castleBanx
patreon
Chapter 30: THE PARADE OF DEATH
🕑 Added 2025-08-24 16:14:48 +0000 UTCThey encountered no one as they traversed the corridors between the buildings. He’d haunted these darkened aisles and knew that even in the light of day, the brilliant colors of their festive outfits would stand little chance against the inky void. Together they snaked their way though Springs Square into the Learners Row. He slowed their pace as the sounds of revelry increased, floating between the buildings in a haunting mix of music and voice.
They came to a stop. Tucked into a concealed alcove, the waning light of the afternoon sun streamed in from the street beyond, though dark shadows of the passersby danced across the damp cobble. Risens viewed his current companion with a mild sense of appreciation. Her chest rose and fell in rhythmic breaths, seemingly deep enough to break the tenuous hold of the fabric that disguised her form. She certainly was fit for the task ahead of them.
“Though I’ve left you with no choice in accompanying me, you will be well compensated for your time,” he noted. The sudden spark that lit in her eyes sent a shiver of warning down his spine. He could feel the power of her Brand at work. The Mother Raven had referred to them as trivial, their powers inconsequential to the forbidden Brands hidden among the curious chambers of the Roost. He understood the veracity of that statement, yet there was no denying the tangible force that she could wield over those with less self-control.
“Coins purchase far more than my time,” she whispered as she stepped in close. He could feel the warmth of her body, the lick of her heated breath on his neck. “Perhaps you’d like a sample. Surely, the parade can wait.”
He silently cursed himself for the decision to disobey the King’s orders. Never before had he concerned himself with the trivialities of life or death. The King spoke, and he obeyed. Beyond his frequent visits to the forbidden Raven’s Court, neglecting the King’s edicts was not something he’d done.
Until, the last few days, that was.
It was a trend that had grown just as much in its frequency as with its blatant disregard. While his fate would have been sealed if his presence at the shrine were known, he had failed to see the harm of visiting the small, rundown section of the Broad. He had no doubt that Lathrenon was oblivious to the true power of the forgotten shrine. If he had known, the area would have been sealed away under his protection or merely destroyed, erased from the history of Halthome.
But now, faced with this enchantress, Risens worried the lapse in judgment had been more than mere mercy.
No. He was simply following a new commander. His transgressions had grown as he now heeded the voice of one he truly feared.
“I pay only for your time,” he replied as he stepped out from beneath the spell of her Brand. “I have my duties, though I will not expand beyond that. After the parade, I will leave you alone for a time. What you choose to do with it until I rejoin is your prerogative. I will, however, caution you once more. Do not betray my kindness. And never mistake it for weakness, neither of mind nor body.”
The fire burning in his eyes and the tone of his voice completed the shattering of her seduction.
“I understand and I am indebted to you,” she replied. “Know the offer still stands.”
Risens sighed, understanding how much more difficult he’d made this task on himself. Marken Cortinerie, the fabricated man who’s persona he now assumed—was a well-chronicled libertine among the circles he supposedly ran in. It was a character Risens had only played once before and it was one of the more uncomfortable positions he’d been placed into.
He’d gladly trade blows with sentinels, men, or face the charge of a rampaging dragon before having to suffer through the public pomp and circumstance that he would have to endure. There would be very few—if any—in attendance who actually knew the late Duke Cortinerie. Most were there to be seen and nothing more. Certainly, none were present that could challenge Risens’ claim to be his son. Still, he bore the parchment certifying his lineage and the title to the lands and the estate in the locked chest in his chamber.
The precessional passed. Men and women playing instruments of all kinds led the audience in cheerful songs about love and life. The upper echelon refused to acknowledge that any of their kind wound up in Pylkev, eternally damned to suffering. One of the King’s callers passed, mounted on horseback, repeating his speech for the ears of all in attendance. It was filled with platitudes and encouragements for those who would listen to be kind and serve the crown as Duke Karieas had done.
All lies.
The knowledge of the truth made Risens sick to his stomach, though he pressed onward, knowing he had a job to do.
“From here out, you will refer to me by the name Marken,” he explained to Marlaine. “No other details will be necessary, though there is a certain reputation that must be upheld.”
Marlaine pursed her lips slightly as she squinted at him. It was a liability, revealing the name to her. That she knew his face was a risk enough. He would be forced to produce papers bearing the crest of his house. His name and station would be announced upon entering Lady Myrenas’s estate. She would now understand that the man and his exploits were a forgery—one perpetrated by the highest order.
He would be recognized as the assassin he was, and not just a man who’d infiltrated Duke Karieas’ estate to exact judgment or fulfill a personal vendetta.
The connection to the King would be assured.
It was a risk he was willing to take. If any of his other recent indiscretions came to light, his life was forfeit anyway.
“So this might be fun after all,” she cooed, wrapping her arm around his waist.
