Dark Legion (24 page)

 

Neysa returned late that night, and while she was tired, she smiled ear to ear. Evidently, Malakai had taught her much that day, and the few things she showed me were impressive. She told me to throw an overripe tomato at her, and I was fool enough to agree. Before it hit her, a shield formed around her and shot the fruit right back at me. It left me covered in stinking tomato. I did not volunteer for any more tricks, but she showed me a few anyway. When I returned from my bath, I found her looking at a glass pendant filled with a shiny liquid.

“What have you got there?” I asked.

She startled and nearly dropped it. “Gods, you scared the shit out of me.” She dangled the pendant from its chain, and it swung like a pendulum. “This is what has kept my magic locked away for so many years.”

“Huh?”

“Remember how I told you that when I was a young girl, my village made me drink a liquid?” I nodded. “Well, it turns out it contained a metal called mercury.”

“Mercury? Why did they give you
that
to drink?”

“As Malakai explains it, mercury absorbs magic. He made it sound more complicated, and it might be, but that's what I took away.”

“If it absorbs your magic, why are you carrying a pendant full of the stuff?”

“Because… this is the mercury he extracted from me when I first met him. From my body.”

“Gross. How did he do that?”

“Erm… not sure. He did something that made it come out through the pores of my skin. It dripped down to the floor, pooled together, then floated right into this pendant. Anyway, it doesn't affect me anymore. Perhaps it needs to be within me. It feels great to be free of it. That man is incredibly powerful.“

That much I knew for myself, though not as it related to
that
kind of magic. I just knew that he could manipulate me from vast distances and cause me to be a puppet. A slave. “Question. Do you feel… different, when you are in his presence?”

“Yep! I feel like a novice. Inept.”

“You don't get a feeling, an odd sensation when you are close to him?” I asked.

“Come now, Saul, I don't have a thing for him. Do you have
feelings
for him?”

I snorted. Was I the only one who could feel the forces moving about that man like a whirlwind? I thought that if she did, she would have known what I was talking about. “So, moving right along, now that you have regained your abilities, are you going to try again for the Academy of Magic?”

She shook her head. “Hells, no! When they rejected me from the academy, they threw me out of Morwynne, too. I won't be returning in a hurry. Besides, I was only joining to get access to their supposed elixir of power. But it turns out that, while they do have an elixir, it's the same as the one my village elders forced down my throat so many years ago.”

“Are you saying what I think you're saying?”

“I am. The emperor is scared of magic. Or at least, magic that could be used against him. Malakai said that Solas was once a student of his, but that he could not teach the man what he wanted to know. While Solas does have an aptitude for magic, it is limited to illusion, whatever that means. In order to control others with stronger abilities, he started his Academy of Magic and spread rumors of his elixir. At the same time, he provides the elixir to village elders across the empire. The cronies that run the towns and villages don't want magic users running around causing mischief, so they are quite happy to administer the treatment as soon as abilities show themselves within their youths. Some backwater towns burn those kids. They consider it evil.”

“So,” I said. “If someone manages to slip through the system in place in their town, they are likely to head to the Academy of Magic to receive that elixir. And, probably more importantly, they find a place that accepts and welcomes them for their magic. That man is a genius. An arsehole, but a genius.”

“Pretty much. And those who refuse both of those options are hunted by the Dark Legion.”

“Tell me,” I said. “The Inquisition's sorcerers have silvery tattoos that they use for their magic. Are those related to this mercury?”

“Dunno. I didn't know the Inquisition had magic users. Just the thought of it scares the shit out of me.”

“I know, right?” I said. “But unfortunately they do. Not many; last time I heard it was only a half dozen. But they are crazy as all hells.”

“Huh… then you might be onto something. But mercury absorbs power. The way you describe it, they manage to extract magic from the metal. There is probably more to it than that. But mercury poisoning can cause mental problems, along with a host of other issues—teeth falling out —”

“Shit! That's it, then… Most sorcerers are missing a bunch of teeth. Though, you still have yours.”

“I do, but I probably had far less exposure. I can tell you though, since he removed the mercury from me, I feel… better. Before, I always felt agitated. Pissed off. Now, I have a peace I don't recall ever having.”

“Yeah, you were a right bitch sometimes.” She hummed, and a force knocked me off my feet and onto my arse. I groaned, then made an obscene gesture at her. She laughed.

 

The next morning we brewed another batch of ale, this time using a recipe of Neysa's creation. She combed through Hobart's notes and devised an ale she assured us would have a depth and complexity that would win us the competition. She sounded awfully sure of herself, considering she did not drink ale. But it included a lot of hops, which Marcus and I appreciated. The brewing took far less time with Neysa's assistance. It helped a great deal that she could heat and cool liquids almost instantly. She needed to take breaks often, as her magic tapped her energy directly. She came close to fainting near the end of the day, and we made her sit out after that. I did not want her to lose consciousness as she had that day she'd saved me. With the ale brewed, and the wort cooled, we added Malakai's yeast, following his instructions closely.

A bunch of official-looking men arrived from the capital in the afternoon. They had a wagonload of slaves with them, whom they set to the task of hacking the kronos to pieces. Many in Sagemont were well pleased, as the massive corpse was stinking the place up but was too large to get rid of. Turns out, the men were only interested in its skull and heart, and they left the rest where it lay. Cut open as it was, it stank even worse than before. Some of the townsfolk completed the task, hacking it into manageable pieces and dragging them out into the lake.

