City of Rogues: Book I of the Kobalos Trilogy (4 page)

“
I understand,” Gris said, still watching the crowd. “The Western church just doesn’t have the coffers of the Eastern.”

Lucius nodded as they continued with their walk..

“
There’s a bodyguard’s guild, but I don’t think you’d work for them.” The sergeant continued on, leading his friend through a group of pedestrians that gave way before his orange tunic. “If they find a fellow working in town without being a member, they take it out on him pretty hard.”

“
What else is there?”

“
There’s the Asylum.”

“
An asylum? I don’t remember it.”

“
One of the wealthier healers had it built a dozen years ago.” Gris brought them to a halt once more. “They use it for mad folk and a few others who are too sick to take care of themselves.”

“
A hospital?”

“
Of sorts,” Gris said as the two turned around to face across the street and back towards the remains of the wizard's mansion, “but it’s more like a prison. It’s a dangerous place, but I guess it’s no worse than the Prisonlands. If you like, I can call on the chief guard there, or I can ask around to see if there’s anything else available. Sometimes a local tavern wants to hire on some arm.”

“
The Asylum will do,” Lucius said as they moved back toward the work crew and the other city guards.. “I just need something to tide me over. I don’t have any long range plans, but it’s good to be home.”

Chapter Four

It was apparent by Stilp’s awkward walk he was not familiar with wearing a sword. At each step his left hand would slap the pommel on his hip. But he did not expect to use the weapon. Three of Belgad’s chain-clad goons followed as he marched along a dark alley. Stilp wore the sword to make a statement, to show he was important. The three bodyguards were the real threat to anyone foolish enough to accost the group.

Stilp halted at the end of the alley, the trio behind following suit. The little man glanced out into the path crossing before them. The alley intersected Dock Street, which ran along the northern shore of the Swamps. The street was lit well, lamps having been hung on the sides of buildings facing the North River. Warehouses of various sizes ran along the wooden quay that made up the shore of the river on the other side of the street. Empty ships rested quietly before they would be loaded again in the morning and headed to points elsewhere along the three rivers that converged in Bond.

Stilp was mostly interested in a smaller warehouse directly across from the alley where he skulked. Light flared around the edges of shuttered windows, throwing shadows across the dock.

Stilp glanced from side to side, seeing the street was clear.

“
It’s time.” He said stepped out of the alley.

The three armored figures followed. Each wore a sword on his hip and stout cudgels were gripped in their hands.

Crossing Dock Street, out of the corner of his eye Stilp spied a shadow flitting atop a warehouse to his left. He paused, the guards stopping too, and stared at the building’s roof.

“
Something amiss?” one of the three asked as he and his companions glanced in the same direction their boss was staring.

Stilp stared a moment longer, then shrugged and continued forward. “Nothing.” The sun had gone down, and the early darkness had been known to play tricks on one’s eyes.

He marched up to the entrance on the side of the small warehouse, stepped to one side and pointed at the door.

The largest of the three rammed a shoulder into the wood, cracking the door and slamming it open.

Revealed were a dozen men sitting around a long table. At the opening stood a young man with scrolls of paper in one hand.

Stilp grinned. “Rush him.”

The three guards were through the door. The first shoved the young man back, causing him to fall into a stack of crates while spilling his scrolls. The other two ruffians charged in with clubs swinging. Several of the guild leaders jumped up while others fell back or hid beneath the table.

The three armored men worked well together, showing their experience, and quickly hammered down their few opponents. When finished, four guildsmen lay with bleeding head wounds. The rest of the guild members had lined up on the far wall as far from the ruckus as possible.

The young guildsman on the floor grabbed at his loose scrolls. “This is barbaric.”

One of Belgad’s men kicked out, knocking the young scribe onto his back.

“
This is business.” Stilp stepped between his associates to face those of the guild still conscious.

None of the guildsmen said a word. The three guards stood looking ferocious, one with blood dripping from the end of his cudgel.

