Chương 7: Consequences

"Every commander knows the look of a man who has just watched something he cannot forgive. It's the silence, an identifiable moment where a fundamental part of him changes. The smart ones run from that man. I recruit him." - From the private journals of Lord Commander Erasmus Kane MASON I thanked Cornelius and Sara for their hospitality and left early in the morning, promising to visit again.

I spent the next few hours wandering around the city with no particular aim, my map interface helpfully filling in various landmarks with icons that provided a name and brief description. I'd made no deliberate effort to end up in any specific place, at least none that I was aware of, but before long I noticed an icon appear that drew my attention to an overgrown path running along the city's western wall.

The road to my family's estates ended at a pair of towering, wrought-iron gates, rusted and hanging askew from a crumbling stone archway. Beyond them lay the skeletal remains of what had been a once impressive Victorian complex. The main manor was a shell. Its roof, long since collapsed, left charred timbers pointing at the sky like accusing fingers. Chest-high stone walls, blackened with soot, were all that remained to outline the grandeur that had been.

Wind whistled in the empty window frames, a mournful lament that made the hair on my neck stand up. I walked through what had once been a grand entrance hall, my boots crunching on rubble and shattered roof tiles. I could almost hear the echoes of a life I never lived - laughter in the halls, the clinking of glasses, the murmur of conversation.

It was an ideal location, sprawling grounds that looked out over the bay and the city below, and yet it had never been reoccupied, the buildings left undefended to be reclaimed by the surrounding nature. I ventured further in, around to the back of the property where the remains of a formerly beautiful garden were left to fester. It was a shambolic tangle now, weeds choking out the last vestiges of the many manicured flowerbeds.

A terraced slope was cut with a switchback trail leading down to a cliff that overlooked the sea, stone benches positioned for the perfect sunset view over the bay. The faint outline of a reflection pool was clogged thick with algae, beautiful even in its ruin. I thought back to the sad little planter box I'd kept on the fire escape of the boys' home, trying to grow a tomato plant from a seed. It had withered and died in the smoggy New York air. Here… here I could have had this.

This should have been my legacy, a place I could have grown into the person I was meant to be. Now I was a man displaced by fate and crippled by misfortune. I watched a small animal crawling over the remains of a garden shed, it stopped to smell the air, looking at me with a startled jerk before disappearing through a hole in the crumbling stone wall. If I were to announce myself, prove my identity, would I inherit this property?

Failing that, maybe I could buy it, earn my place in this world through sheer will and determination. I fingered the ring that Zachias had told me was my father's, my family crest a reminder of my responsibility. I was a Duke even if the world couldn't see it, born with the responsibility to protect the people of this city. It was an anachronistic sort of thought to my modern mind, the feudalism of this world long left behind in the one I knew, but maybe that was exactly why I needed to embrace it.

I could bring Eastwatch into a modern age, break the medieval stasis. Cornelius and Sara were my people, laboring under an oppressive system that used them as grist for a mill that was too big to break on their own. Returning to reality, I left the way I'd come, my grand designs feeling more ridiculous with each step away from my family's estate. I was nobody's hero, an orphan with one arm and a birthright none would recognize, raised in a place that hadn't prepared me for any of this.

The powerful in this world were trained from birth to wield magic, could create explosions with a thought; I'd nearly died fighting a swamp lizard with a rusty sword. Only a transcendent force could push a world forward that was so hopelessly locked in tradition, and even I wasn't arrogant enough to see myself as that force. As I walked back to the city alight in the glow of the mid-morning sun, the bright blue sky felt like a mockery. A deep chill settled in my bones.

Cornelius's treatment had eased the worst of the poison's effects, but walking around the marketplace I felt a lingering dread. My attempts to offload what little I had were met with flat denials. All trade, like protection, was in the grip of the Duke of Eastwatch. Without a license, acquired via fee or influence, I couldn't sell so much as a glowfen whisker. If I didn't figure something out, I'd be sleeping on the street tonight, my handful of copper coins not worth even a decent bowl of soup.

I grappled with the realization that my identity might be the only card I had to play as I continued deeper into the city. I had skills from a lifetime of taking care of myself, but the street smarts I'd acquired in New York didn't exactly translate to this place where everything seemed to be dictated by the System. Without money or connections, I was looking at a steep uphill climb in a world I didn't understand. Stalls lined the cobblestone streets.

