The orc held a deadly blade in his scarred palm, his other sharpening it with a rounded pebble. “I wonder how much I would get for just your head, Red Riding Hood.”
“A king’s fortune if you sell it to the right bidder,” Red stated coolly. She continued to fill her plate with the steaming food, but she never turned away from the beast. “But you’ll get way more if you bring me in alive. The queens like to brighten up their lives with public executions.”
The orc let out a thunderous laugh, his weapons clanging together with the movement. “That’s a fine suggestion, sweetheart, but I hate giving executioners the joy of taking my kills. And cutting through your slim neck would be like cutting through butter.” He used his hunting knife to demonstrate as he took a slice of butter and spread it over a roll.
“Cut it out, Jezamon,” Robyn Thorn cut in, sending Red a particularly harsh glare. “You can’t kill her.” He waved a hand between the temperamental orc and the hot-headed assassin. “Red, meet Jezamon Kerick. Jezamon, meet Red.”
“No,” Jezamon Kerick countered, ignoring the introduction as he took a large bite of his bread, “I can’t kill her here. But I can kill her anywhere else.”
She finished adding to the mountain of food on her plate. “I’m surprised you can kill anyone with such a pathetic array of weapons,” Red snickered, knowing that he had more weapons strapped to his broad body than she could ever hold.
She noted the rustic accent with the tapped r’s and rolling l’s that suggested the orc was from Britton, most likely hailing from one of the mountain regions commonly known for the powerful orc tribes that lived there.
She moved to the end of the table, plopping down across from the stranger as she slid her hood back. “Tell me, Jezamon, how many of those knives do you actually know how to use?”
“I can use all of ‘em to slit yer throat and skin ye alive, girl.”
“There will be none of that in my house,” Eliseo Flori cut in. The old elf stepped up to the table, his eyes barely reaching to see over the top. He turned to Red, flashing a bright smile before he added, “If you want to remain a guest here, you are not allowed to fight unless in the training rings.”
“Of course,” Red agreed. “We were just getting to know each other.” She turned away from the elf, cocking her head to the side as she looked back at Jezamon. He directed a purely evil smile at Red, his large tusks poking out of his underbite. The pale scars along his face contorted into uneven lines, but he nodded to Eliseo.
“She better put in her work,” Jezamon stated to no one in particular.
“Only if she is planning on extending her stay,” Eliseo acknowledged, his depthless eyes focusing on Red.
“Will you be staying long?” Robyn Thorn asked expectantly, realizing that she had not answered when he had asked her before. He pulled himself back toward the group, but the majority of his attention was still focused on his meal.
“I think I just need a few days to sort out my options, but I won’t cause any trouble while I’m here,” Red promised, her eyes shying away from the disappointment that Robyn failed to hide.
Eliseo Flori nodded, “Everyone is welcome to eat at my table and sleep in my spare rooms.”
Jezamon Kerick rolled his eyes in disgust but said nothing as Red nodded her thanks and dug into her feast.
Chapter 17
“Gentlemen!” Arthur Welin exclaimed, sweeping into the full dining room with a flourish.
Britta Lozana and Laryssa Soldo loosened their holds on the crook of Arthur’s arm, leaving him to join the group of street lords at the head of the table while they rounded the room to join the few other women in the back. They kept their eyes downcast to avoid the sneers and ravenous stares that followed them along the way.
“This better be good, Welin,” one of the street lords shouted into the crowded space. “I was enjoying a rather beautiful dream involving that red headed beauty, and I would like to get back to it as soon as possible.”
The men around him laughed, and Laryssa flashed a dangerous smile toward the speaker. His greasy hair clung to the top of his slim head. Crooked yellow teeth took away from his unfortunately lopsided nose, but they only added to his rodent-like appearance.
Britta was amazed that Laryssa did not gag at the sight.
“I can assure you that this meeting will be even better than what you can dream up in that stupid mind of yours,” Arthur retorted without batting an eye.
