Dark Legion (4 page)

“Sounds like a plan. Gives us some direction at least.”

“Now, I realize this might not sit well with you,” Marcus said, looking serious. “But… you are probably going to have to be my slave.” I leveled a cold stare at him. I would kill any man who tried to make me a slave again. Kill him, or die trying.

“You're branded, Saul,” Marcus went on. “People will assume you're a runaway, which you are, and take you as their own. This will be pretend.”

“This brand will be gone within the next few days.”

“And how is that?”

“I removed it years ago. I draw this on with ink.”

“Removed it? How?”

“I cut it off, feigned an accident. I patched it with skin from… elsewhere.” There was a faint scar, but you had to look closely to see it.

Marcus scrunched up his face. “That is disgusting! You patched it with someone else's skin?”

“By Svyn's beard, man, don't be ridiculous. I cut some skin from… my arse.” Marcus was wide-eyed for a moment, then burst into laughter. “Oh, come now,” I said, throwing a stone at him. “It's not that funny.” It took him a good minute to recover.

He looked at me, and burst into laughter again, holding his side. “Arse face,” Marcus said.

“Fine. I'll get some sleep,” I said, and turned my back on him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER FIVE

Outskirts

 

I could describe the week I'd spent walking toward Sagemont with three words: blisters, cramps, chafing. Sagemont was still hidden by the mountains, but Marcus assured me we were close. If he was wrong, I would ride him the rest of the way. On a positive note, we were walking downhill for the first time since leaving Castralavi, and my legs appreciated the change, even if my feet were indifferent.

We'd gained a traveling companion earlier in the day, and I had yet to decide how I felt about it. We'd come across the elf, Elijah, when we'd crossed a shallow ford. He'd been watering his horses, all innocent-like, when Marcus had decided he needed a hug. It had taken him quite by surprise when Marcus had embraced him without uttering a word. Over the past week I had learned that Marcus needed little excuse for a hug. I found it rather creepy, not being one for touching, but Elijah was far too slight to fight him off, and he made an easy victim. I was somewhat surprised that he asked to accompany us to Sagemont after being so waylaid. The fact that we'd arrived at the ford at the same time as a small herd of bipedal reptiles probably had something to do with it. They were herbivores, but large, and I suspected that they unnerved Elijah.

Elijah, like all the elves I had met, was little more than skin and bone. I thought them a small people, but a sample of three hardly made for an accurate study. There were few elves on the continent of Kor.

I wondered how he'd managed to load the large barrels of lamp oil onto his cart. I certainly would have struggled, and he was far slighter than I. The barrels came close to filling the cart, with only a small corner occupied with other goods—a bag of salt, a crate of pumpkins and two ornate fire pokers. When I'd asked him why he needed so much lamp oil, he told us that he ran an inn at Sagemont. I'd left it at that, but I could not help but wonder how many lamps he had.

 

We rounded a corner, and a timber bridge lay ahead, obscured by a cloud of mist. The bridge crossed a narrow river, and I could hear rapids churning below. The river had crisscrossed our path for the past day, and I was getting sick of crossing it. I wouldn't get wet this time, but tall trees lined the bank and, as was my luck, a large branch lay across the path at the far side of the bridge, blocking our way.

Elijah brought his cart to a stop short of the bridge and nodded at the branch. “You fellows mind helping me clear that?”

“Fine, I guess we—” I started, but Marcus placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. I flinched, even though it was on my healthy shoulder.

“Wait here a moment,” Marcus said, and started walking across the bridge. Elijah looked at me with a question on his face. I shrugged.

A few meters from the end, Marcus stood and cupped his hands to his mouth. “You can come out now,” he shouted. A moment later, three men stood up from behind the branch, and another two walked out from beneath the bridge. They clambered awkwardly over the branch and stood in front of Marcus in a rough semicircle.

“Afternoon gents,” said the man at the center. He wore a leather jerkin that did not quite cover his belly. “This here is sort of like a toll bridge.”

“A troll bridge?” Marcus asked. “Well, I suppose you do match the stories my mother used to tell of trolls. If I remember correctly, they also had a bridge.”

“Oh, ha ha. We have a jester in our midst here, boys,” the leader said, looking at his men. “Only problem is, he ain't very funny. Often the problem with jesters.”

“What is this toll, then?” Marcus asked.

“You're lucky, we have a special today. You can leave that cart and horses with us, and you get to keep on breathing. It's a bargain.”

“I have a better offer,” Marcus said. “You clear that branch, and get out of my way.”

The highwaymen laughed and pulled out their odd assortment of weapons. “Not only ain't you funny, jester, but you ain't too clever at your sums either. There are six of us, and three of you. And those two back there,” he said, gesturing at Elijah and me. “They don't look none too threatening.”

I took offense at that. I could do plenty of damage.
If
they were facing the other way, or were perhaps restrained. And his math was far from great. I counted five men.

“Marcus,” Elijah said. “Perhaps we should just hand over the cart.”

In reply, Marcus drew his blades.

A man to the left of the leader stepped forward, moving his sword in small circles. He was a heavy-set man who displayed about as much grace as a dancing cow. I was far from an expert, but I read the man as the hit-and-run type. My suspicions were confirmed when the man lunged forward. Marcus parried the attack, and the sword passed him by a hand's width. The man's momentum carried him forward, however, right into Marcus's long dagger.

A moment later, Marcus kicked the man into another who was moving to flank him, freeing his dagger in the process. Both men hit the bridge railing, toppled over, and dropped to the rapids below.

A sixth man emerged from beneath my side of the bridge, covered in a dark robe. He kept low as he snuck up behind Marcus, a dagger in his hand. “Look behind you,” I yelled, but either the rapids were too loud or Marcus too focused, as he did not turn. I looked around for a weapon, settled on one of the fire pokers in the cart, and rushed forward. As I mentioned, I was a dangerous opponent if you turned your back to me.