On the eastern side of the street, farmers hawked fresh produce, their wares strange and enticing. In the forges across from them, blacksmiths hammered at glowing metals, clerks shouting over the din to advertise services for equipment repair and custom crafting. Fishermen brought in their morning catch, skilled fishmongers preparing them for sale on beds of ice. There was an energy that felt familiar and it wasn't just the similarity to so many of the fantasy stories I'd read on Earth.

Zachias had said that my body was meant to be closer to the source, that Earth felt distant and foreign because, to me, it was... maybe this place really was my home, somewhere I could belong, somewhere I could find purpose. A wizened old woman with bright purple eyes sat behind the counter of a stall selling enchanted trinkets, her weathered hands wrapping wire around a silver bracelet. She observed me with a wariness I was all too used to as a poor kid from the Bronx.

I could hardly blame her given the state of my clothing, a bloody bandage wrapped around my stump of a right arm. Ignoring her suspicious look, I picked up a small silver amulet formed in the shape of a coiled serpent. It hummed with a warmth that I was beginning to understand was magic. It was heavy for its size, dense like tungsten, the serpent skillfully crafted to appear almost alive, its scales glimmering with a faint internal light.

"Five silver," the woman rasped, clearly skeptical that I had the money. She wasn't wrong, I barely had five copper. I quickly put it back, smiling apologetically before she called the guards. Further down the street, I passed a group of children playing a game with carved wooden figures. They were mimicking the movements of monsters, their voices filled with excitement and imagination.

I considered my own childhood afternoons spent with the other boys in a pretend world full of superheroes and villains, though here the monsters were as real as the magic. I kept moving, shaking off the melancholy as I went, the strangeness feeling less strange with each storefront and signpost. I noticed a recurring symbol as I walked, a silver rose adorned with thorns. It was emblazoned on banners, inscribed into the lintels of buildings, and even tattooed on the arms of some of the townsfolk.

Thorne's family crest. His influence was pervasive. With the afternoon turning to evening, thoughts of where I was going to sleep tonight began to feel more urgent. Taverns and inns advertised rooms available, but I had no coin with which to pay. Cornelius had no room in his small cottage and I couldn't bring myself to impose on their hospitality a second time, not after he'd already saved my life and given me a free meal. The concern was set aside as two men in black and silver regalia approached me.

Between them was Cornelius's assistant, Violet, her finger pointed in my direction in a way that read as vaguely accusatory. My instincts told me to run, but then they usually did. With nowhere to go and no desire to make things worse, I waited, trying to appear unconcerned as they got closer.

"Are you Mason?" asked a stocky dwarf with a complicated black beard and long hair braided through silver rings that fell out from under an open-faced helmet. He was wearing chainmail and carrying a two-headed axe, legs thick as tree stumps.

"I am." I tried to meet Violet's eyes, get some indication of what this could be about, but she looked away.

"Could you come with us, please?" It was a question, but not really a question.

"Can I ask what this is about?" The other guard, a human, scowled at me but said nothing. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

"No," was all the dwarf said, a strong hand grabbing me by my arm and turning me toward the Guild Hall. I didn't want to make a scene on my first day in town so I followed without protest, trying to keep up in my still-weakened state, but they were unconcerned by my physical limitations. Nobody even looked our way as they pushed me through the marketplace, leading me south toward a large stone building. It towered over the main square, its walls thick and imposing.

High above were buttresses topped with crenellated battlements as if they expected to survive an invasion. A grand arched entrance, flanked by two majestic statues of griffons, led into a spacious courtyard. The air itself hummed. Constructed from heavy blocks of grey granite, the ancient stone was scarred and bleached.

Beautifully detailed carvings decorated the facade: depictions of heroic adventurers battling monstrous creatures with sword and shield, scenes of bountiful harvests brought in by figures embellished in guild embossment, mages fighting in duels with staves, a child looking up at the banner with awe in his face. This was an ancient order with serious resources, that much was clear, the craftsmanship was exquisite and lovingly maintained. I was led through the courtyard and into a large room like a tavern.

Wood paneling adorned the ceiling and a wraparound balcony surrounded the large open space full of tables and benches. An ornately carved back bar area displayed rows and rows of glass bottles. Staircases flanked the room on either side, the second floor receding further in. A huge cork board spanned one end of the room to the other, dozens of guild contracts and wanted posters pinned up from top to bottom.

The place was tidy, the scent of barley and hops suggesting that beer was not foreign to the inhabitants of Caldera. A dozen or so people lounged around in guild attire, humans and dwarves mostly. They drank and chatted. A stately looking elf in spectacles sat behind a long desk, writing in a large volume.

