Catching the last Perversion by the wrist, Kaltor jerked his foe off balance and threw all his body weight to the rooftop. Cold, rough stone ground into his back as he wrapped his legs around his victim’s chest and neck, holding his dagger arm fully extended, thumb upward. Throwing his hips upward, he locked the creature’s elbow tightly into a "bar," pushing it so hard that the joint snapped out of place with a satisfying crack.
Even as his opponent gasped in agony, blinding pain shot through Kaltor’s leg. The Perversion stabbed again and again with one of Kaltor’s broken arrow shafts. It was the only part of the Battleborn the creature could reach. He dug viciously, trying to sever his opponent’s leg muscles completely.
Kaltor’s right hand still tightly clasped around the Perversion’s dagger hand, he reclaimed his dagger with his left, sat up, and buried it in the creature’s chest. The thick muscled Perversion died in convulsing spasms, Selene’s venom forcing it to curl into the fetal position during its heart’s final moments of function.
Varadour energy rushed through Kaltor’s leg, assessing the damage.
Half the muscles in his upper leg were torn. Combat was not an option at the moment, but he could still walk, maybe. Pulling a wad of cloth from his belt, he wrapped the wound tight, relaxing a little bit as the herbs weaved into the cloth took effect.
The bleeding in his neck finally ceased. Horns continued to sound to the north, accompanied by the faint screams of battle. Sounds like Dad’s men got involved after all, he thought, smiling triumphantly. The Stunts probably made it, then.
Another pair of boots hit the roof hard, sending Kaltor scrambling to his feet, only to fall back onto his side as his battered leg buckled. "Sir!" one of the Stunts said, rushing to his side, "We’ve got to go, are you well enough to travel?"
Grinning in relief at the welcome company, he nodded. "Help me with this leg and we can move."
Their combined wills, each taking the broken muscles on one end of the leg, surged through the muscle fibers, growing them back together. The work was not perfect by any means, or even good. The shoddy craftsmanship would have to be cleaned later that evening before the body started growing muscles into a knot around the wound.
Given the current situation, however, they were left with no other option. They were too far from the safety of the castle walls to risk hobbling down the open street.
"Did Honmour make it?" Kaltor asked.
"I believe so, sir," the Stunt replied. "I was almost to the wall when I saw him arrive and you fighting on the rooftops. I believe a large crowd has gathered behind the gate for the execution," Kaltor sighed, sitting up. I wish we could have found a way to prevent that, he thought mournfully.
"Did any other refugees make it?" he asked. A sudden wave of dizziness forced him to lean forward, putting both hands on the ground for support. Almost ran out of blood there, he realized.
The Stunt put his hand to Kaltor’s shoulder, sending a tentative wave of healing energy through his chest. "I saw a few small groups heading for the east gate as I passed. But there weren’t many. Perhaps more arrived at the main gate," he said hopefully.
Grimacing against the pain, Kaltor rolled to his feet, putting his weight on the Stunt’s shoulder as he tested out the muscles in his leg. This is going to hurt a lot, he thought with a gulp. We just literally tied my muscles in a knot for this.
"What’s your name?" Kaltor asked.
The Stunt looked at him in surprise, suddenly looking very nervous as he recognized the rite of passage. He looked down at the ground and muttered sheepishly, "Talen."
"Let’s get out of here, Talen," Kaltor said. "We’ve got to help Honmour postpone an execution."
"As you wish, sir."
After I kill him, of course, Kaltor thought vengefully.
*****
His Queen cursed, screamed, and raged.
The agony in Melshek’s chest mimicked her rage, rising and falling with each breath. Yet, he sat calmly on his makeshift throne. The people, smiles of gratitude on their faces, surrounded him at the highest room in the town hall. Eight of the most devoted subjects kneeled in pairs at his feet. This was what he’d wanted, right? He was king here. Wasn’t that all that mattered?
Something is wrong, he realized, staring at the smiling subjects before him. No king would have a coronation like this. Four pairs of two surrounding my table. Why does this seem so familiar?
