Using the last bit of energy, he pushed off the deck and half slid down the stairs leading to the crew quarters. The drunken mate stumbled closer. Skuld wasn’t going to make it. He moved faster, until he felt the hardness of a door at his back. His heart fell. The only thing he could pray for was that this was to a storeroom. Terror and relief clashed within him. Footsteps thumped closer. Skuld reached behind, fumbled with the knob. The door swung open, surprisingly quiet for such an old ship.
Skuld ducked inside and shut the door. Darkness shrouded everything. He listened for the sound breathing. His heart pounded, threatening to give him away. Nothing happened. The deckhand stumbled back to the crew quarters and collapsed on his hammock. Skuld was safe for now. Impossibly dark, he felt his way through the room. Burlap sacks and barrels filled the floor. Skuld allowed a deep breath. He had stumbled into one of the ship’s storerooms. Exhausted, he rearranged a few stacks of rice and lay down to sleep. The easy part was over.
SEVEN
Bahr strolled through the mostly empty streets of Chadra with much on his mind, forgetting the sell swords at his side. Events were moving too fast to get a good feeling for what was happening. He felt like he was being swept away in a roiling sea without a sail or oars. The old sailor knew better than to give in to these types of thoughts. He just couldn’t help it. Death stalked the land openly. Ever hungry, the end of all things hungered for fresh souls. He knew it. Bahr had made the mistake of cheating death more than once and now his time was up. The reaper had come.
His thoughts turned towards tomorrow. Nothing about Badron’s scheme made sense. The king had no love for his daughter, making it almost foolish to risk so many for her. Bahr began to think that the king did want a war. If that were true, whatever country caught in Badron’s sights was already doomed. He’d seen the Wolfsreik unleashed before. The result still haunted his dreams. The wolf soldiers of Delranan struck hard and fierce, not stopping until the enemy was thoroughly destroyed.
Perhaps that was the reason he felt compelled to get off the boat and join the quest to bring Maleela back before leaving port. He felt guilty for lying to his friends, but they were both capable and professional men. Coll and Theed could take care of themselves. He hoped they did as much to take care of him. Otherwise… Bahr let the thought fade.
His mind shifted to enigmatic thoughts of Anienam Keiss. The old sorcerer selectively avoided answering his questions while sparking more. In fact, Bahr recognized the entire conversation had been manipulated at his expense. He smiled. Caught like a bear in a trap. He knew, as did Anienam, that this quest had been chosen for him. And who was he to ignore destiny?
“Why did you drag us to this part of town?” Dorl asked in a harsh whisper.
Bahr looked over his shoulder. As good as they were he sometimes wished they were both mute.
“Because I don’t trust Badron or Harnin. That one-eyed goat is pulling together the men he wants. I am simply doing the same.”
Dorl didn’t care for the answer. “Basically what you are saying is that we aren’t good enough to keep you alive?’
The Sea Wolf was about to respond when Nothol cut him off.
“He’s telling us he’s not going to stay on the boat. Aren’t you, Bahr?”
He waved it off. “We can worry about this later. Right now I need to find an old friend.”
Dorl went along. “What is this friend going to be able to do for us?”
“Hopefully keep you two away from me so I can regain some measure of my sanity.”
“We don’t have to be here,” Dorl cautioned. “Say the word and Nothol and I will be on our way to the nearest tavern.”
Bahr’s shoulders slumped in mock defeat. “No. That’s not what I meant. You two have your special talents, and so does this man. We’re going to need all of the help before this comes to a head.”
“Do we know him?” Nothol asked.
Bahr half smiled. “I’m sure you’ve heard the name.”
“Are you going to tell us or do we spend the night guessing?”
Dorl knew getting Bahr mad was not a desirable outcome, but he had lost his patience.
“Very well. His name is Boen,” Bahr said evenly, despite his rising anger.
Nothol and Dorl stopped in their tracks.
“Boen? The Gaimosian?” Nothol asked with disbelief.
“The mercenary?” Dorl added.
