Dark Legion (37 page)

 

I arrived at the butcher and asked if he had a private area I could use to prepare the meat myself. It was an odd request, and he was just starting to shake his head when I flicked a gold coin through the air. The coin had his agreement, as gold coins often did, and changed his shake to a nod. I loved money. Not for the purpose of acquiring clutter, as most did, but instead for the nods I could buy.

I chopped the carcass up roughly into fist sized chunks, drove holes into each of the parts with a large fork, then dripped one of my poisons into the holes. When I was done, I left the butcher and walked to the lake around the corner. It truly was an odd thing to see the city so empty. The avenues were too wide at their busiest, but that day it looked as though the world decided to die and forgot to tell me about it. The square around the lake only had a single occupant. The man selling bowls of meat stood at his stall, alone in the enormous open space.

One would think that with what he charged, he could take the day off. It's not like he had any customers lining up. He looked hopeful for a moment when he saw me approach, but that look soured when he noticed the large bloodied sack I carried. He probably suspected I was a new competitor. I sat my sack of meat down beside the pond, picked up a chunk of meat, and threw it in.

It took a few seconds, but the water soon erupted in a flurry of activity as the red bellied fish tore at it. I threw another, and another. After a dozen pieces, noticeably fewer fish were fighting for each bit of meat. Another dozen later and barely a ripple could be seen. I continued until the sack was empty, then tossed that into the pond as well, turned, and walked away.

 

I stopped and looked over my shoulder at the meat man, still staring at me with his arms crossed. That could be a problem. I did not doubt that he would report me when the fish floated belly up, which would be very soon indeed. With the painter's death still sitting crooked in my gut, I did not want to kill him, though that would have been the best solution. Quick, easy, and the fish would remove any evidence, too, if I was quick about it. I turned my back on the man, opened my satchel, and poured a few drops of poison onto a gold coin. I blew on it lightly, and when it was dry, I walked back to the man and flipped the coin through the air. He caught it instinctively. He looked at the gold coin sparkling in his hand, then back at me with narrowed eyes. Gold coins had many uses.

“It's a beautiful day, and I am feeling generous,” I said. “I noticed the lack of customers and thought to share my wealth. Enjoy it.” I turned and walked away to find a bench at the entry to the square. The man was still eying me suspiciously, so I took a book from my satchel and opened it up. It was a ratty looking thing that Neysa had borrowed from the library. She told me that I might want to read it, though I had no idea why. It was entitled: “The threat of monotheism and alternative religions to the empire.” I had yet to meet a monotheist, so I doubted they posed much of a threat. Religion, as I saw it, only threatened the weak in any case. Why would someone else's belief threaten your own, unless you did not have one to begin with? Monotheism was largely isolated to a small region at the very north of the continent, and the empire's reach was not nearly that long. Not yet.

 

I flicked through the pages of messy script but stopped when I came to a spot with a folded piece of paper, probably a bookmark. It was in a section that described some lesser religions and cults. It had a paragraph detailing a tribal cult that worshiped the dead. I did not need to read further to know the details, as it was the belief system of the nomads along the northern border of Ubrain. Death was sacred to them, and they believed that if you died a good death, that you would be elevated to near godliness in the afterlife. The people prayed to their ancestors and departed for guidance and intervention.

The next section described the worship of the celestial bodies as gods. It was an ancient religion, and one that was all but dead. There were rumors that the people across the North Sea still followed it, but no passage had been made across those waters in decades. The second page caught my attention, and I sat up. It read:

“Once every few decades, a cult emerged and proclaimed that a prophet had appeared to guide his followers through key points in history. He was alternatively called a mage, a wizard, an alchemist, a prophet, a teacher, a god, a soothsayer, and many besides. Descriptions of the man varied, but most agreed that he was old and that his followers were transported vast distances at the blink of an eye. Many of the accounts refered to it as teleportation, though it is unclear if it stems from an error in translation. Further information has been difficult to come by, and the claims would be easy to deride were it not for their sources. The information has been obtained exclusively from the journals and memoirs of powerful men and woman, kings and queens of times past. Most of these accounts are vague, mentioning the prophet only in passing. It has been hypothesized that the lack of literacy among the commoners at the time may explain why the accounts are limited to the elites. The most recent account surfaced at the writing of this manuscript. It related to the prophet in his mage and teacher guise and was signed by the Beloved, Emperor Solas. However, when the author interviewed the Beloved, he claimed the document a forgery and destroyed it at once, curtailing further study of it. While an interesting point of study, the author concludes that the cult is rare, little known, and of no real threat to the empire.”

My eyes widened. “Malakai…” I whispered under my breath. There was no mistaking the similarities. I would need to ask Neysa if she came across any further information.

I looked back at the man by the pond. He was looking a bit green about the gills and shifted his weight from foot to foot. Four legionnaires walked past me, blocking my view as they discussed their plans for the Harvest Festival. They were lucky to be off-duty for the event.

The man at the pond chose that moment to run to the water's edge, pull down his pants, and shit into the lake. The explosion of diarrhea was loud enough for me to hear from where I was sitting. Frankly, I was surprised that the man had held it in as long as he had, as the poison usually took effect within a minute. It was a poison taught to me by a fellow student when I was young, years before I was properly trained in the art of poison. It was part of a prank that had not gone over well with my teacher. My father, too, had been unimpressed.

I had hoped that the man would leave his post by the pond to find a privy, but alas, he shat on my plan. The guards walked to him to check if he was okay, but their amusement was clear. He was sweating profusely and fended them off as another burst of brown liquid exploded into the water. Two of the guards burst into laughter, and stood back, waving the air in front of their noses. Another of the legionnaires walked to the waterline to peer into the pond. He waived his comrades over, pointing into the water.
Not good
.

