Malek slid crisp paper samples across the table for each person to look at. Baylan compared a few samples to the notebook, shaking his head. “He’s right. This is not his writing.”
The others gathered around, looking at the notebook and nodding in agreement.
“Give me that,” Walter snapped, snatching one of Malek’s writings. His writing was a sharp and blocky style. The style of the signature in the guard’s log was waving and flowery. No, this can't be. Walter sighed. Too cocksure, Noah’s voice said. He looked up from the notebook to see Malek staring at him, deliberately raising his eyebrows and laughing arrogantly.
“Okay — okay, so it wasn’t you. This is all —” Walter sat and the color drained from his face. He rested his head in his hands. “Very confusing,” Walter said weakly.
“You had a long day Walter, why don't you go and get some rest now,” Baylan said.
“Yes, that is a very good idea, for the both of us.” Nyset said.
“Malek, I apologize, I’m deeply sorry,” Walter stammered. He got up and turned, walking back towards his bedroom. Fuck me, you’ve been a fool.
“Walter, the wound you sustained across your back has healed wonderfully. Baylan and I have tried to heal your poison without much success, but we believe it will clear your body in a few days. I thought you would like to know,” Malek said, slightly jutting his chin. Walter nodded and blinked his red-rimmed eyes at Malek.
“Just one more thing before you go” Malek said, fingers interlacing behind his head. “I saw the body of the Skin Flayer. Your control of Dragon fire is impressive.”
“Yeah, well I just did what I had to—” he cut off, realizing the folly of his words. He met Baylan’s wide eyes and bit his lip. Shit. I hope we can truly trust him now. Walter made his face relax. “Well, goodnight,” he said striding to his bedroom.
Chapter Eleven
The Falcon Flies
“The Skin Flayer has an average intelligence and a cruel will. It is bent on remorselessly carrying out the wishes of The Wretched or Asebor. It relies on subterfuge as well as battle prowess to execute its tasks. I’m unsure of why its mouth is missing and replaced with flesh. Autopsies indicate the presence of the anatomical structure for a human mouth, though it always appears to have been removed.” -from the Death Spawn Compendium by Nazli Tegen
Walter woke when the sun began to rise. He crept from their bedchambers, careful not to wake Nyset and Grimbald. He made his way to the washroom and sat on a limestone bench built into the wall, and put his bare feet on the polished marble tub. Pink light cut across the room through an arched window overlooking the city. The narrow window provided a wonderful view of the market when doing one’s business. A deep rumble washed across the plains from the volcano beyond The Wall, puffing dark smoke.
He moaned as he peeled off his bandages. Stupid, cocky bastard. How many more times are you going to put your foot in your mouth acting like such a fool? He sighed deeply. This room is too small, hard to breathe in here. How will I ever find Juzo? Is he even still alive? I have to try. He would do the same for me, we need to get out of here. No more delays.
“Damn it,” he croaked, grimacing in pain. This living in someone else’s place is getting old. We, I need a home, a place to rest my head. Home is where you can find food for the mind and body, Mom said.
The flesh around the wound on his abdomen was blackened, about the diameter of an apple. It slowly bled from the center of the dark tissue. His heart pounded in his chest and in his temples. Why is this air so damn thick? He filled a small bucket with water from a barrel and got himself a cloth from a basket. He wet the cloth and gently wiped at the wound, strangely finding the darkened flesh lacked sensation.
“That can’t be good,” he said quietly.
He bowed his head and concentrated, reaching deeply into his chest, feeling for the Phoenix. He felt its calm, soothing presence assuaging his hammering heart. His worries about Juzo and the confusion about Malek’s name in the logbook slipped from the din of his mind. He felt a tingling in his fingers and toes, and released the tension in his shoulders. He focused the warmth to the wound and a trickle of blue light seeped through, stitching the skin together.
He felt warmth in his chest that spread through his body and he relaxed his eyes. He sent the warmth around the darkened skin and it revolted, fleeing from the wound and returning to his chest.
