by Ty Johnston
All chatter stopped as Adara and Kron eased down the stairs, him leading the way.
“Good eve to you, baroness,” Guinaro said as he placed a plate of food in front of one of the town’s soldiers. The innkeeper approached the woman with his hands folded in front of him as if ready to pray.
“Do you have a private room?” Adara asked without looking in the man’s eyes.
“Right this way, my lady,” the innkeeper said as he moved past the woman and pointed toward a curtain hanging along a side wall.
Kron and Adara followed and the innkeeper moved the curtain aside to show them a small but pleasant room with one shuttered window and a table built for two with a chair on either side of it. A burning lamp on one wall and a single candle in the center of the table provided ample light.
“Will this do, my lady?” Guinaro asked.
“Very well, indeed,” Adara said, taking a seat.
Kron hesitated, standing to one side of the room as if he were not allowed to sit until told.
“Bring us a bottle of your house wine,” Adara said to the innkeeper.
“Oh, but I have a much finer vintage than our local drink, my lady,” Guinaro said looking pleased. “I have a bottle of Truscan red saved since before the war.”
“That will do,” Adara said, dismissing the man with a wave of her hand.
Once the innkeeper removed himself and allowed the curtain to fall into place again, Kron turned to the woman and said, “May I sit?”
Adara chuckled. “Yes, you may, good servant.”
Kron eased into the chair and stared at the hanging curtain. “Not much privacy.”
“It is enough,” Adara said. “They would not think of listening in on our conversation.”
Less than a couple of minutes passed before Guinaro returned carrying a bronze platter with a dark glass bottle in its center and two wine glasses next to it.
“I hope this will please your ladyship,” the innkeeper said depositing the bottle and glasses on the table. He asked, “Is there anything else I can do for you, my lady?”
“No thank you, good sir,” Adara said. “If I should require anything, I will send my man for you.” She nodded to Kron.
“Very good. Thank you, my lady.” Guinaro withdrew from the room.
“Overanxious fellow,” Kron noted.
“We’re probably the best customers he’s had in some time,” Adara said. “It’s doubtful they get much traffic through this part of the country.”
Playing the part of servant, Kron removed a dagger from his belt and pried the cork from the top of the wine bottle then proceeded to pour her a glass.
“Are you not partaking?” the woman asked.
Kron finished filling her glass and returned his dagger to its sheath. “I do not drink,” he said, leaning back and waving a hand at the bottle. “It dulls one’s senses.”
“And of course you could never allow that,” Adara said, lifting the glass of dark red liquid to her lips.
“Alcohol profits a man nothing,” Kron said.
“But it can make a woman feel good,” Adara said, drawing out the last word.
Kron saw the sparkle in her eye as she took another drink. “You seem in a good mood considering Randall’s situation,” he said.
Adara set her glass on the table and gave him a flat stare. “I haven’t forgotten why we’re here,” she said, “but I spent nearly a month on the road. I’ve been looking forward to this wine, and to a night in a bed.”
“Are you so sure we will be sleeping here tonight?” Kron said.
“I don’t know,” she said. “We haven’t spoken of what to do.”
Kron leaned forward. “We can’t simply break him out of the jail,” he said. “That would draw too much attention.”
“You just took on a village of mountain people,” she said almost mocking. “What makes you think you can’t take care of a handful of soldiers?”
“I had your help in the mountains,” Kron reminded, “but there’s more than just guards here. From what I saw of the locals, most of them are farmers, hardy men with strong arms. I’m sure they wouldn’t fear coming to the aid of the local troops.”
“I didn’t help much in the mountains,” Adara said taking up her glass again.
“You finished the first one,” Kron said. “You covered my back while I dealt with the others.”
Adara sipped her wine, her face staring blankly at the table top. “I didn’t want to kill that man,” she said.
“You had no choice,” Kron said. “They would have killed us.”
“We were invading their home,” Adara said, looking up. “If we hadn’t been there, they would have had no reason to attack us.”
“They took Randall,” Kron reminded, “and if we had not been seen, we wouldn’t have had to fight them. It was bad luck, theirs and ours.”
“I still don’t like it,” Adara said. It was not as if she had never killed before, but it had been rare and only during a duel when a competent opponent faced off with her.
“What of these fire weapons you have?” she asked to take her mind from morose thoughts.
“My grenados?” Kron said with an evil grin.
She nodded, telling him to go on.
“They’re expensive, but well worth the price,” Kron said, his grin not dying. “They’ve pulled me out of more than one tight spot.”
“Where do you get them?”
“I learned how to make them from a Hiponese warden in the Lands. They’re a mixture of simple powders, a little sulfur and other items,” Kron said. “I’ve only a couple left, one filled with fire and the other with smoke. I haven’t had the time or money to make new ones since leaving the Lands. I was hoping to make more in Bond, but I had no luck finding all the ingredients.”
“Can we use them to free Randall?” Adara asked.
“They will come in helpful,” Kron said, “but I don’t believe breaking Randall out of the jail is the answer. Even if we fought our way out of the village, we would still have to escape on horseback, and I don’t know this land well enough to find a proper hiding spot.”
