by Greg Curtis
That angered him. People had been hurt because of him! In fury Baen released the magic stored in another of the staff's enchantments and watched as the man with the fire weapon and the other one with the exploding globes fell down with great spears of ice through their chests. Unfortunately the man with the exploding globes dropped them when he hit the ground, and another huge explosion ripped through the area.
The blast didn't harm him. All he felt was the rush of the wind and a force smashing against him, before a fountain of blood red gore started raining down everywhere. These men weren't going to get up again. certainly not the man with the steel and glass bombs. There was nothing left of him. As for the man with the fire spitting weapon, he was now burning like a bonfire.
A second later the man with the rifle fired again, before Baen spotted him and sent him following his friend with the axe into the land of sleep. It seemed he wasn't wearing cold iron.
Was it over? Baen stood there, staring at the scene of carnage and wondered. Four men had attacked him. Two of them were dead. Was that all there were?
Apparently, it wasn’t as yet another man came at him with a whip. It was the first weapon to trouble Baen. His wards against bullets wouldn't stop of cord of thin leather. Luckily his coat did and the whip failed to slice into his skin. But even as the man pulled his arm back to launch another attack, Baen charged him.
Four steps later he met the man head on and smashed the end of his staff into the man's face.
The man went down in a screaming heap, blood pouring from the top of his nose, and Baen knew he was finished. When he was lying on the ground clutching at his face with both hands and had dropped the whip, he wasn't any sort of threat. But still Baen felt the anger flowing through him like the wind, and he wasn't happy. So he delivered a sound kick to the man's chest and thought he felt the man’s ribs give way. It felt good.
After that it was over. Three were down, two were dead. No one else was running for him. If there were others who had come for him, they'd obviously decided he was too dangerous to face and had backed off.
But in trying to kill him they'd killed a lot of other people. People were down everywhere. Those exploding globes of glass and steel had torn through flesh with ease. He saw at least a dozen people lying on the street. And while not all of them were dead, some clearly were. There was blood on the cobbles. More on peoples' clothes. Some of those on the ground were moving, writhing in pain. Some were crying out for help. He provided what little healing he could do, though that wasn’t much. He didn't have a lot of enchantments for healing.
Fortunately others did, and soon there were people all around, Fae and human, tending to the fallen, and he soon let them take over. He was only in the way.
For now there was nothing he could do. The enemy had struck at him as hard as he could without revealing who he – or she – was. But he wasn't finished. Baen knew that in time he would try again if he got the chance. His enemy was desperate. His end was approaching and he would not go quietly.
All he could do was go home and not give the bastard a target. So after speaking with J'bel and the others and telling them what he knew and what they had to do, he did just that. He went home to clean himself off and hide away in his hidden fortress. And tried not to feel like a complete failure as he did so. But it wasn't easy.
At least the others now had his knowledge. The message would be sent, though he doubted it would reach its destination quickly or easily. The enemy had already taken steps to ensure that it wouldn't be spread. It was why the Mission was no longer receiving word from their home. But at least he had given the Fae in Grenland a way of fighting back against the King's latest Decree. Even if they had problems getting messages back to G'lorenvale as he suspected they would, they could still speak between Trading Missions. It was a start.
Eventually the enemy would be unearthed. It wouldn't bring back the dead or heal the injured. But it would be something.
Chapter Thirty Four
The man quickly cut across the fields, going toward the inn and Dariya followed him at a discrete distance, not wanting to be seen. Not because he posed her any great danger – she could take care of herself – but because she wanted to find out who he was going to meet.
The wizard had been right about a great many things. He'd worked out that their enemy was a seer. And almost the exact place and time he would strike. But he hadn't worked out who the seer was. When she'd seen the bandit slipping away in the confusion after the battle, she’d decided that that was her job. And if Baen was right, their enemy had no idea that she was doing this. Every time he changed the future, he blinded himself to it for a time as his new memories embedded themselves in his mind. It was going to be a while before he could see things again. And if Baen's great uncle was right, before he was once more fully fit.
What must it be like to one minute know the entire course of your life from beginning to end as though you had lived it all, and then to have it all suddenly change? She couldn't even begin to guess. But it must be terrible. Great Uncle Mortimer was surely proof of that. His mind had gone. Broken under the pressure. And left behind a bitter old crank.
Abruptly the figure ahead stopped and she had to forget her questions as she threw herself flat to the ground just as he turned around. Thankfully the long grass hid her, and she was able to watch him through it as he carefully studied the fields behind him. She didn’t think he could see her – he was too far away and the grass was too long – but he kept looking for the longest time.
Did he know he was being followed or just suspect it? Or was he simply normally paranoid? Dariya didn't have an answer. She was glad though when he finally turned back around and headed on to the distant inn.
