Tales of the Vangen: The Black Ministry's Betrayal (Book 1)

Chapter 31: A Rendezvous at the Dead God's Home

Dux paced down the Acropolis' temple forums, tugging at his beard in concentration. Civis and Nox had yet to arrive, and the hour was starting to get late. Already the moon was beginning it's decent, with the faintest trace of sunlight peeking over the eastern horizon.

Whether by sheer luck or Nido's grace, the Acropolis was deserted. There had been no signs of rebels nor clergy to bother them, giving Dux's ragged pack a chance to breathe. Still, he'd mustered a small watch just in case. Those that could still stand anyway. Culter included.

Just thinking about the man had Dux's hackles raised in frustration. Their little spat back at Gray Hogs had not ended well. Especially with Culter's hand resting on the stiletto. He'd seen it. Everyone had. That psychotic bastard was inches away from turning him into a pincushion. Better that he be as far away as logically possible for right now.

The pacing was helping at least. Movement of any kind helped Dux focus. A particular tick that had come from childhood. How strange the mind adapts to trauma, channeling a person's suffering into action. Dux had been lucky. He could only guess what kind of trauma Culter experienced to become the man he was now.

Not that it mattered. The past had no place in the Vangen. Your name and your reputation even less. Better left to rot in the ground than bloom into troubling fruit. It was one of the many reasons men joined the Vangen. It allowed for a fresh start—a rebirth from an old life best left forgotten. Although there were a few Dux could name who still clung to the past in some way. As if it actually mattered.

Dux looked up into the sky. The moon still stood akilter. Just a little bit longer, he told himself—a half-hour at most. If Civis and Nox didn't appear in time, then tough shit they were on their own. He didn't doubt their competence, but there was simply no time to spare. If Dux knew Tyrannus, and sadly he had that misfortune, the bastard was probably growing impatient.

Judging by their earlier conversation back at the warehouse, Tyrannus was just as frustrated entering the Palace as Dux was. Hopefully, some of the significant players in Byzantia had remained loyal enough to protect the Empress in the Vangen's stead. House Lazaman perhaps, or Lady Kent. Both had enough mercenaries to fill a small garrison. Only time would tell.

Culter appeared from around a corner. His face was neutral, unreadable. It forced Dux to ask more than he should.

"Report." Dux fought off the urge to add, 'you rat bastard.'

Culter thumbed behind him. "Civis is here."

"How's he looking?"

"Like shit."

"Better than most. Tell him to send the Greenhorns to Nido's temple and come my way."

"Ugh." Culter nodded and turned to leave.

"Any sign of Nox?" Dux's question stopped Culter in his tracks.

"Ugh-ugh." Culter shook his head. He almost sounded upset.

Dux stifled back a curse and sent Culter on his way. Ten minutes later, and Civis rounded the corner next, quite indeed looking like shit. His eyes bloodshot, hair a blonde, matted mess, but he was still alive. They met at the center of the room and clasped hands, forearm to forearm.

"I'm glad to see you alive and well, brother." Dux forced an aching smile. Not a lot had happened to get him smiling these days.

"And I you," Civis said warily. It seemed he was still cross from their earlier conversation. So be it. "But, where is our Austerlander?" He added. "Hiding in the shadows again?"

"Still not here yet. Rebels give you any trouble?"

"I followed your orders if that's what your asking," Civis said defensively.