Dark Legion (10 page)

 

I rushed back to the port, knowing the lad would set the slaves free sooner rather than later. I arrived short of breath and leaned against the side of a building. My heart was still racing when the warden's bell called the legion to arms. In the next few minutes, several legionnaires ran past me toward the bell, but the guards on the warehouse remained where they stood. “
That answers that question
,” I thought to myself.

 

When I returned to the Shady Oak, I was in a foul mood. Perhaps it was foolish to hope that my quest would turn out to be easy after all my years of planning in the dungeon. But the suffering I'd endured over those years did not cause the Gods to lighten my load. I'd killed two people, which while far fewer than my daily average still ruined my mood, and the warehouse was guarded well enough to make our entry a challenge. To top it all off, when I stormed into the inn, I saw Marcus and Neysa talking at a table. It looked like she had been crying, and knowing Marcus, he was comforting her and would be well on his way to getting between her sheets. I had no right to feel slighted by this, but when added to my already less-than-pleasant day, it stung. I sneered at them and stormed up to our room.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER NINE

Once an Assassin

 

There was a loud thump on the door. “Gods,” I heard from the other side. I put aside the cleaver and unlocked the door. When I peered out, I saw Marcus rubbing at his nose. Had he walked into the door? “Oh, it's you,” I said.

“Yes, don't mind me—I just live here,” Marcus said as he walked in. He flopped onto his bed and sighed. “I hear you've been busy again.” I did not reply, but kept chopping fine red roots into smaller and smaller pieces. The table was cleared of the flowers it had previously held, and an oil burner and several bowls and jars were arranged in their place. “You killed two men. I hope no one tracks the bodies back to us,” Marcus said.

I scraped the fine pieces of root into a bowl, added water, and placed the bowl onto the burner. “So, you and the girl have been talking?” I felt jealous of my friend. Any relationship between them would not last long, which irked me too. Marcus had a way with ladies. Well, with people, really.

“She's shit scared of you. She recognized that plant you're chopping up. Told me it's largely used by rapists. Apparently, a drop of that stuff in a girl's drink enables certain types of men to knock a girl out and have their way with her. This true?”

“It is.”

“But that's not what you're intending, is it?”

“Nope,” was all I said.

“What happened with the slaver?” Marcus asked when the silence stretched on for too long.

My shoulders sagged. “Well, it turns out my face surgery was not as flawless as I'd hoped. He knew. I'll need to be more careful in the future. But look, I didn't just go on a killing spree—I also did some reconnaissance. They're still unloading the imperial ship, but I think they will be done by tomorrow night. My guess is that they will start moving it the day after. We have practically no time, in other words.”

“Tomorrow night, then,” Marcus said.

“Tomorrow night. I watched the legionnaire guards for a while, too. They have the same number on the building at night as during the day. Two on the door, and one on each corner. They only have one guard patrolling the port, but the ship crews are still aboard.”

“Six guards might be a challenge to deal with. Maybe we can distract some away from their posts?” Marcus suggested.

“No, won't work. I already tried that,” I said.

“Really? Did you show some leg? You might not be their type.”

“I showed them a lot of leg. Three wagons' worth of slave legs. When I killed the slave master, I took his key, gave it to a bratty kid, and left him to work his magic. When the bell was rung, the legion came running. But not the guards on that warehouse.”

“Well, that's unfortunate.”

“Quite.

“What happened to the slaves?”

“Not sure,” I said. “I hope some got away.”

“But where would they go?”

“I taught the little boy a new swear word in Ubraian. Or at least, he thinks I did. I would bet good money that he said it before he freed them.”

“Not a swear word, then?”

“No, he said
Wah ‘ha Gabeera
. It means Great Oasis. It's in the north of Ubrain, and while they might have a hard time getting there, if they can, it should be a safe place for them.”

“Best of luck to them, then,” Marcus said. “By the way, you were right about the Shady Oak.”

“How so?”

“Elijah confessed that he has serious money problems,” Marcus said. It often surprised me how much people were willing to confide in Marcus. He had a tricky way with that smile of his, and it worked a sort of magic. “Apparently, he has borrowed money from some dodgy characters to keep up with his taxes. Now he's behind on his payments to both. Not sure what he's up to exactly, but Warden Adair's suspicions about the man are probably well-founded. Elijah is a nice man, though,” Marcus said, yawning.

“Get some sleep,” I suggested. “We'll think of a way to get into that warehouse in the morning.”

 

An hour past curfew, with Marcus snoring away, I snuck out through the window. The roof was cold on my bare feet, but at least it was dry. I looked down at the streets and found them empty but for a couple of legionnaire patrols. I wondered if the curfew was as strongly enforced here as in Castralavi, but it did not look like I had anything to worry about. The night was dark, which suited me. My night vision had been excellent when I was young, but since I'd been accepted into the assassin's guild and my training completed, it had only gotten better. I often wondered if it had anything to do with the tattoo on my shoulder.

Staying low, I leapt from the inn to the next roof—quietly, as a roaring lion kills no game. In my experience, the easiest way to remain unseen was to be where no one expected to see you. Simple, of course, but these lessons had been learned the hard way. I'd found that rooftops gave me the best chance of remaining unseen, especially as closely spaced as they were in Sagemont. They posed their own risks, however. Once, Angus had sent me to assassinate a nobleman, and I'd fallen through a poorly thatched roof. As I'd lain winded on their dinner table, the occupants of the house had overpowered me and called for the legion. The legion, of course, had handed me back to Angus, and I'd received one of the worst beatings of my life.

