Chapter 174 - 174: Leave Him Be
Pale afternoon light spread across the grounds as Vencian stepped out of Quesil Migdol, his cane striking the stone path with measured taps.
The visit had been worthwhile.
He had not found every answer he wanted, but Roselys' proposal aligned with plans he had already been considering. As for the tower itself, it had confirmed only one thing. Whatever remained hidden about Solshifters lay beyond its shelves.
Footsteps approached from behind.
"I trust your visit was productive, my lord."
Vencian glanced sideways.
"It was."
Milan fell into step beside him without another invitation.
Again.
Somewhere along the way, it had become routine. Whether Vencian left the mansion, visited the city, or buried himself inside another archive, Milan inevitably found him before long.
I could simply order him to leave.
The thought passed as quickly as it came.
There was little point. Better to leave things as they were.
Though this routine had made meeting Sagiel considerably harder.
The agreed signal had gone unanswered, something Sagiel had never failed to answer before. His last report surfaced in Vencian's thoughts. A child supposedly held a clue about Pentarch, and Sagiel intended to pursue it before reporting back. Several weeks had already passed.
Vencian tightened his grip around the cane.
"House Dawnforge arrives tomorrow."
"I know."
"Preparations are complete."
Vencian looked ahead.
"I'm looking forward to it."
— — —
Jerenir followed the man through another narrow passage cut into solid stone. Chisel marks still lined the walls in places where the workers had not bothered smoothing the surface, and timber supports stood at uneven intervals beneath the weight overhead. Every few dozen steps another tunnel branched away before disappearing into darkness.
"How does the work progress?"
The man beside him folded his hands behind his back as they walked. His clothes carried no crest, yet every measured step and calm glance belonged to someone accustomed to command.
"It progresses better than expected."
A faint smile crossed Aldanel's face.
"I prepared for resistance from the nearby villages. Instead, they came willingly once word spread that employment awaited them. Hunger is persuasive, and a Count's invitation carries more weight than rumor."
His gaze drifted toward another corridor where distant hammering echoed through the rock.
"We've had to expand the excavation twice already."
Jerenir acknowledged the answer with a slight nod.
"And him?"
Aldanel understood immediately.
"He remains here."
His voice carried mild amusement.
"I believe he has exhausted every interesting object nearby, so he has begun inventing his own diversions."
A sharp scream tore through the stone corridors.
Neither man altered his pace.
Another cry followed, raw enough to scrape against the walls before fading into a strained wheeze.
Aldanel stopped before a reinforced wooden door and pushed it open.
The smell reached them first.
Blood.
Sweat.
Burned flesh.
A man hung bound against a wooden cross fixed upright in the center of the chamber. His wrists had been nailed through thick leather cuffs instead of directly into the wood, leaving his arms spread while keeping him conscious. Most of the skin across his chest had already been peeled away in narrow strips. Fresh blood ran over older blackened burns that covered his ribs and stomach, while one shoulder had swollen until it barely resembled a human joint.
A boy stood before him.
He could not have been older than twelve.
His hands shook around the heated iron. His lips moved without sound at first before broken words slipped out between uneven breaths.
"I… I have to…"
The iron touched exposed flesh.
The man's scream burst through the room before breaking into ragged coughing.
The child flinched so hard he nearly dropped the iron. His breathing turned shallow as his whole body trembled, and he stared at the prisoner with wide, unfocused eyes before glancing toward the corner of the room as though waiting for someone to tell him whether he had done it correctly.
Jerenir followed the glance.
A worn wooden chair rested against the wall.
A man slept in it with one leg stretched over the armrest, his chin tilted toward the ceiling. Dark hair spilled across his forehead, and one hand rested loosely against the hilt of a sword hanging from the chair. The screaming had not disturbed him in the slightest. On the contrary, it worked like a lullaby.
Jerenir rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"What are you doing, Galanoth?"
The man's eyes opened. One was noticeably larger than the other, enough to throw his face slightly out of balance without making it difficult to recognize him.
He looked at Jerenir for a heartbeat before a grin spread across his face.
"I got bored."
His laugh echoed softly through the chamber.
"A rat sneaked in another rat."
He gestured lazily toward the prisoner.
"So I'm having the rat torture the rat he brought."
Jerenir looked once at the trembling child.
Understanding came immediately.
Someone inside the mines had discovered more than he should have. Rather than fleeing alone, the boy had trusted another man enough to show him what was happening beneath the mountain.
Now one of them held the iron.
The other was tied to the cross.
Jerenir let his gaze leave the bound man.
Another scream rose behind him.
