by James Wisher
“How can you be so sure?” Marie-Bell asked.
Damien paused and glanced around the tiny village. “Where else would a stranger go in this place? When we go in, stay a step or two behind us. While everyone is looking at Jen and me use your soul sight to scan the room. Lizzy, can you provide me with an image of Smyth to show around?”
A tingle ran up his back as Lizzy drew on her power. In the air beside him a life-size image of a man in filthy clothes appeared. He couldn’t have been any less imposing.
Jen’s knuckles cracked as she clenched her fists. “That’s him, huh? I really hope we find him alive.”
Marie-Bell cocked her head. “I would have thought the opposite.”
“No. If he’s already dead I can’t kill him myself.”
The blood drained from the paladin’s face. “I see.”
They continued on, Marie-Bell hanging back a little like Damien asked. Jen reached the door first and yanked it open with a little more force than strictly necessary. At least she didn’t rip it off its hinges.
Inside they found a typical tavern layout, scattered tables, most empty, with a bar along the back wall beside steps leading to the second floor where he figured there were rooms available for the occasional visitor.
Damien couldn’t help smiling. “A paladin, warlord and sorcerer walk into a tavern. Sounds like a bad joke.”
“I’m glad you’ve held on to your sense of humor.” Jen glared at him without a hint of a laugh.
“One of us has to. I think you’ve got angry covered.” Damien tried to make light of the situation, but the truth was he didn’t know how to feel. He envied Jen her anger, such a clean, simple emotion that overwhelmed everything else. He missed his father, sort of. What he really missed was the chance that they might have had a real relationship one day. At least they’d made a little progress before Dad was killed. It was something to hold on to when he felt depressed.
They walked over to the bar, every gaze in the place following them. The tavern keeper had a bald head surrounded by a ring of short hair. His gut hung about a foot over his belt, stretching the seams of a once-white shirt to the limit.
“Can I help you folks?” The keeper smiled a lazy smile. “Rooms are half a crown an hour.”
Damien caught Jen’s wrist. It wouldn’t be good to rough the man up before they had a chance to talk. “My sister and I are here on business.” The image of Smyth appeared in the air beside Damien. While the keeper gaped at the illusion Damien slipped a mental block in his brain to keep him honest. “Seen this guy before?”
“Nn…Agh.” The barman gagged on his lie.
“Better try the truth this time. Lie to me again and I’ll let my sister ask the questions.”
He looked at Jen’s furious expression and swallowed.
A loud crash sounded behind them. Damien spun to find Marie-Bell holding one of the patrons pinned to his table, one arm cranked behind his back. She met Damien’s gaze. “This guy’s aura is as black as your tunic.”
“How’s everyone else?” Damien asked.
“The fat guy’s a little iffy, but everyone else is okay.”
“Everyone out!” Damien addressed the room. The seven remaining patrons were only too happy to comply.
When the place had emptied and Marie-Bell dragged her prisoner up beside them Damien returned his attention to the keeper. “So, you were saying.”
“Okay, he was here a week or so ago. He had on different clothes, but it was definitely your man. He stayed for three nights, met some others the second night, and left. I don’t kno…Agh!”
Jen’s hand shot out, grabbed the keeper by the back of the neck, and bounced his face off the bar.
Marie-Bell gasped.
When the keeper straightened blood was pouring down his face and his nose bent to the left. He groaned and probed his broken nose with his finger, wincing when he touched it.
“I warned you not to try and lie to me again. Who did he meet with?”
“Keep your mouth shut, Callum,” Marie-Bell’s prisoner said.
Damien glanced his way and a golden gag appeared over the prisoner’s mouth. “We’ll get to you shortly.” Damien returned his attention to Callum. “Please continue.”
Callum’s throat worked as he tried to swallow. “I can’t say. If I do they’ll kill me.”
Damien shook his head. “The man in question led our father into a trap that got him killed. If you know something, you’re going to tell us, otherwise, when we’re finished, you’ll be begging for death.”
