“Forget about Torston for now,” said Korvak. He glanced at the curtain hanging across the door. Beyond it was Finster, who had become very useful since their first meeting. Not wishing to find himself unconscious or dead, the apothecary had not objected to their meeting at his shop. The more the old man knew, the more dangerous everything would become. The old man would talk. Korvak would have to deal with the apothecary at some point.
“Are we going to sit here all day?” Korvak snarled.
“Better than finding a knife in my damn ribs.” Melech rubbed his forehead and dropped his hands to his lap. He took a deep breath. “No. Fine. I haven’t been able to put it all together myself. It seems big. Too big. There was this meeting, see? The halfling, I think his name is Derlan Watari?”
“Yes,” said Korvak; he knew the halfling.
“Well, he called together this meeting. All these masked fellows dressed up in uniforms showed up at a courtyard where they met with this fellow. The halfling told them places to go in the city and to wait for something. Maybe a command?
“What was funny was these folks were all from minor houses. I met one fellow at the Inix. You know the place?”
Korvak nodded.
“He was from House Qual. My contacts there revealed Qual held Mira’s Halo. Mean anything to you?”
“A Vordon outpost if I’m not wrong,” said Korvak.
“Right.”
Korvak raised a hand. At least one minor house was operating from a Vordon outpost. Impossible. Vordon didn’t hand over its holdings. If the old man had handed over one, had he handed over others as well? If so, why bring them back to Tyr? The minor trading houses were connected to House Vordon. The old man’s creature had rounded them up after all and sent them hopping to obey his orders. Could it be the small houses were fronts? Maybe to hide something?
“This is bad,” said Korvak, almost forgetting Melech sat in front of him.
“You’re telling me. I feel like I’ve stuck my head in a kirre’s mouth,” said Melech. “What have you gotten me into?”
Korvak frowned. “You have the pieces, Melech. It should be clear. I suspect Thaxos Vordon has been building an army in secret and he’s brought them to Tyr.”
“What?”
Another sigh and Korvak continued. “Thaxos Vordon would never sacrifice his outposts to another house, even a minor one. Doing so would create a rival. It also shows weakness. Vordon wants to appear weak.”
“But why?”
“So no one suspects what he’s doing. I think these tiny, insignificant houses are all fronts. I don’t know for certain, but I think Vordon has been amassing soldiers in secret and hiding them in more remote holdings where their presence would not arouse suspicions. And until he was ready for them. The time, it appears, is now. All these small houses, along with Vordon’s own family members, have come back to Tyr.”
Melech scratched his head. “But didn’t Vordon just pledge his soldiers to the Crimson Legion?”
“Yes. Look at the men and women he sent. Soldiers who have spent the last year keeping the peace here. They’re not much more than constables now. They might have been unwavering in their loyalty to Vordon in the past, but now they have families, roots, homes. Sacrificing that to serve a merchant prince’s machinations is more than they signed on for. I believe Vordon has another army. He’s brought it to Tyr under all our noses.”
“Why?” said Melech.
“To steal Tyr’s throne, fool. He’s bringing these soldiers back to Tyr from his holdings outside and is positioning them around the city until he’s ready to attack. Once Tithian’s army engages Urik, it will be too late for the king to recall them. The city will be defenseless. All Vordon has to do is stroll into the Golden Tower, kill Tithian, and the city is his.” Korvak paused as another idea struck him. “He means to hand the city over to King Hamanu once Urik crushes Tyr’s army. I’m sure he believes Urik would let the old man rule in Hamanu’s name. Slavery would be legal. And Vordon already has the infrastructure he needs to mine iron and get it to Urik’s markets.”
Melech paled. “There’s no one to stop him. It’s going to happen, isn’t it?”
Korvak nodded.
“We’re in serious trouble,” said Melech, slumping in a chair. “Let me tell you, Korvak, I don’t want to be a slave again. Not at all.”
“Yes. Yes we are in trouble. There are worse things than slavery, my friend. But you have something else for me?”
Melech struggled for a moment then blurted out his encounter with Kep.
Korvak asked, “Did you kill him?”
