Angelfire | The Whispering Wall #3

Twenty Three: Ultimatum

Not that Arlen had ever done a thing to deserve his sympathy. He eyed the network of streets radiating from the scratched-in square representing the beer hall, like a fat spider at the centre of a web. Marick's seat of power.

"You're starting that close to Marick's chair?" he asked, unable to keep a tremor from running through his body at the thought.

"This isn't Marick's chair." Arlen stabbed the square with a finger. "Well...it is at the moment. This is the Devils' ruling seat, always has been, so this is where everyone congregates. Trying to track everyone down individually will waste vast amounts of time." His finger slid across the page to another box. "This is Marick's domain. Anyone hanging about around here is an instant no-go."

Jordan had only ever been to Marick's house trussed-up and at swordpoint, and it would take just as much to get him there again. "Okay."

"You aren't to approach anyone alone," Arlen said. "You don't know anyone well enough, and sending my apprentice on a recruitment drive looks weak at any rate. You will be accompanying me to some meetings. To members who could tip either way."

He didn't like the sound of that. "Why me?"

"I would think that was damned obvious, kid." Arlen waved a dismissive hand. "Don't fill your breeches, you wouldn't have to do any talking. Just stand there and make them nervous."

The one thing you must never, ever give any of them control over is how you use your magic. Yddris's words from months before echoed through his head and made his stomach churn. Neither Cara nor I can protect you if you let it happen.

He was starting to wish he'd gone back home when he had the chance.

He was still churning misgivings over in his mind when Arlen finally let him go at some ungodly hour of the night. He had briefly considered staying over when he'd left Yddris's earlier in the evening, but looking at the spread on the table just made him feel sick, and he was suddenly finding making amends with Yddris was a far more appealing prospect. The Unspoken had warned him, months before, that this would happen. Sure, it was just standing by and looking threatening at the moment, but it wouldn't be long before Arlen started making requests. Then Jordan would have to start defending himself, and take whatever consequences came from refusing Nictaven's second most dangerous criminal. Arlen's appreciation of showing a spine probably didn't extend to outright disobedience.

His footsteps carried him faster when he could hear running water. He was nearing the bridge, and safety, where he could find a refuge in his painting, or sleep, or study. Just for a little while, until Arlen called on him again. He'd been a fool to come out.

As Marick's silhouette stepped out of a side alley one block from the bridge, a hysterical laugh bubbled up and caught in his throat, escaping as a choke.

"You're in a hurry." The Devil leader smiled and crossed his arms over his chest, every movement languid and predatory. "Somewhere to be?"

"I have a patrol first thing." It was a miracle he got anything out through the rush of static in his thoughts. "I'd forgotten when I came over and now it's late."

"I'm sure Arlen was pleased to see you, at any rate." It was hard to read Marick's expression in the dimness. A high moon shone overhead, so at least they weren't standing in pitch darkness. Ren wriggled in Jordan's hood, alerted by his unease. Her faint growl in his ear reassured him, brought down some of the panic building in his chest. "Do you have a moment, Calder? I won't keep you."

It wasn't a request. Jordan couldn't force his answer out, so instead he stepped forward. Marick inclined his head, and they walked side by side back down the alley the man had emerged from; Jordan realised with a chill that he must have, somehow, known that Jordan was coming. He checked the roofs impulsively, and found nothing above but the solemn face of the moon.