“Strange,” he said. The skin is dead. It seems as though I can’t heal tissue that has already died, an important thing to know. Hmm I wonder…
He closed his eye and breathed deeply, falling into the calm of Warrior’s Focus. He saw the Dragon slithering through flames in his mind. He touched the dragon’s tail, cupping an ember of its fire in his hand. He wove the fire into the Phoenix, twisting the chaos into the calm. He tried again, sending the Phoenix strengthened by the chaos of the Dragon to his blackened skin. The skin burned and tingled with coolness at the same time. He gritted his teeth and groaned at the bizarre sensation. He opened his eyes and saw the olive pigment of his skin returning at the wound site.
“Yes! It’s working, I can’t believe it.” The wound site pulsed with bright white light, and faded with the cool blue of the Phoenix’s healing light. He felt the sensation return around the wound and the blue light faded, leaving beautifully untarnished skin. He rubbed at the renewed skin with one hand and scratched his jaw with the other.
“Amazing,” he whispered. The fragrant, chocolaty smell of elixir wafted into the washroom. Can this morning get any better? He hummed and slipped his shirt back on. He lifted his shirt, and poked beside his bellybutton where the wound had been and smiled.
He whistled and bounced on his toes as he walked into the dining chambers. Everyone was there except Malek, sipping on elixir, cream, and corn cakes with Cypress syrup.
“Good morning to you all, how do you fare on this lovely morning?” Walter poured himself a cup of piping hot elixir and took a sip.
“Well you’re awfully chipper for a person recently stabbed with a lethal poison,” Baylan said.
“Yeah, about that,” Walter said raising his shirt and showing his healed stomach.
“Wow, did that happen overnight?” Grimbald asked, resting his wide chin on his hand.
“Sort of.” Walter said. Walter sat and looked over his shoulders. “Malek around?” he asked quietly.
“No, he said he had a lot to do today and left early,” Baylan said flipping through his notes.
“He sure had a lot of stuff with him for just running some errands.” Nyset said. She used her fork to place a perfectly cut triangle of corn cake into her mouth and licked the crumbs from her lips.
“Are you guys excited for the Falcon’s sendoff parade today?” Grimbald said, buttering a round cake.
“Huh?” Walter asked, slicing a hunk from a loaf of corn cake.
“You guys really need to leave this tower more often. The armies are heading to Breden and the Nether today. There’s going to be a little parade to send them off, it will be fun to see.”
“Shit!” Walter said, slapping his palm on the table.
Baylan’s eyes widened. “Wow…Ezra decided upon sending the army, good.” He nodded. “So that explains Malek’s wounds…”
“Wounds?” Walter asked.
“He returned with bloody robes this morning, it looked like weapon cuts to me, the way his robe was torn,” Grimbald said.
“Malek told us an experiment went wrong, I assumed something blew up. He was mighty convincing,” Nyset said, pulling on a golden lock of hair.
“He does have a way with words. The Black Guard—”
“Is here,” interrupted Lajoy, dark blades drawn, standing before the dining chamber’s entrance.
Grimbald jumped to his feet and put his hand on the axe that rested beside his chair. A flaming disc hovered above Nyset’s head and Walter readied a fireball.
“No,” Baylan said, raising a hand to them. “Peace, relax… it’s okay.�
� Two other Black Guards fanned into the room, crossbows leveled.
“We don’t know where he is —” Baylan said.
“I know, we heard you. Lower your weapons,” Lajoy warned and the soldiers hesitated. “Now!” Lajoy barked. They obeyed, but stood with the tension of a bow string ready to be released. One of them fingered one of the multiple daggers in his belt.
“Damn wizards,” one of the Black Guards muttered.
“You can search the place if you’d like, but as you already know… he’s not here.”
Lajoy sighed. “Does anyone know where he might have gone?” There was no answer other than shaking heads.
“If you see him, come to me immediately. Your accusations were true,” Lajoy said, folding his arms, wrapped in dark leather armor. “We could see the change in the king as he brought up the subject of war and with this,” Lajoy said, holding up a small figure of a crane.
