25 Reward for a witness

Korther gave me no further explanation, and asked me to follow him down the stairs. After giving my companions a placating pout, I went out behind him. All that could be heard was the sound of boots on the stairs. When we reached the first floor, the kap whispered orders to his companions and pointed to an ajar door. I went in. It was a sort of office, relatively empty. A few moments later, Korther came in, alone. And he handed me a bottle.

“Swallow this at once, it will do you a lot of good.”

As I looked at him, puzzled, he insisted, impatient:

“Swallow.”

I accepted the bottle and brought it to my lips. I looked the kap in the eye and said to myself, Trust him, Mor-eldal, if he had wanted to kill you he could have stabbed you. I emptied the bottle. It tasted like the devil. I gagged and was about to give it all back, but Korther helped me to hold it in by handing me a glass of water. Water! I drank it all, avidly. Then I poured myself another drink from the pitcher. When I left the glass empty, I suddenly felt dizzy. I staggered and stumbled, and Korther helped me to the chair.

“All right. Don’t worry, the dizziness passes quickly,” he told me. “I guess you can already guess what it was. Some call it the anti-magic potion. It inhibited your energy stem almost completely, and in theory, now you should be unable to cast any kind of spell, and for a good while.” He glanced at my inanimate right hand and nodded to himself before smiling at me. “It seems that it works.”

I looked back at him in horror, then down at my still hand, and shakily squeezed it with my left. I felt absolutely nothing. Not even a bit of mortic energy. And Korther was still smiling, amused. He had left me helpless and crippled, and that damn man was smiling! I didn’t utter a word. If I had, I should probably have let out a loud “Go to hell, isturbag”. But I swallowed my bad mood. Korther sat on the other side of the desk and put his hands on it, twiddling his thumbs.

“You need not worry about your secret,” he declared. “The White Wolf would never dare tell anyone that his former kap had dealings with someone like you, and I convinced him that you had not been able to kill Frashluc with your magic. Darys, the son, does not know that you were there locked up under his roof, and anyway, the man has lost all support and will never undertake anything with his own hands. The grandson believes it was an accident, or so he told my daughter. In conclusion, no one is accusing you of anything, lad. Except the Black Daggers, perhaps.”

I opened my mouth. Then closed it. I swallowed. And I asked:

“Who’s the White Wolf?”

Korther cleared his throat, amused.

“Jarvik, the Albino, the White Wolf, Frashluc’s second in command. The new big kap of the Cats. He’s not a bad guy, and for that very reason, I don’t think he’ll get as much support as his predecessor. Anyway, we’ll see. Now, lad, you’re going to listen to what I’m about to say.”

He leaned over the table to bring his face close to mine, he assessed me with his eyes, and finally he said briskly:

“Draen Hilemplert, Ashig Malaxalra, Mor-eldal, or whatever you want me to call you: I’m fed up with you. No sooner do you do something praiseworthy than the next day—no, rather, the next minute— you make me want to break my vows as a peaceful thief and send you to hell.” There was a terrible silence. “And, yet,” he resumed, “you’re a good student, you’re not a bad boy, your intentions are always good, I think you’re just an impulsive. And impulsive people never make good thieves. Therefore, I advise you to give up the profession and hand over that magic key the vampire gave you.”

He held out a hand, indicating to me that what he was demanding more than advising. I moistened my lips.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.”

Korther smashed his fist against the table, and I flinched slightly, but I did not take my eyes off his elfocan face.

“That’s the kind of reaction that infuriates me about you, lad,” he hissed at me. “Among other things.”

I gritted my teeth.

“I know you have that magara, and I could take it away by force,” Korther pointed out to me.

I glared at him. I felt hurt by his words and, at the same time, sad, irritated, and with an incomprehensible desire that Korther should be angry with me.

“Well, do it, then. C’mon. Search me. See if you can find it,” I challenged him.

