He had watched the destruction of his business from this vantage with Mitchum. His lieutenant and two guards had begun to rush down to join in the battle, but Jagger had held them back.
He glanced over at one of the two guards, who was slumped against a wall some distance from the vomit that had spewed from him during the horrid displays of butchery below.
Three more men would have made little difference in the face of that force of nature. Whatever it was, it had paid no more attention to the men that assailed it than a storm paused over saplings. Ragg had given it some pause, but the ogre had been his own particular brand of storm.
Jagger shook his head over the losses he had suffered that night, and he turned back to the window.
Below, Chancellor Tomelen began to crawl gingerly from the trough, looking anxiously in every direction. A distant howl from the creature almost sent him back to his shelter, but he began to slowly make his way out of the mire and muck, heading for a water barrel that had miraculously survived the wanton destruction.
Leaving Ordair’s Keep was obviously going to be necessary. Even if that thing never came back, the indigenous creatures of this region would be drawn to the smells of the carnage. Depending on what came calling, it could be difficult to hold the walls with the few men that had survived. Also, his reputation demanded that he reclaim the princess and erase the man who had thought to rescue her.
Jagger turned from the window to face the three men with him. “Mitchum, it’s time to pull this cursed mess together. Gather what remains of the men and supplies. We are leaving.”
Mitchum nodded slowly and left the room, and his voice began to call out to those who had survived the night.
Jagger looked at the pair of lingering men. “You two, come with me.”
The chancellor splashed his face and gargled water, frantically trying to get the taste of pig urine out of his mouth. He had survived. That was at least one thing to be happy about. The night had begun so well, and then that...thing had ruined it all. Weeks of planning, and the risks he had taken to find himself here. All of his efforts would be for nothing if the princess had escaped during the chaos.
“You look well. Considering,” said Jagger.
Kesh looked up from the fetid water.
The mercenary leader with his scarred face and his mismatched plate armor stood behind him with two of his henchmen.
“Do you have a bathing tub?” Kesh asked. “I am in sore need.”
The scarred man chuckled.
Kesh had always disliked the sound. It made him think the brigand leader was laughing at him.
“I believe the river is your best option,” Jagger said with an inviting wave. “Come, I will show you.” He walked toward an opening in the Keep’s fortification at a quick pace. The two armored men followed him on either side. None of them looked back.
Kesh got to his feet and did his best to keep up. His legs still trembled as he moved away from his shelter into the open.
The remaining men of the mercenary’s band began to hurry about the compound, gathering scattered supplies and tending to the wounded.
The opening Jagger and his men had ducked through turned out to be a short tunnel with stairs that led down through the foundation of the wall and past a broken and twisted portcullis. A small, hidden niche in the rock harbored an eddy of the river just before it rounded the Keep and dropped steeply, turning the calm water into rough rapids.
Jagger gestured to the pool. “I believe this should provide what you seek.”
“Yes, thank Eos.” Kesh tromped past the three men and fell into the pool, welcoming the freezing waters that purified his soiled flesh and clothing. Rumbling from the rapids below provided the only sound in Kesh’s ears as he sank to the bottom of the murky water, scrubbing furiously to free himself of the filth.
Clouds of muck streamed from him, obscuring the crystalline water of the pool, but as hard as he scrubbed, Kesh feared the foulness would never come off. He clawed at his ruined clothes and dragged them over his head. He knew in his heart he would never be able to clean this experience from his mind. He shuddered in the water and clawed his way back to the surface.
The air was cold and crisp, and it burned his throat as he gulped it in. Thin columns of steam drifted from his pinkened skin. He felt almost reborn after his purging in the icy waters of the Tanglevine. An arm was offered to him and he took it gratefully.
Kesh was hauled from the pool. He looked at Jagger and asked, “Was the princess taken?”
In response, the mercenary punched him in the eye.
Lights danced across Kesh’s vision and he fell backward. The iron grip Jagger had on his arm arrested his descent and he was hauled back up to be punched in the face again. “Wait!” he managed to sputter.
