Page 92 of Vasmora

“Eh! What you doin’ down there?” a voice called out, and Kazhimyr turned to see another soldier striding toward him.

Fuck.

“Taking a piss!” he said in his best Solassion accent.

“Get the fuck up, you lazy rat. There’s word something’s happened inside. We’re to stay alert for anyone sneaking about.”

Kazhimyr climbed back over the wall and offered the other guard a wave.

“Stupid cunt,” he heard him mutter under his breath, as he turned in the opposite direction, presumably back to his post. Once he stepped out of sight, Kazhimyr slipped back over the wall, into the brush, and hustled along the edge of it toward the palace, crouching low to avoid being seen. Post after post of Solassion guards stood along the length of the wall, and he passed in quiet stealth, keeping his steps light, the polished golden armor shadowed by the trees.

As he neared the entrance, the guards grew increasingly frantic, whispering amongst themselves. Not a single one of them seemed to notice when Kazhimyr had climbed back over the wall and marched straight into the palace. He had no idea what had everyone scrambling about. Nor did he care. He’d only come for one person.

Godsteeth, he could hardly breathe in the armor as he walked the hallways, grimacing at the too familiar stench of the place. The general’s scent. A nauseating floral he couldn’t quite place. He passed servants who stood huddled, their whispering quieting as they turned to offer a smile and a respectful nod.

“Sir,” they said as he passed.

By instinct, his gaze shifted from one side of the corridor to the other, always watching, listening. He passed members of Loyce’s gildona, distinguished from the servants by their silky white gowns with golden sashes that hardly covered their slightly more nourished bodies. Their smiles were more reserved, as they regarded him with nothing more than a nod.

Kazhimyr strode toward a soldier who peered into rooms, as he made his way down the corridor toward the Letalisz.

“Did you see anything?” he asked, and Kazhimyr shook his head, not bothering to slow his pace. “They’re calling it an assassination.” The soldier lowered his voice, and Kazhimyr finally paused to listen. “Earlier, she sent three guards into the pit after that mortal girl. None returned.”

“And the mortal?”

The guard’s brows came together, and he shook his head. “Who the fuck cares about the mortal? Point is, she had three of her own mutilated. Mutiny wouldn’t surprise me.” He glanced away, as if watching for anyone approaching, then slowly turned back to Kazhimyr. “I thought you were posted at the west wing.”

“Had to piss.”

“Ah.” He still wore that wary look on his face. “You got a cough, or something? You sound a bit hoarse.”

Kazhimyr cleared his throat. “A little, yeah.”

“Keep your distance, then. Maybe report to Harker. Seen him interrogating men at the pit. Tell him east corridor is clear.”

Kaz offered a nod. “The pit …”

“Yeah, the pit.”

“I’m drawing a blank.”

The other soldier thunked his helmet. “Did you piss your brains out of your skull? Where she keeps those infernal beasts. Rotunda room. Down the hall and to the left.”

With a nod, Kazhimyr strode on, down the hall and to the left, as the other soldier had directed, following the sound of voices.

“She’s still alive!” he heard someone from the other side of the door shout, and he pushed through the entrance to a vast room with a domed ceiling, gilding and chandeliers, suggesting it might’ve been used for entertaining.

Soldiers stood gathered, unranked and scattered, bickering with each other. Some wore helmets, others didn’t.

Kaz walked with slow, confident steps. He’d learned that doing so drew less attention.

“You can hear her call out. She’s still down there,” one of them said.

“If Captain Drefan were here, he’d go down there himself!” another shouted. A loyalist, Kazhimyr guessed, given the distress in his voice.

“Going down there is a death sentence with those beasts!” a third argued from the crowd.

“How many guards were on duty?” said a soldier that Kaz determined to be the highest ranking, as he stood on the dais over the rest of them.