ch63 Web Of Lies

"What?" the Wanderer said, looking at the clerk with a fake confusion. "How do you even know my signature?"

The clerk adjusted his glasses. "I’m not the strongest Dragonborn, but I never forget anything."

The Wanderer began to sweat nervously. He forced a casual smile. "I'm sure you never saw my signature, though. We've never met."

"In the year 1015 of the First Dragon Calendar," the clerk recited. "You signed a request to enter the Red Citadel. Your reason, as you claimed, was to investigate a secret organization aiming to revive the monster the First Dragon fought."

The clerk pulled a parchment from a nearby shelf and handed it to the Wanderer. "Among other claims of this so-called organization, you included the usage of magic and ritualistic sacrifices."

The Wanderer stared down at the old parchment, his eyes widening.

He stood in horror between the realization of the Owls' end goal and the threat of the clerk.

The clerk cut his train of thoughts. "Of course, the council rejected it, as you had no actual evidence," he chuckled, returning to his desk. "Such ridiculous claims made the patriarchs laugh their hearts out. Anyway, you can see your signature there. It’s different."

The Wanderer turned his head away, taking a deep breath before looking back at the clerk with a smile. "Ah, that. Sorry. I must have been drunk that day." He raised his left arm. "Also, I got my hand injured recently."

He clumsily twitched the mechanical fingers, making them move in poorly controlled motion.

The clerk looked at the clumsy movement of the left arm, then stared at the right arm - that he just used to sign - for a moment. "Right... anything else?"

The Wanderer snapped his hand back to his side. "Ah, yes. I’m sure you keep records of why someone goes missing somewhere around here," he said, looking around the cluttered library.

"Of course I do. Don't mock my work, please," the clerk replied, sounding offended.

"Can you get me that list too?" The Wanderer asked.

The clerk waved his hand in confidence. "Who are you looking for, exactly?"

The Wanderer hesitated for a second, but he needed to get out of this suffocating room as fast as possible.

"Let's say, for example... Nigel Dragonborn?"

The clerk flinched. His Red Crown arrogance vanished from his face.

"I don't know about that one," the clerk whispered, his voice losing all its prior confidence. "The council never disclosed the reason."

He quickly buried his face back into his desk and randomly moving papers around. "Please leave now. I have work to do."

The Wanderer stared at the man. The lie was as clear as the Valorian walls. He decided to leave; pushing any further right now wouldn’t benefit him, and he had already overstayed his welcome in this room.

Exiting the administrative building, the Wanderer made a direct line for the guest house. Sunny was waiting outside, leaning casually against the stone wall.

"Anything good?" Sunny asked, straightening up.

The Wanderer rubbed his head. "Can't say it is. I need to leave the citadel for a while. If anyone asks, tell them I went to grab some stuff from our old house."

Sunny stepped closer and whispered. "Did someone suspect you aren't Vin-"

The Wanderer muffled Sunny’s mouth. His eyes scanned the courtyard. "Don't even whisper that to yourself."

Sunny violently pushed the hand away. "I told you, no one comes near the guest house."

"That's even more suspicious," the Wanderer whispered back. He turned around, moving toward the gates. "I'll be back in an hour or so."

He left the citadel grounds, navigating the streets until he reached the Hand of Justice tavern. When he pushed the door open, the place was just as empty and quiet as the first time he had stepped inside.

The barkeep bowed, a smile spreading across his face. "Lord Vincent himself has graced our humble tavern."

The Wanderer walked up to the counter. "Words travel fast."

"Not really," the barkeep replied, straightening up. "But the Owls' eyes are vigilant." He poured a drink into a glass and slid it across the counter. "Here. On the house."

The Wanderer looked down at the drink, then back at the barkeep. "I need to speak to Zero."

The barkeep hopped on his toes. "Of course, my lord. Let me see if he is available. Wait for me here, if you please."

The barkeep disappeared into the back storage room. A few minutes passed before he reemerged, gesturing for the Wanderer to enter.

The Wanderer stepped into the dim room. His eyes fell upon the iron chair in the center and a cold shiver ran down his spine. He chose to remain standing, laying his hand on the back of the chair as he looked up into the darkness.

Zero’s voice echoed through the room, sounding amused. "I hope you have news for me, veteran. Or should I say... Duke Vincent?" A loud laugh boomed from the transmission. "How did you pull that off? You truly are full of surprises."

The Wanderer kept his voice level. "Nigel is officially listed as missing in the citadel's records."

"That is expected," Zero said, his tone sharpening. "But did they interrogate him? Did they kill him?"

The Wanderer began to pace the small room. "Asking more questions right now will only raise suspicions. But there is something else." He stopped pacing, turning his face toward the source of the audio. "The Red Crowns know about your plans."

"What plans?" Zero asked in a worried tone.

"They know you want to revive the monster." Said the Wanderer.

The transmission sputtered, Zero’s voice cracking over the audio feed. "Those incompetent bastards!" A heavy breath hissed through the static. "How much do they know?!"

The Wanderer stood still, as the rumor is now confirmed.

"Not much," the Wanderer replied calmly. "They didn't believe it anyway."

The Wanderer continued, "Vincent brought them this information. I assume he somehow knew about Nigel being a part of the organization. But it was an absurd claim coming from a Black Crown nonetheless."

Zero paused for a moment before saying, "We need to keep it as it is."

The Wanderer smiled. "I already did. I convinced the clerk Vincent was drunk the day he wrote that request."

"Good, good," Zero said. "I'll spread the word that Vincent is a heavy drinker." He paused for a moment. "When are you coming to Valoria?"

"Considering I need to meet the king, it will be soon," the Wanderer replied.

"Make sure you visit me first," Zero said.

