Chapter 139


    Skill is all Luck


    Sneaking into Nordock’s inner city hadn’t been easy, but it was nothing Femira couldn’t handle. She knew the highborn quarters well enough by now. Always frustratingly open and exposed with wide, elegant boulevards stretched between grand mansions. Not a shadowy alley in sight. Instead, she had to rely on the carefully groomed hedgerows and clusters of trees that dotted the neighbourhood, ducking behind them whenever she thought there would be patrols nearby.


    Without her bloodshedder’s uniform, she couldn’t just stride about openly, so she’d chosen a fine, nondescript cloak. Rubanian highborn loved their iron fences—significantly harder to dissolve than stone walls. The nobility clearly wanted to keep her kind out as much as the city’s riff-raff. But she was no amateur, the iron was only a mild nuisance.


    She located the granaries soon enough—massive, blocky storehouses lined up behind the central keep. They were brimming with sacks of grain and other foodstuffs, Femira didn’t need to have any expertise in city supply chains to know that these storehouses were way overstocked. Kez’s information had been solid. Duke Rivers had stockpiled enough to feed the city for months, maybe longer. It wasn’t her job to estimate precisely, but she just knew that it was a ludicrous amount of food to stockpile.


    Kez already knew this however, her objective was to discover the why.


    Femira had done a lot of spy work for Garld while she’d been in Epilas, and learned some good skills to find the information she was looking for. She quickly checked for unusual patterns in the granary—certain sacks marked or set apart, crates with insignia of other cities or noble families. Anything unusual could point to potential alliances or hidden deals that Duke Rivers might have with other factions. After searching for a while though, it all appeared to be allocated for Nordock. She knew that the occupying Reldoni army would need more supplies, but this was overkill surely.


    Best find the Duke’s Records office.


    She blew out a bored breath. It wasn’t the most exciting of jobs but breaking into administrative buildings were her best bet. Most nobles kept tediously long ledgers and inventories detailing supply reasons or future plans. For her abilities, slipping past any barriers or guards to access these areas was child''s-play.


    If this came up short though, she’d have to resort to exploring the nearby whiskeyhouses and guard posts, and hope to get lucky on some overheard conversation. Or if she got desperate, she’d go for the riskier approach. Cornering someone who’d be more likely to know specifics—a steward, clerk, or overseer. She’d never had to actually intimidate anyone before working for Lichtin or Garld but catching them off guard and pressing for details didn’t sound too hard. If they’re a lower-ranking worker, they might let slip Duke Rivers'' plans without thinking twice.


    Fortunately it didn’t come to any of that.


    Femira was slipping along the wall of what looked like the granary’s administrative building when she caught the sound of footsteps and muted voices. A patrol. She hissed, diving behind a hedge, cursing as the thorns scraped her cloak. This whole job was dragging far longer than she wanted, and these constant patrols really weren’t helping.


    “From Commander Torvin?” she caught a soldier’s voice. Through the bush, she glimpsed four Reldoni soldiers, spears slung over their shoulders, walking with the easy air of men off the front lines. Femira stayed crouched, listening close. Any shred of intel was valuable.


    “Yeah, runner came this morning,” another replied.


    “But Torvin’s solid—one of the most loyal men in the whole army. I served in his battalion for over a year.”


    “All I’m saying is what I heard. He up and pulled his troops out of that town they were supposed to be guarding—against Mattice’s orders to hold it. Headed for some place called Bluewater.”


    “Why though?”


    “Apparently…” The words faded as the patrol rounded a corner, leaving Femira in silence.


    She waited a beat, weighing her options. She didn’t recognise Torvin’s name, but he was probably one of Mattice’s commanders—one she hadn’t crossed paths with during her time as a bloodshedder. But maybe, just maybe, he had something to do with Duke Rivers’ stockpiles.


    She chewed her lip for a moment before making the decision to chase after them. She rounded the corner and kept to the shadows as she tailed them, slowly making her way back into eavesdropping distance.


    “Whoa!” one of the soldiers exclaimed. “Did they send word to the King?”


    “The King’s in Rubastre. Weeks before he’d hear about it, ye dunce.”


    “But doesn’t this change things? It’s the reason we’re all here, right?” Femira’s interest was suddenly very piqued. What the hell were they talking about? What could be so important that Landryn needed to know immediately?


