Demetrix balanced himself against the wobbly base. Peering through the glass window he watched the inhabitants on the other side. “Shhh.”
“Don’t ‘shhh’ me. I’ll drop your ass.”
Ravion chuckled. “Perhaps it'd be wise to wait for him to come down before he tells us. Wouldn’t want to risk them hearing.”
Gareth sighed, bracing himself against the wall. “This would be much easier if his ass didn't weigh so much.”
Ignoring his comments Demetrix dug the tip of his dagger beneath the wooden seal, prying the brass latch open. As quietly as possible he lifted the window, hoping to hear them better.
A heavyset woman, dressed in layers of out of place clothing sat behind a large, oaken desk. She pulled a bag from one of the drawers and handed it to an excessively thin man. “Put these with my other trinkets. I’ll not have them fall into the hands of that sharliet.”
The man took the bag. “Do you think it wise to maneuver while he’s still here?”
“So long as those loyal to me keep their mouths shut there’s no reason to fear. He’ll be gone before long and we’ll be back to business as usual.” She gave the man a stern gaze, more warning than anything.
“As you wish, Magistrate. Will you be requiring any more of my services this evening?”
“Yes, actually. I want you to locate the men that escaped the tavern brawl this afternoon. Find out who they are and take care of them. I can’t have a couple of renegade resistance fighters stirring up trouble in my city. It doesn’t inspire confidence with the sharliet.”
“As you wish.” He heaved the bag over his shoulder and stepped out the door.
“Oh, and Marcus, need I remind you what happens if you fail me?”
“No, Magistrate.”
Demetrix softly closed the window and signaled Gareth to bring him down.
The once bald warrior lowered him, letting him fall the last few feet.
“It's her. One of her henchmen confirmed it. She's greedy as far as I could tell. Gave a bag full of stuff to one of her men and told him to put it with the others. She said she didn’t want it falling in with the sharliet, whatever that means.”
“Gailon told me about them. He said they act as the commanders of the orcs. I didn’t learn much, but he expressed fear. If one is here we need to be that much more cautious.”
“That goes double. She told her man to find us. Said to ‘deal’ with us. Apparently they think we belong to the resistance.”
“Sounds like we need to pay her a visit before her assassin does us.” Gareth smiled at the thought of removing the collar he'd allowed them to leash him.
“You may be right about this one.” Ravion glanced up at the window. “How do you advise we get in without a scene?”
“We might as well walk right in the front door. We know how to get out from here. The window isn’t that far. We can jump if we have to.” Gareth sized the drop as an afterthought.
Demetrix scanned the area. “I’ve got an idea.”
***
A gentle knock echoed through the small room. She stood from her desk and marched toward the door. “What is it? I asked not to be disturbed.” Pulling the door open with a vengeance she glared at the man on the other side. “What?”
Ravion smiled. “Good evening, Magistrate. Might I trouble you for a moment of your time?”
She froze, feeling the cold steel against her throat.
Gareth stepped into view, guiding her into the room. He pushed her into one of the wooden chairs and moved into position behind her, keeping the blade firm against her flesh.
Ravion stepped in behind them, closing the door.
“I’ve never seen you before. That leaves you to be common thugs or rogue resistance fighters come to pick the bones.” She glared at Ravion letting her distaste radiate.
“You’re wrong on both counts.” The young dalari casually walked across the room and opened the window. He turned and took a seat behind her desk. Pressing his elbows against the polished top, he interlocked his fingers and smiled. “You’re in possession of something that doesn’t belong to you. We simply wish to obtain said item and we’ll gladly be on our way.”
She struggled against the edge of the dagger, feeling a small amount of blood trickle down her neck. “What are you after?”