“Your shit is killing the fish,” one guard yelled.

The man shook his head, then took a breath as more fluids streamed into the pond. He said something under his breath, too quiet for me to hear. I thought to walk away but decided it would look too suspicious at that point. The man was pointing right at me. Two of the legionnaires came walking up, so I closed the book, and placed it in my lap.

“Good afternoon,” one said, and I nodded in greeting. “That man claims he saw you feeding suspicious meat to the fish. Is this true?”

I nodded. “Yes, it's true.” The guards looked at each other and took another step closer. “The meat he sold me looked unusual, to say the least,” I continued. “Far from fresh, and I suspect it may have been dog. I paid him two silver coins for the awful stuff. He assured me it was the going rate, but it seems awfully steep to me. But I am merely a visitor—what do I know?” I nodded to the man, still squatting over the water. “By the look of him, he may have consumed some of his own product.”

“Two silvers?” he asked. “I knew he was fleecing visitors, but that is ridiculous. Thank you for your time.” The two walked back to the others and conversed quietly, out of earshot of the man. When it seemed that his bowels were empty, they lifted him to his feet, pulled up his pants, and walked him away. The man was protesting loudly, and I did not think his language would be conducive to leniency. He never took his eyes from me.

 

When they were gone, I approached the pond. The surface was covered with dead fish and a few floating turds. “A few hundred for the one who waits,” I said in jest. Judging by their ferocity, I expected the fish to be larger than they were, but most were about the size of my hand, flat, and round in shape. Sharp teeth protruded from their mouths, too long to be contained. As I watched, another floated to the surface, still flapping its tail. It was on its way out. Then there was a splash a short distance away. Another fish, healthy by the look of it, tore a large chunk from the other's side. Clearly, not all the fish were poisoned, but if they kept feeding off each other, the poison would keep spreading. I wondered how many more would make their way into the pond from upstream. I would find out one way or another later that evening.

Though the poison spread from fish to fish as they ate each other, the water itself was unaffected. I had Neysa try a glass a water that had a piece of poisoned meat in it for an hour. She frowned a lot as she drank it, and she did not finish it, but she was still alive and well. Her guts reacted to the water, but more likely from the fact that the water had uncooked meat sitting in it than from the poison. She turned into the fiery girl I first met when I told her of what I did. That was odd too, I missed
that
girl. I assured her I had the antidote ready, but she was more pissed off about the meat than the poison.

I frowned. While my poison would not affect the water, hundreds of dead fish would surely taint it. I'd tried to do a good deed, but I'd mucked it up just the same. Oh, well; at least the floating bodies would give plenty of warning. I had no sympathy for anyone stupid enough to drink from that.

 

On my way back to the Eagle's Perch, I hesitated, then changed course. I needed some space from Neysa. We were spending most of our time in each other's company, and while I liked her a great deal, I sorely longed for some time to myself. I walked aimlessly for a time, but when I passed a tavern and saw it open, I went in. I took a seat at the far side of the bar, though I could have sat where I pleased. The place was empty but for two other patrons and the tavern keeper. The man walked up and leaned on the bar.

“What can I get you?” he asked.

“An ale would be nice. What do you recommend?”

“We have a barrel of imperial pale ale that is fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. It's the same ale that will be served at the palace tomorrow night. I will be honest—it puts the ales we brew to shame. Better get some while the getting's good.” I smiled at that. “Had it before?”

“I brewed it, so… yes. I thank you for your kind words.”

The man narrowed his eyes on me. “Come now. You? You brewed it?”

“I am a co-owner of the Bleeding Wolf chain of taverns. We are in Morwynne to deliver the ale for the festival. And to attend, of course.”

“By the Beloved… I feel honored that you would see fit to bless my humble tavern with your presence,” the man said. Let me pour you a tankard—it's on the house.”

The tavern keeper placed a tankard in front of me. I held it to my nose and breathed in deep. It really did smell fantastic, and I was pleased with how well it was holding up. While I still thought of it as my ale, the chances of my having brewed it were pretty slim. Our other taverns were doing the bulk of the brewing, while most of what was brewed at the Bleeding Wolf was done by new employees. The monotony of brewing the same ale over and over again had grown tedious many months ago, and I had never enjoyed it much to begin with. None of the other ales we had brewed had taken off in the same way, though, and we had to practically beg taverns to serve them.

I took a sip. The bite of the hops upfront mellowed to allow the fruity flavors to come through. I nodded to myself.

“Still able to appreciate your own ale?” the tavern keeper asked. “Now, that is a sign of a fine ale. I have grown tired of my own a long time ago.” The man rested his elbows on the bar, leaning in close, with a conspiratorial look about him. “Have you considered creating… what's the word for it… a franchise?”

I shook my head. “Can't say I have. Also… what in the hells is a franchise?”

The man looked at the other two patrons, then back at me. “Well, how would you feel if I offered to buy into the Bleeding Wolf? Not buy into the business exactly, but—if I offered you a sum of money to brand my tavern as a Bleeding Wolf tavern, brew your ale, and cut you in on a decent percentage of my profit?”

“It's an interesting proposition,” I said. “I can't say that I have heard of such a business arrangement. It does have merit.” I tapped my fingers on the bar as I thought. “I tell you what. Send a letter to our business manager in Sagemont—a man by the name of Adair. He's a far better businessman than I. He used to run a bank over here, I believe. Tell him you spoke to me.”

“Adair!” The man said. “You kid me not? He used to be
my
banker many years ago—gave me a loan to start this place, in fact.”