Legends of Sora (Book 1: Fate & Fortune)

2 - Hallways and Heartaches

"Why try and change the past when we can only stay today?"

–Aya Drake

"Wait! How the hell do you know my dad?"

Valeo trailed behind the ragtag bunch, the shock far from wearing off. He fired the half-dozen questions spinning around his brain, but Drake strode silently ahead of the group perfectly at ease, as if he had known these halls for years. He led them up the main staircase to the fourth floor, precisely above the grand ballroom and its hundreds of obliviously sleeping guests.

"Twelve minutes," Thatch said. Everyone picked up the pace.

Why was there no resistance? Since Valeo had entered the villa, countless soldiers had stood as statues beside nearly every door and entrance. Now, none could be found. Anywhere.

They came into a wide sitting room, complete with several overstuffed chairs and tables. Along one wall was a massive iron door: The Magistrate's treasure trove.

The severe-looking man from the patio, the one downing glass after glass of bourbon, crouched over an unconscious soldier, putting the final touches on the cords binding his hands and feet.

"Impeccable timing," the man growled as the group fanned out about the room. "Not here for the work but just in time for the coin. Always much appreciated."

Drake gave a sweeping bow. "'Tis the only wish in my life, Alistair . . . fulfilling your every expectation."

Alistair snorted and stood up. He was around six feet tall with close-cropped curly hair and gaunt eyes that bore holes into all they fell upon.

Drake looked down at the unconscious guard and grimaced. "Are they all like that?" he asked.

"Of course. Every closet from here to the front door's got a solider tucked in it"—he jerked at the unconscious man's wrists, cinching the cord—"all tightly bound and gagged."

Drake winced. "A little looser please. We do want them to retain the use of their limbs."

Alistair frowned. "Do we? Just another opportunity to turn the tide." Despite his words, he loosened the cord slightly.

Valeo gaped. There was no telling how many soldiers had roamed the corridors leading here, and Alistair had taken down every one and without raising a single alarm. Valeo whistled low, making a mental note to never piss this person off.

"I brought presents." Alistair hefted up a bundle of cloth nearly as big as he was and out fell an assortment of swords and flintlocks of all shapes.

The group rushed forward, claiming their weapons while Valeo stepped back, watching with growing intrigue.

Who exactly are these people?

Drake claimed a sword and a brace of pistols. The blade was silver to match the scabbard, the pummel wrought into a falcon's head. The pistols were no less impressive, shining the same silver with a pair of roses stamped into the lacquered handles. Valeo knew sod all about weapons, but even he recognized these were no mere trifles.

"Well?" Drake said.

Looking up, Valeo realized everyone was looking at him.

"Well, what?"

Drake's warm smile didn't waver as he gestured to the last sword.

"That's meant for your hands."

Several crew laughed at Valeo's obvious disbelief. He fumbled the belt and sheath, strapping them awkwardly over his right hip. The weight felt strange and out of place.