Broken Crossroads (Knights of the Shadows Book 1)

by LeClerc, Patrick

  She rolled her eyes. Only Conn.

  Her lips twisted in a smirk and she glided off in the direction of the singing.

  * * *

  Conn scoured at his spear with a swath of leaves filled with sand, keeping an eye on the forest while he bellowed the second refrain.

  “Her eyes, they shone like diamonds–”

  A copper penny sailed from the shadows off the trail to land at his feet.

  “Move along to the next corner, my good man,” smiled Trilisean as she stepped into view. “You're putting the chipmunks off their feed.”

  “You wound me, Madame,” he replied gravely. “Good to see you back.”

  “Good to be seen. You're unhurt?”

  “Aye. You're all in one piece?” he asked, looking her over to make sure.

  She nodded. Then her eyebrows came together in recognition as she looked over the brigand bodies. “That's Twitch.”

  “Twitch?”

  “Small time muscle. Worked off and on for a few different moneylenders. Don't know his real name. Everyone called him ‘Twitch' because…” she shrugged, “well, because he had a twitch.”

  She knelt and began to systematically search the fallen.

  Conn could sense the wheels turning as she tried to puzzle out why a loan shark's enforcer would be out robbing travelers on a disused forest trail. “Any of these others look familiar?”

  She shook her head. “They look like outsiders. Probably local bandits hired by Twitch for two marks apiece.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Well, they look dirtier and worse fed than Twitch, their gear is patchwork and homespun, not like they'd get in a city, and they each have two silver marks on them. Here,” she tossed him a handful of coins. “There's your half.”

  Conn caught the silver and slipped it into his pouch. “If our friend here wakes up, he may be able to tell us what they were doing out here.”

  He squatted down to look at the bound man. Still breathing deep and regular, no response to slapping. Conn was about to comment when he heard Trilisean unleash a storm of curses.

  “Easy, lass! That's the mouth you bite coins with, remember?”

  “The slimy, greedy bastard,” she snarled more quietly.

  “What's troubling you?” he asked, not turning away from his prisoner. “Is old Twitch selfishly being difficult about his gold tooth?”

  “He had a copy of our map.”

  Conn swung around. “What?”

  “A copy.” She waved a folded parchment sheet as evidence. “The same bleeding map that two faced, six chinned fence gave me.” She glared for a moment, then continued. “Maybe it wasn't him.”

  “Who else knew about the map?” asked Conn.

  “Vaigh, but I doubt he'd go through the trouble of getting a good copy made, and he doesn't have the skill himself. And Fayl's client, of course. He could have shopped it out to several people. But that's sloppy, unless he knew who he could trust. I don't know if there are others.”

  “Maybe Vaigh sold his copy to this Twitch.”

  “I suppose.” She chewed her lip in thought. “In any case, if there is one copy out there, there could be a dozen. Every semi-professional cutpurse and second story artist in Laimrig could be after the same thing we are. You realize what this means?”

  “There could be more groups who'll try to remove the competition by killing us.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” she said dismissively. “More to the point, they could get there ahead of us and loot the place clean.”

  “So long as we have our priorities in order.”

  The surviving bandit showed no sign of reviving,

  “What do you want to do with him?” Conn asked.

  Trilisean shrugged. “He's hired muscle. He wouldn't know anything. Twitch never would have told him more than he had to. He’s n ot much of a threat, all alone. If he does wake up, he'll most likely just run.”

  “No point wasting this valuable lesson by cutting his throat then?”

  They shouldered their packs, left the prisoner tied up and set off down the trail.

  After a mile, Conn turned off into the woods. Trilisean followed, but raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “Any ambush will come on the trail,” he explained. “If our friend gets rescued or meets up with his pals after he frees himself, they'll look for us on the trail. Or even if there are a few other interested parties, they'll be on the trail headed to the temple. If they decide to take out the competition, that's where they'll look.”

  “How do you propose we find our way?”

