World in Chains- The Complete Series Read online

  For once, Markus was glad of his large stature, which usually made him feel awkward.

  "Nice place," Rik said.

  "Let's just find a captain willing to take us downriver and get outta here."

  Soon they entered a rundown inn at the edge of the docks. Oil lamps scattered about the walls gave the place a shadowy vibe. Most of the patrons looked as rough as the men skulking in the alleys. A few looked up as Markus and Rik passed, and their looks unnerved Markus.

  The innkeeper, a man cleaner than most of his customers, was busy serving some people talking about their tough days as dockworkers. His assistant, a pretty young woman, attended to patrons at the other end of the bar.

  "Excuse me," Rik said when the innkeeper had a free moment.

  "What?"

  "We're looking for a boat captain," Rik said, "someone who can take us downriver to Tate City. I was hoping you'd know someone heading that way."

  Markus hung back, glancing around the dark inn. It felt as if everyone was watching them, sizing them up, looking perhaps for a quick gold coin or two. There was a whole lot of muttering, and it sounded like it might be about them.

  The innkeeper frowned. "I know a few, if you've got money. But by the looks of it, you ain't got much." He stared at them, as if examining them. "Things around here don't come cheap. What've you got that anyone would want?"

  "A few silver coins, that's it," Rik said.

  "That won't get you anywhere."

  "It's just a ride downriver," Rik said. "We could work for our passage."

  "It ain't that simple, young man." The innkeeper stepped out from behind the bar and motioned for them to accompany him to an empty corridor. Markus and Rik exchanged nervous glances, but followed.

  The man led them into an empty room, then closed the door softly. From his pocket, he pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper, which he handed to Markus.

  The paper listed two young men wanted for questioning by Imperial Guards. The descriptions were a perfect match. Only one person could have given the authorities this information.

  Markus clenched his fists. If he ever got his hands on Uncle Theo.

  "So you think this describes us?" Markus asked.

  "It's a bit too close for comfort, don't you think?"

  "Just a bit." Markus handed the note to Rik, who read it.

  "Yeah, pretty sure that describes us," Rik said. "But why'd you warn us? What does it matter to you?"

  "Any enemy of Imperial Guards is a friend of mine."

  "So you're part of the Order, then?" Markus asked.

  The innkeeper nodded and took the note back. "Look, I don't know why you're in trouble, but I think I can help you. No honest captain is going to take you downriver with your descriptions all over town. Honest traders have enough trouble with Imperial Guards as it is."

  Markus looked around the room that the glare of the setting sun had turned orange, and suddenly felt trapped. How had Uncle Theo known where they were going to go? Had Markus made it that obvious that he wanted to leave the Empire?

  "So who will take us downriver?" Rik asked. "We're not going through the swamp."

  "I know just the man. His name's Klint. He's a smuggler among many other things. Gets all around the Empire. He owns a boat at the docks here, and he's got a large shipment he's trying to get to the Order in Tate City. He needs some extra help with transporting it and wouldn't say no to a couple of fugitives."

  "Is he an Order person then?" Markus asked.

  "Not exactly. Klint does things for his own gain. We don't ask how he gets his goods, or what he's been up to at all. Things are easier that way."

  "Sounds like a great guy," Rik said.

  The innkeeper smiled weakly, then motioned for Markus and Rik to follow him. They reentered the inn's loud and smoky common room, where the inn's patrons were still watching Markus and Rik. These people had surely seen the notice.

  The innkeeper kept his voice low. "You'll want to get out of here pretty soon. There's no telling when someone will call the Imperial Guards."

  They walked to a quiet corner of the inn, where a man was sitting at a small table, reading a local newspaper. Most large cities had newspapers run by Warrick's government. These newspapers never printed anything the emperor didn't like.

  The man looked up, narrowing his eyes. "What do you want?"

  He had dark, messy hair and wore a few days' growth of beard. As he stared at them, sizing them up, he took a large bite out of his sandwich.

  "Klint," the innkeeper said, "I think I've found two young men who can help you out." He explained what Markus and Rik wanted.

  Klint studied them, flickering light dancing against his face. "You sure they can help me? Yeah, they're big, but I can find plenty of big people around here."

  The innkeeper settled down on a nearby chair. "How many of those people would be willing to take on the risk of helping you? As I'm sure you've noticed, they match the descriptions of two young men the Imperial Guards are looking for. They've got nothing to lose."

  "Interesting." Klint took another bite of his sandwich. When he finished chewing, he said, "I don't care what you did. In my line of business, it's better if we don't know that. You obviously have some reason you want to get to Tate City. Again, I don't care why. You need a ride down the river. I need some help."

  "Then you'll take us?" Markus said. He wasn't sure he liked Klint, or trusted him.

  "Yes, I'll take you, but you'll work for it."

  "We have no problem with working," Markus said.

  "Good, it's settled then. We leave at midnight. The ship's already stocked. You'll have to help unstock it in Tate City, and then you'll be free to do whatever it is you plan on doing."

  "Thank you," Markus said.

  Klint picked up his sandwich. "Now leave me alone. We'll meet right here at midnight."