“Couldn’t we go back to the mountains?”
“And risk running into the mountain folk again?” Kron said, shaking his head.
It suddenly occurred to Adara that Kron thought too much for a man of action. He planned and pondered and tried to compensate for every situation, which was why he always wore so many different weapons. He had not carried his sword and bow with him tonight, only because he realized the impropriety of it, but Adara would bet gold there were still a multitude of smaller, hidden weapons on the man’s body. His thinking apparently kept him alive, however, but it surprised Adara to know Kron always tried to be prepared for any situation, especially since his particular style of combat was so wild.
A wave of despair rolled over Adara and became obvious as she frowned and stood, moving to the curtain to draw it back. She peered into the room beyond, seeing the inn’s patrons busy with their own conversations, their own worlds.
“Is something bothering you?” Kron asked, watching the woman’s back.
“What are we to do about Randall?” she asked, a note of sadness in her voice. “You don’t think it’s prudent to attempt a rescue tonight, but his execution is in the morning. It would be madness to try and save him then, when the whole town is gathered.”
“I agree,” Kron said.
“And even then,” Adara went on, “what if we do manage to save him? What happens then? We go on to Kobalos? What will he do when he is in front of his father, Kron? I’ve come to know Randall in the weeks we’ve been together, and I’m not sure he has it in him to face Verkain. Randall is a good man, but he’s not assertive enough to follow through with what has to be done. His father has to die. That’s the only way Randall will ever be safe again.”
“You forget two things,” Kron said, a slight grin at the edge of his lips.
“Which are?”
“You forget
the war demon we faced in the woods,” Kron said. “Randall came to our rescue by taking a big gamble, by ordering the demon away. It took a lot of courage to do that. I understand how you feel, but I believe he will pass the test against his father.”
“What’s the second thing I forgot?” Adara asked.
“Me,” Kron said with a smug look. “I have no qualms about laying Verkain low. In fact, I’m looking forward to it.”
Adara found herself disquieted by the look on Kron’s face. He appeared to enjoy too much the thought of killing a man, even if it was Verkain.
She drank the last swallow of wine in her glass and felt the alcohol’s warmth linger on her tongue before spiraling down her throat.
“You are a hard man, Kron Darkbow,” she said as she poured herself another glass.
“What do you want of me, Adara?” Kron asked. “To tell you I wish to settle down in a little cottage somewhere? That would be a lie.”
“I don’t know what I want,” Adara said, but she was lying to herself as she stared at the small crowd in the front room and noticed several of them looking back, though quickly averting their eyes.
Adara corrected herself. She knew what she wanted. She wanted Randall safe, and she wanted Kron Darkbow. It wasn’t lust she felt for him, but she wasn’t positive it was love.
Despite his dark ways, Kron had many aspects Adara appreciated. He was handsome, with his short black hair, his strong jaw and his muscular body. He also seemed to have an intense capability to know the right thing to do, but that did come with drawbacks.
Adara would not suggest Kron was bloodthirsty, but he did have a darker side that disturbed her. The man seemed to live only for revenge, and Adara was afraid to step into that world.
“There’s someone we haven’t thought of,” Kron said, breaking Adara of her pensiveness.
She took another swig of wine. “Who?”
“Markwood,” Kron replied.
“I don’t know what’s become of him,” she said.
“Perhaps he believes you and I have the situation under control.”
Adara scoffed and looked back at Kron. “If he believes that, he has more faith in us than I do.”
“We’ve done well enough,” Kron said. He did not need to point out they had avoided Belgad, escaped the war demons and dealt with a village of mountain people, all without the aid of the old wizard.
“We’re going to have to do something!” Adara said a little too loudly. “We can’t wait until morning.”
“We’ll wait,” Kron said. “A couple of hours before dawn will be the perfect time. I don’t like the notion of breaking him out of that jail, but you’re right, it’s better to attempt that than try and save him in the middle of a crowd.”
Adara threw back the last of her chalice’s wine and placed the glass on the table.
She was about to say something further to Kron when the swinging doors of the inn snapped inward with a loud crack and Sergeant Holden and seven soldiers stormed into the establishment.
The sergeant scanned the room, then his eyes fell on Adara standing in the opening to the private room.
“You!” Sergeant Holden thundered while jabbing a finger in Adara’s direction. “You, Adara Corvus, are under arrest for the murder of your father and mother!”
Chapter Thirteen
Bishop Salvus was pleased the man and woman had been captured without a struggle. He had expected them to put up a fight, but justice had been served, as had the church, his holiness the pope and almighty Ashal.
The bishop smiled as he leaned over the desk in his private chambers and read the report he had been handed by Rory the town clerk. The note read that Adara Corvus was a murderer. She was wanted by the marshall of Corvus Vale for the deaths of her step-father, Merlo Corvus, and her mother, Jaka Corvus, both slain five years ago. Rory had learned the truth about Adara Corvus after searching through the local sheriff’s files.
