The mul bristled.
“All right, gentlemen, we’re here and just in time too.”
The sun hung like a bloody wound above, staining the tortured sky an unhealthy red. Sunset brought out all the nasty folk, and Melech wanted to get his last stop done and over with so he could go back to the Rat’s Nest, Torston’s winesink, where Melech could get on with seducing young Poxy.
Melech turned to Kep. “I want you to give the shop a quick look. Let me know if anyone’s around. Other than Finster. You two,” he said, pointing at the muls, “stay here.”
Kep nodded and scampered toward the shop. He slowed when he reached the corner and slid into the ally like a shadow.
Melech pulled his bone knife and used it to pick dirt from under his nails. Ugly whistled. Uglier worked on his nostril.
Kep reappeared at the corner a few moments later. He grinned. He beckoned them to follow with a big, swooping motion.
“Good grief,” Melech muttered. When he reached the halfling, he added, “Subtle? Wait here and let us know if anyone comes snooping.”
“Now we go,” he told the brutes, “before we have company.”
Melech marched down the alley, doing his very best to ignore the shadows and filth. The two toughs flanking him gave him courage. Melech kicked in the door. The whole building shuddered. The shop’s interior was a mess of sagging shelves, tables, and displays loaded with bones, bundles of dried herbs, bottles whose contents ranged from multicolored fluids to embalmed organs. Knives, sparkling orbs, maps, scrolls, and more offered windows into an occult world. It was an appalling mess. Melech was certain if the place had anything valuable at all, Finster had lost it somewhere in the room’s mess.
“Finster!” he shouted. “Time to pay up!”
No answer.
“Ugly. Break something.” Ugly shattered a glass. A foul odor filled the room.
“Not nice,” said a new voice, a familiar voice. It came slithering out from behind a shelf blocking the view to the back room.
“Aw, shit,” said Melech.
The muls raised their clubs.
A robed human man in his middle years in black templar robes stepped out from behind the shelf.
“Korvak,” spit Melech. He retreated a bit.
“Heh. Just one of him and three of us,” said Uglier. The muls stepped forward. They brandished their weapons.
Korvak sighed. A black rod slid out from his sleeve and into the palm of his hand. He snapped it up and whispered a word painful to Melech’s ears. Black rays leaped from the rod’s obsidian tip and struck the muls at the same time. They fell to the floor, writhing.
Melech raised his hands. “Korvak! Good to see you. What’s it been?”
Korvak stepped over the muls and closed in until he stood nose to nose with Melech. The templar placed the rod’s tip right under Melech’s chin.
Korvak had the look of a nobleman. For one, he was clean and didn’t reek of sweat. He also had a straight nose, tanned skin, and gray eyes flecked with purple. His black cotton robe almost hid a fit body, uncommon for those in the templar business. “Melech,” he said.
They had crossed paths a few times before, each time with Melech wriggling out of his grasp and avoiding a lengthy stint in the iron mines for his less-than-legal indiscretions. Melech’s run-ins with the man required every ounce of cunning and luck to escape. As much as Melech hated the templar, he respected him.
“I figured you’d be out sacrificing children or making a bid for the throne now Kalak’s dead,” said Melech.
Korvak raised Melech’s chin with the rod.
“Er,” he said, using the finger he loved the least to push the rod away from his face. “Don’t you remember? We’re old friends.”
Korvak held the rod for a moment longer then lowered it. He stepped back and looked Melech up and down. “You look good. Healthy. The uprising treated you well, it seems.”
“Have you fallen on bad times, Korvak? It’s not like you to walk the streets like a common watchman.”
Korvak snarled and took Melech’s arm. He patted him down, finding all the knives and daggers Melech kept on his person. Each time, he dropped the discovered blade on the floor.
“Hey now, careful,” quipped Melech.
“Your mouth will be the death of you but not today,” said Korvak. He let Melech go. Korvak’s eyes gleamed.
Melech stammered then withered beneath the templar’s gaze. “So? What do you want?”