“I prefer to think of him as my friend.”
The edge in his voice was sufficient to back them down.
“Bahr, Gaimosians are almost as mythical as the Pell Darga. They might exist, but no one ever sees one. Why would one be hiding here in Chadra?” Nothol pressed.
“Is your life perfect? Boen’s just fallen on hard times.”
They rounded a corner in front of an old, rundown two-story building. A half-rusted sign proclaimed it to be the “Golden Lady.” Dorl somehow doubted any lady, golden or otherwise, had been inside for a long, long time. The Lady was in one of the worst parts of town, the part where men went when they didn’t want to attract attention. It was also the kind of place where a man’s enemies came to look for him. Even Badron’s night watch refused to come down this far after sunset. Bahr caught the subtle movement off in the shadows. He waved his companions back into the dark and watched. Four men in dark clothes were climbing up a trellis to the second floor.
“Looks like we’re not the only ones looking for your friend,” Dorl whispered and carefully unsheathed his sword.
The four assassins eased noiselessly through the partially open window at the end of the hall. Trained professionals, they’d come for the Gaimosian’s head. Their employer was very specific in his request. The Gaimosian must die. He owed too much money to just suffer a broken bone or two. Only his head in a burlap sack was enough to facilitate payment in full.
The leader waited for two to slip across to the opposite side of the hall. A small candle lamp gave off a faint, haunting light. He held up three fingers. The assassins tensed. They’d gone through the drill a hundred times. The leader dropped one finger. Loud snoring filtered from under the room door. He smiled inwardly. This was going to be easier than he had hoped.
His second finger dropped. Three assassins drew their daggers. The fourth knocked a smallish, handheld crossbow. The third finger fell. A heartbeat passed. The leader drew back and kicked the door open. The snoring stopped a breath before a blackened arrow thumped into the pillow on the bed. Three charged, leaving the crossbowman alone in the hall.
The leader followed his subordinates. He only managed a few steps when he suddenly pitched forward. His startled cry was drowned out by the slamming door. The other two turned in time to see a massive figure charging from the corner of the room, blackened sword waving menacingly.
“Thought you were going to sneak up on me did you?” Boen roared.
He attacked with speed and grace a man his size shouldn’t possess. A cross-body slash ripped open the first man from neck to groin. He died even before his bowels spilled onto the floor. The second managed to blow two blows before Boen beat through his guard. The Gaimosian swung his mighty broadsword clean through his would-be killer’s elbow, hacking the lower arm off. Limb and sword crashed down in a spray of hot blood.
Boen finished him in the next move. He punched his sword through the assassin’s heart. The blade broke through his spine. Cries of agony and the sounds of battle woke most of the occupants. Boen ignored the rising panic outside and squared on the final killer. The leader struggled to rise. Broken ribs burned in both sides. Dark blood lined the corners of his mouth. He managed a weak laugh before falling back down.
Boen dropped into a low guard. “Did I say something funny?”
Eyes narrowed, the assassin said, “Kill me all you wish. That won’t change anything. More will come. You cannot win this, Gaimosian.”
Boen smiled. It was the vision of death. “What makes you think you are the first to try?”
Realization set in. Boen
was unlike any other he’d been paid to hunt. His gaze shifted to both of his dead men. Comrades, brothers. Pools of cooling blood grew around the bodies. The air had a metallic taint. It was a smell he knew by heart. The assassin summoned what strength he had left and surged up to meet death with courage. Boen let him come. There was no hurry. He’d already won. The assassin lunged and was rewarded by being decapitated. Boen sidestepped to avoid the rope of blood stinging the air. Head and body hit the floor. The battle was over.
He was about to wipe the blood off his sword when he remembered the arrow that narrowly missed killing him. There was one more. He dropped into a natural stance and made ready to meet his last opponent. A muffled cry came from the hallway, followed by a heavy thump. Panting, the knight waited. Time had not been kind to him. He was old and felt it. The three dead men hadn’t been much of a challenge, but the fight had left him winded.
