The wind grew fierce as Davarus Cole exited his small apartment and made his way up the Tyrant’s Road. The wide thoroughfare sloped gently down towards the harbour in the south; to the north, it passed through the large circular plaza known as the Hook and up into the Noble Quarter, where a pampered and privileged few governed Dorminia in the name of the Magelord Salazar.
Cole could just about see the pinnacle of the Obelisk piercing the skyline. A monolith of magically reinforced granite in the centre of the Noble Quarter, the Obelisk had become the symbol of Salazar’s tyranny.
The city’s despotic Magelord had founded Dorminia almost five hundred years ago, shortly after the cataclysmic Godswar altered the region beyond recognition. The death of Malantis and his plunge from the heavens into the Azure Sea flooded the Kingdom of Andarr and eventually formed the inhospitable Drowned Coast, which now ran for hundreds of miles south and west of the Trine. Despite the fact they had murdered the gods, Salazar and his fellow Magelords were the only protection the survivors of the devastated kingdom had to cling to while chaotic magic ravaged the land. They fled north and east to Thelassa, which survived the flooding, and helped build the cities of Shadowport and Dorminia. Even life under a deicidal wizard was preferable to a certain death.
In the centuries since the Godswar, the Trine had grown into one of the largest pockets of civilization north of the Sun Lands. True, the Confederation dwarfed the Trine, but that alliance of nations, which had reclaimed their independence after the Gharzian Empire fragmented, was a month’s ride to the east, beyond the abomination-plagued Unclaimed Lands.
Cole had never set foot past the hinterland settlements that supplied Dorminia’s demand for food and other resources. He remembered escorting Garrett on a business trip to Malbrec three years ago, and feeling terribly bored. The provinces were the homes of farmers and miners and other common sorts, not men like him — men destined for greatness.
The gurgling waters of the Redbelly River accompanied Cole as he walked up the Tyrant’s Road. The Redbelly ran almost parallel, a hundred or so yards to his left, winding down from the Demonfire Hills into the harbour. Few vessels plied the waters of the river this time of year; winter’s bitter touch was still heavy in the spring air, and the cold would last a while longer. There was also the matter of the war with Shadowport. What had begun late last autumn as a dispute over the newly discovered Celestial Isles in the Endless Ocean hundreds of miles to the west had ended in Dorminia’s humiliating defeat.
As far as Cole was concerned, any blow against Salazar was a victory for the people of Dorminia, even if they didn’t yet realize it. The failure of the city’s navy proved that the Tyrant of Dorminia was not infallible. It was this kind of setback — together with the efforts of men like Davarus Cole — that would ultimately loosen Salazar’s grip enough for the good people of Dorminia to rise up and overthrow their eternal overlord. If Cole didn’t kill him first.
The thought made him smile. One day the entire north would know him for the hero he was.
A screech rent the air and Cole looked up in alarm. A mindhawk wheeled in broad circles overhead. Its silver head vibrated slowly and its sapphire eyes scanned the city below. Those men and women unfortunate enough to find themselves in the area immediately began to hurry away.
Cole almost scurried off as well. Then he remembered the pill he had swallowed before leaving his apartment and breathed more easily. The drug was a soporific of sorts, numbing the parts of the brain that could inadvertently transmit treasonous thoughts to the magical mutations in the sky above. He would have a headache the next morning, but it was a small price to pay to avoid the Black Lottery. The Crimson Watch randomly selected those guilty of perfidious thinking and subjected them to brutality, imprisonment and, in some cases, outright murder.
A disturbance ahead brought his attention back to the street. Two Watchmen were approaching, herding a frail old man. One of the red-cloaked soldiers gave him a vicious shove from behind and he stumbled, falling on his face. When he regained his feet, Cole saw that he now bore an ugly graze from scalp to cheek. The old man turned to his tormenters and began to protest, but a fist from the other Watchman dropped him to the ground again.
Cole went perfectly still. Incidents like this were not uncommon. Ostensibly the Crimson Watch served Dorminia and its territories as both standing army and city guard. In reality, they were little more than a network of thugs and bullies who terrorized the populace on the orders of the city magistrates and their ruthless master in the Obelisk.
The sensible course of action would be to slink away and avoid drawing attention to himself. Hadn’t Garrett urged caution? ‘The collective outweighs the individual,’ his foster father always said. ‘We can’t right every wrong. Acting rashly places us all in danger. Choose your battles wisely and remember that Shards cut deepest from the shadows.’
Cole frowned. Garrett probably hadn’t been referring to him. After all, it was obvious that his abilities and quick wits outstripped those of his peers by no small distance — and besides, hadn’t Garrett always said he would one day be a great hero, like his real father? A man such as he met injustice head on, enchanted blade in hand and epic destiny propelling him forwards with a righteous fury no petty villain could withstand.
His mind set, Cole strolled towards the Watchmen as assuredly as he could. He couldn’t help but notice the smattering of a crowd had melted away entirely. Its disappearance left him entirely exposed. His throat suddenly felt very dry.
The soldier kneeling over the old man looked up as Cole approached. He gave his colleague a questioning glance, removed his sword from his victim’s neck and straightened. ‘What the fuck do you want?’ he demanded coldly.
The other Watchman moved closer to Cole and dropped a hand to his scabbard. His voice was full of malice. ‘You’d better have good reason for interrupting official Crimson Watch business, boy, or I’m gonna drag your arse to the cells.’
‘That’s enough!’ commanded Cole, in a voice he fervently hoped rang with authority. He reached under his cloak and placed a hand around the hilt of Magebane. For some reason his hands had started trembling. That wasn’t supposed to happen.
He pushed ahead with his ruse. ‘Since you two sons of whores are too stupid to work it out, you’re speaking to an Augmentor. This man is wanted at the Obelisk. Hand him over.’ Sweat had begun to bead on his forehead. He tried to will it away, without success.
‘That so?’ The soldier to the left of Cole sounded unimpressed. He was a cruel-looking man of middling years, with small, squinty eyes and a pockmarked face. ‘Then you’ll take no offence if we ask you to prove your credentials.’ He waited expectantly.
Cole swallowed hard and drew Magebane in one smooth motion, holding the long dagger in such a way that his shaking hand was mostly concealed. He nodded at the weapon. ‘This is enchanted. See the glow? No one except an Augmentor may possess such a weapon. I trust that satisfies your curiosity.’
Please, just nod and leave in peace, he silently prayed. What he said was, ‘Now get the fuck out of my sight before I shove this dagger so far up your dick eye it tickles the back of your throat with your balls!’
The Watchmen glanced at one another. An understanding seemed to pass between them. Pock-face shrugged and spat at the battered fellow on the ground.
‘Right you are. He’s yours. We’ll bid you good day.’ The two men moved slowly past Cole and continued south down the road.
He watched the fluttering red cloaks retreating. Elation flooded him and he couldn’t help but grin at his impromptu wit. He might be better educated than the rest of the Shards — the rebels he called comrades — but he could still cuss like the roughest of them when the occasion called for it. He was an everyman, he supposed, able to empathize effortlessly with both the noblest and the most inconsequential of men.