City of Rogues (Book I of the Kobalos trilogy)

by Ty Johnston

  “Yes, sir. They told me the guard Trelvigor pointed out as Kron Darkbow went by the name Lucius Tallerus, and Sergeant Gris helped him get his job at the Asylum.”

  “Tallerus?” Belgad said, more to himself than the others in the room. He recognized the name. It sounded Lycinian, or possibly Truscan. That Gris had helped this Tallerus was also a bit of a surprise.

  “Spider, I want you to find Sergeant Gris,” Belgad ordered. “Ask him here tonight for dinner.”

  “Yes, master.”

  “Now.” Belgad motioned for the small man to leave.

  Once Spider was gone, the Dartague turned his attention back to the matter at hand. “The name Tallerus rings a bell with me. Does anyone recognize it?”

  Lalo coughed. Again, all eyes turned to him.

  The Finder moved nearer the desk. “Kuthius Tallerus was a Prisonlands border warden when you were released.”

  Belgad’s eyes widened in recollection. “I remember him. He spoke with the Chief Councilor, trying to have my knighthood nullified. Good gods, that’s been years. I had nearly forgotten.”

  “But the Chief Councilor would not rule against the church,” Lalo continued for his benefactor.

  “Yes. Correct.” Belgad nodded. “Then Kuthius tried the Western pope.”

  The northerner’s face grew dark and Lalo knew there was no need to further the story of Kuthius Tallerus. Kuthius and a handful of other wardens had tried to halt Belgad’s release from the Lands. In a bid to drive fear into the wardens, Belgad had sent Trelvigor to threaten Tallerus’s family, Kuthius’s brother with wife and child. Trelvigor had turned a simple robbery into a massacre, killing the merchant named Marcus and his wife Aurelia. The couple’s young son had gone missing, thought dead on the streets of Bond.

  Belgad’s eyes went wide. “He’s their son. Marcus and Aurelia’s son.”

  Lalo nodded.

  Adara leaned into the light once more. “Who are they? And who is this son?”

  “They were an example I made a long time ago during my bloodier days,” Belgad explained without details. “It would seem their son is Kron Darkbow, and he has sought revenge against me fifteen years later. Trelvigor should have made sure the pup was dead.”

  Stilp appeared confused. “Where in hell could he have learned all those skills?”

  Belgad’s fingers drummed on his desk’s surface. “His uncle was a Prisonlands warden. Plenty of soldiers from across the continents are stationed there as part of the treaty with the East. They have a tendency to share their skills. It seems Darkbow learned much.”

  Adara sat forward further, on the edge of her seat as if ready to leave. “What do you want of me? I’ve sat here and listened to your little story about this Tallerus fellow who might or might not have been Kron Darkbow, but so far you’ve not given me anything to do.”

  “It should be quite obvious, my dear,” Belgad said with a grin. “After I speak with the good sergeant, I want you to use your vast skills to make sure Kron Darkbow is dead. Do you think you can handle that?”

  Adara did not know what to say.

  ***

  Kron woke to more darkness. For a moment he thought he was still under water or even dead, sentenced to a hell of eternal blackness. Then the muscles of his face formed into a grin. He had no reason to fear the darkness. The darkness was his friend, an ally against his enemies.

  After a few moments, his eyes adjusted and he could see stars overhead. Night had fallen while he had slept.

  He tried to push up on his hands again, and found the pain swimming in his ribs was nearly more than he could bear. Yes, he had broken something, probably several ribs. He managed to roll over on his side then sit up gently. He winced at the pain that ran through his body, but he knew he had to do something. He was lucky Belgad or some other official person had not ordered a search for survivors along the river because he would have been found. His luck had held out, and now it was time for action. However, he knew he wasn’t ready to jump back into his personal war. To get to that point he would have to heal.

  Kron Darkbow needed help. But that presented a problem. He had never allowed anyone to know his secret, that Lucius Tallerus was Kron Darkbow and that Kron had sworn revenge against Belgad the Liar for the murder of his parents. Trelvigor had been the original target, but Kron had shifted his rage after hearing Trelvigor’s words that Belgad had been behind the assassination. Kron did not know why the Tallerus family had been murdered, but he knew he could set things as right as they could be after so many years. Dreams of his parents, both struck down by flying bolts from crossbows, had haunted him for fifteen years. He could still hear their cries of pain and then see the lifelessness of their unblinking eyes.