The keeper’s flab jiggled as he trembled. “I didn’t have a choice. All I did was provide a place for them to meet. I’m not involved in the cult, they just use my basement from time to time. Please, I had no idea what they were up to, I just wanted to live.”
“Finally, a little truth, outstanding. Let’s have a look at this meeting place.”
Marie-Bell’s prisoner thrashed in her grip, but to no avail. Divine soul force enhanced her strength making her every bit as powerful as Jen, which meant he had no chance of breaking her grip.
“Where’s your hammer?” Damien asked.
“I left it outside. Don’t worry, I took precautions to keep it from being stolen.”
Damien bound the prisoner with golden chains from neck to foot. “Maybe you better go get it. I have no idea what we might be walking into.”
Chapter 25
With Jen’s sword pressed firmly to his neck, Callum led the little group to a trapdoor in the empty kitchen. Apparently the cook and servers had fled along with the patrons. That was just as well as Damien had no desire to have to look over his shoulder while they searched.
“Is there anything down there we need to worry about?” Damien asked.
“It’s just cold storage,” Callum said. “I never go down when they have their meetings.”
It appeared the tavern keeper had decided to be honest with them. Smart move on his part. “Let’s hope you’re right. You’ll be going down first.”
Jen gave Callum a poke with her sword. He opened the trapdoor revealing a set of steps leading down into a dark cellar. “Somebody want to grab the lantern?” Callum pointed at a battered hurricane lantern sitting on a shelf nearby.
Damien conjured a handful of glowing orbs at the same time Marie-Bell caused the head of her hammer to glow. “I think we’ll manage without it. Move.”
The steps creaked under the keeper’s weight, but nothing broke. The cellar spread out around them, sides of meat hanging from hooks in the ceiling. Crates of vegetables were stacked high along one wall and kegs of ale lined the other. All in all Damien couldn’t have imagined a more mundane scene.
When they were all gathered in the basement Damien removed the prisoner’s gag and inserted the mental block to prevent lies. “Tell us all about it. Who you meet with and when would be a good start.”
“Go to hell, sorcerer.”
Damien shook his head. “That’s not helpful.”
“Let’s cut off one of his hands.” Jen brandished her sword. “That ought to loosen his tongue.”
“I’m okay with that.” Damien gestured and the prisoner’s arm rose from behind the chain and went rigid.
“Wait!” Marie-Bell waved her hands, making the shadows dance. “You can’t just torture him for information. It’s wrong.”
Damien glanced at Jen then back to the paladin. “Do you have an alternate method to get the information we need?”
“I…No, but it’s still wrong.”
“I appreciate your sense of morality,” Damien said. “But if he doesn’t talk we’re at a dead end.”
I could retrieve the information you need directly out of his mind.
Judging from Jen’s frown and Marie-Bell’s bright smile Lizzy had spoken to everyone. “Works for me. Sis?”
“I don’t care, as long as we find out what he knows.” Disappointment filled Jen’s voice. She’d clearly been looking forward to cutting a few chunks out of the uncooperat
ive cultist.
Damien understood how she felt. This son of a bitch was the first person they’d encountered that they could tie to Dad’s murder, naturally she wanted him to suffer. Damien wanted the same thing, but he also didn’t want to alienate a potentially powerful ally.
“Okay, Lizzy, we’re counting on you.”
The prisoner stiffened and his face twisted into a grimace. Beads of sweat covered his forehead. He tried to thrash, but the bindings held him fast. A low moan escaped his lips and his face went slack.
“What’s happening?” Marie-Bell asked.
“I’m not certain, but I think he’s trying to resist Lizzy’s psychic probe. Since he’s only an ordinary person he has no hope of blocking her. All he’s doing is causing himself unnecessary discomfort. Perhaps I should have explained that to him before she started.” Damien shared a smile with his sister.
Behind the third barrel from your left there’s a hidden compartment.