“Are you going to open the door or just stand in the damned hallway all night?” he growled. He was tired of the games.
“How about you put the sword down and open the door for me. I don’t want my head taken off,” replied a voice he thought he recognized.
Boen smiled. He remembered the voice and slowly pulled the door open. He caught a partial profile of Bahr standing cautiously off to the side. He also noticed the black clad body crumpled on the floor.
“I haven’t seen you in years, Bahr.” He reached out so they could clasp hands.
“Not since we hunted down those raiders up the coast,” Bahr jovially replied.
Boen lowered his sword. “Come on in. I hope you don’t mind the mess. The service only comes in once a week.”
Stepping over the carnage, Bahr said, “I don’t think you’re going to get your deposit back.”
“Sign of the times.” He propped up a chair that had been knocked over. “Have a seat.”
The two friends sat down and were silent for a while.
“I like what you did with the man in the hallway. He was going to be trouble for me. The bastard ruined my pillow.”
Bahr finally broke into smile. “Ahh, that. You’re getting old. He wasn’t that much trouble.”
“Aside from giving me a hand tonight what brings you here?” Boen’s eyes held a budding suspicion. The big man brushed his golden locks, shot through with gray, back from his face. Clean shaven, he had a scar on the corner of his right eye that ran down to his mouth. No one living knew how he got it. Despite being close to fifty, the Gaimosian was still heavily muscled and in fairly good fighting shape.
Bahr explained everything. Naturally he omitted his personal dealings with Badron. That wasn’t anyone’s business and irrelevant to the mission. The Gaimosian sat back and listened intently. Much of what the Sea Wolf said was common knowledge. Badron was a temperamental man capable of terrible deeds. Of course that didn’t matter. Gaimosians were a kingdom-less people. They made their way across Malweir doing as they pleased. Known as Vengeance Knights, they continually searched for a future. They neither forgave nor forgot but Delranan’s problems were their own. He cared little. What did matter were the needs of a friend.
Bahr settled back. His tale was finished and he knew he’d said enough to convince his friend to join him. He just wasn’t sure if Boen actually would.
“I need you on this one,” he added. The extra pressure never hurt.
Boen scraped some of the crusted blood from his chin. “How bloody are you expecting this to be?”
“Fairly. I have a hunch this isn’t going to end when we bring Maleela back. Badron wants this war too bad to stop there.”
“What he doesn’t want are loose ends. How can we be sure he’s not going to double cross us the moment we succeed?”
Bahr smiled. “It wouldn’t be much of an adventure if everything was guaranteed. I already have two men who can help if need be.”
“Who are they?”
He almost laughed at the similarity between his friends. Everyone wanted to know who the other guy was. “A couple of local sell swords, Nothol Coll and Dorl Theed.”
“Good men,” Boen approved. “All right, I’m in.”
They shook on it and said their goodbyes. Bahr walked away feeling much better than when he had arrived. His chances were improving.
“So, is he coming or not?” Dorl asked once the Sea Wolf returned to them.
He was still incensed at being left outside. Common sense said let the younger men take care of the assassins. What the sell sword couldn’t know was that Bahr felt the need to do that just to prove that he still had it before this expedition got underway. He had to know he was still sharp enough to deal with the threats when they arose.
The Sea Wolf barely nodded. “He’ll be there. This is getting better.”
“If you say so,” Dorl shrugged. “Nothol and me could have handled it just fine.”
“I know.”
The sell swords were confused by the answer. Neither had anything relevant to say so they simply fell in line behind Bahr and went back to his estate. Dawn was coming fast and they all needed a little sleep before leaving port. Bahr felt satisfied for the first time in nearly a season. Once again the Dragon’s Bane would set forth on a quest. He struggled to keep from smiling.
EIGHT
“We will be moving out for the docks shortly, sire.” Harnin watched for any sign of hesitation or weakness.
The one-eyed captain was dressed in his old war garb. The dents had been beaten out, the tarnish replaced with a mild shine. His boots were new as were his trousers and tunic. Only the sword strapped to his hip was ornamental. Everything else had already been tested in combat.