  The innkeeper directed Markus and Rik to a room. Since they weren't staying the whole night, he didn't charge them any money, which was good, for they had little to spare. The innkeeper also brought them beef and cheese sandwiches, for which they did pay. Once they finished, the waiting began. Time felt as if it had slowed down.

  After a few minutes of uneasy silence, Rik said, "What do you think of Klint?"

  "Not sure. Seems kind of questionable to me."

  "I know what you mean," Rik said, "but what other choice do we have?"

  "I just wish he didn't look so much like he'd stab us in the back and rob us at his earliest convenience. Not that we have much worth stealing."

  "Ain't that the truth," Rik said.

  * * * * *

  Darien Warrick sat upon his throne in the Golden Palace, high atop Mount Imperia. Commander Wes Glenn of the Crayden Town Guard had bowed before him. Darien fought back impatience, hating how much time these people wasted acting subservient.

  Commander Glenn rose. "What are your wishes, Your Majesty?"

  "I have two matters for you to handle. First, you will prepare some of your Imperial Guards to head to the mountains south of Tate City."

  Commander Glenn frowned.

  "I understand that you're confused," Darien said. "But I would prefer it if you handled this. It concerns Theo's nephew Markus. He is going to try to leave the Empire. I expect you to stop him, and his friend Rik, before they reach the barrier."

  "It will be done, Your Majesty." Commander Glenn bit his lower lip. "What are your wishes regarding their condition? Are we to kill them?"

  "You are not to kill them under any circumstances."

  "Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I don't quite understand."

  "It is not your duty to understand," Darien said. "It is your duty to carry out my orders. Do not kill Markus. You will suffer my wrath if you do. As for Rik, I would prefer that he remain alive. I might forgive you for killing him, but don't count on it."

  "I understand, Your Majesty."

  Darien leaned forward on his golden throne. "Now let's address the second matter. In a few days' time, Crayd
en will be destroyed."

  The commander's eyes widened. "Why are we destroying it?"

  "Once again, that is not your concern. You will not take part in the destruction. I understand that you and your men might be reluctant to destroy the city they call home. It's not something I want to do either, but it must be done. For the future. Your part in this is to send a warning to Lord Tylen Watson. He must not be there when the city is destroyed. Understand?"

  "Yes, Your Majesty."

  "Good. You may go."

  The commander left the throne room. Darien watched him go, worried that the man would not succeed in carrying out these plans. Markus and Rik had complicated everything, forcing Darien to make adjustments.

  But destroying Crayden had always been part of the plan. He'd looked for ways to get around it, but any other path led to failure. That was the strange thing about the Webs of Fate. Some events were stronger than others, as though they drew disparate strands toward them, just like some people were Weavers, guiding the Webs through their unusual importance.

  There was no way to avoid it.

  To save the world, Darien had to kill thousands of innocent people.

  Chapter 9: A New Life

  Riverside. A city of hope, of infinite promise. Berig walked the undamaged cobblestone streets in the morning sunlight, thinking he could finally change his ways. But then he found the poorer section of the city, where countless people lived on the streets. Competition.

  No monster here, he guessed.

  Passersby paid him little attention, reminding him that he was alone. It had taken years to build his life back home. Could he do that again?

  He knew he couldn't think like this, that he had to approach life with optimism, but he'd never learned how to do that. Instead, he would find himself back where he'd been in Bradenton. He had no skills. No education. Nothing.

  What could he do besides begging and stealing? He wasn't sure how the guards here would respond to such activities. There was so much he didn't know. He used to thrive on uncertainty, as that was all he'd ever had, but he was tired of it, tired of never knowing how he'd feed himself. Was there a place in his harsh world for someone like him?

  A few silver coins clinked in his pockets. They were the only money he had. As tempted as he was to drink and forget his problems, he had to make that money last.

  His stomach rumbled. In the center of Riverside, he found an open-air market, where he bought some food that would last him the day. Eating a sweet red fruit that didn't exist around Bradenton, he continued touring the city.

  Most of the people he passed wore clothes almost as shabby as his. They avoided the gazes of others, going solemnly about their business. Defeated.

  Emperor Warrick claimed his society produced equality and opportunity, but Berig had never seen it. Nor had anyone he'd ever spoken to.

  There was no point in feeling angry toward the emperor, though. Warrick was their ruler, and that wasn't going to change. They had to accept the way things were and live their lives the best they could. Sure, it was depressing, but there was nothing better out there. Only those who supported the emperor could live in luxury.

  And no matter the advantages, Berig couldn't support Warrick. Not after the man burned his childhood village to the ground for no apparent reason.

  Eventually, the sun sank below the western horizon, and Berig's stomach lurched before he remembered that other cities didn't face nightly monster attacks. The presence of other people, calm and unhurried, soothed his nerves. Only the poorer districts were deserted, probably because people feared robbery.

  Berig went to a tavern on the city's eastern side. Just a few drinks, he told himself as the bartender slid him a glass of ale. Then he'd get smarter about money.

  Sitting there, however, reminded Berig of the friend he'd lost in Liam—one among many gaping holes in Berig's life. Holes he could never fill. What was life without friends, without the familiar comforts of home?