  He unfolded the map. “If we head south, we'll run into this river,” he pointed. “It flows right past the site. We can follow it upstream.”

  “What if there's not a trail beside it?”

  “Doesn't matter. It's late in the year. The water should be low. Lower than the spring flood anyway. We can walk on the bank, or even along the dry edge of the bed. It may be slower than this trail, but it's likely safer. And we know we'll have water.”

  She accepted that, trusting his woodcraft after her own recent scare, but the delay fed her growing doubt.

  Who was behind the multiple copies of the map? Fayl should be smarter than to do that, knowing his contacts would do their sums and blame would fall back on him. Maybe the client looked for another thief after hearing of Vaigh's failure. She gave up trying to work it out. She didn't have enough information to do more than give herself a headache.

  Soon they reached the river. As Conn had expected, it was low. Clear water flowed around large boulders in the middle of the bed, but a wide, flat belt of dry stony ground flanked it on either side. Heavy brush and trees grew down close to the bank, so they made their way up the dry edge of the riverbed itself. Now that they had an aisle of view not obscured by trees, they could see the mountains rising ahead of them.

  Conn strode along easily. Trilisean had a bit of trouble getting used to the footing of stones, tumbled smooth by centuries of flood, but soon her carefully honed sense of balance and nimble reflexes took over and she was able to match his pace.

  They moved slower than on the trail, but quickly enough. Near sundown they came upon a deer drinking from the stream. It froze and regarded the pair for a moment, then sprang off into the woods.

  “Too bad I didn't pack a bow,” said Conn. “We could use a change from hardtack and jerky.”

  “You mean you were content with a sword, a spear, an axe, a shield and that foot-long dirk?” Trilisean smiled, raising an eyebrow. “You don't have a halberd or a siege engine tucked away in that pack of yours?”

  “A man can never be too well prepared,” he answered. “Besides, I have to make up for all the things you aren't carrying,” he said, eyeing her small pack.

  “I like to travel light,” she replied. “And I knew my big, strong companion would pick up the slack. Except for a bow…” She shook her head sadly. “Face it. You're slipping.”

  “Well, age and drink have taken their toll. You'll be havin' to trade me in soon.”

  “Not for a while yet,” she replied, looking him up and down. “The mind may be going but the rest seems functional enough.”

  They walked through the afternoon when Conn suddenly drove his spear into the river and drew it back to display a fish. It was greenish on its back, white on its belly and with a delicate pink stripe along its side.

  “Now that's dinner,” he grinned. “A nice change from dried beef.”

  “Once again you impress me with your woodcraft,” she said. “What kind of fish is that?”

  Conn brought the spear close, studying his catch. “I believe,” he said, furrowing his brow, “that this is the rare and elusive Stripy River Dweller. It's much prized by the discriminating palate.”

  She laughed. “Now, let's see if you can impress me with your cooking.”

  They made camp near the bank. Conn built a fire in a ring of river stones, cleaned the fish and grilled it over the coals. He had cooked en
ough camp meals to know a few tricks, although the lack of any spices was disappointing. He filled the pot with water, brought it to a boil and tossed in some tea leaves. Soon they enjoyed their first fresh meal in days.

  “Excellent,” Trilisean raised her mug in salute. “Jerky was beginning to lose its magic.”

  “Thanks. This would be better if I had some butter and wine to grill it in. Or even some potatoes to bake in the coals.”

  “And sully our meal of Fillet of Stripy River Dweller on hardtack?” she asked in horror. “How can you suggest such a thing?”

  He laughed.

  “Did you do a lot of cooking in the open when you were a soldier?”

  “When we had dry wood and food to cook,” he replied. “We always had supplies of hardtack, and usually jerky or salt pork. Anything else we could scrounge. We got pretty good at making do. Too bad it's so late in the year. We passed some blackberry bushes back a ways.”

  “How much further do you think it is?”

  “Dunno.” He took a swig of tea. “Let's have a look at the map.”