“No! What is it with you people and killing?”
“It would have saved you a lot of grief. Can you trust him?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know. Probably not. Kep’s in tight with Torston. I spun a story. Even if he bought it, I’m sure he’ll mention it to the boss. Kep’s got a thing against the Watari fellow. Hates him. I bet he just walks right up to Torston and asks permission to kill him. Torston will want to know what he’s talking about. Kep will tell him everything. Then I’m dead.”
“Settle down, Melech.”
“Settle down? Some young purse snatcher, still damp with his mother’s milk, just came up to me all smiles not an hour past. He told me Torston wants a meeting. What if he knows? Who am I kidding? He knows. I’m dead.” His leg jumped again.
“Do you want protection?” Korvak smirked.
For a full minute, Melech considered the offer. They both knew Korvak’s protection would not amount to much. In fact, such protection would confirm Torston’s suspicions, landing Melech in even worse trouble. Melech shook his head.
“We’re done. Thanks, Melech. You’ve done … the crown … a great service.”
Melech made a rude gesture and stood up. “Thanks for nothing, Korvak. Do me a favor and forget you know me.”
As Melech ducked through the curtain, Korvak leaned back in his chair. The thief was right. He would be dead before sunset. Torston was as dangerous to his servants as Kalak had been to the templars. Korvak regretted sacrificing Melech in such a way. He had been useful and quite good at his job. But Melech was also a criminal. If Torston did not kill him, a rope around his neck one day would. It was not Korvak’s fault Melech chose the life he did.
He set aside Melech and the thief’s fate to consider his more important troubles. The situation was far worse than he had believed. He knew Thaxos Vordon was ruthless, but he never expected ambitions such as those suggested by Melech’s report.
Did it matter who sat on Tyr’s throne? Would Thaxos Vordon be any worse than Tithian? Perhaps not. However, King Hamanu would be a different master. Urik’s sorcerer-king would drain Tyr, shatter its walls, and enslave its people. Hamanu did not have to do that, but the freedom in Tyr set a bad precedent for the other city-states. If rumors coming out from Raam were true, other uprisings could follow, and uprisings endangered the sorcerer-kings’ hold over the civilized lands. Things would go back to the way they were when Kalak was king but worse, far worse.
Then again, he could flee. Where would he go? What city would take him? Him, a templar to a dead king? Urik would never have him. Raam was too unstable. The Moon Priests in Draj would carve his heart from his chest before he set foot in the city. The other cities had intrigues of their own. There was nowhere to run, no haven he could claim. Even shedding his cassock would be no shield. If he pretended he was a commoner, Urik’s soldiers would kill or enslave him anyway. No. He would see the conspiracy to its end, and if there was a way to stop Vordon, he’d find it or die trying.
He could not afford to stay any longer. He had his own rounds to make. He pulled aside the curtain and gave a warning glance to the old man. The man’s cringing pleased him. Korvak walked out onto the streets. He ignored the fearful stares his robes evoked in the people he passed. Kalak may be dead and gone, but the templar’s garb still evoked some respect.
As he walked, he considered what he had learned so far. The pieces
fit together for the most part, except one. Why did Thaxos Vordon commit his soldiers to the Crimson Legion? He spun out a possible reason for Melech’s benefit, yet it didn’t sit right in his mind. Even if those soldiers had grown soft, grown connected to the city, they would still follow orders if doing so would make the city more secure.
Could it be Vordon wanted to save the city, to protect it from conquest by a foreign king? Maybe. It would explain his move to lend soldiers to the legion. If Vordon wanted the throne, he would need to stall Urik long enough before they came knocking on the city’s doors. Throwing more soldiers into the enemy’s teeth was a good way to do that. At the same time, it might give the legion a chance at victory. Korvak knew there was no love lost between Rikus and Tithian. It wasn’t clear how the ex-gladiator would react if there was a new king on the throne while he was away.
