Chapter Eight
The next morning Hark sat on his bed, hands shaking and his stomach churning. Shame flooded him, and he realized he’d messed up. Last night had been pretty incredible, and then he’d turned into an asshole. How could he talk to the man he cared for like that? How could he let his thirst control him? He needed to find Alisander and apologize.
As he stood, his nausea rose sharply, and he barely made it to the toilet before throwing up. Again and again, he emptied his stomach until all that came up was bile. Shaking and sick, he collapsed on the cool marble floor, unwilling to go too far in case he needed to vomit once more.
Sometime later, he woke up. Light no longer streamed through the windows, and the world shifted back into position as he sat up. He no longer had the need to throw up, but he desperately wished he had something to drink. A knock came on his door, and he rose to answer. A servant stood there, holding a rolled up piece of paper.
“This came for you.”
Hark took it and opened it up as the servant left. As he read the short missive, his self loathing went up a notch even as his heart began to pound. He hurried from his room, down the corridor, until he reached Cax’s room. He banged on the wooden frame, and a moment later it opened to reveal the Mercenary half dressed. Even in his frantic state of mind he couldn’t help but notice how perfectly sculptured Cax’s body was, and unexpectedly, he felt his cock stiffen.
No, not again!
“What’s the matter?” Cax asked, frowning.
Hark had to force his desire down. “Alisander’s been taken.”
He held out the note, and Cax read it quickly before he turned to dress, slipping on his tunic and doublet before buckling on his weapons.
“Did anyone see who did it?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why was Ali out of the castle at this time of night?”
“Because of me,” Hark whispered. “I sent him for a bottle of wine.”
Cax grabbed him by the throat and practically threw him against the wall. Hark didn’t even try to fight back. He saw Cax frown as he leaned in and studied his neck.
“There’s a hickey on you. One that wasn’t there yesterday.” Hark saw realization dawn on his face. “I see. You do know he’s asked me to take him with me when I leave.”
“He can’t leave.”
“He can and he will, but right now is neither the time nor place for this discussion. We need to find Ali.”
“I say we question our number one suspect,” Hark said.
Cax nodded. “Agreed. Hold on.”
Cax focused, and suddenly the edges of the area seemed to blur, shift off kilter, and a portal opened up before them. It ... shimmered, slightly unfocused around the edges as it touched the barrier. “Ready?”
Hark took a deep breath and nodded.
****
They materialized in front of the merchant building, and even though Hark was a little wobbly, he wasted no time rushing up the steps and into Laurltrant’s domain. The place was eerily quiet.
“Where’s Laurltrant?” Hark asked.
“Shh,” Cax admonished. He closed his eyes and opened his senses. “Hatred. Extreme hatred. And cold.” His eyes shot open. “They’re in the Icelands.”
“Take us there.”
Cax grabbed Hark’s hand to hold it up between them. The shaking was unmistakable.
“You’re detoxing. You shouldn’t come along.”
Hark snatched his hand back. “I’m going. This is my fault, Cax. I sent him out to get my wine. I did this to Ali, so I need to fix it.”
“Fix it by not drinking again.”
Hark let out his breath and nodded. “I won’t.”
“If you’re serious, then the sickness will hit you soon. We have to find Alisander and finish this before that happens.”
“I’ve already been sick. I’m fine now.”
“No, you aren’t fine. It’ll come back, worse than before.”
They were silent for a moment, and Hark racked his brain trying to think of something to say. He should have felt easy in the silence, preferring it over idle chit-chat, but there was something about Cax that set him on edge. Maybe it was his attraction to the man. Even now his scent wafted over, powerful and hypnotic, and it drove him a little crazy.
“Is this what a Mercenary does? Go around saving people?”
“Some of my missions are always different. Some of my missions are alike.”
“You’re a warrior, though.”
Cax looked at him and cocked his head. “I am. I am paid by the people who can afford my contracts, but I also serve the King, and sometimes my mission is to be his hand when he or his military cannot.”
