Realm Law: Book Two of The Five Realms Trilogy

Windglow had no idea how long he had slept. The smell of oil and a metallic clanking of gears reminded him that he had bedded down in the pump room. The room had been deserted then, the machinery shut down for the night. The fact that it was starting up again jolted him awake. That meant that someone was down here!

Fortunately, the engineer in charge was preoccupied with oiling one of the gearwheels. With his heart in his throat, Windglow ducked behind a stack of pipes and spare parts, crept past the man, and climbed up the ladder. Amid the racket of the pulleys and pistons and cams, silence was hardly a necessity. Nonetheless, Windglow berated himself for his carelessness.

Never assume any set schedule. If that fellow had been more alert he would have spotted me.

By now he had become familiar with at least a portion of the Archives. He had also briefly ventured into the Government center. He had also briefly ventured into the University wing of the Citadel on occasion, particularly when patrols began a thorough search of the Archives and Government areas. All these buildings, which had been bustling with students and bureaucrats and tourists the last time he had been in Orduna now lay largely empty. The main floors, which provided the only access to the outside, were crawling with soldiers. The basement floors beneath the government wing were beehives of activity, and all of the hallways leading to the center of the complex were well-protected. But there was no permanent presence on the upper levels, only periodic sweeps by squads of six or seven. That made it Windglow's location of choice most of the time, although he hid out in the pump on nights when he explored the Archives. Unfortunately, the the upper reaches of the Government center were unguarded for a reason—there was nothing of value up there, certainly no prisoners.

This day, he had decided to drop down to the fifth floor of the Government wing.

“If you think of the Citadel as a fortress,” he explained to Puddles, “then the valuables would be in the center, which is the safest spot. Taking into account that the lowest floor seems reserved for dungeons and the like, and the fact that the levels immediately above it stink from the soldiers, if I were in command, I think I would stay in the Center of the Government section, probably the third or fourth level, to stay clear of the noise and the stench.”

Windglow and his pet were starving. They had gone four days without food and had no prospects for obtaining any in the future. Puddles barely had the strength to cling to his perch on Windglow's shoulder. Trying to ignore his hunger pangs, the headaches, and the general weakness, Windglow cautiously ascended a back stairway. Reaching the top floor, he crept into the hallway, taking pains to avoid the array of stained glass windows that lined the outside walls. As always, the first order of business was to scout all possible escape avenues, including rooms that he could use as a temporary refuge should anyone walk into the halls.

“You know, Puddles, I am beginning to believe I have found the safest place in the entire city. A fort’s defenses all point outward, intent on keeping intruders out. Once you are inside, the defenses are few.” This comforted Windglow for only a moment before he realized that he alone of all his friends enjoyed such comparative comfort.

"Time is running out, Puddles," he whispered. "I don't know how much longer we can go without food.

While prowling anxiously through the upper reaches, he head what sounded lik a distant rumbling. He wondered for a moment whether a storm was approaching. But sunshine poured through the oval windows on the outward side of the corridor, and he sensed a cadence as well as a growing intensity to the sound. He ducked into a small laboratory closet just before a regiment rounded a corner and marched past in lock step.

He summoned the courage to creep near the doorway and catch sight of the tail end of the formation. The soldiers’ physical appearance belied the rigid discipline of their march. They wore the hunter green and brown leather of the Ordunese army, but the way they filled these handsome uniforms with their criminal presence was like pouring mud into a crystal goblet. No uniform, no matter how polished and pressed, could legitimize these brutes. They were a breed apart from the public face of the army—the uniformed men who patrolled the perimeter of the Citadel and manned the barracks near the gates of the city. No wonder these thugs were kept out of sight. One look at the ugly, sneering, unshaven bruisers and the citizens of Orduna would have recognized the infestation within their city.

Windglow waited until long after they were out of sight before he emerged into the corridor, crossing rainbow patterns of light that shone through the window. He sprinted down the hall, lightly, on his toes. All movements had to be confined to short bursts. He simply could not risk being caught in the open.

“Hey”!

The hairs on Windglow's neck crawled up his scalp. Blindly, he dove into a darkened classroom. He despaired on finding nowhere to hide in the room; there was nothing in it but uneven rows of desks. Not even a table. Hearing footsteps approach, he braced for the end.

The shout, however, had not been concerned with him, nor were the footsteps.

“They’s having a meeting in there! Don’t want no one around, not even you. I don’t care if you are a personal bodyguard, you haul your fat carcass out of here this minute! Go on! Get out!"

Hearing the fading click of retreating steps down the corridor, Windglow summoned the nerve to peer around the corner. He saw no one, heard nothing. No sign of life except for a razor-thin slit of light at the bottom of an oaken door.

He stared, bug-eyed, at the door. With a stern look, he pressed his sherrott’s lips together. He inched forward, scarcely believing the audacity of his act. What could be more suicidal than to stand out in the open with his ear to the door of a meeting so secret that even bodyguards were sent out of earshot? But the oaken door cast a spell over him. Secrets lay behind it. Secrets that threatened the realms. He could have prowled the Citadel for weeks and not found such an opportunity.

The door called to him. Caught in the power of its spell, he drew near.