“Then I guess we all better start stripping, aye mates?” The street lord laughed out, already reaching to unbutton his nightshirt. But his hands stilled when his fellow ruffians did not return the sentiment, their eyes locked on Arthur’s glare.
“I have heard from Napoleon Duhmer, Perancis’ Royal Advisor,” Arthur Welin began, turning his gaze to the rest of the room. “He is looking for Red Riding Hood, my former apprentice. His queen is willing to pay a high price to the person that brings her in alive.”
“I have no doubt that you have people still roaming the streets for you, so I am putting all of my faith into you and your lackeys.”
The men murmured to each other excitedly. Dozens of men were crowded around the table, each group whispering amongst themselves as they separated back into their street factions. Plans were hastily put in place.
Names of contacts from various gangs and low-life pubs were furiously scribbled down. The lower ranked men and boys were sent from the room, off to sharpen their weapons and prepare the traveling packs.
Even the women were whispering together, their eyes darting around to contemplate which groups they should infiltrate to steal away some of their profits. Britta Lozano glanced around the dining room, her mouth carefully held shut to keep herself from giving away what she knew about Red’s whereabouts.
Arthur Welin held a smug smile on his face, his eyes circling the room as he watched the men that were picked to be sent on their way to do his deed. He cleared his throat, minor lackeys turning their heads to listen for more news that the leaders of their groups might miss. Arthur ignored the few turned heads, clearing his throat more loudly to be heard over the chatter.
“If you would like to hear the rest of the news that I have to share, I suggest that you all quiet down,” Arthur stated quietly, drawing the attention of a few more heads. “Money is quite a nice bounty”—greedy stares locked onto Arthur’s lips expectantly—“but I was willing to offer a much more exciting prize. Oh silly me, I’ll leave you all to your planning instead. Carry on.”
Arthur stood from the table, waving at the groups to continue as he glided toward the doors. Protests rang around the room, some of the men clamoring over the chairs to try to stop him from leaving. Arthur Welin smiled to himself, only pausing when the shouts fell into utter chaos when his slim fingers wrapped around the brass door handle.
Arthur left the door closed as he twisted his head to the side, a smirk lining his lips as he looked at the bedraggled men looking up to him like he was their long-lost savior. Their long-lost king.
And did he enjoy being doted on like a king in the early hours of the morning.
The street lords tripped over themselves to kneel before him, begging to give up what he knew. Their seconds fought to pull out his chair, the winner going even further to brush invisible crumbs from the seat.
All eyes were turned to behold Arthur Welin, a man who was practically a deity to them. He deserved their respect, demanding that they give it to him. And they would do so wholeheartedly.
When Arthur was pleased with the attention pouring over him, he clasped his hands together as if in prayer. He leaned forward in his seat, making sure that he was comfortable in every way. Only when the men around him began to shift with impatience did he continue on with his speech.
“You all have given so much to me these past few months, and I must first thank each of you for your cooperation. These transitions have been daunting and tough, but we have trekked through the beginning stages of our new regime.
&n
bsp; “I have received nothing but your utmost loyalty, and in return I want to reward you for being such great followers.”
The men eagerly nodded in agreeance to every sugar-sweet word that trickled ever so slowly from Arthur Welin’s mouth. Some of the more disgusting men licked their lips greedily, their wildest dreams filling their dirty minds.
“Being a part of the Kingdom Rogues is rewarding enough, as you all know. And you will all find more riches than you have ever stolen fall into your pockets once our plans are fully underway. But many of you are ambitious men, something that I applaud.”
Arthur bowed his head forwards in respect to no one in particular, but the street lords, and even some of their seconds bowed back as if that message was meant solely for their ears.
“With the means that I possess, there is no way that I can reward all of you in the ways that you all very much deserve,” Arthur Welin stated solemnly, his head dropping in defeat. His eyes were bright, though, as he shook that defeat away and lifted his head to look back up at the group.