“
Lord Belgad says you don’t profit unless he does.” Stilp gave as hard a stare as he could to those still standing. “And since the East pope is lowering tariffs, that means you boys have more to share.”

No one said a word.

“
Do you understand?” Stilp waved a hand towards the guildsmen. “Or are we going to have to do this again? Maybe at your homes?”

The guild leaders gave one another nervous glances. After a few seconds, one was brave enough to come forward. “We understand,” he said, his voice shaking, “and please, apologize to Master Belgad for us. We did not mean any disrespect.”

Stilp turned to the door and smacked one of his guards on his armored chest. “We’re done here.”

Stilp exited first, the three bullies following with caution, watching to make sure there would be no attempts at retribution.

Stilp sighed with relief as soon as he and his companions were on Dock Street again. “
That went well enough.”

The first arrow hit him in the left thigh.

Stilp screamed, dropping as the pain roared up his leg. His three guards stood over him, too surprised to take action.

The second arrow took one of the others in the chest, dragging him to the ground.

“
Archer!” another guard yelled. An arrow crunched into his throat.

The last guard standing dropped his club and rushed for the safety of the guildsmen’s meeting. A slammed door greeted him.

The man hammered on the door. “Let me in in the name of Belgad!”

“
That name will not serve you here.” The cold voice came from behind.

The guard spun. A dozen paces away stood a figure covered head to toe in a black cloak, a large sword tied on its back. Stilp rolled around in pain at the figure’s feet.

“
You’ll pay for mocking the name of Belgad.” The lone guard whipped out his sword, slicing at air.

“
I don’t think you are the one to collect”

The guard roared and charged, sword swinging above his head.

Instead of retreating, the black form stepped into the charging man’s path. The guard swung for the cloaked head, but the figure grabbed his sword wrist with one hand and his arm with the other and twisted, throwing the guard to the ground.

The dark figure stepped back, giving the warrior room to stand and face him again.

Through a haze of pain, Stilp watched his last protector rub at his sword arm. The guard had not been injured badly, but the breath had been knocked from his lungs, and the man in black knew how to fight, even without drawing a weapon. Stilp hoped his last guard would be more careful the next time.

The next time was sudden. The armored man charged again, his sword in both hands and aimed at his opponent’s stomach.

The shadowy figure waited until the last second, when the guard was within reach, then slid to the side and slammed a fist into the back of the man’s neck.

The guard rolled past and crumpled to the ground.

The black form kicked away his downed foe’s sword and watched to make sure the man would not be recovering soon.

A whimper from Stilp brought the cloaked figure around to face the little man.

The stranger moved across the short space to Stilp, the swaying cloak making the figure appear to glide across the stony street.

Stilp had been in too much pain to notice much of what had happened, but the dark figure leaning over him drew his attention. He grabbed at the short sword in his belt.

A blackened boot stamped on Stilp’s hand, breaking fingers.

The brigand screamed.

“
Yell as you like.” The dark figure towered over the downed employees of Belgad. “There are no city guards within three blocks. By the time they arrive, I will be finished.”

The cold words made Stilp clamp his mouth shut. He tried to see a face beneath the black hood, but all he could make out was a pale chin that jutted from beneath shadow. His eyes shifted to take in the fate of his companions as tears streaked down his face beneath wide eyes.
“
You ... you killed those men.”

“
Not all of them. Besides, they are Belgad’s men.”

“
It’s murder.”

“
Quiet yourself and pay attention.”

Stilp didn’t know how his attention could be any more focused.

“
First, the guild had nothing to do with this.” The dark figure knelt next to the brigand, the black hole where the face should have been mere inches from Stilp's face. “This was my doing. There will be no retaliation against them or, by Ashal, I’ll make you wish I’d killed you this night. Do you understand?”

Shock had begun to set in for Stilp. He could do little more than give a brief nod.