In his mind he felt an odd connection. Over a dozen other minds were linked with his, sharing information and orders with the Queen, but he couldn’t quite reach them. It was like awakening in the night and trying to remember the details of previous dreams.
So familiar, he thought. Then it hit him.
Like the vault.
The vision before him snapped back into reality. Eight corpses sat before him, impaled in an upright, fetal position with spears. Their faces were full of terror, pain, and confusion. Something moved further off in the dim light, catching Melshek’s eye. It stood a head taller than a normal person, but his veins were black and pulsing in the candle light, as if a thousand small snakes writhed beneath his skin.
Melshek opened his mouth to scream.
His Queen struck fiercely, the pain so intense that he plummeted from the table, unable to move or think. "If you could have just behaved yourself," she snarled, her voice cold and malicious. "Now you’ll have to watch it all. I’m tired of playing with you."
Her will rushed into his body, filling his chest, arms, and legs. He tried to scream, run, blink, but all his efforts did nothing. Of its own volition, his body started to walk around the corpses on the floor and down the hallway, the Queen’s power taking its full hold, leaving Melshek a prisoner within his own mind.
By the Gods! he swore in his mind. What have I set loose?!
Chapter 21
They hobbled their way along the base of the castle’s southern wall, listening to the cries of the crowd turn from bloodlust-driven excitement to obnoxious displeasure. Even the archers lining the wall turned their paranoid gazes from the city before them to the shouts of the masses.
Their makeshift remedy tore at the ligaments in Kaltor’s leg, causing him to throw his weight onto Talen’s shoulder every time he tore another strand of muscle. It did not do much to help his current mood.
"What’s Honmour doing over there?" Kaltor grumbled, forcing himself to release Talen’s shoulder and try yet again to walk on his own. "Sounds like a riot in the making."
If he gets Reeth killed on top of abandoning the mission, I will definitely turn him over to Master Taneth, he swore to himself. Maybe Selene would have a good poison I could use as punishment.
"That’s odd," Talen said. "The bodies are gone."
"Excuse me?"
"There were two Perversions following Honmour’s refugees," Talen said, pointing a few dozen yards before the gate. "Just about there, the archers shot their horses and wounded them."
"What’s he planning, then?" Kaltor’s mind raced, trying to envision how Honmour would adjust the plan if they suddenly had Perversion captives at their disposal. The regent needed someone to execute to show the city he’s still in control, he thought. Would Honmour think to offer a trade, then?
An innocent prisoner for two corrupted Perversions. It would be a tempting offer for the regent. Executing two black-blooded prisoners would be far more convincing to the masses that their current leader was in control of the situation.
What a lie that was!
The angry mass of people quieted, silenced by one speaker. Even with his sharpened Varadour hearing, he could not distinguish the details. Maybe that’s the regent, he surmised. He would be sitting closer to the castle, to identify himself with the protection of the fortress in the minds of the people. That puts him too far away for me to hear from here.
They reached the gate. The line of incoming citizens from that morning had finally been admitted into the fortress. The guards barely glanced his way when he pulled the gate open, their
attention far from the wounded assassins. "Welcome back, Battleborn," one of the guards mumbled, eyes glued to the speech-giver. "From what Honmour said, we were worried you’d been— taken."
Kaltor was momentarily stunned, but he managed a nod of thanks as they wobbled into the courtyard. We never considered that possibility, he thought in shock. He’d always assumed that those he fought wanted him dead, but what if they had meant to turn him? A Battleborn—a Remnant, no less—given the added strength and speed of a Perversion— The thought made him nauseous.
Just another reason to talk to Reeth as soon as possible. I have to be certain I can’t be taken as well. Then I have to put Honmour in line.
A wave of applause echoed off the stone walls, pulling him from his disturbing thoughts. The regent stood before the crowd, hands raised to silence their cries of approval. "Our warriors have brought us servants of Melshek!" he cried, waving to the guards standing next to the gallows on his right.