“Am I too old to join?”
“You wish to be a Mercenary?”
“I don’t know. I was set to join the King’s guard before my uncle named me his heir. I would’ve preferred that life.”
“I see,” Cax said, and strangely, Hark thought he did. “Come here.”
Hark wrinkled his brow in confusion, but moved to stand in front of him. Cax looked him over, and then, before he could blink, Cax struck him so hard across the jaw he fell back, pain exploding through his face. Holding back a groan, Hark felt his jaw tenderly, wincing when he touched the sore area.
“That was for letting your weakness hurt Ali,” Cax said calmly. Then he leaned over and helped him to his feet. Once again they stood face to face, and Hark wondered if he was about to get hit again, although he wouldn’t fight back. No, he deserved this beating. “You once said everyone has a weakness. Apparently mine is a redhead. But I suppose it also includes you.”
And then Cax kissed him. And it felt wonderful, even if the kiss aggravated the ache in his jaw. It was a soft kiss, one that was more exploratory than anything else. Cax’s tongue invaded his mouth and just set about finding out his taste and texture. Hark felt his cock harden, and he wanted. He wanted everything Cax was willing to give, even though Alisander ran through his mind. How was it possible he wanted the Mercenary when he didn’t even like the man that much?
When Cax pulled back, breathing hard, they stared at one another. Something passed between them, an understanding, and Hark realized that whatever else was happening around them, this Vermundir Mercenary was going to change his life forever … if he had the faith to grab hold and trust in it.
Chapter Nine
Cax and Hark stepped from the portal into the beautiful crystallized world of the north. It was too far to see, but Lake Corbel lay to the east, becoming the juncture where The Steps and Valley of the Gods met. The Icelands lay directly in between two mountain ranges.
The Steps, the tallest peaks, kept most of the bitter ice storms from reaching any farther south, basically forming a natural barrier of the ice lands. They were perpetually frozen, glinting like diamonds upon an oppressive dark blanket. Massive, majestic, indomitable.
Opposite The Steps lay the Valley of the Gods, a sheet of ice rising high toward the sky, a mountain frozen through, towering and blocking out the feeble light that struggled valiantly to break through the permanent gray clouds that was the northern sky. So named because myth reported it was where the gods had lived before they died off, bestowing their powers on their mortal progeny, their children that came to be known as the Sorcerers.
The icy mountains rose to shadow them, a land steeped in blinding ice and shade alike. Both men were dressed in warm wool and furs. There wasn’t an official province up north since it had no assigned Governor to govern the people. But there was a large community. Two strangers wandering in always caused a bit of stir, and their gear brought more than one pair of eyes their way.
"Hark," Cax said softly. "What do you know up here?"
Hark shook his head. "Nothing, except tales I’ve been told."
Cax glanced out of the corners of his eyes, keeping his gaze flat. Hard. “I want you to stay close to me. There isn’t much law here, and they wouldn’t care if you’re a lord or not."
“I’m a warrior.”
“I’m not refuting that. But these men have become warriors in the harshest of places, and they don’t always fight fair.”
“I won’t run from a challenge,” Hark ground out.
Cax held up his hands. “Just giving you fair warning.”
They continued along the main street. There was no resting stop in the town, no community gathering like a pub on Winemakers Row. The wind was nipping slightly, and Hark buried deeper inside his cloak and clothes trying to sustain his body heat. All along in passing, men stared. The Mercenary had been right. It was quite unnerving to see the speculation and lust rising in the hardened eyes. Faces were a blur, blending together to form a uniform look: covered heads, full beards, and dead eyes. There was a frigidity about all of them that had nothing to do with the weather, and he found it amazing that Cax had been able to find one man out of all these identical creatures.
“It’s so cold. Have you been here before?” Hark asked him quietly.
“Once, on a job. I was hired to find a criminal to stand trial, which if you can imagine, was difficult in a town where the population is nothing but criminals."
