The Crown of Stones: Magic-Price (45 page)

“Not the details.”

“She’s dead, Troy. Knowing how won’t bring her back. Won’t bring none of ‘em back. Sure as hell won’t make you feel any better.”

“I’m not expecting it will.”

Refilling my mug, Ansel picked up a rag and started wiping down the bar in wide, furious circles. “You go to any village and you’ll get the same. Langorians took the town and butchered those that fought back. They pilfered the slaves. Burned a few homes. Then they descended upon this place like flies. They liked the food, the girls. Some of them didn’t leave for days.” He paused to toss back his drink. “About a week ago, a new batch wandered in. Started bragging about Kabri, spinning lies about how they’d caught you and strung you up back in Kael. None of us believed a word of it. And you know Katrine…she didn’t believe them a lot louder than the rest of us.”

A brief, cheerless grin tugged at my lips. “What happened?”

“There was nothing nobody could do. They took her upstairs and, well…the pigs were knee-deep in drink and the stupid girl couldn’t keep her mouth shut. It was as simple as that.”

“They still in town?”

“Leave it alone, Troy. There’s too damn many of them.”

“I didn’t ask their numbers.”

He sighed. “I can show you the one that killed her. I tried to smash his face in. His captain’s too…ugly, scarred bastard.”

“Scarred?” My grip tightened on the mug. “Krillos?”

“Yeah, that’s him, Captain Krillos.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“I hate to admit it, but he weren’t too happy about what happened to Katrine neither. He beat the one that done it real good. Took him to the square and made a real example out of him. If it helps.”

“It doesn’t.” I slammed a hand down on the bar. “I let them go. I let them go and they come here. They fucking come here.”

Ansel was quiet a moment. “She might have died anyway. You don’t know.”

I grabbed the bottle I went to the nearest table and sat down. “I don’t want to know.”

FORTY FOUR

L
ight shone through the boards on the windows. Squinting through it, I didn’t even try to count the embarrassing amount of empty bottles strewn across the table. A few belonged to Ansel, but at some point he’d gotten smart and went to bed. I didn’t.

Now, it was morning. My mouth felt like I’d spent the night licking sludge off the bottom of my boots and there were enough waves rolling in my belly to sink a ship.

And Katrine’s still dead
.
And I’m still a Reth.

“Shit.” Pushing all ten fingers into my throbbing temple I stood up—too fast, and the edges of the room tilted. Stumbling, my coat caught on the back of my chair. It tipped over and hit the floor with a bang. The sound hit my head like a bucket of rocks.

Gripping the edge of the table, I rode out the echo. As it faded, a moment of clarity hit me. “Jarryd,” I groaned. I tried to open the link, to let him know I was okay; no doubt worry had put him on the path of doing something unwise hours ago. But I couldn’t find him. Then I remembered the
Kayn’l
. “Damn.”

Detaching my hands from the sticky tabletop, I headed for the kitchen to clean myself up. Heat rushed into my face as I walked. A familiar, internal quaking had my limbs weak. Though the drug was preventing anything magical, I hadn’t ingested enough to dull the rest of my senses. I could feel both the cravings and the hangover splendidly.

The wrongness of that might have been amusing, if not for one small problem.

Getting past the Langorians in broad daylight without magic was going to earn me the fight I was looking for last night. Only now, I didn’t want it.

It was reckless of me to come here. Stupid of me to drink.

Pushing open the door to the kitchen, there was no sign of Ansel, or much else. The bare shelves were layered in dust. The hearth was gray and cold. Most of the counters and worktables were overturned, leaving pots, bowls, buckets, sacks, and their contents, to litter the floor.

Spotting a ladle among the debris, I brought it with me to a grouping of casks in the corner and started popping off lids. Some were empty. Some held wine; something I definitely didn’t want. When I found one with water, I spent the next few minutes drinking away the drought in my throat. It took a few more of dunking my head in the barrel before I felt awake. More before the cobwebs cleared.

Shaking the wet hair from my eyes, I stole a cloth off the table behind me and uncovered a nice-sized loaf of bread hidden underneath. I stared at it as I dried my face, trying to remember when I last ate. I wasn’t particularly hungry. Still, I needed something to sop up the abundance of liquid in my stomach.

