City of Scars (The Skullborn Trilogy, Book 1)

by Steven Montano

  Another sound echoed through the hollow sky, but Dane couldn’t tell if it was a woman screaming or a baby crying, or both. Broken twigs spun by in the chill breeze. He waited with one hand around the unsheathed vra’taar hidden under his cloak. The icy wind burned his lips, and his eyes stung from the cold. Dane had seen a dozen men come and go since he’d arrived. Some had exchanged goods there on the street and others had waited near the statue long enough for someone to join them, but no one approached Dane or offered him any trouble.

  Eventually he saw a woman, the first he’d seen in the Old City Center all night. She wore a heavy crimson cloak and tall leather boots. Her height and build told him it was Vellexa, finally come for their rendezvous. Dane watched patiently as the hooded figure slowly made her way to the fountain. She seemed to notice him, and after a moment’s hesitation she moved in his direction.

  Nearby movement caught Dane’s eye. He cursed under his breath. Three men and a woman draped in tattered green cloaks emerged from the shadows. A flash of moonlight played off curved blades.

  Dane brandished his weapon and ran down an alley to inctercept the cloaked figures. His boots splashed in the mud, and in moments he was face-to-face with the feral warriors, who bore sharpened teeth and hissed as they came at him with jagged scimitars. They had bloody runes on their foreheads and wore necklaces of teeth over tarnished leather breastplates.

  He severed one warrior’s arm at the elbow with his vra’taar, then spun the weapon around and drove the hilt blade into the man’s throat. A second warrior came at him. Dane ducked and jabbed into his attacker’s chest, sending him down in a splatter of blood.

  Two down, two to go.

  A scimitar painfully clanged off the chain armor on Dane’s left arm, and he barely sidestepped the woman’s follow-through strike. He spun on his heel and swung, missed the woman’s head as she ducked, and leapt back.

  It was all Dane could do to parry their relentless blows. Pain pulsed up his arms with each deflected strike. Mud kicked up around him and sweat glazed his skin. He glimpsed behind him to see if Vellexa was going to help, but she’d vanished. He had to face the scarred killers alone.

  Typical.

  Dane focused his mind and took hold of the razor sharp power he sensed in the air all around him. The clang of metal grew distant, and his steps seemed to slow. The motions of the feral warriors faded and became dreamlike. A surge of energy moved through his body.

  He brought his focus back to the world, held out a hand, and released the power he’d called. A flash of light sparked from his fingers and fell like a glowing teardrop before exploding in a liquid flash. Blue ripples cascaded around his attacker’s feet and rooted them to the spot. They cried out in alarm.

  Sickness bubbled in Dane’s stomach. It was never easy Touching the Veil.

  The scarred warriors had let their guard down, so Dane ignored his nausea, stepped up and sliced both their heads off with a powerful swing. His magic held the decapitated corpses upright for a moment before they collapsed.

  Dane spun around, his bloodied vra’taar still in hand. Everything was suddenly silent. Vellexa was gone.

  The nausea passed. He wiped his vra’taar clean on the dead woman’s cloak and examined the bodies.

  Bloody marks littered their arms, palms and faces like grisly script. Dane carefully lifted a severed head by the hair and looked into its stinking mouth. The teeth had been sharpened to deadly points, and judging by their rotted state he guessed the bestial killers feasted on rather unsavory foods.

  Like human flesh. It’s hard to mistake that smell. Dane dropped the head in disgust.

  It seemed Vellexa had deserted him. It also seemed he’d been lured into a trap.

  But why? And by who? Vellexa? If it wasn’t her, then she’s in some kind of danger…and if she isn’t, I’ll be sure to have words with her about why she tried to have me killed.

  “Damn it,” he muttered. He’d gone through all of that trouble and still didn’t have enough local coin to buy himself a bed for the night.

  His eyes ache. The fires are too bright.

  The tip of the cold blade dances teasingly against the backs of the women’s necks. They kneel in the circle, too terrified to move. The man with the painted face playfully whistles as he walks around the prisoners, trying to decide which of them will die first.

  Dane can only watch. He’s seen this before, and he’ll see it again.

