Dragonsbane (Book 3) (26 page)

“Lots of giants, here,” another said with a grin. “Just think of what we’ll be able to make with
their
bones.”

The bandits’ circle tightened around the camp. The pirates and the giants watched through glassy eyes, their bodies swaying under the poison’s bite. Not a one of them had the strength to draw his blade.

They all likely would’ve perished that night, had it not been for Nadine.

She lay curled upon the ground where Declan had thrown her, still as a rock. Her tiny form had been of no interest to the bandits: they’d walked st
raight past her, their eyes set on bigger game.

When the last of her enemies had gone by, Nadine stood with her spear poised over her shoulder and cried: “Cover yourselves!”

The bandits spun, but the spear had already left her hand. It cut through the air and shot for the orb of light that hovered above Jake. The pirates and the giants shut their eyes. Someone threw a blanket over Declan’s head. They bared their teeth as the spear’s point struck and burst the orb.

Piercing light erupted over the camp. It chased the shadows from under every leaf and blade of grass. The ashen lands before them were stricken white. For a breath, everything around them was perfectly and clearly illuminated — including the insides of the bandits’ eyes.

Smoke trailed from their sockets. They screamed and threw their arms over their faces, but it was too late. When the burst of light receded, all of the color had been stricken from their eyes. The bandits stared unseeing through orbs of murky white.

Eveningwing darted out of the shadows. He raked the bandits’ skin with his claws and his screeches drove them into a frenzy. They trampled over one another, trying to get away from him. Nadine picked up a fallen sword and swung it at their backs. She managed to bring two of them
down while Eveningwing led a third straight into the low-hanging branches of a tree.

The bandit’s neck snapped with a crunch.

The rest fled blindly into the darkness, where the shadows swallowed their screams. Nadine and Eveningwing stood sentry over their numbed companions throughout the night: she put ointment on their wounds while the halfhawk circled overhead. It was dawn before the poison finally loosened its grip.

“What a fight that was, Captain,” Morris said as he rolled onto his side. He wedged a stocky arm beneath Lysander and, with Jonathan pulling on the front of his shirt, managed to prop the captain up.

Lysander flexed his hand tentatively. “Oh, thank Gravy — I can move my fingers. Are you all right, dogs?”

“Aye, Captain,” they mumbled.

“Giants?”

They answered in a rumble of grunts.

“I’ll be better once somebody takes this clodded blanket off my head,” Declan said.

Jake reached over and pulled it free.

Lysander stared worriedly down at his legs. “Are you certain this isn’t permanent?”

“Nah. It just takes a while, is all,” Jonathan said cheerily. “I got grazed in the rump one time. I couldn’t feel my left side for a couple of hours. Made sitting a bit of a challenge — but I managed. Don’t be surprised if you find yourself on the ground an awful lot today.” He slapped Lysander on the shoulder. “Two in the chest’ll do that to you.”

“Excellent,” he muttered. His stormy eyes swept through camp. “Where’s that desert woman?”

They called, and Nadine appeared beside them.

Lysander held out his hand. “I owe you my thanks.”

“Why?”

“Ah, well … had it not been for you, we wouldn’t have seen the dawn. And I daresay a few of our bones would be missing, as well,” he added with a grimace. “You saved our lives. I don’t think I could possibly thank you enough.”

She shrugged. “We have work to do, Captain — work we cannot do if we are dead. You may thank me by getting to your feet.”

He grinned. “Fair enough. Give me a hand, will you?”

*******

The ashen wastes of the Valley stretched on for miles.

Black grass curled beneath their boots as they traveled. Every breath of air was thickened by ash. A few of the trees still crackled. Sometimes a strong wind would rip across them, stoking their bark into bright red scales. Smoke was an ever-present enemy: their eyes streamed against its acrid breath. They covered their mouths and noses, but the fumes still made them cough.

After a day or so, the smoke abated. The pirates and the giants trudged out of the still-burning lands and into a stretch that was already dead.

Here, the ash had settled and the trees were blackened shells. A few miles more, and they began to see a bit of green: small patches between the ruins of houses and farms. Soon the only signs of destruction were in the things men had built — the land itself had been spared.

When they reached a large orange grove, Jonathan ordered them to a halt. “I’ll bet my left foot the bandits are holed up in Crow’s Cross.”

“What makes you so sure?” Lysander said. 

Jonathan shrugged. “The land hasn’t been so crispy, of late. Not even the bandits would set fire to their own front door. They’ve always wanted to get into Crow’s Cross, anyhow. It seems like the guards were always fighting them off. So if they ever got the army to do it,” he shrugged off his pack, “then I’ll bet that’s the first place they went.

