Reign of Madness (Revised Edition) (59 page)

The young stave-wielder was pitted against a brute of a man
from the Isle of Sand, an island that was rumored to be a haven for bandits,
pirates, slave traders, and other unsavory sorts referred to as Sandmen. The
Kingdom of Verril claimed the island, but no one truly believed the kingdom had
any power over its residents. The man wore a leather, sleeveless jerkin and
even from a distance, the observers could see a multitude of scars and tattoos
gracing his skin. He wielded a wicked dagger in one hand and a mace in the
other. He grinned maliciously at the young stave-wielder before pounding his
feet in the dirt and charging like a bull.

The competitors clashed, and the crowd was once again
impressed with the young farmer’s skill and stamina. Almost the entire audience
was cheering for the young man, and questions abounded about how a young
commoner could become so skilled. In one fateful moment, though, the Sandman
managed to get under the young farmer’s guard and thrust his terrible, jagged
dagger into the young man’s gut. The official called the match as the young man
collapsed, but that did not stop the mace that crushed the stave-wielder’s
skull. The crowd gasped in unison, and multiple healers rushed to the scene.
After only a moment, the lead healer shook his head and everyone knew that
Parker Farmer was dead.

The companions and almost everyone else in the stands leapt
to their feet shouting in anger. The bloodied warrior grinned and spat to the
side as he strolled to the wall, leaned back, and glared everywhere at once,
just daring anyone to confront him.

“Why?” Frisha wailed through threatening tears.

The baron shook his head sadly and rested a hand on the
young woman’s shoulder. “Such a waste and needless at that,” he said forlornly.

The nobles and commoners alike protested and fussed about
the injustice, but none were angrier than Rezkin. As Dark Tidings, he stood
resolute and made not a motion when the young man fell, but inside he was
roiling with discontent. The mace-wielder had destroyed that talented young man
needlessly, and worse, he enjoyed it. People had often accused Rezkin of being
cruel, but he knew the truth of the word. Rezkin could see the cold cruelty in
the wretched man’s eyes and in his rotten grin. This Sandman had just earned
himself a place in Rezkin’s plan.

The crowd was more subdued as the final matches concluded.
It was difficult to shake off the death of the young farmer who had quickly
become a crowd favorite. When the last match was called and the competitors
released, Rezkin exited through the nearest portico. The crowd parted around
him as onlookers gawked and pointed and whispered. This time, avoiding the
strikers was made easier because Kai was ready to assist each step of the way.

At the first juncture, the striker collected Rezkin’s
weapons, which had made him easy to identify, and provided the young warrior
with the pack containing his change of clothes. The two trained warriors had
scouted the buildings and planned the route so that Rezkin could easily change
his appearance and don his regular clothes without being seen. Once he was
finished with his transformation, Kai collected the pack and Rezkin made his
way back to the arena. He quietly slid in among his friends who were more than
eager to discuss the event. Frisha was quite upset about the death of the young
farmer and could not help the tears that moistened her cheeks.

“He was just such a talented boy,” Frisha said as she wiped
her tears.

“He was a man and a worthy opponent,” Rezkin replied.

“You saw?” she asked. Rezkin nodded and wrapped one arm
around her shoulders as they walked. Frisha balled her fists as her cheeks
flushed, and she bit out, “How could he do it?”

“He is a cruel man, Frisha. He does not value life,” Rezkin
replied.

“Not
him
. I mean Dark Tidings. How could he just
stand there and watch like nothing happened? Why didn’t he do something?” the
young woman growled.

“What did you expect him to do?” Malcius protested. “It
happened during the tournament in such a manner that the officials could not
take action against the Sandman. If they send one man to the gallows for
killing an opponent, others may not wish to take the risk of competing.

“Gutterspit!” Brandt exclaimed. “If they do not take action
against contestants who overstep and needlessly kill their opponents, then no
one will want to risk competing in the first place.”

“True, but it is hardly Dark Tiding’s place to make such a
determination. He is a contestant, not an official. He has no authority in the
arena,” Malcius argued.