"We'll see how it goes," the Wanderer said, turning to leave.

As he stepped back out into the tavern, the barkeep smiled. "Hope you had a fruitful conversation."

The Wanderer looked over his shoulder. "I'm sure you heard everything."

The barkeep chuckled as the Wanderer left the tavern.

He headed back to the Red Citadel. As soon as he arrived at the gates, the guards surrounded him, their weapons drawn.

He looked at them, his voice cold. "Have you gone mad, threatening a duke?"

"Lord Jericho requires your presence," one of the guards said, raising his halberd. "We are allowed to use force. You had better move willingly."

The Wanderer’s mind raced, analyzing the sudden shift, but he kept his face calm and gestured with his hand. "Take me to him, then."

The guards marched him to Jericho’s office. The Wanderer walked in, maintaining his front. "What's the meaning of this, Uncle?"

Jericho burst out laughing until he choked on his own breath. He coughed a few times, clearing his throat. "Uncle? Huh."

He pointed to the corner of the room. The clerk stood there with a grin all over his face. Next to him was Sunny, held up by two guards. He had been beaten to the brink of death, his face bruised and bloody.

"I'm sorry," Sunny said, his voice muffled. "They threatened to kill Harith and Helen."

Jericho stood up, walking over to the clerk. "You thought you could fool me, Jericho Dragonborn?" He tapped the clerk on the back. "I was suspicious of you from the very first moment. A Black Crown willingly giving up Defiance? What a joke. I only needed one more shred of evidence, and my dear nephew delivered it."

The clerk nearly collapsed from the light tap. He hastily straightened his posture. "Glad to help, Uncle."

The Wanderer swallowed hard, watching his web of lies fall apart in seconds.

Jericho sneered, leaning forward. "What, no more lies?"

The Wanderer stared at him, trying to find a way out.

"Ah... I'm done with this charade anyway." Said Jericho, gesturing dismissively to the men holding him. "Take him away, until I figure out what to do with him."

The guards clutched the Wanderer's arms, preparing to drag him out.

"Wait," the Wanderer said suddenly. "You still want Defiance. I know exactly where it is."

Jericho raised a hand, signaling the guards to hold their positions.

"No!" Sunny screamed, coughing up a spray of blood. "We agreed to help without using Defiance in your sick game!"

Jericho snapped his head toward the boy. "Someone shut this kid up!"

The guard holding Sunny raised his sword and smashed the hilt into the back of the boy's skull. Sunny collapsed instantly, hitting the stone floor unconscious.

Jericho grinned. "Much better." He turned back to the imposter. "Speak, outsider."

The Wanderer wrenched his arms out of the guards' grip. He calmly adjusted his collar, smoothing out his clothes. "This matter requires..." He glanced at the guards and the clerk, then back to the patriarch. "...a more private setting."

Jericho rolled his eyes. "Of course. You have more demands." He stepped toward the Wanderer, thrusting a finger into his chest. "I could easily beat the location out of you."

The Wanderer shrugged. "I’m dead either way. Why would I give you the sword then?"

Jericho bared his teeth. "For a quick death." He turned his back, pacing over to the window. "But by all means, reject my offer. I will thoroughly enjoy cutting the flesh from your bones."

The Wanderer laughed. "Now, who's bluffing?"

"Lord Jericho," the Wanderer continued, with a new found confidence. "I assume the council already looks at you and sees an old man. An old man who was easily tricked by a nobody into granting him nobility. Go ahead. Cut pieces out of me. See if that regains your lost status."

Jericho kept staring outside for a long moment. Finally, he walked back to his desk and sat down, resting his chin on top of his hands.

"Leave me alone with this imposter," Jericho ordered quietly.

The guards froze, exchanging glances with one another.

"Everyone out! Now!" Jericho roared.

The guards and the trembling clerk gathered up the unconscious Sunny and reluctantly hurried out of the office.

The moment the privacy of the room was secure, Jericho locked his gaze onto the man. "What do you want?"

A grin spread across Vincent's face. He pulled up a chair, sitting in front of the desk.

"The same deal stands."

Jericho leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. "Did a guard smack your head on the way to my office?"

The Wanderer leaned back in the chair, casually crossing one leg over the other. "Think about it. You were ready to give a lot to a Black Crown that you clearly despise. Can't the same be done for anyone else? I mean, I saw you treat your servants better than the Black Crowns."

Jericho chuckled. "A servant didn't defile my blood. Besides, let's say I agreed to this madness. Everyone in this citadel knows by now that you aren't Vincent, even with the odd resemblance between the two of you."

The Wanderer shrugged. "I'm simply a distant cousin to Vincent who happens to look like him."

Jericho laughed out loud. "You expect me to believe another silly lie?"

The Wanderer pointed a finger at Jericho, his expression turning serious. "You should. Because that is exactly what you are going to tell the council and everyone else in this citadel."

Jericho paused, his laughter cutting short. "The council won't buy it."

The Wanderer grinned. "Oh, they will. They want to save face just as much as you do. Besides, another noble they think they can manipulate wouldn't hurt. You will convince them that you are holding my true identity over my head to keep me under your thumb."

Jericho stood up and walked back to the window, staring out into the courtyard. "An identity I don't even know."

"The less you know, the better," the Wanderer replied calmly.

Jericho hesitated, speaking over his shoulder. "That is too risky. For me, and for my council." He turned back around. "And you aren't even offering much in return."

The Wanderer moved, standing in front of Jericho.

"How about this," the Wanderer said, whispering. "I'll tell you how Nigel betrayed the Red Crowns."

Jericho’s eyes widened, his face as red as his hair.

The Wanderer continued, "And I'll even work for you to expose the traitors of Hosar."