I tossed the towel and picked up the bread. It was a little like eating tree bark. All the same, I’d had worse and it certainly helped calm the waves. “Better,” I muttered, leaning back against the table. I gobbled up a few more mouthfuls and a couple extra scoops of water, and my head stopped pounding.

In the absence of pain, I began picking up on stray noises outside.

Going over to the window, I tried to look out, but what glass showed between the boards was too dirty to see through. There were definitely people outside though.

A lot of people
, I thought, as I strained to listen.

The voices started shouting. When they started screaming, I ran from the kitchen and through the main room. The front door was unlocked. I burst out onto the porch, and what I saw was such a complete contrast to the night before that it brought me to an abrupt, startled halt.

The volume of townspeople filling the streets was staggering. I had no idea so many were still alive.
Barely
, I thought, surveying their thin, bedraggled
appearance. Heads and eyes down, most spoke in hushed, frightened tones, cowering like mice as the Langorians herded them back. Only a handful resisted. Throwing insults and cries of encouragement, they pushed forward, straining to see past a ring of hulking, enemy foot soldiers that were blocking their view of the road.

Standing on the raised porch, I could see fine. I had a nice, clear shot of what everyone was gathering around. I just wasn’t as excited as they were. While they saw an opportunity for one of their own to draw Langorian blood, watching Ansel crossing swords with Captain Krillos sunk a really bad feeling into my gut.

All eyes were on him. There was no way to pull him out unnoticed. Not that he would go if I could, as Ansel was doing rather well against a man that was younger and stronger than he was. At least, it appeared that way.

Ansel’s strikes were definitely well placed. However, I could clearly see that his Langorian opponent’s sloppy parries and last-moment evasions were carefully timed ploys, and his returning thrusts were purposely weak. Krillos was toying with him and Ansel knew it; frustration was all over his aged face. Desperation was making his movements rushed. A building rage showed in every trembling swing. So did exhaustion. When his strength was all but gone, Ansel would go for the kill, and give Krillos the excuse he was waiting for.

I shouted from the porch, “Krillos, hold!” The silence was immediate. Heads craned in my direction. Soldiers raised their weapons. Krillos turned slightly toward me.

And Ansel took his shot.

I cried out to stop him. A tall, well-muscled Langorian beat me to it. He brought Ansel down hard and the crowd went crazy.

Naturally, the Langorian soldiers spared nothing beating them back.

Krillos, giving the disturbance a brief, curious glance, shook his mane of thick, black hair into place. He slid his weapon away—a long graceful piece that was definitely not standard issue or even Langorian made. Neither was the showy, expensive scabbard at his waist or the new, crimson coat he was tugging into position.

“Shinree,” he called out warmly. “I see Fate has brought us together again.” He smiled on approach. “I should thank him for that.”

“I think you’re confused, Krillos. Fate is one of my gods. Not yours.”

“Yes, and look what your devotion has gotten you.” Krillos stopped just inside the ring of soldiers. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone if you spend more time cursing the old bastard than praying to him. I have my doubts he listens either way.”

I gestured out at the town. “I see you’ve moved on from dogging the Kaelish.”

“On, yes. But, not up, I’m afraid. Though, I suppose there are worse assignments than holding this wretched village.” He shrugged and pointed at me. “I see you have come to defend Rella’s southern cities with a half-eaten loaf of bread.”

Biting off the end, I waved the rest at him. “Actually, Captain, I thought I might stuff it down your throat. Choking on a hunk of stale bread isn’t the most glamorous of deaths, but…dead is dead.”

“You know,” Krillos grinned, “I once heard that a man’s choice of weapons says a lot about his character. So I’m wondering, Troy, what exactly does brandishing day-old tavern fare say about you?”

“It says I don’t like you.” I tossed the bread on the porch. “Let Ansel go.”

With authority, he said, “Lieutenant Lork,” and straightaway the big soldier got up. Wrapping an arm around Ansel’s neck, Lork hauled the older man to his feet and pressed a knife against his bloody, wrinkled face.

I glared at Krillos. “I didn’t say let him up, I said let him go.”

“I can’t do that, Troy. He attacked me. He’s a prisoner of Langor now.”

“He’s an old man.”

