by Wacht, Peter
A warning bell went off in Oso’s head, the large Highlander fixing the smaller Nolan with a honed gaze. He glanced quickly at Kaylie and saw by the tightness of her bearing that her suspicions mirrored his own.
Oso’s hand shot forward, grabbing Nolan by the collar. He lifted him off the ground, ignoring the man’s startled screech, and brought him into the small alley from which the so-called merchant had just emerged. The large Highlander pushed the trembling Nolan up against the wall, Kaylie crowding close, her dagger in her hand. The other Marchers followed, hands on the hilts of their swords, blocking the alley so that Oso could do what was needed without being disturbed.
“What happened to Thomas?” Oso asked, the menace clear in his voice, the point of Kaylie’s dagger digging into the man’s side and drawing a thin trickle of blood that stained his shirt.
“I know nothing of this Thomas,” sputtered Nolan, the fear in his voice raising it an octave. “Is he the one missing from your party?”
That slip confirmed Oso and Kaylie’s suspicions. If Nolan was, indeed, a merchant, he likely traded in information. Her dagger dug more deeply into Nolan’s gut. He grew even more terrified, his shaking becoming almost uncontrollable despite the small man’s best efforts. Oso’s strong grip on the back of his neck had tightened, sending sharp pains down his spine. Nolan struggled a bit, but it was a perfunctory and useless effort, his fear overwhelming him, a single squeeze of the large man’s hand eliciting an unprompted but slightly strangled scream.
“What happened to him, little man?” whispered Oso, his fingers shifting to the front of his neck and squeezing more tightly, making it more difficult for Nolan to breathe. “You’re asking a lot of questions, wanting answers. We want answers as well, because it seems like you have information that we need.”
Kaylie withdrew the knife from Nolan’s side, allowing him to see his blood on the tip of the blade. Nolan’s eyes fluttered, threatening to roll back in his head, and Kaylie feared that he was about to faint, so she quickly lowered the dagger out of his sight.
“Who do you work for, Nolan? And why are you so interested in Thomas?”
“I’m just a merchant,” gasped Nolan. “You have no right …”
Oso’s hand shifted once again, tightening even more around his throat and cutting off his words.
“You’re a spy,” said Kaylie, her voice hard. “I won’t ask again. I’ll simply leave you to my large friend.” She gestured toward the savagely grinning Oso. “Why are you interested in our friend?”
Nolan was finding it more and more difficult to breathe, his struggles for air becoming obvious. Unable to speak, his face shifting in color from red to purple, finally he nodded his head. Kaylie took it as a sign that he was ready to cooperate, motioning for Oso to release him. Nolan fell back against the wall and slid down to the street, rubbing his throat and struggling for breath. The Marchers closed in around him, and he knew that he had no chance to escape.
“You’re right, you’re right,” croaked Nolan, gulping air hungrily. “But I am not a spy. I am an agent. Spy has such a negative connotation.”
“Little difference, little man,” rumbled Oso.
“Who do you work for?” asked Kaylie, kneeling down so that she was eye to eye with him. She brought the dagger back into view, reminding Nolan that his blood marred the sleek steel, and that more could be drawn if necessary.
“Lady Colasa,” answered Nolan in a croak.
Kaylie stared at the small man a bit more sharply. Lady Colasa was one of the last claimants to the throne of Laurag, strong with the people if not the nobles. They had learned that much from the conversations running through the common room of their inn the night before.
“And she sent you here why?”
This time Nolan didn’t hesitate with his answer, seeing the storm cloud on the large Highlander’s face about to explode and not wanting to be the cause of it. “Your friend was taken. She wanted to know why, and whether he would be of use or possibly a hindrance to her in her fight for the throne.”
Nolan looked at Kaylie and Oso with pleading eyes. “Truly, that’s the only reason I approached you. That’s all that matters now in Laurag. Two claim the throne. Until only one remains, all that happens in the city could be of value to one or the other as they seek to strengthen their claim.”
Kaylie stood, gesturing at Nolan with her knife. “On your feet. It’s time to go.”
Nolan stared at her, his fear etched across his face. He worried that his usefulness may have come to an end, and that they planned to take him to a part of the city where no one would care what happened to him and where his remains would never be found.
“Where are we going?” he whispered in alarm.
“To the one you serve, of course,” said Kaylie. “Take us to Lady Colasa.”
11
Game Piece
Thomas struggled to open his eyes, his thoughts and dreams spinning in a confusing and undecipherable swirl. It felt like a dark cloud of grey and black had been draped over him, and he couldn’t find a way to escape it. His mind darted to wherever it seemed a small opening of light might appear, but each time he thought that he had found a stream of brightness in the gloom, the sought-for ray of opportunity, it disappeared just as he arrived, the heavy weight of the surrounding murk collapsing on him again.
“Wake, Thomas,” a voice called from the distance. “Wake, my sweet. I command it, and you must obey.”
