Shadows Bleed

XXXII

XXXII

I regained access to the capital with a new passport's given me by Gabriel, one which granted me a week's coming and going as I pleased.

"If I could give you an 'unlimited entry' pass, I would," he had said. "But, quite frankly, one doesn't exist so this will have to suffice."

The guard at the gate was the same as earlier but, once again, he hardly spared me a second glance as I strode under the raised gate and into Vvarstor, a deluge of déjà vu washing over me as I headed for the Emperor's Ego.

The girls were still in the room; Yennyfer seated on one of the beds with her back against the wall reading, Danyael sleeping by her side. Celeste sat cross-legged on the floor, cleaning and sharpening her sword. Mine rested on the hardwood a little to the left of her, the blades glistening in the candlelight.

"Thanks," I said as I entered the room, gesturing to the freshly-sharpened blades.

"Not a problem," she answered without looking up. "How'd things go with 'the contact'?"

Yennyfer lifted her head from the book she was reading.

"Things went well," I told them. "He's an Imperial Inquisitor, believe it or not. Your father has well-placed agents."

Yennyfer chuckled and I continued.

"He's given me clear instructions to get close to the Emperor. But that will have to wait for the morrow. Now, I think I need some sleep."

Shedding my outer garments, I flopped onto the mattress on the floor, eager for tomorrow to come. The day that I would see my family again, freed, drew closer with every passing hour.

***

Rezon Olar was, according to Inquisitor Gabriel Tor, living in the old city district, from whence I had earlier come. I returned to the wretched slums at first light the following morning, wandering through the bustling crowds; men on their way to work, women to the markets and children to school. Despite their poverty these people were still diligent, hard-workers, motivated by hardship to make a better life for themselves. They made their own hope.

I passed more than a few drunkards and pathetic tramps along the way, evidence that not everyone could be bothered to try and improve their lot in life.

Olar himself lived in a rundown shack that brushed cheeks with the outermost of Vvarstor's walls. It was ironic, in a sense, that the City Watch and the Inquisition together had been unable to find him when he was right under their noses. Literally so in the case of the guards patrolling the walls. Then again, they were not helped by the one in their ranks who actively kept him out of their grasp.

I knocked twice on the aged wooden door of a derelict shack that was, according to Gabriel, Olar's home. There was no answer, just as Gabriel had predicted. He also warned me that the old Aer Savarthim was an avid talker and a dreadful listener.

I tried again and, when there was no response, attempted to push the door open. I was met with resistance and a raspy voice hissing through the cracks.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

"I'm here on behalf of Gabriel Tor," I answered. The resistance did not slacken.

"What for?"

"Relocation," I said, following Gabriel's instructions. "It's time to get you out of here."

"How do I know you're not of the Inquisition or City Watch?" he hissed again, keeping the door sealed tight.

"Here, I have Gabriel's signet ring," I slid the ring through the cracks and the pressure eased ever so slightly. "May I enter?"