Korther did not hesitate. He got up, went to the door, and asked another Black Dagger to search me. Because he was obviously too much of a nail-pincher to stoop to such tasks. I saw him arch his eyebrows when he discovered the nearly fifteen siatos I had, he remained unmoved when he saw the rodaria twig, and he nodded when the Black Dagger tried to take the collars off me and I backed away.

“You asked for it, lad.”

And he made a gesture. The Black Dagger grabbed me, and with a useless hand, I could do nothing but let my pendants be stolen.

“Thank you, Devon. You can leave,” Korther gestured to his companion.

The Black Dagger left, commenting only:

“Nice amount of money.”

When the door closed and we were left alone again, Korther examined Azlaria’s amulet curiously, then the music necklace. He raised an index finger and smiled.

“Ah.”

He shook the pipes of the little flute and finally discovered the nail. Along with Arik’s magic key. I had kept quiet and stuck to the wall, but I reacted when he touched the key. I protested:

“Arik gave it to me. It’s mine.”

Korther did not answer. He walked around the desk, returned to his seat, and concentrated on examining both the wand and Azlaria’s amulet. The silence continued. The kap seemed to have forgotten the job he wanted to give me. He wasn’t going to steal Azlaria’s amulet too, was he? Because if he did that, if he did that… If he did, then what? I couldn’t do anything. I was just a damned impulsive gwak assassin, nothing more.

My stomach hurt so much that I had to sit down on the floor and bury my face between my knees, stifling my sorrow. I sat there for a long time, almost completely silent. Korther said nothing to me. He must have been fed up with my whining, too. Surely he was more interested in the magaras he was examining than in this weeping copper creature huddled in the corner of the room.

And yet, I thought, yet he had thought I could do a job for him.

After another silence, during which I calmed down, I wiped my eyes and looked up to see Korther still very focused on Azlaria’s amulet. I got up and sat down on the chair in front of him before saying:

“My master gave it to me.”

Korther opened his eyes, looked at me and smiled slightly.

“And I suppose it’s yours too, then.”

I held his gaze but did not answer. Korther pouted thoughtfully and handed me Azlaria’s amulet, the music necklace, and the other necklaces: the ferilompard bone necklace and the one I’d made from a simple rope and hazelnut shells. After a moment’s hesitation, I put them all back on. I did not reach for the magic key or the iron nail. I didn’t dare. Nor did I reach for the small mound of coins I had pinched from the clothing store. I did, however, retrieve my rodaria twig, and though it was already very chewy, I stuck one end in my mouth to chew it two or three times before I felt the hunger subside a little. Then I put the twig away and said:

“I am ragingly sorry, Korther. I want to help you. I swear it’s true. I nabbed the Solance. And I did it well, didn’t I? All you have to do is tell me what to do. And I’ll do it right.”

I fell silent as Korther shook his head.

“No, lad. You’ve gone too far. And I don’t think this life of thievery suits you. You’d end up dead before your time. And that would be a shame.”

I looked down to hide my disappointment. The life of a thief didn’t suit me? Well, what kind of life suited me then? The life of being locked up in a youth centre for years far from my comrades? In that case, I would rather leave Estergat with my cronies, Little Wolf, and Rogan, and we would go far away, I don’t know, to Veliria, to Kitra, to the valley, to the Communities of Eshingra to see my master, to sail on the ocean!

Korther interrupted my inner outburst.

“However, I’m still going to give you one last job, lad.”

I looked up attentively, as if to say: I will do anything to prove to you that I am not a traitor. Well, I was a traitor, but I wanted to prove to him that I wasn’t a malicious traitor. Uh, was there such a thing as a benevolent traitor? Gosh, well, what did I know…

Korther interrupted my thoughts again by saying:

“In two hours, at one o’clock in the afternoon, a man dressed in red, with the uniform of the National Guard, will come out of the Capitol. You will go with him and follow him wherever he leads you. He will take you into a room where you will meet one or more gentlemen, or ladies,” he observed. “And you shall tell them this, lad: I have seen an earth dragon. Do you think you are capable of doing that?”

