by Ty Johnston
“Tell me.”
“I’m sorry. There is nothing I could do for the boy.”
Kron grimaced again, but it was from no physical ache. The stab to his heart was the image of Wyck’s unmoving form next to him, the boy’s head caked in blood. “Where is his body?”
“A few rooms down the hall outside this office. It is the best place for him. The orderlies will see he has the final rites and a proper burial.”
It was done then. There was nothing Kron could do for the lad. He couldn’t even offer a decent funeral and burial.
Kron tried to stand again, but once more his body’s pains forced him to remain seated. “I have to get to Gris. I can do nothing for Wyck, but there may still be a chance to save Gris.”
“If the war demons want to kill him, he’s already dead, and there’s nothing you or anyone else can do to stop them. You can’t kill them. You can’t subdue them. You can’t even buy them off. War demons owe allegiance only to Lord Verkain.”
“Verkain? Those demons were sent from Kobalos?”
Randall appeared unsettled, nearly unwilling to speak. “They were drawn to my ring’s power.”
“Why is Verkain looking for this ring?”
“I ... I am his son.”
Kron shot off the ground onto his good leg. “I should kill you.” He advanced, hopping with a limp, his anger allowing him to ignore the pain tearing through his body.
Randall backed out of the room into the office. “I didn’t know Belgad was following. And I didn’t summon the demons!”
Kron continued to advance, his dragging steps taking him to the doorway where he leaned against the frame to recover his wind and his senses. “Then who is to blame?”
“I don’t blame anyone but myself,” Randall said, keeping his distance. “And you.”
“Me? I’m not the one who brought monsters down from the sky!”
“You were the one who started this war with Belgad!” Randall yelled back. “You were the one hiding in plain sight at the Asylum! If it hadn’t been for you, none of this would have happened and we would all still be living our lives. I wouldn’t have to go into hiding again and that boy would still be alive.”
Kron took a step forward as if he was going to throw a punch, but his injured leg would not allow him to move. He glared at the healer, his eyes doing more damage to Randall’s soul than fists could have done
Still, the younger man showed no further signs of backing down and held his own ground. “I was hiding from my father because he will kill me if he finds me. But you? I don’t know what Belgad did to you, but it was petty, about revenge.”
“It was more than revenge!”
“For what?”
Kron’s voice lowered to a whisper. “It was about justice. He had Trelvigor slay my family when I was just a boy, Wyck’s age.”
Randall went quiet for a moment, staring off to one side in thought. “You killed the wizard. That’s why you set his house aflame, to kill him for what he did to your parents. He must have been the one who told you of Belgad’s involvement.”
Kron remained silent.
Randall sneered and his voice was full of scorn. “You are no better than they.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Have you forgotten all the dead? Belgad’s men, the boy, others. Have you forgotten the Asylum?”
Now it was Kron who held his ground. “I played my role, true, but magic was involved in those deaths at the Asylum. I’m no mage.”
Randall stared at the floor, his features suddenly flat.
Kron leaned forward, nearly bent over, looking up into the younger man’s pale features. “It was you, wasn’t it?”
Randall said nothing.
Kron leaned back once more, nodding. “You were there when the water burst through the floor. Your ring had the power to move us here, and it had the power to cause the destruction at the Asylum.”
Randall still remained quiet.
Kron spat. “How dare you accuse me after what you’ve done.”
Randall’s voice was now weak. “I was trying to save people from the rising waters.”
“Just like I was trying to save people from Belgad,” Kron said. “The man deserves to die, and not just for what he did to my family. He deserves to die for everything he’s ever stolen and everyone he’s ever killed. The world will be better off once the man is gone. That was my job. That was what I set out to do. So don’t compare me to Belgad. Like you, I tried to save lives.”
For a long moment the healer was nonplussed. Finally he noticed Kron’s wounded condition again. “You should sit. You need the rest.”
“I need to get to Gris.”
“You are in no condition for combat. Once I’m rested I can make sure you are healed.”
Kron looked skeptical. “Why should I trust you? It’s not as if we are friends, and you’ve admitted to being Kobalan royalty. That’s even more reason not to trust you.”
Randall gave forth a narrow smile. “For all I know, you could be Kobalan.”
“Sorry. My father was Lycinian, my mother Ursian and Dartague. I have nothing to do with Kobalos, unlike you.”
Randall sighed. “Your opinion of me is understandable, but I’m not cut from the same cloth as Verkain.”
“What makes you different?”
“My birth name was Kerwin Verkain, but, like you I no longer claim my original name or title. A prince I might be by birth, but it is not something I would have wished upon myself, especially being a prince of Kobalos.”
“I’ve heard of Verkain. I know what they say about his cruelty, and I’ve known Kobalans, mostly inmates in the Prisonlands.”
Randall nodded. “Most everything you have heard is true. Verkain is more than two hundred years old. He has no qualms with stabbing a cook to death for bringing him the wrong dinner. He frequently has women dragged from the streets, and then rapes the poor things. He wields low magics like no other before him, which is why he’s survived so long. But he is also insane.”
“Why do you say that?”
