Dark Legion Page 23

  “You’re probably right,” Marcus said. He sat with his elbows on the table and his face in his hands, scrunching his cheeks together. His words came out as a mumble, and I could see the man had lost interest in the discussion. The talk had been going around in circles for some time, so I sat back and took a swig of ale. “I think we’d be better off observing the palace when we get to Morwynne. We’ll have to see if an opportunity presents itself. The only pattern in these plans is change. At least we have a fair idea of where the vault is, just no sneaky way of getting to it.”

  “We should take the plans with us,” Neysa said. “They may yet prove their worth. That old bastard never does anything without a purpose.”

  “Agreed,” Marcus said.

  I laid the plans back atop each other, taking great care with the old paper. I squinted as I slowly rolled them back up, expecting to hear a snap in the brittle parchment. “Adair seems to be on top of things,” I said as I bound them with ribbon.

  “I hate to admit it,” Marcus said. “But I think he’ll do a far better job than we ever could. He’s already streamlined our process significantly. The other staff members will take longer to find their feet, but he’ll get them there. Maria is a great cook, though.”

  “She is. Don’t fuck her,” Neysa said. “Oh, don’t you dare try to look innocent. I’ve seen the way you look at her—keep it in your pants.”

  “Fine!” Marcus said with mock outrage.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Morwynne

  The week leading up to Harvest Festival was a busy one, bringing much excitement to Sagemont. Preparations were well underway with seven days to spare, and a slow transformation was taking place. Unlit lanterns were strung over streets, bunting hung from windows, and the imperial banners, usually absent, were prominently displayed. I had heard that the latter were the mayor’s doing. He was prone to sucking up. Beyond the physical changes, there was a noticeable improvement in the mood of the town. Chins were raised, and smiles were easy to find. Not on me, though. With the excitement came a constant prattling on the streets that got on my nerves. There was a drone of conversation like a wasp’s nest, always present. Frankly, I did not see what the big deal was.

  With Sagemont so transformed, I could only imagine what Morwynne would be like. I would not have to imagine for long, however, as we were taking the train to the capital within the hour.

  We had loaded enough ale onto the train to drown a small village. All that remained were Malakai’s lock picks, the modified barrels filled with explosive liquid. I was glad he’d put smaller barrels to the purpose. Our regular ones took a lot of effort to move.

  The cart hit a stone in the road, which jostled the barrels. I cringed as they knocked against each other. “Easy,” I yelled at Marcus.

  When we arrived at the station, Malakai was yelling at some unfortunate youth. “Be careful, you dolt. If you damage those rockets, they are like to destroy this whole train.” Malakai had the last wagon of the train for his cargo; the rest were ours to use. While the train was impressive as a whole, the wagons themselves were simple things—a flat timber rectangle with wheels below.

  Two immense rockets lay on each side of the wagon, so long that a good half meter stuck out over the edge. The space between them was filled with the smaller variety he’d used to dazzle Sagemont at solstice.

  “Be nice,” Marcus said as we approached.

  “The time has come, my friends,” Malakai said. “It’s been long in the making, but here it is. Are we ready?”

  “We are,” I said. “As soon as we have these loaded, at least.”

  “Where is Neysa?”

  “Packing her bags. You know how ladies are,” Marcus said, loading one of the explosive barrels onto the wagon.

  “I doubt she’ll have more bags than you,” I said. “Four cases of clothing, Marcus?”

  “I am a man of nobility,” Marcus said. “And I need to look the part for the noble ladies of our capital. Pass a barrel, will you?”

  “Ladies?” I said heaving a barrel up to him. “Knowing you, you will most likely tire out the first brothel we come across.”

  “Gentlemen,” Malakai said, clasping our hands in turn. “I bid you farewell and good luck. I am sure we will be in each other’s company again soon.”

  With the train loaded, we made our way to the front. This trip had but a single passenger carriage, all for us. While the wagons were plain, the passenger carriage was grand—its timber panels carved with floral patterns and the metal frame polished till it shone like a mirror in the sun. I walked the length of the train, my thumbs hooked through my belt. I could not help but smile at what we had accomplished. Some of the townsfolk stood a short distance away to watch. They may not have known me from a bar of soap when I had arrived, but they sure as hells did now. Saul, co-owner of the Bleeding Wolf, a man with enough clout to gain exclusive use of a train pulled by monsters. Fine, so they didn’t know me. But at least they recognized that I existed. Or a version of me. Like I cared.

  Ten three-horns stood lined up next to the track, five on each side. The creatures were massive, their legs as thick as logs, but I doubted they would have an easy time hauling our barrels up the incline. We had a lot of barrels.

  I hoped these beasts were better trained than the last ones I’d encountered—or at the very least, immensely stupid. They would need to be to fail to realize that two trainers per animal had a wax cat’s chance in hells of restraining them if they should choose to flee. A huge yoke sat across the backs of each pair, with two thick chains connecting them to the train behind. It was an impressive contraption. I decided that if I should ever find the madman who had conceived of the idea, I would buy him an ale. Unless I had already killed him—or was yet to kill him before I knew who he was. I thought it might be safer to have an ale in his honor, or memory—whichever applied. More ale for me that way, too.

