Chapter 130


    The Knife in Everyone’s Back


    Femira followed after Lydia, weaving through the industrial district of Nordock. The city smelled like iron and smoke, the clang of metal ringing out as they passed forges and workshops. They hadn’t come far—Kez’s secret tunnels had led them straight into the heart of the city’s working quarters. It felt familiar to Femira, like Port Novic, but rougher. Both cities sat across the same bay, two sides of the same coin in many ways, built on the cliffs above their ports with rise-and-fall jetties. But there was one thing Nordock had that stood apart—the bridge.


    The massive structure was easily a mile long, with thick stone towers rising from its span like sentinels. Pulley systems hung from the sides, ropes and lifts transporting goods from the ships below—mostly Reldoni warships now, occupying the port as if they belonged here. The city had surrendered without a fight, its streets now filled with foreign soldiers "keeping the peace." It reminded Femira of when the Reldoni did the same thing in Altaria.


    They’d been in the city for two days and Femira had met with a number of Lydia’s contacts already. None of which were particularly helpful in giving any leads for Daegan Tredain. Femira carried that disappointment with her as they made their way towards the city Ironworks. Lydia had assured her that today would be different.


    “He’s one of our biggest backers,” Lydia murmured as they passed beneath a row of gas-lamps.


    He’s an arms dealer, I’m guessing he’s hoping to make a return on his investment when your war in Port Novic starts. Femira was getting a lot better at keeping some thoughts inside her head these days. She gave herself points for holding that one in.


    their cloaks drawn up to shield against the cold—and more importantly, from prying eyes. Femira kept her hood low. She hadn’t lived in Epilas long, but she’d made enough of a mark there that it wouldn’t be out of the question for one of the patrolling Reldoni soldiers to recognize her.


    Enough for Garld to put a bounty on me.


    Garld knew what secrets she held. Soulforging wasn’t hidden anymore, not like it had been. These days, people whispered about it in taverns, talked about it openly on the streets. The power of the Sorcerer Kings—ancient, dangerous, and thought to be lost—had returned, now in the hands of the Reldoni.


    When Femira had left, there had barely been a hundred soulforged among the bloodshedders. Garld had been careful, methodical, only bringing a select few into the fold. She doubted that had changed much in the time since. There were costs to creating soulforged—costs that couldn’t remain hidden forever. If Garld was still as cautious as she remembered, he’d be building his forces slowly and deliberately. The bloodshedder ranks were powerful but small, and that suited him just fine.


    So far, she hadn’t seen any of her former comrades in Nordock. That didn’t mean they weren’t here. The bulk of the bloodshedders would be where the fighting was fiercest—on the true frontiers of the war. Garronforn, Rubastre. It was commonly known that those were the cities under siege, where the soulforged would be unleashing their power with impunity. Here in Nordock, the battle was quieter, more political. But that only made it more dangerous in some ways. A place where Garld’s eyes could still be watching.


    Lydia brought her large workhouse, where an attendant escorted them to some Guildmaster’s office. Femira wasn’t quite sure what she had expected—but it certainly wasn’t this.


    Delicate instruments made of brass and precious metals were scattered across workbenches, their polished surfaces gleaming in the dim light. Half-finished projects cluttered the room—schematics in neat piles, gears and cogs arranged in meticulous patterns, intricate mechanisms that would have fetched a fortune on any black market.


    It was the kind of place she’d have loved to stumble upon back when she was a thief. Even now a part of her had to resist dissolving some of the metals into her while they waited for Lydia’s contact to arrive. They wouldn’t miss a few scraps, surely.


    She began looking over them with curiosity, noting that many had actual runestones embedded in them. This room held a literal fortune in it, and there wasn’t even a lock on the door! Many of these were the soft jade appearance of bondstone, a rare and expensive form of runestone.


    She couldn''t help herself. Femira picked up one of the tools, its handle cool in her grip, inlaid with a brilliant topaz and the delicate green of bondstone. She turned it over, trying to puzzle out what it could possibly be for. It looked like some kind of precision device, but the function of the runestones with it? That was something else entirely.


    What in the hells is this thing?


    "Ah, please, my dear, if you could put that down," a voice came from the doorway.


    Femira turned, half-expecting some stuffy old scholar, but instead found a man who looked like he belonged down in the forges with the soot-covered workers.


