by Ty Johnston
Kron paused, taking in the figure staked above him. The fire below the woman’s feet illuminated her white, sagging skin and shallow eyes.
Randall had promised Adara would be whole, but Kron spied the aging of death creeping into the body. The woman had been impaled and hanging for days, in the sun and now the rain, and her body was showing wear. Her eyes were sunk into her cheeks. The lips were dried, thin flakes of skin peeling away. The flesh of her hands and bare feet were like marble, cold and hard and run through with dark veins.
Knocking back the hood of his cloak, Kron allowed the rain to spit into his face.
Only days earlier, he had gone on a rampage after seeing Adara’s slim wrists and ankles nailed to that tree of death. Now he could only stare with flat eyes at what remained of her.
A near commotion brought him back to his senses. He glanced to one side of the circle of light created by Adara’s fire and spotted Captain Lendo, the man who had delivered Markwood to Verkain, and Fortisquo marching away from a tent. The captain was cursing loudly as he and the lanky assassin headed toward the South Gate.
Kron paid them no more mind. He was there on a mission, and he could not afford to have his thoughts dwelling elsewhere. According to Randall, Adara’s fate rested in Kron’s hands.
Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, Kron eased closer to the upright pole to one side of the flames. His head was even with the iron nails driven through Adara’s feet when he winced at the blood caked down the sides of the wooden beam.
Closing his eyes without thinking of what he was doing, Kron yanked a dagger from his belt. Unseeing, he ran one hand up the outside of Adara’s cold right ankle until he felt the nail’s head protruding.
He went to work.
He thanked Ashal the first nail came free easily, with little fuss and no more damage to the body.
Still with eyes shut, he felt for the nail in her other ankle. The iron peg quickly fell to join its blooded brother.
All that remained were the nails holding her wrists above her head near the top of the pole.
Kron opened his eyes, but he would not look up at Adara. Instead he stared at the base of the wood. The beam was thicker than his leg; he could not chop it without an ax, and retrieving such a weapon might draw attention he sought to avoid.
There was another option.
He retrieved his grapnel and rope from his belt. For a moment he wondered how the items had returned to him as he did not remember bringing them from the cathedral. Randall must have aided him further, or perhaps it was this Creator the healer had mentioned.
Kron flung the hook to the top of beam where it’s short blades sank into wood.
He tugged on the rope and found the grip strong.
Then he began to climb.
***
With a grim face Belgad the Liar shifted the weighty sword hanging on his back until the hilt was high over his right shoulder. Then he wrapped himself in a gray cloak.
He was going to die tonight. Of that he was sure. But one question remained. Why? He was no patriot. He had no love for West Ursia nor Bond, though he did not detest the nation or its capital. Still, he was going to die in an attempt to protect the nation he had come to consider home.
The bald, bulky man eased into a chair next to the bed and removed a quill pen from a stone ink bottle on a table. With a frown, he began to write.
He did not write long, merely enough to dip the quill twice. Then he returned the pen to the bottle and sat back to read his words.
“Leaving your empire to Lalo the Finder, I see,” a voice said from over Belgad’s shoulder.
The big Dartague vaulted out of his chair and spun, his right hand gripping the sword’s pommel at his shoulder.
Fortisquo leaned against the jamb of the open door behind the chair. “My apologies for surprising you.”
Belgad lowered his sword hand. “I could have cut you in half.”
The master assassin chuckled.
“What do you find funny?” Belgad asked.
Fortisquo opened his mouth to speak. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, his body went limp and he crashed to the floor.
His jaw hanging open, Belgad stared at the crumpled swordsman at his feet.
Another voice drifted in through the door. “I believe I saved your life.”
Belgad’s hand reached again for his sword as he eased around the downed Fortisquo to look into the outer chamber.
Randall Tendbones stood there in robes so white they pained the Dartague’s eyes. For a moment the barbarian thought he was seeing a ghost, then he took in the solidness of the healer. Candles in the outer room did not shed light through Randall’s body, and the healer’s shadow stretched across the thick rug.
Belgad lowered his hand. “I saw you die.”
“Kron said much the same thing.”
“He too is supposed to be dead.”
“You have been misinformed.”
“I suppose Adara Corvus also lives.”
“She will be well soon enough.”
“And Markwood?”
The corners of Randall’s eyes dipped in sorrow. “The good teacher has passed on.”
“Then has Verkain trapped me in one of his spells?”
“No,” Randall said, shaking his head. “My father has nothing to do with this.”
“Then how are you here? Why are you here? Revenge?”
“I came to save you, and to warn you,” Randall said.
“Save me? From whom?”
Randall pointed at Fortisquo.
Belgad glanced at the downed sword master. “Why would he turn on me?”
“He fears Verkain more than he fears you.”
The Dartague’s gaze returned to the healer in white. “How am I to trust you are Tendbones? Whatever games Verkain plays, he does not play fairly. All of this could be a trick on his part to weed out enemies.”
“I have something to show you.”