Dariya lay there for a little while longer, letting him gain a little more distance on her. In the end she could see where he was going and she knew what he looked like since she'd studied him in the city as he'd been leaving. That perpetual squint of his was hard to miss. And maybe she stayed where she was because she guessed what he was going to do next, which was to stop dead and turn around again to hunt for any sign of pursuit. Just because he was paranoid didn’t mean he wasn’t occasionally right.
That was the thing that had brought him to her attention in the first place. When Baen had fought the assassins everyone had been frightened. Everyone had known fear of not just these mad men with their weapons but also the wizard. But it was only this man who had been just as frightened of the city guards though he tried to hide it. But when more and more guards had come flooding in, the fear had grown in his eyes. And then he'd run – or walked as fast as he dared – away from the guards and she'd known him to be her quarry.
She supposed he had cause to be both frightened and paranoid. He'd seen his companions fall down. Two of them had been killed outright. Two had great tree branches of ice sticking out of their chests. Three more had been dragged off by the city guards for interrogation and he could surely guess that they weren't going to hold back any secrets such as the names of their accomplices. In giving up their secrets they would be hoping for a quick, easy death rather than an extended stay with the torturers. There was no honour among thieves as they said. They would tell their interrogators everything they knew. It was why the man was fleeing and why he kept looking over his shoulder. He knew the guards would be on his tail soon enough.
Eventually Dariya got up to follow him again and the hunt continued. She was pleased with herself for not being spotted. It had been easy out on the road because it was tree lined and so she’d been able to hide behind them. It had been easier still when he reached the nearby village because there were people everywhere. But following someone out in the open took skill and quick reactions. You had to study the lie of the land looking for any cover it might provide, like gentle rises and falls and longer patches of grass, even as you studied your quarry. It seemed she had learned her craft well.
It was also good to be doing something for once, instead of remaining cooped
up in a house with an ageing madman with a bitter tongue. Or worse, hiding there like someone who needed protection. A victim. She had never been a helpless woman and she hated being treated like one. Something she was going to prove very shortly. She might not be a wizard with unimaginable power at her fingertips, but she was a damned good soldier!
Finally the man reached the inn and pushed open the solid oak door before stepping inside. Dariya breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind him. Now that he was inside and couldn't see her unless he found a table by the windows, she could afford to move faster. She doubted he would look for a window view. More likely he would find somewhere inside that was dark and quiet with a good view of his fellow patrons, and wait for whoever he was meeting to arrive, while he kept an eye on the door. Which was why she headed for the back of the inn.
If this place was like any of the others she'd visited over the years, there would be a back yard where firewood was chopped, horses stabled and provisions stored. The door to the yard would be off the kitchen and barrel room. Dariya could sneak through it and take up a spot at the back of the main room. Accommodation would be upstairs where it was warm and quiet. The owner would be behind the bar in the main room, serving his customers. His wife and staff would be cooking and serving. They were all the same. So when she crept into the backyard and noticed the small mountain of chopped timber not far from the door, she thanked the Lady with a sigh of relief that this one was no different.
Dariya walked through the back door, pushed her way past the startled wife slaving by the ovens, and stepped out into the main room. There she quickly found herself a table far from anyone else and raised her hand for the serving girl.
“Ale!”
Dariya kept her voice low and deep as she gave the girl her order, not wanting anyone to know she was a woman. With her hood up so that her face was in shadow that was easy enough to hide. The secret was always to say as little as possible and show as little of her face as she could. And as it had done so many times before, it worked. The girl paid her no attention as she rushed off to get a pitcher of ale. She had other customers to attend to after all.
Meanwhile Dariya placed her coins on the table for the girl to take when she returned so she didn't have to speak to her again, and studied her fellow patrons. They were a typical crowd for an afternoon. A few farmers, finished for the day. Some wood choppers too. A few layabouts with coin to spend. A tired looking bard who hadn't yet started his work for the evening. And of course, a couple of shady looking characters. Possibly highwaymen. Or more likely just plain brigands. They tended to drink a lot since they didn't work.
Her quarry was seated at a table across the room, his eyes fixed firmly on the front door. He hadn't even noticed her. But then why would he have? He was looking for anyone who might follow him in. As far as he knew she had already been here before him. And maybe, she hoped, he was also waiting for whoever had hired him. Because that was who she wanted to find.
Unfortunately, as the time ticked by it seemed he wasn't expecting anyone soon. Hours passed, afternoon became evening, and more patrons kept arriving. The bard eventually started his work, breaking into a routine of songs and jokes. He was actually quite good. At least the other patrons seemed to think so. And the man with the squint just sat and waited. As did she.