The tight seal of the door blocked out most of the sound. Windglow had to get down on his knees and put his ear near the sliver of light next to the floor to make out any words. He strained to hear over the thumping of his heart. At the most distant twittering or scrape in some far corner of the building, he jerked away, expecting the door to burst open. This caused him to miss a few words here and there. But his hearing was sharp and he was able to catch most of the conversation.

“I must say I do not like being stripped of my bodyguard, even in the safety of this building. The world is filled with enemies and one cannot always tell them by their colors. I tell you--”

“That is precisely why the guards had to leave,” responded a voice as chilling and grating as fingernails raked across a chalkboard.

“Everyone has his price. Even your most trusted servants. They cannot sell what they do not know.”

“You do not trust your own bodyguards, Radigan?”

“I trust no one, Flaymond,” rasped the hideous voice.

“You trust the Dhayelle woman,” said Flaymond, sulkily.

“She turned in her own house guests,” hissed Radigan. “Is that not evidence of devotion to the cause?” The two, joined by another, laughed wickedly. “Yet I trust her no more than absolutely necessary. She is our safest servant and that is all I will say for her.”

“What of the spies?” spoke a mean, spiteful little voice. This one did not seem as sure of himself as the others. A current of fear caused a tremor in his words.

“Relax, Eldorean,” said Flaymond. “Merely Tishaaran spies, if you can imagine such a thing. No more suited for their profession than a one-armed juggler.”

Windglow bit his lip. Eldorean, the governor of Rushbrook?! And Flaymond! Was that not the name Hummer had given for his treacherous “friend?”

“The spy who ferreted out the island experiments has alerted them to our progress with the Cold Flame,” said Rattigan. “I could flay your whole guard unit for their incompetence on that matter. Crack troops, indeed!”

Eldorean muttered something that might have been an apology or possibly a half-hearted defense.

“We shall see,” replied Rattigan. “But no matter. The meddlers have forced us to accelerate our plan, but that is the extent of the damage they can do. I find it more humorous than alarming that these Tishaaran lambs are prowling around Orduna.” His laughter was a horrid perversion of mirth. “One is dead. One captured. What of the others Flaymond?”

“We have conflicting reports, sir. Three spies were seen entering the Archives wing from the yard. Yet we found no others with the big Tishaaran and his wench. Our best guess is that this third one stayed near the door of the yard area to stand watch, and slipped away when the trap was sprung. Dhayelle said there was another woman with them, but that one apparently did not enter the courtyard with the others. We shall find her soon, along with the other Tishaaran male. Dhayelle gave us detailed descriptions of both, and they don’t know anyone in the city who might hide them.”

“I should not be troubled about it,” said Eldorean. “The Tishaarans’ cowardice is the stuff of legend, and it appears they have the stupidity to match. They pose no more threat than the pathetic Morp who got away.”

He got away?!

“Now that I cannot understand,” chuckled Flaymond. “A Morp eluding trained security guards? It makes your bumbling watchmen on the island seem like a crack drill team in comparison.”

“Your cavalier approach to this matter disturbs me,” rasped Radigan. “I can understand how a Morp could evade our troops in the courtyard. The locals helped it. They make sport of thwarting our soldiers at every opportunity, an insult that shall be avenged in spades when our victory is complete. What I cannot fathom is how a creature so devoid of sense could have found its way out of the Citadel.”

“Friend Morp had its lucky day at the gaming tables,” laughed Flaymond. “Used up its royal flush getting out, to my way of thinking. And what did it gain by the extraordinary accident of its escape? It would be safer with us than among the good citizens of Orduna.”

More malicious laughter.

“The Master’s plan is without flaw,” said Radigan. “The fate of the realms is sealed, and none can undo it. Nevertheless, I will not tolerate laxity. Flaymond, you will begin another search of the entire Citadel immediately. All three sections. Simultaneously. Take an entire division if you like; it will give them something useful to do while they wait.”

“What of the Tishaaran woman we caught? Shall we force her to tell what she knows?” asked Flaymond, eagerly.

“Your brutes would love that,” snorted Eldorean. “I hear she’s a beauty.”

“The fairer the beauty, the more delicious the taste of her pain,” said Radigan. “But time is too short for pleasurable diversions. All efforts must focus on the plan. The woman can tell us nothing that will affect that one way or the other. Keep her with the Senate. None of them are to be touched. Not a hair on their heads. Not yet. Is that clear?”

“Sounds like you’ve gone soft-hearted,” said Flaymond, with a chuckle.

An awkward and deadly silence followed. “Is that your opinion, Flaymond?” said Radigan at last. “That I grow soft? Would you care to trust your fate to my tenderness of heart?”

More excruciating silence. “No, I thought not. Then speak only what you have the wit to understand and the courage to pursue. There is a reason they are to be unharmed for the present, and I assure you it has nothing to do with mercy.”

A scraping of chairs warned Windglow that the meeting was over. He scrambled to his feet and started to sprint back down the corridor.

He stopped cold.

Staring him squarely in the eyes from ten feet away was Mohenga Dhayelle! The woman who had betrayed them all, including Ehiloru, a man she had housed and called friend for a dozen years, into the hands of the enemy. How long had the traitor been silently watching his eavesdropping? Windglow could do nothing but gape at the glowering woman blocking his only escape. Before he could move, the meeting door inched open. A heavy leather boot came into view.