Damien sighed and followed Lane down the steps out of The Golden Stag. She’d said only one night and meant it. Too bad. Damien hadn’t slept as well as he did last night in weeks. Deep feather beds combined with the best meal he’d eaten since leaving the capital added up to nine hours’ unbroken sleep. For the first time in his life Damien cursed the training that had him awake before the sun rose.
Outside dawn was just coloring the horizon. Low, dark clouds and brisk temperatures threatened a late-season flurry before the end of the day. Two new boys in identical livery waited with their horses saddled and ready. From the shine, it looked like they’d combed them out and cleaned the mud from their tails and the feathering around their hooves. The horses looked better than when Damien claimed them from the last supply depot. They’d even slicked up the mule.
He tossed the boys a crown apiece. They snatched the silver coins out of the air with practiced ease. Damien patted his mare on the neck and swung up into the saddle. He hung his rucksack from the pommel and followed Lane out the open gate.
After a moment of silence Damien said, “Best six royals I ever spent. Tell me you didn’t love those beds and I’ve never eaten roast that tender.”
Lane nodded. “Maybe I was too quick to dismiss an occasional bit of luxury. The beds were a delight.”
“Ha! Thank you very much. I guarantee we both would have ended up with food poisoning if we ate at the other place.”
They rode through the slowly awakening town, eager to finish their journey. According to Lane’s map they’d reach Baron Kannon’s castle late tomorrow, barring any unforeseen adventures. Damien hoped she could convince the barons to do their duty. Though he had no qualms about killing, he preferred to avoid it when possible.
They came to a stop a hundred yards from the south gate. Nine rough men in leathers stood blocking their way. All of them carried a weapon of some sort, with axes, swords with chipped blades, and heavy cudgels making up the bulk.
In the center, a little ahead of the rest, Bonzo stood with his arms crossed across his massive chest. He looked none the worse for last night’s pounding. He’d found an ax as long as he was tall with a massive, double-bitted head that probably weighed thirty pounds. A pair of town guards stood by the closed gates leaning on their spears. It didn’t look like they planned to offer any assistance.
Damien turned to Lane. “Do you want me to handle this or do you want to try and negotiate?”
Lane frowned. “Part of being a good negotiator is knowing when negotiation is a waste of time. Could you please keep it subtle? No golden dragons or smoking craters.”
“Come on, how did you know I was going to use a golden dragon?”
A hint of a smile cracked her stony face. “This is serious.”
Damien dug his thin leather gloves out of his rucksack and pulled them on. “No it isn’t. I’ve been in a few serious situations. This is a nuisance at worst.”
He dismounted and handed her his reins. “Keep your distance just the same.”
Damien strode toward the assembled thugs. His eyes narrowed as he studied their soul force. Only Bonzo had anything more than normal.
He could kill them all in an instant, probably should, since he suspected they were all members of the Daggers. Nevertheless, he wanted to give them a chance to surrender. He just didn’t know where to take them since the Lord Mayor and his men were in the gang’s pocket.
He stopped halfway between the gate and Lane. Damien crooked his finger, beckoning Bonzo forward. Even from a distance the enforcer’s clenched jaw was visible. If he didn’t move out of the way he was about to get a lot less happy and a lot more dead.
Bonzo slung his ax over his shoulder and marched toward Damien. When he stopped Damien stared him straight in the throat. Man, he was big. Maybe he had some ogre in his bloodline.
“We ain’t interested in you,” Bonzo said. He had a deep, gravelly voice and breath that suggested he brushed his teeth with the contents of his chamber pot. “But the girl’s got to pay for insulting me. You can have her back when me and the boys are through.”
“That’s a generous offer, but unfortunately I’m her bodyguard and I’m afraid handing her over to you wouldn’t do her body any good. How about you guys get out of here? I don’t want any trouble.”
Bonzo laughed. Behind him the rest of the thugs tensed and raised their weapons. That was all the chance Damien intended to give them. He conjured a pair of swords and drove them through both Bonzo’s lungs.
