Dark Legion (13 page)

A massive reptile stepped out of the crate, and the crate shook with each step it took. It had three large horns, and a large bony wedge extended from the top of its head. It was big. Though Marcus was tall, he could have walked beneath its belly with a slight bow. The beast turned toward him. It snorted, and the air from its nostrils sent another cloud of dust into the air. It tossed its head, then charged.

Marcus ran toward it. I thought that he was overestimating his abilities. The beast was massive, and those horns! But when he was a couple of meters away from it, he went onto his knees, sliding beneath the beast as it swung its head to gore him. As he slid beneath it, he reached up and thrust his dagger, cutting a long wound along its belly. The blade snapped at the hilt halfway along the creature. The reptile's momentum carried it ever forward, and it collided with another crate, smashing a panel. It dropped to the ground, but its legs still moved, trying to stand back up. Even with its entrails lying beneath it, it came close to finding its feet, but it collapsed again, dying.

Marcus looked at the hilt still in his hand and tossed it over his shoulder. He rested his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. “Gods!” he said. “That was close.”

“Behind you!” I shouted. Another reptile was stepping out of the crate with the smashed panel. It charged at Marcus, and Marcus ran. The creature did not stop chasing, and Marcus kept running. They ran in circles around the warehouse, though he seemed to outpace it easily enough. The man was ridiculously fast. The ground shook beneath the creature, and it was agitating those contained in the other crates. The crates now looked far too flimsy to contain the hulk of muscle and horn that shook the ground beneath me, and the crate that was my pavilion swayed when it passed. I doubted they would last if the other creatures became determined.

“Open the door,” I shouted, hoping the guards would comply.

“What?” Marcus yelled as he passed me for the fifth time. It was damn loud in there.

“Open the Gods-damned door!” I shouted, pointing at the door.

Marcus put some extra distance between himself and the beast and grabbed the door as he ran past, opening it. The guards were gathered around the door to eavesdrop. Not surprising, considering the racket we made. Most ran when they saw what was happening, but one lagged behind, and the reptile collided with him. He was impaled on one of the beast's horns, but I suspected he would have died from the impact regardless. The rest of the guards ran for their lives, and the reptile chased them down the street.

I hung from the crate, then dropped the rest of the way to the ground. Upon leaving the warehouse, I found the area deserted. The legion and reptile were some distance down the street. Another man lay trampled in the dirt.

“What now?” Marcus asked.

“I don't know,” I said. “It doesn't look like they unloaded my cargo.” I looked out across the water. The imperial ship, anchored some distance off, was silhouetted by the moon behind it.

“Stop it,” Marcus said.

“What?”

“Stop thinking about boarding that ship.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWELVE

Podge

 

An hour or so later, clean of ink and out of my ladies' bath robe, I started rowing. If it was cold before, it was freezing on the water. My comfort was further diminished by the fact that I sat in a puddle. “This is insanity,” Marcus said.

“You didn't have to come.”

“You say that, but what was I going to do? Let you die in this suicide mission?”

“I will not let the princelings sail off with Ubrain's future.”

Rowing a boat was much harder than it looked. We cut through the water like a lame duck, or a fish missing a fin, splashing and weaving. The swerving wake I left behind us glowed white in the moonlight. It did not take long for Marcus to take the oars from me. He did a better job by far, but that was not saying much. A man from the dry plains of Ubrain got precious little practice at rowing a boat; lions and water did not mix.

“Question. Why is that ship just sitting there?” I asked.

“It's a tradition all sailors of White Lake follow. The night before they depart, they cast off, anchor a short distance away, then, they get horribly drunk.”

“Why?”

“Because it's likely to be the last opportunity they get before they arrive at the next port. I've only been across the lake once, but I tell you, it was a rough trip. I hear they all are.”

“Why not just get drunk in a tavern?”

“Because sailors have a terrible habit of disappearing after a night of heavy drinking, or showing up late. It also allows them to get the ship ready and set sail at dawn. Besides, it's a custom, and sailors are too superstitious to spurn things such as this. Bad luck and all that.”

 

It's hard to say exactly how long it took to reach the ship. Far longer than I thought it would, at any rate. In time, we sat below the stern of the massive ship, hidden within its shadow. Our little boat was knocked against the ship each time the water rose. I thought those on board would peer over at any moment, so we waited a few minutes, but no one came.

By the sound of things, a tremendous party was being held on board. It may have been customary to drink and eat the night before setting sail, but, by the sound of it, those above us were going well beyond what custom decreed. It was hardly surprising, since the princes and their retinue were on board. The young men would hardly settle for a few quiet glasses of wine.

“How do we get up?” Marcus asked.

I looked about with a scowl. No convenient ropes or ladders were to be seen. The side of the ship was covered in decorations and embellishments, many carved into the wood. The surface felt rough as I ran my hands over it. I wrapped my fingers into the groove of one of the carvings, placed a foot to the side, and lifted myself from the small boat. When I didn't fall, which surprised me, I reached up and found another handhold, and made my way up slowly to the sound of chattering royals and the playing of a flute. I was not used to climbing up a moving structure, and the rocking ship came close to dislodging me on several occasions. My arms ached by the end of it, but I made it to the top, and slowly peered over the rail.

Overdressed men and woman, boys and girls, were talking and frolicking in loose groups at the fore deck. A second group encircled the first, all facing inward. These tended to be either scrawny or brutish, with few in between these extremes. The servants, I presumed, and some hired muscle. Bodyguards. There were many tables stacked with food, drink, and a large number of lanterns. Probably more than was wise on a ship. I guessed that candle lanterns were safe enough, but I noticed several oil lanterns among them. That had to be foolishness. To the side stood the musician playing a pleasant melody on his flute. He was very good, but his talent was wasted on that lot. Two scantily clad dancers weaved to the tune, and a man on a barrel was juggling various fruits and a single dagger.