The healer turned his back on the larger man and crossed the outer room to a door.
Belgad followed the young man into the room. “Where are you going?”
Randall pulled on the door’s handle, easing the portal open. “Look.”
From across the room, Belgad could not see the hallway beyond. He crossed to the door, making sure to remain out of Randall’s reach.
“As I said,” Randall pointed into the hall, “you were betrayed.”
Captain Lendo and a half dozen plate-clad men stretched unmoving on the stone floor.
“What happened to them?” Belgad asked
“They sleep,” Randall replied.
“All of them?”
“Everyone but you.”
“Why did you do this?”
“To weaken Verkain’s forces,” Randall said. “The sun rises in mere hours, and much needs done without intrusion.”
Belgad glared at the man claiming to be his savior. “Why spare me? It was not so long ago we were enemies.”
“We needed time to speak,” Randall said. “I wish to strike a bargain with you.”
***
Verkain squinted and swayed on his feet. Something was wrong in the castle. He could sense it. He could feel it in his soul.
He spun around on the parapet and stared into Mogus Potere’s center where his high, black castle blotted out the night’s sky over the sea beyond. All appeared well. Lights burned in windows. Guards marched outside of the thick walls.
His eyes shot to the castle’s towers. Black flags trimmed in white flapped against the night’s cold winds, but there was no sign of the night guards stationed there.
“Latrixk.”
“Yes, my lord,” a hissing voice spoke from above.
Verkain craned his head to look up. The demon hovered a dozen yards overhead, its dark wings flapping silently.
“You have another task to perform this night,” the Kobalan king said.
“What would you have of me, my lord?”
“To the cas
tle.” Verkain returned his gaze to the dark building. “Treason is afoot.”
***
Kron eased Adara’s body onto a blanket beneath a tent of black canvas. Kobalan soldiers continued to mill about outside the city, but thus far none had noticed the stranger in black and the woman he had carried.
Kron searched inside the tent and found a clean rag. He knelt next to Adara and wiped grime and dried blood from her lips. He did not know what to expect. Randall had told him to rescue her, then the healer supposedly would take care of the rest. But Randall was nowhere to be found.
Kron scrutinized the room again, seeking a bowl of water or a skin of wine to help clean Adara further, but the search was futile. He went back to work, smoothing away the dried blood that had caked around her wrists.
He paused, staring at the wrists.
Her wounds were gone. Pale skin was smooth where torn, bloody holes had tarnished her flesh only minutes before.
Kron sat back on his boots, gawking in disbelief. But why should he disbelieve? Randall had returned, and Kron had been revived after his own brush with death.
He pulled up the legs of her pants and stared at her ankles and feet. There were no ragged wounds to blemish the skin there.
“I told you she would recover.”
The healer stood at the tent’s entrance.
The warrior’s head jerked up to find his friend smiling.
Randall approached, staring down at Adara.
“She’s been gone for days,” Kron said. “Are you sure she can come back to us?”
“She will return,” Randall said with a smile. “Her spirit was still near when I found her.”
As if she had heard the healer’s words, Adara blinked and her face flushed scarlet.
Kron sprang forward, leaning over the woman, his arms at her sides.
Randall chuckled. “All it took was a little effort from me,” he said, “and a little desire from you, Kron.”
Adara’s lips parted, sucking in air as her chest began to slowly rise and fall once more.
Kron glanced up at the healer. “I still don’t know if you are the same Randall Tendbones I knew in Bond, but your miracles are most welcome.”
Randall said nothing, still smiling as he watched Adara.
“Kron?” a weak voice asked.
Darkbow looked back to the woman. Her eyes were open.
“I am here, Adara,” Kron said, leaning closer to her.
The woman’s eyes slowly swiveled, as if she were trying to look through a fog or dim light. “Where am I?”
“With Randall and I. Still in Kobalos.”
She shivered, her head shaking slightly from side to side. “I remember darkness,” she said, her voice not strong. “Then I saw light. I saw Randall!”
A grin grew across Kron Darkbow’s face and he hugged her, squeezing her gently by the arms as he rested his head on her stomach. His eyes were red and wet, leaving a spot on the woman’s shirt.
“All will be well,” Randall said. “Adara, you are among friends.”
Her eyes blinked again, then her gaze focused on the healer.
“I must be going,” Tendbones said, reaching into his robes, “but I bring gifts.”
The healer withdrew a black belt wrapped around a long, thin sword with a hilt of three silvered rings. Lengthy strips of brown, entwined leather tied the bundle together.
“My whip and sword,” Adara said.
Randall placed the weapons and the belt on the bed next to the woman. “You will need these soon enough.”
“She’s too weak for fighting.” Kron’s gaze at the healer was stern.
“She will recover quickly,” Randall said. “This I promise.”
Kron’s demeanor softened. “Your powers have grown.”
“No,” Randall said. “I have merely become aware of my full potential.”
Adara reached out to gently touch the healer’s hand. “Stay with us.”
“I have put off my father long enough,” Randall said. “It is time.”