“I’m glad you asked.” Breaking his hold, he sat back in the chair. “It seems at some point in your career you came across a rod. Not just any rod, though. This one is special. I'm told you put it with your private reserve. So I’ll make you a deal. Give us what we came for. We’ll leave and you’ll never see us again. Hell, you can even try to send people after us if you’d like. I’d prefer you didn’t, but I can’t stop you. Or we can do it the hard way. My friend's been itching to kill someone all night, but I really don't want the cleaning bill. And I'm sure you don’t want to experience that amount of pain before the end.”
She forced as much hatred into her glare as she could muster. He had a calmness to him she hadn’t seen before. His demeanor reminding her of the few sharliets she’d had the misfortune to meet. If only there was a way to hire him. “You seem to have it all figured out. You’ve gained all the bargaining chips, with the exception of one.”
“And what might that be? If you’d be so kind as to inform us.” Ravion gestured subconsciously. “After all, the presence of choice is kind offerings. We’re not barbarians.” He chuckled to himself thinking of his title.
“I recall the rod of which you speak. You'll be saddened to learn that it isn't here.” She smiled her victory. There was no way they’d be able to take her to the vault without discovery, regardless of how many guards they’d killed.
Ravion smiled. “Well it seems you have us in quite the predicament.” Refusing to let a single word betray his demeanor he continued. “But, let me ask you this, if I may?” He waited patiently for her response.
“It seems I don’t have a choice.”
“Oh, don’t be like that. There’s always a choice, just sometimes not a good one.”
She paused in uncomfortable silence. “You may.” He was infuriating, yet she couldn’t help but like him. Perhaps if the tables were turned she could enjoy his personality a little better.
“What are the contents of your vault worth to you?”
“What?”
“The contents of your vault. The place you stash your stolen treasures. What are they worth to you?”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re asking”
He let his head drop, showing clear disappointment at her inability to follow. It wasn’t nearly as fun when you had to explain everything. Reaching into his pocket, he removed a golden ring with a green gem set into it. Tossing it to her, he walked to the door.
She caught the ring, recognizing the etching in the stone. “Where’d you get this?”
“Your vault of course. Where else would I have gotten it?” Ravion opened the door and stepped around the corner. Returning a moment later, he guided the slender man into the room. He was bound and gagged, his white tunic was in stark contrast to the dark brown leather vest he wore over it. Ravion set him against the wall, letting his subdued form slide to the floor. Shutting the door he returned his focus to the older woman. “I’ll repeat again. What are the contents of your vault worth to you?”
“Marcus, you fool, you led them to my vault?” Her voice was venom, spitting her anger at the man.
Ravion stepped in front of the woman, leaning close so she could look him in the eye. “Madam Magistrate, I won’t ask you again.”
She pointed to the far wall. “Behind the tapestry you’ll find a hidden stash. It's in there.”
Ravion lifted the cloth banner and ran his hand along the wall. Finding the seam he traced it out, identifying the door. Pushing one side, the wall rotated revealing a small room full of trinkets. A scepter rested on a table, half buried by gold and silver. Picking up the ornate tool he turned and held it up for her to see. “Is this it?�
�
“Yes.” Knowing her usefulness was at its end, she closed her eyes expecting death to follow at any moment.
Inspecting the carved wood and golden studs, he walked to the window and dropped it. “Madam Magistrate, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you. Your vault is secure. We haven't taken anything you don't know about. As much as I’d love to stay and chat, I recommend you use what little time you have left wisely. Get yourself and your treasures to a secure location. An anonymous message has been sent to the sharliet about your dealings with the taxes of this fair city. You have the option of pursuing us, but I fear it wouldn’t be the best use of your time.” He climbed up the perch and jumped out the window, landing on the cobblestone beneath.
Gareth sheathed his dagger and followed after, disappearing from sight.
Demetrix stared down the shaft of his arrow, watching the magistrate and her bound servant. She jumped up, running toward the window. He let loose his arrow, sinking it into the wood between her arms.
She fell backward avoiding the vicious arrow, searching for its source. “Marcus, get yourself untied and gather my things. We have to get far from this city.”