“You got your man?”
“I finished the job I was hired to do,” Cax replied. “The man faced his own judgment, and I brought the body back as proof.”
“You had to kill him?”
As Cax looked at him, he saw not the warrior he’d come to know but the Mercenary of his trade. “Sometimes that is the job.”
Hark had nothing to say to such a vivid picture. Cax directed them off to a secondary street, then twisted around to a back alley of shabby looking buildings erected of wood and stone. Both commodities were scarce in the north, which made the rents inflated. He walked up to one door and banged twice. They waited, and Hark had the distinct feeling of being watched. He looked around, up and back down the road they had just come up, but didn't see anything out of the miserable ordinary. The door opened, and a rough looking old man stepped out, squinting in the bright sunlight. One thing about ice, everything was bright. The sun highlighted the ice all around, and it was a dangerous combination for eyesight. Cax had given Hark a pair of odd darkened glasses and wore a pair for himself, but the old man just screwed up his eyes as he and Cax talked.
Coin changed hands, how much Hark had no idea, but moments later another door, next to the first one opened. Cax went in and Hark followed. The room they were in was quite large, made of wood and steel. Benches littered the floor, and several fireplaces burned with a pungent, bitter odor. It dawned on Hark that the fuel to keep warm had to be something other than wood, and he didn't want to look too closely at the coal bucket next to the hearth.
The room was filled with men, and much to his surprise, a woman wove in and out of them, setting down dark colored drinks. She looked up, caught sight of Cax, and stopped.
She was the type of woman that, in an ordinary province, she would have been shoveled to the lowest pit of rank and profession. She was long past the age of child bearing, and without a husband wouldn’t have a real place in society. She had long greasy hair more gray than brown, a haggard face that was probably old before its time, weathered skin and wrinkles. She was overly plump and too tall, intimidating with her direct stare, dressed in pants and a stained doublet. A knife hung at her waist, and Hark had no doubt she could easily slit a man's throat without blinking.
The men inside must have noticed how she stared at the newcomers, brittle, and ready to pounce or slash if need be, for they didn't say a word. Only waited, as did Hark, for the outcome of such two forceful sides.
"I don't allow men like you into my establishment," the woman said in a harsh, rusty voice.
"I’m looking for someone," Cax replied smoothly, as if trying to tame the fur on a cat.
"Yeah, I remember."
She fell silent, and her hand moved an inch closer to her knife.
"No need for that," Cax assured her.
"Get out," she ordered.
"I will, but I need to find someone."
She walked up to him until they were practically nose to nose. Her smell came to Hark in one potent whiff, a stronger version of whatever it was that burned in the fireplaces. "The last time you came in here looking for someone, it cost me my man." A fleck of spittle landed on Cax's cheek.
He wiped the spit away slowly. "Your man broke the law."
She sneered. "Don't give me that. You can go to the pits of hell. I won't be giving you any information. Now get out of here."
She turned, obviously assuming that was the end of that.
But Cax was a Mercenary, trained to uphold the Guild contracts and the oaths sworn under it. He didn't move, and when the woman's blade was arching toward him, as she whipped it from her belt and flung it straight at his heart, he calmly deflected it with a break of his own bloodletter. The move had been so quick Hark had not even seen him reach for the weapon. But there it was, secure in his hand while the woman's knife quivered slightly, imbedded in a side wall. Several men scrambled backward and away from both of them, and Hark thought it was a smart move. But he stayed firm at Cax's side.
The woman's eyes flicked over to her knife and then back at him. She eyed the triangular dagger being held competently in Cax's hand, and she must have reached some type of conclusion because she folded her arms and leaned her chest back a fraction.
Up went her chin. "Who is it?"
"A redheaded male, perhaps dressed in a doublet of Eyvindar."
"Maybe." That was all she said.
Cax held up a small sack. "Gold.”
