Book 2: Chapter 2 - Beneath the City

  Stir not murky waters if you know not the depth or the creatures that dwell within.

  - Bryan Davis.

  “All right, I’ll ready the men. You’ll need an escort. Knowing you, milady, we’ll be venturing headlong into peril,” Frest declared with a weary sigh, though concern glimmered in his eyes. He stood straight, hands clasped firmly at his back as though to steady himself.

  Seraphina regarded him with a faint, enigmatic smile. “No, Frest, that won’t be necessary. I need to travel quietly. A large group will only draw attention.”

  She fought to keep her composure, even as a shiver of dread slithered down her spine. In truth, she wanted no witnesses to what she must do next—it would be embarrassing enough without an audience.

  Frest’s brow knit with fresh worry. “Then whom do you intend to take, milady? And might I inquire as to our destination?”

  Seraphina’s smile widened, and for a moment, firelight danced in her eyes. “Why, Frest...it will be just you and me. Think of it as a date if that eases your mind,” she joked casually. “ You will meet me by the entrance in one turn of the glass.”

  Her words, though casually dropped, were sharper than any blade. Frest felt them slice through his practiced defenses in an instant. He had always assumed that years of banditry and survival had hardened him, leaving thick callouses where a more delicate heart once beat. Yet with a trite phrase, delivered with the indiscriminate power of a bomb dropped from upon high, Seraphina had him unraveled.

  Something both simple and profound took root in the depths of his chest—something that flouted the constraints of reason and possibility. After all, dreams need not need to abide by reality. And in that breathless moment, Frest realized that Seraphina’s words held a power over him.

  He found that he was afraid, but now, in a very different way.

  ***

  Unchaperoned, Seraphina would no doubt have drawn her mother’s ire if she were still within the confines of the Sariens Duchy. Yet here in Meridian, far from her mother, she allowed herself a small taste of freedom. Not wishing to risk being dragged under by the weight of her armor if she fell into the city’s waterways, the young noblewoman had elected to travel on foot to her destination.

  And, electing to save her feet, she wore a comfortable pair of soft-leather boots instead of armored sabatons and greaves.

  She and Frest navigated the bustling streets of Meridian, only rarely attracting curious glances. Like most large, prosperous cities, the residents here seemed more intent on their own affairs than the sight of a short-haired figure in polished steel. Truth be told, at a distance, Seraphina’s short hair gave her the appearance of a strikingly beautiful young man. A boy adventurer in the eyes of casual onlookers—though what they did not see was the conspicuous absence of an Adventurers’ Guild badge. Seraphina remained torn about joining that organization, knowing full well the secrets it kept under its polished veneer.

  “I hope you know where you are going, Lady Seraphina,” Frest muttered as they turned down a narrower street. “This, I believe, is the poorer part of town.”

  Of course, “poorer” in Meridian was still relative. Here, the buildings were just less immaculate, the facades a bit weatherworn, the people wearing clothes of slightly rougher cut. An undercurrent of thrift hung in the air, as if every resident labored to scrape by, even in a city that otherwise seemed to be so prosperous.

  Seraphina pursed her lips at the thought of living in such conditions. She would rather face a thousand scornful comments on the social media of her old world than call this place home. She steeled herself to see the chore through without further delay.

  “Why, Frest, we have arrived,” she announced, her tone clipped and impatient.

  Frest gave her a rogueish grin. “Fantastic, milady. You have the knack for taking me to the best of places.”

  In response, the girl merely snorted.

  Before them loomed a squat, forlorn building that seemed out of place in an affluent city such as Meridian. Its roof tiles were cracked and missing in places, some having slid halfway down before lodging in precarious positions. Boards sealed many of its windows. The wooden door, once grand judging by its faded carvings, was also boarded over. A faint smell of dampness lingered in the air, and the shadows clinging to the corners of the building gave it a sorrowful aura.

  Seraphina hesitated, eyeing the building with a mixture of distaste and reluctant determination. She glanced up and down the deserted street, confirming no one watched them. Then, with a soft, dismissive exhale, she raised her boot and kicked in the door. The lock gave way and the door opened inward.