"Can you tell me why I'm here now?" I asked the dwarf who'd pushed me through the streets.

"The Duke," he said, pointing to the stairs. A tall, athletic man in finely tailored black clothes with silver accents descended from the second floor, his salt and pepper hair cropped short in the military style. An ornamented saber and sheath completed the ensemble. He wore tasteful silver jewelry with a rank insignia emblazoned on his jacket. He was perhaps 40, though very well maintained for his age.

My years in juvie had instilled in me the importance of not pissing off the person holding your fate in their hands, so I waited patiently, doing my best to appear unthreatening - which really shouldn't have been difficult as I stood there in bloody rags with one arm missing. He appeared to be uninterested in me, chatting with people amiably as he passed them, a smile here, a handshake there, but all the while I could see he was appraising me. Intelligent eyes.

He made his way to where I stood in the front of the hall, his height nearly to my level. He offered a tilted grin that read as friendly, though the rest of his face remained frozen.

"You must be Mason."

"Yes, sir."

"That's an interesting accent. Where are you from?" The question sounded almost like an accusation.

"Honestly, I'm not entirely sure." True as far as it went.

"I'm still recovering from an injury that muddled my memory." He circled me like a predator.

"I heard about that. Glowfen lurker, was it? Nasty creatures, very territorial."

"It certainly didn't care for me much," I offered with an attempt at levity.

"Have I done something wrong?"

"Do you think you've done something wrong?"

"Well, I didn't, but your guards here showed up and marched me through the streets like a criminal, and now this is feeling an awful lot like an interrogation. I'm sure you can understand my confusion."

"You look very familiar to me, but I can't quite place it. What did you say your family name was?" Based on what Cornelius had told me, Thorne must have known my father - how much I resembled the man, I could only guess.

"Parker, sir. We're farmers... Some things are coming back, but it's bits and pieces." He raised an eyebrow.

"Parker. Unusual, sounds almost Sendari." The door opened behind us, a young man with styled blonde hair wearing polished plate armor pushed through it, dragging someone with him. My heart dropped when I saw who it was. Cornelius, face swollen and purple, blood drying under his nose. He'd been beaten, and quite badly by the looks of it.

"Took some doing, but he confessed in the end," the young man said, producing a black crystal about the size of my fist. He handed it to Thorne - the glowfen core. Thorne turned his attention to Cornelius.

"Mr. Clark. Do you know why it is that this city has no crime? Why you can wander the streets at night with no fear you will be accosted or harassed?" He paused as if waiting for an answer. Cornelius was in no condition to offer one, so he continued.

"Order, Mr. Clark. Rules. Without rules, we are no more than beasts, scrapping and clawing for whatever we can get our grubby little paws on." Thorne rolled the core between his hands, it glowed at irregular intervals.

"What sort of steward would I be if I let the violation of rules go unpunished?" Cornelius sputtered, trying to offer some sort of objection, but he couldn't form the words. Thorne moved so fast I barely saw the knife before it was drawn across the apothecary's neck. The Duke stepped back nimbly, avoiding the spray of blood that erupted from the shorter man's jugular. I was too stunned to speak, it had happened so quickly.

Cornelius fell to the floor clutching his throat and I caught him, trying and failing to staunch the wound, his blood gushing through my fingers. A collective intake of breath was the only sound from the assembled audience, no one moved to help, no one even spoke up in protest. The zealous young man in the shiny armor kicked me. Hard. I tumbled backwards, the impact like being kicked by a horse. My head hit the bar and my vision clouded. Rage burned white hot in my chest.

I shook the cobwebs out, staring down the man who had cheap-shotted me.

"I'd stay down, farm boy," he said it with the sort of arrogant condescension I'd dealt with all of my life. Who was this fucking arrogant, troglodytic, coifed-hair motherfucker to kill a man who didn't deserve it and tell me I had no right to object? I staggered to my feet in defiance, but he was on me again, lifting me up by the neck with one arm while a gauntleted fist smashed into my face. The taste of blood filled my mouth and I braced for another assault that I was helpless to stop.

Damn pride, never did me a moment's good.

"Victor! Enough!" In my brain-fogged confusion I could barely understand what was happening anymore, pain signals firing from too many parts of my body at once. The beating had stopped and I stumbled back, my missing arm failing to break my fall as I hit the hard wood floor with a crash of flying chairs.

"He's Marked, boy. Control yourself."

"It was self-defense, the rules allow-" he stopped talking abruptly, my swelling eye and swelling brain making it hard to parse.