He pulled her close to him as they exited the alley into the throng of citizens on the street. Few gave them appraising looks as they appeared from the seclusion of the alleyway. At his side, she straightened her revealing dress before leaning gently into his side, playing the part. Any suspicions vanished as they were carried off by the flow of humanity.
The parade poured through the city, an undulating sea of colors and sound that ran like a river to the coast. Though it streamed along a general track, the currents were constantly shifting as people moved about the path. In places, it rushed forward, in others, eddies formed where the procession broke around small groups, stalled for whatever reason. Risens, with Marlaine in tow, stuck to the edge of the crowd where he could better track the movements that swirled around him. Somehow, having one side protected by the shadowed alleys presented a far greater sense of security than the unexpected unknown of the costumed revelers.
He expected that he was not the only of the King’s assassins disguised among the crowd. Beyond that, there was likely no shortage of blades disguised among the smiling faces and flowing colored garments on display. He could spot the protective stances of the bodyguards who surrounded their noble entourages, though it was the eyes of their charges who gave away their purpose.
The somber affair was well diffused by the vibrant colors and jubilant music. There was not a damp eye among the congregation. Most, he knew were entirely oblivious to the dangers that lurked around them. They were entranced by the bright hues, by the festivity, by the excitement. They had no understanding that death surrounded them like wolves.
Or more aptly, like ravens circling their unexpected prey below.
The eyes of a killer were different. Distinct in their focus. Their vision didn’t bound joyously from costume to musician to entrepreneurial vendor hawking libations along the edge of the street. They watched the movement of hands toward blades, the stunted gait of one who carried a conceal blade. Potential threats were everywhere. Most were amateurs, giving away their presence long before he could steer himself and Marlaine from their views.
Leaving Learners Row, the celebration continued as they crossed into Quayside. The track led them away from the bustle of the markets and onto wooden docks and the fishy aromas of the port. It wasn’t long before the crowds withered. Like a river run dry in the burning heat of the summer, it faded to a stream before the steady trickle faltered into a slow drip. As the crowds thinned, the distinct divisions became apparent.
Risens, with Marlaine plastered to his side, had already catalogued the squads of guards and their employers. He recognized many of the faces even through their disguises.
He felt the cautious eyes of many fall on him and his companion, yet he grinned beneath his mask as he noted the focus shift in every instance. The well-intentioned inspection of the personal guards collapsed as they were drawn to—and lingered on—Marlaine’s figure. He made no argument as to her inherent beauty, accentuated by the revealing dress, yet the influence of the Brand no doubt increased the attraction of those whose will lacked the regimented fortification of duty. His concern for himself ebbed as he realized that she was perhaps the best complement to his disguise. How far could he walk with blades drawn before any raised a hand to stop him if he was accompanied by her charm?
The low, white walls of the estates in Northern Quayside were the final separator of the classes within the crowd. With the exception of a few, the musicians peeled off with the bulk of the citizens, leading the remnants to a public festival of their own in one of the port-side taverns.
Their progress stalled as the remaining revelers reached a bottleneck formed by army of private guards. From Risens’ standpoint in the crowd, he watched as the mixed security argued over the entrance order of their prescribed Lords or Ladies. He heard more emphatic messages personally vouching for someone’s legitimacy than he cared to experience as the soldiers vied amongst each other to earn favors with their respective nobles. A few citizens lacking the proper documentation were tossed from the path, escorted, or even beaten depending on the discretion of the guards.
If his purpose was to sneak in, he could have done so at any point throughout the assembly. If his mission was to cause the greatest damage possible, he could have caused utter mayhem before any laid a hand on him.
Risens felt the pressure of Marlaine’s breasts press further against him as they neared the checkpoint.
“Papers, if you please.” The guard puffed out his chest, his hand menacingly gripping the pommel of his long sword. While the gatherers were all adorned in the flashy dress of the festivities, the guards here were clearly marked the colors of their masters. The man offering the charge wore the cream and red of the Lady Myrenas.
Marlaine trembled slightly, squeezing tightly against Risens’ arm.
He stood defiantly, as if appalled to be asked for proof of who he was. Then with an exasperated sigh, he dipped his hand into his breast pocket, producing the rolled parchment that bore the evidence of his persona. Though unknown as he was, it was marked with the unquestionable seal of the King, vouching for its authenticity. All of which, he knew full well could be forged with little difficulty. He had, in fact, forged this same seal as a measure of his training. Begrudgingly, it was Fendri who had approved of the quality of his workmanship.
The soldier inspected the offered parchment. He stifled his grin by forcing a deeper scowl as every few lines, the man’s eyes darted off the edge of the parchment to the revealing figure of Marlaine pressed against his side.
“I trust these papers are sufficient?” Risens said with an air of arrogance. “I have places to be, and this young lady requires my immediate attention.” He let his hand slide noticeably down her waist until its rested firmly on her backside. “Feast your grubby eyes on someone else, for she is mine for the night.”