The bishop’s smile continued to grow as he folded the paper and thought of what the morning would bring. He would execute a wizard and a murderer of nobility all in one day; the woman’s servant would be executed because of his affiliation. The bishop had feared Wester’s Edge was the end of his career, but now things were looking brighter. He was not a priest with high aspirations, but he did not wish to be stuck in the middle of nowhere the rest of his life. The morning would bring him his opportunity to shine.
Until then he would have to try and get some sleep despite his anxiety. He was sure the town’s people would have a festive picnic in the morning following the triple execution.
Salvus stood and yawned. It had been a long and busy day and there were only about six hours left to the night. He would need his sleep, and he looked forward to the pies and cakes and breads that would be a part of the day’s revelry.
***
Hanging from a cold stone wall, his shackled wrists and ankles holding him up, Kron Darkbow was beginning to hate himself. Not only had he allowed his friends to be captured and to face a death sentence, but he had followed them into trouble willingly. He should have known better. He should have put a stop to this nonsense in the mountains when the giant folk had threatened to kill Adara and Kron and Randall if they could not have the healer. Kron also wished he had put up a fight in the inn; at least he could have given Adara a chance to escape.
Now they were doomed because he had failed to act. It would not happen again, he swore to himself.
He twisted his head to see Adara asleep, hanging on the wall next to him. It was for her safety that he had not fought the soldiers at the inn.
Kron turned his head again, this time staring the opposite direction into a dank corner of the small room where Randall, also unconscious, lay huddled. The healer’s hands and feet had likewise been placed in shackles, but a rusting chain also had been wrapped around his neck. The locals did not want to take a chance the wizard youth could cast any spells. Kron wished he or Adara had had a chance to speak with the healer during their incarceration, but bruises on Randall’s face explained why he had not been conscious when they had arrived; it was enough to make Kron turn his hatred from himself onto his captors.
He was thankful, at the moment, his companions weren’t conscious. There were only a few hours left until the sun rose and he wanted his friends rested for what was to come. He had been searched well, but the jailer had missed a few minor tools Kron always kept stuffed in the back of his left glove. He didn’t know if he would have the chance to pick the locks on his wrists, but he was going to take that chance as soon as the opportunity presented itself; so far he had not been able to twist his gloved hand in its shackle so that he could remove the tools.
He sighed. It would be a sad death, a disastrous death, to go to his own execution while the means to save himself and his friends was nearly in the palm of his hand.
If he could not free himself, the old wizard Markwood was their only savior. Kron kept hoping the wizard would make an appearance, but for whatever reason, he had not showed himself.
Gradually, Kron’s eyes grew heavy. He had not slept the night before, climbing out of the mountains and then riding with Adara straight through to Wester’s Edge. He hated himself further for his weakness, but his body needed rest. Soon he was snoring despite the cold at his back and the metal digging into his wrists and ankles.
***
Maslin Markwood was well aware of the trouble Randall Tendbones and his traveling companions had fallen into. He had spent a goodly portion of the day watching them from above in an invisible, ghostly form. Unfortunately, he could not take action in that astral form.
After nearly three hours of watching Kron, Adara and Randall, he decided it was time to step in and lend a hand. He couldn’t allow the three to be slain only halfway through their journey, even if he was not sure of their purpose in the first place. Did Randall truly need to face his father, Lord Verkain?
Upon his spiritual form returning to his body, the wizard began to gather items
he thought he might need to help the three imprisoned in Wester’s Edge. In his office at the College of Magic at the University of West Ursia, he picked up a pair of magical gloves that provided its wearer extra protection against physical harm, a wand that had multiple offensive spells within it and several bottles of potions that allowed the drinkers to temporarily become invisible to.
Markwood had had those things on his person, stuffed into pockets of his robe, when he grabbed his favorite heavy walking staff from a corner of his private office. He looked the gnarly weapon over, glad of its heft, when he began to trace an invisible circle on the floor with the narrow end of the staff. His plan had been to instantly send himself to Wester’s Edge where he would make a frontal assault upon the jail where Kron, Adara and Randall were held. Markwood had not planned on harming anyone, so he made sure to have several spells handy that could constrain or put to sleep any opposition. It had been a simple plan and a good plan. The villagers would not expect a mage to attack and they likely had few defenses against him.
The plan was tossed before Markwood had a chance to finish drawing his circle.
The door to his personal chamber exploded inward, spraying shards of wood throughout the room but not harming the wizard because he had already cast protective spells on himself. The doorjamb crumbled inward next, revealing a humongous figure in dark armor beyond the doorway, its eyes glowing red beneath a spiked helmet the size of most men’s chest.
“Lord Verkain thanks you for caring for his son,” the war demon said with a heavy guttural voice that sounded as if it came from flame.
Without giving the demon a chance to act, Markwood flung out an offensive spell, flashes of blue light shooting from his fingers and crashing into the monster’s chest to send it flying backward. The demon crashed into the wall behind it, destroying a desk and pair of chairs as it slid to the floor.
The monster was up sooner than the wizard expected, jumping to its feet with a roar and spreading its wings behind it.
