The Crimson League (The Herezoth Trilogy)

by Grefer, Victoria

  “Ugh!” Kora turned over beneath her bedsheets. “Leave me alone. Get off….”

  “Get up,” came Kansten’s voice. Kora opened her eyes and threw her roommate’s hand off her shoulder.

  “Let me sleep,” Kora grumbled. “Let soldiers come get me. I don’t care.”

  “You’re really not a morning person, are you?”

  Kora croaked back, “How can you be?”

  “I grew up on a farm.”

  The two women ate an overcooked breakfast with Lanokas. Kansten complained about the food until he told her the innkeeper was an “old friend,” which Kora took to mean the prince had led them to the local safehouse, even if they had not passed the night cramped in the attic. Their luck the night before in scaling the town’s short walls held through the morning, as the Leaguesmen saw no one at all when they climbed back over. They retrieved their horses and passed unimpeded to the road.

  The day proved more pleasant than the last, partly because of the lack of brambles, partly because Kora’s body had begun to adjust to the strains of long-distance travel, but mostly because Kansten was in an infinitely better mood. The group passed only a handful of people, all headed south; no one moving north overtook them. They came to the next village close to nightfall, a larger town than any they had seen thus far and which Kansten was sure, and Lanokas agreed, stood a decent chance of being guarded. Kora, reluctantly, suggested they make camp in a birch forest off the road.

  As darkness fell, they found a clearing a mile or so into the woods. Dry leaves blanketed the ground, while a number of outlying trees looked decayed and diseased. Lanokas stacked fallen branches as much to make a fire as to clear a space to sleep. Kora held off lighting the wood until a misty night rose around them, giving perfect cover for the smoke; she cast a spell from the book of stealth magic to limit the light the flames gave off, as the heat was what they needed. Kansten took first watch, so Kora and Lanokas pulled out their blankets, Kora with an ache in her stomach she could not explain. She had never been out on a night this eerie.

  Lanokas woke Kora some hours before sunrise. As she stretched she looked around, and there was no denying that something about this place frightened her. The fire had died long ago, and the mist was lighter than when Kora first lay down, so that a few scant beams of moonlight broke the grayness. She sat next to the ashes, her blanket across her shoulders, and waited, listening. She heard nothing but the scamper of mice across the leaves. Once she saw, with a start, something squat rise up from the ground, and only realized after raising her shield it was a quail.

  When dawn broke she went to wake her companions. Before she quite reached them, a wave of dizziness unlike anything she had ever experienced broke over her; she passed out, tumbling to the ground, landing not on a cushion of leaves but soundly on her feet on the floor of the Hall of Sorcery. Ignoring the effort breathing required, she whirled around, and sure enough she found Petroc leaning against a pillar, his arms crossed.

  “Send me back. You have to send me back, I….”

  Kora’s heart seized up as solidly as her lungs had. She stopped herself before admitting she was on guard. Petroc had never demanded she come alone, but would not take kindly to knowing she had company.

  “Please, let me go! I’m coming to the mountains. I’m two days north of Podrar.”

  “I know. I’ve tracked your progress.”

  “Then send me back! I’ll get to the Hall soon enough. I suppose it would be too much to ask you how to find it?”

  Petroc smiled, a smile not as cruel or disdainful as Kora would have imagined. Nor was it demented, she took comfort to see. He said, “That’s the reason I summoned you back.”

  “Where is the Hall?” Kora demanded.

  “West of the Podra. Between the rivers.”

  “That’s all you’re going to tell me?”

  “The path’s not difficult to find. Completing it, well, that’s something different altogether.”

  Kora’s heart, which had relaxed a little, tensed once again. “How many traps have you set?”

  “Me? The precautions have been there for centuries, and I wouldn’t call them traps. They’re more like tests, so that only a sorcerer, and a worthy one, will set foot in the Hall.”

  Kora’s mind was reeling. Would she be able to pull Kansten and Lanokas through the obstacles? Would she be forced, after all, to face Petroc alone?

  “Any other questions?”