  Kron pulled his legs beneath his body and forced himself to stand. It was all he could do not to scream. After tears of anguish cleared from his eyes, he could tell in the moonlight that his ribs were not his only injuries. Cuts and bruises covered his body and a long gash ran the length of his right leg.

  He could barely walk. It hurt to move. He was barely even dressed, most of his guard’s garb having been torn away by the swirling river.

  There was only one person who might be willing to help him, but it could cost him some coin. And any wealth he had was at his room in the Rusty Scabbard.

  Kron did not think he should try to make it to his room at the tavern. Belgad or Gris could have guards stationed in the inn. They probably believed him dead, but Belgad was smart enough not to make many mistakes. If Belgad had survived in the Asylum’s basement, right now he would be finding out as much as he could about Lucius Tallerus.

  No, Kron could not risk the Rusty Scabbard. There would have to be someplace else. He needed to make his way to the Frog’s Bottom brothel, but he did not know how he would manage it. First, he would have to find something to hide his features and obvious wounds. A cloak would do. Covered with a cloak he was not likely to draw attention.

  Having a plan of action, Kron took his first step toward the Swamps and away from the North River. Pain shot through his body, but pain he could cope with for some while. A second step followed, then a third and a fourth. Within a minute he was walking as fast as his injured, limping body could carry him. As he trudged through the mud that spread bugs and brambles between his toes, he was glad the river had gone down. At least he did not have to swim to The Frog’s Bottom.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  After the incident at the Asylum, a long day had just begun for Sergeant Gris. First there were the survivors to see to and to make sure they received proper care, which was helped by several healers and local clergy making an appearance once word spread. Then Gris had to interview survivors to find out what had happened, his conclusion from talks with Lord Belgad and Maslin Markwood being that Trelvigor the wizard had spotted an Asylum guard he thought responsible for burning his home, a man Belgad believed to be the mysterious Kron Darkbow. Then Trelvigor had cast a spell causing the eruption of water that had decimated parts of the Asylum and played a part in killing an unknown number of guards and inmates. The few survivors could not offer any evidence that differed from that of Belgad and Markwood.

  Throughout all the questionings, Gris had one person on his mind. He had searched throughout the Asylum and its grounds for Lucius, but there was no sign of the man. Gris feared finding his friend alive almost as much as he feared finding him dead. The sergeant had had his own suspicions about Kron Darkbow, but he had never acted upon them other than questioning Lucius the one time, and the man had denied knowing anything about the mysterious figure in black. Gris corrected himself. Thinking back on their conversation, he realized Lucius had never denied being Darkbow, but he had not owned up to it either. It was all a moot point, because Lucius’s body had not been found at the Asylum. Gris ordered a search near the river, but put it off until morning because his men were exhausted by late afternoon. Besides, it was not likely they would find anyone alive.

  The final surprise of the day
was near dark when one of Belgad’s men, a small fellow Gris knew as Spider, approached the sergeant of the guard and invited him to dinner with Lord Belgad. Standing in the mud with thinning rain still falling around him, Gris had been taken back by the offer. He was tired, mentally and physically, and he yearned to rush to Lucius’s quarters at the Rusty Scabbard. Now that would have to wait. When Belgad called, one went. Gris could guess Belgad wanted to question him about Kron Darkbow, but the sergeant had no answers. If Lucius had been Darkbow, it was a secret he had taken to the grave.

  Soon after the sun went down Gris found himself trudging through the muddy streets of the Swamps on his way to Belgad’s mansion. The rains had nearly let up, but Gris had another guard return his horse to the barracks. The poor animal had been in the heavy rains most of the day and needed a good warming.

  The horse had been the furthest thing from Gris’s mind while he had questioned Spider about Belgad’s invitation, but the graying little man in dark clothes had no answers.