“They’re be no slipping by them, either — they’ll be able to spot us for miles if they’ve taken the city. So we’d better prepare for a skirmish.” He unbuckled his scabbard and dropped it next to his rucksack. Then he fixed a cloak about his shoulders and wedged his fiddle into his belt. “Well, gents. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Lysander grabbed him by the cloak. “Just where do you think you’re going?”

“To check things out, of course. The bandits who attacked us weren’t from the mountains — they were from the forest,” Jonathan explained when Lysander glared. “Mountain bandits and forest bandits hate each other. So either one of them has finally killed the other off, or they’re working together. That’s what I’m going to find out. I know you’re probably going to be worried sick about me —”

“That’s not the first thing I thought of.”

“— but I know what I’m doing. Charming my way into things, spying on the enemy. I’ve done this for Garron loads of times.”

“Oh? You’ve snuck into a village packed with individuals who’d like nothing more than to wear your bones around their necks and emerged unscathed?”

Jonathan paused. “No. But I lived in Gilderick’s castle for a full season and left with all my innards. That’s got to count for something.”

“He’s got a point there, Captain,” Morris said.

Lysander frowned. “I still don’t like it.”

“There’s not a thing to worry about, mate. It’s nearly sunset.” Jonathan rolled his eyes at Lysander’s blank look. “This is the hour of day when the corks start popping! It’s prime sneaking time,” he added with a wink. “The whole village is going to be too boggled to even notice I’m there. An hour or so in the tavern, and I’ll have all the information we need. You want to know what we’re up against, don’t you?”

“Well, yes.”

“Then leave me to my work.” And with a rather dramatic swoop of his cloak, Jonathan marched away.

Lysander paced as the fiddler disappeared over the hill. He walked between the trees, hands clasped behind his back. He paced long after the rest of camp had settled down for dinner, an edge of his eye turned always towards the road.

“He’ll be all right, Captain,” Morris said. “That fellow could charm his way out of a hangman’s noose.”

“One dart — that’s all it takes. One careless word. They’re probably boiling the flesh off of him as we speak.”

“Oh, why would they bother with all that? There’s not enough on him to make it worth the effort. He’ll be fine, Captain,” Morris said when Lysander glared. “You brought him along because he knows the land.”

“No, I brought him because he wouldn’t leave my ship.” At last, his pacing relented. “Though I suppose you’re right. He
did
survive a stint in Gilderick’s castle.”

“He sure did, Captain.”

“And how many bards could say that?”

“Not many, I’d wager.”

Lysander sighed. “Perhaps I’m only —”

A screech from Eveningwing cut across his words. The hawk darted down into camp, brushing the top of Lysander’s head with the flat of his wing before he shot back into the sky. His form stood out like a hole in the stars as he circled over the direction Jonathan had headed.

“What’s he squawking about?” Morris grunted.

Lysander’s mouth pressed into a grim line as he answered: “Trouble.”

Chapter 24

The Rat’s Whiskers Inn

“We have to go after him. Give the order to move —”

“Are you mad, Captain?” Morris cut in. “We haven’t got one foggy clue about how many of them there are or what it is they’re doing. If they see the horde of us crossing over that hill,” he snorted, “well, it’ll be all darts and darkness.”

“We could go in quietly,” Jake suggested.

“
They
do nothing quietly,” Nadine said, jerking a thumb over her shoulder at the giants.

Several of them grunted in agreement.

Lysander snapped his fingers. “A small party might be able slip in and pull him out. We’ll have to leave our armor and most of our weapons behind — anything that says
I’m part of a larger force waiting over the hill to sack your village
.”

Morris watched him unbuckle the Lass, mouth hanging open beneath his wiry beard. “This is madness, Captain! How do we know he isn’t already dead?”

“That wasn’t the signal for death,” Lysander said, as if it should be obvious.

“Well, then what was it?”

“Ah, it was either extreme peril or imprisonment. I’m not sure. Now,” he propped his fists on his hips, “who’s coming with me?”

Nadine volunteered immediately, but Declan shook his head.

“If you’re aiming not to be noticed, you shouldn’t bring a woman.”

“I’m afraid he’s right,” Lysander said when she started to protest. “A lady
does
tend to draw the eye. I’ll admit I’ve certainly noticed one or two in my time. We can’t have anything odd or memorable about us. Which I’m afraid puts you out of it, Morris.”

He held up his nubs. “Aye, Captain.”

“Jake’s going, of course. That’s a given.” Lysander studied him carefully. “He’s slight and unassuming.”

“And I’m a mage, which some people might say is useful,” he muttered.

Morris’s watery eyes swept between them. “You can’t go in with only two. What about Declan? He’s man-sized.”

