Chapter 32:

Chapter Twenty-Seven

A Whisper in Scarlet


Galen the Hollow looked up into the moonless sky, letting the freezing rain run down his face and into the soaked sheath of his blacks. After all this time, tonight would be the night. If he succeeded, the man he wanted, the sole reason he gave up everything for this empty shell of a life he now lived, would be dead. Or Galen would die trying, and none of it would matter anymore. As a matter of nervous habit, he pulled his sword from its sheath and inspected its gently curved length for any chips or imperfections.

“How many has it been, dear friend?”He asked aloud, thumbing the edge of its blade. “I honestly can’t even remember anymore.”

The silver blade stared mutely back at him by way of a reply, and he sighed.

“I don’t even know why I’m talking to you.” He said, rubbing his eyes. “I must be losing my mind.”

He looked down at it one last time, the faint blur of his reflection staring back at him in the darkness.

“One more. That’s all. One more night, and we’ll be finished. I promise.” He said, as much to himself as to the weapon in his hands. The sword, however, said nothing, and Galen slid it back into its sheath. “And yes, I mean it this time.”

He looked up at the large structure in the distance, the lights in its numerous windows twinkling faintly in the late night fog.

“I mean it.” He said again quietly, letting his voice vanish softly into the darkness as he set off, creeping through the tall grass towards the Vast estate.

The Vast estate, which was more of a fortress than a house, sat perched atop a peninsula of cliff overlooking the sea, with only a relatively narrow and steep pathway up the side of a slope for access. This pathway, of course, had half a dozen guards patrolling it in addition to those on the battlements and the gateway, and beyond the darkness there was nowhere to hide from the peering eyes of those watching the road. However, any other approach would require swimming through freezing-cold water in the middle of a storm just to climb up a couple hundred feet of rain-drenched cliff to even reach the walls of the estate. Being seen was worth the risk. Guards he could deal with. What was a few more corpses on the pile of his sins?

He made it halfway to the main gate before he was finally spotted. The man passed without a sound, the faint gurgle of his soul’s departure masked by the sound of rainfall. Galen left his body where it lay and continued onwards. Two more died together, their bodies nearly embracing as they fell in a crumpled heap off the cliff’s edge into the water below, shocked expressions on their faces as their heads rolled after them.

Despite all of this, it didn’t seem as though any alarm had been raised. He made it to the base of the estate’s outer wall with no further interruptions, and sought refuge in a pool of shadow near its base as he watched the movement of the patrolling guards on the wall top.

There were four of them on this section, in criss-crossing and overlapping pairs that, to their credit, left him little opportunity to make it to the top without being spotted by at least one of them. That left him only two options- find a way to draw some of them away from this section, or make a move for it anyways, and hope he was quick enough to get by without being noticed.

Unfortunately for Galen, he wasn’t given a chance to make a choice.

As if on cue, someone shouted from the gatehouse, then another, and within moments a warning bell rang out with a heavy THON THON THON as the garrison flew into activity. Large lumenite spotlamps flared to life all around the outer perimeter wall, drenching every bit of the ground around it, including where he was hiding, into garish mock daylight.

Well, so much for doing this quietly.

Galen leapt up onto the wall and scrambled to the top in a flurry of limbs, his sword cutting down the first guard before the man even realized what was happening. The other three, however, were ready for him. They attacked in unison, one calling for support as the others came at him simultaneously, their swords cutting wide arcs through the pouring rain. Galen ducked and twisted, narrowly avoiding one strike and bringing his blade around to parry the other. He followed through with the momentum of his movement so that he ended up behind one of the attackers. With a swift kick, he sent the man flying off the battlements into the cobblestone some forty feet below where he hit the ground with a sickening crunch.

Galen turned in time to find the third guard coming at him with a pistol in one hand and a sword in the other, the barrel of the gun aimed directly at his center mass. Thinking fast, Galen pumped himself with Thaumaturgy and leapt at the man. The two of them crashed into each other, and Galen grabbed the man’s gun arm, folding it in half with one magic-enhanced jerk. The guard wailed and stumbled as Galen pulled the pistol free of the man’s ruined arm and threw the guard over the wall to the sea below. The last remaining guard had just enough time to realize what was happening as Galen used the flintlock in his hand to turn the man’s head into mist.

The guards on the wall dealt with, Galen ran down its length away from the droning bell and the cries of the other guards and sellswords watching the estate. There were easily dozens, maybe even a hundred or more, by the sound of it. He wasn’t sure even he could take that many, and he was not about to stick around to find out. He jumped from the top of the battlements, crossing thirty or so feet in an arcing leap and grabbing the wall of the main estate house, his Thaumaturgy-enhanced grip tearing into the stone like it was pottery as he slowed his fall to a stop. Then, with half a dozen lunging jumps, he was on the roof.

By now the ecstasy was fully in control of him, and for once in his entire life, he was going to let it have him. There was a lead-glass skylight ahead that seemed to overlook some sort of grand ballroom, and he dove through it without a thought, feeling the tile he landed on some thirty feet below shatter beneath his feet as glass shards and rain fell from the broken panes above.

Judging by the rapidly approaching cries from the corridor to his right, at least some of the guards were already inside and coming his way. With another surge of magic, he commanded the support pillars at the end of the passageway to fold inwards. With a deafening roar of shattering stone, the end of the hall collapsed, seemingly bringing down the floor sections directly above it as well. That should keep them away, for the time being. Galen looked up at the grand staircase at the other side of the room, and made for it, his sword dripping crimson onto the cream-colored carpet as he started up the steps.

