“Damn fools!” a voice barked in the gathering gloom.
She barely felt the strike to her head before darkness closed around her.
Kinsey lay back in the brass tub and took a long drag off his amber and blackwood pipe. The knotted muscles in his lower back began to loosen and he gave thanks to Eos for giving man fire, and the ability to boil water. I don’t care what Rouke says, I can be a man and enjoy a good soak, he thought.
Thick clouds of steam drifted from the freshly heated bathwater and filled the room with a light misty haze. Cream-colored candle wax dripped from pewter wall sconces, and every candle was topped by a glowing halo.
Lazily scanning the small space, he noticed it was constructed entirely out of winewood and each plank was stained to mimic the maroon bark that once encased it. Kinsey allowed his eyes to slip closed and the soft fingers of sleep began to sooth his battered mind, until a light knock shattered the relaxed ambiance.
Dammit, Erik, can’t it wait? Too much had happened in the last week and he just wanted some peace and quiet. “Come.”
A long creak sounded as the door opened, followed by a short thunk.
“Erik, I’m busy falling asleep. Do ya—”
“I thought you might want your back washed,” a soft voice purred from the door.
Kinsey bolted upright, water sloshing over the edges of the tub, his eyes flying open.
Marcella was leaning against the door to the chamber, one foot propped behind her on the door, and her lips pursed appreciatively as she considered him. Only a towel shrouded her voluptuous body from his gaze.
He could barely hear the water pattering on the floor over the blood suddenly pounding in his ears. “I... you... we,” sputtered Kinsey.
Marcella laughed richly. “Sooo articulate.” She stepped away from the door, and with a delicate flick of her wrist the towel fell, revealing soft, milky-white skin and dark hair. “I like that.”
Kinsey’s pipe dropped into the tub with a loud plunk.
Marcella arched one eyebrow and basked in his attention. “I love an appreciative audience.”
“Aye.” Kinsey nodded, then shook his head. “I mean. We can’t be doin’ this!”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” The delicious way the young woman moved defied description as she sauntered to the tub and elegantly slid one long leg in after the other, giving Kinsey a fine view of her... everything.
“I’ll be hanged!” His hands grasped the sides of the tub and he started to get out.
Marcella caught hold of his shoulders, her touch, at once light as a feather and as arresting as the weight of boulders. “Shhhhh, I won’t tell. I promise.”
You’re a dead man if you do this, Kinsey, a small voice in his head warned. He could picture the gallows as clearly as if he were standing right in front of them. Valiantly, he put on his most stern face. “Look, Marcella. You’re a beautiful woman, and I like you. But this can’t happen.”
She leaned back so the tops of her round breasts crested the bubbles that frosted the bath. Her foot, attached to a shapely leg, emerged from the water and pressed against his chest, pushing him lightly back against the brass wall. “Let’s talk a bit, shall we?”
Kinsey splashed back down into the water and found himself pinned between hard brass and Marcella’s delectable toes.
“I’m not sure if you’ve heard.” Marcella retracted her foot and leaned forward, pulling herself closer. “I’m related to some fairly powerful people,” she continued, crawling into his lap and digging her nails into his broad chest. “Which means...” She leaned so near, walking the fingers of one hand up his neck to his hairline, that he could feel her heated breath. “I get. What I want.”
His mind raced as his body began to respond to her closeness. Oh gods, I’m in trouble, came a distant voice of the reasonable part of his mind while his hands began to reach for her of their own volition.
A scream came from the hallway and the sound of breaking wood reverberated through the walls of the small room.
“Damnation!” Kinsey erupted from the tub, showering water in every direction and dumping Marcella fully into the water as he did. His heart pounded, whether from fear or arousal he couldn’t say, but there was one thing he knew for certain. He needed his pants.
Marcella came out of the tub spitting water. Even the sudden dunking had done little to detract from the woman’s allure. Water streamed from her hair and moistened the lashes of her eyes. “What’s happening?!”