    “What’s it do?” she asked, setting the device down with a clunk. She caught the wince on his face but didn’t much care.


    “It’s a, uh... runestone aligner, if you must know,” he muttered, moving forward as though the thing was a wounded animal.


    “Huh, and what’s it do?”


    “Oh, it—well” At that, his face brightened, all tension melting away. Whatever ire he’d held moments ago vanished in the excitement of sharing his knowledge. “a device of my own design, in fact!” His voice rose a little. "Well, a collaboration between myself and a former assistant... but mainly mine, yes…. It’s a device to be used by everyday blacksmiths, can give them the same effects as a skilled rune engineer, you see.” He began fiddling with it in ways that Femira couldn’t follow. “Quite ingenious really, it can be used to align different runestones perfectly, forging them into larger systems. The topaz maintains the required ambient temperature for fusing while the bondstone creates an appropriate link between the user and the stones, guiding them into the correct placement, and linking them in. It’s all very delicate. It, uhm, of course, doesn’t work yet… but when it does. It will accelerate the rate at which we can manufacture more runestone devices. A tool to bridge the gap between the gifted and the everyday craftsman,” he smiled broadly then, expectantly.


    “Oh, uhm, impressive,” Femira nodded, though she’d stopped listening.


    Her disinterest seemed to deflate him. He paused, adjusting his glasses and cleaning them with a small cloth.


    “Guildmaster Arken,” Lydia seized the moment, pulling the conversation on track for why they came here.


    “Oh, Lydia. Yes!” His expression brightened once more. “Very pleased to see that you’re... well, alive. I’d heard you ran into some trouble in Port Novic.”


    “Not even the Red Throne can stop me,” Lydia replied with a sly grin.


    “You saw it up close?” Arken’s eyes gleamed with scholarly interest. “I’ve always longed to study it! Another marvel from Krastac’s era. Tell me, did you notice any runes etched into the bloodstone? Perhaps variations from the traditional patterns we’re familiar with?”


    “I was more focused on not getting turned into a blood puddle,” Lydia replied dryly.


    “Ah yes, of course, I see,” he made his way over to his desk and began stacking papers.


    “What is it that I can help you with?” He glanced at Femira, his curiosity apparent.


    “She’s a friend to the cause,” Lydia explained. Not exactly true, but Femira let it slide. She needed leads and if she had to pretend to be a revolutionary to get it, then so be it.


    “Ah,” Arken beamed, “another brave firebrand.” He said it without any hint of condescension. He’s a believer. Femira realised. “Such an ideal you are all working towards, a world not ruled by classist nobles. What a dream it is.”


    “We’re looking for a man,” Lydia pressed on. “And any leads on where to find him.”


    “I certainly have many resources at my disposal,” Arken replied, clasping his hands together. “Any contribution to the cause is an investment in the future. Who is this man?”


    “He’s Reldoni,” Femira offered, stepping in. “Dark brown hair, dark eyes, tall. He’s highborn, but likely hiding that fact.”


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    “Tall, dark, Reldoni... My dear, you do realise there are a thousand Reldoni soldiers in the city right now who match that description,” Arken raised an eyebrow, a faint smile playing on his lips.


    “He was in Rubastre before the war,” Lydia added. “I know you’ve spent time there these past few years, Arken.”


    The guildmaster’s fingers tapped lightly on his desk. “Again, I’ll need more to go on. A name?”


    Femira hesitated, exchanging a glance with Lydia. Femira was reluctant for word to spread that there was someone matching her description looking for Daegan Tredain. It was risky for anyone they told that name to. But Lydia gave a subtle nod, signalling her trust in Arken to be told this. She’d certainly spoken highly enough of him prior to this meeting that he had enough resources to help Femira.


    “Daegan Tredain,” Femira said, her voice flat and careful.


    Arken’s eyes sharpened, locking onto hers in an instant. His face became unreadable.


    “Daegan Tredain is dead,” he said, his tone even. Yet there was something in the way he said it that made Femira certain he was lying. He knows.


    And then it hit her. Something Garld had mentioned in passing: agents within Rubane, connections in powerful guilds. And there was none more powerful in Rubane—outside the nobility—than the ironworks.


    Femira’s heart sank. It was too late. He already knew what she looked like, already knew she was searching for Daegan Tredain. If Arken was one of Garld’s agents, that information would be making its way back to him no matter what Femira did.