Another blow.
“Stop!” Kesh’s voice slurred.
Another.
The vice around his arm released suddenly, and he fell to his knees, spots in his eyes.
Through gritted teeth, Jagger finally spoke. “Why”—his knee shot out and caught the side of the chancellor’s head—“should I not”—he offered Kesh a kick to the stomach—“kill you now?”
Kesh collapsed on the ground with his ears ringing, unable to speak through ragged coughs.
“Oh, speechless are we?” Jagger spread his hands with an exasperated look on his face. “Perhaps you need another swim.”
Rough hands grabbed hold of Kesh and he was hauled back into the pool.
“No. Wait!” Kesh slurred a second time.
One of the two thugs holding his arms grabbed a handful of his hair and dunked his head underwater. He struggled against his captors to no avail. Just as his lungs failed and he began to draw in water, his head was hauled up. Paroxysms of coughing and wheezing shook his frame.
Jagger paced along the bank of the little pool. “You see. If I kill you, I don’t have to worry about the damage to my reputation. If you’re gone, who’s to say our deal ever existed?” He stopped and looked at Kesh. “I can endure losses. Even considerable losses.” Jagger raised a hand and tapped at his chin with one finger. “But if you aren’t around to tell the tale, I won’t have to worry about the stain on my honor. I won’t have to worry about you.” He nodded at his men.
Kesh’s head went under again. This time they waited until he had actually sucked in some water before pulling him out. Another raging fit of coughing racked his body. Liquid streamed from his nose and mouth.
“So, can you tell me why I should not kill you?” Jagger leaned forward with hands on his knees and smiled his twisted smile.
Kesh’s shivering now had little to do with the temperature of the water or the air. He was going to have to tell the truth. At least, he was going to have to tell most of the truth. He sagged in the two brute’s arms. “I am not your actual employer.”
“Ah, I see.” Jagger straightened, and placed his hands behind his back. He looked as if he had expected to hear exactly this answer. “Well, then, who might my employer be?”
Kesh’s laugh in response to the question was a trifle desperate. “Do you take me for a complete fool?” His eyes had begun to swell shut, so it was difficult to focus on the scarred man. “You only need know that he is a powerful man—”
Jagger’s scornful laughter cut Kesh off. “And I am to just take your word on this?” He motioned to his henchmen.
“No, wa—” Kesh’s head went under for a third time, and again, they held him until he took in water. He was going to have to give them something, some kind of proof, or these men would kill him.
“I will be breaking things next. Then, we move to cutting.” Jagger bent down on one knee. “Give me a name.”
“I have proof,” Kesh managed to say, his voice weak but harsh. “In my saddlebags.” He hated the thought of exposing himself further, but he didn’t see any other choice.
The brigand leader looked at him and narrowed his eyes. “What saddlebags?”
Kesh attempted to p
oint. “My horse is tied up in the trees just across the river.” At least he hoped they were still where he had left them.
“Show me,” the rogue commanded.
The henchmen dragged the chancellor from the river and threw him to the ground in front of Jagger.
The scarred man, still on one knee, leaned close. “This had better be good, Kesh. You’ve cost me dearly by bringing that demon into my camp.” He grabbed a handful of Kesh’s hair and pulled him to his feet. “I expect compensation.” He shoved the chancellor forward.
Soon, Kesh found himself stumbling through the jungle before Jagger and the men who had joined them as they left the Keep. His mind raced, trying to formulate a plan that would get him out of this alive. The document he was about to retrieve and hand over to the rogue was something he should have destroyed immediately after reading. Thank Eos he hadn’t. The seal on that little slip of paper could possibly save his life—temporarily, at least.