“More trouble.” Tearing his eyes away from Marcella, he dove into his pile of clothes and fished out the worn doeskin trousers he wore under his chainmail. Tugging forcefully, he drug them over his thighs and hips before grabbing his axe. Kinsey went to the door barefoot and dripping. “Stay here. And put some clothes on.” The last thing he needed was to be caught with a naked noblewoman in his bath.
He cracked open the door and peeked into the hallway.
A door several chambers away from his own had been sundered from the inside and lay in shards. A heavy towel like the one Marcella had been using hung from the splintered remnants of the frame and dripped water to the sodden floor. Trails of water streamed from the room and a silvery trail of it led back toward the common room.
The slim hallway was devoid of people, but up and down the corridor, voices of consternation were rising, doors began to open, and heads were poking out. Kinsey cautiously stepped out, closing his door behind him, and waving at the curious to go back. Lady Leanne’s head popped from another room, hair rolled into a bun and a heavy towel pulled across her torso. Ignoring Kinsey’s gestures, she pulled her door further open and asked, “What’s going on?”
Wonderful. Another naked noblewoman. Disregarding her question, he pointed to the doorframe as he approached it cautiously. “Who was in here?”
Leanne blinked as he passed her by and peered around the corner. “I don’t know. The door was closed when I came back.”
Kinsey’s anxiety was replaced by a sinking feeling as he took in the wreckage of the room. Most tellingly, the very dead Pelosian soldier Bale had assigned to watch over Sloane told him what had happened. The man’s body was lying motionless in a haphazard position, arms and torso pinned below the overturned heavy brass tub. He couldn’t see an injury, but there was clearly no need to check for a pulse.
Cursing, he spun from the room and charged back into the hall where Meagan and Bella had clustered behind Leanne. The women clutched more towels over their bodies and simultaneously attempted to demurely hide behind Leanne while also peering around her to catch a glimpse of the room from which Kinsey stormed. His face must have been truly frightening, for the three of them shied away as he rushed toward them.
Seizing one elbow, he spun Leanne around and propelled all three of them down the hall, back to their bathing chambers. “Get back to your rooms,” he said, while thrusting Leanne into her chamber where her tub still steamed, “and stay in them until Bale, Erik, or I come for you.” He pulled Leanne’s door closed with a thunderous crash that cut off her squawks of protest. He brandished his axe in a shooing motion at the other two as he herded them to their rooms. He was not in the habit of frightening women, but the slamming doors eased his own sense of rising panic. He spun once again and began sprinting for the common room.
He reached the corner of the narrow hallway and found himself careening into the far wall as his bare foot slid in a dark puddle on the floor. Wood paneling cracked under the impact of his shoulder. Off-balance and staggered by the impact, he threw a hand to the floor to catch himself. His axe dropped in a clatter. The instant his reaching hand made contact with the moisture on the floor, he knew it was no longer the bathwater making his footing treacherous.
Blood.
Kinsey wiped his hand on his pants leg briefly before he snatched his axe from the floor and reached for the closed door that lead to the common room beyond. In the dim light, he could see the trail of blood flowing from below the door and mingling with the
water from the baths. Kinsey set his feet and yanked the door open. He brandished his axe in a grip close to the head to allow for its use in the close confines of the hall.
The room was empty.
The only evidence of Terel, the sentry he had placed, was a puddle of blood from which twin ragged lines of the dark fluid extended, leading toward the monstrous bar. Here and there, bloody footprints gave testimony to an assailant’s work in dragging the guard’s body.
Cursing anew, Kinsey hurried into the common room.
Kinsey’s eyes followed the trail of Terel’s blood and found him topping one of two piles of bodies. The remains of several guards, Basinian and Pelosian alike, had been dumped ignominiously on the floor. In the second pile, Colin, Norn, Adam, Yanell, and others in Barden’s employ lay piled on top of one another, stacked like cords of wood. Barden himself lay stomach-down at the foot of the pile. His face had been twisted around and his eyes still stared in surprise at the ceiling.