“This
old
man,” Krillos said emphatically, “has been stirring up trouble for weeks. He refuses to obey the curfew. He won’t pay taxes to his King
—
”

“His King is dead.”

“This is Langorian territory now. We all bow down to Draken. Like it or not.”

“Draken doesn’t deserve to be King any more than I do.”

“No argument from me on that,” he chuckled. “But I wasn’t exactly in a position to refute his claim to the throne, or his offer. Eighteen hours a day in the mines for the rest of my life, versus a conditional pardon on Draken’s leash…it wasn’t a hard choice.”

“How about I give you another?” I jumped down off the porch. As my boots hit the road I pulled the sword at my back. The sound rang out above the whispers of the crowd and the soldiers in the front row shifted uncomfortably. “Let Ansel go. Take your unsightly friends and leave…or stay here and die.”

“Give me that,” Krillos said, indicating the shard, “and you can have the whole fucking town for all I care.”

My teeth gnashing, I hesitated. “Back in the mountains you said something about shoving my face in the dirt?”

“I believe I said grind, but…go on.”

“Now’s your chance.”

Unconcealed interest sparkled in his eyes. “I’m not supposed to kill you.”

“You won’t.”

“Is that confidence talking, or wine?”

“A little of both. But you strike me as a man who likes games of chance, Captain. A man who wouldn’t be afraid to wager my blurry wits against his skill with a blade.” My eyes shifted to his weapon. “A stolen blade by the looks of it.”

“It’ll be your blade I’m stealing shortly, Troy.”

“I don’t know,” I said doubtfully. “All those years you spent starving in prison, your mind wasting away, reflexes going dull…nerves shot from fear and torture. I’m thinking that living in a cold, dark cell didn’t exactly keep you sharp.” I smiled with mock sympathy. “But I’m sure it’s all come back to you by now.”

A twitch of irritation made his scars dance. “Draken will kill me for this.”

“I told you before. I don’t have a problem with that.”

Grinning, he grunted. But he didn’t think it over long. “One weapon each?”

I undid the sword belt at my waist and let it fall. “If I win, Ansel and I walk.”

“Agreed.” Krillos gave another glance to Lork. The soldier eased his grip on Ansel and pitched him backwards into the crowd. As he fell, another round of protests and curses were shouted. But Ansel lay alone in the dust, bleeding, hurting, and gasping. Not a single villager had the guts to go to him.

Katrine would have gone,
I thought.
That’s why she’s dead.

She resisted and died for it, like all the others. Like all the women and old men, the mothers and children, the soldiers who were slaughtered for their bravery and conviction. And this wasn’t the first time. Or second. The dance was decades old. Each time Langor rears their head, Rella pushes them back. One side attacks, the other returns the favor. Time and again the tide was stemmed, but nothing had ever prevented the storm from brewing again. Nothing made a lasting impact. Not even magic.

Damn
, I thought.
I get it now.
I hadn’t totally disagreed with Malaq’s views before, but all of a sudden, I understood exactly what he’d been trying to tell me. Langor needed permanent change on a massive level. It needed a strong, consistent, moral influence, a ruler committed to peace and diplomacy. One who could inspire devotion without fear and draw them away from war, teaching them how to build a society on more than vengeance. Langor needed Malaq Roarke.

Surviving on the promise of conquest, emulating the desires and ambitions of their kings, his people had been raised to believe only victory would bring happiness.

Malaq was raised on different beliefs. He could show them other ways to live, other paths to prosperity. Yet, forcing the transformation on them by way of a coup would make him no better than Draken. Malaq had to ascend the throne legitimately, and I had to let it happen. Or the cycle would continue.

“Troy!” Krillos said sharply, grabbing my attention. “You sure about this? You seem elsewhere. And I hate taking advantage of a man when he’s down.”

I shook off my ill-timed thoughts. “Isn’t that what your people do for fun?”

“And they say we’re narrow-minded.” Snickering, Krillos stepped further into the ring. “No magic. I want your word on that.”

“Why?” I brushed past the foot soldiers and joined him. “You wouldn’t believe me if I gave it. We’re sworn enemies.”

“That we are, Shinree. But when a man sees the face of hell and finds himself reduced to nothing but instinct, he comes to trust it.”