Badron set down the book he’d been reading. The royal library was a far cry from the fabled archives of Ipn Shal, but it sufficed for Delranan. The only books Badron was interested in were ones concerning the Pell Darga and his hated nemesis in Rogscroft. A touch of moonlight twinkled off the candelabra. The glow made him look intense, much more so than he was. Both understood the Pell were just a front, an excuse to wage a bigger war.
“How many men did you manage to put together?” Badron asked.
“Twenty.”
“How many are loyal to Harnin One Eye and the crown?”
Harnin nervously cleared his throat. “They are loyal enough to king and kingdom.”
The king knew better. “For a price, no doubt,” he snorted.
“Such is the way of mercenaries these days. The honor of the past is a lost art.”
“Mercenaries loyal to a king? Why does that worry men, Harnin?”
“My lord, these are all men we have been keeping an eye on. They are the dangerous ones that we won’t miss once they are dealt with.”
Badron thought his most trusted advisor too pensive for such a simple report. Thoughts of betrayal entertained him. Badron had asked himself the same question time and again since the night of the attack. Was Harnin plotting against him? If so, the man was playing it close to the chest, until the proper time.
“All is going according to plan then,” he finally said. “Is Bahr still agreeing to help his kingdom?”
The natural mistrust between king and captain was a bitter feud and only they knew why. No one in Delranan could have guessed the intimate secret they shared.
“He is, though I doubt his reasons mirror yours.”
“Bahr is a complicated man, certainly capable of betrayal. We must keep a close watch on him.”
Badron asked, “What has he done to reinforce this thought?”
“Recruited several men on his own. I don’t think he trusts us.”
An eyebrow peaked. “And?”
“They are not known to me, for the most part. One is rumored to be Gaimosian. My spies have followed Bahr since I met him on the pier but he has vanished more than once. It is entirely possible he is taking precautions.”
A Gaimosian. That was news indeed. Badron was under the impression their bloodlines were extinct. Having one inside his borders sat ill with him. They had
the nasty tendency to make things more dangerous than they should be. Bloodthirsty savages, Badron frowned.
“This Gaimosian is confirmed to be leaving with Bahr?” he asked. He tried to keep the worry from his voice. Where one Vengeance Knight went so went others.
“Yes. He was seen boarding the Dragon’s Bane.”
The king nodded if ever so slightly. “Is there anything else I need to be concerned about? I want to get this over with.”
“Not so much. There was a strange old man seen heading to Bahr’s estate two nights ago. We’ve seen no sign of him since. Strange, but of no concern to this quest.”
“Where is he?” Badron leaned forward, the answer unacceptable.
“Disappeared. We couldn’t track him. He might have been a distant relative we don’t know of or a friend come calling.” Harnin’s voice was shaky. He didn’t enjoy sounding like a fool, especially in front of his king.
“I want that ship out of my port before noon. Too much is at stake to risk delay,” Badron ground out. Displeasure was evident on his hardened face.
Harnin bowed his head, waiting to see if there was more. His one eye watched Badron with interest.
“Have you learned anything else from the attack?” Badron went on to ask.
“Nothing as of yet. I am afraid the trail has gone cold. We are working as hard as possible, but I believe we have lost the initiative.”
Badron waved him off. He wanted to be alone now. There were too many possibilities floating for him to get a good grasp of the situation. Badron suddenly felt the urge to kill someone. As king it was his duty and responsibility to see Delranan’s would-be heroes off, but the very thought of seeing Bahr and his motley entourage sickened him. The man was a pox on the land. The sooner that damned boat sank, and with all hands, the better.
Badron threw the book he’d been reading into the corner and bellowed his frustrations to an empty room. There were too many loose ends dangling with wicked temptation. Too much could still go wrong at this delicate stage. Despite his great power and influence as king, Badron felt reduced to a mere spectator, helpless to exert his weight. He paced the length of the library, mind racing with possible conclusions.
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