“Maybe not
as a contestant
, but we both know he is
more than that,” Brandt argued.

Malcius ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Yes, we
know that, but no one else does. They would not listen to him, and the
repercussions for pressing the issue would be catastrophic to his cause.”

Rezkin cut into the conversation saying, “Do not fret,
Frisha. This offense will not go unpunished.”

The Melee competition fighters who had not competed in the
afternoon’s opening round were scheduled to compete the following morning.
Since Rezkin had already competed, he was not required to attend. Malcius would
be competing in the final rounds of the Second Tier competition in the
afternoon, however, so all of the companions were sure to attend, including
Rezkin. That meant the warrior had little time in which to complete his tasks,
and he needed the mage’s help.

After cornering Wesson in their room that night, Rezkin
said, “I am going to ask for your assistance, but I want you to know this is
not an order or requirement of your service. You have my leave to reject my
request. I only ask that you do not reveal my plans to any others. Do you
understand?”

“I understand,” Wesson said slowly with raised brows.

Rezkin glanced at Tieran who was lounging on his bed and
said, “I need you to go with me to the duke’s estate.”

“That seems simple enough. What will I be doing there?”
Wesson inquired. Tieran’s interest was piqued, and now he listened intently.

“I need you to assist me in getting past some wards without
setting off the alarms,” Rezkin stated succinctly.

“You want me to help you illegally intrude into the duke’s
estate and break through his wards?” Wesson asked in surprise.

The warrior nodded and said, “Yes, Duke Ytrevius appears to
be quite adept at warding, and there were two, in particular, that I could not
bypass without alerting him or whoever set them.”

“What do you mean by bypass?” Wesson asked.

Rezkin sighed. “I could not push through them unless I
wanted to alert him.”

“Push through? You mean the way you easily walk right
through my wards? You can do the same for his?” the journeyman asked
flabbergasted.

“Of course. It is not difficult to get through the wards.
Two of them, though, presumably leading to the same area, may set off alarms if
I attempt to do so,” the warrior stated.

“That does not even make sense, Rezkin. You cannot just
push
through
wards. They are like solid walls to a mundane. If they are
designed to keep you out, then you will be kept out,” the mage explained.

“Regardless, I have passed through all of his wards except
these two, and I only stopped because I could sense that they would raise the
alarms. Why must I repeat myself?” Rezkin asked with a hint of frustration.

Wesson frowned and then decided to just go with it. “You can
sense what type of wards they are?”

Rezkin’s shoulders relaxed now that they were getting
somewhere again. “I cannot sense what exactly they are supposed to do if
someone tries to break them, but I can tell that it is malicious and will set
off alarms. They are also very strong. I happen to remember a certain
journeyman saying he could pretty much break down any ward.”

Wesson flushed and said, “Yes, but Rezkin, we are talking
about breaking into the estate of a
duke
. If we are caught, we will be
lucky to receive a quick death.”

Rezkin shook his head. “If you follow my lead exactly, we
will not get caught. The duke depends on his wards too much, and only his
private chambers are regularly guarded by men. I have already inspected those
and found nothing of note.”

“You spied on the duke’s private chambers?” Tieran
exclaimed. “What if he had walked in and found you?”

“I did not have to worry about that since he was already
sleeping in them,” Rezkin replied.

“But…” Tieran sputtered but Wesson intervened.

“
Why
do you need to spy on the duke?” the mage
inquired.

The warrior looked the young mage in the eyes and said, “You
already know why. Ytrevius and Hespion, and therefore Atressian, are plotting
an assassination. We need to know the identity of their target and when and how
they intend to carry out their plans. In addition, they already attempted to
poison Tieran and succeeded in doing so to Malcius. Since I no longer have my
spy network, I must gather this information myself. I could use your
assistance, but if you are unwilling, then I will find another way.”

“You have a spy network?” Tieran asked in surprise.