  What have I become?

  Sensation bled back into his body. The scar on Dane’s stomach itched, his hands were painfully cold, and his legs and neck were stiff from sleeping in an awkward position against the wall. He kept his eyes shut, as he wasn’t ready to wake. A wagon rolled by outside, and he felt sunlight on his face.

  Something cold and sharp pressed against his neck.

  “Wake up, fool.”

  The voice was dark and rough. Dane opened his eyes.

  After the fight he’d found an abandoned building near the Old City Center. Almost all of the rooms had been gutted and burned, and the cracked walls and soggy piles of old rags made the place anything but inviting. Still, Dane had managed to find a relatively vermin-free room complete with a working lock on the door, so he’d decided to get an hour or two of sleep.

  The lock, it seemed, was worthless, and Dane had slept much longer than he’d planned. Three figures in black cloaks stood over him. One was a Jlantrian with long silver hair and scars on both of his angular cheeks; the second was a tall and broad-shouldered Den’nari who held the freezing blade of an axe against Dane’s throat. The third figure was Vellexa, looking even more stunning than she had the day before. Her hair was held up in a topknot secured with golden loops, and small emerald jewels dangled from her ears. The black dress under her cloak was cut far too tight in the chest.

  “Busy night?” she smiled.

  Dane tried to sit up, but the axe-yielder stood fast. He could almost smell the sharpness of the blade.

  “You should know,” Dane said icily. “Thanks for leaving me standing around like that. I appreciate it.”

  Vellexa’s smile broadened. She held Dane in her steely gaze and stepped closer. “I’m sorry, Azander, I got tied-up last night. I was going to search you out at the Red Witch and talk to you about the job this morning, but you weren’t there. Then I remembered you’re only two steps away from being a beggar…”

  “One step,” Dane said.

  Vellexa smiled. “What happened?”

  “Wait…wasn’t that you last night?” he asked.

  Vellexa nodded at the dark-haired Den’nari. Dane was hauled to his feet, the axe-blade still pressed against his collar-bone. Both men wore black leather armor with blue and white studs under their cloaks.

  Jlantrian uniforms.

  “What are you talking about?” Vellexa asked him. She was inches from his face now, her lips practically touching him. She smelled like jasmine and honey.

  “I waited out there last night,” Dane said as he struggled against the blade. “I saw a woman I thought was you. It seems I was mistaken. She was being attacked, so I saved her, but she didn’t stick around to thank me.”

  The silver-haired man took hold of Dane’s ear and painfully pinched it between his sharp fingernails. Dane hissed.

  “I don’t believe you,” the man said.

  Dane focused his mind. The world started to fade and fall in a spiral of stale sunlight and distorted shapes. He felt dead breath on his skin. The Veil was close enough to Touch.

  “Relax, Sammeus,” Vellexa said. “I believe you, Dane. It was an honest mistake, I’m sure.” She nodded, and Sammeus stepped back, but the other man still held Dane tight. “The four people you killed last night were members of the Chul,” Vellexa explained. “A cult of madmen and cannibals. They’re not our friends.”

  “Neither am I,” Dane said coldly. “Let go of me.”

  Dane had the Veil in his grasp. The power was difficult to sustain, and he’d need to release it soon.
Already he felt the magic sap at his strength.

  “Let him go, Cronak,” Vellexa said.

  The blade dropped away and Cronak stepped back next to Sammeus. Dane silently released his hold on the Veil. His skin was icy from its touch.

  He rubbed his throat and felt a trickle of blood, and glared at Cronak. “You’re going to pay for that,” he said.

  Cronak snarled and started moving forward, but Vellexa stopped him with a word.

  “No hard feelings, Azander,” she said. “This is just a misunderstanding. Like I said, the Chul are no friends of ours.”

  Dane looked around for his vra’taar and saw it slung over Sammeus’s shoulder. He held out his hand. Vellexa nodded, and Sammeus handed the blade over with a sad shake of his head.

  “You seem to know all about these charming people,” Dane said. “The Chul wouldn’t have anything to do with Chul Gaerog, would they?”

  “Of course they do,” Vellexa said. “They worship the Blood Queen.”

