The King's Messenger

Chapter 2

 It was awe and fear that parted the throngs of people for Messenger. He always noted it, even as he was deep in thought as he made for the docks. In this part of the city, it was more than possible that the leyta refinery dealt with flash under the table; flash producers would be zealous in their protection of the trade. If that were the case... Lias's prospects were not good. At worst, he could at least bring them closure of finding what happened to him.

He smelled the refinery before he saw it, the distinct, herbal smell of leyta cutting through the salty breeze. Messenger, for once, was grateful for his mask; he disliked the smell. Unfortunately, it did prevent him from holding his nose. Thankfully, it wasn't so bad that he was too tempted to do just that.

The refinery was built of wood. Unwise, that; there was sure to be fires inside, to heat the leyta for the process. If they got out of hand, the building would go up like a match, dried by the constant wind, which would further spread it beyond just the refinery.

Messenger pushed through the doors; inside, it was significantly hotter than the already warm summer day, with no benefit of the breeze. Men and women alike worked prepping stalks, stirring massive pots, and pressing plant pulp. Supervisors, distinct through their notable lack of work, were interspersed throughout the refinery, shouting degradations and commands at the toiling laborers.

Activity began to cease as workers and supervisors alike began noticing Messenger. The supervisors looked at him, stunned, before yelling at the workers to get back on task. Activity resumed, but more subdued.

A few supervisors congregated as they walked to meet Messenger. Gesturing vividly but discussing too quietly for Messenger to hear, three of the supervisors dispersed from the group, leaving only two to greet Messenger.

"What an incredible surprise!" the taller one announced, spreading his arms. "What could possibly have brought one of the king's own Messengers here?"

"I'm looking for a man who works here. Lias," Messenger said.

The leading supervisor glanced to the other. "Lias? That name doesn't sound familiar. Are you sure this is the right place?"

Messenger looked around at the bent-backed workers. They all shared the same downtrodden, tired look with Kalis.

"I'm sure," he said.

The supervisor scratched the back of his head. "I suppose we can check the employment records, if you wish it, Lord Messenger."

"That would be excellent."

"Follow me, then. The offices are over back. Rikard, keep an eye on the floor," he said to the other supervisor.

Two other supervisors fell in line with Messenger and the man he'd been speaking with as he led Messenger to the office. They conferred in low voices while Messenger walked behind them.

"If you don't mind me asking, Lord Messenger, what would a man like you be doing looking for the kind of man who works here?" asked the same supervisor, who was beginning to look like a leader.

"I'm trying to find a message," he said vaguely.

"Find one? You weren't sent here, then? Just here of your own accord?"

"That's right," Messenger said warily. "I've found the beginnings of a message. I was hoping to fill it out before bringing it to the king."

"I see, I see," the leader said, nodding. "I thought it odd, myself, that the king would send you here, to the bottom of the barrel," he said, emphasizing those last few words ever so slightly. "But if he didn't send you, it makes more sense. Though I'm still not sure why a man like you is here."

"That's alright," Messenger said.

They stopped in front of a door. The leader took time to take a torch and dip it in a nearby fire used to boil leyta. He opened the door and started down a set of stairs, lighting the way forward.

Shit, Messenger thought. He waited for the other supervisors, both brutish-looking men, to go in. One did so, but the other waved him forward.

"After you, Lord," he said gruffly. Messenger weighed his options. This clearly wasn't headed to an office. The floor was filled with supervisors who, thanks to the other one's departure, were likely all on alert.

The torch wielder paused on the stairs. "Is something wrong, Lord Messenger?" he asked. Not a hint that anything was wrong in his voice.

"No, nothing," Messenger said. If worse came to worst, it wasn't a significant problem for Messenger.

If worst somehow came to even worse, well... it was almost time to check in with the prince. He would be fine, given that they didn't take the pendant that swung under his white uniform, a small, cloudy crystal with a gold point.

He stepped into the stairwell, sensing the third supervisor enter behind him, closing the door, boxing him in. And there it was, the other unspoken threat. The walls were close, too close, getting closer every second- but no. Messenger knew they weren't closing in, not really, but it didn't stop his heart from racing, from his breath quickening, from his hands trembling. Sweat beaded under his mask, and he forced his breathing to slow. It was a staircase. This one just happened to be narrower and darker than most, but there was still light and room to breathe. His heartbeat slowed, just barely.

Messenger, as casually as he could, laid a hand on the hilt of his shortsword. The sheath was ornamental. The blade was not. Realistically, however, on this narrow staircase, walled in on both sides, even his shortsword would be unwieldy.

"You came at the perfect time," the first supervisor said. As though commanded, supervisors two and three came at Messenger from in front and behind. Supervisor three wrapped an arm around Messenger's throat and squeezed aggressively. Supervisor two turned, a knife suddenly in hand, and plunged it toward Messenger's chest. He barely managed to unsheathe his shortsword in time to block it, the knife glancing off the blade harmlessly. In response, supervisor three brutally kicked in the back of Messenger's knee, forcing it to give. Messenger lost his footing, only worsening the pressure around his neck. With his free hand, he tried to pry away the man's chokehold, slashing behind him with the other. His shortsword clanged against the wall the first try, but the second, more of a jabbing strike, landed in something fleshy. His assailant grunted, but stayed standing, still holding Messenger. The adrenaline forced Messenger through his air quicker than normal; he would run out soon.

Supervisor two punched Messenger in the jaw with a vicious hook while his hands were occupied. Messenger's head jerked to the side, jaw throbbing angrily, and the world went black for a moment. When he came to an instant later, a dark haze still clouded his vision.

"Don't play around," the first supervisor snapped. "This is a Messenger; just kill him quick. We need to get rid of him. Now."

The second supervisor grunted his assent and drove the knife toward Messenger's chest. With his empty hand, Messenger tried to grab his opponent's arm, but in his weakened state, only managed to slow the knife piercing his chest, right above his heart. With his left hand, he jerked the shortsword around as much as he could. Finally, he was released from the chokehold. He coughed violently as the knife opened his chest, driving straight into the heart.

The coughs turned wet and spluttery with blood. He looked down at the blade protruding from his chest; blood oozed out. That was good; he wouldn't die of blood loss. Messenger's legs gave out. No, wait. Of course he wouldn't die of blood loss. He would die of the wound in his heart. No, he wouldn't. He fell face down onto the stairs, the cold stone digging into his aching jaw. Semi-consciously, he brought his left hand, which had long since dropped the short sword, to his chest, not to plug the wound, but to grasp at the pendant just beside it. He fell short as his life leaked out of him like the blood leaking from his lips and chest.

He heard muffled talking and felt himself get dragged down the stairs. The man behind him, at least, was also on the ground. With the wound Messenger had given him, it was more than likely that he, at least, would bleed out.

The world faded to dark.