The World Cannot Know

Chapter 39

Matthew Wild

The moon was high in the sky, casting a pale light over the landscape as Arney and I made our way back to Clive. The fortress loomed behind us, a dark reminder of the danger we'd just escaped. We moved swiftly through the dense forest, the only sounds being the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of nocturnal creatures. The adrenaline from our close call hadn't worn off, but now it was laced with urgency—what we had discovered needed to be shared, and quickly.

I broke the silence first. "You think Lord Gregory's really going to pull it off? Betray Kinsley like that?"

"Kinsley are fuckers," Arney muttered, kicking a loose stone as we walked. "Hate them for putting us, the people, in this situation. But I'd rather have them than the Valorians in power."

I glanced at him, my thoughts still racing. "If he's already in Valoria's inner circle, he might be closer than we think. It's possible he's been planning this for a long time. That letter... it's proof enough that something big is about to go down."

Arney's face was tense, but he nodded. "We've got to get this to Clive. He'll know what to do next."

We pushed forward, our pace quickening as the forest gave way to the outskirts of town. The familiar sights and sounds of the bustling streets greeted us, but we moved with purpose, keeping to the shadows. The tension that had gripped my chest began to ease as we neared our destination—the basement of an old tavern nestled in a quieter part of town.

The tavern above was unremarkable, a place where locals gathered to drink away their worries, unaware of the secret operations taking place beneath their feet. Arney led the way, weaving through the narrow alleys until we reached the back entrance. He gave a quick nod to the bartender—a wiry old man who never asked questions—as we slipped inside unnoticed.

We descended the creaky wooden stairs to the basement, the air growing cooler and mustier with each step. The dimly lit space was filled with crates, maps, and a few scattered weapons, but it was the people down here who made it what it was. Clive's crew. Our crew.

As we entered, we were greeted by Thorne, a burly figure with a scar running down the side of his face. He was one of Clive's most trusted men, and despite his intimidating appearance, he gave us a nod of recognition.

"Back already?" Thorne grunted, his deep voice rumbling through the room.

Arney smirked, the tension from the mission starting to fade. "Yeah, mission accomplished. Where's Clive?"

Thorne jerked his head toward a door at the far end of the room. "He's waiting for you. Looks like he's got something else cooking, too."

I exchanged a glance with Arney, then nodded. We'd barely made it back, and already there was more to do. Typical Clive. We made our way to the door, the familiar creaks and groans of the old floorboards echoing in the otherwise quiet basement.

Inside, Clive sat at a table cluttered with maps and documents, a half-empty bottle of whiskey by his side. He looked up as we entered, his sharp eyes immediately assessing our state.

"Well?" he asked, leaning back in his chair.

Arney reached into his tunic, pulling out the letter and the map we'd taken from the vault. "We've got something big, Clive. But it's more complicated than we thought."

Clive slammed the letter down on the table, his eyes blazing with anger. "That wretched excuse for a king thinks he can just sell us out, like cattle to the highest bidder. What kind of leader betrays his own people like that? A wimp. That's what he is—a coward hiding behind his throne while the rest of us pay the price."