  Berig ate silently, finished a few drinks, then left the tavern in worse spirits than ever. He wandered over to Riverside's poorest district and settled down in a deserted alley, glad it was summer and he would need no blanket. Still, he struggled to sleep.

  About an hour after he'd entered the alley, a rough-looking man staggered toward him, obviously drunk. Berig hopped to his feet, sensing danger.

  The man slurred his words. "This is my alley."

  "Sorry, I didn't know. I'll go find another one."

  The man brandished a knife. "I don't think so. You're new around here, and we don't need new beggars. Don't want no competition."

  "Don't worry about me. I'll just get going."

  "No, I don't think so." The man rocked back and forth, waving the knife like a madman. Berig's chest tightened. The man charged. With nimble reflexes, Berig sidestepped the lunge, but stacks of large crates blocked his only escape route.

  "Help!" he shouted. "I'm being attacked!"

  The man charged again. Berig grabbed his arm in time to keep the knife from plunging through his stomach. The man dropped the knife, which thudded against the dirt, and Berig fell to his knees to retrieve it, quicker than his drunken assailant. Berig scooped up the knife and jumped back to his feet, holding it up in what he hoped was a believable threat.

  Berig's attacker pulled another knife from his shabby clothes. A longer knife. Berig's heart pounded as the man charged again, moving with an unsteady gait. Berig sidestepped the charge and plunged the knife through his attacker's chest. The man grunted, then hit the ground, clutching the spot and writhing.

  What did I just do? Berig stared at the scene in horror, then dropped the knife and darted out of the alley.

  Right past a Riverside town guard.

  "Stop!" the guard called out, but Berig kept running.

  Great. That guard had seen the dead man and Berig running out of the alley. Maybe Berig would start a new life somewhere, but it wouldn't happen in Riverside. There were enough torches and lamps that the guard had seen Berig's face.

  Berig ran as fast as his legs would take him, recalling skills he thought long gone after his thieving days. He ran a long time, then looked back, panting. No pursuit.

  Had the guard decided not to give chase? Berig didn't think that was possible, so he took off. Soon he reached the city's eastern edge, where he looked back again. Still no sign of pursuit. He slowed to a brisk walk, leaving the cobblestone streets behind and marching along dirt roads carved with runnels.

  He followed the road through the night, not stopping, but he did look back every few seconds, afraid he'd see a dozen armed men chasing him. The road was empty.

  But the guards could follow on horses, so Berig ducked into the forest to the south of the road, covered in sweat. He walked until his legs would carry him no farther, then settled down against a large tree and drifted off to sleep.

  After waking the next morning, he continued eastward through muggy weather that fueled afternoon storms worse than any he'd ever seen. He spent the storms huddled low against the ground, damp and shivering, with no rain cloak to protect him.

  Over the three days Berig traveled, these storms came from the west every afternoon. When possible, he sought cover in small villages, hiding from Imperial Guards. There might be a bounty out on him.

  The road he followed snaked between some mountains. Berig had never seen such mountains up close. From Bradenton, he could see the mountains forming the edge of the Empire, but no one ever set foot on those mountains. The mountains he saw now weren't as tall, but there was something beautiful about their jagged peaks and rocky slopes.

  On the evening of the third day after leaving Riverside, Berig arrived at the western edge of Crayden, which appeared a grand city at first sight, with large manor houses and clean cobblestone streets. The city sat in a valley between some of the mountains, and on its eastern side, there was a vast forest, which he'd seen from a higher vantage point before entering the city. The center of Crayden featured rundown woode
n houses and people in rags.

  Berig would fit right in.

  His efforts had failed in Riverside, but he couldn't lose hope. If only he could stop dwelling on his mistakes, his crimes, on the man he'd killed.

  Berig had done a lot of bad things, but killing was different. Maybe he could have escaped without killing the man. Even trapped in a corner, he should have been quick. Had he killed the man because he wanted to in that moment?

  The memories of those chaotic seconds were a blur. He had reacted, survived. No thinking. Were his instincts to kill, to do the wrong thing?

  A few minutes after the sun set, he found a tavern. He had a few bronze coins left, enough for a drink or two.

  With his shoulders sagging, he stepped into the tavern, into air thick with smoke and ringing with low conversation. Throughout the tavern sat large, rough-looking men, the kind he didn't want to anger. Keeping his distance from them, he took a seat on an empty stool at the bar.

  After the bartender finished serving some of those men, he walked over to Berig. The bartender, though not all that old, had long white hair with spots that looked yellow in the flickering lamplight. He scratched his scraggly beard. "What'll you be having?"

  Berig thought a moment. "I'll take the strongest thing you've got."

  A stupid decision, but he didn't care.

  "You sure about that?" asked the bartender. "A guy your size can't handle no strong drink."

  "I've never met no drink I can't handle." Berig leaned on the bar with frustration. "And believe me. I've met a lot of drinks in my time."

  "Really? You sure don't look like it. In fact, I've never seen you before. You ain't from around here, are you?" He narrowed his eyes. "You from Riverside?"

  "Yeah, that's where I came from," Berig said, before realizing he shouldn't have revealed that. As usual, he hadn't thought before speaking.