Then there was the matter of Thaxos Vordon himself. He had never shown much concern for the citizens, and he wasn’t charitable. His house had also been one of the premier slave traders in the Seven Cities, so there were plenty of former slaves who owed their time of servitude to the merchant prince. Vordon would not get help from the lower classes. But if he made a show of fighting for the city and demonstrated a change of heart, even if it was just a sham, he might just be able to hold the throne long enough to secure it for good.
More than anything, sending his troops away was a way to eliminate Vordon’s enemies. Not everyone in the merchant house would support such a power grab. Vordon abided by the same merchants’ code binding all the great houses. The code forbade them from violating the laws of the city in which they resided and commanded them to accommodate the sorcerer-kings lest the tyrants withdraw their favor. The declaration implied, in a vague sense, a connection between a city’s laws and the sorcerer-king, as if the reason for not violating a city’s laws was to avoid offending its liege. Since Tyr lacked a sorcerer-king, one could posit that violating Tyr’s law would have no consequences as set out by the code. It was a muddy interpretation, and there were holes all through it, but the right bribes could cement them over enough for rivals to look the other way.
Even if Vordon killed Tithian, the merchant prince would need support from the nobles. Then Korvak remembered the murders from a few weeks back. The victims had all been nobles, all outspoken opponents of King Tithian. Korvak had thought Tithian was just removing them from his path. Had Thaxos Vordon approached the nobility first? If so, their deaths revealed much of what they thought about a merchant as king. They wouldn’t have it. The other nobles, however, thinking Tithian ordered the deaths, would back anyone who removed him. Korvak scratched his chin.
A gang of urchins scattered when Korvak turned down a side street. A mutilated corpse lay on the street, the victim of the children’s attention. Korvak kept walking.
Korvak imagined Vordon’s first move on gaining the throne. He could end the war at once by giving Urik what it wanted: iron. Urik didn’t want Tyr’s troubles. So long as the city paid in metal, even if doing so broke the city, the enemy would withdraw. Given time and strong leadership, Tyr would recover. And one day it might be stronger than it was before.
The entire affair seemed too convoluted, too tangled and risky for even one with Vordon’s ambitions. Yet the information Melech uncovered suggested otherwise. Would Vordon destroy Tyr to save his house? Korvak knew the stories. There was little the merchant would not do in order to advance his own station. In that way, he and Korvak were similar. The difference was Korvak never took pleasure from using people.
Korvak felt he had the truth. What he lacked was evidence. He needed proof he could take to King Tithian, and he needed it soon.
Korvak’s opinion about the new king had not changed, but he needed the man. Tyr needed a strong leader to help them through the difficult times ahead, and while Korvak would rather have had Kalak, even as unhinged as he was, on the throne, Tithian was what he had to work with. Perhaps if he could expose the full plot, Tithian might even reward his efforts.
Thinking about his next step, House Qual came to mind. Perhaps he should pay them a visit.
Even a minor merchant house could be dangerous. One operating a front for House Vordon would be even more dangerous. Korvak drifted through Shadow Square to recruit muscle for his expedition. Most mercenaries rebuffed him; people still hated the templars, and not even silver could change their minds. Korvak found two gith warriors, ex-gladiators by the brands on their ugly faces. He was reluctant to hire them, though they looked capable enough. Common wisdom said never trust a gith. They were a scavenging people. They built no cities, made no contributions to civilization. They survived by raid and plunder, enslaving other peoples to labor in their poisonous tunnels. The two he hired, Pokcha and Mantla, were willing and, unlike other gith Korvak had met, were spoiling for a fight.
They found House Qual’s emporium closed on the Street of Plenty, a few blocks away from Iron Square. The Qual emporium blended in with the other buildings along the street, long and low to the ground. Little ornamentation set the brick building apart from the other structures. A brown banner with a red ring in the center identified the house’s ownership. From across the street, Korvak studied the structure. He noted a stout, wooden door in the front. Short and wide windows pierced the wall near the roof. They were narrow, and not even a halfling could fit through those openings.
They waited a quarter hour. The gith grew impatient. They drew and sheathed their wooden blades. They chattered in a clicking tongue. Korvak ignored them. He watched. There was no movement, no activity at all. There should be something. It was midafternoon on a trading day. The people coming and going down the street testified to that fact.