Of course they did, Kaltor thought sarcastically. I just hurt my leg when I fell off a horse— nothing to do with risking my life to try and save two of your citizens. Judging by the sour look on Talen’s face, they shared similar feelings on the subject.
At the regent’s command, they pulled the two Perversions from the ground, bound and gagged, black blood oozing from their wounds. They thrashed viciously, but despite their feral growls, they looked like worms frying helplessly over a fire.
I don’t see Reeth. Perhaps he’s with his family, Kaltor thought as he scanned the walls. But where is Honmour?
Amidst the shouts of the crowd, one voice’s cries were tears of sorrow, pulling Kaltor’s attention along the wall to his left. "Tera!" Kaltor called out. But so loud was the crowd now at the sight of the Perversions that they drowned out his voice easily. Talen helped him walk over to the wall. The soldiers on the gallows were dragging their prisoners up the stairs and beneath the wooden posts.
"Tera!" he called again. She lifted her head, eyes suddenly filling with hope.
"Kaltor!" she cried. "They took Honmour and Reeth, too. They are to be executed!"
"What?! Why?"
"Honmour confessed to having ordered you into action," Tera answered, drying her tears on the sleeves of her tunic. "He went against the regent’s orders to stay out of the city."
A chill settled around Kaltor’s heart. I knew the regent wouldn’t be pleased with us, he thought. But to go so far as to kill Honmour? Why did he take the blame, anyway? He sighed grimly, the truth obvious. Of course. Guilt for abandoning the mission, or maybe to just keep a set of thick iron bars between us when I next saw him. Hard to tell.
"I assume his parents are fine, then?" Kaltor asked. "If not, there’s no way he would allow himself to be imprisoned."
Tera nodded. "Yes, they’re fine. They were imprisoned too, though, to keep them from trying to break Honmour out."
The little girl coughed, wobbled a bit, and nearly fell over. Tera caught her just in time and picked her up, patting her back and whispering words of comfort. It was obvious her child still had not recovered from whatever damage the Perversions had inflicted. They had only the clothes they wore, with little money to speak of. Kaltor’s eyes lingered on the pitiful picture for a moment before he spoke.
"Talen," he called the Stunt over to him. "Let me use your bow as a walking stick. Take Tera and her daughter into the castle. Use one of the empty servant quarters near ours and make sure they have what they need. See about getting her a job in the kitchens," Talen nodded, handing over his weapon and taking Tera’s free hand, working their way through the crowd toward the inner keep’s side entrance.
Unstringing the bow, Kaltor tested his weight beneath the stout wood. I’ll go see what’s really going on at the dungeon. The only person that will get to punish Honmour will be me!
It took a few minutes to work his way around the thick crowd, now howling excitedly as the first Perversion hung by its neck, still thrashing weakly as life slowly left its body. The regent looked more relieved than anything else, the nobles sitting on either side of him watching with looks of mild entertainment.
They are so much different than the life we find in the mountains, he thought.
Everything in nature had an order, a purpose. Violence was a means to survival. Here it was a tool, a thing of entertainment to distract the masses. Anger the wrong person in power and you could end up like Reeth, sentenced to a short lifetime in prison for a crime you had nothing to do with. Kaltor gritted his teeth against the pain in his leg, and the injustice.
By the time he reached to door to the dungeon, the second Perversion struggled for air. Turning his back on the scene he opened the door, hobbling inside. He tried to give the impression that the walking stick was a ploy, not a necessity. Two guards stood at attention just inside.
"I’m here to see the warden," Kaltor said, pulling his collar aside to expose the brand. He recognized these men from the group he’d met after his first interview with Reeth. "It’s about your most recent—acquisition."
"Finally," one of them grunted, pushing the heavy iron door open with a chainmail-covered arm. "You have any idea what it’s like guarding a Battleborn’s cell? He keeps making jokes. I feel like he’s going to slit my throat when I let down my guard and start laughing."
"You should try training with him," Kaltor replied with a chuckle. "Up in the mountains where no one will hear you scream— I’m surprised your regent ordered him executed," He glared at them dangerously.
Both soldiers forced nervous chuckles and gulped. "Follow us please," they insisted.
