by James Wisher
Damien woke early as usual and found a scroll on his chest sealed with crimson wax. A reply from the archmage. How had she gotten that scroll inside the station?
He slipped out of his bedroll and headed for the outhouse. Damien shivered when the cold air hit him. With a thought he increased the temperature of the air inside his shield. It was pitch black out this early in the morning, but the short path was well marked.
Damien closed and latched the door of the rickety little building. He conjured a tiny light and settled down to read. One good thing about the cold: it kept the stink to a minimum.
Fifteen minutes later he finished reading about Jen’s adventure. It sounded like she’d had a rough time. She was okay, and that was what mattered. At least they knew Dominic Santen hadn’t been involved in the assassination attempt, though his son appeared mixed up in it.
Damien sighed and incinerated the message. He hated complicated things like this. He wished someone would just tell him who to blast and let him get on with it. Oh, well.
Chapter 22
Ten weeks later found Damien and Lane on the outskirts of the first good-sized town they’d seen since the capital. The roofs of two-story buildings rose above the wooden palisade that surrounded the town. This far south the worst of the cold had passed and the first buds were visible on the maples growing along the road. A single, four-story mansion towered above all the other buildings. Damien assumed it belonged to whichever noble oversaw the town.
“What’s the name of this place again?”
Lane glanced over at him. “Allentown.”
“Right. And we’re stopping here why?”
She sighed. “Because we have another week until the meeting and I want to spend a little time getting a feel for what the people think about the barons’ plan to leave the kingdom. We’re only forty miles from the border. These people sit right on the edge of a potential war zone if the barons abandon their responsibilities and let the bandits cross en masse.”
“Does that matter in the grand scheme of things?” Damien wanted to tell her even if she failed the barons wouldn’t be allowed to leave the kingdom alive.
“Of course it matters!”
Damien raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, maybe it doesn’t matter to the negotiations, but it matters to me. Looking after these peoples’ wellbeing is as much my job as dealing directly with the nobles.”
Damien smiled. Even if she didn’t like sorcerers, she had a good heart. That made it even harder to keep his secret.
They reached a set of double doors built into the palisade that served as a gate and reined in. A pair of guards with swords and spears stood on either side of the doors. “State your business,” the left-hand guard said. He couldn’t have sounded more bored
“We’re just passing through,” Lane said. “We need an inn for the night. Could you recommend a nice place?”
The right-hand guard chuckled.
“We’ve only got two inns, miss.” The left-hand guard ignored his companion’s laughter. “And I’d never send a lady to one of them. Best head over to the Golden Stag. It’s clean and they serve the best food in town. Just take the second left, you can’t miss it.”
“Thank you.” Lane smiled in a way that made Damien jealous for a moment.
The guards pushed the doors open and they rode through. The streets were a little muddy, no surprise this time of year. All the buildings looked sturdy and well taken care of. They all had flat roofs that could also serve as archery platforms. If bandits ever attacked the town they’d find arrows raining down on them from every direction.
Damien counted the streets and turned his mount toward the second left.
“No. We don’t want to go somewhere fancy,” Lane said.
“We don’t?”
She shook her head. “The people I want to talk to can’t afford a place like the guard described. If the nice inn is to the left we want to go right.”
Right, heaven forbid they stay at the nice inn. They might have soft beds and decent food. Better to find some rat hole liable to give them a disease.
Damien followed her away from where he wanted to go. The farther they went down the street the worse the buildings looked. The first couple of rows seemed okay. Then the cedar shakes covering the walls became patchy before giving way to simple rough-sawn boards covering the walls.
Shouts and music sung with more volume than skill led them to The Horny Badger Inn, a take on the name of an aggressive animal native to the badlands. The less said about what the owner had painted on his sign the better.
The sign hung at a forty-five-degree angle from a single chain. Nothing about the building looked square. The entryway cocked a few inches left and the back wall had sunk a foot into the ground. Damien seriously considered shoring the place up with soul force before letting Lane enter.
The inn had a hitching post out front, but no sign of a stable. What should they do with the horses? If they left them tied up out front he had no doubt they’d be walking the rest of the way to the gathering.
Damien dismounted and tied off his horse. “What now?”
“We’ll talk to the owner.” Lane dismounted and tied her mount next to his. “There must be somewhere nearby we can keep the horses.”
“Right.” Damien grabbed his rucksack and slung it over his shoulder. He started for the stairs, but she brushed past him. He sighed. “After you.”
He feared Lane’s foot might go right through the half-rotted steps, but she made it up to the landing and pushed the door open. Inside, the common room was full of people laughing, drinking, and eating. Smoke filled the air. Damien examined it with invisible strands of soul force and found only mild stimulants, nothing poisonous.
The crowd looked rough: loggers and farmers mingled with thugs and whores. Everyone carried a weapon of some sort, mostly wooden cudgels and knives. From the number of scars and bent noses it looked like they weren’t afraid to use them.
Along the far wall ran a bar behind which stood a middle-aged man with one eye and not many more teeth. “Talk to the bartender and rent us two rooms. Find out what we should do with the horses. I’m going to mingle,” Lane said.
