Dark Legion (9 page)

It was common near Castralavi, but I had no idea if it grew around these parts. Dragon's root was a small plant with bright red roots, an epiphyte usually found on forking branches of large trees. It took a long time, but I eventually found one. “Nothing is ever easy,” I muttered to myself, looking at the small plant close to the very top of an enormous tree.

My job as an assassin had taught me to climb, a skill that served me well. When I finally reached the little plant, I pried it free using my new dagger and let it drop to the ground. I sat on the bare fork in the branch to rest. My stomach lurched when I looked down. The giant tree had to be very old; it stood tall above the canopy. I was facing White Lake, and the view was impressive. Maps really did not do its scale justice. Even from up here, the lake disappeared into the horizon. I wondered how many of the old stories my father had read me were true. The stories of adventures across the lake, of battles with massive monsters from the deep—of treasures found and treasures lost.

I turned myself around to face the other way. Looking down, I saw a long line of cleared forest and could make out a number of bare-chested men constructing something, though I couldn't tell what. It looked like a road made of timber planks and metal beams, but I was sure that wasn't it. I considered going for a closer look, but then I noticed a number of white-hooded men. Slave masters. Just like that, my plan evaporated.

I made my way back down the tree and dropped the last meter to the ground. Bent on one knee, I picked up the plant and shook it to remove the dirt.

“That's a long way to climb for dragon's root,” a voice said from behind.

I spun around and saw the blond girl, Neysa, standing over me, her arms crossed. She had all manner of herbs and plants tucked into her belt. She looked pissed off, but still beautiful. Even through her narrowed eyelids, I could see that her eyes were as blue as the sky. Well, not the gray blanket of a sky that sat over Sagemont; they were more like the impossible blue of the pools in the Great Oasis in Ubrain. I could swim in those eyes. I realized I was staring, so I smiled and I tried my best to look nonchalant, but I felt my face flushing, as red as a smacked arse, no doubt. “Only one I could find?”

“I'm surprised you found any at all, but the question is, why do you need that in the first place?”

I stood up and brushed the dirt from my knee. “Sleeping tonic. It's for a sleeping tonic.”

“Oh, really?” she asked, hands on her hips. “When… there… are…”—with each word she tossed a different herb from her belt at me—“plenty of other plants, right in front of you that would do the job, and not involve climbing that monster of a tree?” She raised her eyebrows at me, bent to pick two mushrooms at her feet, and then tossed them at my face as well.

“This is the one I know how to use,” I said, frowning at the girl. It was a lie, I knew of all the plants and the mushrooms too.

“And it just so happens to be one of the strongest sedatives? And completely tasteless and odorless?”

“How would you know? I thought you were a failed mage?” I muttered. I had barely spoken those words when a small fist connected with my eye.

“I was an herbalist first,” she shouted at me. “I sell herbs. But none of that vile shit you have.” She turned and stormed off.

“Ladies don't punch!” I yelled, rubbing at my eye.

“Your mother lies with dogs!” she yelled back, now some distance away.

“Ladies definitely don't say that,” I said to myself, still rubbing my eye. I placed the dragon's root in my satchel, then looked at the plants she'd tossed at my feet. “Might as well take these too. Thanks, Neysa.”

 

When I returned to town, I made for the market to pick up additional supplies. On the edge of the market sat three wagons. A large white-hooded figure leaned against a wheel with a short whip in hand. The slaver's wagons were nothing more than cages on wheels, filled to the brim with Ubraian slaves. My people had suffered with me those years I spent in the dungeon. A part of me felt guilty for having escaped their fate, when their chances of living a normal life again were so slim. The cages were filled entirely with men, and I thought back to the construction project in the forest. The hooded man saw me staring, so I quickly ducked away into the market.

I made my way through the mess of stalls, which showed no semblance of organization. A stall offering barber services and one selling meat faced each other. I next walked past a food stall selling dried fish, extending off another offering shoe repair. These two were at least partially related, with some of the dried fish resembling the leather strips of the stall next door. As I walked on, the smell of incense assaulted my nose, and I turned to look into a purple tent with a beaded entrance. Through the beads I saw an older woman tossing corn to a rooster. The sign above the entrance read, “Alectryomancer,” though I had no idea if that was her name, or whatever she did to chickens. Groups of children were playing wherever space allowed. One boy was on his own, creating his own entertainment. I watched as he hid on the inside of a tent, his face to the ground. As he saw a lady walk past, he stuck his foot out, tripping her, then ran away.

It took a long time to find the items I needed within the maze of canvas. I bought a small cleaver, a burner fueled by lamp oil, and some bottles of various sizes. I also bought thin fishing line and some small weights, and I stopped by a tailor's and arranged for him to come by the inn when he was next available. We'd left Castralavi with nothing but the clothes on our backs and had only managed to acquire an additional set each on our way to Sagemont.

 

Still searching for a few items, I saw Neysa storming down an alley in the direction of the lake. What was it about the girl that fascinated me so? She had a foul temper and the mouth of a sailor. Yet there was something about her. My eyes followed her until she disappeared down an alley. That's when I noticed a large man trailing close behind her. Before I knew what I was doing, I followed the two in and saw the man exit the other side. I made my way to the end and leaned around the corner to watch. My gut told me the man was up to no good. Something about the way he walked spoke of his intentions. I was still deciding what to do when a hand grabbed me by the shoulder and pushed me hard up against the wall.

The slaver in the white robe had me pinned. Most of his face was hidden in the shadow of his hood, but I could see his mouth. With his free hand, the man reached up and lightly traced his finger on my forehead. Round and round his finger went, following the faint scar left where I removed the brand. A toothy smile appeared on the man's face. “You're not the first slave to cut his face. But you are a slave, aren't you?
My
slave now,” the man said, leaning in. I could smell his flowery perfume, and garlic on his breath. I showed him my teeth, which confused him for a moment. “What a pretty smile,” he said. He ran his tongue up my neck, then brought his face close to mine and gave me that perverted look that Angus used to give me.

