The morning sun heated the tent much faster than Kaltor had anticipated. Still, he sat patiently in front of the small desk, munching on a strip of smoked venison as he twirled a throwing blade in one hand. Krin entered, eyes sunken and pace unsteady from fatigue, wiping dust and grime from her clothes. "I know we have a lot to discuss," she admitted. "But I haven’t slept in two days and am in sore need of a bath."
"This won’t take long," Kaltor promised, flipping a paper over on the desk top with his blade. "You’ve had a look at the engravings?"
Krin walked forward curiously, tossing the whip onto her bed and pulling back her ceremonial hood. Her eyes were intent and slightly wrinkled around the edges, her age just starting to show.
You never Blood Broke, Kaltor couldn’t help but think. Do you really want your son to die of old age a decade before you do?
"The translation they’ve provided is as good a one as I could write," she said simply. "Have you come to a different conclusion?"
Kaltor shook his head. "It’s whether or not I should help open it. If I refuse, they won’t get in and only Dad will know it’s because of me."
The rest of the camp thinks we have a fair chance, he thought sitting back in his chair as he twisted the blade in his fingers anxiously. In essence, picking a lock meant for a Varadour Remnant, by using a dozen members of a broken race. If they failed, the people would assume the lock was, in essence, just too advanced to pick.
"Why would you not want to open it?" Krin asked, pulling a chair over to sit alongside her son, eyes full of concern. There was a reason the Goddess of Compassion was her favorite. It suited her. Even weighed down by exhaustion, she still had time for her son.
"Just a feeling, mostly," Kaltor said, pulling the engraving between them. "Plus, look at the shape of this door."
"Right, no hinges," Krin said. "What’s your point?"
"This room is built to easily allow people, Varadours in particular, to enter," He waved toward the paper, pointing toward the reports of those who had tried to break through. "But it’s obviously designed to keep something IN, like a pigeon trap that only opens one direction."
Krin sighed. "This is the first direct link our people have found to something from before the Crippling," she said. "There is no way to be sure this vault isn’t holding something dangerous, or precious. It’s understandable if you feel anxious. There could very well be something for you in there."
That got Kaltor’s attention. Blood Breaking, he realized. In all the lore about the Age of Tears, that particular facet of a Varadour’s development was never mentioned until after the Crippling. What if they had a device or technique to nullify it? Even if there isn’t a Varadour weapon in there like Gereth hopes, just living a long life with my full powers would be easily worth the risk. The feeling returned, though. It felt dark and ominous, warning him not to open the vault.
"You must trust your feelings," Krin said. Peacebinders taught that often-times the Gods communicated through emotions, if hearts were at peace and the people were willing to listen. "But to be honest— your father has already tried two other excavation ventures in the last year."
Kaltor paused at this new information, thinking about Gereth’s visit with Taneth. A single horse, well-tended, but all other signs of wealth and prestige lacking. No retinue, no servants, from a man who lived at the court of the king himself. "Gereth’s spent it all, hasn’t he?"
With a grim nod Krin admitted the truth. "He’s really caught hold of the idea that you need— something, perhaps a weapon. His influence in the courts is weakening, and he wants you well prepared before we fade from the king’s grace. Maybe even find you something to amplify your power so you can reveal your true nature," The expression on her face made her affection and support for her husband obvious.
"I need to think about this, then," Kaltor said. "Go ahead and get some sleep," He stood, sheathed his blade, and headed for the door.
"We love you, son," Krin said sincerely, folding the translator’s copy of the vault door and handing it to him.
Kaltor accepted the paper, pocketing it. As an afterthought he asked, "What did you and Rivatha decide to do with the thief girl?"
Krin smiled. "We had a lovely chat with her, actually. Rivatha is very good at pulling information from people, with or without her Sight Seeker powers. The girl is the daughter of one of the Bandit Lords. We’re sending a messenger today to negotiate her release in exchange for a compromise with his band."
Interesting, Kaltor thought. Are you staying on the Bandit Lord’s good side for the people’s benefit or because if things go wrong with the king we may need a place to hide?
"Thank you, Mother," he sighed, trying to ignore a growing fatigue of his own, though it had little to do with the previous night without sleep. "I will think about your council," He left the tent feeling more confused than when he’d entered.
So, they’re almost bankrupt and soon will lose the king’s confidence, he thought, trying to keep all the details straight. Despite the warnings in his heart, he felt trapped against his family’s needs. All because Gereth is trying too hard to take care of me. The sensation returned again, the feeling that opening the vault would cause more harm than good. It fought against the guilt of knowing he was the source of his father’s loss of political and financial influence.