Nadine rolled her eyes. “Not many men have arms bigger around than their heads.”

“I’m built even,” he growled, jabbing a finger at her.

Lysander shrugged. “We’ll throw a cloak over him. If we’re lucky, nobody will be able to tell what’s wool and what’s bulk.”

*******

Crow’s Cross was a beacon in a sea of darkness. Yellow light streamed from every window and beneath every door. Shouts and drunken laughter billowed over its walls and out into the silent night like fog off the sea.

The front gates hung open. The thick oaken planks had been smashed in at their middle, snapping the massive beam that’d held them closed. Now the gates sagged on their hinges — leaving the way open for all manner of villains.

Bandits weren’t the only plague in Crow’s Cross. A pile of charred corpses near the front gate marked the end of any order, and warned travelers of the sort of evil they might find inside.

The reek of death was everywhere — a tang so potent that most who braved the city’s streets wore thick scarves around their noses and mouths. Bodies hung half out of broken windows and filth clogged the alleyways. Nearly every puddle was murky with either blood or sick.

Men in ragged cloaks stumbled down the cobblestone streets, knives drawn and eyes searching. They came across a bandit passed out over his drink and swarmed around him. Their knives went in and out; they cackled when he tried to fight them off. Two stripped his corpse of armor and weapons while three more stood sentry.

A couple of thieves watched in interest. As soon as the cloaked men had moved on, they slipped in and took whatever trinkets had been left behind. 

At the center of all the chaos was t
he
Rat’s Whiskers Inn
. Bandits, thieves and murderers alike flowed through its doors in a constant stream. Wild shouting emanated from the shattered holes in its windows — along with the noise of a familiar, shrilling instrument.

Lysander and his cloaked companions followed the many off-kilter notes to the inn’s crooked front door. “Heads down, gentlemen,” Lysander said as they approached. “Speak as little as possible and try not to meet any eyes. We don’t want to be remembered.”

The doors swung open and three bandits tumbled out. They only managed to make it a few steps before they collapsed upon the ground in a mass of gurgling swears.

“These clodders won’t be remembering what their mothers named them in the morning, much less anything about us,” Declan grumbled as he shouldered his way inside.

Lysander followed after him, but Jake hung back. His eyes wandered over the front door in a slow, meticulous line.

“Come on, pick up your feet,” Lysander hissed. When Jake still didn’t move, he spun impatiently. “What is it?”

“There are latches on the outside of the door. Why would there be latches on the
out
side?”

Lysander furrowed his brows. “I haven’t got a clue, and I’m afraid there’s no time to wonder.” He grabbed Jake by the front of his robes and pulled him inside.

They followed the fiddle’s screams through a stinking sea of bodies to the hearth at the back of the room. Jonathan stood beside the fire, a lively tune shrilling off the end of his bow. Sweat drenched his hair and left dark rings beneath his arms. He kept a forced grin plastered on his face as he played.

Declan tried to wave but Lysander grabbed his wrist. “We don’t know him.”

“Of course we do — that’s the wee fiddler.”

“No, we have to
pretend
we don’t know him. We’re just three ruffians stopping by for a drink. Now follow my lead.”

Lysander wove his way to the head of the line and led them in a wide circle towards the hearth. They were nearly there when a redheaded serving girl stepped into their path.

“Have a drink, sir?”

“Thank you, my dear.” Lysander swiped three tankards from the tray she carried and slapped some coin into her other hand.

She narrowed her eyes at him before she walked away.

“What was that look for?” Jake hissed as Lysander passed them each a tankard.

“Maybe it had something to do with Captain Dashing and his fancy manners,” Declan grumbled.

“
Dashing
? I didn’t even smile.”

“Well, you can’t go sweeping and bowing to everybody. You’ve got to be a bit gruffer in a place like this. Watch.” Declan threw his arm out and shoved a hapless thief hard in the back. “Out of my way, you!”

He tumbled over a bench and landed flat on the floor. When he tried to get up, a passerby kicked him smartly in the ribs. Someone else dumped a full tankard of ale on his head — much to the amusement of the nearby tables.

“See?” Declan said.

Lysander pursed his lips. “Let’s get our man and get out quickly. I’m not sure this place is fit for a pirate.”

At long last, they made it to the hearth. Declan and Jake pretended to be warming themselves by the flames while Lysander slipped up to Jonathan — cloaking himself in a black patch missed by the fire’s light.

He brought the tankard casually to his lips while his stormy eyes roved about the room. “All right there, fiddler?”

“Never better,” he replied through his teeth. “I would’ve come back sooner, but these chaps asked for a song. Of course, I couldn’t refuse.”