Jen went over, picked up the almost full barrel of ale like it weighed nothing, and set it aside. Damien sent several lights over before joining Jen. He trusted Marie-Bell to watch Callum, and the other guy, slumped in his bindings, a trickle of drool running down his chin, was clearly in no shape to wander off.
Jen felt around and a moment later something clicked. She pushed a small door in and to the side, revealing a slender compartment containing a ledger, several pouches, and a long narrow box. Jen grabbed the box. When she lifted it another click sounded before a blade snapped down from a hidden slot above the door. The blade clanged off her iron skin without cutting.
She ripped the blade free and tossed it aside. “Pathetic.”
“To you maybe, but I bet if old Callum had gotten curious he’d have wished he hadn’t.”
“You’d think demon cultists would have more impressive traps or maybe a guardian of some sort, like those lava monsters.” Jen stood up, the contents of the secret compartment in her hands.
“I can live with weak traps and no guardians. All I worry about is whether there’s anything valuable behind the meager defenses. There’s nothing else, is there, Lizzy?”
No. This one didn’t know about the trap or I would have warned you. He also doesn’t know the real names of his fellow cultists.
“Yeah, that would have been way too convenient.” Damien sighed. “Let’s go upstairs and see what we’ve found. Maybe have a drink. On the house, right, Callum?”
“Of course.” Callum offered a sour smile.
The prisoner still hadn’t come to when they walked back up the stairs to the kitchen and Damien had serious doubts about his mental state even if he did. He didn’t especially care as long as the surprisingly quiet Marie-Bell didn’t raise any complaints. They could hang the man regardless of whether or not his brain worked correctly.
Damien guided Callum to an empty chair and bound him there before collecting a bottle of red wine and three glasses. He checked for poison before filling the glasses and passing them out. Jen had spread everything over an empty table. She accepted her glass and took a swig before opening the box. Inside, a blackened silver dagger with a horned skull for a pommel rested in a bed of red velvet.
Marie-Bell slammed the lid shut. “That thing reeks of evil.”
Damien nodded and took one of the pouches. “Sacrificial dagger. Probably quenched in demon blood judging by the color. Nasty. I’ll deal with it permanently before we leave.”
The paladin stared at him as though in shock.
“What?”
“You both accept everything so matter-of-factly. It seems like you should be more outraged.”
“If I got outraged by every evil thing I’ve seen over the last year I wouldn’t be able to think straight. Don’t worry, we get plenty outraged at the really bad stuff, right, sis?”
Jen thumbed through the ledger and didn’t seem interested in their conversation. Damien shrugged. “Anyway, take my word for it, we’ll be outraged at the proper time. And when we do feel free to join in.”
Marie-Bell’s cheeks dimpled when she smiled. “You’re much nicer than I first thought.”
Damien grinned back. “Don’t tell anyone.”
He dumped the pouch over and a gray crystal bird clattered out onto the table’s surface. Damien focused on it. Some sort of sorcery swirled in the depths of the crystal, but he couldn’t say exactly what it did.
He moved on to the second pouch. It didn’t weigh nearly as much as the first. Damien tipped it out. Dozens of small strips of paper tumbled down. Marie-Bell grabbed one and smoothed it out. “It’s a date and time.”
Damien tossed the one he’d been reading on the table. “This one too.”
Ten minutes later they’d checked them all and found they all held dates and times. Damien frowned. What was the point of saving such useless information? All the dates had come and gone.
“Hand me one of those.” Jen reached out and Damien gave her one of the strips.
She paged through the ledger, paused and ran her finger down the column. “They’re a code. When you compare the numbers in the date and time with the columns in the ledger it gives a location. What do you want to bet these all lead to other meeting places?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised, but why would they leave something like this just lying around for someone to find?”
“It wasn’t that big a risk,” Jen said. “We never would have caught the cultist without Marie-Bell, and we never would have gotten the truth without you and Lizzy. What are the odds of this particular combination of people arriving here at this time?”
“Good point.” Damien yawned. “What do you say we finish decoding these messages, turn these two over to whoever runs this town, and go check out those other locations?”