It was easy to find the warden’s office. It was the only door not carrying thick iron bars and heavy locks. With a tentative knock, Kaltor entered.
The warden sat upon his desk, sword in hand, whetstone sliding lovingly along the Sage-forged blade. He had no fireplace, but two tall candlesticks stood on either side of him, a cot with thick blankets lining the left wall.
Well, he’s far more practical in his choice of furnishings than the regent. That’s a start. I’d forgotten how much experience he’s had in dealing with soldiers and Battleborn over the years, Kaltor thought. I wonder if he and Taneth ever fought together.
"I should probably congratulate you first," Kaltor admitted. "Your soldiers are far more respectful than when I arrived earlier today."
The warden shrugged carelessly, grabbing a spare chair to his right and sliding it across the floor. "How’s your leg, Kaltor?" he asked.
"Nothing a full day’s rest can’t cure," Kaltor said through gritted teeth and taking a seat, easing his weight off of the affected muscles. "I would like to speak with Honmour— Sir," he added as an afterthought.
The warden chuckled. "Just call me Warden," he said. His gaze narrowed, not accusing, but studying. "You wish to kill him before the regent can?"
"That depends," Kaltor admitted, "on what he’s told you so far."
"Very little," Warden said. "I figured you would arrive before I had the chance to interrogate him."
At least Warden isn’t as bloodthirsty as the regent, Kaltor thought. A trickle of relief made its way down Kaltor’s spine. "Let’s just say a few issues still need to be resolved. I promise to leave him in the same condition I find him, of course."
"Of course," Warden said. "A Battleborn would never break a promise."
Though he was only in his late forties, he had an air of elderly wisdom about him, drawing large conclusions from the smallest of details in a person’s reactions. "Nor would a Battleborn leader allow himself to be captured and separated from his men."
This man is perceptive, Kaltor thought. But is he trustworthy? I can’t stop Melshek if I give myself up. If Warden calls the guards, I don’t know if I can fight my way out without killing someone. Despite his walking stick, the muscles in his leg twitched and groaned anxiously, as if in warning.
Warden glanced toward his guest carefully. "But a Battleborn might lie to the regent of the city, claiming he himself were t
he leader, thus giving the real leader and the remainder of his forces free rein over the city as before. Assuming they don’t get caught next time, they could still do a lot to protect the people."
Returning a frosty glare, Kaltor spoke. "Yet the Battleborn are a very close-knit group. We prefer to punish our own as we see fit. Also," he twirled a throwing blade between his fingers. "We have a tendency of visiting those who don’t allow us to operate as we see fit."
With a sigh, Warden walked behind his desk and sat down. "Use your head, Battleborn," he chastised. "Killing me would do you little good. I act on the regent’s orders. You will have to deal with him if you want Honmour’s life spared."
This is not going well, Kaltor thought, dispatching an extra burst of healing to his leg. "The regent acts to protect his own standing in the people’s eyes," he said. "He doesn’t care about the actual people’s well-being, unless they’re Sight Seekers."
Warden tensed when he sensed Varadour power swelling inside his guest, but did not overreact, glancing toward the wounded leg dismissively. He grunted at the last part of Kaltor’s allegation. "We are duty bound to serve the people and our leader, even if he sees fit to relieve us from the responsibilities we had under Prince Tyran."
"And if this new leader does not share your sense of honor?"
Warden did not respond right away. He leaned back in his chair and glanced at a piece of parchment on his desk, watching Kaltor with a measuring stare. "My orders are to keep Honmour and Reeth imprisoned until Vengral sees fit to execute them," Warden held up the message for the Battleborn to see. "He plans to kill them the next time the crowd loses faith in his abilities."
"You’ll forgive me if that does not provide very much relief," Kaltor replied glumly.
Warden leaned closer, pulling a drawer open and lifting out a small box from it. "Tell you what," he offered. "You tell me all you know of a different matter and perhaps I can help with Honmour’s fate," He tossed the box over.
Decoy (Assassin's Rising Book 1) Page 24