  “The Blood Queen is dead,” Dane said flatly.

  “That doesn’t seem to bother the Chul.”

  “I see.” Dane secured his blade across his back. Early morning light bled through the grease-stained windows. “So…what now?”

  “Do you still want the job?” Vellexa asked. “As you’ve probably realized, we have dangerous enemies. But we could use your help.”

  Dane weighed his options. He had no desire to be in bed with these people, and the last thing he needed was this sort of trouble. But something strange was going on. Dane had never heard of the Chul, but the thought of a cult of Blood Queen worshippers gave him pause. This was serious.

  Walk away, he told himself. Ignore this.

  And do what? Damn…maybe you are a fool, Azander.

  “Sure,” he said. “You’ve piqued my curiosity.”

  Besides, I need the money.

  Three

  They led Dane through a well-maintained neighborhood full of small shops and quaint buildings. Wooden signs hung over businesses like Taegyn’s Silver, The Crystal Heart, Litoran Leathers and The Latch and Key. Though none of the shops appeared busy the streets were still heavy with foot traffic, likely due to the district’s proximity to the farmer’s market. Townsfolk in dirty coats and breeches carried boxes and baskets of goods, their breath frosting in the chill morning air. Icy sunlight glittered off high windows, and the sound of shuffling feet and voices filled Dane’s head as he followed Vellexa and her enforcers. A band of youths chased a mangy hound down a nearby alley, whooping and hollering and waving their arsenal of sticks and pebbles as they went.

  Dane and his escorts saw a few White Dragon soldiers, their broadswords at their hips and their shields slung across their backs as they pulled people off the street for questioning. Vellexa explained that a regular City Watch made up of local men had protected Ebonmark up until the point when Jlantria had reestablished control. The Watch had been dismissed, and while a few of its members had been retained as extra help most of the peacekeeping duties had been handed over to hardened White Dragon troops brought all of the way from Ral Tanneth. Those professional soldiers performed essentially the same duties as the City Watch, but their no-nonsense precision and overtly hostile manner had taken the locals aback.

  Dane watched as White Dragon troops searched the belongings of a frost-haired man dressed in white wools while they forcefully pinned him against an alley wall and questioned him about the nature of his business. A pair of cloaked ladies with Urag Keshian accents looked on in shock and made Corvinia’s sign in the air.

  Blackhall isn’t messing around. I’m lucky I came in through the East Gate before he could lock it down – these guys would have put a quarrel though me the moment they recognized my armor.

  Dane’s cloak was large enough to keep both his armor and vra’taar concealed so long as he avoided coming under close scrutiny. Luckily for him their small group seemed exempt from questioning – Dane guessed that Sammeus’s and Cronak’s stolen uniforms, coupled with Vellexa’s illusory abilties, provided them with enough of a disguise to pass off as White Dragon soldiers and avoid any trouble.

  They eventually came to a simple building made of grey stone and even greyer wood. A dangling metal sign read “Frost’s Trade”. Dane peeked through a dirty window and saw sacks of dried goods, rolls of blankets, boxes of rations and hundreds of candles packed onto dust-ridden shelves. Vellexa led them around the building and into a putrid-smelling alley riddled with refuse and dank rainwater. Rats scurried into the shadows as the group approached a cracked wall.

  Vellexa held out her hand. After a moment her fingers burned with a deep red glow, like she’d dipped them into a forge. Dane smelled brimstone and pitch. Ripples of ruby light bubbled under their feet. Vellexa’s eyes turned the shade of hellfire.

  Everything faded. Light and heat pushed against Dane’s face. His eyes sealed shut and his throat burned. He felt himself floating, weightless, adrift in a sea of glowing flame.

  When Dane could see again he found himself in a stifling black iron chamber. Dozens of torches sat in high brackets, but the flames only barely held the darkness at bay. The sounds of clanging metal, blazing fires and tortured cries echoed from beyond the walls.

  It’s hell, Dane thought. Only louder.

  “Where are we?” he asked. He had to shout to be heard.

  “We’re taking you to meet our employer,” Vellexa replied. “The Iron Count.”