    “General Mattice won’t take kindly to this,” another soldier muttered. “Torvin’ll hang for it.”


    “But did he actually disobey? Sounds like maybe he was following orders,” another replied, voice dropping.


    “But the man’s dead!” one of them protested. “Torvin’s either seeing ghosts or spinning tales.”


    “Not Torvin. The man’s rock solid, I tells ya.”


    “Then he’s a damn fool. Should’ve brought the whole matter straight to Nordock, let the General sort it. Not run off chasing trolls and boogeymen.”


    “Report said there was draega involved.”


    “Smells like rotten fish covered in shite to me,” another scoffed. “Why would Daegan Tredain be holed up in some backwater?”


    Femira went rigid. What?


    “I suppose that’s the big golden question, ain’t it? What the hells is he doing up at this Bluewater place? Why’d he commandeer Torvin’s men? And most important—why ain’t he dead like the King said he was?”


    Daegan Tredain. This was it. He’d finally revealed himself. And he was in someplace called Bluewater.


    Femira’s heart leapt, but she steadied herself. The soldiers were now moving towards a large square, well lit with gaslamps. She’d wanted to shadow the patrol further, hoping for more scraps about Daegan’s location or Torvin’s orders.


    A new group of soldiers was also arriving at the square, fully armoured, more like a small squad than a simple patrol. One of them, a tall figure with a plumed helmet, was barking orders in clipped tones. Femira hung back on in the shadows of a hedgerow. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    “Double patrols, General Mattice’s orders!”


    The soldiers from the first patrol fell into a salute as the squad passed them, offering their report. Femira caught snatches of words about securing the area, blocking off roads—something about tightening the watch on the whole district.


    Damn. She gritted her teeth. She couldn’t risk being caught in the web of patrols that was now closing in. If they were locking down the area, chances were high they’d stop any stragglers, including her, if she got too close.


    She didn’t need to follow them any further. This was valuable intel, she couldn’t waste time following soldiers who might just lead her in circles. Bluewater. Daegan was there. She’d have to figure out her next steps carefully. She had no idea how far this town might be, and it could just also be a rumour. She needed to verify this before she acted.


    “Report to the General, he’s at the garrison,” Femira heard from the group.


    The group of soldiers had shifted into a brisk march, heading down a narrow street towards the district’s main boulevard. If they were on their way to Mattice, she couldn’t afford to let them out of her sight. She’d confirm it firsthand, even if it meant skulking into the lion’s den.


    It would be taking another big risk. Mattice would know surely that she was in the city by now. Saval had likely reported it to him already from the information she’d gotten from Arken earlier in the evening.


    But she needed to know. So she followed. She kept to the shadows, her movements soundless as she slipped from corner to corner, hugging the walls to stay out of the glow from the street gaslamps.


    The garrison she followed them to was a squat stone building connecting the central palace wall. It had thick iron barred windows, many had lights in them despite the late hour. A pair of guards stood watch at the entrance. She paused, waiting as the soldiers approached the entrance. The lead soldier exchanged a few quick words with the guards, and after a moment, the door swung open, letting them inside.


    She couldn’t just follow inside so she rounded the corner, and dissolving the wall and stepping through was too risking without knowing what was on the other side. So instead, she ran at full sprint at a dark corner of the side wall and launched herself up, forming handholds in the wall. She quickly scaled it to a window and peaked in. There were soldiers inside, so she checked another, then another until she eventually found an empty room. Dissolving the wall and stepping through, the smell of a latrine hit her. Ugh, it would have to be the shitter, wouldn’t it?


    It took her some time to locate the General’s office, making her way down empty hallways and eavesdropping on guards, but she found it. Went into an adjacent room, then stepped into the wall and formed a spy hole.


    She found it funny that this tactic still worked so well. Garld knew the limits of her abilities, surely he would have warned the other Generals of what an accomplished soulforged spy could do. But then again, Garld had her spying on these very Generals less than a year before. Perhaps he still wanted to keep some secrets close to the chest.


    “Yes. Double the guards, if Jahar is in the city, we’ll find her,” She heard Mattice say and felt her stomach tighten. So he was actively looking for her. Her suspicions confirmed that Saval reported it directly to him. It was a stupid order really. Saval had already organised for ‘Annali Jahar’s’ capture when with Arken. Increasing the guard and actively searching for her earlier only risked Femira discovering she’d been exposed. But Mattice had never been one for subtlety.