Chapter XVII
Parting Ways
The torch lit streets were barren, aside from the occasional orc patrol. Demetrix stood on the ledge of the two-story building looking out over the city. One of the patrols was a few blocks away and moving closer. He'd have to be quick if he was going to avoid them. Gauging the distance he stepping off, freefalling to the dirt covered street. Forcing his body to obey he went limp just before he hit, absorbing the shock through his legs and into his chest. Nearly crouching on the road he jumped up, letting his body realign from the force. Dusting himself off he turned, seeing the glow of their torches flickering along the wall. He had to move or they would see him. Running the half block to their hideout he gently knocked on the wooden frame, keeping it from echoing out in the night. Waiting in full view he watched the door crack open, a single eye staring at him.
Ravion stared through the slender gap finding his brother waiting patiently in the open. Quickly releasing their makeshift latches he pulled the door inward, granting him access. “Any sign?”
Demetrix stepped through the portal and spun, waiting the door to latch before speaking. “She’s fled the city. She used a sewage tunnel on the temple side of town to get under the wall. It'll take us closer to the Blackguard, but I think we can use the same one to escape.”
“Where does it lead?” Gareth stepped into the faint glowing light beaming through the hole in the straw covered roof.
“Best I could tell it empties into a marsh about a mile away. It's hard to be certain, but there is clearly some kind of a bog that direction. I did notice, however, the Blackguard was nearly abandoned. And the patrols are out in force, but never heading that direction. It seems almost as if something is deterring them, like they have orders to avoid it.”
Ravion checked the latches, making sure he hadn't missed one. Leaving the door he took a seat atop one of the wooden crates littering the run down shack. “We'll keep that in mind. Were you able to find Krenin?”
“I did. He’s being held just outside the trade gates. For now they have him tied to a post, but he’s still alive and seemingly in good health. Although I don’t know how much longer that’ll last. There were only a handful of guards watching him, but it looks as if they’re going to move soon. They're stocking a caravan not far from him. I think we may be able to fight our way in, but we’ll have to hurry. We’d probably have better luck if we can convince some of the townspeople to aid us.”
“We can’t plan for that. It leaves too many loose ends. Besides, this land has a full army standing in opposition of the orcs. If their own people can’t convince them to stand up for themselves, what chance do we have?” Gareth fumed. “We need to get this damn book and get Krenin so we can get out of here, permanently. We can't rely on anyone other than ourselves. That’s the only reason we’ve survived this long.”
“Calm yourself, Gareth. You’re not wrong, but we must also hear each other. Time and again, we’ve rose above the odds and emerged victorious. This will be no different. But we have to trust each other. Only when all thoughts and opinions are heard, can we bring order to chaos. We—” Ravion froze, hearing footsteps outside the door.
A gentle knock echoed through the room.
Ravion drew his blade and approached the door. Cautiously he pulled against the knob, letting the door open just enough to peek out. It held firm against its latches and blocks, reinforced by the tension on it. Squinting through the crack he saw a scrawny human, maybe in his early twenties. He was dressed in tattered rags that draped over his small frame.
“Are you Ravion?” The young man asked, staring into the darkness from beneath his dark brown cowl.
“I am?”
“I have message from Krizere.” He extended a rolled parchment toward the door, keeping it at arm’s reach from the crack.
Wait for it! Wait for a clean shot! Strike fast and hard!
Gareth felt the familiar sensation wash over him as he heard the thoughts of the figure. He watched Ravion reach for the latch. “No!” Abandoning all caution Gareth charged forward and slammed into the door. The makeshift latched broke under the force. He busted through sending splintered pieces of door forward and slammed into the unknown man. The boy fell backward, dropping a concealed dagger onto the dusty road. Gareth brought his forehead down, smashing it into the boy's face. Drawing his own dagger he plunged it deep into his chest, watching the life fade from his eyes.
“What the hell was that?” Ravion snatched up the parchment, searching the night for witnesses. He could hear one of the patrols in the distance. There was no way they didn't hear the crash. “Why’d you kill him?”