“Beauty has demanded that we find Red Riding Hood for her. I demand that you bring her to me first.”
Shouts of protest sprang out of the silence as the men claimed that Arthur would take the money for himself. They refused to let their work go to waste with a king’s fortune hanging over them like bait.
Arthur raised his hand, silencing the room with a single gesture. “I have no interest in taking your hard-earned profits. But I have a score to settle with that little girl before I hand her over to the queen.
“The street lord who brings Red Riding Hood to me, alive, will become my Second in Command. I favor none of your factions. I do not have the time or patience to watch you fight to the death for this honor. I do not care who else dies in the pursuit, but Red Riding Hood is mine.”
The street lords rose from their seats, bowing low with respect for the man that held their fates before them. The groups were ushered from the room, some of the women folding into their ranks in hopes that they could still catch some of the profits.
“May the Destroyer guide your swords,” Arthur Welin chanted with a proud smile to each group that passed him with their faction salutes and copious bows. His smile did not fade even as he was left alone in the dining room, his own plans for success churning in his mind.
~~~
“We need to leave now!” Britta Lozano whispered. She violently pulled Harry Ordom into a cleaning closet. The aging butler yelped as he was forced into the tight space, but he did not fight against the courtesan.
“We cannot leave now,” Harry countered. The butler shook his head, his decision already made up before the meeting with Arthur Welin had even ended.
“Robyn needs more information on what the Kingdom Rogues are planning with Perancis’s army. If we leave now, we will be completely in the dark. This could be our chance to break down Queen Beauty’s army.”
“The longer we stay here, the higher the chances of someone finding us out. He may be occupied by the hunt with the street lords for now, but we have no way of knowing how long this distraction will last.”
Britta paced in front of the storage closet door, the space too small for her to truly relieve her anxiety. The other courtesans working with the rebels had shared whispered worries with Britta, but they would never dare to voice them in front of Harry.
“I will not jeopardize the lives of my friends just because you are hoping to get a hold of bits and pieces of information from Arthur,” Britta stated, crossing her arms and planting herself in front of the closet door. “Robyn told us to return weeks ago. Why are we still here?”
“We are still here because we are trying to give the rebels a fighting chance when they finally make their demands heard,” Harry insisted. His eyes were clouded with his own worries, but his passion was clearer than the waters surrounding Seadell.
“I get that any news is good news in Robyn’s eyes, but not at the expense of all of our lives.” Britta would not throw her dignity away and beg for Harry to leave, but she would not idly stand by and watch him hold the Destroyer’s knife to his own throat. She picked up her skirts, ready to leave before her pleas turned into nothing more than selfish demands.
“There is to be another meeting,” Harry Ordom got in before Britta could open the door. “Robyn has requested another meeting with Prince Sampson of Airaldan.”
Britta Lozano did not reach for the door knob, but she did not turn back to the butler. “And?”
“Robyn asked me to join him so that I could speak to the prince, but I still have work here.”
“You always say that,” Brutta hissed, “but you have yet to tell us what this ‘work’ is. A fool’s errand no doubt.”
“I have yet to complete my work here, so I cannot leave,” Harry continued, ignoring Britta’s rude remark. “That is why I have decided to send you to meet with Robyn. The meeting is in a fortnight, and Robyn has received word that you are to take my place.”
Britta was stunned, her annoyance and anger fading into relief as Harry’s words sank in. She spun around, tripping over her skirts and the clutter scattered across the floor. She stumbled into Harry, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!”
The butler let out a small chuckle, returning Britta’s hug in full. As he stepped back, a small smile lined his face and he said, “I have no doubt in my mind that you will do great things for this rebellion, Britta. You spark hope in everyone around you. Do not let that spark fade.”
Britta stepped back toward the door, but the light smile on her face quickly dissolved into a frown. “But what about the others?” she asked. “I can’t just leave them behind.”