  “Don’t think whoever owns this place would be pleased with that,” Frest said, deadpan.

  A single, withering look from Seraphina silenced him, though the corner of her mouth lifted ever so slightly. Together they slipped into the dark interior. The smell of decay and stale air assaulted their senses, and Seraphina winced as she inadvertently inhaled a cloud of dust.

  “The Thieves’ Guild owns this place, if you really must know,” she explained coldly, brushing dust off her breastplate. “One of their secret routes into the city. And close the door after you.”

  Doing his best to close what remained of the door, Frest grimaced, regretting he had ever asked. “I think, milady, that I really didn’t need to know that.” He was all too aware of the Guild’s reputation—and how they dealt with trespassers.

  Seraphina tossed her short hair and stood straighter. “Frest, don’t tell me you’re scared of a few rough sorts. Come along now. We don’t have all day. You brought what I requested?”

  If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  His first instinct was to protest, but one look at Seraphina’s imperious expression changed his mind. Instead, he mumbled, “Yes, milady,” and patted the satchel slung over his shoulder. He sometimes wondered if she lived in the same reality as everyone else; her nonchalance about confronting lethal enemies always left him speechless.

  “So…” He cleared his throat, mustering the courage to speak. “You knew this place was one of their hideouts, yet you still intended to—just break in?”

  Seraphina gave a cruelly sweet smile. “Is it a crime to rid the world of a few lowlife thugs, Frest? They are a group of thieves, are they not?” Her tone turned airy. “They will make for a splendid bit of experience. Consider it the will of the Goddess.” She paused, tapping an armored finger to her chin with mocking thoughtfulness. “Or perhaps it is noblesse oblige?”

  Frest shifted uncomfortably, trying to parse the true meaning behind her words. There was something odd to him in the way Seraphina had just spoken. “They are very, very serious people, milady,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Violently so.”

  “It’s not like you to be quite so timid,” she replied, sounding almost bored by his caution. “I would remind you that these criminals are ‘low-levels,’ as I see it. I shall gain in experience from dealing with them.” Seraphina’s eyes glinted with anticipation, though she frowned at the dust clinging to her fine new boots.

  He opened his mouth to reply, but the words refused to form. Her casual talk of ‘experience’ baffled him and the notion that she would treat a criminal syndicate as a mere minor annoyance was worrying. As if to punctuate the mood, Seraphina’s breath hitched in a sudden sneeze—a sharp, unladylike sound echoing off the bare walls. She straightened immediately afterward, raising her chin as though daring him to comment.

  She cast a sweeping look around the shadowy interior. Broken furniture littered the floor: a splintered table, a couple of rickety chairs, and a few empty crates cast eerie shapes in the gloom. Against the far wall stood a doorway draped with a sagging cloth that might have once served as a curtain. All around them, cobwebs and dust told the tale of a hideout forgotten—or perhaps just infrequently used.

  “The future Duchess of Sariens and the Queen of Aranthia or the Thieves’ Guild,” Seraphina mused, her voice flat and measured. “Which do you imagine holds greater power, temporal or otherwise?” She shot Frest a sideways glance. “As future Queen, it would be well within my remit to stamp out such criminality wherever I find it. A royal duty, if you will.”

  Frest just nodded, silently cursing himself for letting hope kindle in his heart. Of course, Seraphina was destined for a throne—far beyond his reach. The realization sent a pang of bitterness stabbing through his chest.

  He adjusted his grip on the satchel, trying not to let the shadows crowd his vision or the musty air choke his breath. Seraphina’s armor glinted with each measured step she took deeper into the darkness, and though worry gnawed at his nerves, he found himself following her without question. Such was the power she held over him—reluctant, determined, and impossibly confident all at once.

  Seraphina paused in the gloomy chamber, running a gloved fingertip along the dusty edge of a bookcase pressed against a mildewed wall. Despite the grime and decay, there was a curious gleam in her eye.