Damien shook his head. Lane had too many teeth and not enough scars or holes in her clothes to mingle with this lot. She looked like a swan swimming through a pond of raw sewage.
The archmage said she knew what she was doing and Damien had to trust that. Leaving Lane to her mingling Damien ambled over to the bar. The bartender met him with a gap-toothed smile. “You sure you folks are in the right place?”
Damien set his bag down. “No, but it looks like we’re staying the night, assuming you have two empty rooms.”
The bartender coughed and spat something thick and black on the floor behind the bar. “We got six empty rooms. Hell, we ain’t rented a room by the night in years. You best keep an eye on your lady friend. She’s attracting the wrong kind of attention.”
Damien glanced over his shoulder and found the men leering at Lane as she worked her way through the press. Maybe they’d be content to look and he wouldn’t have to kill any of them. He returned his attention to the bartender. “Don’t suppose there’s a stable around here.”
The bartender barked a phlegmy, congested laugh. “Only thing we do with horses in this part of town is eat ’em. You want a place to store ’em you best head back to the fancy part of town.”
Damien concentrated and conjured an invisible barrier around the horses. That would keep anyone from taking them to the butchers while he figured out how to convince Lane to stay somewhere else. Maybe someone would pinch her ass and she’d realize this wasn’t a good place for them.
“Still want those rooms?”
Damien sighed and nodded toward Lane. “She’s the boss. I’m just a bodyguard.”
The bartender whistled through his teeth. “I wouldn’t mind guarding that body. Uh-oh. Looks like you’ve got work to do. She’s caught Bonzo’s eye.”
; Damien grimaced. Sounded like the name of a dancing bear at the summer fair. “Who or what is a Bonzo?”
“He’s the biggest man in the place. Head enforcer for the Daggers. They run this town.”
“What about the nobleman that lives in the mansion?”
“Ha! The Lord Mayor? The Daggers pay him off with gold and young girls. His soldiers won’t lift a finger to stop them.”
Damien’s anger rose. When he finished with the barons he’d have to visit the Lord Mayor as well. That sort of behavior couldn’t be tolerated in the kingdom.
But first Bonzo.
Damien spun around and scanned the room. It didn’t take long to spot the brute leaning against the wall near the end of the bar, his gaze following Lane’s every move. He stood nearly seven feet tall, broad-shouldered, with a raw-boned, weathered face. Made Sig look like a midget.
Damien looked closer. Bonzo had weak internal soul force he used to augment his strength and toughness. His technique was sloppy. Probably self taught rather than Citadel trained. Bonzo wasn’t strong enough to be a threat to a real warlord, much less a sorcerer, but his ability would give him a huge advantage over a normal person.
Bonzo pushed away from the wall and sauntered across the common room toward Lane. Everyone rushed to move out of his way. Lane had her back to him as she chatted up a painted whore whose best days had come and gone before Damien was born. Maybe Bonzo would do the job of convincing her to stay somewhere else for him.
“You’re pretty.” Bonzo patted her ass.
Lane spun around and craned her neck to look up at him. “Watch where you touch.”
Bonzo leered at her and reached for her chest.
Lane slapped his hand away and raised a fist. “Try that once more and I’ll deck you.”
Bonzo laughed and stuck his chin out. “Take your best shot.”
Lane reared back. Quick as thought Damien wrapped her in a full-body shield and anchored her to the floor. Next he added a sphere of soul force at the end of her fist.
She swung. The sphere hit Bonzo’s chin and released the stored energy.
He flew across the common room and slammed into the wall.
Lane blinked and stared at her fist. “Asshole.”
Everyone held their breath, waiting for him to stand up.
They’d be waiting a while. He’d put enough energy into the blast to kill a normal person. Even someone like Bonzo wouldn’t shake that off any time soon.
When it became clear the giant wouldn’t be getting up again a cheer rose from the crowd. Damien reabsorbed all the energy he’d wrapped Lane in and smiled.
Damien turned back to the bartender who shook his head. “What does she need you for?”
“She keeps asking me that very same question. Truth is I work for her mother. The old lady worries and pays well. Who am I to argue?”
The bartender laughed. “Words to live by, my friend.”
Chapter 23
When Lane finally finished chatting Damien waved her over. Scowling, she stalked to the bar. What was she pissed about now?
“What?” Lane asked.
“They don’t have a stable in this part of town. My new best friend”—Damien nodded toward the bartender—“assures me that any horse we leave outside will find its way to the meat market in short order.”
“Fine. Take the horses back up the street and find a stable. I’ll wait here.”
“If you think I’m leaving you alone in this place you’re nuts. And if your mother found out she’d kill me. We go together and walk back together, if you insist on returning.”
“It’s for the best, miss.” The bartender flinched when Lane turned her angry gaze on him. “Bonzo’s got a lot of friends. You don’t want to be here when they find out you flattened him.”
Lane turned back to Damien. “What’s a Bonzo?”
“The gentleman lying by the wall over yonder.”
She pursed her lips. “I think I have a good feel for what the people in this part of town think. Maybe it would be useful to talk to the other side.”