The healer looked away as if he did not want to face the truth.“According to the Eastern church, the Book of Ashal says in the end times a mighty dark king from the north will slay all of his own, then wage war on the rest of world, conquering everything before him. My father thinks he is this northern king. I’m the last of my siblings alive. If I die, Verkain will launch an attack on the rest of the nations.”
A perplexed look appeared in Kron’s features. “Kobalos is only one country. It would be impossible for one nation to conquer the rest of the continent.”
“It does not matter if you think it is possible. Verkain thinks it is possible. Even if he cannot fulfill his plans, he can still bring much suffering.”
“It doesn’t make sense.”
Randall looked to the other man again. “I told you he was insane.”
“It was Verkain who sent the demons,” Kron said, more to himself then Randall.
“Yes.”
The man in black blinked and his world changed. A decision was made in an instant. “Verkain must be dealt with. He is a danger to more than you.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Now it was Randall who looked perplexed “You’ve no chance against Verkain.”
“He needs killing.”
“Maybe he does, but that is easier said than done. He has an army and demons and mages and only he knows what else. Verkain is a powerful wielder of magic himself. Markwood might stand a chance against him, and Markwood is a powerful wizard. You have just told me you are no mage. You would stand no chance against Verkain.”
Kron’s eyes locked on those of the healer. “I will hunt him alone if necessary, but the truth is your aid would prove invaluable.”
“My aid?” Randall clutched his head and turned away. “Now I know you are insane, too. I’m never going back to Kobalos! Haven’t you been listening?”
“I’ve listened, and it is time you stood up to your
father.”
“No, no, no.”
Kron grasped the healer by a shoulder. “Wyck is dead because of this maniac. There will be more deaths on your hands if you don’t deal with your father.”
Randall’s features were full of a sad anguish. “There will be deaths on my hands regardless.”
“Perhaps, but at least you will know you did the right thing in trying to prevent all this.”
Randall turned away from the man in black. He tried to think of the right words to make Kron understand. Growing up in Kobalos, especially as a member of the royal family, had not been something to take lightly. Kron didn’t know about the hours upon hours of physical and mental torture. Kron didn’t know the level of suffering caused to slaves and others unfortunate enough to fall into the hands of Verkain, suffering Randall had been forced to watch since he was a baby. That suffering had been why Randall had always wanted to be a healer, to ease pain and not bring it. That suffering was why Randall had fled Kobalos and had sworn to never return. Verkain was the worst, but he also had generals and servants who were more than willing to hand out his punishments.
Randall could describe the tortures, the crucifixions and the beheadings and worse, but he knew it would not stop Kron from his path. “I don’t know what to say to you except this is madness.”
Kron sighed. “You do not have to come with me.”
“What about Belgad?” Randall asked, hoping he might be able to at least delay Kron. Trying to destroy Belgad was foolish enough, but not near as dangerous as taking on the lord of Kobalos. “You still have not dealt with him.”
“I will deal with Belgad before we leave Bond.”
Randall plopped into a chair behind a desk. “You don’t understand. It is impossible to defeat Verkain.”
“Again, your help would be invaluable.”
Randall looked up at Kron, his face and voice pleading. “Go away from here. Live a normal life. Leave Belgad behind, and Verkain and all of it. There is nothing but death along that path.”
“Yes ... death. Theirs.”
Randall slumped. He had thought he was getting through to the man.
Flustered, Kron pressed on. “All I ask is that you heal me. I have coin. I can pay you. After that, we part ways. I’ll do what has to be done, and you can run away, hiding from your father and your responsibility.”
“Responsibility?”
“Your responsibility to the people of your country. If to no one else, you owe it to them to end your father’s reign of horror.”
“I don’t even know who I am.” Randall’s voice was vacuous, ethereal.
“You are royalty. Act like it.”
Was Kron right? Randall had been in hiding for three years. He was tired of it, but he had found some kind of life in Bond. Now that was shattered. He couldn’t go back to being a healer, at least not in this city. He would have to move on, find another place to hide. Perhaps in a few years he could send a note to Maslin to tell him he was safe, but until then he would have to cut all ties with Bond and West Ursia. It would mean a life of hiding again, a life on the road searching for something never to be found. Verkain would always be after him, especially now that his father had been so close to capturing him. Randall knew it was only a matter of time before he was caught, returned to Kobalos and slain. Was he running for nothing? Was delaying the inevitable only bringing more pain and death to others?
For the first time in a long time, Randall felt as if he was back in Kobalos, wrapped in iron chains within his father’s dungeon. Death was inevitable.
The healer stood. “By Ashal, I don’t know what to do.”
“Stop allowing things to happen to you and take action.” Kron held out a hand. “Come with me.”
Randall looked into Kron’s eyes. “It’s certain death.”
“So is waiting for your father to find you. At least my way gives you a chance at survival.”
“What would we do? Two men can’t stand up to Verkain and his armies. And I’m not sure I’m capable of killing, especially not my father.”
Kron’s eyes shined with visions of future conflict. “We will deal with that when the time comes, but first we have to get to Kobalos.”
