Dark Legion Page 18

  “So,” I said. “If someone manages to slip through the system in place in their town, they are likely to head to the Academy of Magic to receive that elixir. And, probably more importantly, they find a place that accepts and welcomes them for their magic. That man is a genius. An arsehole, but a genius.”

  “Pretty much. And those who refuse both of those options are hunted by the Dark Legion.”

  “Tell me,” I said. “The Inquisition’s sorcerers have silvery tattoos that they use for their magic. Are those related to this mercury?”

  “Dunno. I didn’t know the Inquisition had magic users. Just the thought of it scares the shit out of me.”

  “I know, right?” I said. “But unfortunately they do. Not many; last time I heard it was only a half dozen. But they are crazy as all hells.”

  “Huh… then you might be onto something. But mercury absorbs power. The way you describe it, they manage to extract magic from the metal. There is probably more to it than that. But mercury poisoning can cause mental problems, along with a host of other issues—teeth falling out —”

  “Shit! That’s it, then… Most sorcerers are missing a bunch of teeth. Though, you still have yours.”

  “I do, but I probably had far less exposure. I can tell you though, since he removed the mercury from me, I feel… better. Before, I always felt agitated. Pissed off. Now, I have a peace I don’t recall ever having.”

  “Yeah, you were a right bitch sometimes.” She hummed, and a force knocked me off my feet and onto my arse. I groaned, then made an obscene gesture at her. She laughed.

  The next morning we brewed another batch of ale, this time using a recipe of Neysa’s creation. She combed through Hobart’s notes and devised an ale she assured us would have a depth and complexity that would win us the competition. She sounded awfully sure of herself, considering she did not drink ale. But it included a lot of hops, which Marcus and I appreciated. The brewing took far less time with Neysa’s assistance. It helped a great deal that she could heat and cool liquids almost instantly. She needed to take breaks often, as her magic tapped her energy directly. She came close to fainting near the end of the day, and we made her sit out after that. I did not want her to lose consciousness as she had that day she’d saved me. With the ale brewed, and the wort cooled, we added Malakai’s yeast, following his instructions closely.

  A bunch of official-looking men arrived from the capital in the afternoon. They had a wagonload of slaves with them, whom they set to the task of hacking the kronos to pieces. Many in Sagemont were well pleased, as the massive corpse was stinking the place up but was too large to get rid of. Turns out, the men were only interested in its skull and heart, and they left the rest where it lay. Cut open as it was, it stank even worse than before. Some of the townsfolk completed the task, hacking it into manageable pieces and dragging them out into the lake.

  The next day, a disgusting froth covered our ale, and we drank ourselves stupid to celebrate. Two weeks later, we took a few samples and found we enjoyed it quite a bit. Marcus and I discussed taking a barrel or two up to the tavern to serve. Neysa informed us that we could go right ahead, but only if we wanted our balls singed. I did not know if she was serious, but decided not to tempt fate. My balls saw precious little use, but I was somewhat attached to them. That week, Marcus and I visited the other taverns in Sagemont. For research, of course. Our competition’s ales generally ranged from average to terrible, with the majority being terrible.

  When a month had passed, we had a small celebration at the Bleeding Wolf, which included a few of our regular patrons. We served our pale ale, and it was very well received. The small gathering managed to drain a barrel that night. I’ll admit, it was a fantastic ale. Probably the best I’d tasted, excluding perhaps Hobart’s oud bruin. Our chances of winning the competition were excellent. At the end of the night, with the tavern closed, the three of us sat together around our table, basking in the joy of our achievements.

  “Neysa, you are a genius!” Marcus said. “Truly, we could not have done this without you.”

  “I would argue, but I fear you are correct. You oafs would have made a hash of it,” Neysa said.

  “I think we have a good chance of winning this competition,” I said. “Which is just as well, seeing as we don’t have enough time to brew another batch.”

  Marcus raised his tankard in a toast. “To being awesome!”

  “To being awesome,” we repeated.