Blood gushed out of Bonzo’s mouth and he fell to his knees, the giant ax clattering to the ground. Damien stepped back, ripped his blades free, and cross slashed.
Bonzo’s head plopped to the ground.
Before the other thugs recovered from the surprise of their leader’s death, Damien hurled his blades at them. He accelerated their rotation until they looked like steel disks and guided them into the assembled thugs.
Human flesh didn’t stand up well to soul force blades sharper than a razor and harder than steel.
In three seconds all eight thugs lay in perhaps twenty pieces.
One of them moaned in pain. He’d lost both legs above the knee and would bleed out in a hurry.
Damien held out his hands and the blades flew back to him. He reabsorbed the energy, tugged his gloves off, and walked back to rejoin Lane.
She stared at him, mutely handing him his reins when he reached for them. Perhaps she’d never seen real combat and its aftermath. It wasn’t pretty.
Damien swung up onto his mare. “You know how they say don’t look down when you’re somewhere high? You might want to follow that advice until we reach the gate. It doesn’t look any prettier up close.
She clenched her teeth and stared over the top of the wall. They rode toward the gate which the two guards hastened to open. Damien stayed close to Lane in case her horse shied away when they went through the bodies. A minute later they were out the gate and on the road again.
Chapter 25
They traveled down the dirt track in silence. A mix of spruce and oak trees towered over both sides of the narrow road. Damien sighed beside her. Lane couldn’t believe she’d just watched him slaughter nine men and as far as she could tell it hadn’t fazed him in the least. She couldn’t stop trembling. Couldn’t force the image of those men being sliced apart out of her head.
Half an hour later, when Allentown was well behind them, Lane said, “I always knew the sorts of things sorcerers could do, but I’d never seen it before. You killed those men like I might step on a bug.”
“Same principle I guess. You step on the bugs so they don’t bite anyone else. Dealing with that bunch didn’t take any particular power. My sister could have done the same thing and she’s a warlord.”
Lane looked at him, eyes bulging, the blood drained out of her face. “How can you talk about it so casually? You just killed nine people. Aren’t you even a little upset?”
“It’s unfortunate they made me do it, but no, I’m not upset. Do you know anything about training at The Citadel?”
She blinked, not certain she understood. He was a sorcerer, not a warlord. “I thought sorcerers trained at Sorcery.”
“We do, but before I went to Sorcery I trained for almost three years at The Citadel. People tend to think fighting techniques and how to use internal soul force are the most important things you learn, but they’re wrong.”
Lane licked her lips, not certain she wanted to know. She took a breath and asked, “What is the most important thing?”
“To kill without hesitation or regret. Before we move on to the second year’s training, all first year cadets are thrown into a pit with a chained goblin. The goblin is armed with a club and the cadet is given a short sword. The masters don’t let you out until the goblin is dead.”
She put a trembling hand to her mouth. “That’s horrible.”
Damien shrugged. “Second year they throw you in with an unchained goblin and this time it has a sword and you have a
dagger. You have to get up close to kill it. Get the blood on your hands. It spatters on your face.”
“Heaven’s mercy. They do this to children?”
“Eleven- and twelve-year-olds. Third years move on to killing men, prisoners in this case. You have to cut the throat of a condemned man. I had a head start. Dad threw me in with a chained goblin when I was ten, before my official training started.” Damien looked up at the sky, lost in thought, totally unaware of her growing horror. “On my tenth name day he gave me this beautiful sword and dagger set. I was so happy. It looked just like the sword he wore. That night after Jen went to sleep he woke me up and took me down to the pit. I didn’t realize yet what he intended.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” she said. A part of her wanted him to go on. She felt an almost overwhelming need to understand this young man her mother had sent to protect her, this killer in a boy’s body.