The roar of the rapids below drowned out my footsteps, and the man was still unaware of my approach when I swung the heavy cast-iron poker down on the back of his neck. I heard a crunch, and he went down like a sack of potatoes. I kicked the man onto his back. He was a she, but no beauty. I smashed the poker into her face for good measure. A couple of teeth went skittering over the side, and another went past Marcus.

I figured she may as well join her friends and her teeth in the drink, so I rolled her over the edge and watched her fall. Marcus flicked his head my way just in time to see the woman go over. He nodded, then returned to his own business. I doubted she was alive when she fell, but she most certainly wasn't after hitting the jagged rocks below.

As I turned, I saw Marcus casually walk up to the leader. The two others still standing were slowly backing away. The leader held a buckler out on his left and had a curved blade in his right hand. He looked much less certain of himself than a minute ago, and his buckler twitched with every step Marcus took.

When Marcus made his move it was to feign a high attack. The leader snapped his buckler up, and when he did, Marcus kicked up hard. The buckler smashed into the man's face, and he took a step back. When he lowered it, his nose was a different shape, and blood streamed from his nostrils. He was blinking away tears, and Marcus had no difficulty finishing him off. A quick lunge and a sword between the ribs did the job.

The last two men no longer liked the odds and ran for their lives. Marcus planted his blades into the bridge and retrieved two knives from his belt. The first man caught a blade in the back of his neck. An impressive throw. His throw at the second man wasn't half as good, hitting him in his thigh. He did not stop immediately, but the pain got the better of him before he could get over the branch. He slumped down hard on his side, losing his cudgel in the process, and was tugging at the knife as we approached.

He finally freed the small blade as Marcus reached him with his own weapons back in hand. The man held the small knife up at Marcus. It looked ridiculous, like a young child threatening his father with a wooden sword. Marcus did not move. He just stared down at him. It did not take long for the man to realize the futility of the gesture and drop the knife to the side.

“Mercy, sir! Mercy…” the man pleaded, hands up in front of him.

Marcus sat on his haunches, still staring at the man.

“I'm so sorry… I'll do anything, sir, if you spare me… please.”

Marcus sighed. “You'll do anything?”

“Anything, sir, anything! Just name it, and it's done.”

“Very well, then listen closely…” Marcus paused for a long moment as he stared the man in the eye. “Stop being such a shit,” Marcus said. “By the Gods, man, get a job, find a wife, have kids, be happy. And pass this kindness onto others. And, for the love of the Gods, stop being such a shit!”

The man looked confused for a moment, then nodded vigorously. “Oh, absolutely. I will do just that!”

“Come on, then,” Marcus said. He sheathed his blades, returned the fallen knife to his belt, and held a hand out to the man. The man stared at it for a moment, then took it and stood up with a wince. “What's your name?” Marcus asked.

“Malvin, sir. My name is Malvin.”

Marcus held Malvin by the shoulders, looking down at the shorter man. “Don't mess up this chance I am giving you, Malvin.” Malvin looked sheepish, and was about to reply when Marcus hugged him.

“The man does like his hugging,” Elijah said from behind as he approached.

“You have no idea,” I said.

“Why are you embracing our attacker?” Elijah asked.

Marcus let go of Malvin but kept a hand on his back as he turned to us.

“Malvin has changed his ways. He has decided to be an upstanding man from now on. He will help anyone in need and be an example to others. Right, Malvin?” Malvin nodded. “Can you stitch the man up, Saul?” Marcus asked.

“I could,” I said. “But I won't.” Marcus stared at me accusingly. “Perhaps you failed to notice the fact that this man was trying to kill us.” Marcus continued to stare at me. Long seconds stretched, and when it became clear that his mind was set, I relented. “Fine, but if it's him that sneaks up on you next, I am of the mind to let him do his worst. Teach you how good people really are.” Marcus's misplaced belief in humankind annoyed me to no end. People were selfish creatures, and the sooner the man realized it, the better. I looked at Malvin. “Pull down your pants and sit on that rock.”

Malvin looked to Marcus for confirmation. When he nodded, Malvin hobbled over to the rock behind him, pulled down his pants, and sat down with a wince. I knelt beside him and tipped some water onto the wound from my waterskin. On closer inspection, the man was lucky. The blade had missed most of the muscles and had slid between them more than cut them. “Get me a handful of salt from the wagon,” I said, and Marcus moved to comply. When he returned, I tossed some into the waterskin and shook it up. I looked at Malvin with a smile. “This is going to sting a little.” I nodded at Marcus. He understood my meaning, and walked behind Malvin to hold him down as I poured the solution over the wound. If anyone had been near enough to hear it, they would have mistaken his screams for those of a woman being violated. I gave him some time to compose himself as I prepared my needle and thread. I went to work. Surprisingly, Malvin sat quite still, but he pointedly looked everywhere but the wound, and his face was trembling. Whether from pain or fear, it was hard to tell. It caused his odd little beard to vibrate. He had the type of beard that looked glued on, and I longed to shave it off.

“I'll have to inform the warden,” Elijah said. “He's a racist prick of a man, but he'll need to be notified.” Elijah looked at Malvin, a smile playing on his face. “He'll probably arrest you.”

Marcus feigned shock. “But why? This poor man is our traveling companion, and when we were set upon by bandits, he bravely defended us, taking this wound.”

Elijah shook his head, his eyes wide. “Really? You'd do that for such an undeserving rat?”

“An act of kindness can change the world,” Marcus said.

Elijah threw his hands in the air. I felt the same. “Fine, have it your way. You did just save my life.”