  “Ah, here it is,” she declared, a note of triumphant excitement creeping into her voice. “Just like in the game.”

  Frest looked at her askance, uncertain what she meant, but before he could question her, Seraphina simply pushed the bookcase aside with one hand as if it weighed nothing. The entire unit slid aside with a loud scrape, stirring up a cloud of dust and revealing a darkened passageway beyond. The scent of damp earth and stale air wafted out, cold against their faces.

  Seraphina raised a dainty hand in an armored glove. “Zajasite.”

  The former bandit responded at once, digging into his pack for the glowing Zajasite crystals. Attached to a chain, each gem glimmered like captive moonlight, and as he withdrew them, their blueish radiance danced across the walls. He handed one to Seraphina and then attached another to his own belt.

  Frest could not suppress a sigh. The value of a single shard of this quality was more than a skilled craftsman’s yearly income. It served as a stark reminder of how vast the gulf was between the nobility and ordinary folk—how casually Seraphina wielded wealth that could change a man’s life.

  Seraphina did not pause to admire the crystal. She inclined her head at the passage, speaking as if continuing an earlier conversation, “I believe that you might be confused about our purpose here, Frest?”

  He mustered his courage. “Our objective is to deal with the Thieves’ Guild presence in Meridian, yes?”

  “Not quite.” Her boots made a crunching sound on the loose debris beneath them as she led the way inside. “I need to get beneath the city. They’re in my path, and I doubt they’d simply allow me to stroll through.”

  Frest watched the narrow tunnel stretch before them. The passage seemed to climb oddly upward first—perhaps arching over some subterranean channel—before sloping down into the bowels of the city.

  “Surely you could’ve paid them off,” he ventured, pointing at the crystal at his hip, its glow casting long, flickering shadows. “One of these stones alone would’ve been payment enough.”

  She rounded on him, her eyes catching the glow in a way that made them look predatory. “Are you a dunce? I thought you were smarter than that. Do you honestly think they would allow someone who knows one of their secret routes to simply leave once their business was done?”

  Frest flinched at her words, the sharpness in her voice stinging more than he cared to admit. “They can be flexible,” he said weakly, remembering the Thieves’ Guild’s negotiable morality—thieves, yes, but not for the most part mindless butchers.

  “With their morals, perhaps,” Seraphina allowed, “but never their secrets.”

  Frest swallowed, recalling horror stories of the Guild’s wrath. “And what happens,” he asked carefully, “if they discover everything you’ve done here?”

  “It will be difficult for them to discover anything if they’re all dead, Frest,” she replied, and the simple practicality in her voice chilled him more than any shouted threat could have.

  She flicked a dismissive hand, turning her attention back to the passage. “Now, if your curiosity is satisfied, we have work to do. Come along.”

  Frest hefted his heavy crossbow, checking the tension on its string before following her. The walls closed in around them as the path sloped upward and then abruptly dropped into a set of crude, mossy stairs. Each step downward grew colder, the echo of their boots magnified by the cramped space. The flicker of Zajasite light illuminated slick stones and the occasional rodent scurrying away into cracks in the wall.

  They continued a while longer until Seraphina raised a finger to her lips.

  “Shhh, now. I think we are getting close,” she said softly, hearing the whisper of distant voices.

  Frest nodded, eyes narrowing.

  The pair advanced down the stairs at a more measured and stealthy pace.

  Soon, the murmur of voices became more distinct—rough, wary tones that echoed up the staircase. Around the last bend of the stairs would be the source of the voices. Seraphina smiled before giggling softly as a notification flashed across her inner vision.

  Her gaze burned with anticipation. A little perturbed, the new Knight shot a glance at her, his heart pounding in his chest.

  In that moment, Frest felt a swirl of emotions—fear, exasperation, and something darker: a nagging bitterness. She was destined for a throne, and he knew he was but a single, insignificant pawn on her grand board.

  So be it. He drew in a steadying breath, checked his weapons, and followed close behind her. Even pawns could be promoted.