Dark King Of The North (Book 3) (19 page)

Unfortunately for Baritroke and his household, he had sided with the rebellion against Lord Verkain almost four years earlier. The house had been burnt to the ground, the family slaughtered before Lord Baritroke’s eyes, then the duke had lost his own life, the flesh torn from his body by some kind of torturous worms. The slaves had been more fortunate, separated with families broken apart and scattered to other households. The less fortunate slaves became playthings for Kobalan officers. Those with the least fortune were sent to Lord Verkain’s slave pits beneath the castle where they would never be heard from again.

Stelga had been one of the luckiest, in her opinion. These days she had another master, Prembus the baker. He wasn’t the kindest of men, but he rarely whipped his slaves and he was generally too busy to force himself upon any of the women. The worst part of being owned by Prembus was that one was always in a rush, chasing to the mill for flour, or running to the well for water, or rushing to a farmer for butter. Which was where Stelga found herself the morning Sergeant Kargus took notice of her.

She ambled along between the narrow row of two-story dark buildings typical of Mogus Potere. There were four sticks of butter from a local farmer waiting for her at the market in the center of the city, but Prembus was busy dealing with customers and would likely not realize if Stelga were gone a few extra minutes. There was no reason to hurry.

She paused near an alley and stared across the street at a display of wool dresses in a shop window. Slaves were not allowed to handle money, but her master did have to keep her clothed. Stelga wondered if she could talk the master’s wife into purchasing a few of those dresses for the house servants; winter was only a couple of months away, and the wool would be warmer than the thin muslin she now wore.

A strong hand landed on her shoulder.

Stelga glanced back to find a big man in black leather armor staring at her. He had a cruel look with crooked teeth showing between a black, unkempt beard. A sword at his side and a shield on an arm revealed his was in the Kobalan military. The white markings on the metal shoulder plates of his armor revealed he was a sergeant of the city watch.

“You daydreaming, girl?”

Stelga noticed he was standing near the alleyway and his hand had not been removed from her shoulder.

“Answer me!”

“I am shopping for my master, sir,” Stelga said.

His eyes drifted to the storefront across the way, then back to her. “Dress shopping?”

“Butter,” Stelga said. “I was only thinking of the dresses for winter.”

“You’re a slave. You don’t have money to afford no dresses.”

“My master can buy them for me.”

“I know something better than wool to keep you warm,” the sergeant said.

Stelga looked around and saw no other soldiers in sight. In fact, even most of the usual street traffic, slaves and workers, had disappeared.

He tugged on her shoulder, gently pulling her toward the alley. “Why don’t you come back this way and let good ole Kargus show you how to stay warm?”

“I have to get to market.”

“You weren’t in such a hurry you couldn’t stare at some dresses.”

Stelga sighed and lowered her head. This was the life of a slave in Kobalos. A slave never knew when he or she was going to be beaten, raped or worse.

“Come on,” Kargus said, gripping her by the arm. “This will only take a few minutes, sweetheart.”

Stelga allowed herself to be pulled along. There was no reason to fight, unless she wished a quick death.

The sergeant drew her into a cul de sac of shadows that would not allow anyone from the street to see and he began to work at the buckles of his leather jerkin.

“Leave the armor on,” a voice said from above. “You’re going to need it.”

The sergeant looked up. Stelga looked up.

Perched above, on the edge of a roof, was a man wrapped in a black cloak.

The sergeant reached for his sword.

The man in black dropped, landing in a roll that brought him to his feet between the open street and the two Kobalans.

Kargus yanked his sword free of its sheath.

The man in black kicked out with a boot, knocking his opponent’s heavy blade away.

Stelga pressed deeper into the alley to avoid the conflict.

Kargus swung his shield trying to slam it into his foe’s head, but the man from the roof was too fast. He ducked and came up with a hammering fist that cracked the sergeant’s jaw.

Kargus went sprawling, slamming into the woman and knocking the breath from her.

Then the sergeant dropped unconscious to the ground.

“Damn,” the man in black said.

Stelga could only stare. She had been saved from rape, but she didn’t know what fate this new devil had for her.