His curiosity won against his better judgment. He walked across the street. The guards trailed him. Korvak reached the front door and tested it—locked. The guards could have smashed in the door, but Korvak had no authority to do so, and a show of magic would be too obvious. There would, however, be a loading dock in the back. It might be locked too. Korvak could work his magic without attracting too much attention.
He motioned for the gith to follow him, and they moved through the gap between the Qual warehouse and an abandoned one that once belonged to House Ianto, a minor house now extinct thanks to the closed mines.
They exited onto a wide avenue, large enough to accommodate the bigger wagons and beasts used for desert crossings. Each warehouse had loading docks with double doors. Three stone steps led up to a smaller door adjacent to the dock gate.
There wasn’t much activity at the Qual warehouse. Korvak saw a kank-drawn wagon rolling away and a knot of mul laborers dicing in the shade.
The gith drew weapons. Their beady black eyes flicked back and forth. The mercenaries carried smooth blades made from lacquered wood. They were heavy and more durable than obsidian. In the right hands, a wooden weapon could hack off a limb or a head, and based on the gith’s postures, they were capable warriors.
Korvak gestured for one of the gith to open the smaller door. The gith tugged on the handle; the door rattled but did not open. On his own, he crossed the narrow ledge and checked the double doors. They, too, were locked.
The muls thirty yards away had stopped playing and turned to watch Korvak and his warriors. He could feel their suspicion, but Korvak did not expect them to interfere.
Locking the warehouse up made no sense. Caravans still came and went from the city, even under war’s shadow.
“Move,” he told the gith.
The gray-skinned humanoid ambled out of the way.
Korvak fished out a pouch from inside his shirt for a pouch that held the reagents necessary to perform a ritual. He dipped his finger inside and used it to paint a complex diagram on the door that would allow him to bypass whatever blocked his entry, knowing full well that the evidence of his ritual would fade upon completion.
A gith grunted.
Korvak saw the five muls had begun walking toward them. Korvak liked his odds.
; “You can’t go in there,” said the obvious leader, a wall of muscle and scars.
Korvak smiled. “King’s business. Go back to your game.” The gith raised their blades.
The muls were unimpressed or deaf. One cracked his knuckles. “What are you doing?” asked the leader.
“Friend, you have seconds. Go about your business. You don’t want the king’s business to involve you.”
“Screw you, templar!” said the mul, and he threw himself at Korvak, leading with his fist.
Korvak stepped aside and used his rod to touch the mul. The mul screamed. His agony gave the gith the chance they needed to attack.
Pokcha jumped forward. He slashed at the lead mul’s face. Teeth and blood showered the ground. The second gith brought his blade down as if it were an axe and folded in the mul’s head down to the chin.
The mul fell and didn’t move. His fellows seemed ready to fight, yet Korvak’s glance changed their minds. They scurried away. Korvak cast a spell to burn away the mul’s body and was surprised to discover the mul wasn’t dead yet and his own life force proved sufficient to power the spell that would end his life. Acidic gel appeared all over the dying man’s skin, burning down through flesh and bone until a foul-smelling slick remained.
Korvak ignored the horrified expressions on the gith’s faces and turned back to the diagram he had just drawn. He incanted mystic words. He drew life force from his environment, causing the ground to blacken around the door. The sigils flared with eldritch fire. After a few moments, a loud thump signaled that whatever bar was holding the door shut had dropped to the ground.
Korvak gestured for the gith to lead the way. They scrambled forward, each eager to please. Korvak knew they would serve him without question. One spell was often all it took to bring people around to his way of thinking.
Mantla entered a large open room. Korvak had expected to find at least some goods there. There were none. Bunks and cots filled the entire space, enough to house about one hundred soldiers. There was no one around. Bedding covered the feather mattresses, tables held trenchers littered with bones next to cups holding broy. Whoever had been there had left in a hurry. The room confirmed Korvak’s suspicions. The lesser houses hosted Thaxos’s second army, and he would use them to take the city.
Death Mark Page 17