  Trilisean dug in her small pack and produced the document, carefully folded in a waxed sheet of parchment. They leaned over it.

  “This bend in the river looks like where we passed today,” the mercenary pointed. “Aye, and here's that little stream emptying into the river. If this is the temple, then we ought to be there by late tomorrow afternoon, assuming the map is right.”

  “It can't be too far off,” she replied. “Vaigh found it easily enough.”

  “Surprised we've never heard of any temple out this way. I never even heard legends that this area was ever settled.”

  She shook her head. “The pieces Fayl bought were…different. I've seen antiques and temple decorations from a dozen nations and a score of gods, both real treasures and forgeries. These weren't Grian, or Arendish or Thytan. These were like nothing I've seen before. Long, curved, almost sinuous shapes. Beautiful, but impractically proportioned…” she trailed off, lost in silent thoughts for a moment, staring into the firelight as if seeking answers.

  “But,” she abruptly came back to herself, “the gold and silver and gems were real enough.”

  “Well,” he said, rolling out his blanket, “I guess we'll find out tomorrow.”

  * * *

  They proceeded along the stream until midafternoon, keeping to the shadows of overhanging trees by the banks. Conn, walking a few yards in front, suddenly halted, holding one hand up. He stood still as death for a few moments, staring ahead, then silently drifted back to Trilisean.

  “Was there a bridge and a tower on that map?” he breathed in her ear.

  She shook her head. She had studied the map intently and there was no such landmark.

  “There's the ruin of a bridge. The span is gone. I'd've missed the two sides if I didn't notice the old footing in midstream for the center piling. There's the stump of a tower on the left bank.”

  They approached cautiously, despite the fact that the structure seemed long deserted. Trilisean noted birds roosting on the crumbled stones of the old tower walls. Creeping vines covered much of the structure, and tall plants and saplings grew up through gaps in the blocks.

  They crept up on the tower and found it unoccupied except for the birds and small animals who scurried away at their approach. Conn stepped through the empty gap which had once been a doorway, scanning the interior. Trilisean glided in behind him, drifting off to the right, her back against the wall.

  The inside of the tower was some fifteen feet across, the walls ending unevenly about ten feet from the ground. Hollows were visible where supports for the upper floor must have rested, but the beams themselves were long since rotted away, the sockets now filled with dried grass and twigs by nesting birds.

  The earthen floor was strewn with fallen stones and choked with undergrowth. Conn prodded the floor with his spear and found a rusted axe head. Several small bones were scattered about, but from what creature, he had no idea.

  He looked at Trilisean. She raised an eyebrow and indicated a point on the ground. He followed her gesture and recoiled at the sight of an ivory brown spider lurking in the weeds, the span of its legs nearly six inches across.

  The thief stepped carefully but calmly over to it, brushed aside the foliage with the toe of her boot, revealing the skeletal remains of a human hand, tangled in the grass.

  Conn relaxed, a bit embarrassed at his reaction. Trilisean stooped, examined the hand and then stood, holding a small, blackened object.

  Conn looked a question at her as she scrubbed at the thing. She displayed it with a smile. It was a ring, glinting dully through ages of tarnish where she had scraped at it.

  Conn shook his head. “You could kiss a man and count his gold teeth,” he breathed.

  Further search told them nothing. The bridge had fallen and the tower been swallowed by the forest years ago. Perhaps centuries, but neither of them could say. The road leading to the bridge was lost in the undergrowth. They could only guess its course because they knew it to be there. They found no sign of recent human occupation, no tracks but their own. They began to breathe easier.

  “Wonder what this tower was for?” said Conn.

  “Bridge toll? Guard tower for the bridge?”

  “I suppose. I just never heard of any roads or bridges out this way. Not enough left of anything to tell who built it.”

  “I'll mark it on the map,” said Trilisean. “Maybe some scholar will pay for the information. This might be a new ancient civilization for them to poke around at.”

  “What about the ring?”