  I smiled. I was excited about the trip, if anxious. I was a little scared that the huge beasts would take off and drag us behind them. I had seen the damage they could do.

  “Boys,” Neysa said as she approached in a carriage. She looked stunning in her long white dress, all silk and pearls, and her hair braided with sparkling jewels. “Are you just going to stare at me, or help me down? This dress is a bitch to move in.” I smiled and walked up to give her a hand. “And get my bags, will you?” she said, and climbed into the carriage using the step that sat at the open door. The nerve of the girl. I wasn’t her slave. But I did as she asked and breathed her perfume, which still laced the air in her wake. With Marcus and Neysa aboard, I signaled the driver that we were ready to depart.

  Not long after I sat down, the train started to move. The metal on metal of the wheels on the rails screeched, and Neysa grimaced. “It’s like nails on a chalkboard,” she said. Gradually we built up speed, but we never reached anything faster than a slow jog. I wondered if this contraption was really more efficient than using wagons.

  But it was an interesting experience, and one I could not have dreamed of a year ago. I would have enjoyed it more if it had been just an ordinary trip. But the rest of my life, and perhaps Ubrain’s future, hinged on my success. The rest of my life would be a mere week if it went poorly. I could see that the others felt nervous too, as they sat forward in their seats, their lips just thin lines.

  “I think we need a drink,” I said, and went to the small bar at the front of the carriage. I held a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. Marcus gestured to the wine, Neysa to the whiskey; not the way I would have picked it, but it was an unusual day. With our glasses full, I held mine up for a toast.

  “To genius plans.”

  “To plans that exist.”

  “To idiot friends.”

  We clinked our glasses and sat back.

  The carriage was lushly upholstered and still new, with the smell of the leather rich in the air. The leather, Neysa’s perfume, and the lingering smell of tobacco from a p
revious occupant blended together in an aroma that spoke of nobility. It felt alien to me, even though I was as noble as one could be. A prince. But it had been such a long time that my life as a young prince felt like a dream, my slavery the reality. During the months I’d spent in Sagemont, it had always felt as though I was living a lie and, at any point, someone might recognize me for the fraud that I was.

  I watched as Sagemont disappeared into the distance, wondering if I would ever see it again. I hoped so. It had dreadful weather, being too hot, too cold, or too wet, and never comfortable. But I had a lot of fond memories of the place.

  I hoped that Adair would keep the Bleeding Wolf on track, though from what we had seen over the past weeks, the man was a born businessman. He was much better at running our operation than he was at finding the Sagemont killer. Just as well.

  My thoughts drifted to the branded men in the oasis. We had spent considerable money to supply them with food and weapons. They would be comfortable in the oasis, but I worried what would become of them if I died. At least they were free.

  My view of the town was cut off, replaced by the monotony of passing trees, as the track curved through the forest. The novelty of the trip soon gave way to tedium. It took an eternity, with stops every couple of hours to feed and water the three-horns. The slow pace of the trip warred with the possible culmination of years of planning, grating on me. It was as if I was a young child again, awaiting my father’s return after some misdeed.

  We arrived at dusk with the three of us hanging out of the windows. We displayed little in the way of dignity or nobility, regardless of our mode of transport and fancy clothing.

  Morwynne was beautiful, severe, and unlike any city I had ever seen. It was an ode to the square and the rectangular, but with more columns and arches than I could count. Statues and fountains of every size decorated any free space not taken up by cobblestone streets and flowerbeds. The setting sun, combined with the lamps already lit, made it look as if the city glowed. It spoke of elegance and grandeur, but behind the beauty lay the unmistakable power of the empire. The massive red and gold banners depicting the swooping eagle hung from columns along the road and from the tall buildings lining the streets.

  “I was here just a year ago, but… wow,” Neysa whispered.

  “No kidding,” Marcus said.

  The train made its way through the center of the city, with broad avenues on each side. People waved at us as we slowly made our way along. Marcus blew a kiss to three young ladies leaning out of a window on the third story of a tall building. They giggled at each other and waved back, returning their own kisses. Neysa sneered at Marcus and slapped him hard.

  I decided that the elegance of the city was largely due to its uniformity of design. Most cities I had been to had seen too much war and destruction, resulting in a mosaic of different architectural design philosophies.

  The track led to a monstrously large building, the front of which was covered by a waterfall. The tracks led through the water, but as we approached, the curtain of water parted, creating a wide opening. The three-horns walked through, pulling the train in behind them. We entered a cavernous chamber with large stone platforms on either side of the track, and a forest of pillars supported the roof far above. I saw many slaves waiting between the pillars, their heads lowered. It tugged at my heart to see them. They were Ubraian. Of course.

  As the train came to a stop, slaves scurried up to us with steps and placed them at the doors of the carriage. I walked to the rear and started removing our bags, but I was interrupted by a gentle tap on my elbow and turned to see two slaves waiting. As I turned to face them, they bowed and gestured silently at the bags. I moved aside to let them take care of our luggage and stepped out to join the others.