"Yes, father."

"Get him up," Alastair Thorne said, the disdain in his voice cutting through the confusion enough to orient me back in the present. Guards hauled me to my feet by my shoulders, flanking me on either side, the world swimming in a foggy haze. My ears rang and blood spilled from my lip, blurred vision landing on Cornelius lying in a pool of crimson, the light already gone from his eyes.

"What law allows this?!" I screamed through gritted teeth, the words slurring and distorted, painful even to speak. Rage pressed behind my temples like a physical weight that crowded out rational thought. Alastair Thorne looked at me with an exhausted contempt, wiping his blade on a silk handkerchief with theatrical slowness.

"That man engaged in illicit trade," he said, voice calm, a judge reading a conviction.

"Trafficked in valuable goods that belonged, by law, to the Guild. He was a thief and met with fair justice." He dismissed the execution as a settled matter, stepping closer as if challenging me to say more. His eyes glanced to my neck where my hair had barely grown back, dark stubble doing little to hide the tattoo that I had to resist the urge to cover with a hand.

"Cornelius was a troublemaker, always had been, this verdict was long overdue." He gestured for Victor to stand down and the guards released me, my legs nearly giving out.

"The more interesting question is you, Mr. Parker. You arrive in my city half-dead and wearing an unregistered Mark, claiming ignorance any child could see was a lie. Who are you, really?" I was in a cage with a predator, a man who could kill me with impunity, a man with strength I knew I couldn't overcome no matter how hard I wanted to fight. I contained the rage, channeling [Prolific Liar] to let a tremor creep into my voice.

"I'm nobody. I don't remember." I could feel Victor's glare, the ready soldier waiting for a command that would give him an excuse to finish what he'd started. Alastair studied me for a long moment, but seemed to suddenly lose interest, dismissing the whole affair with the wave of a hand.

"I'm a reasonable man, Mr. Parker, a fair man, but I hate being lied to." He turned his back on me, hands clasped behind him.

"Your Mark may afford you certain privileges that you seem unscrupulous enough to exploit, but I'd advise you to ply your chaos elsewhere. I will give you the night to think on it, but if you're still in the city this time tomorrow you and I will speak again and I believe you will find me far less hospitable." He gestured to the others that the audience was at an end. Victor gave me a satisfied smirk as he trailed after his father.

A young girl with blonde hair watched from the shadows, bright blue eyes lit up in the dark. She looked sad, a tear fell down a porcelain white cheek but she didn't lift a hand to clear it. I had no time to ponder as a guard grabbed my arm again. The bright sun of the courtyard was blinding after the dim interior. I stumbled, my head full of cotton, the sounds of the market and the distant cry of gulls providing a surreal contrast to the cold-blooded murder I had just witnessed.

My jaw throbbed where Victor had hit me and a fresh wave of fury pounded in my head, hot and useless. Everything in me wanted to turn back and smash my fist into Victor's smug face, to make Thorne pay for what he'd done to a good man. But there was no winning, not now. I would head for the western gate, melt back into the Whisperwood, and put as much distance between myself and this cursed city as possible. Knowledge was power here, Zachias had said, even with one arm I had that on my side.

My mind raced as the guards released me at the edge of the courtyard.

"Fuck off. Don't come back here again," said the short one with the bushy beard as he gave me a final shove toward a cobblestone alley that ran along the side of the Guild Hall. The shadow of the high stone walls offered a brief reprieve from the sun as I made my way down the alley, my ribs aching with every step. Victor's boot may have won the day, but I'd learned a valuable lesson about what real power was in this world and it was a lesson I told myself that I would only need to learn once.

Two men stepped out from behind a stack of crates about halfway down the alley, blocking my path. They were dressed in plain grey leather, faces dark and professional, one human and one dwarf, different than the guards I'd seen earlier. I could feel that something was off even before two more emerged from the alcove behind me. I reached for the rusty sword, my concussed mind forgetting that the damn thing was gone, shattered in the fight with the glowfen lurker.

A thick cloth bag was thrown over my head, a string yanked tight at the neck. I could see nothing through the dense fabric, not even the shapes of the men who grabbed at me. I tried to fight back but I had no leverage, an elbow wrapping around my throat as someone took my left arm and twisted it painfully behind my back. I was lifted off my feet without so much as a demand for coin, my cries for help muffled against the bag until a blow to the face silenced them completely.

My last thought before I fell into unconsciousness was of Thorne's condescending smile and the spray of a good man's blood across the floor.