Eyes other than Barden’s regarded him. The waitstaff and soldiers alike, alive and happy just an hour ago, now bore frozen expressions of accusation, mutely blaming him for his part in choosing this place and thus bringing their end to pass.
Heat flushed through Kinsey’s body. Sorrow and loss vied with rage, and a hunger for vengeance surged within him. People he cared for were dead. Good people. Above that, the one person he was duty bound to protect above all others was gone. Taken.
He began to turn from the bar, the need to hunt and kill the invaders driving his feet. Before he took two steps, the room blurred before him and he stumbled along the bar. He knocked stools aside until one tangled between his legs and sent him to the ground with a crash. Pain burned through the length of his body, making his muscles quiver and limiting his breath to sharp gasps. What’s happening to me?
The call of a Pelosian horn sounded from the outside, cutting through the fog of pain that clouded his thought. The princess has been taken, his mind screamed.
Kinsey grimaced in pain. He knew it already, but the call of the horn seemed to cement the knowledge. He staggered to one knee and clutched with a grasping hand at the top of the bar before a fresh surge of fiery agony sent him once again to the floor. His last thought was to tell someone what had happened, but the searing pain that coursed through him prevented even that hope from escaping his lips.
Thought fled him, and he lay twisting amongst the fallen furniture, unable to move.
Erik looked away from the bloody corpse.
“You disapprove?” Bale stepped from the body, wiping hands and blade with a corner of ragged cloth cut from the unfortunate Wildman’s ratty trousers.
“Does it matter what I think?”
Bale chuckled mirthlessly. “No, not really.”
Erik thought as much. The Pelosian hated him. Hated anything elven, for that matter, and he had few compunctions about showing it either. Erik had kept a close eye on the man since leaving Pelos, watching for unprovoked attacks. Thus far he had suffered only glaring looks and tasteless jibes, but upon laying eyes on Bale’s “work,” he would be certain to never relax his guard around the man.
“Did you learn anything?” Rouke asked as he knelt beside the deceased Wildman and picked through his meager things.
Bale sheathed his knife, crossed his arms, and leaned against the same winewood that had held his prisoner fast during torture. He looked down at Rouke with equanimity. “I know why they cross our borders.” He gave the body a slight kick as he spoke. Rouke looked up from his rummaging.
Erik turned to face the Pelosian. “Why would that be?”
“And why,” the big man smirked, “would I tell the likes of you?”
Rouke jumped to his feet, anger suffusing his usually patient features. “Enough! You worthless, piece of maggot sh—”
“Rouke!” Erik stepped forward. “Let it go. We’ll find out soon enough.”
Bale continued, his distasteful grin still in place, “You may… Shit always rolls downhill. Eventually.”
Rouke’s eye twitched. It always did just before he proceeded to pummel someone senseless.
“Let us go.” Erik took hold of Rouke’s shoulder. “We are needed elsewhere.”
Bale remained leaning against the tree. “Yes, run along now.” His hand waved dismissively.
Erik squeezed Rouke’s shoulder to get the man’s attention. First Kinsey, he thought, and now Rouke. He had definitely gained plenty of experience in dealing with other people’s anger as of late. This situation was hardly different from any other dogfight he had broken up in the past few months. He spoke firmly in an echo of his thoughts, “Now, Rouke.”
Grudgingly, Rouke walked away from the smirking captain.
Stepping carefully, they made their way through the small encampment that housed both Basinian and Pelosian soldiers. The Ice Lake storm had been strong enough to put a thin layer of slush on the ground. Tent cords and the occasional makeshift laundry line threatened the unwary foot. This late, the only unlucky souls were those unfortunate enough to have drawn guard duty. Erik could see them, posted in orderly, predictable distances along the perimeter of the camp, shuffling and stamping against the cold and weariness.
Rouke’s breath trailed behind in a moon-silvered cloud that dispersed in the harsh wind as he walked. “Ya can’t be so unaffected by his words.” He shook his head. “Ya just can’t be.”
“He is beneath my consideration, as he should be beneath yours.”