  She shrugged. “Looks to be silver. It has a stone, but I won't be sure what until I can give it a good cleaning. The band is smooth, fairly wide. No inscription I can see.”

  They continued their trek. A few hours after noon, Conn halted and pulled out the map.

  “That should be the way up.” He pointed at a break in the brush on their left. “That saddle up ahead looks like this spot here,” he pointed at the map, “so the temple should be on the west face of this hill here, which,” he pointed at a green rise off to the left, “should be that.”

  “You think so?”

  He shrugged. “The map shows a hill just before that saddle. That is a big thing sticking up in the right place, so I say we go have a look.”

  “Lead on, o wise one.”

  They made their way through the woods up the rise. Conn found a game trail and avoided the densest brush.

  As they approached the crest, he stopped.

  She raised her eyebrows as he turned toward her. He pointed at the ground before him.

  Trilisean advanced and saw the sunken bed of an old road. A few paving stones were still visible, although most were uprooted or buried. It was two carts wide, and had clearly been quite the thoroughfare in its time.

  She shrugged, indicating the road with a tilt of her head. He nodded.

  They moved slowly up the old road, Conn five yards ahead on the right side and Trilisean back and on the left, both moving quietly and straining eyes and ears for signs of ambush.

  The woods thinned as they climbed. The road turned a bend and ran up to a stone stairway leading to a pair of massive elaborately carved doors.

  It was impressive. At one time it must have been awe inspiring. A flight of steps cut from granite led up twenty feet from the level of the road to the doors which were ten feet across and twelve feet tall where they met at the top of the pointed arch. The whole gateway seemed hewn into the side of the hill, sheer stone cliff to either side of the portal. Ages of wind and weather had abused the carvings, but tall, manlike forms still adorned the doors, and faint remnants of runic inscriptions traced the archway.

  The stones of the stair had shifted and cracked in places. Earth and drifts of leaves filled the edges, accumulating for so long that trees had begun to grow, a large oak displacing one step from the rest. The whole slope had grown over years ago. The trees were old, but not quite so ol
d as the rest of the forest. Clinging and creeping vines covered the bare rock face around the doors.

  As the pair approached, they saw that the vines had recently covered the doors themselves, but had been cleared away. Withered cut vines lay off to the side.

  Conn and Trilisean crept up the stairway. At the top, they paused. Trilisean studied the joint of the massive doors while Conn looked over the carvings.

  The inscription was worn to near invisibility, but even where he could make out the shapes of the signs, they meant nothing to him. The signs seemed to flow together, and were curved and graceful, quite unlike the angular characters of Grian or the complex but distinct symbols used by the Jarvings.

  The figures, which could have been gods or kings, were manlike, but longer of limb, and so damaged by erosion that details of dress or features were long since gone.

  Trilisean pointed to the edge of the door.

  “We aren't the first,” she breathed.

  Conn followed her gesture, noting new scars of tools. Fresh gouges marred the stone.

  “Crowbar,” she said, shaking her head. “Unprofessional.”

  She dropped her pack and began to dig. First, she produced a tiny, hooded lantern and a flask of oil. Then she unrolled a canvass bundle, revealing a wide variety of lockpicks, probes, lenses, files, saws and things Conn could not identify. She set up and lit the lantern, opened one side to produce a narrow beam, selected one of the lenses, placed it near her eye and directed the beam at the joint in the doors, running it the length.

  “Just one deadbolt in the center. No other bolts, or lines that would trip alarms or traps. No keyhole or latch outside, either.”

  She moved to the side of the left hand door, took out a leather cone, held it to her ear and pressed the wide end against the stone. She moved up the height of the door where it met the jamb, tapping with the hilt of her dagger. Then she repeated the procedure on the right side.

  “The bolt is a bar. It goes all the way out on the left, but not the right,” she announced, “so, there might be a catch of some kind…” she started to feel and tap along the cliff wall to the left of the door. “A way in for those who knew…”