by Ty Johnston
Some of the gold for buying horses and supplies came from Kron, but Adara was not without a good bit of funds and offered it for the overall good of the three. Darkbow was hesitant, but accepted knowing he had little other choice. Adara prompted him on his current lack of heavy weaponry, meaning a sword and bow, and his reply was that he would correct the situation at Belgad’s mansion.
Soon they parted, Kron slinking toward the walls of Belgad’s manor while Adara made her way east into the heart of the Swamps, seeking stables willing to sell four steeds in the middle of the night.
Nearing the walls of the fortress, Kron trotted around the structure. He was surprised to find the front gate hanging open and two guards flat on their backs on the gravel path leading to the main house.
From inside his cloak, Kron drew a dagger and a fire grenado. He approached the open gate with caution but as far as he could see there were no other guards.
He checked the downed men near the gate and discovered they were not dead, but snoring away their time on duty.
The man in black grinned. He did not know who had performed this miracle for him, but he realized it was of a magical nature. He hoped it was Verkain, his war demons perhaps returning early and not happy with Belgad. He doubted as much, but Adara had told him she had heard the demons were expected to return for an answer as to Randall’s whereabouts.
Kron helped himself to one of the dozing guards’ swords and belt. He wrapped the weapon onto his back, noting it was heavy but shorter than the sword he was used to carrying.
Under shadow he made his way toward Belgad’s front door. There was little cover in the openness of the huge front lawn, but Kron felt sure no one could see him. It was a dark night and he was, as usual, all in black.
To his surprise the heavy front doors to the main building also hung open. Just inside, another pair of guards slept on the floor. Kron would never have planned on walking through the front door, but it appeared either Ashal had taken pity on him or a stroke of stupendous fortune had presented itself.
Belgad’s voice boomed from inside. “What the hell does he want?”
Kron leaned forward to spy around the edge of one of the open doors.
Belgad, along with the dumpy figure of Stilp, was hurrying up the curved stairs of the front hall.
“It’s got something to do with the healer, Tendbones,” Stilp said, not more than a few feet behind the hulking Dartague.
Before more could be said, the two men vanished upstairs.
Kron hesitated. What little he had heard had given him pause, making him wonder if he should not try to follow the two. They had been speaking of Randall, and the healer’s safety was of import. But Gris was somewhere on these grounds, needing his freedom or already dead. Kron decided he would have to go on with his search for the sergeant. Randall was in no immediate danger, and Kron had faith Adara would not turn traitor. Gris needed saving. Kron Darkbow was the man to save him.
As he moved into the house, Kron promised himself he would not make the same mistakes he had in the past. It was a time for results, not showmanship. He had embarrassed Belgad enough. Rescuing the sergeant had to be the priority, but he still hoped for a chance to end the large northerner’s life.
***
Percifidus found himself with nothing to do until the Liar returned, so he sat on the stool next to Gris’s unmoving body and waited. Belgad had left Lalo the Finder with the vivisectionist, but the two had nothing to say to one another.
Lalo stood as still as the unconscious sergeant, his hands clasped in front of him near the room’s open door.
The servant and the vivisectionist had not been long in their silence when both heard soft steps approaching through the hall outside the room.
Lalo turned to the sound. “Did you placate him, my lord?”
A black fist caught the Finder in the face sending him reeling to the floor in front of the table.
“Oh my.” Percifidus stood away from the stool.
“Do not move.” Kron entered the room with his new sword pointed at the vivisectionist.
Lalo touched his broken nose, which was leaking red down his robes. Kron gave the man credit for not crying or calling out; it would have been the end of his life if he had done either.
The Finder glared up at the man who had wounded him. “What do you want?”
“Him.” Kron’s sword pointed at Gris.
Lalo gave a snake’s smile. “Take him if you like, but you’ll never make it out of the house.”
“I beg to differ. It appears someone has already taken care of the guards.” Kron wore an evil smile of his own.
Lalo moved to stand.
“Don’t.” Kron waved his weapon in front of the Finder’s face.
Lalo remained sitting on the floor, but his face showed he was not happy about it.
“You,” Kron said, turning his blade toward the vivisectionist, “untie the sergeant.”
Percifidus glanced at Gris. “He’s leashed with leather straps. I’ll have to cut them.”
“Then proceed, but do so very carefully. I’m only a hair away from finishing you both as it is.”
With shaking hands, Percifidus reached out slowly and lifted his small knife from the table and began to saw at the bindings around one of Gris’s wrists.
Lalo used a sleeve to wipe the blood from beneath his nose as he glared up at Kron. “Even without guards, Belgad will take care of you.”
“Just like at his party?” Kron’s words held some mirth, but he continued to watch every move of Percifidus.
Lalo sat back, resting on his hands. “He is not alone. He is upstairs in his library this minute with Professor Markwood from the college of magic. I sm sure the professor can deal with you.”
Kron gave a brief glance to the Finder before turning his eyes back on the vivisectionist. “Then your master can explain why he was trying to kill the professor’s friend.”
Lalo sneered beneath his crumpled nose. “You mean that healer?”