Korvak watched the muls squirm on the floor, senseless to the conversation just a few feet away. “I’ve spent the whole day looking for you,” he said.
“I’m honored,” said Melech. “You could have found me at the Nest. Why here? And, again, for what?”
“Two lizards, one stone,” said Korvak. “I teach Finster about what it means to sell illegal merchandise while also giving us a little privacy to have this conversation.”
Melech arched an eyebrow.
Korvak continued, “You have a knack for hearing things, Melech. I’d like you to be my eyes and ears.”
Melech straightened his tunic. “Oh. I see. Business. Well, I should tell you I’m already employed. It’s against my personal code to conduct other business while working.”
“You’re testing my patience, thief.” Korvak slipped his hand into his tunic and produced an iron disk, as big as Melech’s palm. Iron was so rare, a coin of the size Korvak produced could keep Melech comfortable for two lifetimes. “You want this? I see you do. If you’re good and you help me, this and more like it will be yours. If not, we’re done. Think quick now.”
Iron. Couldn’t hurt to hear what the templar wanted. Might turn another coin or two in the end. Furthermore, “done” could mean many things to a templar. Melech swallowed and nodded.
Korvak grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the back of the shop. The muls groaned.
The back room was dirtier than the front. Finster lay on the floor.
“This is serious. And I don’t trust you. You have connections, though, connections I need. So you’re going to listen. And then you’re going to do as I say. Accepting this coin doesn’t mean you’re just working for me; you’re working for Tyr.”
“A bit dramatic,” said Melech. Before Korvak could answer, Melech added, “but, yeah, sure, whatever you say.”
“There is unrest in the merchant houses. One house particular. Vordon. Do you know it?” Korvak asked.
“Sure. Iron. Slaves. Powerful. Personal armies. Connected. Or at least they were.”
Korvak paused. Melech could sense the doubt in the other man. The templar shook his head and pushed on. “You’re right. About it all. But they’ve fallen far.”
“Well,” said Melech, “their guards seem to be everywhere, so they must be making up their shortfalls somehow. King’s coffers perhaps?”
“Yes and no. Thaxos Vordon did Tithian a favor by lending him his troops, but everyone knew it was just a short-term arrangement. A bit of help to ease the transition to the new government.”
“All this is interesting and all. You seem to have all the facts already, though. What do you need me for?”
Korvak snarled, “I’m getting to that. You need to know some things first so you can ask the right questions. In case you haven’t heard, Tyr and Urik are headed toward war. The army of Tyr is due to march in twelve days. Vordon has offered up his two thousand soldiers to go along with them.”
“Generous.”
“It’s too generous. Vordon’s holdings are unprotected with his armies marching. And as a merchant house, he’s untouchable—remember, merchants aren’t supposed to take sides. Even if Urik swept through and took the city by force, Vordon and his house would keep going. Probably. Though if King Hamanu found out Vordon fought for Tyr, Vordon would be ruined.”
“So it doesn’t make sense for Vordon to have such a keen interest in making sure Tyr wins,” said Melech.
“Correct,” said Korvak.
Melech stepped away fr
om the templar. “So? What do you want me to do? And why should I do it?”
“You like your freedom, I presume? You think you’ll be free once Urik knocks down our front door? If you’d like to keep it, you’ll do your best to help me. As for what I want you to do, well, I want you to do what you do best. I want you to look around. Listen. Learn all you can about Thaxos Vordon and what he’s into. And as for the why. Because you owe me.”
“Owe you what?”
“For all the times I let you go.”
“Let me go!” Melech laughed. “Fine. It’ll cost you far more than an iron coin. Add a dozen and I’ll be your spy.”
“Six,” said Korvak.
“Nine.”
“Six.”
“Fine.”
“Also,” said Korvak, “this arrangement is between the two of us. Don’t breathe a word of this to Torston or anyone else in the Rat’s Nest. Understood?”
“What about them?” Melech said, cocking his thumb at the muls.
“They haven’t heard anything we’ve said.”
Melech frowned.
