The Lost Runes Saga [Epic Fantasy]

THIRTY-NINE

As soon as Vidar made it to the bottom of the stairs, Fjodor stood from a conversation he was having with a few other men sitting on boxes around the lantern.

"Vidar, you made it. I am in need of your help."

"Likewise," Vidar said. Following Fjodor's direction, he headed deeper into the cellar to sit in a corner, along with the thieves' guild leader. "Is it more rune craft teaching you need? Because I don't think we have enough time for that right now."

"No, this is something a little more serious."

"More serious than rune craft?" Vidar asked, forcing a smile and tapping his fingers on his knee. Alvarn was a captive of the rune scribes' guild. There was no time to waste. "I need help from someone skilled with opening locks."

"We have people like that," Fjodor said, "but I am going to need your help first with something very time-sensitive. There is a meeting of the guild leadership to discuss the unpleasantries we have been having."

"Tyv won't make it to that meeting," Vidar said.

Several men turned to look at him, but Fjodor just nodded. "Yes, I heard. That is the catalyst for this meeting, I'm sure. My hope is that the other factions will come to see that my suggestion is the best option moving forward, now that we have demonstrated what we are capable of."

Vidar stopped the tapping and instead squeezed the wooden staff lying across his lap. "I see."

"Ida sent word you need paint and painters."

"I do, but also about that project we discussed. The metal shapes. How is that progressing?"

Fjodor turned to scan the group of men down there. "Thorfinn, get over here and bring the bag."

A young man, about the same age as Vidar, with blond hair and a scowl that looked to be permanent, shuffled over, holding a cloth bag. Fjodor grabbed it out of his hand and waved him away. Opening it, he took out a short metal hilt. At the other end of it was the runic symbol for algiz, surrounded by a circle.

"The blacksmith took inspiration from a tool used for branding cattle," Fjodor said, handing it over. "Heat it up and then press it against whatever you want to mark."

Vidar took it, nodding as he turned it this way and that. "This is perfect. How fast can you make another?"

Fjodor took the rune-branding tool, scratched at his chin, and looked back to Thorfinn again. "Would have to commandeer the smith again, but it should be doable within a few hours. I could set it in motion right away, and it might even be finished by the time we return from our meeting."

Vidar had been nodding at Fjodor's encouraging words, but then he stopped and narrowed his eyes. "Our meeting? That's what you need? For me to come?"

"First of all, I need barrier runes. Then I need you with me, the man who assaulted one of the thieves' guild's leaders and killed him. My counterparts respect strength, if nothing else."

"You want me to be your bodyguard?" Vidar asked in disbelief. "I am not much of a fighter."

Fjodor raised an eyebrow. "I think you're selling yourself short."

"What about Ida? Shouldn't she come?"

"Better she stay hidden for now," Fjodor said. "Mikael and Sigmund, the men controlling the other factions of the guild, do not hold the same progressive views on women as I. They will see it as an insult if she comes, and all hell might break loose."

Vidar sighed. "Well, I guess that's fine, then. When is this meeting?"

Fjodor stood. "Knew I could count on you. We should leave right away if we are going to make it to Nordstan in time."

"Maybe you haven't noticed," Vidar said. "There is no getting into that place now. It's locked up tight."

"I have my ways," Fjodor said, patting Vidar's shoulder before giving it a squeeze and turning around. "We are leaving. Everyone, you have your tasks. Grab a barrier rune from Vidar before you leave. Let's get this done."

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Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Vidar soon realized why they'd met near the docks. A rowboat waited for them, bobbing on the gentle waves coming in from the sea.

"Are you sure about this?" he called to Fjodor.

"It is the only way inside at this point. The soldiers in my employ who could have snuck us in through a gate," he paused, then added, "were unfortunately killed by the dragon."

The boat rocked this way and that as people climbed in, shifting the distribution of weight. Vidar watched, staff clutched tight in his hands as the rim of the boat neared the surface of the water a little more each time one of the men added their bulk.

In the end, five of them crowded the boat while a sixth remained on the dock, releasing the ropes. Vidar watched the docks slipping away as two men heaved, moving the oars back and forth in the water. To take his mind off the deep darkness below, he went through the runes on his body, rejuvenating each of them in turn.

Sitting among the thieves gave him a bad feeling. Alvarn needed him, but here he was, gallivanting through some thief-filled adventure. While he did need their help, Vidar couldn't help but feel time slipping through his fingers, time he didn't have.

Thankfully, the ride over to the small docks in Nordstan didn't take long, and they disembarked while one of Fjodor's men spoke with a pair of soldiers who let them through after a few coins changed hands. The thief who had spoken with the soldiers stepped up to Fjodor and whispered in his ear.

"What did they say?" Vidar asked.

"Things are moving the way I want them to," Fjodor replied. "And they will open the gates come morning. We won't have to row back."

"Thank the fallen angels for that," Vidar muttered as he followed along, using his staff as a walking stick.