In addition to his post administering and overseeing all trade through Basinia, Lord Banlor Graves had an absolute grip on the illicit activities that proliferated in any city. Each position buoyed and supported the other, and his master twitched the strings of both artfully. Much as he was known by face and name in official circles, Banlor’s reputation preceded him in others. For the shadow empire, he was known only as “the Servitor”; ironic, since the servants were those who involved themselves in his dealings. His official commands were never signed with anything but a seal, and Jagger would know that seal. More importantly, he would know what it meant, and if Kesh could spin the context well, Jagger would carry him home.
Four horses came into view as Kesh pushed through a wall of heavy vines. The animals were wide-eyed and a bit skittish as the group approached, but appeared unharmed. More importantly, Kesh’s own mount still wore the saddlebags that held his salvation.
“Take hold of him,” Jagger announced to no one in particular as he came through the vines. Two of his henchmen stepped forward and grabbed Kesh roughly. The leader of the rogues studied the beasts for a moment. “Which horse is yours?”
Kesh pointed. “The mare on the end.”
Jagger gave wide berth to the dark percheron Kinsey had ridden. The horse had been trained for combat; it rolled its eyes at the thief and showed its teeth in warning. The scarred man circled around to the mare and untied Kesh’s saddlebags. Bits of clothing, writing implements, and other odds and ends fell to the earth as Jagger rummaged. He blatantly pocketed several items while looking at Kesh, until finally he pulled forth a worn, folded piece of parchment.
Kesh recognized it immediately as the message he had received the day the escort had left Stone Mountain. He could still remember the look of disbelief on the little messenger’s face when he had placed the extra coin in the boy’s hand. He should have burned the letter, but he hadn’t. He had treasured it as his first trophy, his first step toward independence.
Jagger opened the letter. After looking it over for a time, he folded it back up and put it in some hidden pocket under his mismatched armor. “Mitchum, take the horses back to camp.”
His lieutenant stepped forward with two others.
“Leave that one,” Jagger amended, pointing at Kinsey’s warhorse. With a wave, he beckoned Kesh forward. “Chancellor, walk with me.”
Kesh fell in beside the aged bandit. The tension in his shoulders started to build as they walked along the river toward a ford that butted up next to the southern wall of the Keep.
Jagger scratched his chin as they walked. “The seal is genuine; I’ve seen enough of them to know the difference.” Jagger eyed Kesh askance. “What I don’t understand is what possessed you to disobey a guild dictate. I might as well kill you now and save myself the danger of having been close to you.”
“It’s too late for that. My master, your true employer, already knows of your involvement,” Kesh lied.
Jagger frowned. “Those girls were supposed to die, not be captured. This failing will be seen as mine—”
“No, mine,” Kesh interrupted. “The letter in your pocket is proof enough of my betrayal to my master.” He paused and waited for Jagger to meet his eye. “Or more appropriately stated, my previous master.”
“You seek to claim your own seat of power?” The scarred man stopped at the ford’s edge and turned to look at Kesh.
“No. I serve another now.” Kesh willed the thief to believe him. He was fairly certain Jagger would see his true aspirations as unattainable. If he knew what Kesh actually desired, he would certainly kill him on the spot and wash his hands of the entire matter. If Jagger believed, however, that others more powerful than Kesh were involved, there was a sliver of a chance. Kesh sweetened the pot. “One who is much more generous. To all he employs.”
Jagger narrowed his eyes. “If what you say is true, it is a dangerous game you play. It is not only your head that could end on a spike, but mine as well.”
Kesh spread his hands. “It is no game, my friend. I can offer you more than what was promised originally, if you take me to Waterfall Citadel and retrieve the girl. Or you can kill me here and now and walk away with your losses, whatever those might entail.” Kesh focused on his breathing and projected an air of indifference and confidence. Take the bait, you mangled bastard, he prayed.
The rogue leader just stood there, staring at Kesh. His flinty eyes scraped at Kesh’s layers, trying to uncover the truth.
Kesh’s eyes burned from not blinking.
That uniquely twisted grin made its way across Jagger’s face. “I want twice my initial price, and my forces replenished, with better weapons and armor. Also, I want a favor from your new master.”