“Ah, an invocation detector,” Baylan said. “Wise idea.”
“Yeah, this thing, Malek gave it to me. There’s some irony for you.” He pocketed the tiny crane and turned to leave and his men followed, backing out of the room while facing them.
“Well, it sure is exciting to travel with you guys,” Grimbald said, wide grin plastered on his face. “You don’t get morning supper’s like that in Shipton, that’s for sure.” Grimbald interlaced his fingers and placed his hands behind his bald head.
Walter shook his head and exhaled. “You are a strange man, Grim.”
“You two need to exert a better level of control with revealing your abilities,” Baylan said, gazing from Nyset to Walter. “It is a dangerous thing to let people know what you can do, especially with so many Purists and power hungry nobles. Fear and envy can get you killed— the tall reed gets cut down, as we say in Helm’s Reach.”
Nyset nodded, “Right, I’m sorry, Baylan. That was foolish.”
“A man with blades drawn, in our resting place, isn’t threat enough to defend ourselves?” Walter said.
Baylan groaned, “Just, please be more discerning.”
Walter sighed and rolled his eyes.
“So… about that parade, we should go!” Grimbald said, scuffing his chair closer to the table.
“Yeah, when does it start?” Walter asked.
“It should be within an hour or two, I think,” he said, getting up and starting to clean a pan.
“Were you two able to get a look at the log of the northern guardhouse?” Walter asked.
“We were able, but there was no sign of Malek,” Grimbald said.
Walter nodded and drummed his fingers. “Nyset filled you all in?”
“Of course I did,” she said, standing and planting hands on her hips. She walked over to the window and stuck her head through it. Walter watched her, admiring her perfectly round backside.
“Oh look at that. There are already people lined up in the streets below. Let’s get moving, I don’t want to miss my first parade,” Nyset said, laughing, and taking another sip of elixir.
* * *
The soldiers staying behind stood in neat rows on either side of the main road exiting the city. Each of them held spears with the Midgaard standard, a white flag with a golden sun in the center. The soldiers leaving wore smiling faces and polished armor. They walked in groups of four with their spears held overhead and round shields at the ready.
A rumble shook in Walter’s chest. He looked to the sky to see a dark cloud starting to spread like spilled ink over the cityscape. Walter spotted a group of about fifty men wearing black overalls and black shirts, huddled together and staring up at the sky on an adjacent road. Some of them held long push brooms, and others were draped in towels. The lucky ones who get to clean up the volcano’s mess, I guess. I certainly wouldn’t want that job.
“The mouth of Dressna stirs,” Baylan said, looking up.
“Looks like it might rain ash today,” Grimbald said, following Baylan’s gaze.
“They’re prepared for this,” Walter said, nodding towards the men dressed in black workman’s clothes. “The Ars Volcano in Breden always blows to the west, so we’ve never had to deal with the ash. The city is so immaculate, it must be a lot of work to get it looking like this after the ash has fallen.”
“I wish I were going with them,” Grimbald said distantly.
“I know, I’m sure your father will be proud that you killed a Ripper, not many men live to tell the story,” Baylan said with a twinkle in his eye.
“Yeah, I think my Pa would be happy. He’ll never believe the adventure we’ve had already,” Grimbald said, face glowing with excitement. “I can’t wait to see what comes next, so much to tell him.”
Behind the first army emerged a massive construction in the likeness of the Phoenix. The detail was stunning. Its eyes were lit from the inside by torches and its feathers were painted with a texture that resembled real feathers. At least ten men pulled the massive Phoenix sculpture with ropes tied to its bottom. Their bare chests glistened in the hot sun. These were big men, almost as big as Grimbald. He probably would’ve found himself a place with them.
Behind the Phoenix came a Dragon in equally grand proportions. Long streamers of pink, red and orange waved in the breeze from its sinuous body. Walter half expected it to breathe fire next.
“They’re beautiful,” Nyset said. Grimbald grunted in agreement.