    She clenched her jaw. Time for the blunt blade.


    “You’re working with the Reldoni,” she stated plainly.


    Arken didn’t flinch. “Of course we are. They’re occupying the city—we’d be fools not to. Duke Rivers handed it over.”


    “Since before that though,” Femira pressed, her tone sharpening. “That’s why you came here, isn’t it? Just before Rubastre was attacked. You knew the invasion was coming.”


    For the first time, a crack appeared in Arken’s composure. A bead of sweat formed on his brow. “How dare you make such an accusation,” he sputtered. Lydia paled, her eyes flicking nervously between Femira and the man who was one of her biggest supporters.


    “I’m not judging you,” Femira added, her voice steady. “You hedged your bets. The Reldoni were always going to come out on top. But I can see you believe in the cause—that’s what you really want, isn’t it? No more nobility. No more classism.”


    Arken’s face tightened, but he said nothing.


    “Have you told the Reldoni where Daegan Tredain is?” Femira asked bluntly. She was pushing hard now, testing him. If Arken knew Daegan was alive, it was possible he knew where he was.


    Arken hesitated, his eyes darting to Lydia, seeking some kind of reassurance. This time, Lydia gave him the same nod of approval she’d given Femira earlier.


    “Only what we knew at the time,” he admitted. “That he was alive and that he fled Rubastre after his own bodyguards turned on him. We traced his trail—north, past Urundock. Where he is now, I have no idea. He crossed the Nortara Sheet, why he’d go there is beyond me.”


    “Was he alone?”


    “No, travelling with two bodyguards. Rowan and Tanlor Shrydan, out of Garronforn.”


    “You kept close tabs on him,” Femira noted.


    “The Reldoni wanted tabs to be kept.”


    “Are they still looking for him?”


    “They have other concerns at the moment, I’ve not been asked.”


    “Can you help me find him?”


    “This is important to the cause?” Arken’s eyes went to Lydia, who nodded earnestly.


    “It is,” she insisted. Femira had to admit that Lyida was doing all she promised and more to help Femira in her search.


    “Then I’ll do what I can,” Arken said, a note of sincerity in his voice. “Give me two days. I’ll see what we can uncover.”


    Lydia and Femira both thanked him, but as they turned to leave, Femira paused, fixing Arken with a hard stare. “It would be better for everyone,” she said, emphasising the last word, “if the Reldoni weren’t informed that I’m asking around.”


    “Of course,” Arken nodded. But again, Femira didn’t trust him. She’d taken an enormous risk here. When they met with Arken in two days, she’d need to be very well prepared.


    “I didn’t think you’d attack him,” Lydia hissed when they got out into the cold of the street.


    “Got him talking,” Femira shrugged. “How much can we trust him? Really trust him. He’s been selling information to the Reldoni make no doubts about that. Whoever wins this war, he’s planning on coming out on top.”


    “We can trust him.”


    Femira still wasn’t sure.


    At the end of the day, Arken was an arms dealer. He was selling weapons to Lydia’s cause, he might make a show of it being a gift but nothing was truly given for free. He’d collect eventually. She had no doubts he was selling those same weapons to Duke Avriem’s forces in Port Novic, to the Reldoni, and even to the Rubanians. For him, this war was just another ledger to balance, and every drop of blood spilled only deepened the ironworks’ pockets.


    War was profit to people like him, plain and simple.


    That left Femira with one path forward, all she needed to know was what Arken believed would cause more conflict, more bloodshed, and more profit for the ironworks. Because in the end, that’s what he’d choose. If selling Daegan to her created more conflict, more opportunities, than giving him over to the Reldoni, then Arken would play that hand.


    She just needed to convince him of that.


    As Femira and Lydia made their way through the narrow, winding streets, the cold night air seemed sharper, biting at their skin. The streets were quiet, save for the distant sound of men in the taverns and the occasional clatter of a cart. Kez’s tunnels weren’t far, and Femira found herself quickening her pace, eager to leave this section of the city behind.


    “Something’s off, it’s too quiet for this time of the evening,” Femira muttered, her instincts pricking at the back of her neck. Lydia didn’t respond, but Femira could tell she sensed it too.