Kesh didn’t let his sheer relief show, but his skin tingled as the tension released from his shoulders. “What favor would that be?”
“He will know when I need it.”
The chancellor raised his swollen brow. Finally, a game he was more than equipped to play. “Ridiculous. The men and money would pose no problems, but I could not promise an unspecified favor.”
Jagger’s twisted smile took on a tinge of avarice. “The men and money simply return me to even.” He cocked his head slightly to one side and said, “I need the favor to make the effort of recovering the woman and transporting you worth my while.”
Kesh warmed to his haggling. “An unspecified favor is impossible. Surely you can see that. Double fee, the replacement of the men, and an upgrade to your equipment is more than fair.” He raised a hand to forestall the protestation he could see forming. “But I do have influence. What would you say to triple your original fee—I will cover the extra third from my own coffers, and my intercession for your ‘favor’?”
“You wouldn’t lie to me now, would you?” A dangerous look painted Jagger’s face.
Kesh shrugged. “Obtaining the favor will be difficult, and it will most likely be limited, but the other requests.” He nodded his head as if in thought. “They will pose no problems.”
Jagger’s eyes bore into Kesh’s own, evaluating and weighing the words. “So be it. We have a deal.”
Kesh nodded and waited until Jagger turned to walk across the ford before he smiled. The rogue was a dead man. All that remained was for Kesh to arrange it. He drew in his first sweet breath since watching Kinsey’s last twitches. He lived, and his world was opening to him.
SLOANE looked over the balcony of her quarters and down on the waking city below.
The past few days had been filled with glorious celebration. People danced in the streets at all hours and music played on every corner, long into the night. Happy throngs laughed and handed drinks to passersby.
It was a world Sloane had not experienced before—the carefree attitude and the actual offer of welcome from these people appeared to be genuine. She couldn’t help but smile as small groups of partygoers staggered about the streets and were trailed by men and women in green, picking up trash and leftovers from the past night’s merriment.
If only Sach
a were here to see it.
Sloane’s smile dimmed at the thought of her sister. She raised her eyes to the jungle that lined the top of the eastern ridge. The questions of who had taken her, where she was now and whether she was safe had plagued her mind thousands of times since that night. No answers had come forth.
Worse still, the news of hobgoblins advancing north from Skelris had thrown the Basinian leaders into a panicked uproar.
The council was demanding the wedding be moved up so the alliance could be cemented and her father’s aid secured. With the furor of a possible invasion, Sacha’s plight had been shoved aside. Only through Prince Alexander’s constant insistence that forces be spared for the search did it remain on the table. She was frustrated at her personal lack of usefulness, too. She needed to be more involved, actively searching. The constant posturing the last few days had kept her away from what was really important.
A knock came at the door and she turned her head from the lethargic amblings of the populace below. “Come in.”
Sloane stayed on the balcony. It was too beautiful of a morning to be inside. The air was cool and crisp, and if the shadows may have been a bit too cold, the warm sunlight made the temperature invigorating.
The heavy door to her room swung open to reveal Prince Alexander. Her smile, which was turning into a habit upon his arrival, froze before it come to full fruition. The prince was... not in his usual attire.
Peculiar only just began to describe the “uniform” he wore; if pressed to describe it later, she would have had to say it was made of leather. Every stitch was made from the hide of some animal or another.
The extent of the material alone might have been cause enough for her perplexity, but the outfit’s oddity went well beyond a single-minded devotion to material. Overlapping pieces of form-fitting leather covered the length of Alexander’s body like the belly scales of a giant snake. Spaced at intervals along each seam on either side of his body were heavy loops, starting under his arms and ending at his ankles. Each loop supported a heavy leather belt with worn steel buckles that dangled loose before him. The rattle and click of the fasteners overlay the creak and stretch of the leather as he walked into the room. Alexander grinned at her gawking and asked. “Are you well this morning?”
Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) Page 31