  Kora hesitated. She knew she should return to the clearing, but she had heard nothing her entire watch except that quail, and she remembered, all of a sudden, where Petroc’s ancestry lay.

  “What do you know about the Librette?” she asked. Petroc’s eyes narrowed.

  “Why should I tell you that? Why would you even ask?”

  “You’re descended from Hansrelto, and Zalski wants the book. He’s been looking for it for weeks. Now he’s setting more men to the search. He wants the thing badly, I think for a special purpose, for a spell he could twist to his own designs.”

  Petroc thought for a moment. “I heard stories about the Librette growing up. About its magic. I have my suspicions as to what that book contains, and there’s nothing that could serve Zalski but to torture and kill.”

  “He can torture and kill just fine right now. Your brother’s a testament to that. Zalski wouldn’t devote the manpower….”

  “I don’t disagree. The problem is, if Zalski plans to put one of Hansrelto’s better-known spells to creative use I can’t read his mind. I’m not, thank heavens, that horror of a wife he took.” Petroc stared hard at Kora. “How do you know he wants the book?”

  Kora’s eyes went wide. “I don’t remember exactly what….”

  Petroc laughed. “You don’t remember? You joined the Crimson League, is what you did. Unfortunately, I can track only you. If you come to my gate accompanied….” He paused. “What is your name again?”

  Her voice was defiant. “Kora Porteg.”

  “If you come to my gate accompanied, I won’t be amused.”

  Petroc waved his arm, muttered something, and everything went black. Kora came to in the forest; she felt something was wrong even before she opened her eyes. She gasped for air, and got nothing. A strangled, choking sound issued from her lips.

  Kora was lying on her side, a gag in her mouth, her wrists and ankles tied. Two men in black uniform had already subdued Kansten, who had a nasty cut above one eye, and Lanokas, who had a bruised chin and gashed arm.

  The soldiers had found Kora collapsed. Helpless. She should never have wasted time asking Petroc about the spellbook: another deadly error. More lives lost because of her ineptitude. Had Kora been alone she would hardly have cared, but her friends….

  As there were three Leaguesmen and two officials, the soldiers had tied Kansten to a tree and gagged her, and now were now binding Lanokas to a birch trunk. They did not seem to recognize him, not as one of the Crimson League’s founding members and certainly not as the dead king’s son. Kansten’s dagger, along with Kora’s knife, Lanokas’s sword, and the contents of one of their sacks, lay strewn across the ground behind the soldiers, not far from Kora; no one had noticed her return to consciousness. She inched toward the nearest weapon, the knife five yards away.

  One of the guards, the taller and balder, asked Lanokas, “Who are you? You can’t enter these woods without a permit!”

  “I was unaware of that.”

  “How can you be unaware? There’s notices plastered across the village!”

  The soldier stared intently at the prince. Kora tried in desperation to utter the statue spell against him, with no result, not with a gag in her mouth. Of all the ways to go down, to be arrested by two volunteer army men from the country…. She wanted to weep just to think of it. What would Laskenay say when she heard? And Sedder, how disbelieving he would have been!

  The knife was four yards away now. The bald man continued to speak.

  “You’re not from here, are you? You’re pass
ing through, an outlaw by the looks of it. The lot of you, what are you wanted for?”

  Lanokas said nothing. If Kora could free his hands like she had Laskenay’s he could fight; that was all he needed, free hands. And she had gained another half foot.

  The bald soldier turned with a snarl to Kansten, studying her face, hoping to recognize her. He did not. Then his eyes moved to Kora, who stopped inching forward. She saw sweat—or was it dew?—glisten on his head as he lifted her. She tweaked her left ankle as he slammed her to her feet. He stared at her, and no recognition clicked within his face as Kora looked past him to the decaying trees, saw with a start two eyes, then four peer back and draw away. More guards. She struggled not to vomit. Her captor directed her gaze back to him.

  Ask me a question. Any question. Take out the gag, take it out!

  He opted instead, with a snap of his arm and a dog-like snarl, to knock Kora’s bandana away. He released her with a jolt; she fell back to the ground, landing on her arm.