  The building was a train station, far larger than the one at Sagemont—probably larger than necessary. Several ships would fit inside with room to spare. It would have taken an impressive amount of stone to build. It had a grandeur to it, solid as a mountain and imposing. Most of it looked old, if not ancient, and contrasted with a section on the opposite side which was clearly a more recent addition—stark white against the weathered stone beside it.

  At the end of the chamber the track formed a giant circle, with several other tracks veering off into dark tunnels. Large levers stuck out from beside the track, allowing the rails to be shifted.

  At the center was a wide corridor, and one of the three-horns had been unhitched and was being led down it by three men. To the side of it, a ramp led up to a metal door with a large lock. Many more wooden doors were set into the walls as well, and I found it odd that they had not been replaced with something more solid. They looked too flimsy in a room such as this and one in particular, near the ramp, looked as though it would fall to splinters in a stiff breeze. The branded men soon had our bags loaded into handcarts and stood waiting for us.

  “I wonder where that door leads,” I said, looking at the heavy door at the top of the ramp.

  “What’s behind that door?” Marcus asked of the slaves. They did not answer, but bowed.

  I turned to the men and spoke in Ubraian. “Greetings. Can you tell me where that door leads?”

  This startled the men, and they turned to each other. One was pushed forward, being volunteered as the spokesman. “To the palace, master. Your ale will shortly be carried through that portal.”

  “Do you not understand common?”

  His face flushed, and he bowed his head lower. “Apologies, master, we are discouraged from talking to our betters. Hearing my own tongue… it caught me off-guard.”

  “I am not your Master. You can call me Saul.”

  The man looked back at his fellow slaves before speaking again. “Please, do not dishonor yourself by speaking to us, Master.” The man stepped back to the cart and lowered his head.

  “I will do as I please,” I said. “Tell me your name.”

  “I cannot,” the slave said. “I am not worthy of a name—I am nameless like all who serve.”

  “What if I ordered you to tell me your name?” I asked.

  “My master’s authority supersedes your own… my apologies. I mean no offense.”

  I stared at the man. I could not believe that anyone would submit to another to such a degree. I never did, and sure, I paid for it, but one had to hold on to something. Your name was at the core of your being. The thought that these men were deemed unfit even to possess a name filled me with anger. But it was the fact that they agreed to it that pushed me over the edge. “I, Saul Baz Sharmoun, prince and heir to the Ubraian throne, demand you tell me your name!” I shouted, and my voice echoed through the chamber.

  I immediately regretted my outburst, as every slave in the chamber stopped what they were doing and turned to me. The man fell to his knees and bowed low with his arms outstretched, and soon the rest of the slaves followed suit.

  “What in the hells have you done now?” Neysa asked.

  “Too much,” I said.

  “Stand,” I yelled in Ubraian, and they did. I looked around but was pleased to see there were only slaves in the chamber. My party was not deemed important enough to warrant a reception. “Gather round,” I said. When I was surrounded by slaves, I spoke in a low voice. “As your prince, it’s my duty to free you of your shackles, but I need time to devise a plan. A lion sleeps in the heart of every brave man, and you need to be brave. What is this lion’s name?” I asked of the man once more.

  “Ferran, my prince.”

  I looked at those assembled. “Ferran will lead you in this. I will speak to him in the next day or two, and he to you. Until then, talk to your fellows, but do not utter a word in front of your masters. If word gets out, I will personally hunt you down and butcher you. Am I clear?” The slaves thumped their chest twice with the right hand as was the tradition when being commanded. “Good. Now resume your tasks before your masters come to see why you are dallying.” The slaves set off with a spring in their step that had been absent when we�
��d first arrived.

  “Lead us to the Eagle’s Perch,” I said to Ferran. Adair had arranged our accommodation, as he knew the city like the back of his hand.

  “So,” Marcus said as we followed behind the slaves. “What in the name of the Gods just happened?”

  “Well… I may have proclaimed myself as the prince of Ubrain. I may also have promised that I would set them free.”

  “You did what?” Neysa snapped. “You’re a Gods-damned idiot, Saul.”

  “I know,” I said. “I lost my temper. But I intend to keep my word.”

  Marcus clasped a hand on my shoulder. “You risk us all, but for once I am proud of you.”

  “You are both morons,” Neysa said.

  We followed the men up a wide ramp leading through an arch to a well-lit road. We came to a halt on the other side, as we had to wait for a column of legionnaires to march past. Never had I seen such well-ordered troops, not even in Castralavi. The red-plumed soldiers marched past in perfect unison, spears held straight. It was an impressive sight. When they were past, Ferran led us on. As we passed the station, the palace came into view on our right. It was the single largest structure that I had ever seen. It was surrounded by walls approaching twenty meters high, but these did little to hide the colossal structure behind them, its domed towers reaching for the stars above. A large metal gate barred the way, half as high as the walls themselves. My eyes picked out scores of archers atop the wall and heavily armed guards in front of the gate.

  “I’m glad we picked a subtle way into the palace,” I whispered.

  “Agreed,” Marcus said. “I doubt our bathrobes would get us through those gates.”