City of Rogues: Book I of the Kobalos Trilogy
Page 20
He tried to push himself up with his hands and winced at sharp pains that shot through his ribs. He plopped down in the mud again to rest. He knew he had probably broken several ribs because he could feel them grinding together beneath his skin.
His eyes closed against his will. His body had been abused and he needed the sleep. It would be long hours before he woke, and then his body would be stiff and sore. Until then, however, he rested in the muck.
***
By late afternoon Belgad had returned home. Despite his exhilaration at the events of the day, he was still businessman enough to know there were serious questions needing answered. To this end, he called Lalo, Stilp, Adara and Spider to his library on the second floor of his mansion.
Stilp and Spider were readily available as they had been witness to their employer walking out of the ruined Asylum with his arms stretched to the sky while yelling, exhilarated at being alive.
On the other hand, Adara did not want to leave the side of Fortisquo, who was still unconscious. Normally Randall or another healer of the tower would have woken the slumbering sword master after healing, but the wet day had been a busy one for the healers and Markwood had insisted Randall was too fatigued to attempt any magic. Stilp had pleaded with Adara, his argument being she was one of the few people who had actually fought Kron Darkbow and thus was needed for Belgad’s parley. The woman had eventually gone grudgingly, mostly because there was little she could do for Fortisquo.
“Darkbow is likely dead,” Belgad said to begin the gathering, “but in case he has survived, we need to be prepared.”
Adara sat next to the burning fireplace, her features hidden by shadow. “What makes you think he lives?”
Belgad grunted. “If I survived, he could survive.”
Stilp and Spider nodded agreement as they sat next to one another in chairs in front of Belgad’s desk. Lalo watched quietly from his usual spot near one of the two library exits.
“Possible, but not likely.” Adara leaned into the firelight, revealing her troubled features. “You and the healer were the only two to walk out of the Asylum alive.”
“Some guards and a handful of inmates escaped, but there was something more going on in that place than just the water geyser. I felt some kind of magic. It was like a tugging at the heart, at the soul. I saw plenty of bodies in the Asylum, and not all of them had drowned.”
Stilp sat up. “Why would you be spared?”
Belgad shrugged. “Strength of will, perhaps? I know little of magic other than it sometimes doesn’t work well on the strong of mind.”
Spider nodded agreement. “But what does all this destruction mean?”
“Nothing.” Adara eased into shadow again. “It was merely a happenstance of Trelvigor’s conjuring.”
Belgad placed his hands flat on his desk. “Perhaps, but that was powerful magery, something I think beyond our poor Trelvigor.”
“He was mad in the end,” Adara pointed out. “His madness might have given him strength.”
“Another option would be the healer.” Lalo the Finder spoke for the first time since the group had gathered.
All eyes turned to him.
“As a healer, he is a mage,” Lalo went on, “and we know that ring of his has unknown properties.”
Belgad glanced to the Finder. “According to Markwood, it was Trelvigor, and I have no reason to doubt his word.”
Lalo stared back unblinking, as if to make a point. “He is a friend of the healer. Friendship can make one do much worse than lie.”
Belgad nodded his agreement. “True, but it seems unimportant,” he said, attempting to get the conversation back on his track. “The source of the magical fiasco today is not at question, unless it was magic Darkbow somehow produced, but there has been no evidence the man was a mage.”
“So, you’re only concern here is Kron Darkbow?” The voice from the dark was Adara’s.
“Not necessarily, but he is my main concern.” Belgad turned to face Stilp. “Did you have a chance to speak with other survivors?”
“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.
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.