“
I am glad we understand one another.” The stranger stood. “Tell your master, Belgad the Liar, that Kron Darkbow is coming for him.”

Stilp’s head was shaking, as much from disbelief as from shock. He couldn’t imagine any man brave or stupid enough to want these words passed on to Lord Belgad, Knight of the Western Church.

“
I will be watching.” Then the shadowy Kron Darkbow was gone, the swish of a black cloak the only sign of his passing into the night.

Stilp slumped onto the cobblestone street as the door to the guild leaders’ warehouse creaked open and heads peered outside.

Chapter Five

The strains from mending Trelvigor would not allow Randall Tendbones to expend his magics upon Stilp, who lay across the healer’s desk, though a brew of fermented honey and cowslip flowers had been enough to knock the wounded man unconscious. Randall then used a small-bladed knife and two saw-edged spoons welded at the handles to remove the arrowhead from Stilp’s leg.

He held the black arrow up to the lamp light to see it better. “Handmade.” He used a cloth to blot blood trickling from Stilp’s leg wound. “Someone knew what they were doing when they made this arrow. I wouldn’t swear it’s Kobalan, though it does have black fletchings and a broad head.”

“
Is there anything else you can tell me?” The voice came from behind the healer.

Randall turned to watch Lalo the Finder reclining in a cushioned chair. “Whoever he is knows what he is doing with a bow.”

“
Of that we are aware,” Belgad’s servant said with a huff, “but it is of utmost importance we discover who did this.”

Randall turned back to his patient and placed the arrow on the edge of his desk. He lifted a small pestle and mortar from a nearby table and began crushing leaves into a dust.

“
Trelvigor’s a few nights ago, and now poor Stilp.” The poured water to mix with the leaves. “Of late I seem to be doing an abnormal amount of business for Lord Belgad’s associates.”

Lalo grimaced. “That is Lord Belgad’s concern.”

Randall poured the mixture of leaves over several cloth bandages and began to wrap Stilp’s wound, hoping the chervil leaves would do their job in keeping down infection. “My only concern is for my patients, good Finder,” Randall said while wrapping, “because my healing powers are little use to anyone else while I am exerting myself on Trelvigor.” With this Randall nodded to the door to his chamber, to the room where Trelvigor still lay unconscious and blackened.

“
You are not the only healer available.”

Randall knew the Finder was right. There were at least a half dozen other magical healers within the tower compound itself, and there were likely a dozen others who had enough training in alchemy or basic medicine to perform simple healing tasks. The city of Bond probably had fifty or so who at least dabbled in healing magics, while the other healing tower in the city, the one in Southtown, had at least as many decent healers as the tower where Randall plied his trade. Still, Randall’s skills were natural to him, not like other wizards who learned their abilities from ancient scrolls or musty tomes.

“
You won’t find a better healer in the city.” Randall was without conceit as he finished with the bandage.

“
You’re young, and you expect Lord Belgad and myself to believe you are the most powerful healer in the city? Quite unbelievable.”

Randall wasn’t sure how to answer. He did not like being asked about his past, the part of his life before coming to Bond.

“
I do my best.” He sat in the chair behind his desk and opened a drawer.

The outer door to the room slammed open and Belgad, dressed in leathers and a lion-skin robe, marched into the room, pausing to stare at Stilp sprawled across the healer’s desk.

Lalo stood and bowed his head. “My lord master.”

“
Has he spoken?” Belgad pointed to Stilp.

Randall motioned toward the man on his desk. “
I have had him unconscious while removing the arrow.”

“
What of the others?”

Randall sighed. “
Two are dead and the other in a coma.”

Belgad nodded to his sleeping vassal. “How long until he is awake?”

“
About three hours. He needs time to rest and heal.”

“
Wake him now,” Belgad ordered.

“
As you wish.” Randall leaned over Stilp and placed a finger on either side of the man's forehead.

Lalo moved toward his employer. “
Is something amiss?”