Harry nodded in understanding. “I will help anyone who wants to return to the rebel compound. And I will make sure to watch out for anyone if they decide to stay.”
Britta nodded, pleased that her friends would be in the butler’s gentle, caring hands. “Promise me something?” Britta Lozano added as she reached for the door knob. She turned back to Harry, worry still lining her beautiful face.
“What is that, child?”
“If matters here really go downhill, get out before it is too late. Even if your work is not finished. Be selfish and save yourself.”
“I will try my best,” Harry Ordom murmured, that sad smile still lining his lips. He gently placed his hand on the small of Britta’s back, leaning over to open the door for her. “May the Maker bless you.”
“May the Maker bless you,” Britta said in return, giving the butler one last parting hug. It took everything in her to keep herself from running through the halls to pack her few personal items. Harry and Robyn were giving her the chance to prove her worth in the rebel ranks. There was no way she was going to let her own excitement ruin that chance.
~~~
Drip… Drip… Drip...
Dranac Gnorw’s cloak did little to keep the crimson rain from soaking into his clothes. His skin. The waves of red that washed over him were persistent, the iron tang never letting his senses rest.
The townsfolk around him paid no heed to the terrors that Dranac saw around him. He had given up on telling people what images he saw after the first town had driven him away with angry shouts and pitchforks.
Their deaths were written all over their bodies. After witnessing a brawl with the death blow that made the losing opponent’s blood flow in the same pattern that Dranac had seen before the punch even met its mark, Dranac knew that he was seeing the Destroyer’s targets. All of them painted in bright crimson that never faded, even on immortal beings.
Drip… Drip… Drip...
The scarlet raindrops fell from Dranac’s hood. His vision was stained with the color. Even his dreams were filled with the incessant plink of the metallic liquid falling around him, coating everything in its wake.
Dranac Gnorw looked behind him, the muddy ground steaming from the heat of the blood that swirled around the wet dirt. Buildings were streaked wit
h the ruddy substance, dried and crumbling along with the bricks and moldy wood.
It bloomed from the ground. Dropped from the sky. Was seared into the land from the blushing sun.
Day and night, Dranac saw nothing but the deep shades of crimson that haunted, yet amazed him. His mind felt thick and sticky when he tried to stray from his mission. His thoughts were only his when he pushed himself to find Red. But the farther he traveled—the more time that passed—Dranac could feel his own thoughts slipping as the blood leaked into his memories.
Drip… Drip… Drip…
The drip and drop of the blood was always a bother. But its iron scent was more beautiful than the smell of a rose. Its metallic taste was sweeter than the most expensive wine. And the words it whispered in Dranac’s ears were more poetic than the lyrics of the deepest love song.
The ruby streams that trailed in his steps called to Dranac. Told him to join their ranks. Sang the songs of his fellow brethren with whom he was to one day join and sing along with.
“I cannot join you yet,” Dranac Gnorw whispered into the rain. The shimmering garnet rivers recoiled at his words, retreating as if he had betrayed their trust. But they continued to tell of the never-ending peace that Dranac would feel once he became one with the eddy and flow of the scarlet current.
“I must finish my mission, but I will one day bask in the glory you promise,” Dranac vowed, his fingers twitching against the weight of Arthur Welin’s dagger in his hand. “I will bring a lovely friend with me. She is as red as you”—the warmth of the stream returned to comfort Dranac—“inside and out.”
Drip… Drip… Drip...
Dranac did not remain in the Destroyer-Cursed town for long. The images painted across the bodies that he passed haunted his inner thoughts.
The inhabitants of the town also worked to avoid him. They strayed from the trodden path just to avoid him, their judgmental looks grazing his face before falling to watch the ground ahead of them. No one trusted his crazed gaze or his twitching hands. And he could not keep himself from fiddling with the stiletto dagger that never left his slick palms.
Cloak of Darkness (The Destroyer-Blessed Saga Book 1) Page 26