    Just as they turned down a side street, a group of Reldoni soldiers emerged from the shadows, blocking their path. The captain, a broad-shouldered man with a face that looked like it had seen one too many fistfights, sneered as he spotted the two women.


    “Well, well,” he drawled, stepping forward. “What do we have here?”


    Femira felt her muscles tense, her hand instinctively moving towards where she normally kept her daggers hilted, though she’d long since stopped wearing them. She didn’t want to take Nyth out. The last thing she needed was to draw attention to herself by fighting Reldoni soldiers in the middle of the city.


    “We’re just passing through,” Lydia said, her voice steady, though Femira could hear the edge of caution in it.


    “Passing through, huh?” the captain echoed, his grin widening. “Cloaked figures like you doing out at this hour? Don’t you know there’s a war going on?”


    Femira resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of course, they were looking to cause trouble. “We don’t want any problems,” she said through gritted teeth. “Just let us be on our way.”


    But the captain didn’t move. If anything, his grin grew wider. “Oh, I’m sure you don’t want any problems,” he said, taking a step closer. His men followed suit, fanning out around them, a couple with hands already resting on the hilts of their blades.


    Femira’s fingers twitched. She could feel the familiar hum of Nyth in her chest, eager and ready to leap into action, to take out these fools before they even had a chance to draw their weapons. But that would only make things worse. They were soldiers, not mercenaries or thugs. Fighting them would bring more trouble than it was worth.


    She was about to respond when, out of nowhere, a voice boomed through the narrow street.


    “There she is! My favourite niece!”


    The Reldoni captain froze mid-step, and Femira turned to see Kez striding down the street towards them, a wide, theatrical smile plastered on his face. His arms were outstretched, his flamboyant coat billowing around him like some kind of stage performer. He looked utterly out of place in the grimy streets. He was flanked by two bodyguards that equalled him in size.


    “Ah, how wonderful it is to see the Reldoni providing such extra protection for my dear niece!” Kez continued, his voice dripping with faux gratitude as he approached the group. “These are uncertain times, after all, so glad to see you making such good impressions on the good folk of Nordock.”


    The captain stiffened, his eyes flickering between Femira and Kez. Recognition dawned on his face, and Femira saw the change in his posture—the way his bravado shrank just a little


    “Kez…” the captain muttered, offering a hasty nod of acknowledgement. “Didn’t realise she was yours.”


    Kez gave a grand wave of his hand, brushing off the captain’s words. “No need to be so formal, captain! Just wonderful to see you out here, making sure no harm comes to my family.” He clapped the captain on the shoulder with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve done your duty well tonight.”


    The captain looked uneasy, clearly knowing better than to cross Kez. “Just making sure, good sir,” he mumbled, stepping back and motioning for his men to do the same.


    “Of course, of course,” Kez said smoothly, then turned to Femira with a wink. “Now, my dear niece, let’s get you home before any more of this fine city’s defenders worry themselves about your safety.”


    Femira blinked, still processing the sudden shift. The soldiers were already backing off, their swagger evaporating. Kez clearly had them in his pocket. It was impressive—unnerving, even. That Kez had already managed to corrupt the city’s new power, and so quickly, spoke volumes about his reach.


    With a final, exaggerated bow to the captain, Kez gestured for them to follow, leading them away from the soldiers and back towards the safety of his tunnels.


    “Thank you, uncle,” Femira said, watching for his reaction. “Very convenient you turned up just as we needed you.”


    Kez’s smirk widened, the glint of mischief never leaving his eyes. “Oh, I was just passing through,” he winked, the gesture as theatrical as everything else about him. “Simply got lucky, it seems. Though I don’t doubt you could’ve handled them, eh?” His tone dipped, suggestive, as if they shared some secret.


    “I’ve a few tricks,” Femira smirked back, playing along.


    “I bet you do. Well, all the same. Very fortunate that your dear uncle Kez was nearby to help out… all the same.”


    Femira knew the whole encounter had been orchestrated—engineered—to show her exactly how much influence he had, how far his reach extended. All to put her into Kez’s hands.


    He wanted her to know that. He wanted her to rely on him.


    Femira wasn’t naive… at least not as much as she used to be. Kez was collecting her, trying to fold her into his web of favours and debts, another ‘niece’ added to his long list. But she was more than willing to play along for now. He’d demonstrated just how useful an uncle he could be.


    For the right price.