Belgad waved a hand toward Stilp. “The guild chiefs say they had nothing to do with this.”

Lalo blanched. “
Do you believe them?”

“
There was much fear in their faces for them not to tell the truth,” Belgad said with a shrug, “but otherwise they were useless. They saw nothing and know nothing.”

Randall’s fingers massaged Stilp’s face. “Awake.”

Stilp’s eyes fluttered, closed again, then popped open. “Ashal, I’ve an awful headache!”

“
Don’t move or it will grow worse.” The healer leaned away from the patient.

The small man on the desk winced. “My leg! Did you cut it off?”

“
It’ll be fine in a week or so.” Randall said, standing and moving to one side.

“
Enough.” Belgad towered over the wounded Stilp. “Tell us what happened last night.”

“
It was terrible.” Stilp's eyes seemed the size of apples. “He came from nowhere. There were arrows all over the place, and the next thing I knew the guards were down.”

Belgad grimaced. “
Did you see the man?”

“
Very little,” Stilp said, squinting as if they would bring back his memories all the better. “He was dressed in black. Everything was black. Even the buckles on his belt and boots were black.”

Belgad leaned back, no longer towering over his employee. “
It was a man, though?”

“
I believe so, sir, but it was hard to tell.” Stilp opened his eyes. “I’ve never seen a man who could appear and disappear into shadows like that.”

Belgad glanced at Randall. “Magic?”

The healer nodded. “
Possibly.”

Belgad turned his attention back to his wounded vassal. “Can you describe the man, his weapons?”

“
He was big.” Stilp closed his eyes again briefly, then they snapped open. “And he had a big sword hanging on his back. I never saw him draw it. He didn’t need to. He was deadly enough with his hands.”

Belgad grumbled softly, then, “
Could there have been more than one?”

“
I don’t think so,” Stilp said. “I only saw the one, but I guess someone else could have been the archer.”

“
Though possible for a man well trained.” Belgad pointed out.

“
His name!” Stilp blurted.

Belgad’s eyes locked on the wounded man.

“
He said his name is Kron Darkbow,” Stilp said with a shiver, “and he said he’s out to destroy you, Master Belgad. He wanted me to give you the message that Kron Darkbow would destroy you.”

“
Sounds like a fool.” Lalo moved up beside his employer.

“
Or a brave man on the brink of insanity.” Belgad moved around the table until he was facing the healer. “I don’t know this Kron Darkbow, but the name sounds northern. Perhaps Dartague or Kobalan.”

Randall nodded agreement. “Darkbow could be a Kobalan name.”

“I know of no man with that name.” Belgad's gaze shifted to the wall, as if he were looking into his own past. “Nor do I know of anyone living who would have a grudge against me, at least no one who would dare confront me.”

“
Perhaps this isn’t a personal matter, my lord,” Lalo offered. “Maybe it is someone with a business interest in Bond.”

“
I don’t think that likely.” Belgad turned back to the face the others. “This feels like a grudge fight.”

Randall lay a gentle hand on Stilp's wounded leg. “
Sir Belgad, if you are finished with my patient, he needs more rest.”

“
Very well,” Belgad said, leaning over Stilp once more. “Heal yourself. I will need every ear on the street.”

“
Yes, my lord,” Stilp said as Randall’s fingers returned to the sides of his forehead.

“
Sleep.” And Stilp closed his eyes.

Belgad turned to the exit. “Come, Lalo. I need time to think.”

As Randall began to put away his instruments, he was grateful he was not Kron Darkbow. He would not want Belgad the Liar hunting for him.

***

Once Belgad and Lalo had exited the healing tower, Randall called two orderlies to carry the unconscious Stilp into the back chamber where Trelvigor lay beneath sheets dipped in a brew of daffodil leaves which would aid the wizard’s wounds. The orderlies lay their burden on a padded table next to Belgad’s wounded guard who remained in a coma.