  Marcus smiled. “To genius plans.”

  “To having a plan.”

  “To being surrounded by idiots,” Neysa said. Marcus and I frowned at her. “Okay, to being surrounded by idiots and friends.”

  Within a week of our ale being on sale, word of it spread and orders came from every corner of Sagemont. Granted, those corners were not very far apart, but I found it gratifying nonetheless. The chore of actually making the deliveries, however, was a pain in the arse. It consumed an hour or two of each day, and if they kept up, I was of the mind to hire some young men for the task.

  We were close to finishing our deliveries for the day, with the last being to the old temple of Eriel, now a gambling den. The men who ran it might have considered their activities to be a secret of sorts, but it wasn’t a well-kept one. They had a sign fixed to the outside indicating hours of business. Some secret. As we approached, the large building loomed tall. It was one of the largest structures in Sagemont, and while the years had not been kind to it, some hints of its former splendor remained.

  Marcus knocked on the large door. “Hello, we have a delivery,” he shouted. There was no answer, so he tried again but got the same result. He tried the door, found it unlocked, and pushed it open. It was dark inside, and an unpleasant smell drifted out. It smelt familiar. Rotten meat, urine, and some other smells I couldn’t quite put a finger on.

  “Let’s skip this one,” I said. “They can come and pick it up.”

  “It’s alright,” Marcus said. “They already paid for it. We’ll just leave it inside. Give me a hand.” Marcus wheeled the barrel cart forward as I held the heavy door open. The smell was much worse inside.

  I walked with Marcus as he wheeled the cart, looking for a spot to leave it. It was a large rectangular room with a crude bar constructed on a raised area at the far end. A multitude of colors lit it from the dirty stained glass windows above. Even rainbows looked filthy in the desecrated temple. There was a door behind the bar, which I assumed was previously used by the priests during worship, and two balconies extended from the sides of the room to look down on the rectangular pit at the center, which was filled with chunks of rotten meat and blood-drenched sand. On the other side of the room, a large banner covered the wall. Calling it a banner was giving it too much praise. It was a tattered cloth with an image painted on it. It took me a moment to recognize what the artist was attempting to depict. My flesh crawled when I saw it—the image of a raised fist—and the feeling of unease jumped me like a mugger in an alley.

  Marcus frowned when he saw my expression, and worry crept onto his face as well. “We should get out of here,” he said, rolled the barrel off the cart and turned to the door.

  The door slammed shut. We raced to it and ran our shoulders into it, but it did not budge. “It’s barred,” Marcus said through gritted teeth.

  On the other side of the room, the door behind the bar opened. I could make out several shadows, maybe three people. The figures pushed a tall narrow crate through the door, pulled something on the side, and then slammed the door shut again. We heard that door being barred too and looked at each other. Marcus unsheathed his short sword, and I my dagger.

  A shrill, birdlike sound came from the crate. I couldn’t make out anything in the crate, except that it was split into three compartments. The shrill sound came again, and my hair stood on end. A dark shape leapt from the crate and landed on the bar, scattering glasses to the floor. It was a reptile, bipedal, standing just less than a meter tall. A sharp claw sat on top of each f
oot.

  “Balaur,” I said.

  The creature looked back at the crate, then raised its snout to emit a long, high-pitched call. It was answered, and two more creatures stepped out. The balaurs slowly made their way toward us, circling, their heads darting this way and that. They were low to the ground, but their long tails added much to their length. They repeatedly called to each other in high pitched chirps that chilled me to the bone. I did not like being hunted.

  A loud thwack resonated through the building. A crossbow bolt pierced the creature at the front, burying itself in its head. It stood a long moment before it collapsed. The two remaining balaurs called to each other, and one snapped at its dead friend before focusing on us again. They moved closer with more purpose, their long tails flicking from side to side.