 

The next day, a disgusting froth covered our ale, and we drank ourselves stupid to celebrate. Two weeks later, we took a few samples and found we enjoyed it quite a bit. Marcus and I discussed taking a barrel or two up to the tavern to serve. Neysa informed us that we could go right ahead, but only if we wanted our balls singed. I did not know if she was serious, but decided not to tempt fate. My balls saw precious little use, but I was somewhat attached to them. That week, Marcus and I visited the other taverns in Sagemont. For research, of course. Our competition's ales generally ranged from average to terrible, with the majority being terrible.

 

When a month had passed, we had a small celebration at the Bleeding Wolf, which included a few of our regular patrons. We served our pale ale, and it was very well received. The small gathering managed to drain a barrel that night. I'll admit, it was a fantastic ale. Probably the best I'd tasted, excluding perhaps Hobart's oud bruin. Our chances of winning the competition were excellent. At the end of the night, with the tavern closed, the three of us sat together around our table, basking in the joy of our achievements.

“Neysa, you are a genius!” Marcus said. “Truly, we could not have done this without you.”

“I would argue, but I fear you are correct. You oafs would have made a hash of it,” Neysa said.

“I think we have a good chance of winning this competition,” I said. “Which is just as well, seeing as we don't have enough time to brew another batch.”

Marcus raised his tankard in a toast. “To being awesome!”

“To being awesome,” we repeated.

Marcus smiled. “To genius plans.”

“To having a plan.”

“To being surrounded by idiots,” Neysa said. Marcus and I frowned at her. “Okay, to being surrounded by idiots and friends.”

 

Within a week of our ale being on sale, word of it spread and orders came from every corner of Sagemont. Granted, those corners were not very far apart, but I found it gratifying nonetheless. The chore of actually making the deliveries, however, was a pain in the arse. It consumed an hour or two of each day, and if they kept up, I was of the mind to hire some young men for the task.

We were close to finishing our deliveries for the day, with the last being to the old temple of Eriel, now a gambling den. The men who ran it might have considered their activities to be a secret of sorts, but it wasn't a well-kept one. They had a sign fixed to the outside indicating hours of business. Some secret. As we approached, the large building loomed tall. It was one of the largest structures in Sagemont, and while the years had not been kind to it, some hints of its former splendor remained.

 

Marcus knocked on the large door. “Hello, we have a delivery,” he shouted. There was no answer, so he tried again but got the same result. He tried the door, found it unlocked, and pushed it open. It was dark inside, and an unpleasant smell drifted out. It smelt familiar. Rotten meat, urine, and some other smells I couldn't quite put a finger on.

“Let's skip this one,” I said. “They can come and pick it up.”

“It's alright,” Marcus said. “They already paid for it. We'll just leave it inside. Give me a hand.” Marcus wheeled the barrel cart forward as I held the heavy door open. The smell was much worse inside.

I walked with Marcus as he wheeled the cart, looking for a spot to leave it. It was a large rectangular room with a crude bar constructed on a raised area at the far end. A multitude of colors lit it from the dirty stained glass windows above. Even rainbows looked filthy in the desecrated temple. There was a door behind the bar, which I assumed was previously used by the priests during worship, and two balconies extended from the sides of the room to look down on the rectangular pit at the center, which was filled with chunks of rotten meat and blood-drenched sand. On the other side of the room, a large banner covered the wall. Calling it a banner was giving it too much praise. It was a tattered cloth with an image painted on it. It took me a moment to recognize what the artist was attempting to depict. My flesh crawled when I saw it—the image of a raised fist—and the feeling of unease jumped me like a mugger in an alley.

Marcus frowned when he saw my expression, and worry crept onto his face as well. “We should get out of here,” he said, rolled the barrel off the cart and turned to the door.

The door slammed shut. We raced to it and ran our shoulders into it, but it did not budge. “It's barred,” Marcus said through gritted teeth.

On the other side of the room, the door behind the bar opened. I could make out several shadows, maybe three people. The figures pushed a tall narrow crate through the door, pulled something on the side, and then slammed the door shut again. We heard that door being barred too and looked at each other. Marcus unsheathed his short sword, and I my dagger.

A shrill, birdlike sound came from the crate. I couldn't make out anything in the crate, except that it was split into three compartments. The shrill sound came again, and my hair stood on end. A dark shape leapt from the crate and landed on the bar, scattering glasses to the floor. It was a reptile, bipedal, standing just less than a meter tall. A sharp claw sat on top of each foot.

“Balaur,” I said.

The creature looked back at the crate, then raised its snout to emit a long, high-pitched call. It was answered, and two more creatures stepped out. The balaurs slowly made their way toward us, circling, their heads darting this way and that. They were low to the ground, but their long tails added much to their length. They repeatedly called to each other in high pitched chirps that chilled me to the bone. I did
not
like being hunted.

A loud
thwack
resonated through the building. A crossbow bolt pierced the creature at the front, burying itself in its head. It stood a long moment before it collapsed. The two remaining balaurs called to each other, and one snapped at its dead friend before focusing on us again. They moved closer with more purpose, their long tails flicking from side to side.

Thwack
. Another one dropped. The last creature leapt at me at the same instant, its feet vertical to allow its sharp claws to do their business. Marcus collided with the creature while it was in mid-flight, and the two rolled on the ground. He lost his sword along the way, and the balaur landed on top of him and snapped at his neck. He grabbed its neck and rolled. Both were lying on the ground, the balaur slashing at him with the claws on its feet. Marcus was avoiding the slashes, but for how long? I darted in and stabbed my dagger deep into its chest. The creature jerked. I had my knee on it and twisted the dagger, but it kept fighting. I stabbed it again and again, until it stopped moving. By the time it was dead, I was exhausted and sat back, breathing heavily.