Randall gave a blank stare to the room surrounding them. What Kron asked was pure lunacy. There was little chance they would survive, but Randall was coming around to believing the man in black. Randall had no chance to survive unless he did something about it.
“I’ll go with you.”
Kron gave an evil grin. “Can your ring get us to Kobalos the same way it brought us here?”
“It’s possible, but it would draw Verkain’s attention again.”
Kron shook his head. “No. We’re in no condition to take on those demons.”
“We’re never going to be in condition to take on even one war demon.” The healer was exasperated at the thought. “Get that out of your head right now.”
Kron’s grin grew wider. “Perhaps we will find out some day.”
Randall ignored the implication. “What about the sergeant?”
Kron’s smile vanished. “I’m in no condition to help Gris, but I know how to find out if he is alive.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Heal my wounds. We’ll wait until nightfall then seek help.
“Who in their right mind is going to help us?”
The smile returned to Kron’s face. “I know of one, but she might try to kill me before I can ask.”
Chapter Twenty Nine
Belgad was no fool. He did not trust the war demons, but he knew how to deal with them.
Every Dartague child knew the stories about Lord Verkain, the high chieftain of Kobalos who was hundreds of years old, and the demon monsters that did his bidding. Dartague mothers told the tales to make their children behave. Belgad remembered stories of war demons terrorizing villages and slaying entire clans.
It was only when Belgad was older, by the time he was a tribal chieftain, that he discovered the stories were true. Dartague’s western mountain borders touched upon eastern Kobalos, and from time to time the lord of Kobalos would stretch forth his mighty hand and send his minions forth. The attacks were mere skirmishes, raiding parties sent to take what wealth could be found, but they were deadly assaults. Belgad had known more than one brave warrior who had lost an arm or leg in the border battles.
The Dartague also knew of tales of how to survive a war demon. The creatures had been known to spare those who showed the proper respect.
Today that knowledge had saved him.
Unfortunately for Sergeant Gris, it meant a lifetime of pain. A short lifetime of pain.
Belgad swung a fist and cracked the sergeant in the jaw, sending Gris sprawling across the main hall of the northerner’s manor to crash onto a table, sending silverware flying.
A fist was raised once more as Belgad stalked toward the sergeant. “I’ll ask you again, where have they gone?”
Gris slumped off the table’s edge and landed on the floor. From bruised eyes he glared at his tormentor. A split lip spilled red down the front of his orange tabard.
Belgad stopped, overshadowing his prey. “Tell me or things will get much worse for you.”
Gris spat a cracked, bloodied tooth onto the floor.
The Dartague drew back a fist as if to pummel the man again, then lowered his arm. This would take finesse, a delicate touch Belgad knew he did not have. For retrieving answers from someone as rugged as the sergeant, Belgad needed an expert.
The lord of the manor turned to Lalo standing at the far end of the hall between two sentries. “Bring me Percifidus.”
For the first time in a long time, the Finder hesitated upon receiving an order from his master. He did not speak, but his eyes questioned.
Belgad flexed his fingers as if ready to throttle something. “Don’t make me tell you again.”
Lalo nodded, turned and exited the great hall.
The Dartague intertwined his fingers and crac
ked his knuckles. He did not enjoy this beating. There was no sport in it, no thrill. The northerner would gladly pound an armed man who could defend himself, but he took no joy harming the sergeant in this fashion. The reason he was doing it was because he had bargained with the war demons to save his own life, and possibly for leverage. Though Belgad had no love for Kobalos or Verkain, it never hurt to have a powerful ally.
According to the demons, the healer was Verkain’s son who had been missing three years. The demons’ story explained the ring.
In truth, Belgad did not care about Randall, other than that turning Randall over to Verkain could benefit him monetarily or politically. What Belgad did care about was Kron Darkbow. The Dartague still wanted that mysterious man in black to be punished for what he had done, which was why the northern knight was pounding on Gris.
That, and the fact the demons had said they would return in a few days for word of Randall’s whereabouts. Otherwise, they would not be pleased.
Belgad kicked out, connecting with Gris’s head and sending the man flat on his back.
The sergeant did not move, but his chest continued to rise and fall sluggishly.
“Enjoy your rest,” Belgad said, towering over the unconscious man. “It will end soon enough.”
The bald lord eased his rear onto the edge of the table next to the downed sergeant. Belgad would rest, too. Night was drawing near and he had had little sleep. With Percifidus on his way, it was likely to be another long night.
***
Kron Darkbow was one with the night again. He jumped a narrow alley, from the roof of a baker’s shop onto a three-story building of apartments, and continued running, smiling all the while. It had been some time since he had been able to roam the rooftops of Bond and he had missed it, the night breeze blowing against his face and the soft thud of his boots on rooftops. Now he was fully healed, thanks to Randall, and once more climbing and jumping and swinging, much as he had as a boy in the treetops of the forests around the Prisonlands.
Randall had been left exhausted from his healing, unable to go with Kron, which was fine with the man rapidly crossing rooftops. The healer likely would be unable to keep up with him above Bond’s many streets. The young man had remained at the Southtown tower to rest while Kron had changed into the clothes Wyck had brought him. Then Kron had slunk forth into the night.