Damien shook his head and continued on like she hadn’t spoken. “Dad said if I wanted to keep the sword I had to earn it. He threw me in with my precious new sword. He told me to kill the goblin and become a warrior. The goblin went crazy, thrashing and beating on its chain with a useless, blunt short sword. It was making the most shrill screeches.”
“What did you do?” Lane asked in a breathless voice, knowing the answer before she spoke.
“I killed it. I think as much to shut it up as anything. Dad lowered a rope, I climbed out, and he hugged me and said how proud he was. It was the last time he hugged me. I think it may have been the last time he was proud of me.” Damien locked his gaze on Lane and she went cold. “That’s what it means to be a warlord. I may use external soul force, but I was trained to be a warlord. To kill my enemies without hesitation or remorse. I don’t go out of my way to find people to kill, but if it becomes necessary…”
Lane shook her head and offered a weak smile. The horror of his childhood stunned her. “And I thought I had a difficult time growing up. You make me feel bad about complaining that some of Mom’s friends gave me condescending pats on the head. I’ve never had to kill anyone.”
Damien grinned, seeming to shake off his dark mood. “That’s why your mother sent me. If there’s ugly business to be done, let me handle it. My soul is so bloodstained a few more drops won’t matter.”
So young and so bitter. She wanted to hold him, give him the hugs his father withheld. Lane suspected it was too late for any number of hugs to do him much good. You don’t become a killer at ten without getting a permanent scar on your soul. How many scars did Damien’s carry?
Chapter 26
Baron Kannon’s keep loomed dark and menacing where it sat on a cliff overlooking the border five miles away. Dark clouds gathered behind it, setting a gloomy scene. Surrounded on three sides by sheer vertical drops, the only way to approach the fortress was up a steep, winding path that ended at a high, crenelated wall.
The keep itself towered three stories high. A dozen arrow slits covered the front and sides. A dark-green banner with a golden bow embroidered on it snapped in the wind from a pole on the right-hand tower. The baron’s ancestors had chosen well when they built their home.
Now the question was, would the current Baron Kannon make a wise decision and stick to his duty. Damien hoped so. If they could accomplish this mission without killing that was fine with him.
A soft breeze blew through the spruce, filling the air with the scent of evergreen. Damien breathed deep, enjoying the moment.
“It’s so peaceful here,” Lane said. She’d been a lot nicer to him since the battle with the Daggers. Was it pity or fear? He didn’t know or especially care. Whatever melted her icy personality, it was a welcome change. “You’d hardly guess a day’s ride south bands of murderers constantly gathered and plotted how best to kill and plunder our land.”
“At least they’re flesh-and-blood humans and not monsters or demons. Our soldiers can handle them. The problem is sometimes they try to cross in small groups that are hard to detect. That’s why the barons need to maintain their patrols.”
“Don’t worry,” Lane said. “I’ll convince them. I can’t imagine they’ll want to make an enemy of the kingdom.”
Lane didn’t know how right she was. “Any thoughts on your strategy?”
“Not yet. I need to hear all their complaints before I can figure out how best to address them.”
“I assume your mother warned you the barons might be dangerous.”
Lane nodded. “I think she’s overly concerned.”
“Either that, or we’re walking into a trap.”
“Does that worry you?”
Damien shrugged. “Not especially.” He’d welcome a trap. It would eliminate all the stupid politics. If they attacked he’d counterattack and they’d all die. Problem solved.
They started up the steep trail, letting their horses pick their own path. If any conventional army tried to attack this place they’d be cut to pieces by the baron’s archers before they ever closed on the keep. They reached the top without incident.
Two gatehouses bracketed a double set of portcullises. A guard stood behind the first portcullis. He wore mail and carried a sword at his waist. A dark beard streaked with silver marked him as a veteran. They reined in about four feet from the gate.
Lane pulled out her badge. “I’m from the diplomatic corps. The barons are expecting me.”
“Yes, ma’am. You’re the last to arrive. Open the gate!” The inner and outer portcullises clanked up until they could ride underneath. “Go on in. Master Miles, the baron’s majordomo, is expecting you.”