It may sound odd, but my tasks as an assassin were by far the most enjoyable of those I'd had as a slave. They'd meant I could be away from the dungeon, and Angus. The Sons of Svyn treated all its members as equals. Even slaves. While slaves were stripped of their real names, that presented its own difficulties. We were given slave names, unimaginative, but demeaning names like: worm, maggot, shit, dung beetle and so on. I wondered how many maggots there were. Many, I would think. My guild gave me a new name: “Ghost in Shadows.”

They were brothers to me at the time I'd most needed them. Part of me wished I could involve them in my quest, but the guild walked a fine line at the best of times. The empire often made use of their unique skills, and so tended to look the other way for other assassinations, too, but I doubted such courtesy would be extended where my goals were involved.

A cold wind blew across the lake, and the lapping surf roared in the otherwise quiet night. I always enjoyed being up on the roofs past curfew. It was quiet, dark, and clean somehow. Alas, it usually meant I was about to kill someone. Too bad for them. I crouched out of sight of a patrol and waited for them to pass. As had become my habit, I looked up at the Eye of Svyn. It was just a brighter patch of cloud that night. When the patrol was a ways down the road, I continued on.

 

A few minutes later, I arrived at the centurion's house and slowed down. I leapt to the apex of the roof, which was the strongest part and made the least noise. Moving slowly, I shifted my weight from one foot to the other until I got to a spot I believed would be above his bed. I pried a roof tile free and placed it so as not to slide down. Kneeling beside the hole, I closed my eyes, let them adjust, then shoved my head through. When I opened them, I saw that I'd misjudged the position of the bed. But the hole was right above a thick rafter, which would do as well. I lifted another three tiles, creating a square hole just large enough to fit through, and lowered myself onto the rafter.

The house was well furnished but spartan, containing only practical furnishings. It was free of any real decoration. No paintings or sculptures, no vases or flowers. He was obviously a single man. It was better that way.

I made my way along the thick beam until I was right above the man, and I took the fishing line and poison from my satchel. The line had a small weight attached to the end, and I slowly lowered it until it hung right over the man's mouth. I waited for the weight to stop swinging, then using a dropper, ran a drop of the poison along the line. He clapped his tongue on the roof of his mouth. I used five more before the man's breathing changed. More fitful, and shallow.

I rolled my line back up, and waited. Soon his breathing slowed, then stopped. The poison was a potent sedative that was fatal when made too strong. I had made it much stronger than was required. One drop would have likely killed him. Better to be safe than sorry, I figured. “One for the one who waits,” I whispered in offering to Svyn. I made my way back up to the roof and replaced the tiles.

 

As I neared the inn, a noise caught my attention, so I crept to the edge of the roof and looked down. The slave kid was still lying in the street, wailing softly. I thought he'd be dead by then. I really did not need more complications in my life. But I found myself dropping to the ground; quiet as a stalking lion, I crept to the kid.

“Shhhh…” I said, and gently lifted the boy's hands from his face. He was not exactly conscious, but nor was he asleep. His face was badly burnt, and as I leaned over him, I could feel the heat rising up at me. It was a cold night, and he should have been shivering. His eyes were still swollen shut. I would not know what state his eyes were in until the swelling went down. I could pry them open, but the boy's screams would have the legion on me. What to do?

I sighed. I could not bring myself to leave the boy there, so I opened my satchel and took out a sedative. Not the one I'd used on the centurion, of course, though it occurred to me that I could put the boy out of his misery. I took out the vial, pulled the boy's lips apart, and let three drops fall into his mouth. He moaned and pulled his face. The sedative tasted foul. I put him over my shoulder and found that the kid was heavier than he looked.

The inn felt further than I knew it to be, and I strained under his weight. My injured shoulder did not much appreciate the tugging it received, either. When I tried the door I found it locked. I knew it would be, but I'd hoped that life would be easy for a change.

I gently laid the boy down on the ground, took my lock picks from my satchel, and had the simple lock open in mere seconds. The common room was lit by a small lamp, so I discarded the idea of carrying him up to our room. I did not particularly feel like explaining myself to Marcus just yet. I laid the kid down on a table close to the lamp.

He was lean, with no fat, but well-muscled for such an underfed young man. Taking my lock picks out again, I opened his manacles. These took a lot longer than the door had.

His face was badly burnt, and while it would heal in time, his wounds would leave a hell of a scar. I pried his eyes open. They were red, so bloodshot that there was no white to be seen, but the irises still held color, which gave me hope that he would see again. All in all, the boy appeared to be in much better condition than I'd expected. I decided that the shock of the magical attack must have done more to the boy than was immediately apparent.

I went to work on the wounds I could see. I rubbed a thick coating of salve over the red, blistered skin of his face and rubbed it in gently. No doubt, the kid would have screamed his face off if he'd been awake. His skin felt hot under my fingers.

Next, I took out a dropper and dropped a saline solution into the boy's eyes. There was nothing fancy about the liquid, but it worked wonders on sore eyes. I kept adding drops until it ran from the corners of his eyes and down his cheeks. Lifting the kid's head, I ran a bandage round and round, only leaving narrow slits for his eyes and nose.

Having done what I could, I packed away my gear and carried the boy up to our room. I made a bed for him in the corner using spare blankets and covered him with another that Marcus had cast off. Then I found my own bed. In the morning, I would see how the boy held up and figure out what in the hells to do with him. It felt good to help someone for a change. Real good.

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER TEN

Grains in a Cup

 

That night I dreamed I was in the dungeon again. A nightmare, perhaps, but I was in no peril. I dreamed that I was hacking corpses into smaller pieces with a blunt cleaver and carrying them to my cart, one wheelbarrow at a time. It was a task I'd repeated so many times that, even in a dream, it seemed quite real. The only strange part was the lion that sat beside the cart. With each load I tipped in, he sniffed at it as if hungry, but snarled, refusing to eat.