I frowned at his slightly mocking look.

“Natural,” I said. “But…what do I have to steal?”

Korther rolled his eyes.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. If you steal anything, I’ll order you to have your hand cut off, lad. The right one. The only thing you have to do is tell them that it was the earth dragon that actually opened the tunnel to the Underground. Not the Black Daggers. Not the ones in Yadibia. The earth dragon. It sounds stupid like that, but it’s important. They’ll ask you questions about what you saw, and you’ll tell them. If they’re smart enough, they won’t ask you about the Black Daggers. If they do, you say you know nothing. And, certainly, I bet a thousand siatos that they know more than you. So? Are you willing to do it?”

I found the work both disappointing and worrying. Disappointing because, blasthell, I was hoping to have the opportunity to prove to Korther that I was capable of being a good Black Dagger. And bam, he gave me a simple job as a witness and messenger. Blasthell. I nodded.

“Yes,” I said cheerfully. “It’ll be a piece of cake.”

Korther smiled.

“Yet you’re the only one who can do it, considering you’re the only one who’s seen that dragon. And, thanks to you, Arkolda and Yadibia may be starting diplomatic relations on the right foot,” he announced as he stood up. “All thanks to the testimony of a Survivor. Does the job looks nicer now? I’ve given you a meeting with the most influential people in Estergat, lad. Me aside.”

His words and joking expression brought a smile to my face. I stood up too.

“I’ll tell them everything I know about the dragon. Word of a gwak Cat.”

Korther nodded, satisfied, and then he frowned.

“Fine, but don’t tell any lies to those ‘nail-pinchers’ just to show off, eh?”

I pouted as if he had just caught me red-handed.

“No, sir. Ah, sir.”

“What?”

“Can I…? I mean, my comrades are free to go, right? And Arik too?”

Korther seemed to think about it for a bit before saying:

“That vampire… shouldn’t stay in Estergat. But, whatever he does, he will need help. And I’m prepared to offer him some. Tell him that. Tell him that he is free. But that, if he wishes, he may stay here.”

I opened my eyes wide, stunned.

“You want to make him a Black Dagger?”

I tried to swallow my jealousy, to no avail. Why on earth was Arik going to be able to be a Black Dagger and not me? Korther looked at me with some mockery.

“It is a proposal, nothing more. On the other hand, I recommend that you leave your master’s collar with one of your friends before you go to the Capitol. There, they will search you for sure. And I, if I were you, would also leave the rodaria. It wouldn’t give, uh, a good impression. Besides, you’d better quit it forever.”

I nodded and looked apologetic.

“It’s ’cause sometimes hunger strikes.”

Korther smiled, perhaps because of the way I complained. He took several coins and handed them to me.

“I guess that will solve the problem. I’m not giving you the rest, because if it’s to spend it on rodaria, it’s not worth it. Maybe you want me to give you another piece of advice before you go away forever, lad.”

The “forever” caused me a deep unease, and I looked at him as if the Black Dagger kap was abandoning me in the middle of an unknown wood.

“What advice?” I asked, very attentively.

Korther stopped in front of me, glanced at my still useless hand, and said:

“Think before you act. It will save you a lot of trouble.”

He gestured quietly to the door, inviting me out. I took a few steps towards it, embarrassed, frantically searching for an answer. Finally, I answered:

“My master used to tell me that too. But it doesn’t work.”

Korther smiled, and his devilish eyes sparkled.

“Advice doesn’t work by itself if you don’t take it, lad. Good luck and don’t come back.”

Damn. I had said a slugbonery. Was I going to go away like that, leaving him with an image of a scaluftardy gwak? I was already reaching for the door handle when I turned back and said:

“Sir, do you like music?”

Korther blinked in surprise.

“Who doesn’t?” he replied.

I bit my lip, hopeful.