  Thwack. Another one dropped. The last creature leapt at me at the same instant, its feet vertical to allow its sharp claws to do their business. Marcus collided with the creature while it was in mid-flight, and the two rolled on the ground. He lost his sword along the way, and the balaur landed on top of him and snapped at his neck. He grabbed its neck and rolled. Both were lying on the ground, the balaur slashing at him with the claws on its feet. Marcus was avoiding the slashes, but for how long? I darted in and stabbed my dagger deep into its chest. The creature jerked. I had my knee on it and twisted the dagger, but it kept fighting. I stabbed it again and again, until it stopped moving. By the time it was dead, I was exhausted and sat back, breathing heavily.

  I looked up at the balcony to see who the crossbowman was. A pudgy figure in a dark robe stood at the top, reloading. Then he darted down the steps. Marcus leapt to his feet and picked up his sword. His leg was bleeding, but not badly. The figure stopped when he saw Marcus. He removed the hood and stepped forward. It was warden Adair.

  “You need to get to the tavern,” Adair said. “They were trying to stall you, or kill you, while they hit the tavern.”

  “The door is barred,” I said.

  “The balcony has a door to the outside,” Adair said. “Go that way.”

  “Wait, why are you here?” I asked.

  “These fuckers sold me out to the Inquisition. I came looking for revenge,” he said, tapping the crossbow. “But there were more men than I could handle. So, I sat up there, hidden in shadow and waited for my moment. Then, I overheard their plans to hit the tavern. I was about to rush there myself, but then I heard someone come in. I couldn’t see you from up there,” Adair said, pointing his thumb up to the balcony. “Tavern. You need to go.”

  Marcus held my shoulder. “Go. I will help Adair with those behind the door. Help Neysa.”

  Neysa! I bolted up the steps and through the door at the top. There were a set of stairs leading down to the street from there. I ran all the way to the tavern, shoving aside anyone who did not make way. I ran up the steps to the front door of the Bleeding Wolf. It was locked, so I ran to the side door leading to the brewhouse. The door was ajar, and two men were fleeing out of it but… were frozen in place.

  I walked up to the first. The man’s eyes were following me and he was breathing heavily. I felt the cold running down my spine and knew that magic was involved. On closer inspection, he was covered in a shimmering layer. I dashed past them and into the brewhouse. The place was a mess. Several barrels had been drained onto the floor, and the ground was covered in dried hops and other ingredients. I found Neysa, slumped against some bags of malt. She hummed a quiet song, and looked utterly exhausted. But, her eyes were open and she looked intense.

  “Neysa!” I called to her and ran over. She looked pissed off.

  “Secure them… now. I can’t hold them much longer,” she said then continued her humming.

  I looked for rope, or something to tie them up with, but I couldn’t find anything with the place in such a mess. I thought about killing them but decided against it. My friends were less than happy with my murderous ways. But what to do? Seeing no alternative, I ran to the first, picked him up, and made my way inside with the man over my shoulder. I strained under his weight, and with his body rigid, he made for awkward carrying. I struggled up the rungs of the ladder to the large kettle and dropped the man inside. The drop was more than two meters, and I wondered if he would shatter when he hit the bottom. All I heard was a loud thump, and I did not look back. Instead, I ran to the second man and did the same with him. I dropped that one once along the way, and while he was silent, his eyes spoke of pain. When the second one was in, I closed the heavy lid and placed two bags of malt on top of it. I was exhausted, having sprinted to the tavern from the other side of town, and I collapsed next to Neysa, who finally relaxed. As soon as she did, the screaming started. The men in the kettle screamed in agony. It was a horrible sound, but I was not bothered by it. I’d heard similar screams daily for nearly half my life. I could only guess at how many of their bones broke when they hit the bottom. Plenty, I thought. Neysa leaned against me, her head on my heaving chest. I stroked her hair. We were both too exhausted to speak. All the while the men screamed, their agony and fear bouncing around the copper kettle.

  Sometime later, Marcus and Adair came running in. Adair stood at the door looking at the mess before focusing on the noise from the kettle. He lifted the lid and looked down at the men. He spat on them from above, then closed the lid and climbed down. Marcus ran straight to us.