  Approaching the wall surrounding Belgad’s property, the sergeant briefly took in the spacious grounds through the iron entrance gate. There were four guards on the other side of the gate, and Gris could make out half a dozen more near the main building. There was no telling how many protectors were hidden among shrubbery or on the roof. The place reminded the sergeant of the Asylum, and he wondered if it was sometimes a prison for its master.

  As Gris neared, two guards pulled back the locking bar and pushed the gate open. They said nothing, obviously expecting him so Gris said nothing in return. He walked up the gravel path leading to the main house as if he had done so a thousand times.

  At the house the door opened for him as he reached the top step. Lalo the Finder motioned for Gris to enter and the sergeant spared little time making his way inside.

  “Why does your master need to see me?” Gris asked as Lalo took his soaked cloak and hung it on a wall peg.

  The Finder offered a friendly smile but his eyes told a different tale. “You will have to ask Lord Belgad, sergeant.”

  “I’d wager you know more about your master’s business than he does.”

  Lalo’s smile grew wider. “Please follow me.” Then he was off, up a winding staircase.

  Gris huffed but followed. Exhaustion was beginning to set in his limbs. Wearing a chain shirt all day in the pouring rain wore on one’s shoulders. He hoped Belgad would be brief, but he doubted it. The underworld boss had invited him for dinner, which meant there was likely to be a lengthy discussion.

  Minutes later Lalo opened a door to the personal library and allowed the sergeant to enter. Gris found the lord of the house seated by his desk while chewing what looked to be a strip of jerked beef.

  Belgad swallowed and dropped the stick of meat onto his desk, waving Gris to a chair. “Please come in and seat yourself, sergeant.”

  Lalo the Finder entered behind Gris and closed the door, taking his usual position standing just inside the door.

  Gris sat where Belgad had pointed, noting a large block of white cheese and several buttered rolls placed alongside strips of dried meat on a small slab of marble in the center of the desk. Beside the piece of marble was a bronze ewer full of red wine. An empty wooden mug sat in front of Gris while its twin was full and next to Belgad’s right hand.

  “Please forgive my simple fare.” Belgad retrieved a cloth napkin from his lap and wiped his lips.

  Gris wondered what else the Dartague had hidden beneath his desk. Perhaps a weapon?

  “It’s a habit from my brigandeering days,” Belgad said, waving a hand over the food. “Please, by all means, help yourself.”

  Gris eyed the food with hesitation. He was hungry, having not eaten since late morning, but he did not trust Belgad. He could think of no reason why the man would wish him harm, but Gris knew the Dartague was up to something. As Gris reached for a slice of the cheese, he was glad he still wore his sword.

  “It’s Jorsican.” Belgad watched Gris bite into the cheese. “I have it shipped around the coast. The wine, unfortunately, is only Ursian. My little party last week has depleted my supplies. The bread is also Ursian, but that can’t be helped if one wants it fresh.”

  Gris chewed the cheese and nodded as if food were the most important thing they would speak of that night. He did have to admit the fare was excellent, stiff and sharp.

  Belgad planted his elbows on his desk and formed his hands into a triangle beneath his chin. “I suppose you are wondering why I’ve asked you here,.”

  Despite the formalities of the simple meal, Gris knew the man before him was not one to meander around a conversation. The sergeant nodded, keeping his right hand across his waist and near the pommel of his sword while his left hand reached for a strip of meat.

  Belgad’s gaze was flat. “It is, as you can likely guess, concerning today’s incident at the Asylum.”

  The large northerner waited for a response, but none came. Gris was smart enough to keep his mouth shut until he knew what the other man wanted.

  Belgad eased back in his cushioned chair, dropping the pretense of eating. “You have interviewed myself and others this day, so you know the basic story, that Trelvigor pointed out Kron Darkbow, and then the poor, mad wizard lost the last of his sanity, literally bringing the roof down with his magic.”

  Gris swallowed his food. “That is what I was told, but there was no proof the guard was Kron Darkbow. For that matter, there also is no evidence Darkbow started the fire at Trelvigor’s home.”