Finally, at about nine bells, her quarry's posture changed. He looked up hurriedly, straightened his back and sat taller in his seat as his eyes fixed on the open door. The person he was waiting for had arrived. But who it was she couldn't see. There were too many people in the way.
But as the newcomer made his way through the crowd she caught glimpses of him. A tall man, thin, but dressed as if he worked hard for a living. He was wearing leather and coarse cotton. A hood too, but not one that was part of a robe as was hers. He was wearing a leather hood that he’d tied around his head. It was the sort of thing foresters wore to keep the rain off. But he was no forester. His clothes were too clean.
He joined her quarry at the table and ordered an ale, But she saw nothing of him save his hand since his back was to her. A long, thin and somewhat old hand, she thought. Could this be the enemy Baen had talked about? Or just another lackey? Excitement made her heart race a little faster, but she contained it and kept watching. Before anything else she had to know who this man was.
Soon the two of them were deep in conversation. Heads were bobbing, arms were waving, and she knew the newcomer wasn't happy with whatever he was being told. Probably something about an assassination attempt that had gone horribly wrong. Dariya didn't care. All she wanted was for the stranger to turn around so she could see his face. And then perhaps for him to stand up so she could shoot him. Her hands strayed to the hilts of her new pistols, ready to do her will.
But the man stubbornly refused to turn around. Or do anything useful. He just kept talking, his head and her quarry's so close they were almost touching as they struggled not to be overheard. And all the time people kept walking in front of them, blocking her vision.
Suddenly a man screamed.
For a second or so, Dariya didn't know who'd screamed. It didn't sound like any sound a man could possibly make. But then she saw her quarry sitting there, his hands going to his face, and smoke rising into the air above him and she realised with horror what was about to happen.
Then the man burst into flame!
He was on fire! People cried out in horror. They yelled at one another as they tried to work out what to do. Some backed away from the burning man in a hurry. Others ran for water. And she suddenly realised that in the confusion the other man had vanished. He was no longer sitting there, talking to her quarry.
It was then that she understood. He'd done this! He was killing any witnesses. Right now he would be heading for the door. But she couldn't see him through the crowd.
Dariya stood up and then leapt up on to the top of the table, trying to spot him through the milling crowds. But when she finally saw his leather hood, it was already heading out of the front door.
She jumped down and started desperately fighting her way through the crowd, determined not to let him get away. It wasn't easy. People were frightened, pressing together and crushing her as they carried her away from the burning man. She had to start punching and kicking her way through the masses. By the time she made it to the doorway and spotted the killer, he was already forty yards away and about to step into a waiting carriage.
There was no time! Dariya reached under her robes, pulled out her pistols and let loose all four shots at his back in quick succession. But just at that moment a stampeding mass of frightened patrons barrelled into her and carried her out into the darkness.
Still she hit him. Despite the range and darkness, the fact that she was using pistols instead of her trusty rifle, she hit him. And as she got up from the ground in a desperate hurry, she saw him collapse into the back of the carriage, yell at the driver and race off. He'd collapsed because at least one of her bullets had found him.
After that it was too late of course to give chase. She was on foot and the horses were galloping away. While behind her, the inn was on fire. Whatever the man had done to her quarry, it had been effective.
“Shite!” She cursed. And then she cursed a few more times for good measure. She had been so close! He shouldn't have got away. But as she holstered her weapons and watched the carriage race away into the night, she knew there was nothing more she could do this night. It was over.
All she could do now was slip away into the night like the rest of the patrons, and make her way back to the city. But at least she had hurt him. She just hoped it was their enemy who she'd got and not just another of his lackies. That he hadn't got away cleanly.
Chapter Thirty Five
The inn was a smoking ruin, much as Baen had expected. But he was still surprised by some of the damage. Mostly by the blackened skeleton still sitting at a table in the very centre of the destruction. But the table was gone, and so was the bench the owner
of the skeleton had been sitting on. Which left something that looked like a structure of blackened bones sitting in the open air all by itself. What could do that?
“I've never seen anything like that before,” Baen commented.
“I have. At least I've heard of it,” J'bel answered. “It's dragon's breath. Burns away the flesh and leaves behind a skeleton locked in the rigor of death.”
“There was no dragon here last night,” Baen pointed out.
“No. But there is a way to make it. Or there was, centuries ago.” J'bel shook his head, in disbelief. “But it was lost long ago.”
Somehow that made sense to Baen. It was impossible, like everything else that had happened recently. If it had been straight forward and simple he would have been shocked.
After all, he still didn't know what had happened to prevent the Missions from contacting their homeland. J'bel had refused to speak of it. But he knew that the Fae who had been assigned to them could no longer speak to their loved ones or return to their homeland. And he knew that it had been a knife in their guts when they had found out.