He raised his leg slightly, revealing the shackle clamped around his ankle. A thick rusty chain ran from the shackle to the wall, where it wrapped several times around a torch sconce that had been bent forcibly against the mortar — forming an inescapable loop.

“Is it a standard irons lock?”

“Standard as they come. The picking should be easy enough.” He leaned to the side and the flap of his coat opened a bit, revealing the many rows of lock picks sewn into it. “I’ve got a few things stashed for a rainy day.”

“Or a tempest,” Lysander muttered.

“The iron’s only half of it,” Jonathan hissed through his grin. “They’ll know the moment I’ve stopped playing. I tried to take a breath about an hour ago and wound up taking the backside of a bowl straight to the ole jewels, instead. They said they’ll throw knives next time,” he added with a grimace.

Lysander raised his brows. “Gravy. Well, we certainly can’t have that. I’m sure we’ll be able to think up something clever. But for now, let’s see if I can’t get you out of this shackle.” He waved behind him. “Declan? Put those uncannily large shoulders to use and block for me, will you? No, don’t stand there cross-armed like a guard at His Majesty’s castle!” he hissed. “Sit down somewhere.
Blend
. Just make sure nobody can get a good look at what I’m doing.”

Declan thumped over to the table directly in front of them and shouldered his way onto a bench filled with mountain bandits. Instead of bones, red scars adorned their skin — branded into the shapes of letters and symbols.

The bench groaned as Declan sat. The bandits seated on either side tilted slightly inwards — while those across the table were lifted until just their toes scraped the ground.

They stared, open-mouthed, as Declan drained his tankard in two gulps. He thumped it down when he was finished — so roughly that it left a shallow dent in the tabletop.

“How’d you do that?” one of the bandits said.

Declan shrugged. “It’s ale, isn’t it? There’s no point in savoring it — just up you tilt and down it goes.”

The bandit exchanged a quick look with his companions before he slid a full tankard across the table. “Do that again.”

“A copper says he can’t!” one of them cried.

They slapped their coin onto the table.

While Declan kept the bandits occupied, Lysander chose one of the picks and stuck it into the shackle’s mouth. It rattled uselessly against the tumblers.

“What’s taking so long, mate? My poor fingers can’t keep this up much longer,” Jonathan said, raising his voice to be heard over the wavering notes of a jig.

“It’s rusted,” Lysander grunted back. “They haven’t taken very good care of it.”

“Well, what’d you expect? They’re villains! Before one of them came up with this chain, they were going to just nail my foot to the floor.”

Lysander let out an exasperated sigh. “Maybe Jake has a spell —”

“Hang on a second, there.” Jonathan’s eyes went wide and he jerked his leg away. “I think we ought to consider chopping my foot off, first. No telling what one of those spells would do. He could blow me off at the knee!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lysander said after a moment of craning his head around. “It looks as if he’s wandered off. You and I are on our own.”

While his companions had been focused on the lock, something across the room had caught Jake’s attention. He left the hearth and wove his way through the crowd. His slight body was tossed this way and that by the masses, bouncing him from one hardened shoulder to the next. He rode the waves of passersby until he finally stumbled into a clearing.

One of the serving girls was headed in his direction — a forest woman with loose, dark hair and eyes to match. Her lips sat calmly, but she wore a scowl that could’ve melted flesh. She’d tried to sweep past him when he reached out and grabbed her arm.

It was a mistake.

Jake’s head thudded into the top of a nearby table and he groaned as she twisted his arm behind his back. “Hello, Elena.”

She released him immediately. “Jake? What are you doing here?”

“Well, I — I ought to be asking you the same thing!” he sputtered, rubbing his arm. “What in Kingdom’s name are you doing in such a dark, horrible —?”

“He’s with me,” Elena interrupted, waving to a redheaded serving girl who’d crept up behind Jake.

She walked away with a nod … slipping whatever sharp, glinting object she’d been holding back into her belt.

Elena waited until she’d gone before she turned her scowl on Jake. “I’m here because I happen to own this place.”

His mouth fell open. “
You
own it? How …?”

“It was given to me,” she said shortly. She gathered up her tray and stepped past him, heading for an empty table.

He followed at a trot. “Who gave it to you?”

“The man who owned it before, of course.”

“And he just handed over the keys, did he?”

“Well, I suppose it’s more accurate to say that I inherited it — it’s sort of a tradition.” She plucked the empty tankards off the table with both hands, flipping them and setting them in a balanced ring upon her tray. “The man I got it from inherited the inn from the first owner, who was executed by Midlan for harboring criminals, or something.”

“I see.” Jake crossed him arms. “And what happened to the fellow before you?”

She waved a hand. “Oh, he … died. It was all very sudden. And tragic.”

“
Elena
!”