. “Wazzock?”

Baltaszar snorted, “Wazzock. As in bugger, plonker, berk, twonk, idiot, fool. My father used the word all the time. I picked it up after a while. Answer my question.

“I’ve heard the word before, but only in Galicea. How would your father have picked that up living in a secluded little mountain town? And no, Khou had no family. This city had an incredibly difficult time finding a worthy replacement as Chancellor.”

“People left our town regularly, mostly for hunting. It’s not unlikely that there was exposure to the rest of the world. Especially considering that Oran Von was the Chancellor of Haedon. Come on, Raish. Why would he give himself that title if he hadn’t used it before? Haedon was nothing compared to the size of this place.”

“Who knows, maybe Oran Von was a follower of Khou or a friend. Maybe he used the title as a tribute to Von.”

“You know what, forget it. You won’t believe me until I actually bring you to Von and you see for yourself. Of course, I will probably kill him shortly after. Or maybe I could just bring you his head.”

Horatio flagged down an older man who was walking by. “Excuse me, friend. Might you help us for a moment?”

The short man nodded his head and stopped. “Sure, sure. Vhat can I do for you boys? Directions? Looking for someone?”

Horatio responded, “Do you remember Vitticus Khou? The man this statue honors?”

“Of course, of course. Anyone who has lived more zan zirty years remembers Vitticus. Great, great man, he vas. I vas not living here at ze time, but I came for his funeral, you know! He vas loved by so many people. So many people. Zere are statues of him all over ze city.”

Horatio smiled. “Were you able to see his body at the funeral?”

“No, no. Nobody vas allowed. Terrible zing, his death. Terrible, terrible zing. He vas beaten to death by soldiers on ze Vay of Sunsets. It was said you could not even recognize him, he vas beaten so bad.” The man shook his head, as if recounting the whole thing.

Baltaszar’s eyes widened. “So, nobody was able to look into his coffin when he died? How old was he when this happened?”

“I vould say near my age. Perhaps between fifty and sixty years. Ja. He had been Chancellor for a very long time. Very long time.”

Baltaszar subdued a smile out of politeness, but looked at Horatio and raised his brow. “Thank you, friend. And Khou had no family?”

“It is my pleasure, dear boys. My pleasure. No, Vitticus had no family. Zough I know many vomen vere interested. Vitticus insisted he must spend his time counteracting all ze vorld’s attempts to harass ze Descendants. He zought zat he vould be an unfit husband and fahzer. Are you sure zat you vant to be asking me zese questions, fellows? Not zat I mind, not zat I mind. However, you can go to his tomb at ze Chancellor’s Chamber, and zey are qvite knowledgeable about Vitticus Khou’s whole life.”

Horatio nodded. “Perhaps we will take a visit. We were only asking for your help to settle an argument. Thank you. Now, might you give us one more piece of information?” Horatio patted the man’s shoulder.

“Ask avay. Vat can I help you viz?”

“Thank you. This is our first time in the city. We are looking for an inn that we might meet more Descendants, perh…”

“Ah. You vant to go to Ze Colored Road. Zat is ze place for you. Incidentally, it is very close to ze Hall of ze Chancellor. Very close. Only a few buildings avay. Unfortunately, zat is on ze ozer end of ze city. But since it is your first time here, you vill likely appreciate ze valk anyvay.”

Horatio nodded clasped the man’s forearm. “Thank you dearly for your help. Your accent is Galicean, correct?”

“Ja. Ja, I am from Galicea. Ze town of Penzaedon along ze Serpent. Vhy do you ask?”

Horatio smirked, “Have you ever heard the term, ‘wazzock’?”

The man laughed heartily. “Ja. Of course I have heard
and
used ze word. My vife calls me and my son zat all ze time! All ze time! Vhy, do you also zhink I am a vazzock?”

“No, of course not! I was only trying to prove to Baltaszar here that the word came from Galicea. Many thanks again. Is there any way we can repay for your time and help?”