“Thank you.” Lane went through first and Damien followed a moment later.
Damien nodded as his horse walked past, one soldier to another. The gate guard seemed competent. Hopefully the rest of the guards were cut from the same mold.
Halfway across the yard a pair of boys came running. Damien swung down, collected his gear, and handed his reins to a blond youngster about ten. Why was it always stable boys? You’d think there’d be a stable girl somewhere.
The boys led the horses and mule away as the double doors to the keep swung open. A man in his fifties with an oiled goatee and a long, forest-green robe strode out, his staff of office tapping on the stone. He came down three steps, paused, and bowed to Lane.
“Officer Thorn, welcome to Kannon Keep. I received word from your august mother, informing me of your assignment. I do so hope you can straighten out this business with the taxes and soldiers. My lord has been so terribly upset he hasn’t slept the night through in months.”
Lane plastered on a fake smile. “I’ll certainly do my best. After all everyone wants this matter cleared up as quickly as possible.”
Miles beamed. “My thoughts exactly. Follow me, please. Your bags will be brought up presently. We’ve arranged for you and your bodyguard to have adjoining rooms. I trust that’s convenient?”
The last was addressed to Damien and he nodded. “Perfect, sir. It seems you’ve thought of everything.”
Miles laughed. “That’s my job, young man.”
The majordomo led them inside. The doors opened directly into a great hall. A huge fireplace blazed with a tree’s worth of wood. A golden chandelier, its fifty candles unlit, hung from the ceiling. A second-floor balcony overlooked the hall. Miles guided them to a set of steps leading upstairs. A couple of twists and turns later they came to a pair of doors fifteen feet apart.
“Your rooms,” Miles said. “Should you need anything just use the pull rope and a servant will be along in short order. I’ll leave you to prepare for the feast.”
“Feast?” Damien asked.
“Of course. The annual gathering always opens with a great feast. It is my lord’s honor to set the finest table. Never fear, there’s always plenty of leftovers for the guards and servants.”
Miles trotted off, his staff tapping away, no doubt to alert his master that they’d arrived.
“I need to clean up and change,” Lane said. “Did you brin
g something appropriate?”
“I think I have a clean tunic. I’m a guard, remember? I don’t need to dress up to enjoy the barons’ leftovers.”
Chapter 27
Damien stripped off his travel-stained clothes and tossed them on the bench at the foot of his oversized bed. The room they’d provided was every bit as luxurious as The Golden Stag. White silk sheets covered the bed, and a glow-stone lamp of blown glass rested beside it on the far nightstand. A jug of water and a basin sat on the nightstand beside him.
If this was how the barons lived he couldn’t see they had any room to complain about taxes. He’d pictured hard men living in rough forts surrounded by enemies. This place was every bit as nice as Uncle Andy’s castle back at the capital.
Damien filled the basin and cleaned up. The cool, clear water felt wonderful on his dust-caked skin. A soft towel hung from the drawer pull and he used it to dry off before tossing it in the pile with his dirty clothes.
Now the question was, had his change of clothes stayed clean in his rucksack? He dumped it out on the bed and sighed his relief at finding the black cloth free of dirt.
Behind him the door creaked. He spun to find Lane standing in the doorway that connected their rooms, her face bright red. She was staring at him, mouth partway open.
He slung the tunic over his head. “Didn’t anyone teach you to knock? Some diplomat.”
“Sorry. I just wanted to make sure you had something clean to wear. I see you do.” She closed the door.
Damien shook his head, pulled on his pants, and buckled his sword on his back. Lane’s reaction was typical of people seeing his scars for the first time. He should be used to it by now, but it gnawed at him all the same. At least they didn’t bother Lizzy. Her being a demon, he suspected she’d seen a lot worse over the centuries.
Now all he had to do was wait for Lane to finish. He didn’t know how long that would take, but he suspected from the stories he’d heard from some of the masters about their wives that he should get comfortable.
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