“Exactly. I don’t think Markwood would appreciate —”
The blade came in high, aimed for Kron’s throat. He barely had time to step back and avoid the slash before Percifidus was swinging the knife around for another attack.
The short, plump man had caught Kron off guard. The vivisectionist no longer looked afraid. The animal instinct to kill had replaced the fear in his eyes. He had used his own deceptive appearance and Lalo’s distraction to his advantage.
Kron mentally scolded himself for making another mistake, for not paying more attention to the possible threat Percifidus presented. But he had no time to linger on his thoughts. The knife was coming in for a killing stab.
Instinct and training took over. Kron sidestepped Percifidus’s blade, twirled and swung his own sword.
A meaty chopping noise followed as the heavy blade cut through the vivisectionist’s throat, spraying streams of blood on the gray walls.
Percifidus remained on his feet. His knife dropped as he grabbed at his throat in a vain attempt to stem the flow of life. It was too late, however, and the man’s froggy eyes rolled back in his head. He splattered to the floor in his own gore.
Kron pointed his dripping sword at the Finder. “Release the sergeant.”
After witnessing the vivisectionist's scarlet death, Lalo wasted no time doing what he had been told. In less than a minute, Gris’s bindings were removed.
Kron’s luck still held. Belgad had not returned.
But the man in black could not leave Lalo free. The Finder was no combatant, and to Kron’s knowledge had never killed anyone. Belgad’s servant would live.
“My apologies.” Kron threw another punch.
The Finder bounced back from the blow and crashed into the wall. He slid to the ground still conscious, but he now wore a black eye.
“Sorry, again.” Kron smirked and stepped forward.
Lalo put up an arm to shield himself, but it was no good. Two more punches and Belgad’s man was out
cold.
Kron rubbed his gloved knuckles. “Must be losing my touch.”
***
Unaware of the events going on beneath his feet, Belgad marched into his library, slamming the door open before entering.
Maslin Markwood sat in one of the cushioned chairs facing the desk. The old wizard’s gray beard hung over his dark robes as he twisted in his seat to glare at the master of the house.
Belgad noticed the flames in the fireplace were higher and brighter than he had left them. A bottle of Ursian brandy from his personal stock sat uncorked on top of the desk. A short glass with a hint of brown liquor in its bottom sat on the corner of the desk nearest the wizard.
The northerner had not known what to expect, but he would not have guessed this. From what Lalo had said, Belgad had expected the magician to be in an uproar.
“Welcome. Have a seat.” Markwood waved at the chair behind the desk. “It is your house, after all.”
“Yes, it is.” Anger was building behind the Dartague’s eyes, but he was smart enough to remain wary. Belgad feared no man, but Markwood was more than a man. Magic, in the northerner’s experience, was not to be trusted, and Markwood was said to be one of the most powerful wizards in the city.
Belgad cautiously made his way behind the desk and sat, scanning the room to make sure everything was in place and he was in no imminent danger.
“I suppose you know why I am here.” The wizard reached for the glass.
Belgad watched the old man throw back the last of the drink. The wizard did not appear drunk, but his subdued behavior unsettled the Dartague.
Markwood slammed his glass on the desk hard enough for a narrow crack to appear in the drinking vessel. “Where is he?”
“I know not the location nor the condition of the healer.”
Markwood’s unblinking eyes remained on the much larger man.
Belgad watched the mage tighten his grip on the nearly-shattered glass. “Is that why you have invaded my home and disabled my guards?”
Markwood’s dark gray eyebrows creased. “I know much of what happened today. Randall’s use of the ring was difficult not to notice. The presence of the war demons was even harder to ignore. I know Randall was at the cemetery, and I know three demons made an appearance. By the time I arrived at the cemetery, all I found were dead men, all of them known to work for you. After that, I do not know what became of Randall. You will tell me.”
“I have nothing to say.”
“Are you positive?”
“I cannot tell you of what I do not know.”
Markwood stared a moment further at the northerner, his dark look growing more hard, then he turned to the fireplace. He pursed his lips as if he were kissing the air, then spat a straight line of auburn fluid across the room into the fire.
As soon as the liquid reached the flames, a blaze sprang from the hearth and shot up the wall to catch afire the bottom of a scarlet tapestry threaded in gold.
Belgad looked more annoyed than frightened.
The wizard gestured and the fires attacking the tapestry disappeared as if a strong wind had blown through the room.
The northerner did not look overly impressed. “Very nice, but it will get you nowhere.”
“If I find you are not telling the truth and Randall has been harmed,” the wizard said with gritted teeth, “I will return and burn away everything in this household. I will melt all your gold, slay all your soldiers and watch the bricks of this place crumble to the ground.”
Belgad leaned forward, his elbows resting on his desk as his hands formed into a triangle beneath his chin. “I have taken into consideration who you are and what you mean to this community, but do not make the mistake of threatening me.”
“I do not threaten.” Markwood stood, looming. “I only make you aware of certain possibilities.”
“Then allow me to provide my own possibilities. If you ever intrude upon my home again, I will be forced to arrange for one of my swords to intermingle with your intestines.”