  “You okay?” Marcus asked, sitting on his haunches. We nodded but still did not speak. He brought us a cup of water each, and we sat up to drink it. The cool water eased the burning in my throat.

  “What happened?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

  Marcus sighed and shook his head. “They didn’t surrender. Had to kill two. We subdued the last one, but he is in bad shape.” Marcus gestured over his shoulder at the kettle. “Those ones sound worse—what did you do to them?”

  “Neysa froze them, and I tossed them into the kettle. I think they got hurt when they hit the bottom,” I said.

  Marcus looked at the kettle, grimacing at the sound. Their screams had died down to wailing, but it was still unpleasant. “I would say so. Can you stand?” Marcus asked, holding a hand out. I took it and let myself be pulled to my feet.

  “I’m sorry I did not stop them sooner,” Adair said.

  “Your help is appreciated, Adair,” Marcus said.

  “No, I owe you a lot,” Adair said. “I know you helped me out in that cell after the inn burned.” Adair looked at me as he said it.

  “How?” I asked.

  “Well, after Neysa over there disappeared, and I still don’t know how in the hells she pulled that off, I looked through the bars. I thought I saw Saul peering around the corner. I wasn’t sure at the time, but… well, to be blunt, you are the only people in Sagemont who don’t hate me.”

  “They hate you?” Marcus asked. “Why?”

  “Long story. The short version, I was sent to Sagemont to replace the old warden. Everyone loved him. And he was better at the job.”

  “You do alright,” Marcus said.

  “Really?” Adair asked. “Look around you. I didn’t stop this. And there have been a lot of unexplained deaths over the past month. The Sagemont killer is still at large, and I have no leads.”

  “The… Sagemont killer?” I asked.

  “That’s what we call him,” Adair said. “A serial killer, the worst kind. But I still have no leads. The deaths seem random; there is no order to them. A lot of slave masters died, so there’s that. And the slaves were freed, of course. But then there was that fellow with the hacked ankles, a legionnaire who disappeared, and three men working at our favorite gambling den who up and vanished. If you believe the Dark Legion—and why would you?—that centurion was poisoned in his sleep. Oh, and he released the three-horn that killed several more legionnaires. There is no rhyme or reason.” Adair shook his head. “Oh, well. It’s been a peaceful week or two, not counting today, so perhaps he has left town. Hopefully the Dark Legion stays away. I have witnesses who can place me and
Neysa well clear of the Shady Oak when it burned. That should keep us from further suspicion, but still… Look, I need to go. I’ll get my deputy and a few legionnaires to come and help with those two,” Adair said, pointing at the kettle with the wailing men. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  We walked through the chaos that was our brewhouse and made our way past the spilled ingredients and into the barrel room. More than half of the barrels were empty, now a deep puddle on the floor. We found the rest crammed full of hops.

  “Everything is ruined…” I said.

  Marcus nodded his head. “No time to brew more, either.” The town fair was in three days’ time.

  It took us the rest of the day to clean up the mess. Neysa visited all of our customers to see if she could rescue some of the barrels delivered earlier that day. Unfortunately, our ale was proving very popular. The proprietors told her that customers were often waiting for the ale, and the barrels were empty or close to it.

  We were mopping the floor, now sticky with ale. Marcus looked depressed, which for most would be understandable, but I had never seen the man that way. Not even when he was in the dungeon awaiting torture.

  “You okay?” I asked. “We’ll find another way. Breaking into the palace will be trickier, but we’ll manage. Somehow.”

  Marcus stopped mopping and looked at me. The man looked miserable. “It’s not that. It’s just… those men. They all had the tattoo,” Marcus said, pointing to the back of his neck. “I feel responsible for this. How did I screw it up so badly?”

  “The Clenched Fist?” I asked.

  “The Clenched Fist.”

  “Well, you have new rebels now. Or you will, when this mission of ours is complete. You can hardly take responsibility for the actions of these idiots,” I said.