Kron blinked, seeming to notice the woman for the first time. “My apologies. I was hoping to take this man awake.”

A puzzled look crossed Stelga’s face. “Why?”

“I need information. Do you know where the late prince has been laid to rest?”

“Prince Kerwin?”

“Yes.”

“He is still laying in state,” Stelga said. She heard all the local rumors from her master’s wife.

“Where?” Kron asked.

“The Temple of Verkain.”

“Again, my apologies,” Kron said, “but I am none too familiar with the temple. Can you tell me where it is located?”

“Near the East Gate. It used to be a church of Ashal.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Kron said with a two-fingered salute.

Then the man in black slung a rope and grapnel to the roof and pulled himself up and away from Stelga and her unconscious companion.

She watched the last of him, the flapping edges of his dark cloak, disappear over the edge of the building. Then she glanced down at Sergeant Kargus.

“Serves you right, you bastard.” She kicked him in the groin.

***

Kron eased the door open and slipped inside the room.

“What did you discover?” Markwood asked from the ragged bed.

“Randall is in a temple near the East Gate.”

“I’d rather not know how you discovered this.”

Kron grinned as he glanced through the cracks in the shutters to watch the pedestrian traffic. “I don’t think anyone saw me.”

“No one did.”

Kron turned with one eyebrow raised.

“It was only a little spell,” the wizard said. “Just something to protect us.”

“You won’t heal if you keep casting.”

“If I don’t cast, we will soon be dead.”

“You might draw Verkain’s attention.”

“Verkain has his own mages,” Markwood said. “If my minor spell is even noticed, he likely would confuse it with one from his own people.”

Kron looked outside again. “Will you be able to move by dark?”

“I could probably move now,” Markwood said, “but I won’t be in condition to fight for some time. I won’t underestimate Verkain again.”

“I will slip away tonight,” Kron said. “Perhaps I can get to Randall.”

“And what will you do?”

“I don’t know,” Kron said, glancing at the wizard again. “I feel I’m supposed to do something, but a plan escapes me.”

“I can’t be of much help to you if I am here.”

“I mean no offense,” Kron said, “but you are not in condition to be of aid.”

“You don’t believe we can wait?”

“From what you’ve told me, Verkain is going to invade the Lands any day. We need to act.”

Markwood nodded, appearing frustrated but realizing the right of Kron’s words.

“I’ll go when it’s dark,” the man in black said.

***

Sergeant Lerebus was counting spears lined against a wall just inside the South Gate when a runner in a leather vest trotted up to him.

Lerebus turned an eye upon the young man. “Speak your word.”

“One of the watch sergeants was attacked near the merchant district, sir,” the young man said. “Sergeant Fanto sends for you.”

“Why am I needed?”

“The perpetrator was not caught, sir,” the soldier said. “Sergeant Fanto said you were the best tracker in the city.”

Lerebus called to another soldier, one among a dozen milling about the open gate, and gave orders to continue the weapons count. Then the sergeant turned to the young runner. “Lead the way.”

***

Sergeant Kargus was still unconscious. His snoring body lay flat at the back of the alley where he had fallen.

Lerebus bent to his knees next to the burly figure and sniffed the air. “There was a woman,” he said, “and a man.”

“It must have been one of them that did this.” Sergeant Fanto stood behind the kneeling Jorsican.

Lerebus got to his feet and continued to inhale sharply. “It was the man. Our perpetrator smells of sword oil and dust. The woman smelled of bread.”

“You’re making a lot of guesses over a few sniffs of the nose,” Fanto said.

Lerebus sniffed one last time and glanced to the tops of the near buildings. “The man fled by the roofs.” He pointed along the alley back to the street. “The woman walked away into the road.”

“What does this mean?”

“A guilty person wouldn’t simply walk back to the street,” Lerebus said. “A guilty person would try to conceal their tracks, such as by taking to rooftops.”

Fanto gave a disgruntled look to the unmoving Sergeant Kargus. “We’ll never find him.”

“I can find him, but it might take time,” Lerebus said, “and I’ve a guess as to who he is.”