“Right. Then, let me tell you. If you want me to sing something, one day, whenever you want, well, I’ll come and sing it for you. People say I’m good at bawling. It’s the only thing I know how to do. I know a lot of songs. I’ve even impressed Yarras, and believe me, that guy knows a lot of songs because he’s always lazing around…”

I fell silent. Korther had put his hands in his pockets, highly amused.

“I’ll think about it, lad,” he assured. “You should become a carnival jester, you know? No offense meant. And, now, run along and don’t forget: one o’clock, in front of the Capitol. So you don’t get there late, Devon will lead you there.”

He opened the door himself and said:

“By the way, the cloak. Take it off. It’s Lowen’s, and it has his initials on it. I don’t want that boy to get into any more trouble because of you. And now go and go get your friends—Devon! Make sure he doesn’t miss the meeting.”

The Black Dagger guarding the door nodded, and I hurried away up the stairs, anxious to free my companions from that cursed room. As I reached the third floor, I heard Korther’s voice talking downstairs with Devon. I sighed, convinced that Korther thought I was an isturbagged gwak. Well, at least he had acknowledged that what I had done was with good intentions. That was something.

But I couldn’t help feeling sad that I had been expelled from the Brotherhood. I sighed again, shrugged my shoulders, and thought that one could not have many kaps, and that I had enough with Swift. So I withdrew the bar with my left hand, opened the door, and cheerfully proclaimed:

“Comrades, we’re free!”

Korther was right: they didn’t let me in to see the gentlemen and ladies of the meeting without searching me thoroughly first. Still, when they saw me appear in the luxurious room, the nail-pinchers couldn’t avoid making mocking comments. “A kid? The Black Daggers are sending us a kid as a witness? Admirable!” one said. “What effrontery!” said another. And damn, I had told Korther that my job would be a piece of cake, but now it didn’t seem so. Not in the face of the ten or so nail-pinchers who were watching me, some with irritated disappointment, others with mockery, others with mercy. A lady in a big red dress with a very pretty face came up and held out her hand. I stiffened, frightened, but she only touched my cheek gently.

“Kid. You came to tell us something, didn’t you?”

I felt an energy vibration, and I flinched. A magician. Hell, she was a magician! Well, of course, I thought. I knew her. She was the Supreme Magician of the Conservatory. I’d seen her more than once walking the halls of that great bastion as I wandered aimlessly or delivered messages from Miroki Fal. I looked into her eyes—black eyes that troubled me almost as much as the Blue One—and nodded. My heart was beating wildly. My instincts were telling me: run, leg it, those powerful nail-pinchers in front of you are gonna crush you!

But I had given my word to Korther. So I took a deep breath and said:

“I saw an earth dragon. It opened the tunnel to the Underground.”

My statement generated a wave of comments. Now no one was paying any attention to me. No, they were. The Supreme Magician was still looking at me. She raised her hand again, and I tried not to back away. She touched my forehead, and I felt energy. Brejic energy? Likely.

“Tell us more about this dragon,” she ordered me.

At once, the conversation died down, and the eyes returned to me. I tried to calm myself, swallowed, and said:

“It came in when I was snoozing at the bottom of the tunnel. Everything started moving, and rocks were falling. My lantern broke, and I nearly popped off. And that’s when I saw it.”

“The dragon? And what did he do?” the magician encouraged me.

“He opened his mouth and he picked up a rock, and then he closed his jaws and he gobbled it,” I related. “And then he left.”

“When did this happen?”

I calculated and said:

“A moon ago.”

In fact, it had been exactly one moon: we were already on the fourth Kindday of the Straw Moon.

“How did you see the dragon if the lantern had broken?” another nail-pincher questioned.

I frowned. Oh, dear. That’s right, how had I seen it? Then, thanks spirits, I remembered.

“Bugs,” I explained. “He had a bunch of light bugs on his scales. They were yellow. The scales were. Well, yellow but all full of dirt. And it stank, but terrible, like the ash falling from the sky, only worse.” I fell silent and looked at the magician, worried, “I don’t know any more.”