  Damn, Dane thought. The Black Guild. Looks like my uncanny ability to wade into shit is holding up just fine.

  Cronak and Sammeus pulled open a set of double doors and revealed a wide metal hall lined with gargantuan furnaces. The furnaces were separated by alcoves packed with axes, hammers, swords, arrows, bolts, spears, exotic blades like raak’ma, shek’tar, ring’tai, vax’ol, and vra’taar, and all manner of armor and shields.

  Dane’s skin slicked with sweat as they walked down the flame-lined corridor. His eyes felt heavy from the heat, and the relentless hammering made his temples throb. The hall seemed to go on forever. Bare-chested men with enormous muscles pounded blades to fine points atop marred anvils. Dane and the others passed cooling buckets filled with steaming water and piles of raw steel.

  They crossed paths with a group of tall men in dark cloaks. The men wore cloth wraps over their faces and hands and pushed a metal cart loaded with egg-shaped glass canisters filled with swirling orange vapor. Dane shuddered. He’d heard stories about magically engineered poisons and toxins, and of the horrible things they could do. These men had clearly spent too much time in the proximity of their own work, for their eyes were clouded white and what flesh was visible beneath their garb was flaky and grey. The diseased criminals shuffled by like zombies as they rolled their deadly cargo down the hall.

  “What is this place?” Dane shouted to Vellexa. It was hard to hear his own voice over the din of furnaces and hammering.

  “This is the Cauldron,” she said. “All of your questions will be answered when you meet the Count.”

  The hall ended at a spiral staircase leading down. Dane wondered how deep underground they really were, and it occurred to him they might not be underground at all…for that matter, they might not have even been in Ebonmark. Vellexa had triggered a cutgate – a magical tunnel which allowed travelers to span great distances with a single step – so there was no telling where in the world she’d taken him.

  The staircase descended to a wide square room. The air was surprisingly cool there, especially compared to the forge they’d just left. A pair of powerful grey-skinned warriors with scarred muscles and sharp tusks slammed the massive doors shut behind them. At the sight of the Tuscars Dane’s hand reflectively reached for his vra’taar.

  “Relax, Dane,” Vellexa smiled. “They work for us.”

  “Questionable company you keep,” Dane said.

  “Tell me about it,” she said with a laugh.

  “This way, mercenary,” Sammeus said. He nodded toward
s another set of descending stairs leading down to an octagonal room. The four doors in the room were guarded by Tuscars armed with their signature lance-sword shek’taars.

  Torches revealed an open chasm where one of the walls should have stood. Jagged stones lined the underground canyon, and a solid black door sat in the wall on the other side of the rift, with no apparent means of reaching it.

  “Wait here,” Vellexa told him. She walked to the chasm. Dane watched the Tuscar sentries, who stood as still as stones. Cronak and Sammeus separated themselves from Dane and talked quietly.

  Vellexa approached the edge of the canyon, pulled a tiny iron key from the folds of her cloak and placed it in a lock built directly into the wall. Sharp grinding filled the air, so powerful it made Dane’s teeth rattle. A pitted iron plank extended from the far wall just under the door and stretched out to form a bridge across the chasm. It seemed to take ages for the platform to extend over the open space, but eventually it came to a halt with a reverberating crash. The Bloodspeaker removed the key from the wall and nonchalantly crossed the narrow bridge. Her boots clacked loudly and her cloak twisted sideways in the dark wind blasting up from the deeps. The door on the other side opened and shut behind her, and she was gone.

  Dane paced and examined the large chamber, careful to avoid the Tuscars. He watched the sealed door on the other side of the bridge and kept looking back at the now-sealed doors through which they’d entered, which had undoubtedly been locked. If things went sour he’d have to use the Veil to get them open, and while he was certain he could retrace his steps back to their arrival point in the Cauldron he didn’t think it would actually do him any good. A cutgate like the one Vellexa conjured was very difficult to use without knowing the specifics of its construction, the subtle ebbs and clefts of the Veil left accessible so someone could reach in and work the unseen tumblers. Figuring one out could take hours, even for a Veilwarden. Only Bloodspeakers had a talent for doing it quickly.