With her eyes focused on the bag, the woman licked her lips. "I had a man come a couple of days ago and purchase some venom. Today he returned and headed up the path, with a chained man in tow. I figured the venom didn’t work."
Cax threw her the sack.
She caught it deftly. "You come here again and I will kill you."
The Mercenary gave one stiff nod, acknowledging her claim, then grabbed Hark’s hand and they were out the door. The one good thing was the area outside had emptied considerably, much to Hark’s relief, yet the memory of those taunts rang in his ears. He suspected, once he was home, all this would boil down into an experience to ponder, but for now it was all about walking with Cax down several more streets, several different areas.
“What is the path?" he asked, reluctantly letting go of Cax’s hand.
"The outskirts. Not many live there, it’s more like where one goes to die. Come."
And on they went until they came to a section quite unlike the other parts of the Icelands. There was a high wall, sure enough, but it was made from pure ice, the only natural resource the town possessed. There were carvings on it, chips chiseled onto it, and Hark could see the whipping wind blowing even more ice on it, adding to it where the chips had been made. Days from now it would be as if nothing had marred the wall, though he suspected more would come to carve their statements. A scattering of huts lay on the other side, and out of all of them, only one had newly pounded footprints leading up to the door.
Hark turned his eyes to Cax and watched the Mercenary lift a finger. He withdrew his bloodletters and eased up to the door. Not wanting to be left out, Hark pulled out his short sword and flattened himself on the other side of the door. Cax counted silently, and on the count of three, he kicked open the door. The first thing their eyes came to rest on was a form huddled on the floor, shivering.
Hark gasped and rushed forward, coming to kneel beside the nearly frozen body of Alisander. “Ali, can you hear me? He's near frozen!”
He pulled his own cloak off and covered him before pulling him close to his own body heat.
“Y-you came,” Alisander whispered.
“Sh,” Hark murmured. “I’ve got you now, and I won’t let you go, ever again.”
“H-he’s c-coming back.”
Alisander took his trembling hand out of the cloak and pointed toward the door. At that moment they heard a noi
se, and Cax didn't wait for Hark and, for a moment, he hesitated on whether to go or stay with Alisander.
“Help him,” Alisander said. “Go.”
He rose and followed, watching as Cax found a low position on the wall to jump it. Hark followed, and the two ran, away from the settlement and into the blasting cold that knocked the wind from his body and brought tears to his eyes. He squinted, praying the tears wouldn't freeze in his eyes, yet at the same time felt the hardened water clip away from the corners of his eyes.
And there stood a hooded figure. Slowly, he lifted the hood and revealed his face.
“Laurltrant.”
“I see that Lord Hark came just as I hoped.”
Hark took a step forward, but Cax held up hand, holding him back. “Why did you do this? Why try to murder me?” asked Hark.
“Without you, the line dies, and I will petition the King to be Governor of Eyvindar. Then I won’t have to deal with the family that made me lose mine.”
“You’ll have to go through me,” Cax said.
And without blinking, Laurltrant brought up a hand-crossbow and fired.
"Ah!" It threw Cax back, hard, and he landed some distance away, his head cracking sharply upon the ice. Blood leaked, turning the frozen surface bright red, freezing almost immediately, while smoke billowed from the wound on his chest.
"Cax!" Hark yelled.
Laurltrant went to fire another arrow at Hark, but Hark brought his short blade up and deflected the bolt. He charged and lunged, and the two went down in a heap. The crossbow went sliding away, and as Hark got to his feet he saw the older man pull two daggers from his waist.
“You stabbed me,” Hark spat out as he rotated his wrist, keeping his fighting arm flexible. “You hired a Krellian to assassinate me.” He was shaking from the after-effects of his withdrawal, but he willed them away as best as he could. It was not the time or place to give into his weakness, and he silently cursed himself for falling so far.
“I did. And you hired a Mercenary. I’m feeling quite peevish about losing my money over poor quality service.”
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