  “Does Zalski know about you?”

  The second soldier, whom Kora had not really noticed, spun around with a bow in his hands, aimed it at his partner’s chest. He was thicker around the middle, with thinning hair.

  “What do think you’re doing?” snarled the bald man.

  “Let them go.”

  “Are you insane? Do you know what’s in this for us?”

  “Cut them loose or I’ll shoot you.”

  The bald man made a desperate dive for his own bow, discarded near Lanokas’s feet, but his fellow soldier proved as good as his word, and an excellent shot. His arrow lodged itself in the first guard’s back while he was spread in the air; the injured man fell across the campfire’s remains with a crunch of leaves and a spattering of ash. Then came more shots from between the diseased birches, two arrows, which struck the standing soldier in the chest. He collapsed with a gurgling sound. Kora’s gag muffled her scream.

  Two boys about fifteen years old rushed forward with their bows. They had big ears and wild hair, though one’s was mud-colored, the other’s as blond as Lanokas. The dark-haired boy freed Kansten while his companion removed Kora’s gag.

  “Why did you shoot?” Kora shrieked. “He was going to release us! He….”

  “We couldn’t hear him. We thought he wanted credit for the arrests.”

  The blond boy fumbled with the knot at Kora’s wrists.

  “My ankles!” she cried. “Ankles!”

  He went for her ankles instead. Kora could move again, and she ran to the soldier who had risen to her defense. He was portly, in his forties, and his face had a bluish tinge that brought Kora immediately to kneel beside him. She did not think; he already was unconscious. An incantation from the book of healing spells came tumbling from her mouth.

  “Nosea.”

  The ends of the arrows disappeared, but the shafts still protruded from his chest, and the points were still embedded. “Nosea,” Kora said again. She held her breath; what was left of the arrows vanished, leaving her staring at open wounds that bled more heavily than ever without obstructions in place.

  “Repara Arteria. Repara Organa.”

  Those spells should have healed damaged organs and blood vessels. The man kept bleeding, but Kora repeated her words for good measure before sealing the puncture wounds. Preventing him bleeding out would do little good if internal injuries caused his death instead.

  Kora fell back from the soldier, trying to make sense both of what he had done and what had happened to him. He might be one of those who joined the guard to keep a roof above his family: at least, he wore a wedding band. The fair-headed boy who had cut Kora’s ankles free now released her hands, and she threw two fingers against the portly man’s neck. He had a pulse. Meanwhile, the second teenage boy freed both Lanokas and Kansten, who crowded around the bald soldier and told Kora not to waste her energy when she made as though to join them. She replaced her headwrap and returned to the soldier still alive, the blond boy on her heels.

  “How did you…? Did you just heal him?”

  “I’m a sorceress,” said Kora. She felt the guard’s pulse again; it seemed a little weaker.

  “Then you actually are the Marked….”

  “It would seem so,” Kora snapped. The boy, who was bigger than she if one or two years younger, said nothing more but stuck by her side. “My sack,” Kora barked. “The small one, over there.”

  He ran for it. Kora rummaged for her canteen, which she half-emptied over the injured man’s face, pouring slowly, trying to bring him to. “You have a name?” she asked the boy.

  “Hayden Grissner. That’s my cousin Bidd.”

  Hayden started to say something more, but the man he had shot began to stir. With Kora’s help, the soldier sat up. Kansten, Lanokas, and Bidd came to see what was going on.

  “I’m sorry,” said Hayden. He gave the man a sip of what was left in the canteen. “I’m sorry, I didn’t understand what you were doing.”

  “I’m doomed.” The man’s voice was strong, even after such an injury. His arms trembled, threatening to buckle beneath his weight, but there was no strain to his words. “I killed a fellow soldier. I have to run and I can’t even stand. I won’t make it three miles.”

  Bidd said, “You don’t have to run, not if you say we’re the ones who shot him. You were here to check quail permits, right? Well, research will show I don’t have one.”

  “Me neither,” said Hayden. The man protested, but Bidd spoke over him.

  “We would’ve had to flee soon, we’re too involved with black market spices. Just give us time to skip town before dropping our descriptions.”