“It was no wonder Breden and the surrounding areas were ignored due to ‘lack of funds.’ Ezra was pissing it away on frivolities while our bridges fell and walls collapsed.” Walter said, crossing his arms and glowering at the Phoenix as it rolled by.
“Don’t be so negative,” Baylan snapped. “Enjoy the show.”
Women walked down the rows of onlookers, wearing hats with three red plumes, handing out honey candy to children and teenagers. A white-haired man and woman beside Walter stepped from the side of the road and placed a wreath with red flowers around a soldier’s neck.
“Fight well, my son. You make the Masterson’s very proud,” the short man said.
“Please be safe, dear,” the woman said.
The soldier smiled and removed his shining helm, “You guys don’t have to worry, the general said this is probably just a bunch of bandits anyway. We’ll take care of them and be home before you know it. I must be going, before the general sees me out of line.” The young soldier kissed his mother and shook his father’s hand. The soldier had pins that looked like spears on either side of his neck. The white-haired couple shuffled into the crowd behind them.
“Dragon, these men are being told they’re going to fight bandits? They are marching to their deaths,” Walter said quietly.
“Why would they lie to them?” Grimbald asked.
“If these men knew what they were about to fight, they would not march with quite the same enthusiasm. I’m not saying it’s right that they do not know their enemy. When the bridges are burned behind you, well, a man’s sense of mercy soon departs,” Baylan said.
“I would be pissed if I were to find my commander had lied to me,” Walter said.
“And this is why you would be a terrible soldier,” Baylan said.
“Do you think it’s okay to just blindly follow someone else’s command, without question?”
Nyset’s bony fingers brushed his hand and then held it. He gave it a squeeze and met her eyes.
“It’s about trust, and faith that those commanding you are wiser than you are. Even if they are lying to you for your own good. When your parents told you that fire burns, did you stick your finger in flames to make sure they were telling the truth?” Baylan’s eyebrows danced as he looked at Walter.
“As a matter of fact, I did,” Walter said, laughing. He opened his hand and looked down to where the small scar was on the tip of his index finger.
“Why am I not surprised?” Grimbald asked, turning his attention to the passing Dragon.
Walter looked up and scanned the faces of the onlookers. Some were clearly nobles, wearing gle
aming jewelry and the triangular hats that were so popular in Midgaard. Others wore tattered clothing with dirt on their cheeks. The whole of Midgaard seemed to be here for the Falcon’s send off.
Behind the Dragon marched the second battalion, wearing pins in the shape of tower shields on their collars. A handful of soldiers passed with red wreathes around their necks. Some had to step out of line to usher their families from the street.
“It has been over five hundred years since a Midgaard king has sent the Falcon to battle,” Baylan said. Walter and Nyset nodded. “We’re witnessing a historical milestone.”
Grimbald’s face grew red. “When was the last time? You see my Pa, well, he needed help and I had to work. I didn’t get to go to school, so there’s lots things I missed.” He cast his eyes down and scratched at the ground with his foot.
“That’s alright Grim, you know how to run a business. Few people know how to do that at your age. The last time the Falcon marched was during the Trial of Devastation just shy of 500 years ago. The Milvorians, hailing from the far west had invaded Zoria and nearly won.”
“The Milvorians, were those the cat people?”
Baylan laughed, “I’m not sure they would take too kindly to calling their mounts ‘cats’. True, what they ride resembles the Ice Cats of the Mountains of Misery except, they’re about ten times larger and have enough strength to jump over a man.”
“Sounds terrifying,” Grimbald said, rubbing his hand along the haft of his axe.
“Indeed. It was written that it would take at least three of our men to slay one of theirs. Let’s hope they don’t decide to invade again anytime soon,” Baylan said, furrowing his brow.
“There are volumes written about the Milvorians in these heavy blocks of paper bound by leather that I often carry with me. In fact, you can find a countless number of them in the Midgaard library right here in this very city,” Baylan said, grinning.
The Lord of Death (The Age of Dawn Book 2) Page 12
