Hope Sundered

“Once we surface, head for the nearest alley and stay hidden until you’re dry,” Varzeth explained to the three Kuronah huddled around him. He’d abandoned his uniform for simple trousers and a plain shirt.

Likewise, the trio of assassins had shed their distinguished black garb for similar peasant attire. None of them carried any of their weapons, which had all been cast into the river along with their old clothes.

It was late, and very dark; more clouds had ambled in during the latter part of the day and seemed content to linger over Wyndham, providing ample cover for Varzeth’s upcoming endeavor. He and his three cohorts were gathered along the bank of the Dragonspine, a hundred yards upstream from the arcing stone bridge that led to the city’s western gate.

Varzeth had noticed a curious detail soon after arriving: the section of riverbank beneath the bridge was part of the city wall, disappearing beneath the water’s surface as the river flowed alongside it.

He knew walls were built to withstand sieges, but those behind them wouldn’t be able to survive without water, and the Wyndhamites wouldn’t have built theirs without a means of accessing the adjacent river.

Captain Endari’s assassination attempt on General Zordecai further confirmed Varzeth’s suspicions. There were other ways—secret ways—in and out of the seemingly impenetrable city.

He found himself respecting those unknown architects of generations passed. They’d been subtle in their design, correctly assuming most people wouldn’t think to look for a hidden entrance submerged beneath the river—or at least wouldn’t be daring enough to attempt entry.

Varzeth wasn’t most people.

He’d marched hundreds of miles and crossed a mountain range to reach this moment, relying on a mixture of calculated precision and blind luck. Failure resulting in death loomed over him like the current cloud cover, but that had yet to stop him.

One by one he and his team slipped into the icy water, each giving the man ahead a few seconds of distance. The sudden shock stole their breath and challenged their focus, but they fought the urge to call out or splash, drawing upon the deep well of their Azrahteran training.

At once the river’s current grabbed them, racing them along faster than if they’d been sprinting across flat ground. The torches lining the top of Wyndham’s wall created a dome of light over the city but shrouded everything below in darkness, rendering the swimmers invisible to the watchmen above.

Quick and careful, they maneuvered to the opposite bank, positioning themselves for their one chance to intercept the underground aqueduct Varzeth was convinced existed. If it didn’t, the plan was forfeit, and there’d be no point in getting out of the river until they were far, far downstream.

Varzeth reached the section of wall beneath the bridge first. In an instant the grassy bank gave way to smooth, flat stone. He clawed at the seamless masonry but gained no purchase.

Then something solid struck his legs just beneath the waist. The sudden impact pitched him forward, plunging his upper body beneath the surface, but his legs held fast, pinned to some underwater object by the sheer force of the current.

He managed to right himself after a moment of fighting the raw power of the water and took a much-needed breath, straining to keep the splashing to a minimum. His legs throbbed, but it was a small price to pay to be right.

He discovered a submerged wall, meant to block fish and debris from entering the tunnel, which he now knew for certain was just on the other side. He turned himself around to assist his incoming colleagues, the first of whom was already upon him.

The Kurano crashed into him with unexpected force, almost dislodging him from his already tenuous hold. They flailed at each other, looking more like two men fighting than attempting to help one another.

The soldier tumbled past, dragged along by the swift current until he was out of sight. To his credit, he didn’t betray their position by crying out or attempting to paddling against the current.

Varzeth was confident the soldier would hold fast to the contingency plan of staying out of sight until either Varzeth’s plan succeeded or Zordecai died, whichever came first.

The second Kurano understood what had just happened. He tucked his legs up and reached out for Varzeth with his left hand. The two men clasped each other’s wrists, and the man swung in behind Varzeth. He dropped his feet and found a solid platform three feet under water. The river threatened to sweep him from his perch, so he reached down with his free hand to grab the edge of the wall, barely keeping his face above water.

“Go now,” Varzeth ordered once he was stable.

The man assented and took a deep breath, disappearing beneath the dark waters on the other side of the submerged barrier. The last Kurano came by then, imitating the one who’d gone before him. Likewise, Varzeth caught the man’s outstretched arm and brought him to the wall. A moment later he followed the other one into the unknown depths.

Varzeth went last and at once was sucked in by a reverse current. Using his hands as eyes, he entered what felt like a square stone box, two feet tall and wide. Knowing the city wall was now on his right he propelled himself in that direction and found the coveted tunnel upon which he’d gambled everything.

His heart raced, in part from the excitement of being right and also from the very present fear of drowning underground in the dark. The small tunnel descended at a noticeable grade. Natural buoyancy carried him upward, and his back bumped and scraped along the top of the tunnel as the internal current carried him further down.

The tunnel continued its descent. His lungs screamed for the air they were denied, burning like twin torches within his chest. Terror clawed at him with icy, wet fingers, ripping layer after layer of discipline from his mind. He kicked and paddled for his life. He wrestled to maintain a singular focus on his motivation and swam on.

Then the angle of the tunnel turned upward. His pace quickened. He desperately wanted to breathe.

He felt light-headed, and knew unconsciousness would claim him soon. He knew with grim certainty if he passed out now, he’d never wake up. All of his efforts, all of his careful planning, all of his good fortune, would’ve been for nothing.

An agonizing eternity passed before Varzeth surfaced. Gasping and flailing with no regard for his surroundings, he sucked in air with greedy abandon. Immense relief at being free from the tunnel washed over him. The hardest part of gaining entry had been achieved.

Seconds later his training took over and he calmed, treading water in near silence while he took in his surroundings. He was in the middle of a square pool about thirty feet across, branching off in four different channels.

A faint yellow glow, flickering in a manner that suggested torchlight, filtered down from a grated hole in the ceiling high above. He stared at the portal for several tense heartbeats to see if he’d been discovered, but he saw no one and heard no sound.

One of the Kuronah, a man named Demarron, had already climbed out of the water and was standing at the base of a nearby staircase, waiting patiently for his leader. The other assassin was floating face down in the opposite corner. Together Varzeth and Demarron hauled their comrade’s corpse out of the pool and laid him on the stairs.

“Fallo is a liability,” Demarron said.

“Indeed,” Varzeth replied, staring at the drowned man as he considered how best to handle the literal dead weight. “Help me get him up to the street. Be sure to look heartbroken. We just lost our best friend.”

A night watchman on patrol was the first person to encounter them. Varzeth called for help, claiming his friend had gotten drunk and wandered down to the cistern, where he fell in and drowned. Demarron played his part well, choking back sniffles and looking down often.

“Ye understand we won’t be able to give yer friend a proper burial,” the guard said, injecting as much apology into his tone as he could muster.

Varzeth bit his lower lip, closed his eyes, and nodded. “Let’s get ye home then,” the guard said. “I’ll send someone to fetch the body around daybreak. That should give ye a few hours to mourn him, at least.”

“We’re from Chastin,” Varzeth lied. He looked around, confusion painting his features. “We were chasing after him, and it’s dark, and Wyndham’s so big…I’m sorry. It’s just, we’ve lost so much.” His voice wavered into silence.

The guard held up his hand. “Say no more. No one expects ye to know yer way around here yet.” He helped them carry the body to a storehouse before leading them to the Wall’s Shadow where the other Chastin refugees were staying, compliments of Lord Bel’ami.

“It’s just the two of us now,” Demarron remarked as they entered the inn, leaving the sympathetic guard to return to his rounds.

“The plan will still work with two,” Varzeth assured him as he looked around, taking in the scene with a practiced eye.

“What do we do now?”

“First, we procure a room. Then we wait.”

“Wait for what?”

Varzeth grinned. “For the perfect opportunity, of course.”