Once the orderlies left Randall’s chambers, the healer collapsed into the chair behind his desk. Working his magic on Trelvigor, and the additions of the unconscious guard and Stilp, had weakened Randall’s endurance. If Belgad would need healing services again soon, Randall would suggest another healer. The services of all the healers in the tower, and the similar tower in Southtown, were free of charge. Surely Belgad would not be offended at needing the services of another.

Randall closed his eyes and eased back in his chair. He did not have time to sleep, as Trelvigor would need another dose of healing potion within a half hour, but he could relax for a few minutes and hope to recharge some of his magical energies.

The healer opened his eyes again and glanced at the black arrow resting on his desk. He should have disposed of the thing, or offered it to Belgad, but he had not. In truth, he had wanted to study the missile. Its carved shaft had been painted a dull black, the three feathers on its launching end were from some dark bird. Even the broad, sharp head had been smoked black. At first glance the arrow appeared to belong to the army of Randall’s homeland, Kobalos. The dress of the Kobalan military was black, black and more black. The only items a Kobalan soldier would wear that were not black would be the buckles of his clothes and armor, the blades of his weapons, a white edge painted on the borders of his shield and the blanched fletchings of his arrows.

Randall closed his eyes again and his mind turned to the description Stilp had given of his attacker. Kron Darkbow had been dressed all in black. Stilp had even gone as far to suggest the metals of the man’s garb had been painted black. This sounded Kobalan to Randall. A soldier might not dress in complete ebony, but a Kobalan assassin certainly would. But a Kobalan assassin would not have announced his presence as had Darkbow.

Kron Darkbow. Randall rolled the name around in his mind. It was surely a name from the north. Darkbow would fit in well as a Dartague family name, and even more so as Kobalan.

Was there a Kobalan agent operating in Bond? The thought made Randall shiver. He had hoped he was beyond the reach of his homeland.

Kobalos was more than a thousand miles away, and Randall had traveled long roads to become a healer in Bond. He liked being a healer. It brought him peace knowing he could be of help to others, even Belgad and those who tasked for him. In Kobalos, Randall had not had much opportunity to utilize his special abilities. Magical healing was not a wizardly skill taught in that dark land, but Randall had been born with the power. He was not a true sorcerer, one who spent years reading tomes to learn magical knowledge, but he was the rarest of mages, one who could work magic naturally without artificial aids.

Randall did have training in other forms of magic. He had been forced to learn such skills, like a common wizard, or he would have been put to death. The memories of those training sessions caused him to shudder.

His eyes opened and he stared at the top left drawer of his desk. He needed to know if there was a Kobalan agent within Bond. He couldn’t imagine why such an agent would seek vengeance against Belgad, as the Liar had not been a Dartague raider since before Randall was born. Still, it was unlikely a Kobalan assassin would act in such a way without orders from Lord Verkain, the ruler of Kobalos.

Randall shuddered again. It was because of the Kobalan lord Randall had fled his home.

The healer pulled open the top left drawer. He spied what he was seeking inside atop a stack of parchment. The gold ring was huge, too large to sit firmly on one of Randall’s thin fingers; engraved in the flat facing on one side was a black, spiked fist.

There was a simple way to discover if a Kobalan agent operated within the city, Randall told himself. His hand reached for the ring. His fingers grazed its cold surface.

He pulled his hand back. No. He would not use the ring. That would alert others to his presence in Bond, and Randall could not have that. He had run long enough and was settled now; there was no need to take chances.

If this Darkbow character had a personal grudge against Belgad the Liar, Randall felt relatively safe. He was not directly in the employ of the Dartague. Randall’s services were open to all who would come to him, even Darkbow. Besides, the healer had enough magical knowledge to protect himself. But if Kron Darkbow was some spy or killer from Kobalos, then that was a more dangerous affair. Even if someone from Kobalos was not aware of Randall's presence, they might take notice if they looked into who was tending Belgad’s men.