***

Kron slept a few hours, then slipped away from his and the wizard’s hiding space to steal some loaves of bread that had been placed in a baker’s window to cool. The two men couldn’t remember their last meal and both were near starving. The bread was still warm as Kron broke it and passed it to Markwood. The warrior in black grinned as he chewed a hunk of rye and watched the mage bring forth a chunk of butter from the palm of his left hand.

“I’ve been wondering how you always had food when we were on the road,” Kron said with a grin.

Markwood smiled back. “The best mages never tell their secrets.” With his fingers he smeared the white butter on a piece of bread.

“I brought you these, too.” Kron lifted a pile of dark clothes from the floor and tossed them on the end of the bed. “It’s not much, a cloak and tunic and shoes.”

Markwood nodded his thanks. “It will suffice.”

A pale line of light moved along the far wall and Kron turned his head to see the last of the day’s glow through a line in the shutters. “It will be dark soon.”

“Wait a little longer.”

A pounding at the door jarred the room and the two men.

“Open in the name of Lord Verkain!”

Kron drew his sword.

The door shook again, dancing in its frame. “Open this door!”

“I’ll hold them off as long as I can,” Kron said, stepping in front of the portal with his weapon gripped in both hands.

Markwood began to pull on the new clothes Kron had brought him. “I will deal with this lot.”

“You don’t have the strength!” Kron snapped to the dressing wizard.

Another hammering on the door.

“You need to get to Randall,” Markwood said.

“You are in no shape for this,” Kron said. “If you must, take us away again, but do not try to fight Verkain.”

“The king is not here or I would sense his presence.”

A splintering noise filled the air as the door shook once more.

“We don’t have time for this!” Kron spun to face the door.

“Kron,” Markwood said softly.

The man in black hesitated, but faced the wizard again.

Markwood pointed toward a boarded hole in a wall in the back of the room. “Out the window.”

“I can’t leave you.”

“You saved me once,” Markwood said. “Now let me return the favor.”

The door cracked again, splinters of wood showering Kron’s back.

“Go!” Markwood yelled.

The door shook again.

The man in black slipped his sword into its sheath on his back and broke across the room.

“Don’t make me regret this,” Kron said as he pulled on the first of the window’s planks.

***

Sergeant Fanto slammed the ax forward again, chopping into wood with a mighty blow that nearly cracked the door in half. A seam wide enough to put a hand through was left as he withdrew the heavy weapon.

Fanto leaned forward to stare into the darkening room.

An old man in a gray, rumpled cloak stood in the center of the chamber next to a chair. He swayed on his feet as if weak.

“I order you to open immediately!” Fanto yelled.

The old man turned a heavy stare upon the Kobalan. “That would seem to be an impossibility as you’ve already ruined the door. It would be much easier for you to push your way through.”

Fanto moved back from the splintered portal and handed the ax to one of the dozen armored figures surrounding the front of the old residence.

“Who is in there?” Lerebus asked, stepping out of the crowd of soldiers.

“An old man.” Fanto drew his sword. “I’m about to teach him a lesson in manners.”

“That old man is probably the wizard who escaped Lord Verkain’s dungeon,” Lerebus pointed out. “Be wary.”

Sergeant Fanto gave the broken door a harsh glance, then rushed into it, crashing against the wood with a plated shoulder. The lumber gave way, spilling the warrior onto the floor inside.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” the old man said as Fanto looked up at him. “I am Maslin Markwood, and you are about to learn why I was one of The Twelve.”

Chapter Twenty

As the shade of the northern sky turned from indigo to ebony, black wings unfurled above the heights of Mogus Potere.

Verkain watched atop the battlements of the foremost tower, hardy winds whisking his long gray hair around his face below the gigantic black figure flapping leathery wings above.

“The wizard has been found out,” the king said.

A guttural voice came from deep within the war demon’s throat. “I will crunch his bones between my teeth.”

“No. I will deal with Markwood,” Verkain said. “He is the greater threat. Darkbow remains elusive. I can’t suffer him to run loose any longer.”