The words drifted into his consciousness and slowly, ever so slowly, lifted him out of the disorienting, billowing cloud. His eyes opened to a burst of sunlight coming through the open balcony doors, the drapes pulled to the side. Not knowing where he was, he tried to recall the last few items in his memory, but it was a doomed task. Squinting as his eyes adjusted to the bright light, he pushed himself up on the soft bed, leaning back against the headboard. As the sheet was pulled away by his movement, he realized that he was wearing only his underclothes.
Although his eyes were open, the heavy weight that had kept him in darkness remained. He raised his hands to his neck, feeling the collar of black stone that had been slipped onto him in the alley. The darkness that had consumed him had settled there within the necklace. He gave the collar a tug, searching in the back for some clasp, but he found nothing. There was no break or catch in the chain. There was no way to remove it.
“Simply accept it, Thomas. Knowing you and your stubbornness, you will try and try again, and thereby only succeed in frustrating yourself. Once affixed, the collar can never come off. The sooner you understand that the better off we will all be.”
Thomas dropped his hands, turning his head toward the voice. The voice that had surprised him in the alley.
Corelia Tessaril, daughter of the former High King, and once a possible heir to the throne of Armagh, walked seductively into the room from the balcony. The morning sun played off her golden hair, the sheer, silk dress she wore flowing across her body with every step and revealing more than it should. For a moment, her beauty transfixed Thomas. But then he remembered that there was more to Corelia than just her elegance and allure. She was dangerous, often ruthless and clearly reckless.
“Why am I here, Corelia?”
His question was sharp, his anger obvious, but it had little impact on the woman as she stopped at the side of his bed. She gazed down at his body, noting the scars on his chest and arms. She smiled appreciatively, her tongue running across her lips as if she gazed down at an object that she had desired desperately and, upon gaining it, had moved on to considering how to use it to her best advantage. Thomas fought the urge to pull the blanket over himself, instead struggling to control the red that threatened to break out on his cheeks. He would not be cowed by Corelia’s challenging, suggestive stare.
“It’s quite simple,” said Corelia, sitting on the side of the bed, her hip pressed against his thigh. Her predatory gaze slowly ran from his toes up his body to finally stop at his eyes. “I play a dangerous but simple
game now that father has lost the Kingdom. In this game, if I am to attain what I want, I must play the pieces that I have.”
“So I’m now a piece.”
“Yes, Thomas. You are, indeed. In fact, you could be the most important piece of all.”
“And if I choose not to be played?”
Corelia looked at him for a moment, a twinkle in her eyes, before she let out a husky laugh, her hand rubbing his leg gently.
“Oh, Thomas. You are such a delight. You should know better, shouldn’t you? Lord of the Highlands, feared warrior who freed his homeland against all odds, then took the fight into Armagh itself. Sylvan Warrior and master of the Talent. Can’t you feel it? Haven’t you figured out the trap that you so conveniently fell into?”
Corelia’s words cut him to the quick, his fears rising. Unbidden, his hands went back to the collar of shining black onyx. He had failed to remove it physically. Now he tried to do so with the Talent. But that proved to be another exercise in frustration. Though he could sense the Talent, it was just beyond his grasp. He couldn’t touch it. It was as if a glass window stood between him and the natural magic of the world, and he couldn’t break through no matter how hard he pounded on the barrier.
“What have you done?”
“As I said, Thomas, you are now a piece to be played in my game. Your strength, your cunning, your power … they are all mine. You will do as I tell you when I tell you.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Thomas, really? Must we go through this in such excruciating detail? I can see it in your eyes. You know the truth, you simply don’t want to accept it.” Corelia rose from the bed, straightening her dress. “The black collar was a gift. From someone you know, perhaps? Malachias was quite clear about its power. Once affixed, it cannot be removed. And the one charged with control over the collar controls the wearer. No matter what you may try, no matter how hard you resist, you cannot fight me. You will do whatever I tell you to do when I tell you to do it. You have no choice. Whatever I require, the black collar requires.”
Thomas fought to control his emotions, dreading the truth of her words. There had to be a way to remove the collar. There had to be! But he needed to learn more about it before he could even contemplate what options he might have. He decided to turn the focus of the conversation to see if he could discover anything that might be of use to his efforts to escape Corelia’s grasp.
“Do you understand the risk that you take, Corelia? Do you understand the consequences of allying yourself to the Shadow Lord?”
For a brief moment, a look of fear passed across her face. But as quickly as it was there it disappeared.
“I understand better than most, Thomas,” she said quietly. “Remember, my father made this alliance years ago, so it’s nothing new. It’s simply more personal now. I know the risks, and I know and look forward to the rewards.”
“Maybe so, Corelia. But the Shadow Lord’s rewards are never worth the risk. And there is a difference. Now the one to pay the price for failure is you, not your father.”
Corelia stood there for a moment, his words stinging. She sought to reply in a way that didn’t reveal how his statement had affected her, but nothing came to mind. She was saved when a door in the far corner opened.
“Ah, the one to lead us to victory has awakened.”
A tall, burly man, beard streaked with grey, well-made clothes stretching tightly across his rather large paunch, walked in. The man likely had been handsome when he was younger, but the years had not been kind, his extravagances with wine and food having taken a heavy toll.
Thomas took in everything about the man in seconds, quickly putting together the situation and the role they expected him to play.