“I’m serious, Melech. You would be better served hitching your cart to another kank,” said Korvak. “Torston is a dangerous, self-interested man. Remember, just do what you do best. Watch and listen. If you see or hear anything out of the ordinary, let me know at once.” Korvak rubbed his hands together.
“Torston is going to be a problem,” Melech said. “He has eyes everywhere.”
Korvak shrugged. “You are a clever and resourceful young man. I have every confidence you’ll find a way to keep our secret.”
“He’ll kill me if he finds out I’m working for you,” said Melech.
“I’ll kill you if he finds out,” replied the templar.
“Great. Fine. I’ll take those nine coins, then,” said Melech, hand extended.
Korvak placed six tokens in Melech palm and closed his hand around Melech’s. The templar tightened his grip until the coins’ hexagonal edges bit into Melech’s palm.
Korvak whispered something profane, beyond Melech’s understanding. Inky black threads formed in the air around Melech’s hand and laced his skin before fading. Melech felt coldness spreading through his gut, a chill that grew into sharp pain. Melech wrenched his hand free. The coins slipped from his hand, but he caught them before they hit the floor.
The templar smiled. “You are mine now, Melech. Betray me at your peril. Good day and remember: watch and listen.” Korvak vanished into a patch of darkness, leaving a faint pain in Melech’s stomach and hand to suggest he was ever there at all.
Pain greeted Loren when he woke. He struggled to breathe in the fetid air. Groans, cries, and whimpers sounded all around him. He could not see, could not open his eyes. He tried to raise his arm.
“Stop struggling.”
Loren fought to rise. Firm hands pushed him down. He pushed them aside and sat up. His strength returning, he scraped away whatever was keeping his eyes shut. A moment later he blinked away the blindness.
He was on a table. Sunlight cut through the gloom from gaps in the ceiling. A few flies roamed the air, crawling on the bodies lying on the tables filling the room. Some twitched. Others lay still. Pale-faced slaves, linen tabards black from their work, moved between them, offering water and what comforts they could.
“Lie back down, fool.” The voice belonged to a fat dwarf in a simple linen tabard. The dwarf held a bloody cloth in one hand and a bone-sewing needle in the other. “I’m trying to stitch you up.”
Loren noted the three wavy lines on the dwarf’s skull. Loren had been in the infirmary enough times to recognize the markings of an elemental priest, and he guessed his attendant served the earth spirits by the brand on his head. Loren knew little of their kind, though he knew enough to respect them and the power they could call.
“Who are you?” he asked. He remembered going into the arena, fighting, and killing but little else.
“The one who saved your life.”
“What happened?” Loren’s voice was a croak. He coughed.
“You won,” said the dwarf, who, still holding the cloth, used it to push Loren onto his back. “I’ve already got the back, but I’ll be damned if I’ll do it again. So quit wiggling, boy, or you’ll pop the stitches.”
“So I’m free, then,” muttered Loren.
“Oh, yes, you’re free. Free to pay yer debts.” The dwarf pushed the needle through the skin on Loren’s flesh, drawing the cord through and tightening the cut left by the kirre across his chest.
“Debts?” Loren opened his eyes.
“You don’t think this is free, do you?” said the dwarf.
Loren had no money. Loren owned nothing—not even a sword, at least not anymore. That was how they would get him to fight again, to pay his debts.
Just as Loren was about to tell the priest he didn’t have any coin, he remembered his friend. “Where’s Aeris?” They had been through so much together, it would be a cruel twist to find his friend dead.
“Who?” The dwarf leaned forward to bite the cord off.
Loren grunted. The dwarf straightened. “The half-elf. He fought at my side.”
“Oh, him. He lives. Lost some blood. The spirits saw fit to draw him from the brink. Weak as a fat halfling. He’ll pull through, I imagine.” The stitching done, the dwarf scrubbed the skin around with sand.
Loren gritted his teeth. The dwarf was anything but gentle.
As Loren tried to come up with a way to pay the dwarf, he noticed a slender man enter the infirmary. He was of middling height, thin, and dressed in a black robe with white dragonflies embroidered on the sleeves. He took a slave by the arm. They exchanged a few words, then the man looked at Loren and walked his way.
