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

Chapter 62: A War in Sacred Halls

Three rebels were guarding the entire temple, Dux counted. Poorly trained and poorly equipped. The fools didn't even have the wherewithal to check the entrance into the Deadways, lest they would have found Dux and the other Vangen packed inside.

And to think they would have done a better job of it too given the treasure they were protecting—an imperial engineer judging by the man's clothes and physique. Only an Imperial salary could get a man as plump and portly as he was. The engineer sat in one of the confessionals, scribbling notes in his impromptu office. Blueprints most likely. That was what engineers did, after all.

Dux counted a few breaths before skulking back down the stone steps. The others lay in waiting, backs pressed against the corner just out of sight.

"What's it like up there?" Regis asked in a hushed tone.

"A few rebels. Three at most," Dux gave a sly grin. "With an imperial to boot."

"No shit?" Regis rubbed his jaw. "How could you tell?"

"Had a gut on him," Dux shrugged. "Figured that was more than enough to tell."

"Aren't you, imperial, though?"

Dux slapped a hand over his hard stomach. "Used to be. I'm Vangen now."

Regis exhaled out of his nose and cracked a grin. "Think we should storm the place?"

"Better to stay quiet for now," Dux beckoned Culter over with a nod. The albino skulked over, his pale skin practically glowing in the dark. "I've got a job for you if you're up for it."

"Oh yeah?" Culter placed a hand over the grip of his stiletto, grinning menacingly.

"Go tell the rebels their shifts over," Dux thumbed upstairs. "And bring the imperial down here while you're at it." Culter started towards the stairs before Dux caught his arm. "Alive," he added.

"I gotcha," Culter grumbled before stalking away. Dux leaned against the cold stone wall and counted to thirty. By the time he'd reached twenty-five, the first body came tumbling down the stone steps. Then another. And another. Ten after thirty and Culter appeared once more, dragging the mewling imperial behind him by the scruff of his collar.

"Toss these in the pits if you wouldn't mind," Dux said to one of the guardsmen. He motioned to the three dead rebels on the floor. "My associates and I have some business to discuss with our new friend here."

The bodies were dragged off as Dux stepped towards one of the stone sarcophagi. The imperial was dumped ungraciously on top, his hands and legs bound to keep from fidgeting. By the time the color returned to his cheeks, he was already babbling.

"Please, please let me go," The imperial's chins quivered as Dux came into view. "I'm not a rebel, I swear. This is all just a big misunderstanding."

"That's a fine set of tools you've got there," Dux ignored the engineer as he plucked a mallet out of the man's belt, holding it up to the light with feigned admiration. "Quality craftsmanship this is. You with a Guild?"

"Yes," the imperial said eagerly. "Yes, I'm with the Engineer's Guild. " He smiled sheepishly, revealing a set of healthy, white teeth.

"How lucrative," Dux sniffed, brushing aside the thought of smashing the engineer's teeth. A liar never deserved having such perfect teeth. "And those trebuchets out there. They're your handiwork?" The imperial's smile waned slightly.

"A thing of beauty, they are," Dux continued. "No one, save the Engineer's Guild, could make something as magnificent. Like watching an Anglan play, they move so gracefully when launching stones into my beloved Empress' Palace."