My teeth still showed, but if you ever see the fangs of a lion, do not mistake it for a smile. His face fell as my dagger found his heart. I followed the man to the ground as he slumped, and gave the dagger a vicious twist. “I am no one's slave,” I said, and stomped my heel down on his face, snapping his neck with a loud crack. I looked both ways down the alley, but it was hidden in shadow. No one had seen what happened.

His previously white robe was soaked with bright red blood, and the contrast made it look all the redder. I wiped my dagger on a clean patch, put it away, and then searched the man. He had a heavy coin purse in one pocket, and a key hung from a gold chain around his neck. I took both. “We were kings once,” I said to the corpse.

Stepping from the alley I looked in the direction Neysa had gone. There was no sign of her or the man. I turned and looked in the direction of the inn, knowing full well that I needed to get away from the body and off the streets. I hesitated for a moment longer before running after Neysa. She was still nowhere to be seen, and I soon arrived at the lake. The lakefront was empty, at least where I was at. Not knowing what else I could do, I turned to leave. Then I heard a muffled scream.

Looking again, I saw a small pier to my left, with two feet sticking out from beneath it, just short of the waterline. I rushed forward and peered underneath to see the man lying on top of Neysa. He did not hear me approach. Too bad for him. His hand was over her mouth, and he licked at her face. She struggled, but the man was large. It looked like I'd gotten there before anything truly unpleasant had happened. There was little room between where they lay, he on top of her, and the pier overhead. A handspan, two at most. I quietly opened my satchel and took the small cleaver in my right hand and the mushrooms Neysa had pelted me with in my left. Neysa noticed me and her eyes went wide. I waved, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

I took a firm grip on the cleaver and struck down as hard as I could on the back of the man's ankle, cutting clean through his tendon and well into the bone. I was pleased with my purchase. It had been a while since I'd last used such a sharp cleaver, as small as it was. The man screamed and smashed the back of his head on the low pier. His hand slipped from her mouth, a big mistake, as she sunk her teeth into his ear. I used the distraction to strike again on the other ankle. The man rolled out, thrashing and screaming. As he rolled out, I shoved the mushrooms into his open mouth and kicked him hard in the jaw, ensuring he bit down on them. Within moments, the man was unconscious.

I looked around to see if anyone came. No one did, so I cut his throat before wiping my cleaver on the man's shirt and placing it back in my satchel. “Two for the one who waits,” I said to my god. An offering. I looked beneath the pier at the girl. She was spitting and gagging, a part of the man's ear to her side, lying in a pool of blood. “You can come out now—it's safe,” I said.

She crawled out and looked at the man, then at me. She didn't say anything as she backed away. Not knowing what to say, I turned my back on her and walked into town. I was too angry to be cautious and went up the alley with the dead slave master. I stepped over him and walked to the market to buy the last few items I needed.

Behind me, I heard a scream. Neysa must have followed me to the corpse.

 

I walked back to the port and made myself comfortable on the corner of the intersection. From my position I had a good view of the imperial warehouse. I placed the cloth hat I'd bought in front of me and brought my new flute to my lips. With the ragged clothing I had on, I made a good imitation of a transient busker. As I played, I watched the legionnaire guards at their posts. I could not even remember the last time I'd played, years in any case, but while I made mistakes, coins dropped into the hat often enough for me to feel satisfied with my performance. The sound of the flute filled the street, and the sad melody had many peeking from their windows.

The slave kid still lay in the road some distance away. He wasn't moving, and I suspected he was dead. It was probably better than being a slave. Probably. The sight of him tugged at my heart and my sadness filled the music flowing down the street.

 

Many of the giant crates were already in the warehouse, but a few still remained on the ship. There were now two guards on the door and one at each corner of the building, making six in total. Another ten legionnaires appeared to be on a more general patrol of the port. The centurion walked among these men.

 

An hour before dusk there was a changing of the guard. The number of guards on the warehouse remained the same, but now only four legionnaires patrolled the port. I put away my flute and picked up the heavy hat which I emptied into my satchel. My busking more than paid for the goods I'd bought in the market. I followed the centurion at a distance, but my skill at tailing was wasted on the man, as he never looked behind him. He was dragging his feet, and his shoulders sagged. He entered a house, and through the window, I saw him remove his breastplate and boots and flop down on a bed. I watched for a while, but saw no one else enter or move around the house and I left, satisfied it was the centurion's house.

As I walked toward the inn, I noted that most of the roofs on both sides of the street were tiled. I smiled. Thatched roofs were the worst; tiles I could deal with. When I reached the Shady Oak, I walked past it and continued on instead to the market, which was quieter than before. Some stall owners were packing up their wares. I hunted around until I found the mischievous boy I'd seen earlier that day.

 

I approached the boy and went down on one knee in front of him. “Do you want a reward?” I asked the kid. The boy looked suspicious but nodded. “I have an important job for you. The owner of those wagons over there has dropped his key,” I said, dangling the slaver's key in front of the boy. His eyes followed it as it swung in front of him. “Now, your job is to look after this until the slave master returns. If you do this important job for me, I will give you this copper coin.” I held the coin in my open palm, and the little brat snatched it away before I could blink. “It's very important that you not use the key on those wagons. Promise me that you won't?” He promised.

A cheeky smile played on my face as an idea occurred to me. “Would you like to say a naughty word to those slaves? Something in their language?” The boy nodded, his eyes sparkling. “Can you say,
Wah ‘ha Gabeera
?” It took him a couple of tries, but he soon had it.