Without waiting for a challenge, he snatched the parchment from the guard’s hand, and led Marlaine forward. As he passed, he gave her rump a taunting squeeze. The soldier fumbled his way through an apology and a polite bow as he realized the error of his ways.
Within a few steps, they were clear of the checkpoint. Though his focus remained steady, his thoughts unraveled as he noted the play of her muscles beneath the palm of his hand. Every step brought another hint, another lance of distraction. He’d seen what lurked beneath her multicolored garments, and the draw of her Brand only amplified the intrigue.
“Have you changed your mind then?” she whispered in a sultry voice into his ear.
Without breaking his contact, he cleared his throat and slid his hand upward, coming to rest around her waist. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her face contort into a pout, but ignored it.
There was little time or privacy for banter or conversation as they neared the sprawling estate of Lady Myrenas. The pathway leading through Quayside was constructed of uneven wood planks. He had no fear of himself losing his footing, but with Marlaine in tall heels, he kept steady pressure on her hip. Crossing through the border beyond the white fence into the estates, the rough docks changed abruptly into flat patchwork of tightly placed slabs. Only then did he allow his grip to loosen.
“Aw,” she complained.
He ignored her.
The stones were pitched slightly to one side, allowing rains that had not come for some time to runoff into a discretely covered trough disguised along the edge of the road. The ever present sewers of the city were prevalent here as well, though the well-to-do preferred to hide them, along with their other imperfections from view. From tragic personal experience, Risens knew they were just as rank here as any other location throughout the city.
The pace of their travel slowed to a more sedate walk as they strolled along the immaculately manicured avenue. The border of the Northern Quayside, the low white wall was merely symbolic, while those that saw to the protection of the villas were far more complex. None were below head height, constructed of stone and iron, decorated by sculptures and topiaries. Hidden behind and among the innocuous decorations, he noted the signs of traps and alarms. A few guarding the most sensitive areas were likely lethal, while most, he expected were nothing more than general noisemaking deterrents. He’d tripped a few during his formative years of training, but those were lessons he’d learned never to repeat.
With Marlaine wrapped around his arm, they fell in line with the other small groups that proceeded onward. Beyond the leering looks at his companion and snide remarks about his attire, lack of guards, or some other trivial matter, none made any attempt at conversing with him. Laughter rang out from the lips of many, yet here, amongst the stuffy, pretentious elite of the city, the mirth was hollow. In fact, every emotion seemed forced and laced with overly fake sincerity.
In truth, much of the city knew none of those who were lost, only partaking in the festivities for a break from the monotony of the daily grind. Life was difficult for most, while the nobles, puffed up from excess, lazed around, lording over any within earshot. For a city rife with discontent and festering hostilities, the break was welcomed. Regardless of how short it was.
Here, they didn’t celebrate the life of a lost Duke. They plotted. This was not a time for respite, but a time to scheme and maneuver. The tentative alliances they maintained would be strained as each worked independently to usurp whatever shreds of power they could from the dead Duke.
Ahead, the crowd again bottlenecked, this time at the looming gate of the manor on the souther side of the avenue. True to the colors of the host, the walls of Lady Myrenas’s estate were constructed of a cream-painted, polished stone. Intricate bands of red steel were weaved into the decorative spikes that lined the top of the walls. Like the blood-coated spines of a sleeping dragon, they wrapped around the border of her property, causing sabotage to any who might seek ingress through means other than the front gate—a massive set of double doors crafted from pale wooden panels.
Presently, they were held ajar by a second contingent of guards, this time all bearing the cream and crimson of the Lady’s house. Inside, barely visible through the throng, a cadre of servants dressed in bleached white formal wear stood at rigid attention. A lone butler, his wizened face alternating between aggravation and false candor, directed the proceedings. Risens felt the man’s attention again shift off his person to Marlaine as he approached the official.
Correcting his dissatisfied scowl, he favored Risens with a look as genuine as a wolf promising the lamb it wouldn’t be lunch.
“Greetings, my Lord.” The butler offered a polite bow. “May I have the pleasure of your name so that the criers can announce your arrival?”
“Good evening, sir,” Risens replied, forcing an air of haughtiness into his tone. “I am Duke Marken Cortinerie, though I’m sure no introduction is necessary.”
The butler looked particularly appalled by the suggestion, though he regained his composure rapidly. “That will not do, sir. No, no, that will certainly not do. Your presence here is an honor the Lady has not yet enjoyed. I assure you she will be delighted to make your acquaintance.”
Risens gritted his teeth. He’d hoped to avoid the spectacle. He nodded. “Though the pomp is unnecessary, the honor is all mine.”
In his head, he scoffed at the idea that Lady Myrenas would be pleased to meet him. It was more likely she would rue the day he strode though her gates.