He ignored it.
"I came for another matter."
Galanoth leaned farther into the chair.
"So serious."
"We should speak elsewhere."
The grin remained on Galanoth's face for another moment before he stood.
"Very well."
He walked past the child without another glance. Aldanel quietly closed the chamber behind them and remained outside as the two continued through the tunnels.
A short distance later, Galanoth pushed open another door.
The room held little besides a long wooden table.
A detailed map of Airantis covered almost its entire surface. Small carved markers rested across mountains, rivers, and major cities. There were no windows. Only two lanterns hanging from iron hooks cast light over the map.
Jerenir stepped inside.
"I escorted Seris Valemont safely to Sedron's border."
Galanoth circled the table without looking up.
"…Did he appear?"
The emphasis needed no clarification.
Jerenir had never once seen the man Galanoth referred to. He knew him only through orders that reached them across impossible distances.
"No."
He paused.
"Blood-courier came instead."
Galanoth's hand stopped over the map.
"Bloodgarde was there?"
Jerenir inclined his head.
Blood-courier was merely his own habit. Bloodgarde was known by another name throughout Pentarch, but Jerenir had long abandoned using it. The crimson blade carried by that silent messenger had become easier to remember than the man himself, and eventually the nickname stayed.
"It was him."
Galanoth rested both hands against the edge of the table.
"Did Bloodgarde speak?"
"He did."
Jerenir met his eyes.
"That is one reason I came."
Silence settled between them.
"He carried a message from His Excellency."
The title referred to the same man Galanoth simply called he.
Galanoth clicked his tongue.
"I dislike hearing that title."
"You still wish to hear the message."
"I do."
Jerenir spoke without delay.
"His Excellency ordered that Vencian Vicorra be left alone."
The room shook.
It lasted only a heartbeat.
Pressure crashed over Jerenir from across the table.
His heel slid back half a step before he planted it firmly against the stone floor. He drew one measured breath as invisible weight settled across his shoulders. The lantern flames trembled, and the wooden legs beneath the table creaked.
He had expected anger.
He had not expected this much.
"How dare he…"
The words came through clenched teeth.
"How does he dare?"
Jerenir waited until the pressure eased enough to speak.
"Calm yourself."
"I cannot."
Galanoth slammed a fist onto the table. The larger of his two eyes widened further, twisting the already uneven symmetry of his face as anger spread across it.
"Something that belongs to me was stolen."
Another strike echoed through the room.
"And he expects me to leave the boy untouched?"
Jerenir's expression remained unchanged.
"What do you intend to do?"
He let the question linger before continuing.
"Oppose His Excellency's order?"
Galanoth said nothing.
"Try remembering what happened the last time someone believed their own wishes outweighed his."
The silence stretched.
Jerenir watched Galanoth's shoulders rise and fall.
When His Excellency entrusted Pentarch to Galanoth, the instruction had been unmistakable. No unnecessary disturbances inside the kingdom's great cities. Ralan. Moriador. Any operation that risked drawing immediate attention beyond recovery was forbidden.
That restraint alone had kept Pentarch from openly pursuing Vencian after Coriel. Retrieving the boy from Ralan would never remain quiet.
Galanoth turned away from the table.
A string of curses left him under his breath.
Jerenir allowed several moments to pass.
"There is another matter."
Galanoth stopped.
"Bloodgarde also conveyed that His Excellency believes the time has come."
Jerenir held his gaze.
"We are to retrieve… that."
Galanoth turned so quickly the chair behind him scraped across the floor.
"Are you certain?"
"I would not repeat those words otherwise."
For the first time since entering the room, the fury disappeared from Galanoth's face.
Something else replaced it.
Expectation.
"So…"
He smiled.
"It is finally time."
Jerenir said nothing.
Galanoth's eyes drifted toward the map again.
"If we retrieve it…"
His finger settled over Moriador before sliding east until it reached Ralan.
"…then disorder in Ralan will be unavoidable."
His smile widened. The uneven set of his eyes gave the expression a crooked look that Jerenir had learned never to mistake for amusement.
"That thief still lives there, does he not?"
Jerenir understood immediately.
The thief.
Vencian Vicorra.
"You do not mean…"
"I do."
Galanoth tapped the city once.
"His Excellency instructed us to leave the boy alone."
His finger remained on Ralan.
"But if an unfortunate accident occurs while retrieving what he desires…"
He looked up.
"…would His Excellency truly hold us accountable?"
Jerenir studied him for a long moment.
"You intend to call it an accident."
Galanoth smiled.
"If accidents cease to happen, the world would become terribly predictable."