Thank Bonzo and all the heavens.
Lane headed for the door and Damien slipped the bartender a silver crown before he followed. He doubted it would stop the man from telling the Daggers which way they went, but he had provided some useful information.
Damien dissolved his invisible barrier before Lane reached it. He detected no sign that anyone had tried to bother their horses. Lane swung up into her saddle and Damien followed her example.
They’d gone as far back as the cedar-sided buildings before Lane said, “You used your powers back there. No way I knocked that goon out myself.”
“Yeah, I sure did. Would you have preferred to break your hand on his jaw?”
“I told you not to use your powers. I know how to throw a punch.”
Damien shook his head at the woman’s stubbornness. “I’m sure you do, but have you ever punched a warlord? Bones as hard as steel tend to be hard on the knuckles.”
Lane laughed. “If he was a warlord then I’m a princess.”
“He wasn’t Citadel trained, but Bonzo did have a weak internal soul force. He’s what’s called an instinctive user. You’ll run into one now and then. The point is, trained or not, you still would have broken your hand on his jaw. After that I would have had to do something drastic to stop him from raping you on one of the tables while the whole place watched.”
That shut her up. They reached the crossroads and turned in the direction the guards had suggested. The effect on the buildings was exactly the opposite of their ride toward the first inn.
Houses became nicer. Fresh coats of paint covered everything. Single-story buildings gave way to two stories. Windows got wider and more numerous.
The Golden Stag stood two stories high and sprawled over half a block. An iron fence surrounded manicured grounds. Warm light from the windows lit the yard. Three steps led up to dark wood doors, inset with colored glass.
Damien guided his mount through the open gate. Beside him Lane groaned.
“What’s wrong?”
“I hate places like this.”
“Oh sure. Clean, warm, good food, no thugs to attack you. Seems like a horrible place. Bet you a royal the bartender has all his teeth.”
Lane offered a weary smile. “It’s not the setting, it’s the memories. Mom used to bring me to places like this. Everyone patted me on the head, and smiled these sad smiles, every one of them thinking how pathetic it was for someone like Mom to have such a disappointment for a daughter.”
A pair of boys in blue tunics embroidered with golden stags rushed out from behind the inn. They held their reins while Damien and Lane dismounted. As soon as they had their gear the boys led the horses and mule off toward the back. Now that’s what Damien called service.
“You’re not a little girl anymore,” Damien said. “Try to relax and enjoy the luxury. After this little break it’s back to business.”
“I’ll try.” Lane followed him up the steps. “It’s only one night after all.”
Chapter 24
Damien sighed and followed Lane down the steps out of The Golden Stag. She’d said only one night and meant it. Too bad. Damien hadn’t slept as well as he did last night in weeks. Deep feather beds combined with the best meal he’d eaten since leaving the capital added up to nine hours’ unbroken sleep. For the first time in his life Damien cursed the training that had him awake before the sun rose.
Outside dawn was just coloring the horizon. Low, dark clouds and brisk temperatures threatened a late-season flurry before the end of the day. Two new boys in identical livery waited with their horses saddled and ready. From the shine, it looked like they’d combed them out and cleaned the mud from their tails and the feathering around their hooves. The horses looked better than when Damien claimed them from the last supply depot. They’d even slicked up the mule.
He tossed the boys a crown apiece. They snatched the silver coins out of the air with practiced ea
se. Damien patted his mare on the neck and swung up into the saddle. He hung his rucksack from the pommel and followed Lane out the open gate.
After a moment of silence Damien said, “Best six royals I ever spent. Tell me you didn’t love those beds and I’ve never eaten roast that tender.”
Lane nodded. “Maybe I was too quick to dismiss an occasional bit of luxury. The beds were a delight.”
“Ha! Thank you very much. I guarantee we both would have ended up with food poisoning if we ate at the other place.”
They rode through the slowly awakening town, eager to finish their journey. According to Lane’s map they’d reach Baron Kannon’s castle late tomorrow, barring any unforeseen adventures. Damien hoped she could convince the barons to do their duty. Though he had no qualms about killing, he preferred to avoid it when possible.
They came to a stop a hundred yards from the south gate. Nine rough men in leathers stood blocking their way. All of them carried a weapon of some sort, with axes, swords with chipped blades, and heavy cudgels making up the bulk. In the center, a little ahead of the rest, Bonzo stood with his arms crossed across his massive chest. He looked none the worse for last night’s pounding. He’d found an ax as long as he was tall with a massive, double-bitted head that probably weighed thirty pounds. A pair of town guards stood by the closed gates leaning on their spears. It didn’t look like they planned to offer any assistance.
Damien turned to Lane. “Do you want me to handle this or do you want to try and negotiate?”
Lane frowned. “Part of being a good negotiator is knowing when negotiation is a waste of time. Could you please keep it subtle? No golden dragons or smoking craters.”
“Come on, how did you know I was going to use a golden dragon?”
A hint of a smile cracked her stony face. “This is serious.”
Damien dug his thin leather gloves out of his rucksack and pulled them on. “No it isn’t. I’ve been in a few serious situations. This is a nuisance at worst.”