“How is our glorious champion?” asked the man when he reached Loren’s table.
“He will live,” said the dwarf. He looked at Loren, expectation of coin plain on his blocky face.
“I—”
“Allow me, my friend,” said the newcomer. He placed a small leather pouch in the dwarf’s hand. “This should cover your time and effort, I believe.”
The dwarf nodded, stood, and picked up his things. A moment later, he was working on someone else.
“Uh, thanks,” said Loren.
“No trouble. Our master would hate to see a fine specimen such as you go to waste after such an exciting match.”
“Master? Wait. What do you mean by ‘our’?”
“Master Shom, of course.” The man gestured at the dragonflies. “Master Shom has taken an interest in you and your career. He would like to meet you.”
“Career?” Loren laughed. The room spun around him. “I’m done fighting, so I guess I have no career. Thanks for paying the priest, but I think I’ll pass on the meeting.”
The man’s bearing changed. He was still smiling, but his eyes were cold. “I am afraid I must insist. Master Shom is an important man, and his generosity saved your life. You owe him a debt, a debt you must pay.”
Loren slid off the table. He was weak, but he wasn’t about to be pushed around by a messenger.
As if sensing Loren’s implicit threat, the servant added, “I know my master would hate to see any harm befall your friend Aeris. I understand it was a close thing.”
“Look, I won my freedom. I did my part. The slave collar is gone.”
The messenger sneered, “Right. Go on thinking like that, and you’ll be a slave again. We all have masters, free or not. Sometimes we get to choose them, but people like us? We get what fate hands us. Now come. Not everyone gets to see Master Shom.”
Loren took a step forward and would have fallen had he not caught himself on the table. When his vision cleared, he saw Aeris lying on a table, unconscious. Loren would not leave him there unprotected. “Fine. I’ll go. But I want to see Aeris first.”
The messenger cocked his head. “I assure you, no harm will come to him.”
“Just take me to him.”
The man shrugged then m
aneuvered around the tables, avoiding the grasping hands and ignoring the mewling cries of the injured.
Aeris lay on a blood-slicked table. He was gaunt, slight of frame, with pinched features and a face twisted into a sneer even while he slept. His auburn hair lay plastered to his pale brow, and his mouth hung open. Drool cut a path through the grime on his cheek and pooled on the table. Grimy bandages covered him from nipples to groin. Dark stains marked where the kirre’s claws had torn the flesh.
“He should be dead,” said Loren.
The messenger said nothing. Loren could feel his tension.
Loren leaned down and put a hand on the half-elf’s shoulder. Even his light touch brought a groan. “Aeris,” he said.
The half-elf stirred.
“Get up, man. We lived. Time to go.”
Aeris opened bleary eyes. “Let me die.”
“Just a few cuts. Nothing to cry about. Now get up. Important people are waiting.”
Aeris coughed, blood flecking his lips. “You’ll have to give them my regrets. I think I’ll just stay here if it’s all the same to you.”
Shom’s man said, “We mustn’t keep Master Shom waiting, warrior. Leave him. He’ll still be here.” He stepped toward the door.
“Aeris, now listen. I’ll be back for you soon. Then we’ll get the hell out of here and find some doxies and swill to pass the time. See you soon.”
The messenger led Loren through a maze of passages and chambers, up several staircases, and out from the arena compound. No one stopped them, and for the first time Loren realized he could no longer feel the bone collar he had worn around his neck for so long. He was free, but he was still leaping to a master’s call, still going where others wanted him to go. The meeting with Shom would be his last. Once he figured out what Shom wanted, he and Aeris would leave Nibenay behind forever. Loren had heard Tyr was free. It would be nice to go home.
They emerged from the complex near the arena gate. The portal stood in the middle of the western wall, where beggars congregated in the shadows to escape the afternoon sun. Hungry eyes and drawn faces watched the gladiator and his guide as they passed, following them until they reached the twisting streets and cluttered buildings making up the city’s Western District.
Death Mark Page 7