“No longer,” Rezkin admitted feeling his own disappointment.
“At least, not as it used to be.” He could now appreciate the immense amount of
information brought back to the fortress by the strikers and the effort it took
to gather that information. Rezkin had literally killed his network, though,
and each day he fell further and further behind in intelligence. There was no
telling what was happening in the rest of the kingdom. He could only garner so
much information from his new network of thieves and assassins. It was unlikely
any of them could infiltrate the duke’s wards, and the truly skilled personnel
were nowhere near Skutton. Military reports, official and unofficial council files,
and private correspondence between nobles were fruitful, but he could not be
everywhere at once, and he had little time as it was.

“I do not know, Rezkin. I understand why you want to, but I
have never done anything like that. I have never been in trouble with the law,”
the mage hedged.

“If you are concerned about trouble, you had best take your
leave now,” Rezkin stated with all seriousness.

Wesson sighed. He had been riding this raft through the rapids
just to see where it would go and for the sheer excitement, but he always knew
it would eventually catch up with him. One could not work for a man like Rezkin
and not get caught in the crossfire. Everything was simply happening so fast.
He had thought to have more time before making a decision to support the man.
Up until now, Wesson had not really done anything wrong, aside from being
present for and participating in some treasonous conversations.

“Very well, Rezkin. I will assist you. I assume you know
what you are doing and can get us in and out without getting caught or killed?”
the mage asked.

“Of course, but part of that depends on you following
directions and whether or not you can perform as requested regarding the
wards,” the warrior replied.

“I am coming, too,” Tieran interjected.

“No, you are not. It will be difficult enough getting in and
out with the mage, and you will serve no purpose,” Rezkin replied.

Tieran frowned. “Whatever you find in there may need to be
reported to the Council. They do not know you. They will not believe anything
you have to say.”

“And you think they will believe
you
?” Rezkin
scoffed.

Tieran straightened and said, “I am the future Duke of
Wellinven.” The young man’s shoulders slumped slightly as he said, “Even if I could
not convince the Council, I could convince my father. Besides, I am capable of
taking a Mage Oath.”

“Eventually, probably sooner rather than later, your father
will learn of where your loyalties lie, and if he does not agree, then your
words will mean nothing,” Rezkin said.

“Maybe. He could disown me, and I would lose my claim to the
duchy; but, he cannot interfere with my claim to the throne,” the young man
remarked.

“No, you have given that away on your own,” Rezkin stated as
he studied the young man’s reaction.

“That is one thing I do not regret, Rezkin,” Tieran stated
firmly. “You will make a better king than I ever could. But, I am still going
with you unless you outright order me to stay behind. Then, I shall be forced
to find some other troubling business in which to involve myself.”

Rezkin stared at Tieran. Like Kai and Reaylin, this vassal
was stubborn and determined to undermine his authority, all the while claiming
loyalty. “Fine,” he said. “But, if you come, you will make yourself useful in whatever
manner I deem necessary.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Tieran said with a dubious grin.

Rezkin considered using Tieran to gain entrance to the
duke’s manner during the day but rejected the idea almost immediately. If the
household staff knew any of them were present, they would be keeping a close
eye. Later that night, Rezkin led Tieran and Wesson on a circuitous route
through the city and then across the hillside leading to the duke’s estate.
With each turn and hurdle the two stragglers struggled to overcome, they noted
once again how Rezkin was unlike the average man.

The trio slid into the shadows along an outer wall, the same
one Rezkin had scaled in order to gain entrance from the roof on his previous
visit. The warrior knew that, while Tieran was fit, he would not be able to
scale the wall, and Wesson would certainly fail at the task. He turned to the
duke’s son and said, “Now, life mage, perform your function,” as he pointed up
the stone precipice.

Tieran groaned under his breath. “Rezkin, I am not a mage…”

Rezkin stopped the young man before he could finish. “I am
going up the wall to scout ahead. I will return in five minutes, and if you
both are not up there, I will assume you changed your minds and turned back.”
In truth, Rezkin would assume no such thing. If they did not show, he would go
looking for them to make sure they had not been caught, but they did not need
to know that. The warrior turned back to the wall and began scaling the coarse
surface, his fingers and boot tips pressing into the small crevices between
stones.