I could still feel her cold hand on my forehead. Now I was almost comforted by it, because I thought to myself: the Celmist knows a spell to find out if I’m telling the truth, so she’ll see that I’m not lying. Well, I wasn’t sure: I still remembered how Frashluc had tricked me with his amulet of truth. But… now I wasn’t standing in front of Frashluc, I was standing in front of none other than Arkolda’s Supreme Magician.

“And which way did he go?” a voice asked. “Up or down?”

I looked for the person who had spoken, and could not find him, but still I made an I-don’t-know pout.

“To… to the right. I think. I don’t know. When he moved, afterwards, I couldn’t see him.”

“Didn’t you go to see?” another asked, surprised.

“See?” I repeated. “No. I couldn’t see anything. The rocks fell on me. I got stuck. The ancestors helped me, or I would have been buried forever.”

“The Black Daggers, you mean,” said another with a clearing of the throat; a deputy, I think—I had already seen his face in the papers.

I looked back at him as if to say: I won’t answer that. I saw him sigh and approach with his stick, saying:

“According to the note that this… Korther passed us, you don’t belong to the brotherhood. Is that true?”

I pressed my lips together. Blasthell. I shook my head.

“You don’t belong to the brotherhood,” the deputy insisted.

“No, sir,” I confirmed at last with a certain melancholy.

“Mm. So what were you doing in that tunnel?” I remained silent. He resumed, “Why is it that Korther absolutely does not want us to accuse those in Yadibia of opening a tunnel to the Underground in the middle of the city?”

He almost seemed to ask this question more of the others than of me. However, this time, I broke the silence by saying:

“It was the dragon who opened the tunnel. He’s the one who opened it for real.”

The deputy exchanged a glance with the Supreme Magician and nodded.

“I believe you. Though it’s not particularly reassuring to think we have earth dragons under the Rock.” Several present commented in turn. The deputy played with his staff for a moment before turning his attention back to me and asking, “Tell me, do you have parents, son?”

“I don’t,” I replied. And I shuddered as I felt a slight energy discharge. I looked at the sorceress with fear. Devils, blasthell. Was it so obvious that I was lying? I corrected with a sigh, “I do.”

“Mm. Are they Black Daggers?”

I couldn’t help but snort.

“No.”

The nail-pincher consulted the Supreme Magician again before making a curt gesture with his head.

“We thank you for your testimony, young man. I assume you understand that we have to put you under surveillance for a while until your parents come to pick you up. You don’t have to worry: it’s just a routine measure. Please, guards, take him away and notify his family,” the nail-pincher ordered.

As the sorceress stepped aside and a guard grabbed my arm, I could not contain a low:

“Blasthell.”

So this is how they rewarded my testimony? By throwing me in the hole? Good mother. I followed the fly to the exit, thinking: there you are, Mor-eldal, Korther has sent you to prison. He did it on purpose. He knew. He knew the nail-pinchers wouldn’t let me go like that.

“Blasthell,” I repeated, higher.

I received a frown from one of the flies that guided me through the corridors, and I gave him an incensed pout, repeating in a bad mood:

“Blasthell.”

“Will you shut up, you foulmouthed brat?” the fly snorted.

He gave me a smack on the head when he saw that I was looking at him defiantly, and he dragged me out of the Capitol to the central police station cell. I was just beginning to be able to move my right hand a little: I was in no condition to leg it with two flies each clutching an arm. So I arrived at the hole safe and sound. It turned out that one of the flies at the police station recognized me and identified me as Draen Hilemplert. I confirmed between my teeth. And they put me in the cell. And how surprised I was when, saying ayo to my new and numerous company—apparently there had been protests and large arrests—I saw a young gwak with an extremely familiar face sitting on the back bench. We looked at each other with widened eyes.

“Diver?” I murmured in amazement.

“Good mother,” he gasped, rising slowly to his feet. “Good mother, Sharpy, but I thought they killed you!”