  The Dartague appeared unconvinced. “Are you suggesting the burning of Trelvigor’s home and the timely appearance of Darkbow are coincidence?”

  Gris knew he was treading on dangerous ground. One did not tell one of the most powerful men in the city that he was wrong.

  “I am not saying Darkbow was not responsible for the fire,” Gris said, weighing each word carefully, “but there is no clear evidence I can use in an official capacity.”

  Belgad’s white eyebrows furrowed above his steel gaze. “It was my understanding you personally knew the Asylum guard in question.”

  The sergeant’s eyes locked onto those of Belgad. The Dartague knew much. After a brief hesitation, Gris decided it was not in his best interest to lie. Lucius was dead. There was no need to hide what little he knew.

  He gave a short nod. “I knew the man.”

  Belgad traded a glance with Lalo that told Gris much. Whatever Belgad knew, or thought he knew, had been proven by Gris’s admission.

  The big man looked back to the sergeant. “How did you know him?”

  “We were border wardens in the Prisonlands,” Gris explained. “I hadn’t seen Lucius in several years, since I left the service. He appeared in town about a month ago. He asked me to help him find work, so I put in a word at the Asylum.”

  “What do you know about him?”

  Gris thought back on his days in the Lands. He was nearly a decade older than Lucius, and the younger man had been little more than a boy most of the days they had spent together. Still, Gris supposed he knew quite a lot about Lucius Tallerus.

  “He hailed from here in Bond originally, but was raised by his uncle near the Lands. He was practically raised to be a border warden, and he was one of the best.”

  Lalo stepped around to face the sergeant. “In what manner?”

  Gris did not turn his head to speak directly to the Finder, but kept his gaze on Belgad. “He was one of the most talented wardens. He spent most of his days studying with whomever would give him their time. The wardens hail from all nations, because that was part of the original treaty. Lucius picked up skills from all lands, all peoples. He could climb, track, fight. He even studied different languages and picked up some alchemical and healing skills.”

  Belgad leaned forward once more. “You said he was raised by his uncle. Why not his parents?”

  “They died when he was young.”

  “That’s all you know of them?”

  “I don’t know
the circumstances of their deaths, if that’s what you mean. I just know Lucius’s father was brother to the uncle who raised him.”

  Lalo moved around beside his employer so both faced the sergeant. “Was the uncle’s name Kuthius?”

  Gris’s face grew pale. He nodded in the affirmative.

  Belgad planted his elbows again and leaned his chin onto his fisted hands. “Was this Asylum guard’s full name Lucius Tallerus?”

  “Yes.”

  Belgad’s gaze narrowed. “Do you know where he was residing before this morning?”

  “He had a room at the Rusty Scabbard.”

  The Dartague looked up at Lalo and snapped a finger. The Finder strode past the seated sergeant. Gris could hear the door squeak open behind him and the patter of Lalo exiting.

  The tension in the room was building, and Gris needed to calm that feeling, to assuage his own fears. “If you don’t mind my asking, sir, what is the meaning of these questions? Usually I’m the one doing the interrogating.”

  Belgad’s eyes fell upon the guard sergeant and they did not look pleased. “Whatever you might believe about your friend, I strongly suspect he was Kron Darkbow. It’s time for you to tell me more.”

  The sergeant gulped, feeling a need for air. “I’m not sure I know any more, sir.”

  “I’m sure you can come up with something.”

  ***

  Finding a cloak was a simpler matter than Kron would have thought. Not far from the North River he found a pair of bodies, one a guard from the Asylum and the other one of Belgad’s men. The Asylum guard must have been preparing to leave for home when the basement had flooded because a dark green cloak was still clasped around his neck.

  Kron gave the bodies a nod, all he could spare for last rites, then slung the soggy cloak over his shoulders and pulled the hood up to cover his face.

  Winding his way around the Asylum, Kron noted he was not far from Belgad’s mansion. He grinned at the thought of the northerner lounging on a couch with his head on silk pillows, believing Kron Darkbow was dead.

  Kron eased between an empty storage building and a closed bakery while working his way into the depths of the Swamps. He knew he was lucky the flooding had not been worse or he would be swimming instead of walking right now.