Kaltor worked his way past the miners’ homes toward the main tents set up for supplies, healers, and cooking, all grouped together at the center of camp. Small crowds still gathered around each wagon as their riders bartered, bought, and sold according to their customers’ needs. The entire camp was full of newfound enthusiasm, ready to make another attempt at the vault door and the supposed riches lying therein.
"There you are," Jensai called, hurrying out from among one of the small trading groups. "Where you been?"
"Speaking with Krin," Kaltor replied.
"Interesting," Jensai said, looking much more wary and anxious than usual. His right hand kept twitching toward his spear the same way it did when they hunted viper hounds, knowing a moment’s hesitation could get you killed. "Can we speak somewhere private?" he asked, motioning back toward the excavation site itself.
They left the thriving crowds and flapping tent canvases behind. They walked to a portion of the city already fully dug, heading toward a two-story sandstone building overlooking the entire valley. They quickly checked the interior to ensure they were alone, and then climbed to the roof. From here they could watch their surroundings from every direction. No one could get close enough to listen, not even Varadours trained in hearing accentuation.
"What’s wrong?" Kaltor asked, sitting upon a cool piece of rubble, enjoying the soft warmth of the rising sun.
"How much do you know about Melshek?" Jensai asked as he eyed the nearest group of miners, far out of earshot. He drew his spear anyway though, eyeing its point and testing its flexibility.
Thinking back to his life before the training, Kaltor answered. "He used to spar with me when I was little. Nothing serious, just playing together and helping me get a feel for different weapons and combat styles," The prince was the youngest of the king’s five children, only a few years older than Kaltor himself. His marriage to Rivatha had been fairly recent. As of yet there were no children.
That was back when we lived in the palace, he recalled. Before they discovered my true nature, when I was being raised as a scholar’s son. How different would my life have been if I’d stayed normal? He shook the nostalgia aside, forcing himself to focus on the matter at hand. "Tell me what’s on your mind, Jensai."
"According to his servants and a few of his conversations I managed to overhear," Jensai reported, "Melshek is tired of being the king’s runt. He’s set his eyes on the throne and he’s desperate enough to dig in the dirt on the fringes of our kingdom looking for buried treasure."
"He’s not the only one," Kaltor said, briefly recounting his conversation with Krin, leaving out the dark feelings about opening the vault.
&n
bsp; Jensai turned toward the camp and shook his head. "That’s a dangerous move. According to some of his servants, Melshek is not a forgiving man. I really hope we do find something of value here."
Standing, Kaltor walked beside his friend, also staring toward the camp. "How dangerous are we talking about?"
"Two regents have opposed Melshek’s gaining the power he has already," Jensai said. "Each one died of natural causes or disappeared, days after crossing this prince," He said the title like a curse word of sorts.
"Rumors and accidental deaths aren’t much to draw your conclusions from," Kaltor observed. "It could have been good fortune on his part— luck."
Jensai snorted derisively. "We’re assassins, Kaltor. If everyone who opposes someone dies, what does that mean?"
With a tired sigh Kaltor answered, "They were probably helped along."
"Only months after he married Rivatha," Jensai observed. "Interesting coincidence."
"Melshek and my father are both desperate," Kaltor said. "Unless my father actually betrays him, my family should be fine. Unless there’s something else—"
"There is," Jensai admitted. "Melshek went to Shaylis before he came here. He spent an entire week with Shaylis’ second in command, the regent Vengral. He completely ignored his brother, Prince Tyran, who the king put in charge of the city. Then Melshek comes here to supposedly find immense wealth or an ancient weapon, depending on who you ask. He’s planning something."
"I understand," Kaltor said. "A regent in his pocket and a dead prince would put Shaylis under his control," He used to be so— carefree, he recalled. He was the least likely for the throne in part because he did’t even want the responsibility, so how did he turn so serious and conniving? How did he hide it from me so well when we met this morning?
"I could care less about the plots of nobles," Jensai said. "But if Melshek messes up and throws that city into a civil war, my family will be on the outskirts of it and Honmour will be even worse off," He sheathed his spear in the leather loop behind his shoulder. "I did not give my life to the king just to watch them lose theirs."
"Agreed," Kaltor said, glancing toward his father’s tent. Well said, my friend, he thought. That statement is true in more ways than one. He put his hand on Jensai’s shoulder, drawing his dagger and pointing toward the largest of the tents. "We will watch him very closely from now on."
If his antics get my father pulled into a blood war between princes, I’ll make sure such a contest ends quickly, Kaltor decided. I will do whatever it takes to keep my family safe. Without them we have no chance of saving Keevan. A flag waved from somewhere near the supply tent. One watchman on the opposite side of the valley saw it and nodded, then another.
"That’s the signal. They’re about to open the vault," Jensai said, turning from the view, heading down the stairs.
"Right behind you," Kaltor acknowledged grimly. Now what do I do?
Chapter 7