“Let us help,” Kron said.
“You will.” Randall turned toward the flaps of the tent. “There is a demon headed to the castle. I would appreciate if you could hold him until I have finished with my father.”
Kron stood. “I don’t know if I can stop such a creature.”
“You will have aid,” Randall said. “I placed strength into your blade. And Belgad awaits you.”
“Belgad!” from Kron.
Randall pushed aside the flaps and glanced at Kron. “He is no friend to Verkain.”
Kron grimaced. “He is no friend of mine, either!”
“I ask that you put aside your enmity,” Randall said. “In truth, Belgad is not your foe.”
The man in black turned away from the healer, staring into a dark corner.
Then a hand reached up from the bed and gripped Kron’s right hand.
He looked down.
“Do this for Randall,” Adara said. “If not, do it for me.”
Kron glared at her for a moment, the hate in his heart weighing against the love he felt for her. He had lost her once because of that hate.
Kron turned back to Randall. “Where do I meet him?”
Chapter Twenty Five
A smack to a cheek brought Fortisquo around. The sword master’s eyes popped open and he stared straight ahead to find Belgad standing over him.
“I have been told you meant to betray me,” the Dartague said.
The swordsman’s eyes flicked to the handle of the big sword still hanging from Belgad’s back. “Who says such a thing?”
Belgad chuckled but there was little mirth in the action. “You would not believe me.”
Fortisquo slowly sat up on the floor of the bedroom and scooted back from the big man.
“Is it true?” Belgad asked.
“Of course not.”
The bald man glared at his former companion for a moment, then retreated to the outer chamber.
A confused look contorting his face, Fortisquo jumped to his feet and followed. “What has happened? The last I remember is speaking with you.”
“You were not speaking to me,” Belgad said, crossing the room to the open door to the hall. “You were laughing at me.”
Fortisquo noticed the unconscious Kobalans spread on the hall’s floor outside the chamber. “What is this?”
Belgad stood over Lendo and the other castle guards. He pointed to the captain. “You were going to help him arrest me. It would have meant my death.”
“I don’t know who has been lying to you,” Fortisquo said. “We have been together for months now, and we’ve known one another for years. I was in your employ, and there was good money in it. It makes no sense for me to turn against you.”
“There are old grudges,” Belgad said. “I did buy out your assassin’s guild, after all.”
“That is the past.”
“There’s also the possibility you fear Verkain, or you wish to gain from him.”
Fortisquo allowed a nervous laugh to escape his lips.
“Your reasoning doesn’t matter to me,” Belgad said, drawing forth his sword. “I trust my source of information more than I trust you.”
Fortisquo jumped back, deeper into the room, and reached for his rapier. The sword was not where he had left it hanging from his hip.
“I removed your blade,” the Dartague said upon seeing his former employee’s look of surprise. “It disgusts me to kill a man asleep and helpless, but I have no qualms slaying someone who has betrayed me.”
Hefting his monster sword, the big man crossed the threshold into the room.
***
As Randall exited the tent, disappearing into the night, the noise of booted men marching suffused the air, lingered, then was carried away. The healer was gone, off on a mission with purpose known only to himself.
Kron returned his attentions to Adara.
The woman was already sitting up on the edge of a cot, sliding on a pair
of tall boots that had been left in the tent by some officer.
“Where do you think you are going?” Darkbow asked.
Adara glared up at him as she grabbed her sword belt and strapped it around her waist. “Don’t start with me.” Anger was low in her voice. “You’ve played my protector far too often.”
“You’re weak,” Kron said. “You’re in no condition to go on after —”
“Randall healed me.” Adara climbed to her feet. “Besides, I do not take orders from you. We are no longer in the wilderness waiting for the great Kron Darkbow to lead us to safety.”
“We’re in Kobalos, a far more dangerous place,” Kron said, anger riding high in his own voice. “And if memory serves, the first thing you did after we parted ways was to get yourself killed!”
He turned away from her, more ashamed of his harsh words than he was angry. Here they were, together again after defeating death itself ... and still, they could only argue.
“I’m alive now,” Adara said softy, as if she sensed his hurt, “and I can’t stand aside while you and Randall need me.”
Kron half-turned to her, only allowing himself to see her out of the corner of one eye. “I am going to fight a war demon, a creature I’ve faced once already. I stood no chance against it then, and ... Randall has provided magical aid .. but I do not know if I will fare better now.”
“Belgad will be there to help.”
“Do not remind me.”
“I could be there to help, too.”
Kron sighed as his shoulders slumped, but no one words crossed his lips.
“Why does it have to be this way?” Adara asked.
“What are you talking about?”
She gripped his shoulder and gently turned him to face her full on. “Why do we have to live in a world like this?” she asked. “There’s nothing more I want than to ride away from here ... with you. But I know we cannot.”
“I once told you I wanted to make the world a better place,” Kron said. “For us, this is how it is done, with a sword in our hand. It is what we were born for, what we have trained for, and only Ashal knows if we are doing the right thing.