Now, where are you hiding, Vast?

Galen the Hollow took the carpeted steps two at a time in bounding strides before leaping onto the upper balcony and smashing through the locked double doors at the top. This dumped him into a quiet, lamplit hallway, lined on both sides by gilt-framed paintings and large fabric tapestries. His blood-stained sword at his side, he stalked its length, grinning viciously at all the dour noble portraits looking at him with disdain. There were no doors along the hallway’s length, and it emptied into a smaller ballroom. The room was lined on its four sides with plush carpet while its center was comprised of layered geometric circles of colored porcelain tile that gave the impression of a cream and forest green bullseye. Galen stepped into the middle of the ballroom floor.

Vast! Show yourself! I know you’re here somewhere, you coward!” He called out.

There was no reply. Looking around the space, his eyes flicked from one door to the next until they settled on one that seemed suspiciously less ornate than the rest. He smiled. Most people, even most nobles, probably wouldn’t have picked out the difference, but he knew better. Much like so many other little tricks used by those in power to keep themselves safe, they weren’t meant to be noticed. They were simply designed in such a way as to make other paths seem more interesting, or more desirable, or to otherwise dissuade unwanted intruders from finding what they were looking for. After all, what self-respecting lord would intentionally have the door to their private wing look like the entrance to the servant’s quarters?

The answer, he’d come to learn, was all of the smart ones. He crossed the room, and reached for the handle.

“That’s far enough.” A voice called out from behind him.

Galen froze. Then laughed.

“Well, it certainly took you long enough to catch up.” He said, turning to face the voice.

A young man stood in the center of the ballroom, a bared rapier in one hand and a flintlock in the other. He was dressed like a noble, all fine blue silk and golden filigree and sharp features. The only thing strange about him was that, despite his obvious youth, his hair was already well on its way to grey. The man leveled the pistol at Galen, his grey eyes hard in the lamplight.

“Galen Russo, I presume.” He said.

“That’s me.” Galen said, grinning crookedly. “What can I do for you?”

“You are under arrest for the murders of nearly two dozen citizens of the Hieracracy, destruction of countless gilders worth of private property, trespassing on the property of a member of the Grand Court, and intention to murder his Highness the Black Prince.” The man said. “Surrender now, and I will ensure the constabulary gives you a painless execution.”

“Only two dozen?” Galen said. “Oh come now! I deserve credit for at least five times that number!”

The young man’s expression did not waver, and Galen snorted.

“I’m acting within the statutes of the Grand Court, under subsection three-oh-nine of Hieracratic law that permits Shikari to act as law-independent agents when taking actions that benefit the good of the nation or the people generally.” He said. “So swive off and leave me to my work.”

The young man’s expression hardened.

“You honestly expect me to believe that you murdering half a dozen members of nobility including the crown prince himself is somehow in the best interest of the nation?” He scoffed.

“No. I expect you to believe that a rapist and a murderer and everyone who helped him dying at the end of this sword is in the best interest of the nation.” Galen said, the humor falling from his face. “Now, are you going to let me have my justice, or do I need to send you to hell as well?”

The man smiled humorlessly.

“You can certainly try.” He said, clicking the hammer on his pistol.

Galen threw himself to the floor as sent a Thaumaturgic command. The man pulled the trigger on his pistol, but instead of firing, it exploded in his hand, sending a shower of shrapnel across the floor. The man cursed, thrusting his now-bleeding hand into a pocket of his waistcoat. He charged Galen, thrusting at his heart with his rapier. The attack was so quick that even magically enhancing himself was not enough to get Galen’s body fully out of the way in time. The edge of the man’s sword pierced the chest of Galen’s blacks and grazed a long bloody line across his ribs. Galen growled at the pain, snapping his sword around at lightning speed. He slapped the rapier away, following through with a cut that should have cut the man in half. To his surprise, it caught nothing but fabric as it rent the front of the man’s waistcoat.

They clashed several more times in quick succession, each of them probing the other’s defenses with a series of impossibly fast cuts, thrusts, and parries. This was the hardest Galen had ever had to try in as long as he could remember. The man’s fencing form was textbook perfect, each flourish, strike and riposte immaculate, and it took every bit of Galen’s effort to not end up on the wrong side of one of them. However, the man had a single flaw. He clearly expected and was used to a formal fight. That gave Galen an opening once he recognized it, and as soon as he saw a chance to exploit it, he took it.

The grey-haired man drove his blade forward in a deep lunge, seeking to skewer Galen through the stomach. Anticipating the strike, Galen dove around the man’s blade, but instead of following through with a cut of his own, he twisted and kicked the man’s legs out from underneath him. He tumbled to the ground, and Galen was on him in an instant. The two tumbled and grappled over top of one another as the man tried to throw him off, but Galen would not be deterred. He finally ended up on top of the man, his arms pinned beneath Galen’s knees.

Galen looked down at the man, whose face was twisted into a mask of impotent fury.

“I want you to know that one day, you will be thankful for what I am going to do here. Call it a crime if you want. But I do what I am doing for good. I hope one day you can see that.” Galen said, before knocking the man unconscious with the pommel of his sword.