Rouke snorted. “Must be an elven thing, because I can just see my hands chokin’ the life out of ’im.” His hands went up to mimic a strangling gesture.
Erik laughed. “That may be so.”
In order to group their entire force together, they had to take over a field the townspeople had cleared to house the various livestock that was occasionally brought here for trade days. The clearing was situated on a flat portion of the upper bank and overlooked the town.
Nestled between the banks of the Tanglevine and the edge of the Winewood, the town of Riverwood possessed thriving trades in both fishing and lumber. The twin businesses had caused the town to grow beyond its humble beginnings as a wayport, feeding trade routes between the human cities, into a destination unto itself. Structures spotted the landscape between creeks and trees that disappeared into the woods up and downstream. In contrast, Rapid’s Rest had been built during the founding, so its surrounding geography was densely packed with buildings that housed shops, grocers, granaries, and the like.
Minutes passed as the pair walked and eventually came within sight of the inn. Rouke looked over at Erik as they approached. “So you reckon he’ll tell the princess what he knows?”
“I believe he has to. But even if I am wrong, Bale will have to reveal what he’s found to someone of authority once we reach the Citadel. Then we will have our answer.”
Erik could make out the large, angular silhouettes of Rapid’s Rest and the smoke that trailed from the many chimneys atop the tavern and its neighboring buildings. As he approached the rear of the inn, he sensed something was wrong. He stopped and quickly scanned the back and sides of the building. The sentries he had posted at the entrances were no longer in sight. Rouke hadn’t noticed yet, but laying a hand on the soldier’s forearm, he whispered. “The guards are missing.”
Rouke immediately crouched and placed his hand on his sword hilt, his head swiveling in search of threats.
“Go back and tell Bale. Bring everyone up to the tavern.”
Without a word, Rouke turned and ran back to the campsite.
Erik began to run, light-footed, into town and drew his two short swords. They were thin, maybe two fingers in width at their widest point. The blades were decorated with embossed images of intertwining honeysuckle vines being harvested by hovering hummingbirds. The winewood hilts were wrapped in leather and long for such short blades; he could easily fit two hands on each if necessary. Heirlooms left by family he had never known, the swords possessed an edge that would remai
n forever sharp. Not once had he used a stone on the pristine blades.
Gaining the alley on the eastern side of the tavern, Erik slowed to a careful creep. There was still no sign of the guards, but several ropes that had not been there earlier in the evening dangled from upper windows. He kept an eye upward as he moved through the alley to the front of the inn. The whicker of horses and clinking of metal could be heard before he reached the thoroughfare. Carefully, he peeked around the corner.
A large, open-topped wagon waited at the entrance of Rapid’s Rest. Dust obscured a second wagon that was already disappearing into the darkness in the distance. The two powerful workhorses of the waiting cart pawed at the ground and shook their manes as if anxious to catch up to the pair that had already made their escape. Covered in studded leather and a heavy cloak, the driver craned his neck to look at the tavern entrance. The lower part of his face was covered by black cloth, but his breath puffed before dissipating in the night air. Three masked figures hurried out of Rapid’s Rest carrying a fourth. The naked, unconscious form of Princess Sloane dangled from the hands of the shady group as they rushed to the wagon.
Biting back an oath Kinsey often employed, Erik darted from his hiding place. He had to kill or disable at least two of them immediately, lest they overwhelm him and add his own corpse to the pile of bodies he was sure to find within the tavern. He ran low and was almost upon the trio as they wrapped the naked flesh of the princess in a burlap sack and hurled her onto the bed of the wagon. The driver looked up from their work and stared with wide eyes.
“Look out!” the masked driver screamed, but it was too late.
Erik’s blade took the first rogue in the neck, cleanly loosening the head from the shoulders. The second kidnapper attempted to jerk back, but his action came too slow and the hard steel of Erik’s second blade bit into the man’s face. The sword cleaved through the facial bones into the skull, dropping him to the dirt with a cry. Erik spun to pierce the heart of the third but came up short.
Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) Page 21