Gareth picked himself up, dusting the dirt from his clothing. “He was gonna stab you when you took the note.”
“How do you know that?”
“I don’t know. It's one of those things that's been happening. I could hear his thoughts, feel his emotions. He was nervous. Afraid he wasn’t going to be quick enough. I just ensured he wasn’t.”
Demetrix stepped out, looking at the body. “We need to get out of here. There's no time to hide the body. And I'm afraid the door is beyond repair.”
Ravion sighed as he picked the scroll out of the dirt. “We're being playing. Nobody should have known where to find us.”
Breaking the seal he unrolled the blood soaked letter and read aloud. “Ravion, I’m afraid I won’t be able to meet you tonight. I’ve fallen in with a bad crowd and don’t think I’ll be around long enough to accomplish our mutual goal. I can’t risk my captor’s coming across this missive and discovering what you seek. If you receive this, take the key to the place we first met. You’ll find your way from there. The final message from, Krizere of Tulgar.”
Demetrix quickly rummaged through the dead man's pouch looking for anything that might aid them. “Guys, look at this.” He pulled the man's sleeve back so they could see his arm. The flesh was charred and blistered, as if he'd been recently branded. The mark nearly covered the width of his arm, depicting a horned head looking out over the world.
Gareth surveyed the jagged brand studying the contours. “What do you suppose that is?”
Ravion rolled the missive and stuffed it into his waistline. “I remember seeing that in the book. It's the mark of Izaryle, though it doesn't matter. We've been compromised. I'll grab the scepter. Gareth and I will find the library. Demetrix, keep watch over Krenin. If they move him, follow suit. We’ll catch up when we can.”
***
“Wake up, green-skin!”
Krenin felt a boot rocket into his ribs. The sharp pain threatened to rob the air from his lungs. He opened his eyes to see one of the orcs standing over him. “Kick me again and I’ll rip your leg off just to beat you with it.” He was surprised that he'd fallen asleep, yet he couldn't deny that he felt better than he had in we
eks.
“Ha! Puny orc think he so strong. You not scare Kull.” The orc laughed. “Get ready for travel. You goin’ to Idenfal. Gonna be trained like an orc.”
Pulling against the shackles he sat up. “I’ll never be like you!” Working his way up the post, he got to his feet.
“You no have choice.” The orc grabbed the chains and gave them a sturdy whip, dislodging them from their hold. Pulling the half-breed away from the post he approached a caravan. Several orcs stood in a line, each one chained to the orc in front of them.
Krenin couldn't help but notice the difference in these orcs. They weren't seasoned warriors. Most of them were starved and under clothed. He tried to fight against the orc's hold, but something worked against him. His legs move of their own accord, making him follow suit. He felt a watchful presence. Glancing around, he found the man from the night before. He stood at the gate, his hood overhead. Despite the gloomy, morning light the man seemed the have an unnatural shadow around him. His eyes shot to the jagged sword hanging loosely from his hip. He knew it intimately, recalling the man's promise to him.
The larger orc drug him into position. He glanced down at the orc lying in the dirt. Judging by the thin bits of skin clinging to his mutilated form he'd been drug for miles, probably dying somewhere along the way.
His escort removed the shackles from the deceased orc, kicking him to the side. The malnourished body easily rolled out of the way. He pulled the half-orc into the gap and fixed the shackles where the others had been. Sinking the pins into the holes he locked a large pair of tongs around the sides and squeezed, pressing them into place. He yanked hard against the chains, making sure they were set. “Stay on your feet or you get drug. We won’t stop until nightfall.” Grabbing the next section he repeated the routine, ensuring all the orcs were secure. Making his way to the coach, he climbed into the bench and released the brake. Bringing his whip up, he cracked it behind the horses. They broke into a trot causing the wagon to lurch forward.
The Order of the Trident: Speculum (Eldarlands Book 2) Page 21