“Lord Eshel,” he said in a flat voice.
“Yes, young man, you have the pleasure of meeting me.” His words came out in a laughing chuckle, but his eyes were hard, calculating.
A tall younger man followed, a sneer marring his handsome visage. He was about to say something, but Thomas’ harsh glare blocked the words in his throat. Thomas was not surprised that Maddan Dinnegan had tied his fortunes, or what remained of them, to Corelia’s coattails.
“As I said, Thomas, a piece to be played in my game. A difficult game, to be sure, perhaps even deadly.” Corelia stepped away from him and back into the light of the balcony. “But a game that offers quite a pot if I win.”
Thomas stared at them, unimpressed. Greed ruled them, yet at the same time fear pricked at them because of the partner that they had tied their fortunes to, try as they might to keep it under control.
“So I’m supposed to help Eshel win the throne of Inishmore. That will please the Shadow Lord, as he obviously has some alliance in place with you already. Once done, Corelia plays the harder game. She offers me to the Shadow Lord, and he decides whether to kill me or to allow you to use me to retake your Kingdom.”
“The Kingdoms, actually,” said Corelia nonchalantly. “Why not a High Queen? Just because it’s never been doesn’t mean it can’t be.”
“And you would expect to do that how? Many if not all of the Kingdoms wouldn’t accept you.”
“Think about it, Thomas. Political marriages are common, are they not? Once the Highlands is allied with Armagh, the other Kingdoms will fall in line. Quite simple, don’t you think?”
Thomas nodded. “You seem to have everything figured out, Corelia. But you know what they say. The best laid plans …”
“Yes, yes, I’ve heard it all before, Thomas,” she replied, a touch of pique coming out in her voice. Corelia walked back toward the bed, Eshel and Maddan watching the exchange with interest. “Remember, Thomas, if you resist me, you will simply be a piece to be played.” Her hand trailed along his leg, then up to his chest, tracing his scars. “But you don’t have to resist. In fact, we could have a great deal of fun along the way. Political marriages don’t always have to be political.”
Corelia stepped away, moving toward the door, Eshel at her heels.
“Think about it, Thomas. You have much to gain, and even more to lose. Once Lord Eshel has Inishmore, I’m sure that the Shadow Lord would offer some leniency if he felt confident that you were firmly under my control. And I’d prefer not to waste such a perfect piece to the puzzle.”
12
The Char
“Anything we need to worry about?” asked Kaylie. “I wasn’t expecting to come to this part of the city.”
Kaylie followed right behind the stick-thin Nolan, who walked hunched over, though not from age. Every few paces he glanced back to confirm that Kaylie remained just a step behind him, her hand never far from her dagger. He had led them to the docks, then headed west along the water and beyond the massive warehouses, cranes, markets and merchant houses to a less traveled part of the harbor, a neighborhood to be avoided whenever possible that was known as the Char. Several years before a fire had swept through this section of the port. The remains of many of the destroyed warehouses and offices still stood, charred posts and scorched building frames standing tall as a testament to the tragedy that had occurred. With the leadership of the Kingdom and the city in disarray, and no one able to guess at how the struggle for power would play out, few had thought to rebuild, leaving this part of the city to the gangs, smugglers and less reputable businesspeople to make their way here, a twenty-block square that had become a wasteland with its own set of rules. The most common unofficial edict was also the most obvious: Whenever possible, the strong would prey upon the weak.
Several groups of young ruffians had approached as Kaylie and her party worked their way deeper into the charred remains of the harbor. But these toughs had moved away quickly, deterred by the tall Highlander who walked with a clear purpose and a frightening glare, a contingent of angry Marchers, hands never far from the hilts of their blades, surrounding them.
Oso shifted his gaze quickly from left to right, knowing that his Marchers did the same, looking for anything that could be a threat.
In addition to the Marchers encircling him and Kaylie, he had sent two squads into the Char. They provided more eyes and were close enough to help if there was a need for additional protection or a quick escape.
“You’re not planning something you’ll regret, are you, Nolan?” Kaylie’s voice was brusque, tense. The stillness of the Char but for the inconsistent breeze drifting off the water made her nervous. The only sounds came from their whispered words and the Marchers around her, and though they barely made a noise but for the scrape of a boot on a loose cobblestone, the silence made even the smallest sound seem that much louder.
“No, miss,” he replied quietly, cringing at the ice in her voice. “Just a bit farther.”
Kaylie glanced around, not quite believing what Nolan had told her. All she saw were the husks of former homes, businesses and storehouses, the jagged beams and joists, the occasional couple of stories still intact but always lacking windows and revealing scorched gashes in the walls, that kept her on edge. After just a few more minutes of walking they arrived at their destination, or wherever Nolan wanted them to be. He had stopped in front of what used to be a tavern. The front door leaned to the side, leaving a gap to peer into the darkness beyond.
“Here? You’re certain?”
Oso’s suspicion was plain. Nothing seemed to be here but burned wood, ash and rats. His Marchers fanned out around the tavern, swords now in their hands.
“Yes, sir,” replied Nolan, unable to keep the fear from his nasally voice. “It’s a bit more than it seems.”