    “Is this woman really that dangerous?” The voice was rich, dripping with entitlement and disdain. She shifted slightly, catching a glimpse of a purple velvet cloak trimmed in white fur—a walking cliché of pompous nobility. Probably thinks the world spins on his whim. Rich prick. Femira pegged him immediately.


    “She trained with our bloodshedders,” Mattice replied with no small measure of annoyance. “She’s soulforged. She fought—and defeated—an alpha dreaga. She is exceptionally dangerous and we do not want her loose in the city.”


    “My city,” the highborn sniffed, wagging his finger in what was an infuriatingly smug manner. “Let’s not forget that I am still the Duke—”


    “Highlord, actually,” Mattice corrected with a forced politeness. “Reldon doesn’t have Dukes.”


    “Yes, yes, of course,” Rivers replied, clearly irked. “But remember, this is still my city. If you plan on flooding my streets with your soldiers, I expect you to seek my explicit permission first.”


    “Highlord Rivers,” Mattice’s tone sharpened, the edge barely masked. “We’re at war. As Lord-General of the King’s forces, my authority is supreme here. While this city falls within your jurisdiction, its security falls within mine.”


    “Then why,” Rivers interjected, practically shrieking, “why have your forces abandoned Harriston?”


    “You’ve seen the report, Highlord,” Mattice replied, voice tight. “You know as much as I do.”


    “Oh, I very much doubt that,” Rivers said, a sly smile almost audible in his voice. “Let’s be frank. You think I’m a traitor, an opportunist for aligning with the Reldoni. You wouldn’t dare share everything with me. But Harriston is part of my lands. It is mine! Boern Garron has always been circling the vulture that he is! If he finds out it’s exposed, he’ll seize the Balfold and all my northern holdings!”


    “Boern Garron I would think is rather indisposed with the damn army we have besieging his castle at the moment!” Mattice growled.


    “He’s crafty!” Rivers argued, voice pitched high. “Your report mentioned some Reldoni nobleman instructed your Commander to abandon Harriston. Who, pray tell, is this elusive lord?”


    “Daegan Tredain,” Mattice replied flatly.


    “Daegan Tredain is dead.”


    “Apparently not.”


    “Well, then what in all the hells is he doing at Bluewater Wall?”


    “Rallying a defence against these… rakmen,” Mattice’s face twisted, “wildling outlaws by the sounds of it.”


    “Rakmen? Ridiculous!” Rivers scoffed. “They’re little more than scattered savages. No way could they mount an organised attack. I personally invested a significant sum to restore Bluewater Wall. No gang of rakmen will breach it again. I’ve outposts established all over that region. The rakmen have barely been a problem in years. In fact, I was considering even shutting down some of those outposts.”


    “Funny,” Mattice said in a manner that implied he did not find it funny at all, “my reports state those same outposts have been calling for reinforcements for months.”


    “Everyone’s always clamouring for something,” Rivers replied, waving off the concern. “And frankly, I prefer to keep my soldiers here, especially with all our new Reldoni comrades pouring in.”


    “So you think this threat—if it’s even a threat—is a diversion?” Mattice said, his patience thinning.


    “Of course it is!” Rivers squealed. “Boern’s behind it, I’d bet! Or that sly fox, the Arch-Duke. They’re trying to render our northern border vulnerable. You must send out riders immediately and order Torrel—or Torval, whatever his name is—back to Harriston at once!”


    “Highlord Rivers,” Mattice’s voice was frigid, his tolerance clearly at its limit. “There is nothing I must do in this situation. Your counsel has been noted.”


    “Noted!” Rivers’ indignation reached a crescendo, his voice a high-pitched whine. “Do you think—”


    Just then, the door swung open, cutting him off. A soldier stepped in without knocking. Dark armour was the first Femira spotted. Her breath hitched—it was Saval, the bloodshedder she’d encountered earlier at Arken’s.


    “General Mattice!” she snapped a salute, “Jahar is suspected to be in the inner city.”


    Oh shit! Femira’s heart clenched. How had they spotted her?


    “Where?”


    “A guard saw her companion, Lydia Whitestone, passing through the inner gate,” Saval replied.


    “Capture the woman,” Mattice ordered, “and find Jahar.”


    Lydia, you absolute moron, what are you even doing here?!