Chapter 26
Lon, Eli, and Imogen raced along the western trade road at about twice the pace of a galloping horse. Trees whizzed by in a green blur. Lon kept his senses fully alert for any sign of corruption. The shadows were getting long and soon they’d either have to stop or travel by conjured light. That wouldn’t be a problem, but it increased the risk that they’d miss something. From her position in the front of the group Imogen must have come to the same conclusion. She slowed then guided her construct into a cutout on the side of the road.
“Let’s camp here for the night,” she said.
No one argued so while his apprentice set about collecting firewood Lon and Imogen placed wards to secure the campsite for the night. Lon set twice as many as he ordinarily would have. Since Maria had disappeared somewhere in the area, extra precautions were in order.
He and Imogen finished side by side facing the road. “Looks pretty secure,” Lon said.
Imogen nodded, but her mind seemed far away. She stared off into the twilit sky, an almost wistful expression on her usually stern face.
“Crown for your thoughts.”
“I was just wondering what Damien was doing right now.”
Lon cocked his head. What an odd thing for her to be worried about. “I’m sure he’s fine. The list of things that boy has to worry about is a short one.”
She actually managed a smile. “I didn’t think he was in danger. It’s just he only lost his father a couple weeks ago and now he’s gone with his sister to hunt down the creature that killed him. That kind of thing has to take a mental toll regardless of how strong a sorcerer he is.”
Heaven’s mercy, she sounded genuinely concerned about Damien. Lon never expected to hear such a thing from her lips. “You care about him.”
“You say it with such surprise. Damien saved my life. I don’t mean just from the trap. I was in a dark place, maybe the darkest place I’ve ever been and he reached in and pulled me out. It wasn’t even anything big, just a kind word and a hug. But the fact that he made the effort despite how I’d always treated him gave me a little hope. I’ll never be able to repay him for that.”
She didn’t just care about Damien, Imogen loved him. Lon couldn’t wrap his mind around what h
e’d heard. Associating such an emotion with the hard-edged woman he knew stretched his mind too far.
“Damien’s engaged to the princess, isn’t he?”
Imogen waved a hand. “That’s a sham. He doesn’t love that girl, he’s just helping her out. I’ve read the reports on his missions and considering how many people he’s killed, Damien’s quite a sap for a woman in trouble.”
“So speaks the voice of experience.”
Imogen’s expression hardened. “Yes. I’ll thank you to keep this conversation to yourself.”
Lon nodded. Who would he tell? Anybody that knew Imogen even a little would think he made the whole thing up.
“You know, I never had a chance to thank your late partner for saving my grandfather’s life.”
“Your grandfather?”
Lon nodded. “Fo Shen, Grandmaster of the Iron Path. Alden healed him. I wish I had a chance to thank him myself.”
Imogen made no reply. Behind them the snap and crackle of a fire spared Lon from further conversation. He needed food and sleep. Perhaps he could convince himself he’d dreamed the conversation.
Nothing disturbed their wards in the night and when the sun rose they polished off the leftover stew from dinner and set out. They hadn’t traveled more than a mile from their campsite when Imogen drew up short. A second later Lon sensed it as well. A lingering hint of corruption.
“Master, what is that?” Eli asked.
The boy’s face had a green tint to it. Was this his first exposure to corrupt energy? No, Eli was there when the librarian went insane and killed several students and masters. Perhaps he simply had a greater sensitivity to dark energy than some. Lon had built up a considerable tolerance for it after his exposure in Port Valcane last winter.
“This is where it happened,” Imogen answered for him. “Maria was attacked here, whether by a demon or warlock I can’t tell. Whoever did it ambushed her so she didn’t have a chance to counterattack.”
“How can you be sure?” Eli asked.
This time Lon answered. “Look around. Does it look like a battle took place here? No trees are damaged, there’s no sign of blood. No, Imogen’s right. Whoever attacked took Maria out with the first blast. The important question is: is she dead, captured, or in hiding?”