Soon thereafter, they reached a solid, squat stone building on the western edge of Nordstan. Vidar waited behind Fjodor, who gave a series of knocks on a heavy wooden door inlaid with iron. The door opened, and they were ushered inside into a large sitting room, where a round table took up most of the space. Lanterns burned along the walls, and heavy padded chairs were prepared, but only four of them, two of which were already occupied. As Fjodor grabbed one of the free chairs, Vidar took the other.

Muttered curses broke out among those standing behind the chairs, but it died down when the seated men waved their men back. Vidar gave a questioning glance to Fjodor to his left, who was having trouble keeping a smile from creeping onto his face.

"What's wrong?"

"That was Yallander's chair," Fjodor said. "And Tyv's after him."

"Oh," Vidar said, looking at the other two men. The one across from him was old and withered, bald but with a sense of strength still about him. His intense eyes burrowed beneath Vidar's skin. To Vidar's right sat a fat man with a pig-like nose and round cheeks, flushed red. The second man wore fine, red-colored clothes, tailored to fit his rotund frame. A cloak hung over his shoulder, embroidered with golden thread.

"Fitting, then," Vidar said. "Since I killed Tyv earlier this night."

A strange sort of exhaustion set into his bones at his own comment. He had been through so much since he last slept, he could barely remember it all. When had he last eaten? Or even had a drink of water? Hunger grabbed at him and all of a sudden, his stomach felt like an empty void, and he wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep. He pushed the thoughts away, forced the exhaustion back, and kept his face neutral as best he could.

"This is the man who broke every bone in our brother's body?" the old man asked.

Fjodor gestured to him. "Vidar, this is Sigmund." Then he pointed to the fat man. "And this is Mikael of Nordstan. We are not fraternal brothers, of course, but there was a closeness between us once, and even more so between our predecessors."

Vidar nodded and glared across the table. "I tore the building down over his head and repaid your brother for his threats against me, those I care about, and for the multiple assaults he ordered. And last but not least, for his trespassing into my domain."

Mikael let out a chortle that sounded far too pig-like for Vidar's liking. "He's got some stones, this little man. What is this domain he speaks of? Has he laid claim to Tyv's holdings?"

"He's talking about the damn sewers," Sigmund said, his lip pulled back in disgust. "It is a dumping ground for bodies best forgotten. You may keep it, young Vidar. We have bigger issues."

"Tyv's holdings are mine," Fjodor said.

"Preposterous," Sigmund spat, before collecting himself. "The lower city has always been divided in three. If you take his share, you will soon come for mine as well. I will not have it."

Mikael shook his head as well, his jowls jiggling. "It is out of the question, I'm afraid, Fjodor. You know it cannot be so. This fighting must end, so we may take shelter until this latest storm has unleashed its fury."

"You're going to hide from the dragons?" Vidar asked, voice laced with disbelief.

"What else would you have us do, sewer-dweller?" Mikael asked.

Vidar hesitated, then said, "Help me hold them back."

He hadn't planned on trying to recruit them to his cause, but their cowardice made anger boil up inside him, even as he knew they wouldn't accept. They were cowards in the end and only cared about one thing. Self-preservation. But asking forced them to say no, and maybe, just maybe, come to terms with how gutless they were.

"Nevertheless, it is mine by claim," Fjodor said, ignoring Vidar's request for help. "My associate dealt with Tyv on my behalf. We all know he was scum."

"Scum or not, he was our brother," Mikael said.

Fjodor slammed the palm of his hand down on the table. "He was no brother of mine!"

Sigmund did not look impressed at the outburst. "We are well aware of your ambitions, brother. It is the reason we find ourselves in this situation, with infighting amongst our own. Needless deaths and suffering just because you want a larger slice of the proverbial pie."

"No. That's not it," Fjodor said.

Vidar almost felt the cold anger rippling out from the man, saw the indignant fury creep into his eyes and knew then that the cold, calculating facade was just that, a mask. He'd made a mistake in coming here.

"Was it not you who began the arms race?" Mikael asked, now equally cold, his amused smile having slipped from his fat face. "All this nonsense with the runes. Just another grasping avenue for someone who does not know their place. It should've been you running Andersburg from the beginning. A terrified little rat lording over Rat Town."

Vidar struggled to follow the twists and turns of the conversation. There was history here, throwing everything the three men said out of context, but he was in no position to ask, and the time for talking looked to be over, anyway.

Fjodor stood and drew a short sword, pointing at his unimpressed counterparts. Everyone standing in the room drew their weapons together. Shouting broke out. Sigmund stood as well, jabbing a finger in the air as he shouted obscenities. Only Mikael and Vidar remained seated.

Mikael kept his gaze on Vidar, unfazed by the shouting match. "There is much gold to be had in Nordstan, Vidar, and I've heard you are a man motivated by coin. Why don't you come work for me instead?"