Markwood nodded. “It is good we understand one another.”
“Yes.”
The wizard spun, his robes billowing out behind him, and marched out of the library.
The large northern man sat and pondered the wizard’s words. Belgad would have to do something about increasing the magical security of his home. With Trelvigor gone, he would need a new wizard, one who was not so insane.
Chapter Thirty One
Randall and Kron had agreed to meet later in the night at an abandoned warehouse near the Docks.
When the man who wore black met up with the healer again, he brought along three horses, the woman Adara and the sergeant, who was still in a stupor.
Exhausting himself near to passing out, Randall used the last of his strength to heal Gris.
Within minutes the sergeant came around but remained groggy.
He found himself on his back on a floor of wooden beams.“What happened?”
“Much,” Kron said, returning from bedding down the horses in another part of the warehouse. He explained about the war demons at the cemetery, Adara’s leaving Fortisquo and Gris’s rescue from the hands of a man Randall identified as Percifidus the vivisectionist.
“It is probably better for all that man is no longer among the living.” The healer surprised himself at his strong words describing Percifidus.
Gris looked about at his surroundings. “Where are we?”
Kron answered. “A warehouse on the Docks.”
Surrounded by his companions and rows upon rows of stacked crates and barrels, Gris knew he was lucky to be alive. Beneath the only light, an oil lamp Randall had scrounged from a room in back of the warehouse, the sergeant stared into the faces of the three sitting or kneeling around him. First there was Randall Tendbones, the young healer who apparently was a Kobalan prince on the run from his father. Second was Adara Corvus, an accomplished sword fighter who had left Fortisquo and Belgad’s service because she felt drawn to learn from the darkest of the group. Finally Gris turned to look at Kron Darkbow, a man who had until recently lived by another name, who showed no fear of his enemies and seemed intent upon destroying them.
The sergeant’s gaze remained on the man he had once know as Lucius Tallerus. “What happens now?”
Kron glanced from Randall to Adara, then turned to the sergeant. “We are heading to Kobalos.”
Gris nearly choked. “What in Ashal’s name for?”
Randall sat on the floor next to the downed city guard sergeant “It is time I faced my father, Lord Verkain. I can run from him all my life, but it will do no good. Sooner or later he would catch up to me, and before then many could be harmed.”
Gris looked to the healer. “What are you going to do when you face Verkain?”
Randall shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Kron spoke up, his words, blunt. “Verkain needs to die.”
“By Ashal, you’re all insane.” Gris glanced around the group. “Taking on Belgad was bad enough, but this is beyond anything I’ve ever heard.”
“Verkain must pay for Wyck’s death.” Kron eased himself down on a crate. “He might not have been directly involved, but it was still his doing. If his war demons had not been — ”
Gris cut him off. “If you hadn’t started this stupid war with Belgad in the first place, none of this would have happened. I knew I should have arrested you that day in your room.”
Kron’s hard features softened into a grin. “On what charges?”
“I could have come up with something. The captain wouldn’t take your word over mine, and I don’t think you would have fought against me.”
Kron’s stare was Gris’s answer.
“Where we are going is besides the point,” Adara interrupted. “We have to get out of Bond and soon. Belgad and Fortisquo will be on our trail.”
The man in black looked to the woman. “I am not finished with Belgad.”
The healer appeared confused. “What are you
talking about?”
Gris sighed. “He’s going back to the mansion.” He looked up at Kron. “Aren’t you?”
***
“Stilp!” Belgad screamed.
The little man came running down the stairs into the basement. He pulled himself to a halt when he saw his employer standing in the center of the small room that was supposed to have been Sergeant Gris’s torture chamber. Instead of the sergeant on the table, Stilp found Percifidus and Lalo stretched out on the ground, the vivisectionist looking the worse of the two with his throat split open and drying blood caking his clothes.
Belgad glared at the scene, his sandals splashed with the blood he was standing in. “Darkbow.”
Stilp’s gaze darted about the room as if he expected the man in black to swoop from a shadow.
“If not for Markwood’s reputation, I would have thought he and Darkbow had worked together.”
Stilp moved to Lalo and knelt next to the man. “At least the Finder is still breathing.”
Belgad turned for the stairwell.
Stilp stood and stared at his master’s back. “What do you want me to do?”
Belgad did not answer, and he did not stop climbing stairs.
“Oh hell.” Stilp followed his employer.
Belgad stomped up the stairs to the front chamber of his house. He paused long enough to stare at the unconscious guards at the front door, then headed up another flight of stairs.
Stilp popped out of the door to the basement and chased after his boss. “What are we going to do?”
“I am going to my bed chamber.” The Dartague did not halt his motion. “There I am going to take down my sword hanging on the wall, and then I am going to find Kron Darkbow and chop him into meat!”
“That’s easier said than done.” The familiar voice was above.
Belgad and Stilp looked up the stairs to see Kron at the top landing near the door to the library. The long blade of a sword protruded from the darkness of the man in black’s cloak.
Belgad came to a stop. “You!”