  Lanokas told the teenagers, “You can come with us, for a while at least.”

  “Crimson League?” guessed Bidd. Lanokas nodded. “Well, any man wanted by Zalski is a friend of ours.”

  Kora looked from Bidd to Hayden and back again. She thought of the ambushes she had survived: of the blow Ranler took for her, of how easily she could have sent Laskenay up in flames, of Bendelof’s bleeding head and Sedder’s bubbling, white lips.

  “You don’t know what you’re getting into,” she said.

  “Wait just a minute,” said Kansten. She stared, a hard look on her face, at the soldier and his bloodstained uniform. “How do we know you’ll give us time enough?”

  “He tried to release us,” said Lanokas.

  “And these two morons nearly killed him. It’s enough to change someone’s loyalties, not that I’m sure I trusted him in the first place.”

  “Your friend there saved my life,” the man told Kansten. “I know what uniform I wear, but I don’t support Zalski. I made it pretty clear I don’t want him to get his hands on you. I’m just trying to put food in my son’s stomach.”

  Bidd stared at Kansten with intense dislike, unable to fathom how she could suggest such treachery. He had no idea of what Kansten had seen, that was all, of what Kora herself had seen in a few short weeks.

  “We trust the man or we kill him,” said Bidd. “That’s what it comes down to, and I think killing him would be pretty poor repayment for him trying to let you go.”

  “Fine,” said Kansten, but she looked unhappy about it. “We could tie him up, did you think of that?”

  “Enough bickering,” said Lanokas. His voice was sharp, final without excessive harshness, and he brought his face level with that of the recovering soldier. Kora had never seen the royal, the born leader in him, so clearly.

  “Mention only the two locals. They’re the assassins. Not a word about the three of us, and especially not that ruby. You and your partner separated, and you came across him as the boys were fleeing. They looked to be headed south.”

  The soldier looked confused. “South?”

  “Just tell them south. Your shirt got stained when you tried to resuscitate the victim.”

  “What about the tears in it?” asked the soldier.

  How could so much depend on such a simple piece of magic? Kora had read the book
of household spells just once, resenting that Laskenay had set the thing before her. “Enmenda,” she said. Then she smiled. “What tears?”

  The soldier examined his shirt, nonplussed. He echoed his partner’s question to the sorceress, though with a kinder tone:

  “Does Zalski know about you?”

  “He doesn’t know where I slipped off to.”

  “And we’d like to keep it that way,” said Lanokas, with a significant glance.

  “Your lives depend on me,” said the soldier. His face had regained color, and his arms seemed less in danger of collapsing than before. “I don’t take that lightly.”

  “Good. You’ll make it into town?”

  “In a few hours. That should be all the time you need. I can hardly stall once I’m seen by the townsfolk.”

  “I understand. What’s your name, by the way?”

  “Hank. Hank Spiller. There’s identification in my pocket,” he said, before Kansten could suggest he lied. She pulled out his papers.

  “He looks legit,” she announced.

  “Well, I don’t recognize him,” said Bidd.

  “I’m new to these parts, got transferred here a month ago from Podrar with a slash in pay. I hadn’t been arresting my quota.”

  Lanokas said, “And your partner?”

  “Him I know,” Bidd answered. “The baker’s brother, born and raised here. He’s been feuding with my dad for years over a cornfield, so my killing him in a panic over poaching won’t sound far-fetched. There’s no way he wouldn’t have turned me in.”

  Lanokas turned to the cousins. “Please tell me you brought horses.”

  “We had a feeling we might need them,” said Hayden.

  “Go get them,” said Lanokas, and the boys headed off. “We’re lucky our horses didn’t break free, the arrows spooked them…. Does Zalski have elites around here?”

  Hank stared at the prince. “A place this small?”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “I’m not exactly high-ranking. There could be elites undercover, I wouldn’t know, but it would shock me more than finding the Marked….”

  “We get it,” said Kora. Petroc might have forced her to admit the truth to herself, but she saw no reason she had to listen to it from other people. “No elites.”