I was about to climb over when a scuffle broke out. A tubby young man was shoved off his feet and fell hard to the deck. I heard the wind getting knocked out of him. Another walked to stand over the wheezing one. He laughed, and a few of the nobles joined him. I recognized him then. One of the arsehole princes, though I hadn't a clue which one. Renard? “Remember your place, cousin,” the arsehole prince said. “You're lucky even to be on this ship. If my father didn't insist, we'd be free of you. But do not presume you are one of us. Next time you'll find yourself in the drink. I'll have to think of a task for you… something to keep you out of our hair.” He laughed again and walked back to his entourage. The tubby young man stood, and sat on a crate some distance away from the others.

I watched until my arms threatened to quit, then I climbed over the rail. The stern was empty and in shadow. A number of crates and barrels were stacked on deck. I assumed they would find their way into the hold before the ship set sail, but in the meantime, I ducked behind them and made my way along the rail to a coiled rope fixed to the side. As I crept, I watched my betters at play. They were dressed for the ballroom, not for sailing, and while I may not have known them from a bar of soap, I felt a deep loathing for the spoiled brats nonetheless.

 

With one end of the rope tied to the rail, I lowered it to Marcus below. He tied it to our boat in turn and was on board a short time later, making the trip in a fraction of the time it had taken me.

“Now what?” he whispered.

I pointed down at the deck. We found a hatch and climbed down it to a dimly lit space filled with crates and barrels. Lifting the lids on a few of the crates, we found them filled with food. I doubted most ships carried the quality or quantity of food displayed. One crate was stocked with wheels of cheese. It looked like good cheese, and one of the small wheels found its way into my satchel. I was about to add another when Marcus grabbed my arm and shook his head. I shrugged and added it anyway. I loved cheese. The door to the storage hold was open a crack, and I peeked through to find a long corridor with doors along both sides. Two sets of stairs were on the far end of the corridor—one that led up to the deck, and another going deeper down.

Behind the first of the doors we found an empty cabin and after a quick search, I left with two gold necklaces added to my satchel. This time I took care to make sure Marcus did not see me swipe them. We continued along and searched most of the cabins. All but one were empty. By the sound of things, it was occupied by two or more men. I did not care to see their bare arses, so we went downstairs. We found two more doors, one barred, before the short corridor widened to a large open area. It appeared to be the main hold and was filled with sailors.

Sailors were not generally held in high esteem, but these men seemed right civilized compared to those above. They thrust themselves into the business of drinking with the look of men who had seen tough times. It was the type of atmosphere that could be found in seedy taverns throughout the empire. The quiet, contemplative drinking of those who drank to forget. None were watching our dark corridor, so I picked the lock, unbarred the door, and closed it behind us.

I had it—the room was filled with chests and treasures of all kinds, and all we had to do was find the crown and ring. I tingled with excitement as we went about searching through the vast store of wealth. My satchel was heavy by the end of it, but I'd failed to find
my
treasure. I searched every box and chest, but they simply weren't there. When I saw the treasures the room contained, I'd been so certain they would be there.

In frustration, I pounded my fist on one of the shelves. It was one of my more stupid moments, and one that I came to regret. A bracket that held the shelf tore from the wall, and the shelf, along with its contents, fell to the floor. Two expensive-looking vases were smashed, a bust of the emperor rolled to the far wall with a thump, and the rest clinked, broke, or thudded. We stood dead still, as if any noise we made
then
would decide our fate.

The beat of footsteps warned us that we were in fact in the shit, giving Marcus time to pull his blade. The door opened, and three red-faced sailors stared at us, wide-eyed. Marcus fell into a fighting stance, but it did not matter. They simply closed the door, and barred it from the outside.

We pounded, we kicked, and we ran our shoulders into the door. The latter I regretted deeply. The wound on my shoulder hurt like hell, but the door remained closed.

“You stupid bastard.” Marcus said, and shoved me to the ground.

 

We found ourselves in the brig not long after. It was the first time I'd ever seen a brig, but one cell looked much the same as the next, and being on a ship made little difference by the look of it. Our identities and true goal remained a secret. However, the loot I gathered in my satchel was enough to doom us and labeled us as thieves. Thieves with the nerve to steal aboard the emperor's vessel in the dead of night and take his treasure from under his princes' feet. Which was true enough.

Marcus sat in the corner with his face in his hands. He was less than happy with me. I was surprised he laid down his weapons, and a bit disappointed to be frank. There were no legionnaires on board the ship. True, the nobles were all well-trained with the sword, and their bodyguards no doubt knew their way in a fight, but I thought there was at least a chance we could have gotten away.

Their raucous laughter drifted down, and it grated on me, as I suspected they were laughing at my stupidity. They were back on deck, but one young man remained to guard us. It was the one who'd been shoved to the deck earlier, and it looked like the arsehole prince had found a task to put him at. His face literally drooped, though that might have just been due to its pudginess. The suit of clothes he wore consisted largely of frills and collars, the fabric just there to give them form. He looked like a wilted flower.

 

An hour passed, and not much changed apart from my arse being sore from sitting on the hard floor and our guard becoming increasingly restless. I knew we were in serious trouble, but I was bored shitless. So, I looked up at our guard.

“What's your name?” He stared at me for a long moment. The man looked disgusted that I dared to speak to him and did not answer. He was ruining my attempt to quell my boredom. “Is it a secret?” No response. I sighed. “Fine, I'll call you Podge, then. Tell me, Podge, why did you get left down here?”